#i thought I was done with this and then I had the idea to make into a kind of postcard and now we’re here

[yieldtotemptation]

PAROXYSM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part two of strange currencies

16k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like you’re not obsessed.

Like you’re not bothered that it’s been weeks since you had Mina—felt the heat of her body, the silk of her skin, the sweetness of her breath on your neck.

Since you've seen that ass. Had it in your hands, spread her cheeks with your fingers, stretched her wide with your cock and left Mina in tears, crying out—

"God, I can never go back from this."

And it’s not like you haven’t been searching for opportunities; a party you’d both be invited to, another gala, some event with enough plausible deniability for when you inevitably, ‘accidentally’ bump into her again.

But for some reason, nothing seems to align.

You’ll get word that she’s in Korea, basking in a rare stretch of free time, while you’re in Hong Kong, signing deals and making promises of dubious sincerity.

You’ll be rushing to return, already planning out how you’ll steal another taste of her, another touch; only to find out she’s been whisked away again—to Japan, or Brazil, or any one of the countless countries desperate to host her.

Glimpses is all you ever truly get—paparazzi shots, magazine covers, the odd video that passes through the digital ether.

So, yeah.

You let it rest, go through the motions, try to recreate it in the aggregate. There are plenty of pretty faces, eager bodies in your orbit.

But they're all just that: bodies.

Empty shells of what you had. They don’t laugh like her, they don’t keep you on your toes like she can, they don’t look at you with the same hunger.

(They don’t say your name like Mina did.)

—

“So,” is the first word you hear from Mina. Too much time has passed, and you’ve officially given up on any pretences of nonchalance. Decided to get straight to the point with the right people and just get her number. “I guess I’m not the only one who can’t stop thinking about that night.”

“Uncharted territory and all,” you’re repeating, and there’s a beat of silence on the other line.

A deep breath, and you swear you can hear her smile. “Definitely unique.”

It’s well past midnight and you’re tired and you’re feeling unusually vulnerable, so you're admitting things you'd usually keep under lock and key. “It’s been—you’ve been stuck in my head, Mina.”

“I know the feeling,” she sighs. Just the timbre of her voice and there’s shivers down your spine. “The memory alone is still—”

You finish for her, “Vivid.”

“I was going to say really fucking hot, but yes,” she laughs. “It’s helped me through some lonely nights. Remembering how you felt inside me, everything we did together it’s—God, you have no idea.”

“I’d argue I have the entire idea. For one—the stairs,” you’re supplying, grinning to yourself, leaning back in your chair, remembering the way she clung to you. How tight she was around you, how fucking new she felt as you filled her. “You were so fucking gorgeous. Never felt anything like it.”

“And the shower,” she counters, “you had me pinned against the tiles. Couldn’t move without you fucking me deeper. Just stuck with nowhere to go but further down your cock. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“Don’t forget the kitchen,” you add, “We got pretty creative with the utensils.”

Mina giggles. You didn't know she was capable of sounding so girlish. “I’ll never look at a spatula the same.”

It’s getting dangerous, each memory rekindling the flame of a night that you’d tried to convince yourself couldn’t have been as epic as you remembered. Couldn’t have mattered so much.

And yet here you are now, letting Mina stir up thoughts of her cunt gushing down her thighs, her nipples stiffening between your teeth, her ass choking your cock, the look on her face when she came all over you—and you know she’s wading through the very same set of flashbacks.

“Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that garden. Your hands are all over me, your mouth everywhere—”

“Your cunt on my tongue—”

“Your fingers in my ass—”

“Your fucking moans, Mina—”

“Wait, I need to—”

Mina stops you, and you find yourself releasing a breath you didn't even know you were holding. You think you can hear her; hear the shutting of a door, a lock turning, frantic pacing, the squeak of a bed.

Your eyes close and you're picturing it now—Mina, laid back on pure white sheets, sprawled out like a Goddess. It's all there, crystal clear. Fingers dancing over her collarbones, tracing the delicate line of her neck down to the swell of her breasts.

Teasing herself, running her thumbs over her areola, the skin there a shade darker, a touch more sensitive. Pinching and pulling, peaks hardening into tight buds, missing the roughness of your tongue.

And then going lower, down over her ridged abs and between her toned thighs. Spreading her legs out in an invitation, toes curling into the mattress. Finding herself slick with need, so, so soaked. Dipping down to trace over her folds before sliding right into the wet heat.

Mina gasps. It's not your imagination. She moans into the phone.

You can almost taste her again.

She finds her voice. "Please, keep talking."

—

The first photo comes through the very next day.

You can intuit from the architecture in the background—the steep roofs, the brick exteriors, the gothic towers—she’s somewhere in Paris.

And there’s Mina, flat on her stomach, sheets tangled around her like the aftermath of a hurricane that’s swept through. Smiling at you straight down the barrel of the camera, cutting through the digital space between you. It’s sly and knowing and a little bit wicked, because she knows that it’s not the view of the city behind her that you’re looking at, nor is it even her face, usually so stunningly unavoidable and instantly captivating.

It's her ass.

Plump and round, poking over her shoulder, filling a whole corner of the frame. And you're spotting the indentations where your fingers have sunk in, the stretch of alabaster that your grip turned a shade of pink. A map of memories etched across the curve of her cheeks.

