#hope this looks cool but if not it's all good- it is YOUR au after all so no skin off my bones

[moonriizing]

urs | p.sh (18+)

You weren't supposed to want more, but you did. What started as a casual fling became more complicated when you found yourself caught between your desire and the reality that Park Sunghoon's heart belonged to someone else.

Genre: college au, situationship, smut Pairing: Park Sunghoon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), NOT PROOFREAD. I'll come back to do that when I can lol. Notes: 10k words. Listening to urs by NIKI. My first Sunghoon fic and it's written on a whim! lol. I wrote this instead of working on my overdue wip lol. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally nor claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

Enjoy~

You first met Park Sunghoon at a frat party you had no real interest in attending. It was the first night of the semester, the music was good, the drinks were flowing, and the energy was exactly what you needed. It was the kind of night that made you feel young and invincible, where bad decisions were just part of the fun. And tonight, you were on a mission: hook up with a hot guy.

It was a promiscuous mission, you knew that. And you would be lying if you said you weren’t that kind of girl because you were! But you weren’t the reckless, messy type. No, you were the smart kind of promiscuous. The kind who could have fun without losing control. You were practical about it—always sober enough to make sound decisions, always keeping your boundaries clear. Simply put, you were the best type of promiscuous.

As a college girl with ambitions, you couldn’t afford to get tangled in romance and all that commitment nonsense. Too much work. But you had needs, and fulfilling them meant nights like this—scanning the crowd for a guy who could tickle your fancy, no strings attached.

That was how you spotted him.

Tall, handsome, but oddly out of place. While the rest of the party thrived on the chaos, he stood by himself in a corner. He had a cup in his hand, but it wasn’t like he was enjoying it. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—his posture slouched just enough to suggest he wasn’t a part of this. He had that bored, almost irritable look on his face, the kind that made you wonder if he was only here because someone dragged him along.

You were not the type to hesitate, so you didn’t. You’d done this enough times to know exactly what you were after, and right now? You were after him.

“Is this your first frat party, or are you just too cool for it?” you asked, leaning in just enough to get his attention.

He glanced at you, his eyes flicking over your face for a second before landing on your lips, then back up to your eyes. Up close, he was even more good-looking—long lashes, sharp features, lips that curled just slightly at the corners like he was already amused by you, and a couple of beauty marks on his face that made him even more striking.

He was definitely your type.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” you added, taking a sip of your drink, not breaking eye contact.

“That obvious?” he asked, his voice low, almost melodic.

You smirked, liking the way his voice was as perfect as his looks. “You look miserable,” you pointed out, still grinning.

He chuckled lightly, amused but not exactly thrilled. “What about you? Having fun?”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t. But right now, I think I might be…” You let your gaze wander, deliberately slow, from his face to the exposed skin of his chest where a few buttons were undone.

Sunghoon smirked, his gaze trailing over you in a way that was appreciative without being too obvious. “Well, that makes two of us,” he replied suggestively.

He flirted right back!

“I’m Sunghoon,” he said, offering his hand for a shake. You took it and gave him your name.

Your eyes locked with his—now more curious, sizing him up. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you staring each other down, trying to gauge each other’s thoughts with your hands still joined. Then you saw a flicker in his eyes that made you come to an agreement with your own intuition.

You tilted your head, eyes still locked with his. “Do you wanna have sex with me?”

His eyes widened slightly, his brows lifting in surprise—visibly caught off guard by your suggestion. His grip on your hand loosened, though he didn’t let go completely. You kept your gaze steady, showing no hesitation and letting him know you were serious. A few seconds of silence passed where you almost thought he’d say no, but then he exhaled a soft laugh.

“Are you always this forward?” he asked, amused now.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Only when I see someone I like.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And you like me?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

With that, his smirk widened, and before you could second-guess yourself, he set his cup down. “My place or yours?”

And just like that, you were out of the party and heading to whatever the hell came next. No strings, no pressure. Just the way you liked it.

You didn’t know it then, but that was when the tsunami that would come crashing in began to take shape.

You didn’t mean for it to happen again. It was supposed to be a one-time thing—fun, uncomplicated. But he was phenomenal, so it happened a second time. And a third. And eventually, you just lost count.

Maybe it was because, other than the fact that he was really good at it, he was also easy to be around. He wasn’t like the others—the ones who got clingy after a night or acted like they were doing you a favor by sleeping with you. Sunghoon was different. He never overstayed his welcome, never asked for more than you were willing to give, but he wasn’t distant either. If anything, he was… nice.

Not in a fake, trying-too-hard way. Just nice. Made you feel comfortable, always made sure you finished before he did, and never left without saying something witty that made you roll your eyes. He had this way of being detached but not cold, like he had mastered the art of keeping things casual without being an asshole.

“You know,” you mused, sprawled across his bed, still catching your breath, “my first impression of you was that you were boring and miserable. Turns out you know how to make a girl have fun.”

Standing by his closet, Sunghoon threw you an amused glance as he pulled a sweatshirt over his head. “Yeah? I aim to please.”

You smirked. “That sounds like something a guy who thinks he’s good in bed would say.”

He let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair before turning to you, looking almost too put-together for someone who had just spent an hour between your legs. “And? Am I not?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. You’re alright.”

He scoffed, tossing a pillow at you, which you barely dodged. “You’re a bad liar.”

You grinned, stretching lazily. “Well, I can’t have you getting a big head, can I?”

Sunghoon shook his head, his lips curling into that infuriatingly charming smirk. “Too late for that.”

It was easy. Too easy. Maybe that’s why you let it keep happening.

Behind closed doors, there was no restraint. It didn’t matter if it was your place or his—once the door was closed, your hands were on his neck, his lips found your skin, and clothes barely made it past the foyer before being discarded.

Sunghoon was incredible in bed. He was controlled, precise, yet somehow still desperate when he kissed you, when he pressed you against the mattress, when he groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling. And you? You had mastered the art of making him unravel.

You knew exactly what made him weak, how to turn his composure into incoherence, how to make him grip your waist a little harder or breathe your name in a way that made your stomach flip. It was exhilarating, effortless—two people who just fit perfectly when it came to this.

But outside? You were mere acquaintances.

A nod in the hallway. A fleeting smile across the quad. If you happened to pass each other at a party, he’d tip his cup in your direction, and you’d lift a brow in acknowledgment. No one knew. No one suspected a thing. And you liked it better that way. You were both civil and could control your urges.

Except for when you couldn’t.

Like now.

You were leaving class when Sunghoon caught your wrist, pulling you into an empty lecture hall.

“What—”

He kissed you before you could finish, his hands already gripping your hips, pressing you against the nearest desk. The kiss was hot, urgent, like he had been holding back all day.

“Wow, I think you missed me a little,” you teased when he finally pulled away, breathless.

Sunghoon scoffed, but his fingers traced the sleeve of your dress like he wasn’t done with you yet. “You should wear this more often.”

You smirked. “What? Hoon, you did not pull me in here just because I’m wearing a dress.”

“It’s a really nice dress,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, snaking your arms around his neck. His hand slipped under your dress, squeezing your thighs firmly. When the familiar warmth started creeping up your chest, you held his hand to stop him.

“This is not a good idea,” you told him, smiling at the puppy-like look on his face.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he regretted his own impulse. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in again, his lips brushing yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then you heard the sound of voices just outside the door.

In an instant, Sunghoon stepped back, running a hand through his hair like nothing had happened. You casually adjusted your dress. When the door creaked open, and a couple of students poked their heads in, you and Sunghoon were already on opposite sides of the room.

“Is this Professor Smith’s class?” one of them asked just as you spotted the same name written on the board in front.

“It is,” you said smoothly, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you strode past Sunghoon without so much as a glance.

Outside, in the open air, you felt his presence behind you, his steps easy and unhurried. As you reached the main path to the quad, he finally passed you, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly.

“See you around,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You smirked, not looking back. “See you around.”

But even with all of that, you could tell he was drawing a line between you. He didn’t have to say it. You could see it in the way he never texted first, the way he kissed you like he meant it but pulled away too quickly after. The way he made you laugh but never let the moment linger too long.

And maybe you should have done the same.

You didn’t mean to fall for him. You really didn’t. But it was hard not to when, in between the sneaking around and the mind-blowing sex, Sunghoon was just... Sunghoon. Nice and thoughtful in a way that made it almost impossible to keep things casual.

Like when the lightbulb in your room went out, and he arrived at your place with a new one, climbed on a chair, and replaced it himself.

“I was gonna do that, you know,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the wall, watching him screw the new bulb into place. “I’m just a little busy these days.”

He climbed down, dusting his hands off. “Yeah, but can you even reach that high?”

You rolled your eyes, but when he patted your head like you were some kid, you didn’t swat his hand away. Instead, you found yourself watching him as he moved around your space so easily.

Or the way he always refilled your bedside tumbler before he left your place. You didn’t even notice it at first, but one morning, you woke up, throat dry, and reached for it instinctively—only to realize it was full. Ice-cold. Like he had just topped it off before slipping out.

And then there was the night you were cramming for an exam, drowning in highlighter ink and frustration, when your door swung open, and Sunghoon walked in like he owned the place.

“I’m about to become your favorite person in the world,” he announced, dropping a thick stack of papers on your desk.

You blinked up at him. “What is this?”

“My old notes,” he said, ruffling your hair before plopping onto your bed like he had all the time in the world. “They’re neat. Better than whatever middle school doodles you have going on.”

You flipped through them, and he wasn’t lying—his notes were immaculate. Organized, highlighted, complete with diagrams. You stared at them, then at him, sprawled out on your bed like he had no idea what he’d just done.

“You didn’t strike me as a guy who took his studies seriously,” you teased, although you didn’t really think that way about him.

Sunghoon smirked, turning his head to look at you. “Why? Did you think the only thing I knew how to do was make your legs shake?”

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the warmth creeping up your chest. “Be real, Hoon. You’re not that good.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” he lilted, his eyes shifting back to his phone.

You fell for him because hookups weren’t supposed to be this thoughtful. Hookups weren’t supposed to linger after sex to fix your lightbulb or make sure you stayed hydrated. They weren’t supposed to look after you in ways so small, so casual, that you almost missed them.

You caught yourself wondering. Did he care about you more than just a hookup? Or worse—did you want him to?

You were at a café with your friends when his name came up. 

It started casually enough—half-listening to the conversation while stirring the melting ice in your drink, until one of them, Lily, suddenly said, “Oh, by the way, I saw Sunghoon at your apartment complex the other day. Didn’t know you guys were neighbors.”

Your hand stilled, heartbeat picking up pace at the sudden mention of his name. You blinked once, twice, before mustering up an easy shrug. “Huh. Neither did I.”

Lily laughed, oblivious. “Right? He was coming out of your building. I was gonna say hi, but he looked like he was in a hurry.”

Across the table, Tammy tilted her head. “Maybe he was visiting someone? From what I know, he lives with Jake in a different neighborhood.”

“Maybe,” Lily mused, sipping her drink. Then, as if the thought just occurred to her, she added, “Oh! You and Jenna are neighbors, right?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know any Jenna.”

“Jenna! The girl who won the poll for prettiest student last year!” she explained, her expression turning conspiratorial. “She’s Sunghoon’s ex.”

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

Lily went on, oblivious. “Guess he’s still hoping she’ll take him back.”

The words landed like a slap. You almost asked her to repeat herself, but the way Tammy nodded in understanding told you that you heard right.

“Yeah,” Tammy said. “They were together for two years. I heard he was really sad when they broke up.”

Lily clicked her tongue. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did get back together. They were that couple, you know?”

That couple. The ones who belonged together. The ones who had history, real history—not just stolen moments behind closed doors.

You swallowed, forcing a small smirk. “Didn’t know you guys were keeping up with Sunghoon’s love life like this.”

Lily nodded. “Jenna and I used to hang out when I was still in the council.”

Then she started rambling about their history, how Jenna broke Sunghoon’s heart, how he never really moved on. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but your mind was stuck on every moment you spent with him. The way he pulled you closer in his sleep, how he never let you walk home alone, the way he looked at you sometimes—like maybe you were something more special to him.

But you weren’t. You weren’t the one he wanted. You never were. And just like that, the guessing game was over.

He didn’t want you like you wanted him. You were genuinely just a fling.

Still, you smiled, made some joke that had your friends laughing, and sipped your drink like nothing was wrong. Like your stomach hadn’t just dropped to the floor.

Later, when you saw Sunghoon again—when he let himself into your apartment with that lazy smirk, hands already reaching for you—you didn’t hesitate. You let him touch you, let him kiss you like nothing had changed.

Because for him, nothing had.

And if he didn’t know the difference or couldn’t see the shift, then you sure as hell weren’t going to show him.

Does it make sense to want your ex back and exclusively sleep with someone else? NO.

It was stupid. Sunghoon was stupid. That was what you told yourself every time the thought crossed your mind—every time you caught yourself comparing.

You never voiced it out loud, though. Not to your friends, because Sunghoon was popular, and they’d pry if they knew you were sleeping with him. Not to him, for obvious reasons. And mainly because you had pride. You were the one who said you wouldn’t get attached—the one who laughed at girls who caught feelings for a fling.

But knowing better didn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

His ex was his senior, a fine arts major. Pretty. Smart. Talented. One of those girls who just had it. The kind people didn’t get over easily. You told yourself it didn’t matter. If he wanted her back, that was his problem, not yours. It wasn’t like you and Sunghoon were anything.

And so the days with him continued to be easy and light.

You spent more time together, and the more you did, the more you noticed his quirks—his own brand of annoying charm. Like how he always picked up your keys instead of his whenever he left your apartment, or how he liked to roll his sleeves and ruffle his hair absentmindedly.

One evening, lying side by side on your bed, you scrolled through your texts, absentmindedly opening your chat with him. A dozen images filled the screen, almost all of them mirror selfies. Some in elevators, some in his room, one even in a convenience store.

“You like yourself a little too much, don’t you?” you mused, tilting your phone so he could see.

Sunghoon barely glanced at it. “What?”

“These,” you said, scrolling through. “Almost every picture you send me is just you.”

He smirked, resting his head on his arm. “What, you don’t like them?”

You huffed. “You’re hot and you know it, is that it?”

He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side to face you. The glint in his eyes was naughty and suggestive. His next words, even more so: “Would you rather I send you something else?”

He was looking at you like he knew exactly what he was doing, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand.

“Maybe,” you said, feigning deep thought. “Like a cat picture. Or, I don’t know, an interesting rock.”

Sunghoon snorted. “An interesting rock?”

“I like rocks.”

“You’re weird.”

“And you’re a narcissist.”

He only grinned, as if he didn’t mind the label. You shook your head, rolling onto your stomach, but your lips twitched when your phone vibrated a second later.

A picture. Of a rock.

You bit back a smile, and Sunghoon, watching you, caught it anyway.

“What?” he asked, amused.

“Nothing,” you said, tossing your phone aside.

You had never once felt insecure about what you had with Sunghoon, but after what you heard from your friends, you started to notice the little things. It almost seemed like outside the four walls of your apartments, you were nothing to each other.

You used to think he was just a lazy texter. His replies were always short, sometimes delayed, sometimes just emojis. But knowing what you knew now, you wondered if he just wasn’t interested enough.

The thought crept under your skin, making you overthink the things you once brushed off.

Before, when you texted him to come over and he said he couldn’t, you didn’t think much of it. But now? Now, you wondered if he was with her when he wasn’t with you. If he looked at his phone, saw your message, and made a choice.

Yet, you kept crawling back for more.

You were an intelligent woman. You knew this was foolish. You knew how it made you look. But it was fine, because no one else knew how you felt—not your friends, not even Sunghoon himself. It was fine because you were foolish only in your own eyes. There was no need for anyone else to know.

Despite the foolishness of it all, you were happy. You were content enough to be able to spend time with him, to be touched and worshipped by him, to know you had the power to tease out a part of him that not everyone had the privilege to see.

“Sunghoon,” you sighed, fingers pressed against your temple as you looked out of the car window. “We’ve been circling this block for ten minutes.”

You had tagged along with Sunghoon on a quick trip to pick up some pieces for his department’s upcoming art exhibit. It was unplanned. You were outside the campus after class when he spotted you and asked if you wanted to join him. Since you didn’t have anything planned for the day (and because you could never say no to a chance to hang out with him), you got into his car and let him drive without even asking where you were going.

But Sunghoon, as it turned out, had a terrible sense of direction.

“I swear it was supposed to be around here,” he muttered, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping aimlessly at his phone.

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

He shot you a glance, sheepish. “Well, I meant it twenty minutes ago.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned back in your seat, stretching your legs. The map app on his dashboard kept recalculating, rerouting him to roads that either didn’t exist or led straight to nowhere. And when he finally admitted defeat, pulling over to rethink his next move, you both stepped out and realized something.

The ocean was right there.

Waves lapped lazily at the shore, the sky was clear, and the sun was warm but not overbearing—the kind of day that practically begged to be wasted at the beach.

“…Screw the errand?” you offered.

Sunghoon stared at the water for a moment before shrugging. “Screw the errand.”

And just like that, the detour became the destination.

The day unfolded spontaneously. You bought overpriced street food from a vendor by the shore, eating as you walked, laughing when Sunghoon scrunched his nose at the spicy kick of the sauce. He had an annoyingly specific taste in food and the smell, but he still let you shove a piece of yours into his mouth.

You found a little souvenir stand and tried on ridiculous sunglasses, taking pictures of each other in frames shaped like hearts and palm trees. Sunghoon snapped candid shots of you when you weren’t looking, and though you pretended to be annoyed, you never asked him to stop.

At some point, the tide crept in, and you played a round of rock, paper, scissors and dared the loser to get into the water. You weren’t even surprised when you lost. You sucked at this game.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” you grumbled, kicking your sandals off. “By myself, no less.”

“Hey, it’s a game. We both agreed to this,” he retorted, stepping back. “And I can’t go in there. I’m wearing jeans.”

“And I’m wearing a skirt,” you countered, already wading in, your hem darkening as the waves reached you.

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, probably wondering if you were actually sulking over a punishment you’d happily agreed to before you lost the game. Of course, you weren’t, but it was fun to tease him and see what he’d do.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said after the scowl never left your face. In a moment of impulsive surrender, he walked straight in after you, the water soaking up his pants. You’re actually unbelievable,” he added, shaking his head as the chill hit him.

You grinned triumphantly, making him brush his hair back in playful exasperation. Then, shaking his head in defeat, he said, “I knew it. It was a farce. You knew I was gonna give in!”

“You fell for it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t blame me,” you added, flicking water at him.

Sunghoon blinked at you, unimpressed, before flicking some back with just the tips of his fingers.

“Oh, come on,” you taunted. “Is that the best you can do?”

His eyes narrowed slightly—just enough of a warning before he sent a full splash your way, drenching your arms. You gasped, stumbling back with a laugh.

“Oh? So that’s how it’s gonna be?” you shot back, scooping up water with both hands and throwing it right at his chest.

He retaliated, sending another wave toward you, and suddenly it was war. One splash turned into another, then another, until you were both breathless, clothes sticking to your skin, hair a mess.

Sunghoon pushed his dripping bangs back with a huff. “This is your fault,” he said, smiling his usual warm and blinding smile—the smile that made his eyes crinkle, the smile that revealed dimples carving deep into his cheeks, the smile that could make anyone think Sunghoon had never forced a grin in his life.

He was beautiful, and you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper, with no way out. You were falling so deep that it made your heart ache a little—the way you liked him, the way you wanted him to be yours, the way you wished today could last forever.

As the sky started to turn amber, you collapsed onto the sand, watching the sun lower itself into the horizon.

The waves rolled in, steady and endless, curling at the shore. The air smelled of salt, and the golden glow of the sunset painted the world majestically. You sat side by side, talking and laughing about random things, content to share the warmth of a single jacket.

Then, somewhere between the soothing sound of the waves and the silly jokes, the conversation drifted deeper.

You talked about things you never had before—about college, about dreams and ambitions, about the way people always say you’ll just know when something is right.

“How do you know for sure that that’s what you wanted to pursue?” he asked while you were tracing idle patterns in the sand. “What if you think you know, but when you get to the end of it, you realize it was the wrong choice?”

You looked out into the ocean, tilting your head slightly, considering. “I didn’t really know it was the right choice. I don’t think anyone ever really knows,” you admitted. “Not in the moment, at least. Maybe you just choose something, and later, that choice becomes the right one.”

You turned to look at him only to find out he already had his eyes on you. The admiration in his gaze was subtle, but it was there. Seeing that made your heart trip over itself, it made you forget, for just a second, that this wasn’t real.

And when he leaned in, when his eyes flickered to your lips and your breath caught, you stopped thinking. You knew what was coming. You knew he was about to kiss you, but somehow, for some reason, this time felt different. Like this kiss was gonna determine a major point in your relationship.

But before anything could happen, Sunghoon’s phone rang, jolting you both out of the trance. You both looked away in embarrassment, clearing your throat like you’d caught yourself doing something you shouldn’t. Which was ridiculous because you’d done nothing but kiss him in the past few months.

Sunghoon cleared his throat as he picked up his phone on the sand then answered the call with a quiet, “Yeah?”

It was the committee for the exhibit and you watched him talk on the phone for the next few minutes, explaining what had happened and why he couldn’t finish the errand. By the time he hung up, the sky had darkened completely, and the air had turned crisp.

“It’s late,” he said, brushing sand off his hands. “You okay with crashing at my place?”

You blinked. “Your place?”

“Our old family house. It’s not far from here.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged. “Sure.”

The car ride was quiet, thick with the tension that had been ignited by the near-kiss at the beach. Neither of you spoke, but your gazes met every now and then—quick glances, fleeting and heated, before darting away like you hadn’t been caught.

Sunghoon was the first to break. His hand drifted from the wheel, finding your thigh in the dim glow of the dashboard, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. He squeezed, testing, and when you didn’t stop him, he grew bolder, pushing the hem of your dress up just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers traced your skin with slow, deliberate strokes, inching higher into your inner thighs and lightly brushing your sex.

The heat of his touch burned through you. While you sat there feeling hotter as your heartbeat hammered wildly in your chest, he remained composed and quiet, his face unreadable save for the occasional twitch of his jaw. He kept his eyes on the road, but the way the car gradually picked up speed as he stepped harder on the gas told you everything you needed to know.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter until the car rolled to a stop in their driveway. He exhaled sharply, as if regaining control of himself before stepping out and opening the door for you like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

The lock to their house’s main entrance clicked, the door creaked open, and the second you stepped inside, all restraints snapped.

You barely had a moment to take in the house before his hands were on you, pulling you in, mouths crashing in a kiss that was desperate, needy, and greedy. He backed you into the foyer, hands mapping the curve of your waist, and the shape of your hips.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling, tugging, holding on for dear life as the heat of his touch woke something primal in you. He barely broke the kiss as he guided you further inside, not caring where you ended up as long as you got there together. You went past the foyer and the living room, but all you felt was the press of his body, the way he kissed you with the kind of hunger that made your head spin.

He pushed a door open, urging you inside but you hesitated, pulse hammering.

“Sunghoon,” you breathed between kisses, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Your parents—”

“They’re not home.” His voice was low, steady, but his eyes burned through yours.

You barely had a second to process before he kissed you again, silencing every last doubt as he pushed you inside the door he had just opened. When he clicked the lights on, the glow of a bathroom light flickered on, reflecting off the tiles and the mirror above the sink.

“Figured you’d hate the taste of the sea on my skin,” he murmured, grinning as his fingers grazed your hip. You were suddenly reminded of the saltwater clinging to your skin, and the sand on your legs, remnants of the day you’d spent together.

You swallowed, nodding. But the moment he lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, you knew washing up wasn’t gonna be the only thing happening in here. 

You shamelessly ogled him—his bare skin, damp from sweat and seawater, and his lean build with well-defined muscles that you’d seen several times before but still found alluring. He caught you staring and smirked, stepping closer, close enough that his fingers found the buttons of your top.

“Did you know I’m good with buttons?” he asked softly, making you giggle.

“Yeah. I’ve seen your skills,” you said, watching him.

His fingers were deft, undoing your buttons slowly, teasingly. When he was done, he gently tugged it off, letting it fall on the floor. His hands didn’t leave you, though. They skimmed down your arms, and your waist, examining every curve like he had it memorized and wanted to see if anything was different.

The next thing you knew, warm water was cascading over your bodies, steam enveloping you in the small space. The spray soaked your hair, trailing down your spine, but you barely noticed because Sunghoon was there—his hands smoothing over your skin, his lips brushing against your shoulder, your jaw, his canines grazing your skin ever so slightly.

“We’re supposed to be washing up,” you teased, though your voice was breathless.

“We are,” he murmured, his fingers sliding down your stomach, inching lower. “Just making sure we’re doing it thoroughly.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but it faded into a sigh when he pressed you back against the cool tiles, his mouth finding yours again. He didn’t stay for long, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, all the way to your chest where his kisses turned a little more intense. He sucked and squeezed, sending a pleasant ripple through your body that made you arch forward for more. The water drowned out the sound of your quiet moans, the warmth of his mouth making every touch feel more heady, more intoxicating.

When did he take off his pants? You didn’t even notice until he pressed his body against yours and you felt his manhood pulsating against your torso, hot and raging. He kissed your lips again, shoving his tongue inside as his breathing turned rougher.

“Turn around,” he rasped in your ear, and you obliged, finding yourself face-to-face with your own reflection.

You pressed your hands against the glass, your entire body tingling with anticipation as he positioned himself behind you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, kissing the side of your neck as you felt his tip prodding your pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, biting your ear. “Do you have any idea how you drive me crazy all the damn time?”

You were about to respond when he pushed himself inside you, making you let out a throaty gasp instead. Sunghoon stayed still, shushing you gently and kissing your shoulder.

“It’s alright. We’ve done this before,” he chimed and you could see him smirking in your reflection. 

“You’re used to this, right?” he asked, moving delicately so you could properly adjust to his length and girth. “Right, baby?” he asked again, and the lilt in his voice made you close your eyes and nod.

“That’s right. You said you love it, didn’t you?” 

You could only let out a deep sigh, tilting your head back. “Yes, Hoon. I love it,” you whispered back.

“Good. I know you do,” he chimed, gently bending you forward. “I know you’ll love this too,” he added before his hands settled on your waist and he started thrusting into you.

His pace was urgent, with enough force to make your knees weak each time he slammed into you. You didn’t even bother to stifle your moans anymore, letting them out completely, not caring if there were neighbors nearby who might hear you. You were lightheaded with lust, spiraling into the titillating euphoria that Sunghoon never once failed to deliver. Your entire being came alive and you were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice your knees buckling underneath your weight.

Sunghoon’s grip tightened as he helped keep you up, pulling out to give you a quick break and to turn you face-to-face with him again. His grin was unmistakable, pleased to see your fucked-out expression. “So so beautiful,” he said, sweeping your hair out of your face.

He pressed you against the cool tiles, his lips crashing onto yours, urgency overtaking everything else. You gasped when his hands gripped your thighs, lifting you against him. The water poured over his shoulders, down your back, as he moved with reckless need, his breath ragged against your ear. 

“More, Hoon. Please, more,” you pleaded, as if he wasn’t already ramming mercilessly into you making every nerve in your body dance in pleasure.

“You’re so horny for me,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers gripping your thighs as he lifted you against him. “Can’t even wait till we got to the bed, huh?”

Your breath hitched as he pressed into you, the heat of the shower only amplifying the sensation. “This was your idea,” you whispered, but it came out shaky, wrecked.

He chuckled, low and deep. “I know. But you want this too, don’t you?” he said, voice smooth as his lips traced down your throat. “You want me so bad. You’re begging me for more, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t answer—not in words, at least. But when you tightened your grip around his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, he took it as confirmation.

“That’s it,” he groaned, rolling his hips into yours. “Come on, baby. Let me hear you.”

You whimpered when he hit a delicious spot, holding onto him tighter. “Hoon, you fuck so good.”

He grunted, spurred on by your admission. He was fast, desperate—like he couldn’t get enough, like he had to claim every inch of you right then and there. When he finally tipped over the edge, dragging you down with him, he held you through it, his lips pressing on your temple as your body trembled in his arms.

The moment was fleeting, but the desire didn’t leave just yet. You could still feel it in his touch even as he set you back on your feet. The moment you stepped out of the shower, Sunghoon grabbed a towel, barely bothering to dry you properly before he lifted you off your feet, carrying you out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and into what you only assumed was his bedroom.

This time, there was no rush.

He laid you down, his hands smoothing over your skin, his touch softer now, more reverent. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes tracing over every inch of you, dark with something more than just lust. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

Your breath came uneven as he leaned down, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down your chest, lower—each one dragging a gasp from your lips.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin.

“You,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Then take me,” he added, just before he filled you up again.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent, or desperate. It was slow, deep, and overwhelming in the most delightful way. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your face, whispering in between kisses.

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” he murmured, moving languidly. “You feel so good. You’re taking me so well.”

Every whispered praise sent shivers down your spine, made you cling to him even tighter, and made the pleasure build until it was unbearable.

The night was young and it was not gonna end just yet. And so the hours blurred into moments of euphoric highs, fleeting clarity, and intense need to ravage and be ravaged. His name was the only thing you could say—over and over—until you were both left breathless, tangled together in the sheets, completely undone.

In the morning, you probably wouldn’t remember every detail of tonight, but you’d remember this—remember the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. In the dim glow of Sunghoon’s bedroom, your fingers tangled in his damp hair, lips swollen from too many kisses, you let yourself forget. Forget the rules. Forget that this was never supposed to feel like more. Just for tonight, he was yours, and you were his.

The morning light streamed in through the sheer curtains, hurting your eyes a little. You blinked awake, momentarily disoriented, until the scent of Sunghoon’s shampoo on your skin and the warmth of the bed beneath you reminded you where you were.

You turned over to find him already awake, his arm tucked behind his head as he looked at you with a lazy smile. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His fingers skimmed down your arm. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

A slow blink. Then, a scoff. “Liar.”

“It’s true.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as his gaze flickered down to your lips. “You drool a little, though.”

You smacked his arm. “I do not.”

His laughter was low and teasing, as he caught your wrist then tugged you closer. His body was warm against yours, and his breath was even warmer as he kissed the curve of your neck.

“We should get up,” you said, but neither of you moved.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his soft kisses trailing down to your shoulder. “In a bit,” he added before reaching to cup your cheek and kiss your lips.

One thing led to another and suddenly, you were underneath him again, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t bear to be apart.

The morning air was cool, but his hands were warm as they skimmed down your waist, his touch slow, and smooth. 

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured against your lips, smiling when you shivered under him.

“So are you,” you whispered back, running your fingers through his hair.

He hummed, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Guess we’re even, then.”

His hands slid over your bare skin, his touch reverent. He kissed you deeply, guiding you through the lazy tangle of limbs and soft gasps, dragging it out like he had all the time in the world.

By the time you finally got out of bed, Sunghoon had already dug through his closet, tossing you an old hoodie and some sweatpants. You pulled them on and followed him down the quiet hallway.

The house felt still—too still. Only then did you notice the dust gathering on the bookshelves, the faint scent of time in the air.

“This place has been empty for a while now,” Sunghoon said casually from behind you when he noticed you looking around. “My family moved a few months ago to take care of my grandparents.”

Your brows lifted. “So no one lives here?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I come by sometimes. I technically still live here, I'm just not here often.”

That made sense. There was something about the house—it felt untouched, frozen in time, like stepping into a memory. You walked further into the hall, your fingers grazing along the walls and stopping at the framed photographs hanging there.

You studied them, tilting your head. Sunghoon as a kid, bright-eyed and grinning, a missing tooth on full display. A younger version of him on a skating rink, mid-game, frozen in motion. Another picture—him and his family, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and several of him in a skating rink, different poses, taken in the middle of a routine.

“You skate?”

Sunghoon smiled, standing beside you and looking up at the photos. “Used to. I was in the national team for a while.”

“Why did you stop?” you asked glancing up at him and seeing the reminiscent look on his face.

He simply shrugged. “I had to be realistic. I enjoyed the sport but I couldn’t see myself doing it for a long time.”

You bit back a smile. “You were kind of adorable.”

Sunghoon scoffed, stepping up behind you. “I still am.”

“Debatable.”

He tugged at your hoodie—his hoodie—pulling the hood over your head before nodding toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

The drive back to the city was uneventful, the radio playing softly in the background. Sunghoon’s hand rested on the wheel, his other lazily draped over your thigh, tracing absentminded patterns through the fabric of his sweatpants that you were still wearing. You were talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at him between songs on the stereo.

At some point, he cleared his throat. “So… what are you doing later?”

“I have a group project.” You groaned, leaning back against the seat. “I’m meeting up with my classmates later.”

“Right. Group project.” He nodded slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Sounds boring.”

“It is,” you huffed. “Why’d you ask?”

“No reason.” His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but you caught the way his grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. A second passed before he spoke again, this time even more nonchalant. “What about tomorrow?”

You tilted your head. “Tomorrow? I’m not sure. Just classes, I think.” You turned to him, raising a brow. “Why?”