It’s a thousand words in a single photo, a message loud and clear, carefully composed to make you ache. So, you do. You ache.

You save the picture—not because you think you’re going to forget, but because you need to have a piece of her with you at all times.

Something to pull out when the days are too long, too dull. Something to look at when your memories of her aren’t enough anymore.

The photo, you notice, comes with a caption: ‘The only thing missing here is you.’

—

“Stability,” Mina’s telling you nights later, after you’ve spent close to an hour describing to her all the ways you’d like to have her again, like to break her down until she’s just a trembling mess of limbs and cum.

It’s a habit the two of you have picked up; these clandestine calls that come in the dead of night, during those rare occasions you’re in a reasonable enough time zone to talk. You’re actually in the same country this time. The States, but on different coasts, so, close enough.

She’s sending these breathy whispers down the phone; still coming down from her high, from the way her thighs clenched around her own hand, from the way she painted your name onto her skin with her own juices.

Still coming down from you, from the meticulously detailed step-by-step explanations of exactly what you’d do to her if you weren’t thousands of kilometres apart.

“Stability,” you repeat the answer she’s given to the question that’s been burning in your mind for weeks now. It’s certainly a faux pas to ask right after she’s made you cum across your own chest; but it’s late, and tonight’s suite is far too big and much too quiet—the kind of quiet that lets you think too much.

And so you had to ask her. Why was she still with him?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Mina confirms. “I like stability, I like routine, I like knowing what to expect. Means I can never be disappointed.”

“Never be surprised, either,” you point out. She laughs, the sound warm and rich through the speaker.

“That’s never really been a problem.” She pauses. “Until you.”

There’s an alarm bell sounding somewhere, triggered by the way that last syllable curls around the corners of her lips, bounces across fifty different states to land in your ear.

You.

It rattles around your brain, punches you right in the gut. You try to play it off with a chuckle. But you both know what this really is. The desperation, the need. What you do to each other. How much of a fucking mess you’d make together if you had half the chance.

You make an attempt at being casual: “Apologies, then.”

“You kinda fuck everything up for me, you know?” She admits. “I was fine with it all. Leaving all of this as just a fantasy. Living with the boredom.”

“Everything’s boring.”

“Except this.”

You should really be above all this. The pining, the yearning. Having a crush.

It’s unbecoming.

Leave her alone. Leave her to the dream life she’s built up for herself. The career, the boyfriend, the whole shiny package that everyone’s decided she should want. It’d be the rational thing to do.

And yet— “So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I suppose,” Mina says, and once again, you're swearing you can hear her smile through the phone, because this is far from the end of things, “We’ll just have to find some way to scratch this itch.”

—

(It’s an outrageous abuse of power.

But so what? You’re an asshole billionaire, that’s what everyone expects of you anyway.

Besides, compared to your peers, it falls far short of bankrupting entire economies or causing irreparable damage to the Earth’s oceans and atmosphere.

So why not go full tilt and really indulge?

That’s basically the gist of your justification for forcing fate’s hand and manifesting your own ‘accidental’ meeting with Mina.

Still. It’s only a meeting.)

—

“Quite a situation you’ve engineered here,” is Mina’s first quip, as she steps right out of your daydreams and into your office.

Oh, you’ve been thinking of her.

Spent time replaying that night in your mind, revisiting the sight of her bouncing on that staircase, the feel of her soft skin slapping against yours, the sound of her sighs in your ears.

Obsessed over the messages, the photos, the videos she’s sent—how she moves, that coy smile on her face when she knows she’s got your full attention in her grip. All these mesmerising moments captured in high-definition.

And it’s coming back to you now—the waterfall of hair cascading down her shoulders, the red of her lips, the beauty spot on her nose, above her cupid’s bow—a constellation across her face.

(She makes your office feel small.)

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, aiming for flippant, but missing the mark by a wide margin.

“Mhm,” is all you’re going to get, because you both know better.

She makes herself at home here, taking the long way to your desk. Hips swaying as she runs her fingers over the décor, the lights and the statues, the books and the furniture. Again, fitting right in with the expensive, the luxurious, the exclusive.

You’re not hiding that you’re staring, and she’s not hiding that she knows either.

Mina walks right past you, turns away so you can see the full sweep of her back, the high-waisted skirt that hugs her curves before flaring out at the waist. Eventually, she stops at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city, the urban sprawl below a far cry from the palatial gardens that backdropped your first encounter.

The sun’s setting overhead. It casts a warm glow over her. Outlines her figure in gold.

You break the silence, "Heard the photoshoot went well."

“Well, you get what you pay for,” is Mina’s second quip of the afternoon. She turns back to face you, leaning against the window frame, a perfect silhouette.

You can almost hear the glass tremble.

Mina asks, offhandedly, “You’ll have to enlighten me—is it standard practice for visitor passes to have access to every floor in the tower?”

“Security must be lacking.”

“Right,” Mina says. “And is it normal in your line of work, for the CEO to handpick the brand ambassadors?”

You shrug. “I like to get my hands dirty.”

“If that’s what they’re calling it,” she responds, smiling now. Pushing herself off the glass and taking a dangerous step forward.