“Do you wanna grab lunch with me tomorrow?”

You stared at him for a moment, then grinned teasingly. “Are you asking me out on a date, Park Sunghoon?”

His ears turned the faintest shade of pink, but he scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. “I’m just saying we should get lunch.”

“Mmm.” You pretended to think. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“It’s not a date.”

You scoffed in playful exasperation. “Dude, I was naked on top of you last night and a couple of other nights before. Surely we’re way past shy invitations for lunch dates?”

“I’m asking you to eat.” He paused, then added with a tilt of his head, “But if you wanna call it a date, that’s fine too. Labels are overrated.”

You hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hm. I guess I’ll allow it.”

Sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “Good. It’s settled then,” he said, stopping at a red light.

He leaned over to kiss you, catching you off guard but only for a moment. You kissed him back, albeit a little confused. When he pulled away, he was wearing a proud smirk on his face and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked, shifting the gear as the light turned green again. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing it to his lips.

One hour later, you reached your apartment complex, but had to you stay a few more minutes in his car because he couldn’t seem to get enough of you, kissing and touching right there in the parking lot. You had to forcefully push him away and remind him that you had classes and important stuff to attend to. Even then, he was reluctant to let you go.

After a dramatic goodbye that had him pouting as he drove away, you climbed up the building with a sickening grin on your face. You unlocked your door, stepping inside with a lightness in your chest, breathing in the familiar smell of your home. 

The past few days had been a rollercoaster for you, with all the guessing and expectations and disappointments. But now, you were feeling much lighter, much happier. The good days with Sunghoon were all you could think of, playing back in flashes—the sound of his laugh in your space, the weight of his arm over your waist in the morning, the smell of his skin at night, the way he always left the bathroom mirror fogged up because he took ridiculously hot showers.

Tossing your bag onto the couch, you leaned against the door for a moment, smiling to yourself. Sunghoon was nice, but he always drew an invisible line. Not this time. You could tell by the way he held you this morning, the way he was reluctant to part from you, and how he’d asked to hang out with you for lunch—outside, in public. It felt like, for once, you both wanted the same thing. No second-guessing, no mixed signals—you were finally moving the same direction.

Your gaze drifted to the hoodie he’d left draped over the chair, his specs on your nightstand, and the half-empty tumbler beside it—subtle proofs that he’d started leaving pieces of himself behind. You wondered if he even realized it.

And more than that, you wondered where this would go next.

The next morning, you woke up too early. Way too early.

You groaned into your pillow, rolling onto your back as you stared at the ceiling. It was ridiculous. You’d seen Sunghoon plenty of times before—hung out, spent nights together, and shared more than just passing glances. But the idea of today, of a proper lunch date, had you wide awake before the sun was even fully up. Maybe it was because, for once, you weren’t just meeting up in the comfort of your apartment or his. It would be something different. Something real.

You giggled at the thought, covering your face with your blanket and then flailing your arms and legs. 

Admitting that to yourself felt embarrassing, so you dragged yourself out of bed and decided to be productive. If you were going to be up this early, you might as well make the most of it.

A jog around the neighborhood. A quick stop at the store. And before you knew it, you were back in your apartment, unpacking groceries and deciding, on a whim, to actually cook breakfast. When was the last time you did that? You couldn’t even remember.

By the time you arrived on campus, you were still riding the high of a morning well-spent. Your good mood didn’t go unnoticed—your friends picked up on it immediately, teasing you about the extra bounce in your step. You brushed them off with the excuse of getting enough sleep, but they weren’t wrong. Everything just felt lighter today.

Even classes didn’t seem so unbearable. You participated. You took notes. You weren’t counting down the minutes to leave—well, not exactly. But the closer lunchtime got, the more restless you became, checking your phone every so often even though you knew you were the only one keeping track of time this obsessively.

Then, just as you were leaving your last morning class, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: Hey pretty. Something came up. I can’t do lunch today. I’m sorry. Sunghoon: I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?

Your steps slowed, but you kept moving, staring at the text longer than necessary.

Bummed. That was the best way to describe it. You weren’t mad—plans get canceled all the time, and at least he let you know ahead of time—but disappointment still settled in the pit of your stomach. You took a breath, shook it off, and responded with a simple, It’s fine. See you later.

Lunch with your friends helped a little. You laughed, caught up on random gossip, and even let them drag you to a café afterward. You weren’t dwelling on it. Really, you weren’t.

Until you stepped out of the café and saw him. Sunghoon, standing outside the campus gates. And he wasn’t alone. 

Jenna was with him.

You stopped in your tracks, heart lurching in a way you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t just that he was there, but the way he was standing close to her, the way she was talking, nudging his arm like she had every right to be in his space.

Sunghoon must have felt someone staring at him because he glanced your way and saw you. His eyes brightened in recognition, and he greeted you casually, like nothing was out of the ordinary. But you didn’t even know how to react. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You walked past him, barely sparing a glance, pretending as if you weren’t close. As if he was just someone you barely knew.

Your friends who saw that were confused, following behind you after quick greetings to both Sunghoon and Jenna. 

Tammy caught up to you, nudged your arm, and asked, “Where are you running off to after ignoring Sunghoon like that?”

“I wasn’t ignoring anyone,” you muttered.

“You totally were,” Lily chimed in, linking arms with you as she leaned to speak in a quieter voice. “That’s so fishy. What’s going on?”

You didn’t respond, your mind too muddled to even try and come up with a good answer. As you rounded the corner, your phone buzzed a second later.

Sunghoon: Hey. What was that?

You ignored it, as well as the other messages that followed. 

The rest of the afternoon slipped through your fingers in a haze of self-pity. You curled up on the couch, aimlessly flipping through movies, but nothing got your attention. The voices blurred together, scenes passed without meaning. You weren’t devastated. You weren’t heartbroken. You were just... mad. Annoyed that after everything, after how good things had been, this was what it came down to. But getting worked up wouldn’t do anything. So, you forced yourself to let it go. 

Or at least, you tried. It was impossible when he kept creeping into your thoughts—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you just yesterday—like he wanted this as much as you did.

You didn’t even realize you had dozed off until the sound of your phone ringing jolted you awake.

You blinked against the glow of the screen. Sunghoon.

For a moment, you stared at his name, your heartbeat loud in the quiet of your apartment. You could ignore it. You could let it ring out and pretend you were still asleep. You could put an end to this charade, to tell him you were done and sick of it. But you didn’t.

You answered. His voice was gentle, cautious. “Can I come over?”

You should say no. You should end this here and now. Enough is enough. But… “Yeah. Of course,” you said, trying your best to sound normal.

Half an hour later, he was in your apartment, hands on you, lips on yours, familiar and desperate. And, as always, you let him in—physically, emotionally, despite knowing better. You let yourself believe that maybe, for just a little longer, this could be enough.

Afterward, you slipped out of bed, padding into the bathroom to wash up. By the time you returned, the room was dark, the only source of light was coming from Sunghoon’s phone on the nightstand. He was already asleep, his breathing even, his body sprawled across your sheets like he belonged there.

You reached for the blanket to pull it over him when his phone buzzed, the screen glowing against the dim light. Your gaze flickered to it, drawn by instinct.

Jenna calling...

Your chest tightened at the name. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the name flash across the screen before it faded into darkness. You could answer it. You could see what she wanted, hear her voice, and confirm everything you had been trying so hard to ignore.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed into bed, curling up beside Sunghoon, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You knew what you had to do. Knew that when he woke up, this had to end for good.

But not yet.

For now, while he was still yours—warm, close, familiar—you let yourself have this one last moment. You closed your eyes and pretended everything was okay, even though you knew exactly what tomorrow would bring.

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. The space beside you was cold. 

It was over.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. You had spent the night convincing yourself that you were ready for this, ready to end things, but the second you woke up to find him gone, the ache in your chest became unbearable.

Tears welled up before you could stop them. You curled into yourself, pressing your face against the pillow, sobbing into the fabric as if that could somehow muffle the sound. This wasn’t supposed to hurt. You weren’t supposed to grieve something that was never really yours. But you did.

You let yourself fall apart, mourning what could have been, whispering prayers into the silence that it didn’t have to end this way.

And then the door creaked open. You gasped, jolting up, eyes red and blurry as Sunghoon stepped into the room, holding your tumbler in his hand. 

His brows furrowed at the sight of you, eyes widening in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asked, rushing to your side, setting the tumbler down before cupping your face and wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Hey—why are you crying?”

You shook your head, unable to form words. He pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as you sobbed against him. He didn’t ask any more questions. He just held you, rubbing your back, shushing you gently even though he didn’t understand what had you so upset.

After a long moment, you finally managed to choke out, “I thought you were gone.”

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, blinking at you in confusion. Then, to your utter annoyance, he started laughing.

“What do you mean, gone?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I literally just went to shower and get you some water.”

You smacked his arm, your face burning. “Don’t laugh at me, you jerk!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, though he was definitely still laughing.

Something about his amusement made you snap. Maybe it was the pent-up emotions, or maybe it was the fact that you had nothing left to lose—but suddenly, everything came spilling out.

You confessed it all.

How you weren’t supposed to catch feelings, but you did. How you tried to push them down, to ignore them, but they never really went away. How you had spent so long pretending to be fine with this casual arrangement, knowing deep down that you weren’t. How much it crushed you to think that he was trying to win Jenna back, how much it hurt when he canceled on you, and how stupid you felt for letting yourself get so attached.

Sunghoon stared at you, utterly dumbfounded.

You sniffled, swallowing back the last of your tears. “Well? Say something.”

And then, to your horror, he started laughing again.

Your stomach twisted. “Are you kidding me right now?”

But before you could shove him away, he grabbed your face and kissed you. Hard.

Your breath hitched, but you melted into it, gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment all along. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice quieter now. “I like you,” he admitted. “A lot.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. “You’re fun, you don’t take my shit, and you get me in a way that most people don’t. I’m always looking forward to seeing you. To hearing whatever sarcastic thing you were gonna say next. To just… being with you.”

“Then why—”

“I wasn’t with Jenna because of what you think.” His hands slid down to hold yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “There was an accident with the exhibit setup, and I had to be there. She just happened to walk out with me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And the part where you’re trying to get back with her?”

Sunghoon made a face. “Where did you even hear that?”

You hesitated before mumbling, “A mutual friend.”

He huffed. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I don’t know!” You did, but you weren’t about to admit that you didn’t want to seem like you were expecting too much from him—like you were demanding something that was never part of your deal.

Sunghoon sighed, squeezing your hands. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but I only have eyes for you.” His lips quirked. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t realize how much I liked you at first, but ever since we started this, I haven’t thought about anyone else.”

Your heart stuttered.

Then he smirked. “I thought we had an understanding. Did we really need a label for it?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Right. Labels are overrated.”

Sunghoon kissed you deeply, and this time, you returned it with the same amount of sweet abandon. Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’m all yours, baby,” he murmured. “And right now, I’m wondering if you’d wanna be mine too.”

You let out a sharp breath, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you just stared at him—his dark eyes searching yours, his expression completely open, completely vulnerable.

Then you scoffed, shaking your head with an exasperated laugh.

“For fuck's sake, Sunghoon.” You squeezed his hands, tugging him just a little closer. “I’m already yours.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else, stealing the last of your breath, and this time, you didn’t hold anything back.

[fin]

[aciddrattboyy]

Wԋҽɳ Yσυ Mҽʂʂ Wιƚԋ Lσʋҽ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "your boyfriend arrives late for your study date and things(sex) happen"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Mark Grayson x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 3.9k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Drama/Rom/Adult Film] smut, both reader and mark lose their virginities, fingering(f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, there will be eventual angst, set in au where they are in college before... (gulp) chicago incident, two part story ★ soundtrack: karma police, basta ya ★ pls pls pls any invincible fans HIT MY LINE i have no friends in this fandom and i desperately need them ★ 01 . 02 .

⋆｡°✩

noon. you invited mark over to your dorm at noon. it was three o’clock now, with no text messages or calls from your boyfriend; even after he assured you he’d be there about four hours earlier. mark had been… distant. constantly ditching you, not even showing up to dates or hangouts, or asking for rain checks if he had the decency to do even that. today was supposed to be a typical study date, with exams coming up you thought it would be nice. because even though mark left you hanging seemingly more often than not, the time he was there was, well, amazing. when he did manage to find the time for you he treated you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, acted as the perfect, doting boyfriend. whether it was picking up your favorite food without asking or buying you a plushie of your favorite animal you didn't even remember telling him about, mark was loving.

but as the minutes ticked by, your phone continued being pathetically dry, and your dorm mark-less, you were starting to think maybe the good no longer outweighed the bad. with a sigh, you push back in your desk chair, slumping in the seat as you tipped your head back. you glanced over at your phone sitting atop a pile of books, almost mocking you with the lack of notifications, and thought about texting mark. again. dragging a hand down your face, you began to spin slowly in your chair, watching the room swirl by out of boredom. 

as you spun lazily, you could see your door slowly opening. and then there was mark, peeking his face through the crack, sporting that same guilty expression you were starting to think you saw more than him smiling. you plant your feet on the ground, coming to a halt as you looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown. 

“if your excuse is you had to help your dad with work, lost track of time, or ‘had something to take care of’, save your breath,” you turn back to your desk, staring at the open textbook with your jaw clenched and brows pinched together. mark grimaced at your words, his hand twitching hesitantly on the doorknob, not sure if he should even come inside.

“alright no excuses,” he murmured softly, scratching at his nape as he stared at your back. sheepishly, he held up a plastic bag, the contents inside rustling softly. “but… how about an apology? starting with some food from that place you said you wanted to try?” mark’s voice had a hopeful lilt to it, although he knew he couldn’t keep fixing everything with food. he was entirely sure he’s been fixing anything at all, like a bandaid on a broken bone. but he also couldn’t exactly say: “sorry for being late to our study date. i promise i wanted to be here but my alien space dad made me go train with him since i just got super cool powers.”  it wouldn't be a secret identity if he started telling people. and unfortunately, people included you, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be this way. 

your glare aimed at your text book softened at his words, once again he had gone out of his way for you. acting as if he cared for you even as he was constantly blowing you off. a few quiet moments of you contemplating what to do pass by before you speak, turning in your chair slightly to look at him. 

“i guess that’s not a completely bad start.” marks face immediately lit up like an excited puppy as you spoke. it wasn’t a hard get the fuck out of my room and that was as good of a start as any when trying to make up for his major fuck ups. without missing a beat, he steps inside, closing the door behind him before toeing off his shoes, dropping his backpack near the foot of your bed and making his way over to you.  

“i uh got you a little bit of everything- well not everything everything but y’know a reasonable amount of-”

“thank you mark,” you cut him off quietly, not entirely sure how mad at him you still were. you take the bag from him, not able to meet his eyes as you set the bag down on your now limited desk space. mark stood somewhere to the side behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

“yeah, yeah no problem,” his voice cracked slightly and he winced at his own tone, feeling helpless and not at all sure how to really fix this without coming clean about his secret identity; something he could not do. the silence seems to drag on as you looked through the different containers. his eyes trailed over your desk and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him when he the notes scribbled into a notebook. “you.. um you got a lot of work done,” mark said awkwardly, grasping at straws to try to fix what he was rapidly breaking between you two. 

“yeah well it would’ve been easier if you had been here to help.” both of you freeze at your words that came out just a bit more harsh than you intended. mark frowned, not sure what to say. he reached out a hand, hovering it over your shoulder as he slowly opened his mouth. but you sighed before he can get anything out, running a hand through your hair before you turn in your chair to face with a faint frown of your own. “look, i’m sorry for talking to you like that. let’s just eat yeah? i’ve done enough studying for the both of us” you offer mark a small smile, one that he returns hesitantly. he takes a step back when you get up from your chair, grabbing the bed and heading over to your bed. 

“yeah that… sounds good.” mark nods, following you over to the bed. he sits next to you, mirroring your cross legged posture with his back leaning against the wall. he slowly scoots closer as you pull out the various containers until your knees are touching. you didn’t acknowledge it, but you didn't pull away and that was as good of a win as any. his eyes light up with an idea before leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his laptop. “thought we could watch something while we ate.” he offers softly, already turning on youtube and putting on the type of videos he remembered you telling him you watched sometime in the past. you nod at him softly, your smile growing both in size and genuineness just a bit.

“good thinking,” you respond softly, the anger already subsiding just from being with him. mark had a way of making you feel good, even if it wasn't for long, even if he upset you more often than you’d really like. you knew deep down he was still a good guy, and you desperately wanted to see him be better. wanted to see him start living up to his apologies.

the two of you eat in a somewhat comfortable silence, interrupted by laughs or brief commentary on what you were watching. and everything starts to feel normal again. for you, but also for mark. for just right now he wasn’t Invincible. he was mark grayson, a freshman in college with the more amazing girlfriend by his side. it felt nice to feel normal again, even if he had been waiting his whole life to get powers, to be just like his dad. you find yourself curled up against mark’s side, watching random videos with your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. the sun was starting to set, the fading sunlight casting shadows and warm orange light through the blinds. 

when you tilt your head to look up at mark, he meets your gaze. his lips slowly pull into a goofy smile that makes you huff with amusement.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you murmur playfully while tracing idle shapes over the fabric covering his chest. he pulls you closer, the movement almost imperceptible as his expression turns warm.

“you’re just so pretty,” mark answered just as softly, getting lost in your eyes with a stupid smile. only a second passes before he realizes what he’s said; his eyes widen, face flushing red as he sputters out apologies while trying to pull away. “oh shit that was so stupid- fuck im sorr-” before mark could run away and hide, you grab his face and pull him into a kiss. he lets out a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide before his brain catches up to what was happening. then he’s humming softly instead, hands finding your waist as he kissed you back gently. “wha… what was that for?” he whispered breathlessly when you pulled away, your faces only inches apart. 

“am i not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, smile only growing as your swipe your thumbs over his cheeks.

“no- i mean yes- uh yeah you can kiss me,” he lets out an almost self deprecating laugh, hands squeezing your waist gently. “i’m fucking this up aren’t i?” you pull him into another kiss, languidly moving your lips against his.

“i think you’re doing just fine,” your fingers tangle in mark’s hair, deepening the kiss, starting it off slow, gentle, but one thing led to another and soon enough you’re pulling him closer as you fall back against the sheets. mark follows you willingly, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head. one of mark’s legs slot in between yours, involuntarily pressing his knee against the apex of your thighs. you gasp softly against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. when you roll your hips, a shudder runs through both you and mark when he realized what you were doing. the revelation only served to send blood straight to his already semi-hard dick.  

the kissing grows frenzied, the air between you heavy with harsh panting and even messier kissing. your laptop had been precariously moved out of the way and onto the corner of your desk. both of your shirts? thrown god knows where. was this all happening just a bit too fast? maybe… probably… definitely. but slowing down seemed to be the last thing on your mind along with mark’s. who was now practically buzzing with nervous excitement and lust. he’d kissed you before, many times actually. but never like this. never half clothed and making out with you as if you were trying to eat each other’s faces off while you ground your hips against his knee.

shifting slightly, mark props himself up on his elbow, body pressing more firmly on top of yours. he smooths his free hand up your waist, hesitantly thumbing over the hem of your bra as he waited for some sort of signal to stop. but none came, in fact, he could feel your back slightly arch into his touch. he let out a low groan, muffled by your lips, the obvious tent in his sweats pressed snuggly against your thigh. for a brief moment he thought maybe he should be embarrassed. but how could he when you seemed to just as affected. and somehow a lot more confident… with a gasp, and much reluctance, mark pulls his mouth off of yours, panting heavily against your lips.

“have you uh… y’know… before?” his voice was barely a whisper, face feeling hot and eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you.

“no…” you start, your voice equally as quiet as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “is it that obvious?” your brows twitched, just barely pinching together with a hint of worry and newfound self consciousness. 

“no- no no!” mark quickly squeaks out, shaking his head with wide eyes. “i just- you seem so- so…” he trails off, not entirely sure what to say anymore.

“we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. do you want to stop?” your voice was soft, a small smile on your face in hopes of making sure mark knew his comfort was important above all. but it only served to make mark feel more… feel more of whatever was making his stomach flip and his cock twitch against your thigh in a way that was getting harder to ignore. he swallowed the lump in his throat when thought about what ‘keep going’ would actually entail. 

“um… no. not really,” he murmured softly, a sheepish smile on his face. he feels his face heat up all over again at the admission. but before he can doubt himself, you’re smiling at him. and then you were kissing him, and it was like you had never even stopped at all. 

the kissing quickly grows heated, hands fumbling to rip each others pants off through breathless giggles and sloppy kisses until mark was seated between your open legs; both of you in nothing but your underwear and your bra long gone. mark smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, chest still somewhat heaving from the rather heavy makeout session just moments ago. he swallowed thickly, thumbs tracing over the lacy edges of your panties. his head snaps up when he hears a small noise leave your lips. the kind of noise that has his body going hot all over again.

“can i…?” mark wasn’t sure what he was exactly asking permission for. but the way you were looking up at him made him pray to any existing god that he was granted the sexual prowess of a veteran pornstar just for tonight. upon seeing you nod your head, he sucks in a deep breath, feeling both a wave of arousal and anxiousness. with shaky hands, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them off of you. looking at your naked body, mark was afraid he’d bust right then and there. but then your voice, soft and playful, cut through his thoughts currently being led by his dick. 

“c’mere,” you reach out, tugging on his hand and pulling him closer until he was hovering over you again. the backs of your thighs resting atop of his, the bulge in his boxers not too far from your pussy. you could tell he was a little nervous. and although you never got verbal confirmation, it was clear to see that mark was a virgin; somehow more a virgin than even you were. you card a hand in the hair at his nape, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to make mark relax just a bit. kissing was good. kissing was familiar territory. and after a small while, you placed your free hand on top of his hand not supporting his weight and slowly inch his palm downwards. 

marks breath hitched in his throat, body temporarily going still. that is until he felt how fucking wet you were as you guided his middle and ring finger through your soaked folds. a guttural groan vibrates through his chest, only barely muffled by your tongue in his mouth. 

you were panting against his lips now, soft mewls escaping you led his fingers to circle your clit. teaching him what you liked, how you wanted to be touched. and to mark’s credit, he was a very fast learner. soon enough he was moving on his own, your hand holding onto his wrist instead as he pumped two fingers inside of you. he ground his palm against your clit, making your hips buck into his hand as the pleasure just kept building. 

“o-oh fuck-” you cry out when he hits that sensitive spot inside you, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. if it were not for the string of muffled moans leaving your lips, even mark was able to tell you were getting close almost embarrassingly fast by the way your thighs trembled against his and how your hips snapped up to meet each thrust of his fingers. “fuck- fuck ‘m gonna- hah-” 

mark felt like he was almost there with you; he could feel the damp patch on his boxers growing as his dick continued to throb in it’s confines, leaking a lot of precum. his hips twitched involuntarily, searching for some sort of relief. but he would continue to push his own wants aside, breathing heavily through his nose as he peppered your collarbone with wet kisses and focused solely on making you cum. and that he did. biting back a moan of his own at the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body going taut under him as you held onto him tighter. 

after a few moments filled with only heavy breathing, your body goes limp against the sheets as he pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch. there was a very satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at mark, who somehow looked more fucked out than you. 

“you were… surprisingly good at that.”

“ha, thanks… hey, wait what do you mean surprisingly?” you giggle softly at the small pout on his lips, lifting your head just enough to press a kiss against his lips.

“don’t think about it too much,” you mumble as you pull back, trailing your hands down his sides until your palms met the waistband of his boxers. “uh there’s condoms in the drawer if you…” you trail off, eyes widening when you realized what you had just implicated. “i- i didn’t buy them they were uh- a gift from my roommate a while ago…” you look up at mark with narrowed eyes after seeing the way his lips were pursed, twitching with the force he had to use to keep himself from smiling. for now, mark would bite his tongue, not wanting to face your wrath when his dick was so hard it was starting to hurt. 

“condoms. got it.” the words were strained under the weight of his stifled laughter, but before you could comment on it, he was already leaning over you. rummaging through your night stand, he was able to pull one out, settling between your legs with the gold foil in his hands. “but are you sure you want to do this?” there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, sounding almost worried that you’d regret being with him, or you were for some reason only doing this out of pity. but then you were giving him that warm smile and nodding your head, and suddenly all doubt jumped out the window. 

through more muted laughter and clumsy, inexperienced hands, the two of you manage to get the condom on without mark blowing his load then and there. placing his hands on your hips, he leans down to kiss your lips, rubbing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. you hum into his lips, gently holding onto his biceps as you kiss him back just as passionately. but when mark reaches a hand between your bodies to line his tip with your hole, the energy shifts. less playful and more so intense, romantic. like the both of you realize what you were doing, and what it means for the relationship going forward. 

“are you sure?” mark whispers against your lips, eyes fluttering open to gauge your reaction.

“yeah, yeah i am,” you breathe out, eyes shining with something that made mark’s stomach flip in an almost scarily good way. he nods, adams apple bobbing before he presses his lips against yours again. he snakes his free hand up the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head as his hips slowly push forward. it takes a little while of patience and whispering sweet nothings to each other before the two of you are comfortable enough for mark to start moving, the whole situation intense for both of you in a way that was both exciting and a little nerve wracking. 

“h-holy fuck-” mark’s voice comes out as a shaky pant, head hanging as he looked down at where your bodies met. his hand in your squeezes gently, the other holding onto your hip as he slowly rolls his hips; pulling out until only the tip was inside before slowly pushing back. “feel s’good,” he groans softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he continued to slowly fuck into your wet heat. his hand leaves your hips, entwining his with yours and pinning you to the mattress. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. squeezing his hands tightly, you tilt your head when you feel mark starting to suck and nip at the skin of your neck

“y-you can- nngh- go faster,” your breathy words do not fall on deaf ears. mark’s whole body stills for just a second before slightly readjusts on top of you. the moment he quickens his pace, both of you are turning into moaning messes. kissing sloppily and exchanging spit as the cheap bedframe rocks slowly with mark’s movement. he lets go of one of your hands, reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

it didn’t take long for mark to get close, hips already stuttering as he teetered on the edge as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling any and all embarrassing noises that leaves his lips. your hips buck up to meet his with each thrust, thighs shaking with your own impending orgasm. your nails rake down his back in a way that has mark groaning against your skin.

intense orgasms hit you both at the same time; mark’s thighs trembling right along yours as his hips jerkily buck his dick inside you until he spilled every last drop into the condom. collapsing on top of you, the room is silent save for heavy breaths and the smell of sex. after a few moments, mark presses a soft kiss to your jaw before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his back next to you with a content sigh after tossing the condom into the trash bin under your desk. 

“that was…”  mark turns on his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his warm chest. nuzzling his face against your hair. “was… amazing,”  he murmured softly, voice full of bliss as he held you tight. you giggle softly, letting your body melt into his warm embrace. at some point, you both clean up; with shrugging on a shirt and underwear and mark slipping back into his sweatpants. cuddling up under your sheets, it was easy to fall asleep in his arms, perfectly content and feeling loved.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[fgumi]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LOSER IN A HOT MAN'S BODY

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; non-idol!heeseung x reader, GENRE; fluff, school!au, headcanon, WC; 2.8k, A/N; i love losers that love that girlfriends entirely too much but, at the same time, not enough. TAGS; @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou, @starfallia @sugarikiz @hoondolls @bamguetismee @jnysaln @cixrosie @wensurr @heartheejake @m1kkso }

(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ part two is up!

loser!heeseung was never the first one to get chosen for anything. well, he did get chosen first for musicals and solos! he had a beautiful voice and there was no denying that. but, for anything else? nope. it wasn't until you transferred over to his high school that he got picked willingly (and not because you guys were the only two left). you approached him in gym class after your teacher said to partner up for conditioning. "hey! i'm y/n. do you think we could be partners today?"

heeseung just blinked at you and then turned to see if someone was behind him. when he verified you were talking to him, he turned back to see you with a bemused look, a slight crease forming right between your brows. "you are talking to me, right?" he asked nervously.

a wry smile formed on your lips as you nodded. "there’s no one else around."

heeseung couldn't believe it. someone who wasn't a part of the theatre department was talking to him! so, he agreed with only a moment's hesitation. by the time sit-ups came around, heeseung knew about your basic interests and one secret: you were big on anime. you explained to him, during his sad attempts at pushups, that you loved anime but remained closeted because the boys at your last school made it weird. heeseung was careful not to let his excitement show; he didn't wanna scare you off before he really got to know you. eventually, after all the hellish exercises your teacher put you through, heeseung shyly asked you why you wanted to be partners.

"you looked like the type that doesn't judge people for struggling," you replied after drinking your water. you wiped the droplets of water that trickled down your neck and then offered heeseung some. "i don't have cooties. promise."

he gave you a faint, unsure smile, his hand reaching out slowly, half expecting you to pull it back and say psych! but you didn’t. you just patiently waited for him to take it. honestly, he just looked like a spooked deer to you, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. after class was over and it was time for lunch, heeseung deflated. it was nice talking to you while it lasted.

“heeseung! wait up!”

he turned to you with round eyes, watching you rush over, a backpack draped over your right shoulder. you were freshly showered, water still dripping off the ends of your hair. you looked... happy? you slowed to a stop right in front of him.

“do you mind if we eat together?”

you wanted to eat with him? a cool girl like you wants to eat with a certified loser like him?

“it’s okay if you already have plans! i think i can find somewhere else to sit.”

no! you jumped a little. heeseung retracted into himself, rubbing the back of his neck. he’s never had someone ask to eat with him. he just sort of sat with his theatre classmates—not even friends. they all thought he was weird. you gave him a puzzled look.

“are you sure? you don’t have to pity me just because i’m new,” you pouted. gosh, was it just him or did everyone find you adorable?

“i’m sure. i was just hesitant since i’m not known for being, you know, popular.”

rolling your eyes, you clapped a hand on his shoulder. “as if that actually matters.” you tugged him along, linking your arm with his. thank goodness you were busy looking for the cafeteria because heeseung was struggling to keep the blush off of his face. as much as heeseung didn’t want to get his hopes up, he hoped that you guys would become real friends.

loser!heeseung loved his hobbies. he could talk about them for hours; they were his passion. he loved playing maple story, league of legends, team fight tactics, going to the renaissance fair, studying the metrics of trot (this one was a little too niche to really talk about though). none of these passions were greater than his passion for you. this man was dedicated to learning everything there was to know about you now that you were friends. you teased him about how stalkerish he sounded. almost immediately, he apologized.

the way his shoulders shrunk and eyes drooped down, you were definitely the asshole. when he stopped talking, you panicked. so, you didn’t think. you kissed his cheek. you blinked. he blinked. you blinked at each other. you know that ouran high school host club scene where tamaki realized haruhi is a girl and she complimented him? you’d bet your whole house that’s how red you were because you could feel the heat radiating off your face.

heeseung’s mind was still white noise. any sounds that were supposed to reach his ears were muffled, like he was underwater. was he underwater? was he dragged down into the depths of the styx river only to be lost forever? was he dreaming to cope with the harsh reality of his death? was he—

“heeseung?” you meekly called. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that without your consent. that was—”

he must’ve called upon achilles’s guidance and invincibility because he didn’t know where he got this courage otherwise. what courage you may ask? well, the courage that planted heeseung’s lips on yours.

your lips were so soft. they tasted like strawberries. he wondered if strawberries were your favorite fruit. he could kiss you forever. oh crap, he was kissing you.

anxiety crept up his spine, invading his every nerve; it was telling him he had to pull away or else you’d leave him forever. except, when he started moving away, he noticed you followed, reluctant to end the kiss. your eyes were closed too. he could’ve sworn they were open from shock.

heeseung could feel his back creaking in protest at the odd angle; he would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for you clutching the front of his shirt. huh? oh! maybe, you liked the kiss! you liked the kiss, like he did! oh, but now he couldn’t breathe. what should he do? he didn’t want the kiss to end.

he pressed back, holding out until the last possible moment. but you pulled away first, gasping for air. a blush dusted your cheeks and heeseung could guess that he was red too—probably not as pretty of a shade as yours though.

“s-sorry,” he stammered as you caught your breath. “i don’t know why i—”

you shut him up with another kiss (but this one was too short for heeseung’s newfound thirst for kissing you). when you pulled away, his big eyes tugged at your heart. they looked so sad that you moved away. it made you giggle—this whole situation. for someone that was trying to learn everything about you, he sure did miss your huge crush on him.

loser!heeseung didn’t know how he got so fortunate. was he a luck domain cleric in real life? he felt like he was rolling nat 20s continuously. he managed to ask you out (though, he was stuttering the whole time and nearly tripped on top of you—it was a whole affair that he’d rather forget) and be dating you 3 years later? he was one lucky man. and, some might say even luckier as time went on.

you got more confident once you guys got to college and, thus, you got hotter. you found your sense of self and your fashion reflected it. heeseung wasn’t doing so bad either. he found people that he got along with and could proudly (read: shyly) call friends. he found beomgyu in the league discord server that the university had and jeongin in d&d club! he’d meet up with them every once in awhile whenever they all felt like they needed to touch grass. of course, his friends knew you came first. you were heeseung’s everything. what they couldn’t wrap around their heads was how heeseung was your everything.