“We were looking to appeal to our Japanese market,” you say, repeating the same lines you fed to your team, to her management, to anyone who bothered to raise an eyebrow. It’s a good lie. “Needed someone refined, someone that depicted class. Aspirational.”

Mina takes another step forward. Heels that make her legs look endless hitting the polished flooring with a click. "So that's how you see me, then."

"Amongst other, less appropriate things," you admit, already completely, hopelessly captivated.

"Let me guess: Stunning?"

"That's one."

“Fuckable.”

“Absolutely.”

“Submissive?”

“Are you asking, or telling me?”

Mina’s eyes dazzle as she closes the distance, rounding your desk and stopping just short of your chair. She waits for you to swivel and face her.

And then she leans forward, so close. Nose brushing yours, breath warm and sweet and familiar. Her hands land on your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

She drops to her knees.

“Telling.”

You can’t help yourself, you press your thumb to her lips, stamping it crimson.

It’s a wicked thing, how Mina’s bottom lip dips, how her tongue snakes out to lick the pad of your thumb clean. You push in deeper, watching as she takes you into her mouth, seals her lips around you and sucks.

How she’s looking at you now—building up this image of Mina; kneeling, the skirt riding up, her panties soaked with anticipation. Dressed like this is just another business meeting—masked in a high neckline and a smile so perfect against your skin.

That's today's game. Dress up.

Professionalism went out the window the moment she walked in—it barely crosses your mind to wonder whether or not she locked the door. You don’t even care.

Mina stops her little show, thumb pops out of her mouth with a wet sound, leaving a smear of red behind. There’s something about Mina, something that can’t be intuited unless she’s right in front of you, inhaling your exhales, smiling up at you like you're the only person in the entire world that matters.

It's like magic—makes everything and everyone else feel like a figment of your imagination.

“You forgot to mention a few other things,” Mina breathes on you, low and warm, priming you for a punchline that you know will send you reeling.

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” and she starts unbuttoning her blouse, reaching for the top button then— “How utterly,”

Then the next button.

“Desperately,”

More still.

“Needy,”

All of them.

“I am for your wonderful, perfect cock.”

The blouse opens up, falls away, drifts off her shoulders until it’s blood-red lace and vanilla-white skin.

Fuck.

(Mina’s not from this world, no fucking way. Definitely not human; jury’s out on if she’s some kind of Goddess. Probably something in between, come down from some place where the air is thinner and the lights are brighter.)

Your mouth is dry. “I could never forget.”

Mina’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Lips spread wide. She’s kissing your cock through your pants.

It’s electric. A long, teasing press of her lips that winds you so tight that just the slightest touch, just a single word could set you off.

Her teeth graze the fabric. You throb through the cotton.

“Mina,” you manage, hand dropping to the side of her face. There’s a tremor in your voice that you’re not used to, that you can’t even pretend to hide. Mina’s got you in the palm of her hand—or rather, on the edge of her lips—even though she’s the one on her knees.

“Relax,” she coos, holding her lips against you, deft fingers unlatching your belt, finding your zipper. “Let me take care of you. Let me take care of this cock,” honeyed words slipping out with the same ease that tugs you free, “Get my tongue all over it, take it deep down my throat, be such a good little whore for you—until you can’t think of anything but how much you want me to swallow every drop you’ve got for me, baby.”

You swallow, caress her cheek, “Darling—”

“Shh," Mina hushes, taking your cock into her hand, holding it against her cheek. So damn happy to have it so close to her mouth once again. “Everything you said over the phone. All that stuff about fucking my face, leaving a mess, filling up my throat—I want it all. You’re going to give it to me now, please.”

She doesn’t even look up at you, just so focused on your cock. Kissing around the shaft, and then drawing her tongue in one, slow, dragging lick all the way from your base, right to the tip. It’s gentle, careful, exploratory.

Introducing her lips to every inch of skin along your cock, over your balls, taking her time to stain all of you with the sheen of her kisses. Careful, so careful. Meticulous too, deep in concentration that you can almost feel her thoughts, intuit from the pressure of her lips how much this means to her. How much she needs it.

And it’s as her breath warms the head of your cock that you realise you’ve got a stranglehold on the armrest of your chair, holding it so tightly you could snap it in two. Not like there’s any helping it, nothing to do but brace yourself as she opens her mouth, pink tongue peeking out, and licks you again—longer, slower.

Holding still now, cock balanced on her tongue, fixing you with this stare.

A dare.

(Don’t move. Don’t interrupt. Let her do her work.)

That’s when her boyfriend calls.

Sorry, her partner.

A jarring noise, a slap in the face that breaks the spell. Vibrating atop your oak desk, a violent buzzing through the room—once, twice, thrice.

Mina’s eyes flick to yours. A split second, a single thought shared. There’s laughter on her lips because of course, because why the fuck not, because this is definitely your kind of chaos. You nod. You’re both in on the joke.

The phone’s still ringing, ringing, ringing.

And Mina’s mouth is still on you, tongue tickling underneath, lips wrapping around, before taking you in deep. Right as she accepts the call.

“Hmf?”

—

(A good idea to mention this theory you’ve been brewing for a while, the other reason why Mina still hasn’t broken up with boyfriend.

Because of you.

Because of how much fucking hotter it makes her. The thrill, the rush, putting a blemish on an otherwise spotless record.

And maybe you’re just as guilty—because you want to hear her lie to him too.)

—

“Still working,” is Mina’s deadpan over the phone, somehow keeping a straight face despite how full her hands are with you. She even rolls her eyes. “You know how it is—unreasonable CEOs jumping down my throat for no good reason at all.”

This woman.

Churning lies with such ease that you almost feel sorry for the poor, oblivious soul on the other end of the phone. Almost.

But Mina's too good at all of this. Too good at hiding it all. Too good at everything, really—whether it's singing, dancing, kneeling before you, making your cock disappear down her throat.

Just a slight adjustment in posture, and she’s taking you in deeper. A gentle suck, a swirl of her tongue around the ridge—and oh, the way she’s looking at you, eyes up and so damn full of mischief.

She’s fucking loving this. Loving the way you’re watching her, the way your hand finds her hair as she takes you in, the way you’re fighting to keep your composure. Fighting to keep your breath even and calm and to stop yourself from groaning so loud that it won’t just be her boyfriend, but the whole fucking tower that’s going to hear how much of a slut she is for you.

You can still hear his voice coming through—muted, indistinct—like a ghost, haunting the edges of this pornographic scene you’ve painted together. 

Fuck this guy likes to talk.

“Mhm,” is all Mina has to say to keep him convinced, to let him believe that she’s actually invested in whatever the fuck he’s on about. Keeping him none the wiser that her full attention is on you, her mouth moving up and down, her eyes glued to yours, watching every twitch, every drop of pleasure that flits across your face.

She reaches up with her free hand, wrapping it around the base of your cock. Gliding along your shaft in this twisting movement that sets your nerves alight.

Everything’s just so tight—her grip, her throat, your own breath in your chest.

“Mhm,” again, longer, sounding closer and closer to a moan than a casual agreement, but still, she’s playing the part. Barely listening to what he’s saying, because she’s doing this thing with her tongue—right at the tip, flicking it around your slit—that’s making you test the strength of your chair.

There’s temptation here—her mouth so warm, so wet—it would be so easy to grab a fistful of her hair and fuck her mouth like you know she wants. But you keep your cool, keep your hand gentle and steady atop her head, let her dictate the rhythm.

And when you hear the voice over the phone rise, maybe a bit of frustration or concern, maybe the start of something suspicious, Mina shamelessly pops your cock out of your mouth and answers, “Just having a snack. Late lunch break.”

She hits the mute button.

Bows her head deep, savouring each inch as she takes you deeper, making this fucking sound when your cock hits the back of the throat. Wet, gagging, sloppy noises that build this tension right at the base of your spine that leaves you aching, absolutely desperate to just give her more.

She holds herself there, choking so nicely, so sweetly, on your cock. Her eyes start water, it’s an effort to keep them open, but she’s still smiling through it all, just so delighted to finally taste what she’s been dying to have for weeks.

You’re struggling, “Fucking hell, Mina.”

Mina giggles into your cock, vibrating along your shaft. Pulls her head back; just a rope of spit that connects the two of you, glinting under the fluorescent lights. A poke of her tongue has her scooping it all up and slurping it all down, smacking her lips with a satisfied ‘ah’.

She unmutes.

“Sorry, it just tastes really good. Like nothing I’ve had before.”

There’s a confused murmur coming out of the speaker, a perturbed, “Really?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” and Mina has the gall to wink at you, the audacity to keep her hand on your cock, stroking it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. All the while she just chats to her boyfriend—partner, again—like you’re not about to cover her face with your entire load.

“Mina,” you let slip when she squeezes too hard, cranes her head to feel the weight of your balls on her tongue. Lapping away, licking and tonguing and teasing, until you’re gritting your teeth, holding back the moan that wants to break free.

The voice at the end of the line crackles, “Who’s that?”

Mina doesn’t miss a beat, “Boss for the day,” presses a wet kiss onto the head of your cock in a futile attempt to still you, “Really pushing me hard, making me work for it, you know?”

The voice relaxes, but not enough. “What’s going on over there? Something doesn’t sound right.”

“Everything’s perfect.” Mina’s just so pleased with herself, tongue dancing up and down, over and around, making the chair creak from the reflexive jerk she forces out of you. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t do these types of jobs, you should listen to me and—”

“Get on my hands and knees and beg them to let me break the contract?” Mina smirks up at you, lips all smeared and messy with your arousal. “I can handle it” she continues on, dragging her lips to your base so she can slur into your waist, “I’m a professional. This is what I’m built for.”

God, he really doesn't deserve her.

He drops the subject so easily, moving on to talk more about him, about his schedules, his work, his boring fucking existence outside of her. And now you’re both rolling your eyes, sharing this secret, this ridiculousness that’s got you both on the edge of laughter and utter bliss.

Mina ups the ante, mutes her side of the call, and places the phone back on top of the desk.

You cock an eyebrow. “Seriously, him?”

She shakes her head. “No, just you.”