“you’ve been dating for 3 years!? no way, man.” “are you secretly rich? the son of some big conglomerate?” “all offense, she’s hot and you’re… not.”

heeseung didn’t let that bother him. his friends were idiots that had never felt the touch of a woman. plus, you trained him better (you told him to stop talking about himself like he was your pet, but he refused). you loved him so much without any strings attached. you were patient with him and listened to him ramble about how league kept nerfing his favorite character with every update. you never tried to change him and you told him it’s because you fell in love with him for how he was. but, there came a day when he wished you did. he happened to overhear a conversation between you and your friends.

“girl, there’s no way you’ve been with heeseung for 3 years and he hasn’t picked up a single thing about fashion from you.” “the face cards are mismatched, ma. you’re up here and he’s not even on this plane.” “don’t you ever get embarrassed whenever you guys go out? i mean, he dresses like he’s stuck in his mom’s basement.” “i hope he compensates in other ways because he’s not doing it where i can see.” “how are you okay with someone that much skinnier than you? doesn’t your body dysmorphia get triggered?”

you stopped talking to those girls after that. however, it didn’t stop heeseung from getting hurt by it. it was true, in heeseung’s eyes. you deserved much better than what he was giving you. how is it that you loved him even though he looked the exact same as he did 3 years ago? there were so many hot guys around and you never so much as turned your head to glance. there was nothing to support his insecurity about being hot enough or being enough in general. nonetheless, that horrid conversation sparked something in heeseung.

“baby, i’m heading to the gym. i’ll be back later to cook us dinner, okay?” if your brows raised any further, they’d merge into your hairline. “the gym?” heeseung nodded firmly. “gotta start working out to combat all the ramen i eat.”

“hee, you haven’t gained weight since we started dating, despite you eating my leftovers and your food. you don’t need to combat anything,” you laughed. when you saw heeseung was still tying the laces on his shoes, you let it go, thinking nothing of it. you kissed him and reminded him to stay hydrated.

thus began heeseung’s gym journey. it was difficult. muscle barely stuck even though he was eating well over 3000 calories. but, he could see his body getting toned, more cut, so he was happy. maybe people would stop looking at the two of you like you were wrong.

his wishful thinking remained at that. despite getting noticeably more fit, people still talked. they talked about his fashion, his haircut, and his hygiene (he thought this one was unfair considering he always did skincare with you and loved doing your nightly routines).

so, on the day you told him you were going thrifting, he asked to tag along. you were taken aback. heeseung never came with you; he didn’t see the point when he had perfectly good clothes at home. but you let him come along. you thought he’d just peruse with you or be there to make sure you paid with the card he gave you (he made a lot of money from his internship and begged you to use it for anything you wanted), but he didn’t. he asked a lot of questions.

“do you think this would look good on me?” “do these go together?” “are these good quality?”

you were excited. going thrifting was one of your favorite hobbies and to see heeseung taking such an interest in it was thrilling. you gave your opinions, always with a disclaimer that fashion is up to preference. he nodded along, processing your words. by the end of your thrifting trip, heeseung went home with a bundle of clothes to wear. the next day, he’d wake up earlier than normal to try and piece his new clothes together. he knew he wasn’t good at it. his friends let him know without reservations. hell, your friends let him know with their skeptical looks. it wasn’t until he talked to sunghoon in the gym that he got some actual constructive criticism.

“you’re taking an interest in fashion?”

“nothing crazy,” heeseung muttered, kicking the dust on the floor. “i just hate the comments y/n gets whenever her friends think i’m not listening.”

sunghoon looked at his gym buddy in pity. “look, man. if everything you’ve told me about your relationship is true, i don’t think y/n cares what you wear. she hasn’t in 3 years. what makes you think it’ll change all of a sudden?”

nothing. he didn’t doubt you. he just got sick at the thought of you having to listen to all those criticisms. so, sunghoon helped him. he showed him his pinterest moodboard and made heeseung swear to never tell anyone that’s how he chooses what to wear. after that informative session, heeseung got to work. he used your instagram feed as a reference, wanting to match your aesthetic, and created a moodboard inspired by it. using his pinterest board, he went thrifting by himself. he recalled the countless videos he watched while sorting through the clothes. cotton, not polyester. depending on the stain, you can get it out. tailoring is always an option when you find something that is a little too big!

he was very serious about his transformation. he even digitally scrapbooked the pictures of him in different clothes so he could be like cher in clueless. since then, his fashion started improving. your morning routines together changed ever so slightly with you telling him to spin for you. his heart warmed with every compliment you gave him.

“who is this diva?” “i feel very underdressed. i’m changing.” “are you getting dressed by law roach?” “you’ve been taking dress to impress a little seriously these days.”

heeseung’s confidence soared. now, he wasn’t ashamed to go out with you. your friends weren’t ashamed to be seen with him either. they even went as far as to compliment him! score! he’d gotten brownie points with your friends.

“finally, he’s dressing like a boyfriend fit to be with you, y/n.”

oh, that made you pull the brakes real fast. it completely escaped your mind how much your friends dissed your boyfriend (because you brushed them off as stupid comments). come to think of it, heeseung always did manage to miss the moments where they talked about him, but only by a minute or two. what if��� what if he did hear those comments?

curious and worried, you asked him during your nightly routines. “hee, did… did you start dressing up for any particular reason?”

uh oh. heeseung hated lying to you; it physically pained him. so, he confessed. “i heard what your friends think of me and i didn’t want you to have to keep hearing them say things like that.”

“oh, baby, i’m so sorry you heard that,” you cooed. “i didn’t tell you because not even an atom of me agrees with them. i love you as you are, uni tees, basketball shorts and all.”

heeseung put down the moisturizer and looked down. “i know… i just wanted people to stop thinking we’re wrong for each other.”

you frowned and pulled him into a hug. “well, we know we’re perfect for each other. i’ve known it from the moment you started talking about the metrics of trot. i remember just nodding along and thinking how beautiful you were.”

heeseung blushed at your words. you always knew how to make him feel better.

“you don’t have to dress up for anyone but yourself, okay?”

he shook his head with a small smile. “i like matching with you. it’s fun.”

“well, i guess we really gotta dress to impress then,” you grinned, kissing his cheek.

with that, heeseung was reassured. no more pressure. he could just dress however he wanted (which was however you were dressing). but, his glow up didn’t stop there. no, he thought about a haircut. he wanted something that would shut your friends up forever. so, after scrolling forever on tiktok, he found that he liked a mullet with some face-framing pieces. he went and got it done at sunghoon’s trusted barbershop and came out a new man. he immediately sent you a picture, to which you responded, “don’t go anywhere. no errands. no grabbing food. come home. now.”

safe to say, you loved his new haircut. he loved his new haircut. he loved it even more when his friends and your friends couldn’t manage words. good. stay that way.

loser!heeseung was still a loser but, at least, he was in a hot man’s body with his very very attractive girlfriend. he still played league. he still larped. he still took the renaissance fair very seriously. he still loved you more than anything in the world. he was still your loser.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 16TH CLUELESS ━━ megumi fushiguro + step-cest !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. megumi fushiguro + step-cest. are you totally buggin’ or is your college-goer, goody two shoes step-brother kinda into messing around with you? (7.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, dark content, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, enemies to lovers (?), step-cest, photos, videos, fingering, choking, praise kink, panty sniffing, body worship, riding stuffed animals, daddy kink, soft sex, unprotected sex, bimbo-ish + fem!reader, step-brother!megumi fushiguro.

୨୧ — director’s note. lets gooo another kinktober installment! i actually haven't written for megumi in ages and this is kinda long so...i hope this is okay? sorry this is late btw, please enjoy! <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

let’s get one thing straight. 

not all daddy’s girls are dumb.

on the contrary, you’re actually highly intelligent and thoroughly educated — graduating at the top of every single one of your classes in high school, despite negotiating a fair portion of your grades with your teachers. after school, however, you couldn’t quite figure out what you wanted to do and everyone else you knew spent their time growing up around you. daddy wanted you to go to college, get your degree so you could find your footing in the world…he would even pay for it too.

but like every other twenty-something year old girl your age, you were completely and utterly clueless about the direction you wanted to take.

perhaps that was the reason as to why your step-brother, megumi, annoyed you so much. indoctrinated into your family unit of two (yourself and your father, of course) — megumi had joined you to play happily-family when his mother married your father. their fast-paced union didn’t last long, however, for your parents were quickly divorced by the new year…and apparently, you can only divorce people. not children. meaning that your older step sibling had decided he would much rather stick around for the long haul.

it could even be said that megumi fushiguro was an even bigger daddy’s boy (or kiss ass) than you were a daddy’s girl. he went to college on daddy’s money, ate on daddy’s money and got jobs using daddy’s money and power. now, he’s some big time hot shot at an environmental law firm and it irks you just how much your father is pushing for you to be just like megumi. in everybody’s eyes, your step brother was the picture perfect child, an example to follow, a fine gem.

and since your father liked that so much; likes how responsible and diligent megumi is — it would explain why your older step-brother could get away with sneaking up on you in your own house (favourite child privileges). “what are you all dressed up for?” the husky lilt to his deep voice sends shockwaves through your system and a shiver down your spine, making you jump away from the fridge you’re rummaging through.

“a party.” you say frigidly. the dark haired male makes a face and you roll your eyes at him in a disapproving manner. as if megumi was in any position to judge you for your plans and late night endeavours. he was a boring old college student clinging to his younger step sister whilst you were doing society a favour and helping your friend get together with the guy she liked. 

it’s what you do! helping the less fortunate instead of studying for some boring piece of paper and graduate degree. 

you were such a good person. 

turning away from the cool air and dull hum of the fridge freezer, you tuck a few juices to be used as mixers for the party into your bag — ignoring the heaviness of your step brother’s admiral blue gaze as it slips over the curve of your waist, the expanse of your thighs and the bounce of your chest peeking out from your skimpy little get up. it’s funny, how you’ve never liked the way boys have looked at you in the past — but something about the way he drinks you in as if you’re the last glass of water on the plant makes your legs shaky and your breath turn short and…

“can i come?” 

with his lips pressed into a thin line and his emotions hidden behind the perfect mask of his perfect face — megumi slams the fridge door shut, to make you squeak again. his brows raising expectantly while he waits for your answer. “a-as if fushiguro.” you huff in annoyance, jabbing the older step-sibling in his shoulder as he towers over you. “aren’t you too old for house parties? i wouldn’t want you to cramp my style.” 

“i’m not that much older than you.” he laughs, it’s melodious sound sending a warmth through your body.

rolling your eyes, you snap back. “you’re old enough.” 

you make yourself small as you pass by him, attempting to escape his suffocating presence. he makes you feel weird, and you don’t exactly hate it — sure megumi is annoying, snarky and a little mean but he’s… attractive, like next level attractive. he’s got those dreamy sea-storm eyes that make you feel as though you’ll die and go to heaven, a sexy smirk that gets you hot and bothered even if it’s not directed at you. all of your friends have had crushes on your step brother at some point, ones that cause jealousy to brim just under the surface of your skin, pricking you like a thousand tiny needles. your jealousy totally doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to hook your friend up tonight by the way (lying to yourself makes you feel better).

however, feeling this way about megumi is wrong, nowhere near normal. anybody could have told you that — it’s just that your family relationships make things complicated and you don’t want to make this weird between you both. you’d never admit it, but you do enjoy the back and forth sibling-like banter the two of you have. would ruining that be worth it? even if your step-brother was like…everything you’d ever wanted in a guy; not like those snot-nosed, unhygienic, monkey-brained losers you used to go to school with. 

instead, megumi was smart, established and with his future practically set in stone. maybe that’s why you picked on him, why you acted like a spoiled brat whenever he was around, why you pretended to despise his every existence and wish he’d never become a part of your family. because megumi  constantly reminds you of your failures or what your future could be if you put your mind to it and actually tried. 

“maybe, college guys like me wouldn’t seem like such losers if you actually gave furthering your education a shot,” your step brother cuts through your thoughts, stalking behind you with his hands in his pockets as you leave the kitchen and head towards the foyer — getting ready to head out for the party. “just do what your daddy wants, angel. go to college, get your degree so he can get off my back and you can be smart like me. yeah?” 

“and why would i listen to you?” there’s nothing you can do to shake him — your older step brother tailing you as if he’s your own personal guardian. he stops walking when you stop walking, bumping into your back, while a shocked whimper lays flat on the seam on your lips. 

megumi passes you a jacket (which you slide on by yourself) whilst he chuckles again, the sound rumbling in his chest and through your body pressed hotly against his. “‘cause i’m your big brother.” his voice is almost scolding, playfully so, holding a darker tone that you almost recognise as lust whole his larger-than yours hands force their way down to the fat at your waist. “now c’mere, let me fix your outfit. can’t have you goin’ out like this…” megumi squeezes your hips, using his grip on them to spin you around so that you can face him. 

you expect him to tell you to cover up more — that your pretty white dress is too short and that you’re too promiscuous. what you don’t  expect is for the dark haired male to sink to his knees before you, soft and attentive fingers sliding up your inner leg to fix your thigh-highs as that have slipped down. you barely manage to choke back a needy moan. 

he doesn’t let up on the eye contact either; only serving to fog up your pretty little head. “s-step brother,” you manage to remind him gently, finding your voice. 

fushiguro rolls his eyes, poking his tongue into his cheek. “that was your take away, pretty girl?” he doesn’t stop touching you, going as far to peek his head up your skirt — pretending to finish fixing your socks despite the subtle press of his nose against your panties and pinging them against your backside once done fondling you. “there we go, better.” 

he even goes as far to pat your bum in accomplishment too. 

you feel pathetic for letting your step brother touch you in such a taboo way, failing to push megumi off. but he’s never been so bold and you’ve never wanted him more — craving megumi through an insatiable burning in your chest. there’s always been a sexual tension brewing between you both, fuelled by your banter, your rage and mischievousness but how could you act on it? 

megumi was practically family. your family. it would be weird. you couldn’t be anything more without crossing the line of what’s deemed acceptable and what isn’t for step siblings. you have to remember who he is to you, an older brother, a menace to your friends who crush on him and someone who had called you selfish once upon a time. 

finally snapping back to reality, you force yourself away from the tendrils of your step-brother’s grip — swiping your purse from the entryway table and storming towards the door. “you’re buggin’ gumi!” you squeak from the porch. “stop being weird a-and stay out of my room!”  

the door slams harshly as you vacate the property in favour of the party, practically running down the steps with a rapid shake of your head. doing anything you can to rid yourself of all thoughts concerning the enigma that is your older step brother.

the party doesn’t help, and instead ends up a total disaster.

your plan to set your friends up completely falls apart when your ex-best guy friend decides to make a move on you on the way home and drops you off in the middle of nowhere after rejecting him. to top it off, some asshole robs you for your fendi purse at a gas station and makes you lie down on the ground in your matching designer dress! 

the whole ordeal nearly reduces you to tears and forces you to call the one person you’d been trying to forget about all night. megumi. 

he picks you up without a word of protest, but you swear that you can feel his disappointment radiating off of him in thick, asphyxiating waves. “please don’t tell daddy,” you had sniffed, eyes big and teary. and megumi can’t bring himself to blame you or to be mad at you because you’re so sweet and sensitive and a little too good for this world. that and you have no idea how much seeing you cry fucks with his head. 

“you’re a smart girl, baby.” he’d replied softly — though his eyes were hard and his grip on the steering wheel even harder, indicated by the white of his knuckles. “you shouldn’t be messing around in places like this. it’s exactly why you should be in college.” 

like the good big (step) brother he is, fushiguro sneaks you back into the house without a word to your watchful father. instead, he spends the rest of the night comforting you with silly cartoons to heal your inner child. deep down, it means a lot — usually the two of you would argue over control of the remote, and he would always win. this time, megumi lets you be. 

“i don’t think i’m cut out for college,” you sigh after a moment’s silence, ren and stimpy providing the backing track to your vocalised thoughts. “‘m not much aside from my pretty face.” 

fushiguro rolls over so that you lay side by side, nudging you with his elbow playfully. “what would you do instead?” 

“i dunno,” growing bashful, you tuck your face into your shoulder — afraid that he might laugh. “start a fashion business, give people make overs? i think i’m good at that.” 

“you’re good at a lot of things, angel. and making people feel god about themselves is one of them,” rather than belittling your dreams, tearing them down like you’d expect — megumi encourages you, flashing you a small yet supportive smile. “you take care of people.” 

flustered by his praise, you lean into megumi’s side — playing footsie with him at the end of your bed shyly. “you’re better at taking care of me, though.” you whisper, nearly missing the way his eyes drop to your lip-gloss smudged lips. 

“yeah? s’what big brothers are for, right?” he whispers back, a breath’s width away from your lips, nose inches away from nudging yours as if he’s going to kiss you. he wouldn’t be your step-brother if he wasn’t so full of annoying surprises, instead of pulling you into a lip lock — megumi grasps at the remote on your other side in an attempt to change the channel to something more boring and scholarly. 

you protest in the form of a sibling play fight causing you both to roll around in the sheets — fighting for the remote or perhaps dominance over the sexual tension that thickens the air. heat rises throughout the room and your wrestling turns to megumi pinning you to your babyish pink sheets, straddling your waist. he grips your wrists, clasping them together between his large, veiny hands and forces them above your head.

everything happens so quickly, yet so slowly and all at once. one moment you’re fighting like siblings do and the next — megumi fushiguro is finally kissing you, tongue lapping at the crack between your parted lips from where you’ve gasped in shock. tasting every ounce and every essence of the remainder of your gloss, breathing weightily into your mouth as if it’s a relief to have it pressed against his own. you swallow everything he gives you and drink up his saliva as it pools into your mouth to the point where your head spins and you feel like he’s spiked you with arousal. 

this is wrong, on so many levels. as if you would ever make out with your step brother. but this isn’t some kind of twisted dream, it’s a reality you find yourself basking in. you pull megumi onto you by the roots of his dark hair, mewling each time your lips slot together perfectly and whining when his hips start to jut down to meet the softness of your tummy. or when his large hands push and pull at sensitive parts of your body. 

“you’re nothin’ like those college girls.” he tells you once you break apart for air. megumi’s nose nudges your cheek and his kisses dive lower into the crook of your neck while he waits for you to catch your breath. “you’re softer, prettier, you’re—“

he lets go of your wrists.

tilting your head back into your plush pillows, your shaky fingers tangle in the dark, unruly curls of your step brother’s baby hairs. “i’m what?” you tease through a series of pretty little moans, like music to megumi’s ears. you feel him twitch against your inner thigh and the temperature of his body spikes to a sweltering degree. 

“perfect.” his rough tongue swipes over your prominent collarbones and over the fabric of your dress, slipping under the crevice where your breasts meets your rib cage. using his teeth, fushiguro pulls down your dress until it inches off of your shoulders, revealing more of your skin marked with scars, beauty and stretch marks. it comes off easily, exposing you to a pair of hungry, murky blue eyes. the dress remains bunched at your middle.

you must be tripping out — you’ve never seen this look in your step brother’s eyes before. he stares up at you, lips swollen and breath ragged, as if you’re the last meal on earth he’ll ever get to taste. the sexual tension was never obvious to you, and while you’ve always found megumi weird — it didn’t mean you disliked his company. 

“quit staring,” you whine, arching your back into megumi’s touch as it drags across your searing flesh. “it’s weird…you’re making it seem like it’s a bad thing…” 

he yanks down the front of your dress, smooths down the valley between your breasts and over your tummy as they rise and fall with each of your baited breaths. “you don’t like it when i look at you, pretty baby?” then suddenly, his thumb slips back over your naked nipple, curling your sensitive areola before applying a gentle pressure that makes you jolt up the bed. “there’s nothin’ bad about you.” 

fushiguro’s grip runs down to your sides like an easy stream of water, grasping at any flesh he can while simultaneously pulling your hips up to meet his — slotting perfectly against your body to make sure you can feel how hard he is for you. “i’m not like those college girls you’re usually into…” comes your shaky whisper. “‘m too dumb.”

it’s weird, megumi’s never made you nervous until now. 

“no. you’re smart, you’re perfect… you deserve more than the guys that you’re into. you shouldn’t waste your time.” 

his steady hands slide over the curve of your ass, dip beneath the hem of your dress to play with your doughy thighs and every note of his praise is sung over your quivering body.

“so what?” you go on, stepping into the dark to explore whatever the fuck this is with your step brother. “i should waste it on college boys like you?” 

the tail end of your words are lost in a gasped breath as megumi nudges a knuckle against the crotch of your underwear — chuckling softly at the wetness that pools in the seat of them. “you would be if you came with me.” a sort of sick and twisted expression, morphs on his handsome face. one that’s usually so stoic and unreactive to your whines and mewls. but this version of megumi seems to like watching you squirm, revels in the way your hips buck up on instinct the further he presses his fingers between your sticky, viscous folds. “god, sweetheart. your princess parts are already so wet for me.” 

heat flashes across your face, accompanied by the unfamiliar twinge of lust you for megumi you feel buzzing beneath your skin and swirling with the blood in your veins. the way he coos down at you, eyes hooded and tone condescending — it only serves to cloud your judgement and your mind. you shouldn’t be doing this. but you want to. so badly. 

“shut up.” you huff and look away, eyes threatening to roll back into your skull as megumi flicks at your clit from over your skimpy panties. the more he plays with you, rubs at his little sister’s cute pussy, the more your thighs twitch apart — revealing the treasure between them to his dirty-minded gaze. 

the groan that follows vibrates around in the cavity of megumi’s chest before shooting down to your glistening core as it convulses under his fingertips. “you’ll miss me when i go back, don’t deny it.” he tells you like he knows you, voice horse with growing desire. “you should really come with.” 

you scrunch your nose up at his request — of course he would choose now of all times to be annoying and tease you about college. “as if, megumi.” you warn, though it’s hard to stay mad at him when he presses two fingers against your spasming entrance, azure eyes darkening at a stream of your arousal dampens your panties — defining the shape of your puffy folds even more. 

“yeah, yeah. i know, baby. not the time, huh?” megumi hums in amusement, gaze flickering up to your face to watch it twist with euphoria as he continues to pinch and rub at your cunt until your chest is heaving. “you want it that bad. wanna be touched so bad. pretty girls like you can’t do anything without their big brothers...” while he rambles over the drool replacing logical words on his tongue, your step brother pulls his hand away from your sex briefly to push past the lace scalloping on your underwear and access your wetness. “all this, ‘cause of me?” 

“all ‘cause of you.” you breathe the words out like they’re air and nod shyly at your own admission despite the high pitched, babyish tone. to let your stupid older step brother know how much he affects you is embarrassing, borderline humiliating, but you can’t help but fall into him. megumi rewards you with two fingers stroking their way past the tight ring of your entrance, curling instantly to explore your gummy, oozing walls and locate the exact spots that make you tick.

he presses a chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek, body hunched over your shaky one as if to shield the scandalous sight from the world. his little sister split open on his fingers, drenching him in her scent and her slick as fushiguro scissors them and fucks you silly. “mhm, that’s my girl. so nice for me and my fingers. i like you better this way,” he slurs, long and dark lashes (ones that you’d die for) fluttering against your skin as his digits move faster and faster within your selfish, ribbed walls. “when all you can do is cry and make those pretty noises, instead of being a little brat to me all the time.” 

fushiguro pauses his ministrations, forcing you to wriggle and writhe and chase your pleasure for only a moment. “m-megumi!” your hips jut upwards in an attempt to coax some friction out of him, anything on your pulsing clit or against your pleasure spots dotted along your insides. “p-please. fuck, gumi— i need it.” 

he only smiles, his thumb finding your clit and his fingers pick up the pace — bearing down on your g-spot with every thrust into your tight heat. “that’s what i like to hear, none of that back talk. just your pretty voice, beggin’ for me.” he sweet talks you over the dirty, lewd and squishy sounds from your thoroughly fucked cunt as they ring out into the sex tainted air. they form a chorus with your hiccups and pathetic bleats for more — and if your body is a choir, megumi fushiguro is the conductor. he guides you to the gates of heaven, feeds you pieces of pleasure from the grapevine of sun and you let him. 

because he’s your big (step) brother, and you trust him after all. 

“fuck, you’re so pretty. could watch you make a mess of me all night.” 

the bricks bliss build up in your lower tummy, cemented together by megumi’s relentless fingers pumping in and out of your slick sex. you’re the perfect vision, a sight to behold — darling gem eyes shiny with tears, tongue tied to the roof of your mouth by strings of saliva and your body doused with a glimmer of perspiration. your step brother can’t help but create a copy of you grinding against his hand on his mind. filing it away for later. 

pulling his fingers from your selfish heat, megumi brings his hand down against it in a harsh slap — his entire body shuddering at the surprised wail you let out, and the stream of juices that fly up his arm as a result. “ooh, baby. what a pretty noise you just made.” he laments with a rough voice, soothing over the spank with soft flicks to your swollen clit. “can you do that again for me?” 

he doesn’t give you the chance to answer, spanking your pussy again, and again and again until his head is heavy with the sounds of your broken moans and your panties are soaked all the way through — darkened by the running two of your sweet honey nectar that allow his slender fingers to slip back inside you with ease. 

they tease at your stimulated walls and push and pull your tight little hole — and you swear you can practically see the stars that line the night sky with every new sensation. fushiguro is in no better state, cock painstakingly hard and straining against the insides of his sweats while his cool midnight eyes drink in the way your hips stutter and struggle to keep up with the pace of his digits inside of you. 

“‘gumi… i think i—“ your words escape you, drowned out by your own pussy as it squelches around megumi’s fingers. 

he kisses your forehead, contrasting my soft compared to the way he stretches you open and preps you for his cock. “i bet that feets good, huh? you feel like you’re gonna cum.” his tone turns into a mocking one, deep enough to send shivers down your spine and threaten to knock down the wall of mounting pleasure in your lower gut.

tears teeter over the edge of your waterline, streaking a hot path down the apples of your angelic cheeks as your hips lift off the bed — chasing the high only your big brother could give to you. “feels so good, p-please let me cum, ‘gumi.” 

you look to him for reassurance and permission, hiccuping as megumi pulls his fingers out of you to trace from your clit and down the length of your juicy slit. pride swirls in his blazing chest when your body jerks at the sensation, hips running after the source of pleasure. you’re such a good little thing, so pliant and naive — following after your step brother no matter what he does to you. maybe you’re right, maybe you’re a little too dumb for college. but it doesn’t matter right now, not with the way your creamy entrance clenched down on fushiguro lovingly, pleading with him to let you cum.

you’re so close and he knows it, he’d have given into you if he weren’t trying to make this last. 

“actually, i want you to do something for me.” he stops right before you’re about to burst, dragging his fingers out of your pulsating pussy to smear your wetness across your tummy and thighs. 

a babyish blubber bubbles up on the swell of your pouty lips, coated in a layer of salt from your free-flowing tears. “w-what? m-megumi! i was so close!” you say in a petulant manner, squishing your thigh together and trapping his hand between them as if to coax him back into making you cum.

“so spoilt, more like.” your step brother bites back, almost punishing you by removing his body from yours so that he can rid himself off all of his clothes. he tosses them off the bed, but not before pulling his phone from his sweatpants and setting it to the side.

you swallow thickly when his cock springs free and slaps against his washboard abs. megumi is lengthier than he has girth, his balls heavy with an incredulous amount of seed saved up just for you. his tip is pink, almost bright red but coated in a layer of pre that’s no doubtedly smeared along the inside of his sweats but it’s a delicious sight to see nonetheless. 

now you really must be bugging. you’re most certainly clueless to have never thought of megumi this way before today. 

your throat bobs when he grabs hold of his rock hard shaft, hissing at the first few lazy pumps he gives himself.  “i want you to do something for me. then i’ll make you cum.” fushiguro proposes gruffly, locking eyes with you carnally. “put on a show for me princess, ride one of your cute little stuffed animals over there so i can make a memory for when i go back to college.” 

his ask doesn’t register in your pretty little head, and megumi figures he might have left you dazed from withholding your orgasm. or maybe you’re distracted by the way in which he fists his cock, spreading webs of milky white up and down his shaft and over his mushroomed tip with each movement. you hardly notice the fact that he’s reached for his phone, setting it to record using his free hand. 

“you hear me, pretty… fuck…girl?” he curses in a low moan, squeezing himself. 

this time, your attention shoots to his face while your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “y-you want me to… fuck my stuffie?” 

you ask megumi so innocently, head tilted to the side like a sweet little puppy dog and he swears he might bust to you right then and there. 

“fuck…yes.” 

“and you won’t touch me?” 

“not until i’m satisfied, princess.” 

and like the bratty little sister you are, dress pushed down to your middle and makeup askew, you huff at your step-brother — all while grabbing your favourite and biggest stuffed bear to tuck against the ruined treasure between your thighs. 

“you’re so fuckin’ mean, ‘gumi,” you try to keep your cool, but you’re too sensitive — lowering your twitching sex onto the soft toy slowly. “o-oh…”

he angles the camera perfectly to record you, zooming in on your cute little cunt as it slips and slides over the bear with ease.

even beyond the camera, you’re a sight for megumi fushiguro’s sore eyes, each of your curves and dips illuminated by the glistening beads of sweat that roll over the expanse of your skin – catching the low, warm yellow light from up above. he always knew that his little step sister was pretty, practically an angel, but up until now he’d relied soley on his dirty imagination to picture the way you’d look fucking yourself for him. the stuffed toy easily disappears between the meat of your pudgy thighs as you rock back and forth over it, nudging your clit against the nose of the fluffy brown bear.

“feels good, right?” he mumbles lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest. megumi can’t help but be engrossed in your every move, the soft jut of your hips and the bite down on your plump and shiny lips, the way in which your fingers dare to dance up the salacious softness to your curves and skin. “my pretty little thing. i can see why your daddy loves you so much. you’re such a good girl, listening to everything i say.”

megumi’s words waft over your mind like a thick fog of lust, darkening every pure thought you’ve ever had. your whole body twitches at their patronising air, dopamine crackling about in your skull and shooting down to the heartbeat swirling around your fluttering hole. it gushes and gushes, like an endless stream of erotica and glazes over the apex of your thighs like the shin of a sugary treat.

one that makes your step brother’s mouth water with anticipation.

each of your sweet mewls and whistle-tone bleats run through his ears like thick honey, rotting him from the inside out. perhaps that’s what makes megumi so perverted and what makes him crush on his perfect and prim little sister, you’re a fool to have not noticed it before. how he looked at you then and how megumi looks at you now, midnight blue and stormy orbs drowning with lust. your gaze flutters down to his cock, standing tall and flushed against his creamy white skin, neglected as it leaks all over his stomach.

“oh you like that, huh? you shake so much when i talk to you like that.” fushiguro starts to fist his cock faster, matching the speed at which you shakily circle your hips over the poor stuffed animal — panting as it’s fabric darkens with your wetness. “a daddy’s girl through ‘n through.” he teases while you throw it back for his phone.

sure enough, the camera picks up his warm chocolate voice as it coos its praises to you. such a good girl. ride it out princess. all of it fills you to the brim with wanton and desire, makes you crumble before the glaring lense of fushiguro’s phone.

“s-shut up.” 

“uh-uh. and you were doing so well,” your step brother sounds almost cruel, reminding you of the reasons you didn’t get along before today. acting like a school boy picking on his crush, being mean to her because deep down he knows that she likes it. that you like it. “don’t be rude baby. put on a show for ‘gumi.” 

he takes to palming himself more, precum slinging across his knuckles and down his thighs the more turned on he gets. it clings to every vein on his shaft, spreads to the weight of his balls and no doubt can be heard through the camera since slick and lewd noises of the both of you touching yourselves echo throughout your bedroom. megumi does his best to keep the camera steady, but he can’t help himself — following your movements and thrusting up into his closed fist to mock your pussy while you ride your stuffie for dear life.

you’re still so sensitive, but your big brother can tell you’re trying so hard to keep up for him — fighting off your next orgasm as it builds up strong in your lower belly. you want to please megumi, at the end of the day. a smart girl like you knows  “that’s it, keep it movin’ for me…god, you make me wanna cum.” 

you pout at the praise, rutting over the face of your stuffed animal as you breath heavy. it feels way too good, you’re overwhelmed by too many senses and megumi watching you spill your juices about the place doesn’t seem to help. dragging a hand up to your bare chest, you tweak your nipples and tug them until  a needy squeal dancing on your wobbly bottom lip — doing your very best to please the dark haired college student.

you want him to cum, want him to memorise the way your eyes roll back and your moans and quivers — you feel so beautiful beneath his heavy, desire burdened stare. “m-megumi,” you say for the millionth time that night, squirming before his very eyes while you dream on the nose of your precious toy. “i-i’m close!” your hips burn holding back you release, exhaustion and just intertwining in your veins — combusting in your lungs. 

clueless. you were absolutely clueless as to how it would feel falling apart under the caring gaze of someone who loves you so much. 

“yeah, pretty girl?” fushiguro hums gently, giving his cock one last squeeze at the base — cutting off the stream of ore that he dribbles from the source. “c’mere, i gotcha.” he shuffles over to you on the bed, catching you before you fall with his lips pressed to your wet babyish cheeks. “i’ll let you cum, but only on my cock. you’ve got to stay good for me, okay?” 

nodding timidly, you accept a few more kisses from megumi — the ones that he peppers across your face, before he manoeuvres you onto your side and nestles in right behind you. “say you want me,” the words coast along the back of your neck and your body erupts in goosebumps. his voice will always be like a dragon breathing life into a fire. sure to be careful, megumi lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his slender waist so that he can better access your sluice sex.

he tugs your underwear to the side with one hand and positions his cock at your entrance, sliding the length of his shaft through the strings of your arousal glueing your pussy lips together. both of you hiss in harmony when his bright red tip grinds messily against your pulsing pleasure bud. your unused hole clenches around nothing, pushing out juices as if to claim megumi. 

your head rolls back to rest on megumi’s broad shoulder and you reach a hand behind you to tangle in the dark mass of his sweaty locks — keeping him close. “i need you, ‘gumi. please.” you rasp weakly as his shaft breaches your silken walls, coating him in everything your body has to offer. you spoil megumi, giving him a moment to remember before he leaves for college again.

there’s a delicious residual burn from the way his girth stretches you out causing your cunt so selfishly squeezes down on every inch of your step brother’s milky cock. with a stuttered breath, fushiguro bottoms out until his balls are pressed hotly against your ass and his seedy mushroomed tip is just grazing your womb. 

“just what i wanted to hear,” he purrs into the shell of your ear — nipping it tenderly. you blubber softly into the satin pillows, prepped with a fresh set of tears as you push back onto megumi to meet the push and pull of his dick into your tight, creamy sex. “you’ve always needed me, pretty thing. my precious baby sister, relyin’ on me for everything. even this.”

your entire body burns bright with desire for megumi, you’re surprised you’ve gone this long without him before today. maybe you’ve always needed to feel his sticky tip grind against your juicy walls or his hot breath fanning against your shoulders and neck. you’ve always needed your step brother to guide you in the right direction. you’ve always needed megumi.

“f-fuck, g-gumi!” 

fushiguro fucks you slow and softly, pouring all of his affections into you — letting it buzz in the sex scented air between your salt slicked bodies. his fingertips leave their paw prints along your tiger striped thighs and soft tummy, he’ll kiss them better later, but for now he just wants you to know how much he’s always needed you.  “oh i know pretty girl, i know.” comes megumi’s low, bristling simper — adding to the stacks of pleasure cementing together in your lower tummy. “you’re so good, taking me just right. i’ve always known you’d be good for me.” 

your back arches away from the molten centre of your step brother’s chest but he refuses to let you run from him — wrapping a strong arm around your middle to anchor you and your pussy down on his throbbing cock. “i never wanted to ruin you.” he drawls hungrily, but that doesn’t stop the salacious buck of his hips upwards and the way his hands traverse over each of your perfect imperfections. “but you’re such a sweet thing… you always have been. god, baby, you drive me crazy.” 

fumbling around on the bed, megumi gasps at the phone and hits record once more — propping the device up on the nightstand opposite you so that he can remain hands free. “this body, this princess cunt… the way you grip my hair—“ as if on cue, your fingers tighten at his dark roots and tug him down for a sloppy, spit swapping kiss. “everything about you, s’perfect.” 

the room spins with ecstasy and your pathetic screams die in your throat at the feeling of megumi’s abs contacting against your back, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. you drip sweet nectar onto the sheets, his pelvis and his thighs — tainting him with your precious sin. everything burns with exertion and exhaustion, so you’re forced to slump against your big brother and rely on him to carry you to the high heavens of pleasure.

he doesn’t disappoint, cupping your swaying breasts as you jolt up the bed from the force of his pounding thrusts, flicking at your nipples while keeping himself tucked in your squishy insides. you’re pleasured from every possible angle and it’s all caught on grainy film for megumi to take to college when he leaves without you. 

“‘m so fucking happy… t-that our parents got divorced. s-so that i can…have you like this.” fushiguro tongues at the pulse point under your ear, giving you one hard thrust to emphasise the point, it makes you jump, pushing you that little bit closer to the edge. your step brother never stops pumping himself in and out of you, hardly giving you a second to breathe between sucking on your tongue and slapping a hand down on your slit. 

“aren’t you happy?” he goes on to ask, carving the shape of his dick into your raw sex. “take a deep breath for me, gorgeous.” 

megumi wraps a hand around your throat from behind, squeezing ever so slightly and your glistening doe eyes tear away from the camera to focus on him. you witness the stars align in his azure orbs, the adoration they hold for you and a cry-baby wail slips from between your cherry bitten lips in response. 

“look so pretty with my hand around your throat ‘n my cock in your pussy… look at that. it’s like your body was made for me.” he chimes up again, watching the drool deep from the corner of your mouth as it hangs open with dry moans, like a a cute puppy panting. “how lucky are we?”

“o-oh! gumi!” you sniff blearily, not caring that there isn’t enough air in your brain to think straight. you’re swallowing down his cock and he’s leaking fat droplets of precum against the ridges of your walls — only adding to your wetness. megumi can’t expect a single logical thought to escape you this way. “‘m s-so glad. s-so lucky! so happy! i-i love you.”

the stuttered admission brings out the worst in megumi, causing him to lose his shit. your panties are rubbing his shaft raw, your pussy’s so good that he feels like he’s fucking high, not to mention you sound so pretty he could die here and be the happiest man alive. a feral desire takes over your step brother, his snapping his hips into you so hard that your headboard repeatedly smashes against the wall.

your panties are completely soaked through at this point, equally as ruined as your cunt… but megumi doesn’t care. “love you too. my good girl, my good fucking girl.” he coos, his thrusts growing animalistic and erratic — your bodies dancing to the tune of desire as you chase release. “can you cum for me, pretty? wanna see it, bet you’re so gorgeous when you’re cumming for me little sis.” 

despite being fucked brainless, you still manage to do what you’re told — your hips back onto his from their own accord, puffy pussy locking down on megumi’s base to keep him inside. “i’m close… r-right there gumi!” you choke out.

“right here, baby?” is all he manages to respond with, moaning pornographically into your sweaty shoulder while he shifts the angle of his thrusts. “wanna feel you gush all fucking over me.” 

that’s all you need to hear before your toe curling orgasm comes crashing down on you like a large tidal wave. the knot in your tummy finally unravels and you break beneath the pressure of it all, waves of your juices splashing out onto the sheets and megumi’s pelvis — rewarding him for fucking you this good. you cum so hard that it’s enough to force megumi from your twitching hole, expelling a musky scent into the air.

“f-fucking shit, fuuuck me…” fushiguro stumbles off the edge not long after, using the seam of your panties to finish himself off while you twitch through the aftershocks of your high. he just barely makes it, fucking your underwear and nudging his sensitive cockhead against your abused mound until he’s filling the seat of your panties with fat globs of white hot seed. “jesus…’hmygod, baby. you’re such an angel...d-did so fucking well for me.” 

he peppers you with smooches until you’re calmed down enough to be rolled onto your back. megumi is careful to pull away from you, staying close while you sniffle and come back down to earth. he babies you throughout, lifting the rest of your dress over your head and waiting until you say he can move before grabbing you a spare shirt from your dresser.

“let me see you.” megumi whispers lovingly when he crawls back onto the bed to join you. he grabs his phone from the nightstand and ends its recording, pushing your thighs apart to snap pictures of your cum soaked undies and the thick white that clings to your fat pussy lips and clit. “perfect, you’re so perfect. 

“i am?” you whinge — camera shy. but you don’t tell him to stop, letting your older step brother rub his sensitive and overworked cock over your crotch, smearing the last evidence of your orgasms against you for a quick video. another one that’ll be added to his spank bank for later. “‘gumi…” you warn once you start to feel overstimulated.

he chuckles at how whiny you are, tugging your clean shirt over your head before he pulls you into his arms. “i got it, i’m sorry.” rocking you both back and forth, fushiguro kisses the crown of your head. “yanno… if you’re so serious about not joining me at college. i’ll try and convince your dad to let you stay in town. as long as you keep up your promise and try to start a business.” 

your heart skips a beat, and you cast a glance upwards at your step brother. “really?” 

“really. if it means that much to you.” 

sleep settles heavy in megumi’s bones and on his pretty face — one you didn’t realise you loved so much. “it does! thank you, ‘gumi,” you say quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw. “m-maybe you college boys aren’t so bad.” 

“oh come on now, didn’t me fucking you stupid literally just prove that?” 

“maybe.” 

“so you’ll come visit me at college then. since you like me so much.” fushiguro quips cheekily, narrowly missing your swat to his chest. 

you roll your eyes and try to unravel yourself from your step brother’s affectionate grip, but don’t hide your smile. “ugh! as if, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

but teasing megumi further only gets you dragged back into the sheets — two sets of laughter echoing throughout the room in what appears to be another sibling fight. 

except this time, you’re not as clueless. 

you know that something like this, and with megumi, means something much, much more.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[allpiesforourown]

Okay let me tell you guys about one of my fav bingyuan aus.. bingge having a one sided rivalry with shen yuan

He had to get a scholarship and work his ass off to afford college, had to put on a fake smile and network like crazy.. so naturally when he sees shen yuan, this guy who was born rich and is naturally extroverted, he hates it

Shen Yuan on the other hand, thinks binghe is super cool! He looks like what he'd imagine a stallion protagonist to look like! Not to mention he's athletic, intelligent, beautiful, just perfect in every way!

Binghe is always trying to rile up shen yuan and "expose" him as a terrible person pretending to be good, so their interactions go like this:

Binghe: so you're entering this contest too? Ha, don't waste your time. You know youre leagues behind me

Shen yuan: you're also entering? Great! I can't wait to see you perform :)

Binghe, flustered: FUCK YOU.

Ning yingying is binghes childhood friend and binghe barges into her apartment every other day to rant about this guy.

Binghe: I hate shen yuan!!! Who does he think he is!! Acting all high and mighty !!!

Yingying, who doesn't understand but wants to be supportive of her friend: yeah a-luo, fuck that guy

Binghe: and then even after I rubbed it in his face that I won, he had the audacity to say "I hope I'll get to see you perform next year" can you believe that!?!??!

Yingying: ...?

Shen yuan gets seriously sick before a competition one day and binghe wins by a landslide. He's looking around the whole time, wondering where shen yuan is. He can't make fun of him for coming in second if he isn't here...

Binghe finds out shen yuan was hospitalized and he leaves before they can award him his trophy. Shen yuan wakes up to binghes panicked face saying "how dare you, you didn't come just because you knew I'd win? You were that ashamed of how superior I am to you? You better get better soon or else..!" Shen Yuan is do confused because why does binghe look like he's about to cry? Why is binghe visiting him everyday with healthy boxed lunches "to help him recover quicker" ??

Shen yuan returns to school and he's crowded by classmates asking where he's been/how he's doing. Binghe is off to the side, refusing to come over, but obviously sneaking glances at him. Shen Yuan smiles and waves and binghe looks away but his face is red

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[melanchoire]

Hey! Could I request a nsfw college AU with Karina?

Where you’re the shy, honor roll, top of the class, goody two shoes type and Karina is the outgoing, popular, everyone wants to be with her or her friend type.

You guys are in a relationship and she decides to sneak you guys into the deans office because she loves adrenaline and gets a thrill out of knowing the two of you could potentially get caught as she eating her lunch(you) on top of the deans desk.

Thank you!

BAD GIRLS R US ──── yu jimin

── ( 🚬 ) you thought acing exams was stressful? try dating karina, the campus rebel whose every impulsive decision threatens to unravel your perfectly structured world; now, she’s got her sights set on corrupting your good–girl image, and you must decide if you’re willing to risk it all for a taste of the forbidden fruit she's so tempting you with.

pairing. teasing dom!rebel girlfriend!karina x sub!good student!fem reader

warning(s). cum eating, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, semi exhibitionism, spanking, squirting.

word count. 3,8k

being in a relationship with karina was, as cliché as it sounded, like riding a roller coaster with a fear of heights. you, the exemplary student, the beacon of discipline in academic pursuits, found yourself perpetually dangling from the precipice of her chaotic brilliance. honor roll was your middle name. you were a picture of academic discipline, dean’s list regular, a name synonymous with responsibility.

karina… well, karina was a supernova. bright, chaotic, and drawing everyone into her orbit. she was the cool girl from the movies, eternally confident, radiating a charisma that could light up a room.

but god, she has a big charm.

you remember the initial shock of it all. how she had noticed you. you, huddled in the library with your nose buried in textbooks, while she breezed through life, a whirlwind of social gatherings and spontaneous adventures. yet, here you were, undeniably, irrevocably entwined.

walking with karina was a public affair… it was impossible to go unnoticed. walking with her through the college halls was a sensory overload. your hand swallowed in hers, or her arm draped tentatively around your waist, became a magnet for attention. every few steps, a chorus of greetings would erupt; “good morning, karina!” “hey, karina!” “morning, karina, you look great!” the greetings were relentless, a chorus of admiration echoing her every footstep. her replies were always effortless, sprinkled with wit and genuine warmth. her confidence was a force field, deflecting anxieties that would usually cripple you. her attitude was the reason you loved her.

you, on the other hand, would shrink a little, offering shy smiles and quiet nods. even with your closest friends, karina’s presence amplified your timidity. you were perfectly content in her reflected glory, a quiet moon orbiting a vibrant sun.

now, standing in the bustling college hallway, the aroma of lukewarm coffee swirling around you, you checked your phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. sunlight filters through the leaves, dappling the brick facade in shifting patterns.

you’re waiting for karina, having escaped your literature class early after demolishing the midterm. elation had bloomed in your chest — an unexpected free morning! you’d texted karina, hoping she’d be free to celebrate with… something. anything. her reply was brief: “teacher MIA. free as a bird. meet you at the vending machines?”

first, you wonder why your girlfriend suddenly has free time when she’s supposed to be studying right now. surprisingly, karina didn’t have class because her professor supposedly bailed. you’re skeptical, but not enough to outright accuse her of ditching. you take a sip of your coffee, the lukewarm caffeine doing little to soothe the nervous flutter in your stomach.

that nagging little voice in your head, the one honed by years of academic integrity, whispered suspicions. karina skipping class? it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility, but something felt off. you took a sip of coffee to try and relax and let the warmth soothe you from within; its bitterness doing little to soothe your rising unease. instead, it was as the taste of hazelnuts and caffeine had doubled your discomfort and worry.

as you scroll through instagram, a pair of hands snaked around your waist, startling you. the unexpected pressure sends a jolt of electricity through you. before you can react, someone’s blowing on your neck, a warm breath tickles your neck and sends a shiver down your spine, followed by a quick, playful kiss just behind your ear.

you nearly choke on your coffee, sputtering and flailing, before whirling around to find karina holding back a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. “hi baby.”

“karina!” you punch her lightly on the shoulder, a scolding simmering under your voice. “you idiot! you scared me half to death!”

“but you looked so cute, all serious and focused.” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “like you were solving the mysteries of the universe with just a cup of coffee and your phone. all focused and serious. it was adorable.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “very funny.”

you glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. it’s impossible to stay mad at her. you give her the look and she apologizes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as a peace offering.

she leaned in, her expression softening. “okay, okay, i’m sorry.” she murmured, planting a soft kiss on your lips. the world seemed to fade away for a moment, the noise of the hallway blurring into a distant hum. “i’ll say it again, i’m sorry sorry.” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin. “couldn’t resist.”

she looped an arm around your waist, pulling you against her side and steering you down the hall. you let her lead, the familiar weight of her presence grounding you. “c’mon, let’s go for a walk.” she said, her voice regaining its usual playful tone. “tell me all about your brilliant conquering of calculus.”

“it was a literature exam.” you retort, giving her a slight sideways glance, noticing how she smirked at you getting moody when she manages to get out of you the attitude she loves the most

“so…” she says, her voice light and conversational. “how was the midterm from hell?”

“easy.” you retort, trying to sound nonchalant. “finished it in twenty minutes.”

“show off.” she nudges you playfully.

“and you, ms. art aficionado? what masterpieces are you creating today?” even though you two were joking around a bit and treating each other in a certain way, your question had a genuine interest.

“just finished a sculpture”. she replies. “i’m pretty proud of it. it’s… well, you’ll see.”

“i look forward to it. and if you need some help, i can help if you want.” you offer, ever the dutiful girlfriend.

“thanks, babe.” she rests her head on your shoulder for a moment. “i think i’m good for now. i just have to finish this painting project for arts. it’s kind of hard, you know?”

“yeah, i see. and what class was it that you so conveniently didn’t have because of a teacher’s absence?” you ask, your voice laced with gentle suspicion.

karina laughed, a melodious sound that always made your heart skip a beat. she tried to hide her smile, but a tell–tale glint in her eyes betrayed her. it only took one pointed look from you for her to confess. “okay, okay, you caught me.” she admits, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“me and yeji and giselle decided a sunny morning was better spent… elsewhere.”

you felt a familiar surge of exasperation. “karina!” you started, ready to launch into a lecture about responsibility and wasted potential.

you open your mouth to scold her, to lecture her about responsibility and wasted potential, but she clamps a hand over your mouth, her eyes wide with mock horror. “shhh! don’t say it so loud!” she hisses. “someone might hear me, and then i’ll be in actual trouble.”

before you could formulate a retort, she grabs your wrist and tugs you in the opposite direction, away from the main thoroughfare and towards a more secluded part of campus. “c’mon, let’s go somewhere more… private to discuss this.”

you stumbled after her, your mind reeling. where was she taking you now?

“karina, where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice tinged with concern. she’s never skipped like this before. “we should probably get you back to class—”

she cuts you off, spinning you around and leading you towards the hallway with all the administration offices. now, you two are standing outside the… dean’s office. the polished brass plaque gleams in the filtered sunlight.

you stared at the imposing wooden door, your heart pounding in your chest. “karina, what are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch. the anxiety that had been simmering beneath the surface now threatens to boil over. “why are we here? you’re not in trouble, are you?”

she leans closer, her eyes sparkling with a reckless abandon that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

she grinned, a wild, mischievous glint in her eyes. “well, if i’m going to get a report for skipping class anyway.” she said, her voice dripping with mock drama. “i prefer to give a good reason for having one.”

“are you serious? karina, you’re going to get into serious trouble! actually... you’re going to get us into serious trouble! do you have any idea how a report would look next to my grades? that would ruin my student image! and—” before you could continue with your monologue, she interrupts you.

“relax.” she says, her voice a low murmur. “i’m going to get a report whatever happens, so, i prefer to give a good reason for having one. and don’t worry, if we get caught, i promise you that i’ll be the one to take full responsibility and face the consequences alone, so stop being a pussy.”

you don’t have time to process her baffling statement before she’s pushing you through the door, her hand firmly planted on your lower back. the office is thankfully empty, the dean presumably away at a meeting. the air smells of old paper and authority. this is so wrong.

she pressed you against the cool, smooth surface of the door, her body a warm, insistent pressure against yours. your breath caught in your throat. her hands moved to cup your face, her thumbs gently tracing the lines of your cheekbones. her gaze, intense and playful, locked with yours.

“karina.” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

she didn’t answer. instead, she lowered her head, her lips brushing against yours in a feather–light kiss that sent shivers dancing down your spine. the kiss deepened, her lips parting yours, inviting you in. you surrendered, your worries and anxieties melting away in the heat of her touch.

her hands moved from your face to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, molding your bodies together. the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something indescribably floral, filled your senses.

her hands roam freely, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding under your shirt to explore the sensitive skin of your back. you gasp against her mouth, your body responding instinctively to her touch. her fingers dance along your spine, sending shivers down your back.

the world shrinks to the space between you, a bubble of heat and desire in the sterile environment of the dean’s office. you can feel the rapid beat of her heart against yours, the frantic pace of her breath mingling with your own.

you instinctively arched closer, your own hands finding their way to her hair, the soft strands sliding between your fingers. the kissing grew more insistent, more demanding, a silent conversation of desire and unspoken needs.

she nibbled at your lower lip, her tongue tracing its outline, and you moaned softly, the sound lost in the deepening kiss. your hands moved lower, tracing the curve of her back, the smooth fabric of her blouse a tantalizing barrier.

the kissing broke, and she trailed kisses down your jawline, her breath warm against your skin. you tilted your head back, giving her better access, a silent invitation. her lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, and you gasped, a thrill shooting through you.

“karina.” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “we… we shouldn’t be doing this here. the lunch bell will ring any minute.” the absurdity of the situation finally registered, the dean’s office feeling suddenly small and claustrophobic.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and knowing. “then…” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “we should hurry up.”

karina’s hands slid up your sides, her fingers splaying across your back as she pulled your body flush against hers. you could feel every curve and contour of her lithe, toned figure pressed against you, separated only by the thin fabric of your uniforms.

she captured your mouth in a searing kiss, her lips moving hungrily against yours. her tongue pushed past your teeth, exploring and claiming, dominating your mouth with a fierce intensity. one hand tangled in your silky hair, gripping it tightly as she angled your head to deepen the kiss.

karina’s other hand slid down to grab your ass, squeezing the firm flesh hard enough to leave imprints of her fingers. she ground her hips against yours, letting you feel the heat building between her legs. the kiss turned sloppy, wet, obscene in its intensity as she devoured your mouth.

karina’s hands slid down to your ass, squeezing the soft yet firm cheeks, followed by a tap on your side, giving you the signal to wrap your legs around her waist. without breaking the weight, she effortlessly carries you up to the dean’s large, polished mahogany desk

after a long, breathless moment, she broke the kiss, leaving you both panting. a string of saliva connected your lips before she licked them clean with a wicked grin.

karina’s eyes flashed with unbridled lust and a hint of madness as she gazed at you, chest heaving with each ragged breath. without warning, she spun you around and bent you over the dean’s large, imposing desk, scattering papers and office supplies to the floor. her fingers found the hem of your skirt, pushing it up and bunched around your waist.

“fuck, you look so hot like this, love.” she growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. the sound echoed through the office, followed by the muffled yelp that escaped your lips. karina rubbed the reddened flesh, soothing the sting before continuing with her purpose.

slowly, teasingly, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down, yanking them off your legs and tossing them carelessly to the floor. cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver with anticipation.

wrapping her long hands around your waist, she spins you around, making you lie on your back. karina grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide and pushing your legs against your chest, making you hook your hands on the back of your knees and hold them against your chest — this exposed your most intimate place to her hungry gaze.

“mmmh, and look at this pretty little pussy... all pretty and perfect, just for me.” karina licked her lips as she took in the sight of your exposed sex, glistening and ready. she leaned in close, her warm breath ghosting over your most intimate place. her fingers slid through your slick folds, teasing and stroking. she could feel the heat radiating from your core, the slick evidence of your arousal coating her fingertip.

without further preamble, karina leaned in and sealed her mouth over your sex, her tongue delving deep between your folds. she groaned at the taste of you, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she focused intently on pleasuring you. her tongue circled and flicked over your clit, then pushed inside your tight heat, fucking you with deep, deliberate strokes.

karina’s hands gripped your thighs hard enough to leave marks as she held your legs open, keeping you spread wide for her hungry mouth. she devoured you like a woman starved, determined to taste every drop of your arousal.

she lapped at you greedily, savoring your unique taste, before focusing on your sensitive clit. she suckled and flicked the hardened nub, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

karina attacked your pussy with wild abandon, her tongue delving deep and stroking every sensitive nerve ending. sloppy, wet sounds filled the dean's office as she ate you out with gusto, not caring about the mess she was making or who might hear.

every so often, she would pull back and spank your ass hard, leaving a red handprint on your cheek. the sharp sting only served to heighten your arousal, making you writhe and buck against her mouth.

“fuck, you taste so good.” karina growled against your cunt, giving your clit a hard suck. she released it with a pop, only to dive back in and press the flat of her tongue against it, rubbing firm circles.

“such a naughty girl… letting me do this in the dean’s office.” she purred, punctuating her words with a sharp smack to your ass. “i bet you love being a dirty slut, don’t you baby? being eaten out where anyone could catch us?”

tears burn in your eyes, escaping from the corners of your eyes and turning into fat drops as they begin their journey down your blushing cheeks. a sob escapes from your swollen and almost sore lips from biting them so much in attempts to contain your moans and noises so as not to be caught in this position by some teacher or student. “you’re the one who suggested it.”

karina laughed, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against your sensitive flesh. she delivered another hard spank to your ass, leaving a matching red handprint on the other cheek.

karina smirked up at you, her chin glistening with your juices. she gave your clit a quick flick with her tongue before responding. “mmmh, you’re right, baby. i’m the one who suggested it. guilty as charged, baby. but i’m not sorry. i saw what i wanted and i went for it, just like this… and look at you, being such an obedient girlfriend for me.” she purred, rubbing your reddened skin soothingly before gripping it hard enough to leave bruises.

she dove back in, sucking your clit into her mouth and flicking it rapidly with her tongue. at the same time, she pushed a finger, then two, into your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace.

“mmmh, and now look at you, spread out on the dean’s desk like a feast for me to devour. i can’t help myself around a cute little thing like you.” she purred, curling her fingers to rub your g–spot as her thumb circled your clit.

karina leaned in and buried her face between your thighs again, attacking your pussy with single–minded focus. she licked and sucked and fucked you with her tongue and fingers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

she could feel your walls starting to flutter around her invading fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. karina doubled her efforts, determined to make you come undone on her tongue.

“that’s it, baby, come for me.” she growled against your cunt, the vibrations pushing you over the precipice. “i want to taste your cum dripping down my chin as i make you scream my name.”

karina punctuated her words with a particularly hard spank to your ass, leaving a vivid red handprint on your skin. at the same time, she pressed her thumb hard against your clit and bit down gently on your clit, sending you hurtling into ecstasy.

she could feel your breathing growing more ragged, your hips bucking erratically against her face. with a final, hard suck to your clit, she pushed a third finger into your tight channel, stretching you deliciously.

karina fucked you hard and fast, the wet squelch of her fingers plunging in and out of your dripping cunt filling the room. she could feel your walls fluttering, your body tensing, and she knew you were right on the cusp.

with a final, brutal thrust and a hard suck to your clit, karina sent you hurtling over the edge. your pussy clenched vice–tight around her fingers as your orgasm crashed through you, waves of ecstasy radiating out from your core.

your pussy clamped down around her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating out from your core. karina moaned as she felt your release flooding her mouth, lapping up every drop of your essence like a woman starved.

karina groaned against your spasming sex, lapping up your release and pushing her fingers deeper to feel every pulse and flutter. she worked you through your climax with skilled fingers and a wicked tongue, wringing out every last tremor and aftershock until you collapsed back onto the dean’s desk, boneless and sated. only then did she pull back, a smug grin on her face as she licked her lips.

pathetic. that's what you looked like right now; pathetic. but of course your girlfriend was enjoying every damn second of this moment, seeing you so vulnerable given the context of the situation… maybe this will just feed her twisted brain and get her mind working on thinking of more places she can get a nice piece of pussy if she’s in the mood

maybe this will just feed her twisted brain and get her mind working on thinking of more places she can get a nice piece of pussy if she’s in the mood, and of course, you’d never deny it to your girlfriend, right?

“not bad for a quick fuck in the dean’s office, huh baby?” she purred, standing up and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. her eyes raked over your disheveled form, sprawled out on the dean’s desk with your skirt bunched up around your waist.

karina leaned over you, bracing her hands on either side of your head. she licked her lips, still glistening with your juices. “and i’m not nearly done with you yet, baby. we’ve still got so much more to explore together… just wait until i get you all to myself.”

pulling away from you, she takes your wrist, giving you a gentle tug to lift your body off the desk and onto your feet.

she picks up your discarded panties on the carpeted floor, kneeling in front of you. wrapping one of her hands around your ankle, she helps you lift each of your legs and put your underwear back on. she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, pulling the panties up your weak, shaking legs — the fabric stained as it made contact with your slippery folds and puffy clit, but hey, you had to endure the sensation until you could find a moment to sneak off to your dorm and find a clean pair of panties.

smoothing your skirt and setting it into place, karina watches through her lashes as you put your sweater back in place and comb your hair, running your fingers through your messy locks. “we’ll go get something from the cafeteria, okay? let me buy you something for lunch. you need to regain your energy to continue the day, you can’t be in class with that lack of energy on your body. i promise that after class, i’ll take you home and take proper care of you.”

you smiled victoriously. finishing the literature exam in record time and passing it, being able to spend quality time with your girlfriend, getting fucked by her and then her promising you a nice breakfast and a date afterwards? today was your lucky day.

“oh, and wipe that satisfied smirk off your face before someone sees. wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea about the dean’s pretty little assistant.”

[shaiyasstuff]

pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

[sunflowerwinds]

sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: after vi’s kick-boxing match, you’re invited to come over to her place for a celebration after party. gentle moments & new beginnings ensue.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, baker!reader, mila & jinx being reader & vi’s #1 supporters, mentions of violence & blood (it is kick boxing), the moment everyone has WANTED! (including me)

word count: 6.1K

a/n: that’s the end of these two :( i’ve loved writing this mini-series for you all and hope this satisfies you all as an ending. and thank you guys so so much for 3K FUCKING FOLLOWERS. my mind is BLOWN. MY INBOX IS OPEN FOR ANY MORE VI ONESHOT/SERIES IDEAS if you want to requests <3

— FOUR

The night before Vi’s match was a race to complete the two cakes you were making for her.

One that read: ‘#1 Boxer!’

The other that read: ‘#1 in our hearts!’

Just in case she wasn’t too lucky but judging off of the minimal boxing you’ve seen from her practicing at her gym, there was a slim chance she would be losing.

“Bug, it’s almost midnight. I’ll finish this.” Your grandma scolds you as you pipe the last of the lettering on the top of the first cake.

You huff at her, shaking your head. You were blinking back the sleep itching at your eyelids, determined to get this finished tonight.

“I’m nearly done. I just have the second cake and then I’ll be good.”

Your grandmother folds her arms over her chest, tilting her head as she inspected your behavior.

“You really like this girl,” she says fondly as if she’s realizing it for the first time.

You sigh, looking up at her as you let out a self deprecating chuckle.

“Yeah, I do.” A beat passes. “Do you think this is pathetic?”

Your grandmother walks over to you, rounding the island to rub her hands up and down your arms. She shakes her head as she hums in thought.

“No. I think it’s sweet. You have a lot of love in you and she’d be so lucky to get even a piece of it.” She sighs as she kisses your temple.

You look at your grandma with an adoring look in your eyes, taking in her words. The dimness of the overhead light above the island shone against your glossy eyes.

“Thanks, gram. I love you,” you whisper as you lean into her touch.

“I love you more.” She hums as she motions to everything scattered mess of utensils, bowls and piping tools across the island. “Clean this up before you go to bed. I don’t want to hear the whining in the morning.”

You chuckle as you bump your hip with her own.

“I know,” you drag teasingly, shaking your head.

Your grandmother hums one more time before walking away from the kitchen to emerge into the darkness to her bedroom. A comfortable silence takes over the dim kitchen, unable to move from that position for a few seconds.

With the piping tool in your hand, you think about what the hell you were doing. It came so easy for you to care for Vi. How could you not? Your friendship was something you would hold tightly for years to come.

But what were you doing with her?

The way your heart beats in a special rhythm just for her should be clear enough to show that what you two have is more than that. You shake off the feeling and return to piping the lettering onto the small cakes, ignoring the nervous ache that was settling in the pit of your stomach.

You went to bed after begrudgingly cleaning up the mess you had made and put the cakes in the fridge to cool, sleeping that night with a haunting ‘what if?’ floating in your mind.

The next day was agony.

Vi had sent a photo of her prepping for the match a.k.a getting a last minute workout in.

from vi ♥︎ | [1 Image Attached]

from vi ♥︎ | Getting a last minute workout in before tonight. What are you up to, pretty girl?

What the hell was her problem? It was 8 in the morning.

You gawk at the photo of her reflection in the gym mirror, the shadows perfectly highlighting her sculpted biceps that had a light glisten of sweat on them. She had on a white simple sports bra, her entire torso exposed for you to enjoy. Her athletic pants sat low on her hips so that you could see the waistband of her briefs. She had her phone held up so that her face was covered but you could imagine that irritatingly attractive smirk on her lips.

God, you could feel the heat in your cheeks spreading down to your neck. You hadn’t even made yourself breakfast yet.

to vi ♥︎ | about to make myself breakfast but this is distracting for me

from vi ♥︎ | Me? A distraction?

from vi ♥︎ | No, no. That doesn’t sound like me.

You scoff at her message, knowing that this is exactly the kind of reaction she wants from you.

to vi ♥︎ | whatever.

to vi ♥︎ | i guess you won’t see my cheerleader outfit anymore

from vi ♥︎ | Wait no, please.

You would be lying if you would say her saying ‘please’ didn’t boost your ego a little bit.

“Hey, Jinx is coming over soon so just giving you a heads up since Gram left already.”

Mila’s voice causes you to jump with your phone clutched in your hand, blinking rapidly as you lift your head up to see Mila leaning over the island with a cheeky smile.