And she shows you, proves her point, because Mina’s not one for half-measures. Holds your cock tightly, strokes it again and again, one after another like it’s counting down to something explosive. Bomb’s ticking: the pressure’s building, the heat is coiling in your balls, but she keeps it steady, keeps it slow, keeps it right on that edge where it’s just enough to keep you there, but not enough to push you over.

“I’m just yours,” Mina hums, licking her swollen lips. “I’m yours to do with as you please, but,” she pauses, so she can jerk you just right, stroking with such finesse that you can't believe she's ever been with someone who didn't appreciate it, "I'm really hoping you let me swallow your cock now."

“You’re too fucking greedy.” 

Mina nods so earnestly.

So you give her what she wants, because what’s the point of playing this game if she isn’t going to win? 

You stroke the back of her head, guide her as she takes you all the way—nose to stomach, swallowing you up like you’re her favourite snack, her favourite secret. Her favourite lie to tell herself.

Fucking ridiculous. Too fucking much.

You lift your hips, leaving her to yank down your pants over your knees and to the ground. The clank of your belt buckle against marble echoes through the room, a starting gun to your undoing.

The phone’s still there, he’s still talking, a vaguely muffled annoyance. Mina doesn't even spare it a glance, just looks up at you, mouth full, eyes declaring:

‘Ignore everything else, just enjoy me.’

Fuck.

Mina’s cheeks hollow, her throat pulses, and gone is the usual effortless grace that she carries through everything she does.

No, she’s all raw, all passion. Sloppy now, greedy, showing you just how much she’s willing to do for you. It’s in the way she’s using her hand to squeeze the base of your shaft, the way she’s bobbing her head faster and faster.

Filling the room with the sounds of her slurps and smacking of her lips; her eyes watering with every deepthroat. Making her mouth this perfect, wet, hot little cave that’s swallowing you whole.

And you’re watching, watching every single move she makes. Unable to do anything else, really. Unable to think, to speak, to do anything but stare at her mouth, her eyes, her hand moving up and down, up and down—stare at Mina giving herself over to you.

“Jesus—fuck—” and there’s your voice back again, so much louder than you intended.

But Mina’s smiling around your cock, eyes still on you, urging you on, putting you under her spell. She’s playing with your balls now, her thumb brushing over the sensitive skin, her nails lightly scraping, and it’s like she’s got every button mapped out, knows exactly how to make you go off the deep end.

"Mina, you're just so," you try, rummaging through your addled mind for the right words to pin on this storm before you, "so fucking good at this," you finally settle on.

Mina's eyes light up, triumphant. Deep pools of brown swirling with all sorts of things—few that can be said out loud and even fewer that should ever be thought—and none of which she gives a flying fuck about.

Your cock slides off her lips long enough for her to slur, "Flattery gets you everywhere, sir."

“Mina.”

She's just so happy with it all—it's a little unsettling. Mina, all elegance and poise, so fucking giddy at the opportunity to debase herself at your feet.

She takes a breath, a real one, not the shallow, desperate ones she’s been taking for the past few minutes, and then she’s diving back down. You can see the determination in the set of her jaw, the way she’s holding herself in place with one hand on your thigh so she can devour you whole. And she’s doing a phenomenal job, really, because your cock’s so hard it’s almost painful, and your thighs are trembling with the effort of keeping still.

But she’s not done yet, Mina’s never done. She reaches behind her, unclips her bra with a flick of her thumb, slipping it off her shoulders—a silent, unnoticed escape.

Perfect little tits, perfect little dusky nipples, peaked and ready for your attention. 

She takes one in her hand, rolls the nub between her fingers, playing with it, plucking it like a guitar string, making it sing. Making sure you’re still looking, while she's still sucking you off with her mouth, still fucking grinning around your cock.

A true masterclass in multitasking.

Her other hand stays on you, working in tandem with her mouth. A stroke for every bob, a squeeze for every moan, and she’s whining into your skin, a muffled—mmph, mmph, mmph—so loving that you know it’s not just for show.

Her hand drops down, slipping between her legs, disappearing into the fabric of her skirt. You can’t quite see it, but you know by her sigh as she leans into your thigh, by the way her other hand pinches her nipple harder, that she’s pressing up and into herself.

The fabric’s too thick to see much, but you can imagine her—fuck, you don’t have to imagine—you can almost feel her, her fingers sliding into her wetness, her palm cupping her mound, her middle finger circling her clit like it’s the head of a tiny drum, matching the same rhythm that’s been driving this whole spectacle.

“Your fucking mouth, Mina.”

The words leave you on a groan, a tightening of your grip on her head as she just plays and plays. Every suck pure heaven, warm, wet, utterly divine; pulling your hips closer and closer off the edge of your seat, until you’re nearly falling down her throat.

But even Mina, for all her skill and polish, can’t hold out forever. The fingers at her cunt, the kneading of her own tits, the gagging around your cock, the oblivious boyfriend still blissfully unaware of the depraved scene unfolding on the other end of the line.

It’s a heady cocktail, and she’s had too much too quickly. Her throat’s tightening around you, rogue tears are sliding down her cheeks, and it’s about time that you both give up on pretence and hurtle straight to the crux of this entire escapade.