“Okay. I’m home. Remember that,” you point accusingly at her.

She rolls her eyes at your words. “She just wants to have breakfast with me and I said I’d cook. You’re one to talk.”

Your eyes trail down her neck to the hickey fading on her collarbone before squinting at her. Mila and Jinx’s relationship wasn’t your business but you were almost 100% sure they were dating. Well, you did walk in on them making out in her room after your shift at the bakery, about to ask Mila if she wanted pizza just a few days prior and your eyes were assaulted with that image.

Jinx ended up staying for dinner and no one spoke a word about it after.

“Yeah, okay. You forgot one,” you motion to the spot on her skin.

Her hand reaches up to feel over the fading hickey, appearing flustered for a moment before mumbling a ‘shut up’ and making her way back to her bedroom. You snicker to yourself at her state, shaking your head in disbelief. You grab a bowl for your oatmeal and send a message back to Vi, feeling all the more proud of yourself.

to vi ♥︎ | mmm i dont know. i might not wear it at this point, violet

from vi ♥︎ | Well, if I ask nicely, will you?

to vi ♥︎ | i guess you’ll just have to wait until tonight :)

You set your phone down for a moment to grab a banana and slice it up into little circles. As you add in a little bit of brown sugar and banana to your oatmeal, your phone on the counter dings and your face heats up at the message.

from vi ♥︎ | Such a tease, cupcake.

Hypocrite.

from vi ♥︎ | But I can’t wait to see you tonight. You’re coming to mine after for Vanders barbecue, right?

to vi ♥︎ | yes! mila’s coming with too so i bet jinx’ll be excited about that

vi ♥︎ hearted this message

to vi ♥︎ | and i can’t wait to see you too :)

You finally set your phone aside to carry your bowl over to your couch, grabbing the TV remote to put on a random film as you eat your breakfast in peace. Well for two minutes until you hear knocking at your door.

You huff as you pause your movie, about to get up from the comfy position on the couch before you hear a door swing open and rushed footsteps come from behind you.

“I’ll get it!” She calls out as she practically flies past you to open the door.

You gradually sit back down, leaning your body to the left slightly. Your eyes lock on the door as Mila sucks in a deep breath to swing open the door. You duck your head as you see that familiar head of blue hair, surprisingly pulled back into a singular long ponytail with her baggy pjs on.

You couldn't eavesdrop as much as you desired to due to the distance but you could hear soft whispers and smitten giggles emitting from the both of them as they made their way to the kitchen.

“Morning!” Jinx peaks into the living room for a moment, waving at your position from the couch.

“Morning. What are you guys making?” You question, smiling at her blue-haired girl as Mila lingers behind her, twirling a few strands of other’s vibrant hair.

“I was thinking french toast but Mils wants pancakes so,” Jinx huffs as she turns to look at your sister.

“Okay, well, clean it up when you’re done, please,” your gaze shifts to your sister as it was catered more towards her.

Mila rolls her eyes but mutters a ‘we will’ before grabbing onto Jinx’s hand, intertwining their fingers and rushing back to the kitchen to be by themselves. You purse your lips as your smile grows at your sisters… girlfriend? You weren’t entirely sure what their relationship was but she seemed happy.

That’s really all you could want for her.

After Jinx and Mila made their breakfast (making sure to be as giggly and have no space between each other at all times until Jinx left), the afternoon was a blur of the two of you panicking as you got ready. You had the cheerleader outfit in mind as you slipped on a skirt that you had bought over a year ago out of impulse at the thrift store.

It had been collecting dust in your drawer up until today. It was a simple black pleated skirt with your skin-color toned tights to help with chafing and a white fitted long sleeve due to the cooler weather outside. It was mid-December but where you lived didn’t get as cold as you had thought.

You blame it on global warming.

“Hey, do you have any conceal–” Mila popped into your room as you were pressing the skirt down to your thighs, checking yourself out in the mirror. “Wow. You look good.”

You look at her through the reflection and a small smile forms on your face. “Thanks. It’s not too much for a boxing match though?”

“No. You look like a boxer's girlfriend.” Mila teases as she walks over to your vanity that held your makeup.

You roll your eyes, feeling all the more stressed now.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell her how you feel. You two have insane tension.” Mila looks up at you as she picks through your makeup.

“I don’t know how, dude. It’s harder than it seems,” you huff as you step away from your mirror to make your way over to her.

“Well, I think you should. The both of you are dancing around telling each other how you feel and are disgustingly flirty. You don’t want to end up in a homoerotic friendship, do you?”

You stare speechless at your sister. As harsh as it was to hear, you knew that she was right. You didn’t want to keep bullying yourself into thinking that you shouldn’t tell Vi how you feel; that it's better being unspoken.

You didn’t want to let something like this lessen over time because you were too much of a coward.

“No, I don’t,” you reply with a long sigh.

“There you go. Tonight at their house; you tell her.” Mila points accusingly at you, narrowed eyes and all.

Your eyes widen at her words. “I didn’t mean today.”

“Well, I did. Because then you’ll be,” she clears her throat and nasals her voice a bit as she mocks you, “I’ll just do it tomorrow, Mils. I’m just gonna stare at Vi’s biceps and abs in the meantime and drool all over my phone instead of just telling her how I feel like a loser.”

You raise one of your hands to smack her upside her head, scoffing at her rude impersonation of you.

“Fuck you,” you roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’ll… tell her later.”

Mila rubs at her scalp before snatching the concealer she had been looking for, turning to you with a small grin.

“See? Tough love works.”

“I think at this point it's peer pressure,” you correct her as she leaves your room.

“I can’t hear you! I’m getting ready!” Mila shouts from the other side of the house after a few beats of silence.

You shake your head with a soft chuckle as you take one more once over of your outfit as you couldn’t help but feel all the more excited knowing that Vi would be seeing you in this. A fleeting thought of imagining her fawning over you passes before you continue getting yourself ready.

Once the two of you were ready to go, you grabbed your keys and passed by your grandma who had been sitting in her living room with her iPad in her lap playing Tetris as the shop had closed early on Sundays.

“Bye, gram. We’ll be home a little late so please don’t wait up,” you walk over to her, giving her a warm hug.

“Look at my two beautiful granddaughters.” She coos as she cups your cheek and looks over at Mila with a sweet smile.

“We get it from you, gram.” Mila chuckles as she goes to the other side of her, giving her a side hug as she snuggles her cheek into her graying hair.

“Have fun. Sneak me some barbecue. I’ll eat it tomorrow.” She chuckles as she pats both of your backs.

You release her with a soft ‘love you’, Mila doing the same as you leave the house to make your way to the local arena where the matches are being held.

The second the two of you walked in, you were bombarded by the scent of sweat and heat. You spot Ekko’s bright white hair before anyone else in the stands, raising your hand and waving to get his attention. Ekko’s eyes narrow when he spots you and Mila before they relax once he realizes who he’s looking at. Jinx was in one of the most relaxed manspreads with her booted feet resting on the hard plastic seats, Isha was coloring next to Ekko, showing him each page. Vander was nowhere in sight.

You both make your way over to the small family, giving everyone a side hug and soft greeting. Isha looks up from her messy scribbles to sign ‘hi, pretty cake lady.’ You can’t help but beam down at her, muttering a ‘hi cutie.’ Isha smiles at that before resuming her colors.

“Hey. We’re not too late right?” You wonder as you sit next to Ekko, setting your purse down on the other seat next to you.

“Nah, she’s in the second half of the tournaments which start in, like, five minutes.” Ekko reassures you, looking up at Mila from his seated position. “Hey, M.”

“Hey, little man.” Mila grins as she steps over the first row of stands to sit in between Jinx’s legs.

“I’m taller than you, you know?” He scoffs.

“Barely. Like an inch or two.” Mila rolls her eyes with a playful undertone.

“Is Vander here?” You wonder as you look around the many rows of people who were undoubtedly here to support the competitors.

“Oh, yeah. He’s getting popcorn but he’ll be back before it starts.” Jinx replies to you as she closes her wide man-spread to allow Mila to rest her head on her knee.

Ew. But cute, you think to yourself.

Right on his cue, Vander walks over to set the large popcorn bucket in Ekko’s palms. A friendly smile etches onto his beard-coated face.

“Glad you could make it. Vi was telling me about you coming,” he sits down on the other side of you, raising a arm to give you a side hug.

You accept the warmth with ease, getting a good whiff of his burly-woodsy cologne lingering to his clothes.

“Dad, she was raving about her coming,” Jinx corrects.

Mila merely raises her eyebrows at you but elbows Jinx’s knee at the teasing. She mutters an ‘ow’ with a huff. Your face lit aflame as you attempted to ignore the blue-haired girl.

“Right, right. She misses you.” Vander tugs you in a little before releasing you to point at Isha’s figure. “So does little miss sweet-tooth over there.”

You chuckle at his words but your mind couldn’t help but pick out the fact that Vi’s father is admitting this to you. Have you affected her as much as she has to you?

You didn’t have much time to ponder on it as the first round began before you could process two people were socking each other in the face.

Boxing matches were a lot more intense than you had thought.

Here you were cramped next to Vander who was clapping and cheering Vi on who was 3 times louder than the entire crowd, Ekko on the other side who was shoving popcorn down his throat as he shouted that at the ref about Vi’s opponent who was apparently doing illegal moves, and Isha was mimicking each punch her eldest sister was throwing at her opponent, wriggling around so much you had to wrap your arms around her torso to keep her still in your lap. You could hear Jinx and Mila who were sitting a row behind you wincing at each blow.

Your eyes flickered from Vi to her opponent, the bright light above the two shining down to highlight the glistening sweat and panting chest. Vi had already gotten a few good hits in, her red gloves already having a faint smudge from her opponents blood.

Her face was determined, brows furrowed in concentration. The match was nearly over; the two being on their 3rd round. Everyone was antsy to see who was going to be condemned as the winner of this match.

Vi had flown past these matches; nearly winning every single one. Seeing her in action ignited something… arousing inside of you. It was humiliating to know the excited thoughts that were flooding your mind as Vi threw calculated hits, kicks and punches towards her opponents as you were surrounded by her close family.

The timer goes off for the last and final round of their match and the bell dinged off for the two to separate. Vi knocked her gloved fist with her opponent with a nod of respect as she walked over to her corner with her coach to spit out her mouth guard and take a few huge gulps of water, a few droplets mixing with her sweat as it trails down her neck.

Boxing matches were a lot more enticing than you had thought as well.

Maybe because you’d never seen a girl you were crushing on in such a position but now? Yeah, you wanted to be at every single one.

“And after a unanimous decision,” the announcer speaks into the mic that floods through the audience. “The winner is Violet from Medarda Studio.”

Excitement rushed through your body as you stood up with Isha in your arms, jumping as you cheered along with the entire family. Vander turns to you and Isha and lifts the both of you up as before, setting you down to clap loudly and shout, “That’s my girl!” with nothing but heartwarming joy. Isha giggles at her fathers ecstatic state as she turns in your arms, silently asking to be set on her feet. You release her as she climbs up the steps of the stands to hop onto Jinx’s back.

Seeming to know what she was asking, Jinx lifted her onto her shoulders as she whoops for her sister’s victory. Vi’s arm was being held up by the referee, her eyes scanning through the crowd and landing on you. Your breath catches in your throat as you visibly notice her smile grow the second she finds your face.

Before you can mouth something to her, you feel a large hand on your back and look up to see Vander pointing towards the exit.

“Come on. She’s gonna leave out the back.”

You nod and let him lead the way, antsy to see Vi even though it has barely been a week since you have seen her. You hadn’t realized just how much until now. Soon, everyone was outback in the parking lot, awaiting the boxing champion.

The heavy metal doors swing open, other competitors leaving as well to reunite with their own families. Vi emerges with who you were assuming was one of her students as she’s clapping the girl on the back with a kind smile and ruffles her head of hair before making her way over to everyone.

“Hey guys,” one of her metals hung around her neck and a duffle over her right shoulder, a bright smile on her face.

How does she look amazing after boxing and sweating for hours?

Everyone bombards her with overlapping compliments about how amazing she was as Isha runs up to her with soft laughter leaving her lips. Vi is quick to bend over to pick her up off of her feet and rest her on her hip.

“Seriously. I’m a little afraid of you now,” Mila juts in as her hand is locked with Jinx’s leaning on her.

“Nah, I would never intentionally hit you.” Vi reassures your sister as she finally locks eyes with you.

You almost miss her eyes locking right on your skirt before trailing up your legs to your face. She steps closer to you, pursing her lips as she is seemingly holding in a giddy grin. You can’t help but mentally give yourself a high-five for her reaction.

“Hey, cupcake. Thanks for coming.” She adjusts Isha on her hip.

“It’s nothing. I wanted to,” you shake it off. “I brought cake!”

“Of course you did.” Vi lets her smile through, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

“What flavor?” Ekko wonders as he is still eating the popcorn.

You grin with clasped hands behind your back. “Marble cake with vanilla frosting. Nothing too crazy.”

All of a sudden, a loud grumble emits from Vander causing everyone to chuckle to themselves.

“I don’t know about you guys but I have worked up quite the appetite cheering you on,” Vander pats his stomach with a huff, sending his eldest daughter a wink as he tries to usher everyone who rode with him to the van.

You internally frown at Vanders rushing but you keep it to yourself as you think that maybe you’ll get some alone time with Vi when you get to the loving household.

“You were the loudest there. I think I can’t hear through my left ear anymore,” Jinx jokes with her dad, holding her ear with a groan.

Vander playfully rolls his eyes at Jinx, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder that Mila wasn’t resting on.

“Come on. We’ll see you guys at home.” He nods at Mila and you.

Vi nods in agreement, eyes following over your outfit once again as she follows her little family towards the beaten down van. You suck in a deep breath as you watch her look behind her shoulder to glance at you once more before she locks her attention back on Isha who seems to be signing aggressively to her.

Tonight, you remind yourself.

Vander’s house was lively; everyone speaking amongst one another as he was outside barbecuing the meats on the grill. You had been playing Uno with Isha and Ekko in the living room, letting her win pretty much every time. She couldn’t say ‘uno’ so when she would have one card left, she would hold up her pointer finger while you and Ekko groaned and frowned playfully about how good she was at this game.

Feeling a bit thirsty, you excused yourself from the group and grabbed a soda before shutting it gently.

Vi had been in the shower as she claimed she looked terrible after all those matches.

You wanted to disagree loudly and tell her she always looked good but you second guessed it and kept it to yourself.

“So no cheerleading outfit, huh?” You hear from beside you.

Without looking up, you shake your head with a smitten grin.

“Nope,” you hum as you crack open your can, now turning your head to see a freshly showered Vi.

The scent of her body wash and perfume lingered in the air around her as she had given you maybe 3 inches of room between the two of you. She sported a black tee shirt and a pair of comfy red and black plaid PJ pants, her hair a slightly darker shade than usual as it was still air drying from her shower. She had a small butterfly closure and yellowing bruise over her cheek and one on the tail of her eyebrow.

Still, she looked as beautiful as ever.

Her eyes trail down to your skirt, shamelessly checking you out as she points down to the short material.

“Well, I’m not complaining about this compromise,” she grins at you before walking around you to open the fridge door herself.

You hide your blush as best as you can, taking a sip of your drink before clearing your throat.

“So when you said you were boxing, I did not expect to see some professional moves out there,” you tease as you tilt your head at her.

“Wow, doubting me, cupcake?”

“I never said that. I was actually wondering if you’d go pro,” you watch her grab her own can of soda, cracking it open with a soft hiss.

Vi stills for a second at your words before shaking her head. “I don’t know. I… looked into it a while back but it's a lot of traveling. I wouldn’t really have a set home, you know?”

Huh. So, she’s not a fan of traveling.

“You’d like a more domestic life?” You wonder as you lean against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, I would,” she nods with a gentle grin, folding her arms over her chest. “And you? Are you planning on staying at your grandma's bakery for a while?”

The question allows you to think for a moment. You hadn’t really looked into any other sort of career path as you had learned about every nook and cranny to run your grandmother’s bakery for years now. It had become second nature; a space that you felt comfortable in.

You shrug your shoulders, a content smile on your lips. “I definitely can’t complain. I love it there. Yeah, it gets hard but every job is like that.”

Vi eyes bore into yours, seeming to be listening intently to you. For a moment it felt like you two were the only ones in the house as you spoke quietly in the space of her kitchen. The sounds of Jinx, Ekko, Mila and Isha playing in the living room were becoming more and more drowned out by the bright ocean of Vi’s eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not leaving anytime soon,” Vi nods with a gentle smile.

“Why? So you can get more free desserts?” You tease as you lean in closer, your faces just a mere inch apart.

Her eyes flicker down to your lips; a split second of you catching her attention turning to something other than your eyes.

“You know that’s not why,” she whispers as she leans her face in closer to yours.

Your breath catches into your throat as you could feel your cheeks and neck getting hotter by the second. Her hand clamps around your soda can, unbelievably tense and nervous as you try and muster up the courage to tell her.

You could hear Mila’s voice taunting you in the back of your mind.

“Vi–”

“Food’s ready!” Vander’s booming voice echoes in the house, causing the both of you to jump and pull back from one another.

Vi turns her head to shout back: “Be right there, dad!”

A wave of disappointment washes over you but you attempt to shield it as you spread your lips thin, pointing outside with your free hand.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you’re hungry after beating people up for hours.”

Vi pauses before an amused chuckle leaves her mouth. “Uh, yeah but I have a gift for you.”

“You do?” You grin is replaced with a more genuine smile.

“Yeah, I have it in my room. Come on,” she reaches for your free palm.

You take her hand with ease: like you had done it a million times before. You set your soda down on the counter and allow Vi to pull you through the house's walls to her bedroom.

Vi twists the knob and pushes her door open to reveal her overall neat room, noticing a candle lit on top of her dresser. The refreshing scent just screams ‘her’. You don’t miss the little knick-knacks and metals and trophies placed on one side of her wall, her name etched onto the plaques.

“So, what’d you get me?” You hum, a shit-eating grin on your face as you're still looking at the wall.

Vi sucks in a sharp breath before muttering out your name.

“Yeah?” You twist your body back to face her, eyes finding her own.

Not even a second passed before you felt her lips on yours. You emit a noise of surprise as she cups either side of your face, tilting her jaw up to mold her lips into your own. The initial shock passes when you feel her pull back slightly, the realization setting in.

Vi’s kissing you. You’re kissing her.

Your hands land on her waist as you tug her in once again, eagerly following her lips now that you are aware of what’s happening. Vi hums against you, thumbing at your jaw for a moment. A shiver trickles down your spine at the feeling.

You pull away from her with a soft smack, chest pounding against your ribs so hard you swore they could crack.

“Was that my gift?” You breathe out, licking your lips as if to taste the remnants of her lips.

Vi’s lips crack into a sheepish smile, hands still cupping either side of your face as she peers into your eyes.

“No, I just,” Vi sucks in a deep breath, “You know have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we fucking met.”

Your eyes soften at her words, a smile creeping onto your face. “Really?”

Vi nods as she releases your face, the warmth of her palms lingering on your skin.

“I wanted to tell you how I felt after we made the cinnamon rolls but Jinx and Mila came back and I had to leave. Everytime I smelled sugar, I was reminded of how much of an idiot I was for not saying or doing anything before.”

You raise your hand to cover your mouth to try and cover your elated smile at her confession, a breath of relief leaving your lips.

“I was going to tell you today so I’m kind of glad there wasn’t a gift.”

“Fuck, that was stupid,” she breathed out as she looks down at her feet as she places her hands on hips.

You suck in a deep breath as your nose brushes past hers causing her to look back up at you. Taking initiative this time around, you tilt your head as you lock your lips to kiss her as passionately as you can muster. Her hands leave her own hips to settle on yours, tugging you in so your bottom halves were flushed together. Your forearms rest on her toned shoulders as you are practically inhaling each other, heavy breathing and the soft smacking of your lips fill the room.

And if you focused hard enough, you could feel her abs through her thin shirt.

Needing to take a breather, you pull away to rest your forehead on hers with an ecstatic smile.

“It was a little stupid but I like you.”

Vi’s grip tightens on your hips as if she’s trying to remind herself that this is real; that you are real.

“If it wasn’t obvious, I like you too,” Vi hums as she leans in to peck your lips once.

Your cheeks hurt from how much you were smiling.

“Are we… dating now?” You question, tilting your head at her.

“Well, I have to take you on dates first but yes, I would love to be.”

God, you wanted to kiss her until the both of you were breathless. Excitement floods through your system as you nod with a soft ‘okay’, standing in a comfortable silence.

“So,” you clear your throat as you mess with a loose string on her tee, “should we go out there now?”

Vi’s eyes leave yours to stare at her closed bedroom door, letting out a long sigh before glancing back at you.

“I want to say ‘no’ but I know they’re probably waiting on us. My dad takes his barbecuing very seriously,” she smacks her lips against her teeth with a playful eye roll.

You chuckle, believing her 100%.

“If you say so,” you nod as you place a gentle kiss on her lips greedily.

The kiss lingers for longer than either of you intended before you had to step back, forcing yourself to detach from her addicting lips. Your hand reaches for the knob as you throw her a smitten grin before swinging the door open.

You hear an ‘oh shit’ before the sound of a multitude of footsteps scurrying down the hallway. Taking a step into the now empty hall, you catch a glimpse of an undeniable piece of blue hair peeking from behind the wall that opens to the living room.

“Was that–”

“Jinx and Mila and probably Ekko and Isha? Yeah, come on,” Vi sighs as she grabs your hand to lead back down where you came from.

When you enter the living room, everyone is sitting in a circle on the rug with their own plates of barbecue as they actively pretend to not notice you two.

“Hey guys,” you say flatly, looking down at the group.

Jinx is the first to look up and smiles cheekily. “Hey. Where did you guys go? Because we have been sitting here eating and playing Uno and minding our business.”

Isha raises her little hand to cover her giggling mouth before nodding along to what Jinx was saying.

“We know you guys were spying on us, you freaks.” Vi shakes her head as she flips Jinx off to which she immediately reciprocates.

“Hey, why are you only flipping me off? It was everyone,” she motions to the entirety of the little group.

Ekko, Mila and Isha huff at her words as they continue to eat their own food before making their own sounds of protest.

“Don’t act like it wasn’t your idea. I know you, Jinx.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves Vi off before looking at you with a knowing grin. “Did she do her ‘gift’ bit? I told her it was dorky.”

Vi at this point grabs a throw pillow from the couch to hit her upside the head, nearly stepping on her foot as she does so. Vander calls from the kitchen for them to knock it off and to come and eat.

You snort as you shake your head as you settle in next to Isha who had signed to you: “Are you going to be here a lot now that you kissed Vi?”

You can’t help but nod slowly before signing to her: “I hope so.”

In the blink of an eye, Isha sets her food down before she jumps into your lap, wrapping her smaller arms around your neck with a soft giggle. You jump back at the feeling but are quick to reciprocate, not even minding the fact that her hands were covered with grease. Over Isha’s shoulder, you catch Vi looking at the two of you with a content smile. She walks over to kneel down to kiss Isha on the top of the head and then you on the cheek.

“Do you want any food, cupcake?” Vi questions softly.

You shake your head. “I’m okay, babe. Thank you.”

Vi doesn’t correct you as it sounded so perfect coming from your lips. Instead, she places one more kiss to your cheek before nodding with understanding.

“Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

You nod as you snuggle into Isha’s death grip hug. As Vi walks away from the little circle, you suck in a deep breath as you examine the area around you. Jinx was muttering curses at Mila for cheating and looking at her cards, Ekko was snorting at her anger as he leaned into Mila to hide his face and Mila pushed him off with a groan as his fingers lingered with grease. The sound of Vi and Vander chatting to one another in the kitchen really pulled it together for you.

“You finally did it, kiddo. She’s a good one.”

A beat passes before Vi says with nothing but admiration in her tone.

“I know, dad.”

You could get used to this. You wanted to get used to this.

previous part

TAG-LIST: @cinnamonmilf @sevikasfag @unear7hly @oldloverpoet @ellies-dinosaur @natscloset @baylegend6 @eddiesdrummergf @naponiac @velvetinkbym @caitvicupcakes @sawaagyapong @eyelinerfemme @rosieeteaa @prettyinpink69 @mymelody58 @inara-123 @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25 @loserbaby66 @jokermoonie @ranxiaolong @morphids @gayandcurious @oatmatchalatte @iamastar @saviourcomplexgf @vihxh7 @jinxjinxjinx12 @krilara @magical-rush @winchestergirlspn @naponiac @alex-thegiraffeboyy @fallingstarsburn @nombreuxx @16novvs @laviannasfanfics @kitty-kei @jupitsim @thalchmy @klallx @seraphicsentences @elliecoochieeater @womenlover-0 @vangoes

[artficlly]

hi !! i love ur work <3

ok i had an idea for a one shot but it’s totally fine if u don’t want to do it!

so reader and bucky break up (bucky dumps her) bc he thinks she can do better or whatevs and instead of feeling sad, reader is kind of getting off to how bad bucky is doing without her 😜😜 this is obviously inspired by my kink is karma from chappell lmao. anyways ends in fluff or smut and a lot of how much bucky missed her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😛😛

thank uuu !!

BITTER [one-shot]

modern marvel au vet!bartender!bucky x reader Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, sexual themes, angst, hurt/comfort, major character death, ptsd, bucky barnes needs a hug, bucky barnes has issues, bar fights, alcohol, smoking, swearing, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: heya nonnie. this isn't exactlyyy what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway. i'm technically on hiatus rn but i felt bad leaving your ask unanswered for so long. i've been working on this between classes, i'm not super happy with it but i thought i'd post it anyway, it got a bit longer than i was expecting. i have like 5 million things due at the end of the month so i might be gone for a bit so here is a treat in the meantime! much love! ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

permanent taglist: @civilbucky @globetrotter28 (i swear there was someone else who wanted to be added, pls let me know if that was you i lost your comment)

main masterlist

The first thing Wanda had told you about Bucky Barnes was to beware. 

Proceed with caution.

You were the type to fall in love easily, it was one of the first things you had confessed to Wanda, wine-drunk only a week after moving into her dodgy shoebox of an apartment, where the previous tenant's mail still showed up—and so did their debt collector. You were new in the city, bright-eyed and overly romantic about all you encountered, including the suspicious stains on the carpet courtesy of Wanda’s old roommate, who she only referred to as ‘that nightmarish cunt’. Wanda was cool, chic yet edgy, her voice dripping a Slavic accent and always armed with a dangerous look in her eye. She worked downtown as a sous chef at one of those mid-tier restaurants that you considered fancy, but anyone even marginally higher than your pay grade wouldn’t look twice. 

Her boyfriend, Sam, worked at a bar across the road. Howling Commandos. He co-owned it with his buddy, the infamous Bucky Barnes. They had met while serving in the army, both retiring early from service. Sam was discharged after an injury that rendered him ‘useless’, and Bucky was discharged shortly after on grounds of mental health. 

And maybe that was the allure—the myth of Bucky Barnes. 

He was handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed, the usual fairy-tale rom-com affair. He was brooding, damaged goods, and had a real chip on his shoulder since his discharge. He poured a good drink, kept the bar running smoothly, and was big enough to intimidate drunk frat boys who occasionally wandered in looking for a fight. But apparently, he didn’t do relationships. He would fuck anything that moved if it caught his fleeting attention for long enough, but that was it. 

Wanda had confessed it all to you on that dreaded wine-drunk night, hummus and carrot sticks forgotten as the TV blared Wanda’s Spotify playlist on loop. She’d had a friend, one who had moved away now, but that friend had slept with Bucky. Said it was the best lay of her life. 

So, Wanda had said, voice dipped as she gave you a drunken, sloppy grin over her Pinot Gris, the two bottles she had pinched from work now empty. If you want the night of your life, go for it, but don’t expect anything more. 

That was the rule with Bucky Barnes:

Don’t get attached. 

So, maybe foolishly, when Wanda had roused you from a hangover-induced nap the following day by asking if you wanted to join her at the Howling Commandos and continue your bender from the night before, you had taken the leap. 

–

Howling Commandos didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

It had the look of a place that had seen one too many late nights and even more bad decisions. Exposed brick walls, low-hanging lights that shrouded the room in a dim orange glow, and a row of pool tables tucked in the back behind a collection of stained wood tables and chairs.  It was edgy, kind of dark and mysterious, much like the infamous bartender who now stood before you in the flesh. 

You and Wanda had descended upon the bar at half-past nine, arms linked, laughter spilling between you. You’d gelled quickly—your soft, unguarded friendliness balancing out her wicked smirks and razor-edged sarcasm.

She swung into a barstool with the ease of someone who belonged here, peeling off her winter coat and tossing it onto the counter, shaking the snow from her auburn hair. Across from her, Bucky barely spared her a glance, his mouth set in a line that could have been annoyance or indifference.

“Wanda.” His voice was low, unimpressed.

That was all he said. No hello, no warmth. Just her name, like it was something to be tolerated.

Wanda only grinned, leaning her elbows onto the bar like she had all the time in the world.

“Sam’s out back,” Bucky added, eyes flicking toward the door before sliding right past her, landing on you instead. “Still picking up strays, I see.”

You grinned before you could help yourself, slipping into the seat next to Wanda. As you shrugged off your coat, neatly sliding it into your lap, Wanda let out a mock-horrified gasp on your behalf. 

“So rude, this is my new roommate.” Wanda’s eyes slid over to you, head tilting as she gestured towards the scowling Bucky. “And this dickhead is Bucky. He’s co-owner with Sam.”

“I remember.” You replied with ease, your gaze and smile unwavering even as Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, turning away to continue polishing the glass in his palm. 

Wanda, unbothered by his callousness, leant in. “I’m going to be honest, I need a drink ASAP. I’ve got an awful headache, and you know what I always say! Best way to beat a hangover? Drink even more.”

“Does Sam know you’re an alcoholic?” Bucky cut back, not even bothering to turn around. 

“Awwh, Buck, is that genuine care?”

“Not for you.” Bucky snipped.

Wanda made a mock pout face, fingers drumming across the bar. “But seriously, put me out of my misery here—”

“Your usual?” He cut over her.

Wanda didn’t skip a beat. 

“Pretty please,” she purred, her tone sweet and syrupy, dripping with exaggerated charm. As she settled more comfortably into the stool, her gaze flicked to you with a knowing gleam. “What do you want? On the house.”

Before you could respond, Sam’s voice rang out, thick with amused exasperation. “Baby, you can’t go offering drinks on the house to everyone—” He appeared from the back, a box of bottled spirits cradled in his arms,

“She’s my roommate—” Wanda began, but Sam cut her off, raising an eyebrow as he set the box down with a thud.

“Oh yeah? I haven’t forgotten the last one that you also insisted could have free drinks, and she turned out to be—”

“Don’t! Don’t bring up that cunt—”

You tuned out the conversation as Wanda slipped from her seat, weaving around the bar with the kind of effortless grace that came with knowing she belonged. She leaned into Sam’s space without hesitation, her laughter slipping through the low hum of the bar, threading between the murmur of voices and the scratchy tune spilling from the jukebox in the corner.

It wasn’t until Bucky slid a glass of dark liquor across the bar—precisely where Wanda had been sitting—that you finally tore your gaze away from them.

His eyes found yours, expectant, unmoving.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you assured him, reaching for your wallet, but his unimpressed stare didn’t waver. His silence stretched, almost as if he were waiting for you to back down first.

You didn’t. “Gin and tonic.”

No acknowledgement, not even a nod. He simply turned, reaching for the bottle of gin without a word.

Wanda reappeared beside you, collapsing back into her seat with a dramatic sigh, a sound that quickly dissolved into a giggle as Sam pressed a quick kiss to her cheek on his way past. The small moment of affection made you smile, your gaze trailing after him as he made his way toward the pool tables. He moved with familiarity, exchanging greetings with the patrons, his presence met with easy grins and back pats.

“He’s cute,” you hummed, watching him settle into the space like he owned it.

“I know, right?” Wanda smirked, pulling her drink closer.

You propped an elbow on the bar, your curiosity piqued. “How’d you meet?”

She took a slow sip, savouring the taste before setting the glass down. It looked like rum and coke. Smelt like it too. “He used to come to my work all the time when they were fixing up this place. We just got to talking one day and—”

Bucky set your drink in front of you with the same quiet precision as before, cutting off Wanda’s sentence mid-thought. You turned your attention back to him, offering a bright smile that didn’t falter, even as he met it with a frown.

“I’ve never liked those,” Wanda barely spared him a glance, instead eyeing your drink with mild disdain. “Not sweet enough for me.”

“Well, I like my drinks how I like my men,” you replied, the words coming with a smirk that you directed toward Bucky, holding his gaze longer than you probably should have. “Bitter.”

—

Shivering in the back alley by the dumpsters probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, you were committed.

You and Wanda had knocked back one too many drinks—again. It was becoming a habit, one that Sam was starting to take personally, considering he was the one who had to cut Wanda off after she got a little too liberal with her chatting and nearly convinced a stranger to let her wear his coat home. You, on the other hand, had managed to slip out gracefully, settling your tab before Wanda was carted out back to be babysat and force-fed water.

Neither of them had been thrilled at the idea of you walking home alone. Buzzed, barely dressed for the weather, and just reckless enough to make poor decisions, you’d assured them you were fine. Which, technically, was true. What you had failed to mention was that you hadn’t actually made it more than a few feet out the door before deciding to truly test the limits of your dignity.

The cigarette hanging from your lips wobbled slightly as you tried—unsuccessfully—to light it with numb fingers. You swore under your breath, stuffing the useless lighter back into your pocket just as the back door of Howling Commandos swung open.

And as fate—or some cruel, all-seeing god—would have it, it wasn’t Sam or Wanda who stepped outside.

Bucky emerged, a black trash bag slung over one shoulder, his usual scowl fixed in place. His stride slowed slightly when he caught sight of you, his expression unreadable.

“Thought you went home,” he muttered. “Sam and Wanda already left. If you need a ride, I can call you a cab.”

You tilted your head, watching as he moved, efficient, mechanical. The back door groaned shut behind him, its echo swallowed by the muffled city noise beyond the alley. Dumpster lid up, bag tossed in, blue eyes flicking back to you, waiting.

“I don’t need a ride.”

His gaze swept over you, unimpressed. “Sure about that? You look outta your damn mind right now.”

You exhaled, breath clouding the frigid air as you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets. The wind bit through the alleyway, slithering beneath the fur-trimmed collar and creeping up your spine.

“Well, when I had this brilliant idea, I was still drunk,” you admitted, shifting your weight on unsteady legs. “Now that alcohol’s worn off and it’s cold as shit, I can’t even fuckin’ light a smoke ‘cause my hands are shaking so bad.”

You lifted your fingers to prove your point, stiff and trembling from the cold, flashing him a lazy grin. He did not look impressed.

“This a cry for help? I don’t know what it is with Wanda and picking up crazy fuckin’ roommates—”

“I wanted to get your number.” You shrugged, unbothered by the scepticism in his tone. “Didn’t want to do it in the bar, figured you’re a private kinda guy, don’t like putting your business out for the world. I can respect that.”

He blinked, once. Then, slowly, “So you thought the next best option was to wait in a back alley in the snow—?”

“Hey,” you cut him off with a laugh, shifting your weight against the wall. “I said I was drunk when I came up with it… never said it was a good plan.”

Something flickered across his expression. Dry amusement, maybe. Then, to your surprise, he huffed out a short laugh, his breath visible in the cold air curling between you.

You smirked. “C’mon, I’ve been out here for like… an hour. Least you can do is give me your number.”

He took his time looking you over, slow and assessing. Despite the heavy winter coat hanging off your shoulders, you were still grossly underdressed for the weather. The short, tight-fitting dress clung to you like a second skin, courtesy of Wanda’s slut-shaming is sooo 2016 speech. A poor choice in hindsight, considering the temperature was bordering on unbearable.

“I’ll do you one better.”

You arched a brow. “Yeah?”

His voice dipped lower, something rougher curling at the edges. “How about I lock up, and you sit your pretty little ass in my car? I’ll drive you back to mine.” A beat. “Sound good?”

Now, this was the Bucky Barnes Wanda had described—the dangerous one, the elusive ladykiller. The shift had been minuscule, yet you already found your panties were wet.

You smiled. “Well, now you’re talking my language.”

—

"We should stop seeing each other."

Bucky sat hunched on the edge of his bed, forearms braced against his knees, fingers laced tightly together as if he were holding himself back. He didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his mouth a firm line, but that wasn’t what unsettled you—it was the tension in his shoulders, the restless bounce of his leg, the way he exhaled through his nose like he was already regretting this conversation.

That first night had been the spark, but the fire never quite burned out. It carried on in flickering embers, nights tangled in his sheets, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, bodies moving in time with the city’s restless heartbeat. If you had to put a name to it, fuck buddies was the closest fit, though even that felt too familiar, too warm. There were no tender morning-afters, no texts outside of arranging the next meeting. You met him in the alley after closing and let him drive you back to his place. Though sometimes, you never made it that far. Sometimes, it was the backseat of his car, windows fogged, streetlights streaking across his skin as you clawed at his shoulders. Other times, it was rushed and desperate, your palms braced against crates in the storeroom, breath hitching between half-suppressed moans before either of you had the sense to lock the damn door.

But as winter thawed into spring, something shifted.

The first crack in the foundation came when Bucky, against all odds, accepted your half-hearted invite to grab a bite to eat. You’d won a cheap voucher for a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place around the corner from the bar, fully expecting him to wave you off. But he hadn’t. And somehow, the two of you had ended up crammed into a booth, sharing a pile of nachos, snickering into your drinks as you watched a group of college kids make absolute fools of themselves. You wouldn’t have called it a date—Bucky sure as hell didn’t—but something about it felt different. Easier. The way he’d nudged his plate toward you when he noticed you eyeing his last taco. The way he leaned just a little too close, voice dropping low in your ear, murmuring some dry remark that made you snort into your margarita.

You weren’t sure when the line blurred. Maybe it was when your not-date nights became just as routine as your hookups. Or maybe it was at Wanda’s birthday dinner when Bucky—without thinking, without hesitation—draped his arm across the back of your chair, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the bare skin of your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed at first, too caught up in conversation, but Wanda and Sam sure as hell had. They shared a look, one of those wordless exchanges, tight-lipped and knowing. Like they were bracing for the inevitable. Like they could already see the fallout creeping on the horizon.

And they were right.

Because after a year of effortless, reckless bliss, Bucky finally reached his limit.

You should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known that letting Wanda rope you into planning his surprise birthday party was a mistake. That something so personal, so full of effort, would make him withdraw. It was all too much. Too close. Too intimate for someone who spent his life keeping people at arm’s length.

And just like that, the fire snuffed out.

Your grip tightened around the box in your hands, the crinkling of the wrapping paper comically loud in the quiet room. The laughter and chatter from the party outside felt like a world away, muffled through the walls of his bedroom. You had pulled him aside to give him his present in private, and now it sat between you like a hand grenade, pin already pulled, waiting for the explosion.

“Are you going to open your present? Hand-picked by yours truly, I made sure not to let Sam meddle with those prank gifts of his—” You ignored his words, shoving the brightly wrapped box towards him. He barely glanced at it before waving it off, his scowl deepening.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Bucky interrupted you, expression nowhere near impressed

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you serious?” The sigh that left you was excessive, the once bubbly and sweet aura you wrapped yourself up in so tightly melting away in an instant. 

You should have known.

He had been off all week. Distant, restless. He’d stopped waiting for you in the back alley after his shifts ended, ignored your texts, and let your calls go to voicemail. Hell, he hadn’t even invited you over to fuck in two weeks, and that was the foundation of whatever this was between you. You’d told yourself it was the late winter blues—snow had been falling thick for weeks now even with spring looming closer by the day. Maybe, you had told yourself, it was some kind of early mid-life crisis with his birthday looming.

But deep down, you’d known better. You’d felt it in the way he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore, how his touch had cooled from burning to indifferent. It was like a switch had flipped, turning lust into something close to disgust.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said, exhaling like the conversation had already exhausted him. He rubbed a hand down his face, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder as if looking at you would make this harder. Or maybe easier. “We should stop… whatever this is.”

The present now sat on the bed, abandoned between you. You placed it down with deliberate care, fingers smoothing over the edges as you mulled over his words. Beyond the walls, the party raged on, voices rising in drunken harmony as Sweet Caroline blared over the speakers. A chorus of shouts—touchin’ me, touchin’ you—mocked the silence stretching between you.

You knew there was no point in arguing, not when Bucky had already made up his mind, disillusioned or not. But the question still burned its way up your throat before you could stop it, raw and sharp as you met his gaze.

“Why?”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

However he had expected you to react, this clearly wasn’t it. Maybe he thought you’d cry. Maybe he thought you’d yell. But you had never been the type for tears or begging. You just wanted the truth. The cold, ruthless reason why this wasn’t working anymore.

“Yes. Why? What’s changed?”

Bucky hesitated, something flickering across his face. Hesitation, regret, guilt, maybe all three. Then, his jaw tensed, and he forced the words out like they tasted bitter on his tongue.

“You’re… You’re just too much. You’re too much for me.”

Your head tilted slightly, observing him. He still wouldn’t meet your eye.

“Too much, huh?” You echoed, voice steady despite the way your stomach twisted. “And how exactly am I too much?”

He sighed, exasperated. “You’re just… overbearing. You always want to text or call, or stop by the bar. You’re always asking after me with Sam and Wanda. It’s all just a little too much, doll. This was supposed to be a casual thing.” His fingers flexed at his sides, his frustration palpable. “You’re just—”

“So, you’re punishing me because I care?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying, Bucky?” Your voice sharpened, and your patience unravelling. “That I’m clingy? That I’m suffocating you? Is it such a crime that I want to spend time with you—”

“You’re just—fuckin’ everywhere.” His voice rose, and you arched a brow, arms folding over your chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I swear to God. Every thought I have, everything I do—you’re there. I dream about you. And sometimes, I swear I smell that goddamn perfume of yours even when you’re not around—”

“Bucky.” You took a step forward, searching his face for something, anything. “Have you ever considered that maybe this is happening because you like me? Not because I’m some overbearing burden in your life—”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his entire body stiff.

“I don’t do relationships.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “So, what then? You’re just gonna cut me off? I got too close, didn’t I? Too close to you—to the real you, the one you hide under all that brooding, tough-guy bullshit—so now you’re pushing me away?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

You exhaled sharply, your patience splintering under the weight of his silence. “You know, Wanda warned me this would happen. Sam too. Hell, just about everyone out there did.” You gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the muffled chaos of the party beyond his bedroom. Laughter and music seeped through the walls. “Your friends, your colleagues. They all warned me. Guess I’m the idiot for thinking it’d be different, huh?”

His gaze flickered. A barely-there flinch. You pressed on.

“They told me you throw people away when they get too attached.” Your voice softened, but not with kindness, with something hollow, something resigned. “Or worse, when you do.”

His breath hitched, so quick and so subtle that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you would’ve missed it. But you saw it: the crack, the hesitation, the battle waging behind those sharp blue eyes.

For a second, it almost looked like he might break. Like he might finally say what he was really thinking.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone. His expression hardened, every ounce of warmth draining from his face.

“I don’t need you.”

And just like that, the last ember of hope inside you burned out.

You swallowed against the ache in your throat, but your voice came steady, unwavering. “Is that the truth?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Or are you just telling yourself that to feel better?”

His eyes darkened, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“Get out.”

—

You weren’t sure why you came back to the Howling Commandos.

You were beginning to suspect that Wanda and Sam were scheming something. She was constantly begging you to visit the bar every night off she had with the promise of free liquor. It had taken a few weeks after Bucky’s birthday meltdown for you to finally budge. Maybe it was the way Wanda had pulled you along, her arm hooked through yours like she could drag you away from the weight of it all. Maybe it was the way she made you laugh, tipping her head back, auburn hair catching in the bar’s dim light, her wicked look as she shrugged off her coat and flung it onto the counter. Maybe it was because you knew he would be here.

And, maybe, just maybe, you wanted that.

Bucky stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw tight as he poured a whiskey neat without looking up. He must’ve heard you come in like he always did, but his eyes never once lifted from his work.

You perched upon one of the barstools beside Wanda, the wood sticky beneath your elbows, the orange glow from the bar’s lights catching in the condensation on your glass. A gin and tonic. No words exchanged, no request needed, just Bucky’s hand sliding it across the table without so much as a glance in your direction.

It was almost funny, the way he refused to look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge you beyond the ghost of a touch as his fingers brushed the glass. And yet, he still remembered your drink. Still took the time to slice a bit of lemon for the rim, just the way you liked it. Never mind that he’d once grumbled about how much he hated customers who ordered anything that meant extra cleanup at the end of the night.

“You gonna sulk all night or actually have fun?” Wanda teased, knocking her knee against yours.

You took a slow sip, letting the cool burn of gin settle on your tongue before answering. “I am having fun.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, not buying it for a second.

But the night wasn’t all bad. You were feeling good, maybe a little too good, laughing at Sam’s exaggerated retelling of a story you’d already heard a dozen times, Wanda snorting into her rum, the buzz settling in like a second skin.

But the uneasy peace did not last long, as chaos had a way of following Bucky Barnes like his own shadow.

Two guys, a little too confident, a little too eager. You felt them before you even turned, whiskey on their breath, a practiced smirk tugging at the lips. The kind of men who smelled like cheap aftershave and overconfidence, sliding into your space with easy grins and empty compliments. One leaned in too close. “Didn’t think someone like you would be drinking alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who says I’m alone?”

He took the bait, smirking. “That right? Where’s your boyfriend, then?”

“Don’t have one.” You replied, tone disinterested.

He grasped your arm, and you yanked it away, nearly elbowing Wanda beside you in the process. “Oh yeah? I could change that for you sweetheart—” 

You didn’t have time to answer before you saw the bar flap shoot up in your peripherals. 

“Hey, man,” Sam warned, barely getting the words out before Bucky was there, a cloud at the edge of your vision, muscles wound tight beneath his shirt. He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the storm rolling off him in waves, the tension singing through his frame.

The guy didn’t even have time to react before Bucky shoved him back—hard enough to knock him off balance, sending his drink sloshing onto the floor.

“The fuck?” Whiskey-breath scowled, stumbling forward like he thought he had a chance.

Bucky stepped in, jaw clenched, fist already curled like a promise. His voice was smooth, even. “Out. Now.”

The guy scoffed, straightening. “Oh yeah? What are you, the bouncer?”

“Nah.” Bucky tilted his head. “I fuckin’ own the place.”

Sam was rounding the bar, slipping beneath the bar flap. “One rule, Bucky! We have one rule!”

“No assholes in the bar?” Bucky deadpanned, flexing his fingers.

“No. No punching customers—hey!”

Too late.

The first punch landed with a sickening crack, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of conversation. A brief, stunned silence settled over the bar, glasses paused mid-air, a cue ball rolling to a stop on the felt. Then, a gasp. A sharp inhale. Someone let out a bark of laughter.

The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw, blinking like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. But instead of learning his lesson, he surged forward, swinging blindly in a desperate attempt to save face.

The impact came from the right. A solid hit, knuckles cutting against Bucky’s brow. His head snapped slightly to the side, strands of dark hair falling loose from where they’d been tucked behind his ears. The second punch followed fast—less precise, more frantic—but it clipped him along the cheekbone, just enough to split the skin.

A thin trail of red welled up, tracking down the sharp line of his face.

Bucky stilled.

A slow, dangerous exhale. Then, before the guy could so much as blink, Bucky struck. A brutal, efficient one-two, fist slamming into ribs, then an upward cut that sent the man sprawling. His friend hesitated, torn between pride and self-preservation, before grabbing a fistful of his collar and dragging him toward the door.

Bucky flexed his fingers, shaking out his hand like he was testing for damage, like he barely felt it. The cut above his brow was bleeding, a slow trickle of crimson trailing towards his temple, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes flicking lazily towards him, your pulse not even kicking up. Beside you, Wanda didn’t so much as blink; she just swirled the last of her rum and coke, watching the scene unfold like it was a rerun of a show she’d seen too many times before.

Finally, with a knowing smirk, she leaned in, voice low and honey-smooth. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You swirled your gin and tonic, ice clinking against the glass, lips curling around the rim as you took another sip.

“Maybe.”

—

The back room was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, seeping through the exposed brick walls. A single bulb hung overhead, casting a dim, yellow glow over the stacked crates of liquor and the metal shelves lined with bottles. You’d been in here many times, though usually under much more pleasurable circumstances. Bucky sat on an overturned crate, elbows on his knees, blood drying along the ridge of his knuckles. His head was tipped slightly forward, shoulders hunched as he rolled one of his split knuckles between his fingers, like he was testing if it still hurt. 

You shut the door behind you.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

You ignored him, stepping past the crates and grabbing the first aid kit off the nearest shelf. “Sit up straight.”

He didn’t move.

So, with a sigh, you pressed a firm hand to his shoulder and shoved him upright. He let it happen, though he shot you an unamused look as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus, you’re pushy.”

You crouched in front of him, flipping open the first aid kit, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. He watched as you poured alcohol onto a clean cloth, soaking it through before pressing it against the cut above his brow.

Bucky flinched, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab your wrist, to stop you. But he didn’t.

“Hold still,” you murmured, dabbing at the wound.

His lip curled slightly, but he stayed put, letting you clean the blood away. His fists clenched on his thighs, shoulders wound tight like he was waiting for something worse.

“You know,” you said, voice light despite the weight in the air, “I heard from Wanda you’ve been losing it lately.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah?”

“She said you’ve been missing shifts, and when you do turn up, you’re, uh…” You smirked, twisting the cloth to clean the edge of his jaw. “Well, these are her words, not mine—a miserable old cunt. Keep picking fights with customers.” You paused, waiting to see his response. His lips remained sown shut, his gaze cold, and he did not quite meet your eye. With an arch of your brow, you continued.

“Apparently, someone broke into your car, and you’re getting kicked out of your apartment because your landlord wants to sell it to some construction assholes.” You tilted your head, studying him. “I mean, some of that isn’t your fault, but it sounds like karma to me.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed. “Why do you care, doll?”

“I don’t,” you said easily, wringing out the cloth before pressing it against his brow again. “It’s like… watching a car wreck. Kind of captivating in a way.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You’re fucked up.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” You shrugged, barely glancing at him as you grabbed another clean cloth. “But I think, deep down, maybe I just pity you.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “Why are you so normal about all of this? Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be, I don’t know, freaking out? I was the one who dropped you, not the other way around.”

You paused, the cloth still pressed to his skin. You considered his words, then slowly and calmly, you replied. “It’s your own heart that you’re breaking, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

His lips parted like he was about to argue, but instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You sat back on your heels, observing him. The bruises were darkening across his cheekbones, his knuckles still raw, and his body shuddering from the aftermath. But beneath it all—under the cold defiance and the sharp edges—you saw it. The weight of something unspoken, something he wouldn’t admit to himself.

You hummed, tilting your head. “I know a lot.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, wary.

“I know that you take your coffee black, your whiskey neat,” you said, voice soft. “That you always make your bed because it’s a habit from when you served. You prefer to drive stick. You’re a cat person.” 

You held his gaze, watching the way his fingers curled. “I know that you wear two sets of dog tags. That there are ghosts following you that you don’t talk about. I know that you realised you were getting attached to me. That it scared you so badly you dropped me the moment it clicked.”

“I know that you still ask after me,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that deep down, you care about me.”

Silence settled between you. 

Bucky stared at his hands, dried blood caking along the ridges of his knuckles. He was still for a long time, so long you thought maybe he wasn’t going to respond at all. 

“This… this thing between us.” His voice was rough. “It was a fling. Nothing more. A moment in time, not to be repeated.”

You inhaled slowly, disappointment evident, then stood.

With an easy motion, you tossed the bloodied rag onto a nearby crate.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you murmured, stepping back.

Bucky looked up at you, something flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You just smiled.

“Because I know,” you said simply, turning toward the door, “that in the end, you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“I won’t.”

You glanced over your shoulder, the corners of your lips curling.

“Okay.”

—

The cemetery was quiet, save for the whisper of wind through bare branches and the distant hum of traffic beyond the iron gates. The last bite of winter still clung to the air, spring struggling to take hold, leaving the sky an endless stretch of pale grey.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you stepped out of Sam’s car, boots crunching against the gravel path. Wanda climbed out from the passenger side, rubbing her arms against the cold, while Sam exhaled sharply, tilting his head towards the small gathering of headstones up ahead.

“He’s already here,” he murmured.

Bucky stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his back to you, his head slightly bowed toward the grave. Even from a distance, there was a tension in the way he held himself—like he was bracing for impact or maybe just trying to keep from unravelling.

You tightened your grip on the flowers in your hand and followed Sam and Wanda towards him.

Bucky didn’t turn when you approached, but you saw his shoulders shift, the slight tensing of his jaw when he realised there was one more person than expected. He still didn’t say anything, though, just kept his eyes on the headstone.

Steve Rogers.

The name was carved deep into the stone, clean and straightforward. No rank, no medals, no accolades. Just a name. A man who had meant something to them.

You hadn’t even known Steve existed until Sam mentioned him offhand a few days ago, his voice softer than usual, the usual humour dimmed. He hadn’t given many details—just that Steve was an old friend, someone he and Bucky had served with, and that the anniversary of his death was coming up. It hadn’t been an invitation, just a passing remark, but something about it stuck with you. Maybe it was the way Sam glanced at Bucky afterwards, concern hidden beneath his easygoing demeanour or the way Wanda’s expression darkened slightly like she’d been expecting it. You didn’t know anything about the man they were mourning, but you knew Bucky, and you knew the kind of grief that sat heavily on a person’s shoulders. Maybe you wanted to pay your respects. Perhaps you just wanted an excuse to get eyes on him, to see how bad the damage was. Either way, when Wanda and Sam left for the cemetery, you were in the car with them.

You stepped forward and crouched down, laying the flowers gently against the grave. The wind tugged at the petals as you stood, moving back beside Wanda, who sent you a glance but didn’t say a word.

Sam was the first to speak. “Damn, Steve. I hope you know we visit you even in the freezing fuckin’ cold.”

A small chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, barely there. “Yeah.”

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, I think about that time in training when Bucky dared you to climb the roof of the barracks, and when you actually did it, Bucky nearly had a heart attack ‘cause you realised he’d have to go up there to get you down.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “Idiot did a victory pose at the top. Almost fell straight off.”

Sam laughed. “Man, I wish we had taken a photo of you, dumbass.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories, some funny, some quiet and unspoken, shared only through small glances and nods. Wanda stood beside you, hands clasped in front of her, while you listened, letting them have their moment. She hadn’t known Steve either, just fragments of memories and stories Sam had told her over the years.

Eventually, the cold started to settle in deep, and Sam clapped his hands together. “Alright, I don’t know, but I think Steve would be personally offended if we froze our asses off standing here like idiots instead of heading home.”

Wanda nodded, already turning back toward the cars. You followed, but before you could take more than a few steps, Bucky spoke.

“I’ll take her home.”

The words were short, and clipped, but they made Wanda and Sam pause.

Sam lifted a brow, glancing between the two of you, then exchanged a look with Wanda, one of those unspoken conversations between lovers that didn’t need words.

But neither of them argued.

Sam just gave a small, knowing shrug and started toward his car. Wanda followed without a word, though you could’ve sworn the auburn gave you a subtle smirk.

You exhaled softly, then turned towards Bucky’s car.

The drive was quiet.

Outside, the world blurred past, fields and roads stretching under the grey sky. You kept your hands close to the vents, soaking in what little warmth the car offered, your fingers still stiff from the cold. Bucky’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles pale. He was wound up, his shoulders rigid, and his jaw locked. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he shifted gears, and every so often, he exhaled sharply like he was biting back something sharp.

Minutes passed, the ghost of unspoken words swirling between you.

Then, suddenly—

“Fuck this.” Bucky muttered the words under his breath, his grip on the wheel tightening before he jerked the car off the highway. The tyres crunched over gravel as he turned onto a narrow backroad leading toward a small, empty picnic area near a river. The place was deserted, picnic tables dusted with half-melted frost. Too cold for anyone to be out.

You sat there, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. The sky outside had darkened, clouds pressing down low on the horizon as the river lazily wound its way through the mist. Bucky’s hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes fixed on the view outside. 

“How did you know about Steve?” The question left his lips quietly, almost like an afterthought, but it was sharp all the same.

“Sam.” You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “I kind of put the pieces together. It’s his dog tags you wear, right?” Your voice came out soft but steady.

Bucky gave a single, sharp nod. “Yeah.”

You sighed, glancing out the window for a brief second. The weight in his voice, the way he carried it like an old wound, told you this was something fragile, something that had never quite healed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just…” You trailed off, the words dying on your tongue, uncertain, too small for the grief that lingered between you. Your gaze flickered to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

His voice, when it came again, was quieter than before. “Steve... Steve, he wasn’t just my friend. He was my partner.”

Something inside you stilled. The breath you’d been meaning to take got caught in your chest. “You were… together? Dating?”

“Yeah.” His voice wavered, unsteady in a way that made your stomach twist. “We were, uh, in love, I guess.”

The words hit you like a cold gust, Something in your mind clicked into place, pieces of him you hadn’t understood suddenly making sense. You stared at him, taking in the way his brows furrowed, the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced now, like he’d aged in the last few minutes.

“Did Sam know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, jaw tight. “A few people did. His family, mine. A few friends.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallowed, trying to push past the lump forming in your throat. The words felt inadequate, almost meaningless. “I know my words don’t mean much or change anything, but I truly am sorry that you lost someone that important to you.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, the leather creaking beneath his hold. His eyes stayed locked on the river, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was somewhere else.

Then, barely above a whisper, “He stood on a landmine.”

Bucky’s voice was rough, worn thin. “He was dead before… before he would have even realised he’d stepped on it. They never really recovered all of his body. He just kinda… turned into mist.”

You felt your stomach drop. A slow, creeping horror curled around your ribs, sinking its claws in deep. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky, that’s horrific, I—”  You felt your words die in your throat. What was there to say? There was no comfort for something like that. No words that could make it hurt less.

Then, slowly, his head turned, an empty, haunted gaze meeting yours. “That coffin out there, it’s empty. We do this every year, but it’s like talking to the wind.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the rawness of it. Slowly, you reached across the console, your fingers brushing against his arm. “He didn’t suffer.”

“No.” Bucky's voice broke for the first time. “No, I suppose I should be thankful for that.” A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with a rough, almost impatient hand. But he didn’t pull away from your touch. Didn’t move to hide the way his hands shook, fingers still locked in a vice grip around the wheel.

You didn’t comment on it.

You kept your hand on his arm, a steady presence against the tension coiled beneath his skin. There was nothing to say—at least, nothing that would make any of it easier. He had already said enough, and you weren’t going to insult him by pretending there were magic words to fix it. So you simply stayed, grounding him in the quiet, hoping that maybe, just maybe, letting even a sliver of it out might lighten the weight he carried.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that settled in the space between two people who understood each other without needing to fill the gaps with empty words. A sharp gust of wind rattled against the window, slipping through unseen cracks and sending a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours, raw, searching, like he was looking for something he wasn’t even sure existed. His throat bobbed, lips parting as he exhaled a slow, uneven breath. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “For what?”

“How I’ve treated you these past few weeks.”

“Baby, you don’t need to apologise—”

“No, I do.” He interrupted tone tinged with frustration. “I… I realised that I cared for you. A lot. And it scared the shit out of me. After Steve, well, I swore I wouldn’t love again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t imagine going through that again. Or worse, if I died and left someone behind like that—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though—” he began, but you interrupted him again, your voice calm, sure.

“I forgive you.”

Bucky went still, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking between you and the river, as if weighing something in his mind.

A long, charged silence settled in. Then, just as you thought the moment would pass, he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” You smiled softly. “Listen. I didn’t know Steve, and I never will but… if he cared for you. If he loved you, he’d want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to shut yourself away from love, from feeling.”

“Honestly…” Bucky paused, sucking on his teeth. “Honestly, you’re probably right, doll.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, staring ahead like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

“I still don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Loving someone. Letting someone love me.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Good thing I’m patient.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” Bucky glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, almost too softly to hear, “I want to try.”

You reached over, lacing your fingers through his. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

His grip tightened, just for a second like he was anchoring himself to you. And then, as if realising how ridiculous he sounded, he let out a low laugh, disbelief lacing his tone. “You’re too good for me, doll.”

“Hmm, maybe.” You giggled, leaning towards him, resting your forehead against his shoulder for a brief moment, letting the warmth between you settle. “I think I’ll stick around, though.”

“Yeah?” His voice held a tinge of uncertainty like he was testing the waters. His arm shifted, moving from the wheel to pull you closer to his side. “I haven’t scared you off?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning. “I think you’d have to try a little harder to do that.”

He held you closer, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “So…” He paused, his breath hitching as if the words were caught in his throat. “Would you stick around… as my girlfriend?”

You jolted up, eyes widening in surprise. “Did the Bucky Barnes just ask me—”

“Shush, you.” He chuckled, cutting you off, his finger moving to gently press against your lips.

You smiled, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and he tugged you in closer, his grip firm but not demanding. His lips found yours, slow at first, testing—like he was still convincing himself this was okay, that he could have this. But as you melted into him, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket, something shifted. His hand slid up your back, anchoring you against him, his lips warm, sure, moving against yours with a quiet intensity.

You sighed into him, your breath mingling with his, the space between you disappearing until there was nothing but the press of his body, the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin. His fingers skimmed the nape of your neck, tilting your head slightly, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savouring it like he wanted to memorise the way you felt against him.

The world outside blurred, the hum of the car engine distant, unimportant. There was only this, only him, his warmth, the quiet, desperate way he held you like he was afraid to let go.

When you pulled away, Bucky let out a sharp sigh as if something inside him had finally relaxed. “Thank god, it would be kind of awkward if you didn’t—”

You silenced him with another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

A spark reignited. 

[shinningdance]

Taste tasting

Roommate au because @beloveds-embrace captured my heart with this au q(≧▽≦q)

warnings: none!! Pure fluff!

The Kitchen was a mess, to put it nicely. It actually looked like a bomb hit. Multiple Pans on the stove, cake icing on the counter - slowly dripping down to the floor, egg shells next to a big pile of flour.

The oven is on, finishing the cake you've been working on for the last 2 hours, the cupcakes are already cooling down by the dinning table. Very carefully you transfer the steak from the pan to a plate, where perfectly cooked potatoes are decorating one half of the plate. Finishing off the meat, you sprinkle a bit of sea salt on top.

You do this two more times, having bought too much meat and not wanting to waste it, it leads to this mess. You only wanted a small piece for yourself, after all you need to practice.

That's what got you into this situation, a cooking competition. Now, why would you waste your time on some silly work competition? Easy, the winner gets two days paid time off. In those two days you can catch up on your series, sleep late, enjoy life until work calls again.

The front door opens and a soft "Hello" was heard, looks like your Guinea pig arrived.

"Perfect timing!" You call back and make your way to the door, meeting Kyle halfway there. He's still wearing his jacket and scarf, good to keep warm in such a weather.

"Perfect timing for what?" He smiles down at you, obviously a bit confused, and maybe a tiny bit scared.

"I need a lab rat" You reply, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen table.

Kyle doesn't even try to fight back or ask, he simply follows as you pull him along. A small huff leaves his lips as you hurry him towards a chair, forcing him to sit down, only then does he dare to removes the scarf and winter jacket.

"I'm scared to ask but..how am i lab rat?" He mumbles and lays the clothes over the chair next to him.

"Easy.." You start talking while grabbing a full plate of a juicy cooked steak with a perfect sear, paired with golden, crispy potatoes, seasoned to perfection. "You have to taste test everything i made today."

At the mere sight of the fresh food his mouth began to water, eyes scanning the masterpiece.

After a short moment of silence he forces his eyes away, looking at you with a cheeky smile. "Everything? There's more?" He asks as he grabs a knife and a fork, immediately digging in.

You bite back a small laugh, nodding your head as you watch him eat. "I made cake..i just need to wait for it too cool down and decorate it, also, i made cupcakes." You smile and walk to the oven, checking on said cake. Finding it perfectly cooked you turn the oven off and grab oven mittens.

As you move the cake from the heat to the counter you hear the sluttiest groan ever. "That good, huh?" You chuckle and look over your shoulder, seeing Kyles eyes closed as he enjoys the steak.

"That has to be the best steak I've ever had..." The steak is so good he forgot his table manners, talking with food in his mouth. "I can't wait to brag about being your first ever taste tester when you start your famous cooking career."

"That's a no for me." You correct, grabbing the icing you made earlier, along with freshly cut strawberry's. "I just want to win a cooking competition to win 2 days paid time off."

"Oh you're winning, don't worry about that." He mumbles and brings another piece of a steak to his lips.

"What's that lovely smell?" A deeper voice comes from the entrance, standing there is John, snow on his hat and shoulders.

"Birdie cooked the best food ever." Kyle calls out before you can explain yourself. A bit of head rushes to your cheeks at the complement.

"I made way too much, so i hope you're hungry." You smile and walk back to the kitchen, grabbing a plate and putting the same food on there as before.

John doesn't even hesitate as he sits down next to the younger man, waiting for you to pass the plate. Just like Kyle, his mouth starts to water at the sight of the steak with the potatoes.

"This looks magnificent." He remarks as you hand him a knife and a fork.

"Taste it first, then you can give me feedback." You smile and get back to the cake, finishing up the icing as you hear another groan from the table. "Don't eat too much, there are two rounds of deserts."

"Two rounds? You're spoiling us, dove" John claims as he continuous to devour his food.

"Not complaining though." Kyle mumbles as he finishes his plate, quickly getting up to put it in the dishwasher. As he gets closer he sees the now finished cake, strawberry's on the top. He smiles and cleans his plate. "Good luck with that cake, it's Johnnys favorite, I'm giving him till midnight until it's fully gone."