You stand, rising to your feet before Mina has you tumbling off your chair, sliding your cock out of her chasing lips.

“Mina,” you breathe, voice full of gravel, heavy.

Mina’s frozen, just staring at your cock dangling above her nose, her mouth open and wet, her big, brown eyes begging for its return to her lips.

“Mina,” you repeat.

“Mmm?”

“I want to fuck your face now.”  

Mina licks her lips. “Want to?”

“I will.”

“Please,” she says, a single word like a hot knife slicing through whatever restraint you have let. And you’re just about to lose it, really fucking lose it because she’s so fucking eager, so fucking hot for it, so absolutely fucking yours.

In your office, at your desk, kneeling at your feet, skirt rucked up around her waist, panties drenched.

She ties up her hair into a messy bun.

“Please, use me.”

A twist of your hips has your cock slapping against her cheek, the sound bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of gloss across her flushed skin.

Mina laughs.

You lean down, grab her hair, thread your fingers through the strands, and guide her lips to where they were made to be.

“Christ,” is ripped from your throat as your cock is back down hers, plunging into her mouth like its home.

You push, push until her nose is squished against your pelvis, holding her there; her throat tight against your cock, her hand working her clit in double time. Whimpers escape past her lips, muffled whines that threaten to break you if you’ll let it.

But you don’t, not yet. You pull out, just long enough to let her gasp for air, only, she doesn't need the respite. She just blinks, and begs—

“Again.”

And again. And again.

Until she’s a writhing mess, until she’s shaking with the effort of holding herself together, until you’re plunging into her mouth so fast that you’re truly fucking her throat.

Deep, harsh strokes that make her cheek bulge, that fuck tears from her eyes. And Mina fucking loves it. Loves every second of it, loves having her head thrown back, her throat working for you like it’s your divine right, like her sole purpose in life has been to take your cock.

You’re fucking her face like you said you would, like she’s been begging you to do for weeks, whispering sweet nothings and filthy somethings into your ear during those late-night phone calls. Giving exactly what she’s been craving, exactly what she’s been dreaming about when she fucked herself so nicely for you to hear.

And she’s just taking it, letting you use her mouth like it’s nothing, because to her, it’s everything.

She’s lost in it, her hand a blur between her legs, her eyes glazed over. She’s so close, so fucking close, and she’s taking you with her; dragging you down into this pit of depravity that she’s been keeping warm for you.

“Mina?”

And there’s the phone again. Louder now, insistent, demanding. Finally noticing somethings not quite right.

"Mina?"

There’s panic in Mina’s eyes—but you’re quick to realise it’s not worry for him. It’s desperation for you. For you to keep going, for you to not notice, for you to keep the fantasy alive.

But you do notice. And it just makes you harder.

You're too far gone now—you're thrusting into her mouth with a fervour that’s almost violent. Mina’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes it all, letting you fuck her face with a reckless abandon that’s only heightened by the voice on the phone getting louder, more concerned.

You’re the only voice she’ll listen to now. “Hold still for me, Mina.”

Her eyes go wide, and she nods, her mouth stretched wide around you. Cradling her cheeks, just firm enough to feel the heat of her blush.

“Mina, why are you muted?”

She’s barely even on this planet anymore—just bringing herself closer to the edge, loosening these ragged, wet moans around your pistoning cock.

“Mina, are you ignoring me again, seriously?”

“Mmph—fuh—mmph—” is her attempt at an answer, but she’s too busy letting you use your mouth, too busy fucking herself on her fingers, too busy being the perfect little slut she’s told you she wanted to be.

It fills the room—the sounds of wet, sloppy sucking, careless fucking, your own grunts of pleasure. And somewhere in the background, that voice getting more and more insistent.

“Mina, say something, answer me!”

And she does. Just not to him. She says it to you, mouth full, eyes on yours.

Garbled, stuttered, fucked-up little pleas— “there—there—please—please—oh my god—"

Her hand moves faster, her throat seizes, her eyes roll back in her head. Her body jerks, her hand still working her clit, her mouth still full of you.

Mina cums at your feet, a terrible, beautiful orchestra of noises—moaning, gurgling, gagging around your cock. Swallowing, desperate for a breath of air, trying not to choke, eyes watering so badly it’s a surprise she can see you at all.

You pull out, so abruptly that she gasps and stumbles a little. And yet, despite it all, despite how brutally hard and fast her orgasm hits her, she’s still smiling up at you, as graceful and gorgeous as ever.

So fucking proud of herself.

And she’s not done yet. She’s never done, not really.

Her hand comes up to catch you, holding your cock like an anchor, keeping you ready as she takes a moment to recover. The other reaches for the phone, a shaky hand bringing it to her lips, level with your own tip.

She takes a breath. She’s going to answer.

She unmutes again.

“Sorry. Can’t talk. Gotta finish something big.”

“Mina—what the fuck are you—”

Mina gives you that look—that nod.

Sucks you in one last time, gives you a final choke. A desperate gag, a deep impossible swallow down her throat. And then she releases you from her lips.

The phone clatters to the floor, forgotten.

“Cum for me, please, baby.”

At her instruction, you're erupting.