"Speaking off, where is he? and Simon?" You question as you cut off two pieces of the cake, putting them on smaller plates and walking back to the table with Kyle.

"Last minute shopping for Tuesday, we have to leave again, remember?" The older man answers as he too finishes his plate, already looking at he cake.

Right. Sometimes you forget they actually have a job when they're at home for more than a week.

"I did forget." You hum and put the two cakes down, watching as both men immediately grab for one.

Like before, both of them groan as they swallow, apparently you're a really good cook. A small yawn escapes your lips, causing both men to look up.

"Getting tired? How long were you in the kitchen for?" Kyle asks, eyes on the clock on the wall.

"A while." You answer, making your way to the couch.

"Don't fall asleep just yet, your sleep schedule is already bad." John calls out as he watches you lay down and pull a blanket over your body.

"Just a few minutes" The words are mumbles, face pressed against a pillow.

The couch sinks near your head, a soft hand landing on your cheek. You've never fallen asleep faster.

"Be quiet." John calls out softly the moment the two missing house members enter through the front door.

Both man freeze mid step. Johnny holding his phone while Simon carries two bags. Not long after do they realize why.

You're asleep, blanket over your body, legs on Johns lap and head resting in Kyles lap, his hand stroking your hair softly.

"Aww.. look at 'er!" Johnny calls out, getting shushed by both men on the couch.

"Foods in the kitchen, she made steak, cupcakes and your favorite cake." John answers and watches the Scot almost run to the kitchen.

"Any special reason why?" Simon asks as he sets down the bags by the the table, quickly sitting down next to Kyle, who rests his head on his shoulder.

"Practicing for a cooking competition at work." Kyle answers and watches as Johnny walks back in with a piece of cake.

"She ruined me foe Military food." he claims, shoving another large bite down his throat.

a/n: not proofread...kinda gave up at the end...＞﹏＜

[alltheirdamn]

My Kink is Karma | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend breaks up with you, so you decide to get revenge... Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 3k Warnings: no-outbreak AU, undefined age gap (pick your poison), teasing, revenge sex, unprotected piv sex, size!kink, daddy!kink, joel folds you like a pretzel, filthy language, pet names (sweetheart, daddy, good girl, etc.), orgasm, creampie, a touch of cuckholding i guess??, slight voyurism, heavy kissing, language... is that it? A/N: Y'all already know I get influenced all too easily when it comes to music... anyway, the song inspo is, of course, My Kink Is Karma

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Stupid. So fucking stupid. 

Two years together, and he decides to break up with you? Granted, things were already on a downward slope, but over text? Seriously. Fucking asshole. You were cramming his shit into an all too-small cardboard box, huffing a slew of obscenities. Old t-shirts, bullshit birthday cards, photos… you didn’t want a single one. You should burn them all, but you wanted him hurt. You wanted him to stare at those memories and regret it all. 

Pulling up to his house—well, his dad’s house since he was a deadbeat without a place to stay—you hauled the box into both hands and staggered up the porch. You had put on what you considered your ‘revenge dress’: a flowy sundress that barely covered your ass. Yeah, I hope you regret this, you thought to yourself. Princess Diana would be looking down at you proud as fuck. 

Hoisting the box on your hip, you pounded on the front door, a scowl on your face. Jesus, the box was heavy as you balanced it in one arm. The door wrenched open, and you were ready to toss angry words in his face. 

His father, Joel, stood in the doorway, and you were quick to bite your tongue. Soft, brown eyes nestled under thick eyebrows gazed down at you. His lips twitched into a cautious smile, the plush pout covered by a dark mustache. Joel’s frame practically filled the doorway, and damn, was he always this attractive? 

“This is a surprise,” he stated. “Whatcha doin’ with all that stuff?”

You shoved it into his chest, your arms tired from holding its weight. 

“Your piece of shit son broke up with me,” you grumbled. 

Joel wrapped thick fingers around the edge of the box, his eyebrows furrowing together. Guess his son didn’t fill him in on his latest fuck up. Real shocker. 

“M’sorry to hear that. Y’wanna come in for a minute? I’ll get you some iced tea to cool down.”

“I don’t wanna impose on you. I figure I’m probably not welcomed here anymore.”

“You’re more than welcome here,” Joel argued. You didn’t miss how his eyes fluttered over your body, catching sight of your dress blowing upward in the breeze. 

Ohh…

“If you insist,” you said.

Joel nodded toward the doorway, letting you walk in first. He discarded the box by the front door and led the way to the kitchen. You kept yourself fixated on how his back flexed under his flannel, the muscles in his shoulders stretching across the fabric. If only his son had been this hot, maybe you would’ve had sex more often. 

You propped yourself on the kitchen barstool, swinging your legs beneath you as you watched Joel pour you a glass of sweet tea—typical Southern gentleman. After pouring himself a glass, Joel leaned against the counter, his muscular forearms braced against the edge. 

“So…” He drawled. “Y’been alright since the break-up?”

You rolled your eyes, bringing the glass to your lips. Joel’s dark eyes tracked the movement of your lips around the rim, and you rewarded him with a coy smile. It was enough to make him clear his throat and readjust his stance behind the coverage of the counter. 

“Oh, I’m great,” you smiled, licking your top teeth. “It’s always fun when your boyfriend breaks up with you over text. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person.”

“He ain’t the brightest,” Joel commented. 

“No, he definitely isn’t.” 

Joel quirked a grin, and you quickly realized you were talking to your ex’s dad; you should hold back a bit. “Shit, sorry. That’s not nice of me.”

He shook his head, tipping his glass to his lips. Now, it was your turn to obsess over his mouth and how his plush bottom lip curved around the rim as he gulped down the liquid. You pressed your thighs together, attempting to quell the throbbing ache between your legs. 

“No need to be sorry,” Joel said. “You’re too sweet of a girl for a man like him.”

“Calling him a ‘man’ is generous of you,” you laughed sarcastically. “Barely got a few inches on him to call himself that.”

“No need to kick him while he’s down, sweetheart.”

“Respectfully, Mr. Miller, fuck him. I deserved better,” you argued. 

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could almost see the wheels turn in his head. Stepping away from the counter, he strode to where you sat, towering over you with a flicker of lust behind his chocolate eyes. The lace thong barely covering your sex was already drenched just from the way he looked at you.

“What you’re sayin’ is that you deserve a real man,” he offered. 

You parted your legs just a few inches, but it was enough of an invitation for Joel to step forward and crowd your body. With his knee pressed to the apex of your sex and his hand braced against the back of your chair, you had nowhere to go. The thrill of it all was electrifying your veins. 

“I think I do,” you said defiantly. 

“Would that make y’feel better, sweetheart? Fuckin’ a real man?” He asked, his fingers twirling in your hair that hung over your shoulder. 

“God, yes,” you whined, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning at his words. 

Joel leaned forward, a breath away from your lips. Were you seriously about to do this? Hell, it was too late now to even think twice. You wanted revenge, and here was the perfect opportunity. You craned your neck higher, waiting for him to close the gap. Joel only gave you a pitying smile, the silver strands in his beard glittering in the kitchen sunlight. 

“Naugty lil’ thing,” he taunted, grinning wide.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Joel crushed his lips to yours, his tongue prodding your mouth open wider. The moan you had been holding back slipped out at the same time he sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You reached up to tug at the soft curls atop his head, your nails scratching against his scalp. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his hand coming down to grip your bare thigh. 

“Gonna let your ex-boyfriend’s daddy fuck you, sweetheart? Gonna let me show y’what a real man is like?” Joel panted. 

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, the word slipping right off your tongue.

You pulled away embarrassed, your lips swollen and wet and your face burning a bright red. Joel didn’t seem phased at all by your little slip-up. In fact, he looked at you with even more hunger than before. Pupils blown wide and a smile brighter than the sun, you were so in over your head. Whatever he was promising, you knew you’d be in for a treat. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, y’can’t be callin’ me that and expect me to go easy on you,” Joel said. 

“Then don’t go easy,” you insisted. “Show me what I’ve been missing out on, Daddy.”

Joel practically lost it as you repeated the word, his arms coming around your back to haul you up and out of the chair. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking your heels together, and let him drag you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

Your back hit the couch in seconds, the sundress on your body billowing onto the cushions. Joel hunched over your sprawled body, sucking marks down the column of your neck. Everything in your body hummed with pleasure, the growing need inside your stomach building. 

Joel dipped a hand under your dress, his fingers brushing up the lacy thong that stuck to your skin with arousal. You preened into his touch, lifting your hips to seek any sort of relief from the tension twisting inside your core.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Joel exhaled. “Y’already this wet for me? Fuckin’ soakin’ my hand, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Mhmm,” you whispered, rolling your hips against his fingertips.

Joel pinched your lace-covered clit between his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud softly until you cried out. Your hands clung to his forearms, digging into the bulging veins hidden under the fabric of his button-up. God, revenge would taste so fucking sweet.

“S’alright,” he cooed. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

It shocked you how fast Joel managed to yank your underwear off, tossing it halfway across the room before working at undoing his belt. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head when you saw his cock spring free from his boxers. His son was definitely not packing this kind of heat, and your sex clenched around nothing as the anticipation flowed through your veins. The shocked silence and wide-eyed stare you wore garnered a laugh from Joel.

“We’ll make it fit, sweetheart. You’re gonna take every inch of me like a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you nodded, biting your lip.

Propping one leg on the couch, Joel gripped the back of your thighs and pinned them at either side of your head, nearly folding you in half. 

“Keep ‘em right here, y’understand?” 

You muttered a quick yes, settling your fingers around the backs of your knees. Joel gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining the weeping head of it at your entrance. Brushing the tip through your silky folds, he pushed in an inch, grunting as you cried at the intrusion. Fuck, it hurt. 

“Tightest pussy I ever felt, sweetheart,” he groaned, sinking in another inch. 

The stretch of his cock inside you was unbearable, every part of him rubbing against your walls until you were filled completely. The moment Joel bottomed out, you lost all capacity to breathe correctly, your voice coming out in small whimpers and cries. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Just suckin’ me right in. God damn, y’feel like Heaven.”

“It’s so big, Daddy,” you moaned. 

“Takin’ it so well for me, sweetheart. Y’ready for more?”

You bobbed your head, your eyes falling to see where your bodies connected. The hair around Joel’s cock brushed over your swollen lips with each shallow thrust, his hips colliding with yours in a steady rhythm as you adjusted to his size.

“My son ever fuck you like this?” He growled. 

“No,” you exhaled shakily. 

“Didn’t think so.”

Then he was ramming into you…hard. Your sweaty fingers slipped off your legs, but Joel was quick to replace them with his own hands, molding you into the couch as he took you rough and fast. The room fell apart around you, leaving you crying out every time his cock shoved deeper inside you. You swore you felt him in your stomach, the thick girth of his cock stretching you beyond measure. 

“Fuckin’ take it, sweetheart,” he choked out. “Keep takin’ daddy’s cock. Lookin’ so pretty folded up under me.”

“Yes! Yes!” You shouted.

The weight of your breasts bounced with each onslaught of thrusts, your chest heaving for air as he stole it from you over and over again. Even with your ears muffled by your legs, the sound of your sex suctioning around his cock was unmistakable. Reaching between your bodies, you pressed your fingers against your clit, blindly searching for release as it trembled through your muscles. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel teased, glancing up at you.

He pinned you with a violent stare, his lips twisted up in a smirk, and a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Christ, you were a fucking whore for this, but you loved it. You couldn’t give a damn about your ex when his dad was balls deep inside you. 

“Daddy, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

Your fingers were working twice as fast now, chasing that inescapable bloom of pleasure unwinding inside your core. You pulsated around his cock, sucking him in further as his thrusts grew ragged and out of sync. 

“Yeah, you are. Can feel this pretty pussy milkin’ my cock already.”

“Harder, Daddy. Need—fuck—need you deeper inside me.”

Joel tensed at your words, his movements slowing down—the exact opposite of what you begged for. He tilted his head over you, studying how your eyes welled with tears, and your lips trembled.

“Daddyyy,” you pleaded. 

He bent down over your body, his weight crushing into yours and plunging his dick as far as your core would let him. You cried out as he molded his mouth to yours, swallowing down every noise you tried to make. From this angle, you could feel Joel everywhere. The bruising hold of his fingers around your legs, the twitch of his cock against your cervix, the heat of his tongue intertwining over yours. 

Why hadn’t you considered dating older men from the start? This was ecstasy. 

Joel rocked his hips into you in a slow rhythm, the urgency having left his body and replaced now by determined movements only to bring you closer to the brink of release. You lapped at Joel’s tongue, sloppy wet sounds from your mouth mixing with the lewd noises of your bodies slapping together. 

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” You cried, the sound muffled against Joel’s lips. He buried his head into your neck, his teeth bearing down on your scorching skin. The precipice of release was at your fingertips, and you were toppling over. 

“That’s it,” Joel crooned. “Cum all over daddy’s cock. Wanna feel you chokin’ it when you come undone.”

Stars shot across the back of your eyelids, your orgasm ready to barrel through you. You heaved in a breath, anticipating the spiral ready to unfurl inside you when the sound of the front door opening paralyzed you. 

“Dad?” A voice called out.

Joel whipped his head toward the hallway, his cock throbbing inside you. You pinched his chin, dragging his face to meet your eyes. 

“Keep fucking me,” you demanded. “Let me be your good girl, Daddy.”

Joel’s lip parted, a protest on the tip of his tongue. You wordlessly shook your head, lifting your hips to meet his in a silent plea for more. This was the moment. This was your chance at revenge.

“S’gonna get me in trouble, sweetheart,” Joel hissed, assaulting you with another series of quick thrusts. 

You arched upward, your mouth brushing against his ear.

“I wanna cum for you,” you whispered. “Let’s show your son what it looks like to make a girl really orgasm.” 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned.

You anchored Joel to your chest; your legs pressed into his shoulders as he drove his hips against yours over…and over… In the distance, you could hear your ex-boyfriend call out for Joel again, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Let him fucking listen to you; let him see what his dad was doing to you. You clawed at Joel’s back, your nails tearing into his shirt as your orgasm vibrated in your muscles. Right as the spark of adrenaline hit your veins, your ex came into view in the doorway, his eyes wide with horror. 

“Yes, Daddy!” You pleaded.

Everything inside you tensed up, your sex gripping around Joel’s cock until his movements strained above you. Joel groaned in your ear, your name falling off his tongue in choked syllables as he painted your insides with his release. As he slumped against your body, you peered up at your ex, a satisfied grin on your face. 

“What the fuck?” He seethed, standing motionless just feet away. 

“Your shit’s by the door!” You shouted at him. “Why don’t you take it upstairs? Your daddy and I are busy.”

Joel loosed a breath, chuckling softly in your neck. 

“You’re mean for that, sweetheart,” he mumbled. 

“Fucking your son’s ex-girlfriend seems a whole lot worse,” you whispered back, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear. 

Peeking back over the back of the couch, you noticed the doorway empty, all signs of your ex gone from view. You tapped Joel’s shoulder lightly, urging him to unwind your limbs from above your head. You ached all over but in the best fucking way possible. Straightening his spine, Joel lowered your legs down and slowly pulled out of you. The warmth of his seed leaking from your entrance was a welcomed reminder of what you had done. Revenge tasted sweet but felt so much sweeter. 

You groaned as you stretched your legs, staring up at Joel with a wide smile. Despite the wreckage you caused, Joel smiled right back, and his eyes shifted from your red face down to your dripping sex. You squeezed your legs together, swinging them over the edge of the couch. 

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where the hell did you toss my underwear?”

“M’sure they’re ‘round here somewhere,” Joel shrugged, tucking his cock back into his jeans. 

“Well, if you find them, you can keep them.” 

Joel extended a hand, insisting on helping you to your feet, which you appreciated since your legs felt like jelly. Heavy footsteps shook the roof above you, no doubt from your ex, as he stormed through the house. You giggled at the thought, knowing you had just given him the best taste of karma. You glanced at Joel, seeing his wild curls sticking up at odd angles. 

“I should probably get going.”

“Leavin’ me with a whole lotta mess, sweetheart,” he huffed. 

You leaned into his solid frame, kissing his lips quickly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” you smirked. “It’s him you might need to worry about.”

Joel swatted your ass, urging you out of the living room and toward the front door. You gave him a quick flutter of your fingers and said goodbye before skipping down the porch steps with his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

[bunny-jpeg]

Can I please get a tiramisu with a side of champagne with an innocent reader and Lando Norris, please. 🙏

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? read the menu! i love the idea of an innocent!reader, that's so cute. with a sugar daddy!lando!! i imagine him being so sweet but then being a little devil in the bedroom! i hope you love this <3

tiramisu ("my little slut to ruin") + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, fluff, dom!lando, mean!lando (in the bedroom), doggy style, dirty talk (a little degrading), innocent!reader, big dick!lando

lando didn't like the word "sugar daddy", because that implied he was paying you for sex. in all honesty, he felt nervous the first time he had sex with you.

you were a virgin, and he was taking your virginity. not that he really put much stock in the concept of virginity, but he didn't want to ruin your first time. he remembered that he fingered you for what felt like hours because he didn't want to bruise you.

when he did that he said to you, "i know this is stupid to say. but, i'm sorry for having a big cock." he made sure that you were comfortable before he (gently) fucked you. he remembered anxiously waiting while you basked in the after glow of orgasm to get a rating of his performance.

(you gave it 10/10!, even if you were a little sore the next morning)

since then you had grown into knowing what you like and don't like. you were curious as you never had a partner prior and through trial, error and the usage of safe words. you both figured out what you both liked.

lando didn't like slapping you, unless it was on your ass. you didn't like having you hair pulled. you both liked lando ran his mouth, even when his words got more depraved. lando liked when you called him daddy and you liked when he wrapped both arms around you when he took you doggy style. and you both liked after care, regardless of how intense the situation got. you both found comfort in holding one another as you settled down.

so was it really paying for sex if you were both getting off to it and had an open conversation? probably not!

-

you two had come back from a day of shopping. when most thought about a sugar baby spending their daddy's money. it mostly meant expensive items like diamonds and gold.

but not you. when you were picking up a bulk pack of cotton panties and winced at the price (under 8€), while lando sent you back into the store to get a second pack.

"it's fine, my love." he said as he gave you cheek a little pinch, "they're cute. they have flowers on them." and then scanned the rest of your items when you were away. you were a terrible sugar baby in that regard.

he one time found you cutting out a coupon from the cereal box and when he asked you what was going on. you said, "save us 2 euros." as you cut up the cardboard.

lando found it endearing. you clearly knew how much he was making a year, he could afford spending the extra 2 euros on cereal. but, you wanted to earn your keep.

you put the reusable bag in the bedroom before you got out of your clothes for the day. which meant padding around in a baggy t-shirt and sleeping shorts. you had socks on that were pulled up to your calves, they were a little bit big on you which made you think they were landos.

but they were very comfy as you went back to the couch. you sat down and lando threw an arm around you. he had taken one of the popsicles you bought on your last shopping trip and when you sat beside him, he pointed it towards you..

you leaned over and put your mouth around it, you made a sweet noise at the coolness on your tongue. it was very erotic. you looked up at him and gave the icy treat another lick.

sometimes lando forgot how innocent you were. you didn't know what you were doing when you pulled away and giggled.

"that was really good." you said, "can i have some more?" before he could respond, you happily ate some more of it.

when you pulled away, you could see lando swallow. you asked, "is everything okay, lando?"

he leaned in and pressed a kiss on your lips. the kiss was a big hungry as he felt his cock stir in his pants. when he pulled away, "finish it."

you took it from him, but when you did. he snaked his hand down the front of your shorts and he invaded your space. you yelped a little but moaned when you felt his fingers grazed across your pussy.

you quickly ate the sweet treat before lando took the stick and tossed it over his shoulder before be pulled him into a tight kiss. his fingers continued to play with your pussy.

"you're my good girl, right? my little slut to ruin?" he asked to test the waters if you wanted to go forward with it. he could feel his erection in his loose shorts.

you looked very hot pressed against the leather couch. you nodded, "i'm always a good girl for you, daddy." when lando gave you room, you quickly made your way to the bedroom.

lando thought you were painfully innocent sometimes. the idea that he was teaching you how to make yourself feel good made pride surge in him. it was so cute watching your little behind as you made your way to the bedroom.

he practically tackled you to the bed and rubbed his aching clothed erection against your ass as he palmed your breasts through your shirt, his nose was in your hair.

"daddy!" you yelped.

"you're so good for me. i've taught you how to feel good." he groaned as he continued to rub up against you, "i still have so much to teach you, poor thing can't take all of my cock down her pretty throat. maybe i'll get you a nice pink collar when i train you."

you whined, your panties felt soaked by his closeness to you. his hefty words in your ears as you wiggled under him. you soon felt his hands go to the waistband on your shorts and yank them down.

he continued to rub his cock up against your panty clad ass, he needed his baby girl. it wasn't fair that there were still so many layers on you.

he gave you a little room and watched you undress as he did the same. he stood there, beautiful as ever with his hard cock on full display. once you were naked, he got back onto the bed as rubbed his cock up against your cute little hole.

"you're so pretty like this. on your hands and knees, shiny hole for me." he groaned as he guided his cock into your pussy, bottoming out into you. he held onto your hips and started to thrust.

it was true, you were painfully cute. the perfect baby girl for him, even if he couldn't have sex with you. being around you and your sweetness was more than enough for him.

once he got a steady pace, he then wrapped his arms around you middle as he moved against you. he pressed his cheek up against your back as he rutted against you. the slick sounds of sex paired with your noises filled the room.

lando whispered praises into your skin as he moved. his cock felt so good inside of you, his breathing was heavy as he kept his pace fast. he felt the roll of pleasure in his body and he groaned heavily against you.

his cock throbbed inside of you. your cunt felt like a dream. it made him hot all over. you were painfully cute, even when you were being split by his impressive size.

"please, daddy. that feels so good." you whined as you arched your back. you could feel the pull of him in your stomach. your brain felt mushy, fueled by pleasure as he moved against you.

lando groaned against your skin, "you're the perfect girl for me. i lucked out, fuck. you're so good for me. clipping coupons and letting me fuck your sweet pussy. i lucked out." he kissed your heated flesh.

"please daddy."

"don't worry. i'm not goin' anywhere. i'm not leaving behind something so perfect." he kissed then at your cheek and rested his chin on your shoulder as he fucked you heavily.

his words made you hot all over, he watched you claw at the covers as he continued to thrust into you. he could feel the sweat down his neck as he continued to move.

the pleasure swirled through him as he moved. it all felt so good, it made him painfully hard. your combined noises made him shudder, he knew he wasn't going to last long. and neither were you.

you quickly came with your head in the sheets, your back arched further. you felt your heartbeat in your ears as he continued to fuck you. it was a erotic sight, the two of you fucking in the comfort of your own home.

"my precious girl."

"mmm, daddy." you whined, basking in the post orgasmic feeling.

he clenched onto you and finished inside of you with a hard thrust. he'd make sure you weren't in pain by tomorrow. he slowed down his pace to a still before he kissed the back of your head and whispered that he loved you.

you laid flat on the bed and found comfort in the soft covers as you panted heavily. lando then curled you up in his arms. he spooned you from behind as he kissed at your neck. you were so painfully cute, even when blissed out from the intensity of sex. he kissed at the shell of your ear gently.

"how was that? did i hurt you?"

you held onto his forearms as he held you and replied, "no, no. everything is perfect." you pressed your back further up against you and smiled softly, "you spoil me."

he chuckled and gave you another kiss on the neck, "always. i'll always spoil my baby." he squeezed you a little tighter. that was a promise to you.

[ceramini]

how the members flirt જ⁀➴ ♡

enha ── sfw hcs ꕤ p. enha x afab!reader, w. cringey, university au ✿ enha has a crush on you, and this is how they flirt / try to get ur attention ⊹ ࣪ ˖ not reqs :3

hehe look under the cut to read :3!! pls enjoy <33

PARK SUNGHOON

᧔࿔᧓ Sunghoon tries to act aloof and indifferent, but his friends can tell that he keeps glancing at you whenever you’re around. He’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s paying attention to you

᧔࿔᧓ He will sit next to you in class, pretending to casually ask, “Is this seat okay?” when, in reality, he arrived early just to make sure he could sit by you.

᧔࿔᧓ Whenever you need help with something, he’s quick to assist. Whether it’s fixing your laptop or helping you grab something from a high shelf, he does it with a small smile, but inside, he’s pleased to be of help.

᧔࿔᧓ After his workouts, he lingers around, acting like he’s cooling down, but he’s actually hoping you walk by so he can flash you a smile. He enjoys seeing you get flustered when he does.

PARK JONGSEONG

᧔࿔᧓ Jay is usually confident and composed, but around you, he tends to get a little nervous and awkward. He might make a joke, then laugh it off while trying to cover his embarrassment.

᧔࿔᧓ He always dresses well, making sure his outfit is on point in case he runs into you. He’ll casually compliment you, saying something like, “You look great today,” and it’s clear he means it.

᧔࿔᧓ If you’re struggling with something, he’ll offer his help right away. He wants to be there for you and be someone you can rely on.

᧔࿔᧓ After class, Jay might hang around, pretending to relax, but he’s actually waiting to walk you out or have a few more moments to talk to you.

KIM SUNOO

᧔࿔᧓ Sunoo is naturally cheerful, but when he has feelings for you, he’s even more energetic and attentive. He’ll always greet you with a big smile whenever you make eye contact.

᧔࿔᧓ He loves to compliment you, often saying things like, “You’re glowing today,” just to make you feel good. He enjoys seeing you blush when he praises you.

᧔࿔᧓ He might bring you small snacks or drinks, acting as if it’s no big deal, but you can tell he’s putting extra thought into it because he remembers what you like.

᧔࿔᧓ Sunoo is always at campus events you attend, making sure to position himself near you. He likes being around you and sharing moments that make you both laugh.

YANG JUNGWON

᧔࿔᧓ Jungwon is usually responsible and serious, but when you smile at him, he becomes a bit flustered. He tries to hide it, but his shy reactions give him away.

᧔࿔᧓ He’ll often find excuses to be near you, such as saying, “I was just passing by,” even though he might have taken a longer route just to see you.

᧔࿔᧓ Whenever you need help with something, he’s quick to volunteer, acting like it’s no trouble at all. But you notice that he’s happy and smiling after you thank him.

᧔࿔᧓ Sometimes, you catch him staring at you, and he’ll quickly look away, trying to play it off, but it’s obvious he’s interested. He’s a little nervous around you, but he’s also sweet.

LEE HEESEUNG

᧔࿔᧓ Heeseung is typically laid-back and calm, but when you’re around, he’s a bit more animated. He gets shy and excited when you talk to him, and he’ll often smile or laugh more than usual.

᧔࿔᧓ If you’re around while he’s practicing guitar or singing, he’ll hope you notice him. He might even mention, “Oh, you like this song?” knowing it’s one you’ve posted about before.

᧔࿔᧓ He’ll offer you his notes or help with assignments, always making sure they’re neat and well-organized, knowing you’ll probably need them.

᧔࿔᧓ During campus events, Heeseung will often give you subtle looks or smiles, making you feel like the only person in the room. He’s confident in his interest, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

SIM JAEYUN

᧔࿔᧓ Jake is friendly and approachable with everyone, but he’s particularly kind and attentive to you. Every time he sees you, he’ll ask if you need anything, just to be close to you.

᧔࿔᧓ He often carries extra snacks or drinks, offering them to you with a smile. Even though he acts casual, you can tell he’s making an effort to take care of you.

᧔࿔᧓ One time, Jake ran across campus to catch you before class ended, out of breath but smiling, just to ask if you wanted to study together later. He’s putting in the effort to spend more time with you.

᧔࿔᧓ Jake is your biggest cheerleader at campus events, always clapping and yelling your name to support you. He’s proud of you and wants to show everyone how amazing you are.

[haniette]

familiar stranger. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | fluff, lots of angst, situationship au, suggestive !! (but no real smut scenes), hurt-comfort

word count | 9.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, suggestive in some moments, hot making-out scene, no description of smut scene, body shaming, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, crying, cursing, heartbreak, pet names (angel), lots of tension, pinning.

inspired by: kenya grace — strangers, chappel roan — casual

summary: once, they were caught in a messy situationship—passion without promises, love without labels—until life turned them into strangers. when their paths cross again, old sparks reignite, and buried emotions rush back. but it isn't as perfect as one can imagine.

a/n: hii how are youuuuu <3 hope you're all doing alright :) dropping off this real quick before getting back to finishing one long work for you guys hehe~

The wedding was full of people, sparkling dresses, clinking glasses, and soft laughter. But even in the sea of guests, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider here. 

This was supposed to be a celebration. A chance to enjoy the happy moments of other people’s lives. But there you were, half-heartedly smiling and nodding through conversations, just going through the motions, your mind not quite here. Your fingers absently traced the engagement ring on your finger as your eyes scanned the room.

Eric, your fiancé, had insisted you come, mostly to help him fill out the social circles and be his shoulder candy, but your heart wasn’t in it. The familiar comfort of your daily routine felt like a faraway dream as the buzz of the wedding slowly settled into a heavy weight on your chest. 

You hadn’t wanted to attend it, but you’d gone anyway, playing the part of the dutiful fiancée. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were running from something. Or maybe, someone.

You stepped outside for a moment of fresh air, hoping to clear your head. The cool night air wrapped around you like a quiet blanket, and you leaned against the stone wall, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside. 

For a moment, the quiet felt good. But then, you heard it—the familiar laughter, playful and carefree. It wrapped around you like a warm, but painful memory. You didn’t need to look to know whom it belonged to, but you did anyway.

Lando. He stood there, leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. The curls that you once loved to run your fingers through now framed his face like they were meant to be there, a bit longer than they used to be. His jaw was sharper, more defined, the boyish softness you remembered now replaced with the quiet intensity of a man who had seen more of the world, who had grown into himself. 

But his eyes—those beautiful aquamarine eyes—were the same. And in that moment, it felt like nothing had changed. It felt like no time had passed at all like you were back to being that girl who had laughed with him, who had shared late-night kisses in his car, whose heart had once been his. And for a moment, you wondered if he could still feel the pull of the past like you did. 

You stood frozen, just staring at him, trying to process what was happening. You hadn’t prepared for this. You didn’t even know if you wanted to see him, but there he was—Lando, in the flesh, as if he’d never left. 

The moment stretched out, as though the world around you had stilled, your heartbeat louder than any sound in the room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his gaze met yours. 

His lips parted in recognition, the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression, followed by something darker, something deeper. There was a hint of disbelief in his eyes as he excused himself from the group he was talking to, and took a step toward you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if unsure if he should approach if the moment was real.

You swallowed, trying to find your voice. The words were tangled in your chest, caught between a thousand emotions—anger, longing, regret. 

“Lando…” You said, your voice quiet, a little hoarse, as if saying his name alone carried more weight than you could bear.

His smile was hesitant at first, but it quickly softened, and there it was—that familiar tenderness, that same boyish warmth that had once made you feel like the only person in the world. 

“Hey,” He said softly, his voice a quiet murmur that made your pulse quicken. “It’s really good to see you.” His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long, and you felt yourself drowning in that look, in everything that had been and could never be again.

You swallowed hard, trying to hold your composure, but it was hard—so hard. “It’s been a while.” You managed, your words coming out shakier than you’d intended.

“Yeah,” He said, his voice low, almost regretful, “A while.”

The air between you was thick, charged with years of unspoken things. The questions you never asked, the things you never got the chance to say. The tension hung there, like a fragile thread ready to snap, and neither of you seemed ready to pull on it.

And then, as if the universe were reminding you of the life you’d built since then, you heard the soft call of Eric’s voice. “Darling?”

You turned your head, your heart dropping just a little as you saw him—your fiancé, his hand reaching for your waist, pulling you toward him effortlessly. His touch was steady, but in that moment, it felt like a stark contrast to the warmth Lando had once given you. You pulled yourself together, even though every part of you wanted to stay in that moment forever.

Eric’s arm slipped around your waist. “Everything okay out here?” He asked, his voice light like the situation was nothing more than a casual break from the festivities.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just needed some air.” You turned back toward Lando, not sure how to handle the sudden intrusion of your present with the ghost of your past standing in front of you.

Lando’s gaze shifted toward Eric, his expression hardening for a brief moment before he composed himself, offering a polite but distant smile. You could tell it wasn’t easy for him, even though he tried to hide it. His eyes never quite left you, though.

Eric glanced at Lando, clearly sizing him up. “This is Eric, my fiancé.” You said softly, biting the inner of your cheek nervously. Eric extended a hand, still with that easygoing grin. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Lando hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took Eric’s hand, his grip firm but distant, his eyes flicking to you before quickly returning to Eric. “Likewise.” He said, his voice neutral, yet you could feel the undertones beneath it. It wasn’t nice for him to meet Eric.

An uncomfortable silence stretched for a beat before you felt the weight of the moment. You cleared your throat, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. You hadn’t thought about what to say next, but the words that came out felt strange, a little too forced.

“This is Lando,” You began, your voice faltering slightly as you introduced him. “An old... friend.”