Mina captures the head of your cock with her lips, keeps it balanced on the edge. Uses both hands to twist and wind around your shaft. Overwhelming you, seizing you into her mouth because this is exactly what she’s been starved for.

Breaking a fucking dam inside you, flooding her mouth with your cum, completing her with your taste. It hits the back of her throat, thick and hot and she swallows and swallows and swallows.

So fucking grateful for every drop, for every pulse that shoots into her mouth, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She’s drinking you down like water, like air, like she can’t get enough of you, leaving you breathless until all you can do is just repeat her name over and over again—an endless chant of “Mina.”

And when you’re finally done, when every nerve-ending in your legs isn’t burning down and threatening to take you with it, you pull out of her mouth, gasping for air.

Mina just sits there.

Looking up at you, naked chest heaving, nipples stinging red. Cum slipping out the corners of her mouth, staining her chin. Skirt ruined, panties a sodden mess around her ankles. Hand still on your cock, coaxing you to peace.

And fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

With a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, Mina reaches down to the floor and picks up the phone. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not even bothering to be delicate about it.

"Hey," she says, voice miraculously calm and collected. "Sorry—got distracted."

You watch, utterly stunned, as she plays the part of the girlfriend so flawlessly, puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. You can hear the boyfriend's voice, frantic and worried—and completely fooled.

But then she looks at you, clears her throat, and her smile goes wide, and you can see the woman beneath the façade. The woman who's had enough of being bored. Who's decided that she's owed the impossible fantasy.

Kneeling on the floor, yet more powerful than ever.

So, so fucking perfect.

Spreading her thighs, fingers back at her cunt, carefully toying with her clit. Building herself back up to that peak she’s just thrown herself from, because apparently, that’s what you’ve taught her to do.

To never settle, never stop, never be satisfied with just one taste.

You’re cock throbs.

“Mina, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Her hand moves faster, her thumb circling and pressing, her middle finger slipping inside herself. You can see the gleam under the artificial lights, how her cunt’s making everything sticky and messy.

Making herself nice and ready.

“There's a big mess here,” she says into the phone, all sugary sweet, a perfect story that drips from her tongue like molasses. “Lot of clean up. It’s ruined me—ruined the whole job. It’s gonna keep me here all fucking night.”

—

(It’s just an arrangement.

That’s what you’re calling it when the moon’s rising over your office, and Mina’s kissing these promises over your heart, drawing up the terms of this unwritten contract that neither of you can really commit to—even though you're both well aware of how much you want to.

Sex, as an agreement. Sex, as a release. Sex, because you’re both fucking incredible at it.

It just might be everything you both need.

You're both just too afraid to be the first to say it out loud.) 

—

Weeks later, and you get really fucking good at making time for her.

Whether it’s fifteen minutes at a party, a couple hours at an airport, or a few nights spent in a hotel room with the curtains drawn and a do not disturb sign nailed to the door—everything starts to fall into place.

There's always an empty room to be pulled in to, a shadow to be claimed, a corner of the world that belongs to you.

It’s Mina, straddling you in the backseat of a limo, her cunt tight around you as the city lights slide by. Your hand on her throat, not choking but guiding, a conversation based on pressure and pleasure alone. Her tits bounce in your face, begging for your teeth, and you give it to them, biting down until she’s gasping your name into the leather upholstery. The chauffeur pretends not to notice. You don’t pretend anything.

It's you, bending her over the bathroom counter of some stranger’s house, her rather business-like slacks down at her feet to expose the bare, wonderful convex of her ass. You spank her until she’s crying, until she’s bright red and demanding that you make good on your promise to fill her up so she can’t leave this party without globs of you leaking down her legs.

It’s hotel beds that have seen too much, office desks forced to bear your weight, dressing rooms with the door locked tight.

It’s the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching, the way she says your name. How she laughs, how she teases you, how she lets you in—just a little, just enough to keep you hooked. And you do the same.

It’s sex, but it’s not just sex, no matter what you tell yourself.

And it’s Mina again, fixing her hair while you zip her into something far more appropriate, already mentioning, “I'm going to be in New York next week, if you're in the area—"

And it's you, answering in the same way that you always do, "I’ll find a way."

—

Serendipity finds the two of you in Shanghai, amidst all its concrete jungle and neon lights, kept at bay by the soundproof windows and the drawn curtains of this hotel room turned temporary sanctuary.

Mina's stretched out on the bed, wearing one of your shirts that swallows her up to her knees, her hair a mess of curls and knots that she hasn't bothered to tame. Nose buried in a book—something thick and weighty Nayeon recommended her.

Paying no mind to you, as you’re busy brewing tea in the kitchenette (piping hot, oolong, how she likes it).

You sneak a glance as you wait for the kettle to boil, at the perfect picture she's composing—her bare legs peeking out from the shirt, the soft curve of her waist, the way the light from the bedside lamp casts shadows across her skin.

It's seeing her like this, far more exposed and naked than minutes ago when she was pinned beneath you wearing nothing at all, draining your cum into her cunt and thanking you for the privilege.

The drawbridge is coming down, guards leaving their posts—just the two of you in your stolen moments.

It's nice.

She catches you staring.

Tilts her chin down, peering at you over her glasses.

You ask, "Am I distracting you?"