The words tasted foreign like they didn’t belong in your mouth. Old friend. It felt like a betrayal, a lie as if you were reducing everything that had once been between you—so real and vivid to nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

Lando’s stomach twisted at the nickname, a small flicker of something dark crossing his face. An old friend. It stung more than he expected, cutting deeper than he cared to admit. You had made him a stranger in your life. A ghost. And now, standing there, he realized how much he regretted letting that happen. His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile, nodding at the label you had assigned him.

“Yeah,” Lando replied quietly, looking down for just a second, a small breath escaping him. “Old friend.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, almost too soft—that made your heart ache. It was like hearing the echo of something that used to matter, something that had once been everything to both of you, now reduced to a polite formality.

Eric didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent of discomfort. He laughed lightly, giving Lando a friendly clap on the back. “It’s good to meet you, Lando. Big fan of yours.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Lando sent him a weak smile, trying to be polite but knowing him well, you immediately noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes. 

You could see the tension in Lando’s shoulders, the subtle way his eyes flickered back toward you—like he wanted to say something, anything, to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between the three of you. But instead, he took a small step back.

“Uh… yeah— You know, I think I should probably head back inside,” Lando said, his voice strained, though he tried to mask it with casualness. “Good to see you again.”

You nodded, but it felt like your whole body was screaming for him to stay, for him to not disappear, again. 

“I’ll see you around.” You said, but your voice didn’t quite match the words.

Lando gave a small smile, though his eyes were distant. “Take care.” He said softly before turning to walk away. 

His movements were slow, as though each step toward the door was one he didn’t want to take. But he did it anyway, vanishing into the crowd with that same quiet intensity that had always surrounded him.

You stood there, rooted in place, as Eric wrapped his arm around you, leading you back into the reception. The words felt hollow in your ears. You could feel Lando’s absence once again, like a physical ache. You wanted to look back, but you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to watch him walk away for the second time in your life.

The weight of it all—the years, the distance, the things both of you hadn’t said, the way he’d slipped from your grasp—hung heavy between your ribs. And when you glanced down at the engagement ring on your finger, it suddenly felt colder and heavier than it ever had before.

And in that moment, you realized that maybe you were still waiting for him to come back and say it wasn’t over. That you two weren’t complete strangers, after all.

────୨ৎ────

The soft buzz of conversation and laughter filtered through the ballroom doors, the music pulsing in the background, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back in. The cool night air was a balm to your racing nerves, but you still felt the weight of everything that had happened earlier. Everything that had been said without being said.

You stepped out onto the balcony, the chill of the evening air brushing against your skin as you leaned on the stone railing, gazing out at the dimly lit garden below. 

Your thoughts were a tangled mess, but there was one memory that stood out more than the others, one that seemed to pull you in with magnetic force. 

The night when everything had shifted. 

The office lights flickered faintly in the early evening haze, a reflection of the weariness that clung to your every step. The hum of your boss’s voice, sharp and unrelenting, still echoed in your mind as you descended the stairs, your bag heavy on your shoulder. Outside, the cool air was a slight reprieve, but it did little to lighten the weight you felt. 

Then, you saw it—his car, sleek and familiar, waiting at the curb, just as always.

Lando stood leaning against the driver's door, one hand casually in his pocket, the other scrolling through his phone. The sight of him alone was a breath of fresh air. He had his cap put backwards as he had it in his liking.

When he noticed you, his expression softened into a smile—a warm, genuine gesture that made the corners of your frustration ease ever so slightly.

You approached, trying to push aside the tension of the day. “Hi Lan.” You greeted, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Hi Angel, I missed you.” Lando replied, his voice low and calm, as if his only goal was to soothe you. Then he opened the door for you, and helped you get into the passenger's seat. In a second, he was already sitting in the car next to you, fastening his seatbelt. 

Then he looked at you and tilted his head, studying you. “Rough day?” Lando asked, glancing at you as he started the car. His voice was soft, unhurried, but there was a note of concern in it.

“More like a nightmare,” You muttered, rubbing your temples. “My boss was insufferable. I’m starting to think she gets a bonus every time she ruins someone’s day.”

Lando chuckled, but his eyes flicked toward you briefly, his brows knitting together as he took in your slumped posture. “Should I have a word with her?” He teased, but the warmth in his tone and the second meaning of his offer softened the edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t think you’re her type.” You replied, meeting his eyes.

“Her loss.” He shrugged, his voice light, and you couldn’t help but laugh out and shake your head. But his gaze lingered on you a moment longer as he drove to your apartment. 

When he parked by your building, it was already late, the moon shining brightly in the sky. Lando looked at you for a second, and then he reached over to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was impossibly soft, his fingers lingering against your cheek for just a beat too long. 

That was when it started—when the space between you seemed to shrink.

You could feel your heart pounding, the air between you charged with something unspoken. And when you looked at him, you didn’t mean to lean closer, but before you could second-guess yourself, his lips were already on yours.

The kiss was soft at first—gentle, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then something broke loose between you, a flood of suppressed longing that had been building for far too long. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips moved against yours, deeper now, hungrier.

The world outside the car ceased to exist. There were no cars passing, no city sounds—just the heat between you both, the soft sounds of your breaths mingling. 

His kiss was intoxicating, his lips moving with a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You let out a small, involuntary whimper, and he groaned in response, the sound low and guttural. 

“Come here, Angel.” He murmured against your lips, his voice husky and low. 

His hands were on your waist now, guiding you as you shifted, moving closer to him. Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the leather seat as your arms wrapped around his neck. The new position brought a fresh wave of intensity, the closeness making every touch, every kiss, more electrifying.

His hands roamed your body, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he was memorizing every curve of your body. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, brushing against your hot, bare skin, and the sensation sent a jolt of heat through you. His lips left yours to trail wet kisses along your jawline, then down to your neck. Each kiss was deliberate, slow, and full of intention, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Lan…” You breathed, your voice barely audible, but the way his name left your lips made his grip on you tighten.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” He murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. His lips hovered near your collarbone, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on your hips. “Or do you want me to continue, Angel?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. There was vulnerability there, a question lingering in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. You didn’t answer with words; instead, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him with everything you had into that one moment. 

That was all the confirmation he needed. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass as he shifted, adjusting the angle so he could kiss you even deeper. 

The hunger between you grew, the kiss turning into a frantic clash of lips and teeth and tongues. His hands explored your body, and you reveled in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel seen, desired, cherished.

The cramped space of the car only heightened the intensity, the intimacy of it all. When his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up slowly, you shivered at the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. But you didn’t stop him. You wanted this—you wanted him.

His lips returned to yours, and the kiss turned heated, passionate, as if the world were about to end and this was the only moment that mattered. 

His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you, and you responded in kind, your fingers slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. 

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.” He muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

“Then show me, Lan.” You whispered, your fingers threading through his curls. 

He groaned again, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he ground you against him, the friction sending sparks shooting through your veins. “Fucking hell, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before sucking lightly, just enough to leave a mark. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your head falling back as a soft moan escaped you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as his hands slid beneath your skirt, his touch scorching against the bare skin of your thighs. 

“You’re perfect,” He murmured, his lips trailing down your collarbone. “So fucking perfect.”

You were trembling now, the tension building with every touch, every whispered word. When his fingers dipped lower, you gasped. Uncontrollably, your head fell against his shoulder as the sensations overwhelmed you. 

“Lan, please.” You whimpered, your voice desperate now and he didn’t make you wait. 

His fingers worked their magic, and you felt yourself unraveling, your body arching against him as waves of pleasure washed over you. He watched you the whole time, his eyes dark and hooded, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

The air in the car grew thick, the windows fogging up as the two of you moved together, the heat building until it was almost unbearable. You lost track of time, of place, of everything except him—his touch, his breath, the way he made you feel. 

Finally, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, and the world outside the car felt like a distant memory. The rain had started to fall, pattering softly against the windows, but inside, everything was warm and electric. 

As you still sat together in the front seat—your head resting in the crook of his neck with his hands drawing small, soothing circles on your back—you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you. The rhythmic sound of his breathing was a strange comfort, grounding you in a moment that felt entirely surreal. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was filled with the weight of what had just transpired. 

For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

But as the stillness settled, reality began to creep back in. The bubble you had created in that car couldn’t last forever. 

When morning came, everything was different. Lando had to leave for another Grand Prix weekend, and you kissed him goodbye with the promise of staying in touch like you always did. But then the texts from him stopped coming. Days passed without a word. The silence between you stretched further until it became a canyon between you both.

You waited for him to call, to text, to say something, anything. But the silence remained.

A few days later, the pictures surfaced—him with another woman, smiling as she was clinging to him, kissing his neck. Your heart shattered, being left with nothing else than the feeling of unfairness, confusion, but also pain and frustration. 

When you decided to reach out, trying to make sense of everything, his reply came too late—cold and distant, almost as if he had never cared. It was then that you realized: he was gone. Just like that. Lando had slipped away like a shadow, leaving behind only the ache of unspoken words, the regret of never having said what you truly felt. 

You hadn’t realized how much you’d let yourself hope, how much you’d wanted him to be different. 

Blocking his number felt like cutting off a limb, but it was the only way to protect yourself. Even now, as the memory played in your mind like a film on repeat, you couldn’t shake the ache that lingered. The way you had been reduced to nothing more than a forgotten memory, just another girl in the blur of his life.

Now, sitting on that balcony at the wedding, the memory hit you with full force, each detail as vivid as the day it happened. You closed your eyes for a moment, the sounds of the wedding celebration muffling in the distance. 

The cool air felt too warm now like it was holding all the memories you couldn’t shake. The warmth of his touch, the depth of his kisses, the weight of his body against yours. And the pain of losing him—of watching him walk away like you meant nothing. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay hidden. But it was useless. Lando had been more than a fling, and it was nothing new. He had been a part of you, and that part was still aching.

After taking a deep breath and fixing your hair, you decided to go back into the ballroom, putting the mask of indifference back on your face. After all, it was just a party with your fiancé and lots of strangers. And one, familiar stranger.

────୨ৎ────

Lando stood by the wall, watching you from across the ballroom, your laughter cutting through the noise. It was like the space between the two of you had become something physical, something he could touch—a barrier he couldn’t cross no matter how badly he wanted to. His hands clenched at his sides as he tried to compose himself, to make sense of everything that was swirling inside him.

The weight of the moment crushed him from all angles. Seeing you with Eric, with that easy smile and the way his hand rested on your waist, it felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t jealous. Not exactly. He just… he couldn’t help but think of what he’d thrown away, what he could’ve had. What he should’ve had.

Lando’s eyes traced the engagement ring on your finger, gleaming in the light. A symbol of a future you had built—one that didn’t involve him, not anymore. His stomach twisted in a knot, the sight of it suddenly suffocating him. The feeling was like he was choking on his own guilt, the weight of every wrong decision he had made crashing down on him.

He remembered the night he had been with you, so vividly, so painfully. The way you had kissed him, pulled him in like you had always wanted this, like you had always wanted him. It had been reckless, wild, and hot, but it had felt right. And then… then he had been the one to ruin it.

He had never meant to hurt you. He never wanted to walk away from you, but somewhere in that whirlwind of emotions, of confusion, he had let his ego get in the way. 

The night you had spent together, the way you had laughed in each other’s arms, felt like it had been stolen from him. It should’ve been something that he held onto, something that pulled him back to you, but instead, he let his pride get the best of him.

That night after the Grand Prix, when he had seen the pictures, when the headlines screamed about him with another girl, it hit him harder than anything ever had. He had been drunk, so out of it, he hadn’t even realized the way the world would spin it. Some nosy people in the club had snapped pictures before either of them knew what was going on, and in that moment of complete foolishness, Lando had let it all slip away. He had been too embarrassed to even reach out to you, to try and fix the mess he had made. He had been too much of a coward.

The regret wasn’t immediate. At first, he tried to brush it off, convincing himself that it was just a mistake and that he could just forget it. He had to keep up appearances. But the more the days went by, the more he replayed that night in his mind, the more he felt the weight of what he had lost.

The truth was, the second he saw you looking at him with that painful distance, the second you pulled away without a word, he knew. He knew he had ruined everything. And the worst part was that he didn’t even dare to try and fix it. He didn’t text you. He didn’t try to explain. He just let you slip away like you were another girl in the blur of his life.

Now, seeing you here, seeing you with Eric—the man who was there for you, who had held you when you cried, who had shared your joys and your pain—it felt like salt on an open wound. He had taken that for granted, assumed that you would always be there, that he could always come back to you. But he had been wrong, so wrong. And the pain of realizing that now was almost too much to bear.

What made it worse was the quiet ache in his chest when he thought of what could’ve been. He could’ve been the one to hold your hand on this night. He could’ve been the one to put that engagement ring on your finger. He could’ve been the one you trusted, the one who stayed beside you. He could’ve been the one you looked at with that adoring, soft smile, the one who promised you forever. 

Instead, he had let his selfishness win, and now he was nothing.

He hated himself for it. He hated himself for every second he didn’t try harder, for every moment he could’ve reached out and didn’t. He was standing here, watching you, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to be the one to claim you, the one to fight for you. But he wasn’t. Eric was. 

And now it was too late, wasn’t it?

The truth of it crushed him, and he felt like an absolute fool. “How could I have been so stupid?” He thought, raking a hand through his hair, unable to shake the feeling of shame that flooded through him. He had watched you move on without him, and all he could do was stand in the corner, a mere spectator of the life he had so carelessly let go.

He remembered everything about you. The way you laughed, the way your eyes would light up when you were excited, the way your body felt pressed against his in the quiet moments, the soft whispers you’d share in the dark. It was like his heart couldn’t stop mourning the loss, mourning the future that had been so easily tossed aside.

His fists clenched as his eyes flicked back to you. You looked so beautiful, so radiant. The years hadn’t taken that from you. You had grown and blossomed into someone even more incredible than he remembered. But the realization hit him harder than anything else—you didn’t need him anymore. You had moved on. You had found someone who could give you everything he never could. And now, he was just a stranger in your world, a shadow of the man he used to be in your eyes.

The tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. The weight of his mistakes threatened to drown him, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel it all—the regret, the longing, the ache of knowing he had let you slip away. It was like watching the best part of his life walk out of his reach, and all he could do was stand there, powerless, as the person he loved disappeared forever. 

The pain of knowing it was too late was unbearable. He had let you go when he should have held you close, should have fought for you with everything he had. But now… now, you were with Eric. And Lando knew, with a sickening finality, that he would never get the chance to be the one who made you his.

And that thought alone broke him.

Lando stood frozen near the edge of the ballroom, his drink long forgotten in his hand, as he watched you from across the room. You were laughing at something someone from the group you talked to had said, your head tilted back. It was the smile that used to belong to him. A smile he hadn’t realized how much he loved until it was too late.

The ache in his chest grew sharper with every passing second. He wanted to move, to say something, anything, but his feet felt like they were rooted to the ground. All he could do was watch you, knowing he didn’t belong in your world anymore. 

You turned toward Eric, your hand brushing against his arm as you said something softly, something Lando couldn’t hear. Eric looked at you, his hand sliding to the small of your back in a gesture so intimate, so natural, that it sent a dagger straight through Lando’s heart.

It could have been him. It should have been him.

Eric leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, and Lando had to look away, the pain too much to bear. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly as the sharp sting of tears burned his eyes again. He didn’t cry. Not ever. But tonight, standing here, watching you with someone else, he felt like he might break.

The music changed, a slower song filling the room, and couples began to drift toward the dance floor. Lando’s eyes flicked back to you just as Eric took your hand, leading you toward the center of the room. You followed him with ease, your laughter spilling over as he twirled you playfully before pulling you into his arms. The two of you moved together, swaying in perfect rhythm, and Lando couldn’t look away.

He imagined himself in Eric’s place—holding you close, feeling your warmth against him, whispering secrets only the two of you could share. He imagined the life you could’ve had together, the nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, the mornings filled with quiet kisses and sleepy smiles. He imagined being the one to give you everything you deserved.

But that was all it was now—imagination. A dream that would never come true.

As the song ended and the crowd applauded, you turned toward Eric, your face glowing with happiness. And that’s when Lando knew—knew in a way that hit him like a freight train—that he had lost you. Not just for tonight, not just for a moment, but for good.

He stood there, rooted in place, as you and Eric made your way toward the exit, hand in hand. The sight of you walking away was almost too much to bear. He wanted to call out to you, to say something, to tell you everything he should have said years ago. But the words caught in his throat, and he could only watch as the distance between you grew.

As you reached the door, you glanced back for a brief second. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he saw it—the flicker of something different, something that felt like a quiet goodbye, but also... fear? And then you turned away, disappearing through the doorway with Eric by your side.

Lando stayed where he was, staring at the space where you had been. The weight of his regret was suffocating, crushing him with the force of everything he had lost. The sound of the party faded into the background, the laughter and music drowned out by the echo of his thoughts.

It was over. He had let you go, and now there was no getting you back.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at his skin as he leaned against the railing. The stars above were impossibly bright, mocking him with their beauty. He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the cold stone as he tried to steady himself. But the ache in his chest refused to go away.

Lando closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it. But as he stood there, alone under the stars, he couldn’t help but wish—just for a moment—that he could go back. That he could rewrite the story, change the ending, and be the man you deserved.

But life didn’t work that way. And as the night stretched on, Lando knew he would carry this regret with him forever.

────୨ৎ────

The drive home was thick with tension, the air between you and Eric heavy with unspoken words. Rain poured relentlessly against the car, the sound filling the silence that Eric refused to break.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands resting in your lap as you stared at the blurry city lights outside the window. You tried to ignore the knot in your stomach, the lingering warmth of Lando’s presence a stark contrast to the icy atmosphere now suffocating you.

The wedding replayed in your mind—the glowing bride and groom, the joyous laughter, the dance floor alive with celebration. It should’ve been a night of happiness, a night that made you feel excited for your upcoming wedding. But instead, it had left you hollow, drowning in doubts you could no longer ignore.

Eric’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigated the slick roads. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his body screamed louder than any words.

“I think it was a beautiful ceremony.” You said softly, trying to break the silence, but Eric didn’t respond. You hesitated, then tried again. “The food was amazing too. The cake—”

“You didn’t need any more cake.” He said abruptly, his voice cold and cutting.

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked, stunned, your mind scrambling to process what he’d just said. “What?” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

He finally glanced at you, his expression hard. “You heard me,” He said flatly. “You were already piling your plate up. Did you really need another slice? You’ll get fat if you eat this much.”

Your heart sank, the hurt flooding through you like a tidal wave. You hadn’t even eaten much—you’d been too nervous, too distracted by the night’s events and your own swirling thoughts. But his words cut deeper than the surface, touching on insecurities you’d tried so hard to bury.

“I wasn’t...” You trailed off, your voice trembling. “I wasn’t overeating. I just—”

“Don’t make excuses,” He snapped, his tone dismissive. “It’s not a good look.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you turned your head toward the window, unwilling to let him see you break. The rain outside mirrored the storm inside you, the sound of it hitting the car drowning out the sharp ache in your chest.

When Eric pulled into the parking lot of your building, he didn’t wait for you. He just turned off the car, grabbed the umbrella, and stepped out without a word. 

The rain was still coming down in sheets, soaking through your dress the moment you stepped outside. You struggled with your heels on the slippery pavement, nearly losing your footing as you hurried after him. He didn’t bother to slow down or offer a hand.

The final insult came when you saw him standing under the building’s awning, perfectly dry under the umbrella. He glanced at you once, his expression blank, then turned and walked inside without waiting for you.

You stumbled as you reached the door, the heel of your shoe catching on the wet ground. Your heart clenched as you caught yourself on the handle, the pain of his indifference sharper than the physical discomfort.

By the time you reached the apartment, your dress clung to your skin, your hair was plastered to your face, and your makeup smudged. Eric didn’t say a word as you closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

“I’m going to change.” You murmured, your voice small.

Eric didn’t look at you. “Do whatever you want,” He muttered, kicking his shoes off before heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t care.”

You paused, your heart pounding as you watched him pour himself a glass of water. His movements were precise and controlled, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, Eric,” You said, your voice trembling. “What did I do wrong?”

Eric set the glass down with more force than necessary, the sound making you flinch. He turned to you, his eyes narrowing. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” You asked, frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface.

“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that!” He snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. You stood by the counter, your fingers clutching its edge as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. 

“What? I didn’t embarrass you, Eric,” You said, your voice shaking but firm. “I was just… talking to someone.”

“Talking to someone,” He repeated with a harsh laugh, turning on his heel to glare at you. “You mean Lando fucking Norris. The same guy you couldn’t take your eyes off all night. Do you even realize how pathetic that looked? My fiancée, giggling like a schoolgirl with some ex-flame in front of everyone we know.”

Your heart twisted at his words, the venom in his tone striking a nerve. “It wasn’t like that,” You said, your voice trembling. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“You don’t think it’s wrong to make me look like an idiot?” He shot back. “To stand there, laughing and smiling with him like I don’t even exist?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Eric, this isn’t about Lando,” You said carefully. “This is about us. About how you’ve been treating me.”

“Treating you?” His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After everything I’ve done for you—everything I’ve sacrificed—you’re going to sit there and act like I’m the bad guy?”

“I’m not trying to make you the bad guy,” You said, your voice rising with frustration. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel. But you never listen, Eric. You don’t even care how your words affect me.”

“Oh, here we go,” He sneered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Poor you. Always the victim. Always so sensitive.”

The words hit you like a slap, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. “This isn’t about being sensitive,” You said, your voice breaking. “It’s about respect. And you stopped respecting me a long time ago.”

Eric scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. Do you think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel anything when we fight like this? I’m trying my best, but apparently, that’s never good enough for you.”

You stared at him, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “Eric, this isn’t about effort. It’s about how you make me feel. And right now, I feel small. I feel worthless.”

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. “Oh, so now I’m the reason you’re unhappy?” He said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s rich. You were a mess when I met you. A complete wreck. I’m the one who fixed you, who gave you a life worth living. And this is how you repay me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sinking in like a dagger to your chest. The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, hot and relentless. 

“Fixed me?” You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You think I’d be nothing without you?” Your voice rose, trembling with emotion. “You think you’re the reason I’m standing here right now?”

His silence was deafening. He didn’t deny it. That was the moment it clicked—the realization that shattered whatever was left of your resolve. He didn’t see you as an equal, as someone to love and cherish. He saw you as a project, something he could control and shape into his own version of perfection.

“I’m done,” You said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m done letting you talk to me like this. I’m done letting you make me feel like I’m not enough.”

Eric’s expression shifted, panic flickering in his eyes. “Wait,” He said, his tone softening. “You don’t mean that. You’re upset, that’s all. Just—just calm down, okay? We can work this out.”

You shook your head, your tears falling freely now. “No, Eric. We can’t. Because I’ve been trying to ‘work this out’ for months, and all it’s done is break me.”

“Don’t do this,” He said, his voice pleading as he rushed over to you, gripping your wrists tightly. “Please. We’re supposed to get married. We’re supposed to spend our lives together. What about the plans we’ve already made? You can’t just throw that away!”

“Let go of me, Eric,” You hissed, trying to free your hands, “It hurts.”

“No! First you need to answer me.” He shouted, fastening his grip even more, your face twisting in a painful grimace.

“I’m not throwing it away,” You said, “You did that the moment you stopped treating me like someone you loved.” Then you shook your hands abruptly, his hands flying away from your wrists.

Then, you slipped the engagement ring off your finger and placed it on the counter, gently rubbing your wrists, where his hands were gripping on not so long ago.

His face twisted with anger and desperation as you turned and went to the front door. “If you walk out that door, don’t come crawling back to me when you realize no one else is going to put up with you!”

The words stopped you in your tracks, the cruelty of them stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all. But then, a quiet voice inside you spoke up—a voice that had been buried for far too long. You deserved better.

Without another word, you turned around and walked to the door, each step feeling like a small victory. The rain hit your skin like ice as you stepped outside, but the storm couldn’t touch the fire burning inside you now.

You didn’t know where you were going or what the future held. But as you walked away from the life you once thought you wanted, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Freedom.

────୨ৎ────

The rain was merciless, soaking through your clothes, and clinging to your skin. You didn’t know where you were going at first, your mind spinning, your body on autopilot. The fight with Eric replayed in a relentless loop in your head—his cruel words, the venom in his voice, his tight grip, the way he’d dismissed you as though you were nothing.

For the first time, it felt like the truth had been laid bare: there was nothing left to fight for. The engagement was over. The fantasy you’d tried to sell yourself had crumbled. And yet, even knowing you had made the right choice, fear lingered in every step you took.

You had nowhere to go. No one to call.

Except him.

The thought stopped you in your tracks, rain dripping from your hair as you stared blankly at the empty street. Lando. His name echoed in your mind like a whispered confession, both a comfort and a torment. 

Was it even a good idea? You hadn’t properly spoken in years, and the when you saw him today, all you’d shared were strained smiles and awkward pleasantries.

But who else could you turn to? You weren’t ready to explain this to anyone—not your family, not your friends. You needed… warmth. Safety. And despite everything that had happened between you and Lando, he was the only person you trusted with your broken pieces.

With shaky breaths, you forced yourself to move, the address to his apartment burned into your memory.

When you reached his door, your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the sound of the rain. You hesitated, your fist hovering just inches away from the wood. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if this was a mistake? But as you stood there, shivering and drenched, you realized you had no other place to go.

Your knock was weak, barely audible over the downpour, but it was all you could muster. When the door opened, Lando froze, speechless. His eyes widened as he looked at you, but the concern that quickly followed melted the knot in your stomach. You must’ve looked like a mess—drenched, shivering, your face pale and streaked with rain and tears.

“Fucking hell, Angel,” He said softly, his voice warm despite the shock in his eyes. The nickname he used to address you slipped uncontrollably from his lips, bringing back that warm feeling in your stomach. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a sob escaped, and the tears you had tried so hard to hold back began streaming down your face.

“Come in.” Lando murmured, stepping aside to let you in. 

The warmth and coziness of his apartment were a stark contrast to the cold rain outside. The soft glow of the lights wrapped around you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the trembling in your body. Lando took one look at you and made a quick decision.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” He said gently. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

He led you down the hallway to the bathroom, the soft hum of the heating vent the only sound as he turned on the shower. Steam began to fill the room, fogging the mirror.

“There’s some towels here, and I’ll get you some clothes you can change into,” He said, placing a fresh stack of towels on the counter. “Take as long as you need.”

You nodded, your voice still caught in your throat.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” He added, his gaze steady but filled with worry.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let yourself crumble. The hot water cascaded over you, washing away the cold and the rain but not the ache in your chest. Your sobs echoed in the small bathroom, raw and unrestrained.

Lando never left his place. He sat outside, his back against the door, listening. Every muffled sob that reached his ears made his heart clench. He hated hearing you like this, hated that you were in so much pain. He wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but he knew better than to rush you.

He couldn’t shake off the feeling that this might also be what you had sounded like when he left.

Minutes passed, maybe longer, before the sound of the water stopped. Lando stood up, his hands fidgeting nervously as he waited. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in the towel, he handed you his clothes and you hid in the bathroom again. Once you were done dressing up, you came out in one of his hoodies and a pair of sweats he’d left for you. Your eyes were red and swollen, but there was a faint glimmer of calm.

“Feeling a bit better?” He asked softly, his voice tentative.

You nodded, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. “Thanks.” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gestured with his head toward the couch, and you followed him silently. The room felt heavy with unspoken words as you sat down, tucking your legs beneath you. Lando sat beside you, leaving enough space to give you room but close enough that you could feel his presence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lando asked, his voice low and careful and you nodded. His eyes scanned your face, searching for answers. “Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice nearly broke you. You nodded quickly, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie that was too big for you. 

“I’m fine now. I just— …” You paused, the words sticking in your throat. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “What’s going on? What happened?” his voice was soft and tender.

“It’s complicated.” You whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Lando exhaled, standing up and running a hand through his curls. “Of course it is,” He muttered under his nose, his tone tinged with sarcasm. “It always is with you, isn’t it?”

You flinched, and he immediately softened, his frustration melting into guilt. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Lando said quickly. “That was uncalled for. I just—” He cut himself off, pacing for a moment before turning back to you. “You, showing up here out of nowhere… it’s a lot to process.”

“I didn’t mean to put this on you,” You said quietly, your voice barely audible. “I just didn’t have anyone else.”

His expression shifted, guilt flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain, Angel.” He replied, sitting down across from you, the unexpected nickname he used only for you made your stomach do a flip. But there was something guarded in his posture, like he was holding back.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he broke it. “So, what’s the deal? Did the perfect fiancé finally show his true colors?”

Your stomach twisted, and you looked away. “Actually… yeah.”

Lando’s brow furrowed, the sarcasm dropping from his face. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But there was no point in hiding it anymore. “I broke the engagement,” You admitted, your voice trembling. “I left him, Lando.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “You… broke it off?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. “He wasn’t who I thought he was,” You said, your voice shaking. “He… he hurt me. In ways I didn’t even realize until it was too late.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “Hurt you how?” He asked, his voice low, dangerous.

You didn’t answer, but his eyes drifted to the faint bruise on your wrists, and you saw the moment he pieced it together. His face darkened, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep his composure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“Why would I?” You shot back, the bitterness in your tone surprising both of you. “You left. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Lando flinched, his guilt written all over his face. “I know,” He said softly. “I know I fucked up. But if I had known…” He trailed off, his voice thick with regret. “I would’ve done something. I would’ve—”

“You didn’t,” You interrupted, your voice cracking. “You didn’t do anything, Lando. You just disappeared.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to untangle them. “You’re right,” He uttered finally. “I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you by staying away, but I was only protecting myself.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” You admitted. “I just… I needed to feel safe. And for some reason, you’re the only person who makes me feel that way.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and the silence between you stretched like a chasm. You looked down at your hands, still trembling despite the warmth of Lando’s hoodie wrapped around you. The storm outside mirrored the one brewing inside—chaotic, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

“You’re safe here, Angel.” Lando had said. His voice was steady, but the tension in his body betrayed his emotions. You wanted to believe him. But after everything… could you?

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the room, filling the space between you. 

Finally, you broke the silence. “Why did you leave?” Your voice was quiet but laced with a sharp edge. “I know we weren’t together, but.. we did you leave?”

Lando’s shoulders stiffened. “I thought we have already covered this…” He said, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“No, we haven’t.” You shook your head, your gaze locking onto his. “You just gave me excuses. You said you were a coward, that you thought staying away was better for me. But why, Lando? Why did you leave without saying anything? Why did you let me think I was just… disposable?”

His face twisted with guilt, and he ran a hand through his curls. “I didn’t think you’d understand,” He admitted, his voice rough. “I was scared. I was so damn scared of what I was feeling, of how much you meant to me. And then I saw those photos—”

“Those photos,” You interrupted, bitterness seeping into your voice. “The ones with that girl? The ones that made me feel like I never meant anything to you?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then what was it?” You snapped, the anger you’d buried for years bubbling to the surface. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you moved on in a heartbeat. Like I was just another girl to you.”

“You weren’t!” His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “You were never just another girl. Don’t you get that?”

“Then why?” Your voice cracked, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you leave me like that? Why didn’t you fight for me? Fight for us?”

He stared at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you,” He said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d only screw things up more if I stayed. And when those photos came out… I was ashamed. I thought if I called, if I tried to explain, it would only make things worse.”

“And you think disappearing was the best option?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” He admitted. “I was young, stupid, and scared. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

The sincerity in his voice cut through your anger like a knife, leaving you raw and exposed. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the vulnerability threatening to consume you.

“I needed you,” You whispered. “I needed you, Lando, and you weren’t there.”

“I know.” His voice was soft, filled with regret. “And I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to say it enough—I’m sorry.”

The room fell silent again, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.” You said honestly, your voice trembling.

“I don’t expect you to,” He replied. “Not right away. But I’m here now. And I want to earn it, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You turned to look at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was raw, unfiltered honesty. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” His voice was firm, resolute. “I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your chest easing just slightly. “But.. I don’t know if I’m ready for anything more than this—just talking, figuring things out.”

“That’s okay,” He said quickly. “We can take it slow. As slow as you need.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of your lips. For the first time in years, it felt like the walls you've built around your heart were beginning to crack.

Lando hesitated before speaking again. “What about Eric?”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers brushing against the faint bruise on your wrist. “It’s over. I broke the engagement. There’s nothing left to say.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—relief, anger, protectiveness, all tangled together. “Good,” He said quietly. “You deserve better anyway.”

You looked at him, your chest tightening. “I don’t even know what I deserve anymore.”

“You deserve everything, Angel,” He said without hesitation. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes held yours—it was almost too much. 

But then you nodded, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Okay,” You said softly. “But I need time.”

“You’ll have it.” He promised, and you nodded, letting his words settle over you. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was something. A tentative step forward.

As the storm outside began to ease, you found yourself studying him—his longer curls, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the quiet determination in his eyes. He was still Lando, the boy who’d once made your heart race, but he was different now. Older, wearier.

A familiar stranger who somehow made you feel seen again, even after all the pain.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.

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