"Always," she says, and it's loaded with the sum of whispered secrets and inside jokes, the weight of a dozen different glances stolen across crowded rooms. She closes the book, setting it aside, and pats the you-shaped imprint on the spread next to her. "Come here."

You bring a steaming cup over, handing it to her, adding a little more warmth to her side of the bed. An unneeded murmur of thanks, a smile that's brighter than any of the skyscrapers gleaming outside, and a careful sip.

You wait for her review.

A cool, clear, "Ah."

And as for your reward, she sets the mug down on her lap, closing her eyes and pursing her lips. Waiting, patiently.

It's built in you like a habit now—lean in, get the light peck you're owed. Gentle press against her lips, nose bumping up against her glasses, sweetness that makes her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink.

Just so fucking cute and domestic that it almost feels wrong.

The normalcy, you're realising—doing something that millions of other people do every single day—kisses that aren’t about fucking, power plays and games. Kisses that are just...kisses.

Mina's on the same wavelength, that's her thing now. Looking at you with a slanted smile. A little disbelieving, a little amused.

You're sure you're mirroring it back.

“This is... weird, right?” You finally say, breaking the silence. Feeling the weight of the question, the implication of what you’re really asking. Is this okay? Is it allowed? Can we put a name on this without the whole world imploding?

Mina's smile doesn't falter. "Kinda," she says, and her hand's slipping into yours, her thumb tracing little circles against your palm. “Very. But also, good.”

You nod, not quite believing it. You've had relationships (is that what you're calling this now?)—but none of them felt like this. Like, sure, she makes you hard, but fuck if she doesn't make you weak.

Pulling you into this loop of familiarity, learning things about her that you would've dismissed if it was anyone else. Not just the carnal things—the ones that make her thighs run with need, that make her chant your name like it’s the only word she knows.

Normal people things. Snack addictions, sleeping habits, temperature controls.

The mug goes to the bedside table, and Mina twists her body into yours, landing her head on your lap and curling her legs up so they stay on the bed.

"You know," she says, still holding your hand, fingers tracing up your forearm now, nails drawing in a light tattoo. "I thought that this wouldn't work out."

You mention the obvious. "Because you still, technically, have a boyfriend?"

Mina stretches herself out against your waist, incidental movements that just so happen to make you stir. "No, darling," she's saying, turning to look at you, making your heart stutter. "It's because you're you. Relationships just don’t seem to be in your nature."

You feign injury.  

Even though, truth be told, she has a point there. You’ve never been one for the quiet moments, for the mundane comforts, mornings next to someone you spent the night with.

Maybe it's your own guardrails you've put up, maybe it's some sappy Trojan Horse she's pushed through the gates of your stoic heart—but here you are, stroking her hair while she holds your hand, your fingers playing with the soft strands like you're trying to learn Braille.

"You know," she says, reaching it out to run her thumb down the line of your jaw, "guys like you are all the same."

You arch a brow. "I think I’ve heard this one before.”

"Let me finish," she says, "Obsessed with the thrill of the chase, with the idea of something you can't have. And when you finally get it, you just...disappear."

She grants you the headspace to ruminate over that one. 

"Are you saying I already have you?"

"Haven’t figured it out yet?" she whispers, shifting her weight on the bed. Another Mina special, the incidental movements, shirt pulling taut against her, and with benevolent grace, it slides down an inch. The swell of her breast revealed, an already pebbled nipple peeking out. A shy secret. As if.

And she knows. Mina knows what it takes to turn you on because, deep down, she’s the same. Different animals, same beasts, the roles could easily be flipped: her the billionaire, you the idol, and it would still end up the same.

You’re both chasers of thrills, craving the high of the untouchable, the unattainable.

Doing whatever it takes to feel alive—that's what it boils down to, isn't it?

"I meant it, you know," you're saying, exposing yourself, all gooey and raw. "Never once dreamt of owning you."

It's obvious where Mina's headed with this. So used to people just laying claim of her without even asking—like it's their fucking right. Believing that just because she’s in their vicinity, smiling all pretty and dressed up, she's fair game. Thinking the fame has done to her what it's done to so many others, turned them into commodities.

And maybe she's let them believe the fantasy, it's her job after all, to fuel the delusion and make it feel real. But never once did she truly belong to anyone but herself.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Mina lifts herself off your lap, body bowing, leaving the shirt to ghost down her arms and leave her chest bare.

Closer still, until she's straddling your hips, thighs pressing down on either side of your legs, and oh, mystery solved, there was nothing under the shirt but her.

And again, Mina, on the subject of your title over her: "Not even if I wanted you to?"

—

(It takes the length of a phone call for Mina to be officially yours.

Brutal in her efficiency, cutting the guy down and pushing him off the cliff of the inevitable.

You're just as cruel, laughing between her thighs as she slurs vague platitudes, barely encroaching on an apology, uncaring bullets flying across borders.

And then the 'I can't' when prompted for a chance to negotiate, an 'I'm busy' when the pleas come, and a final 'just fucking give up already' when the desperation gets too much and he's becoming less and less important the further your tongue gets into her cunt.

Poor bastard doesn't even know he's not the only one getting fucked.)

—

You feel like you’ve earned the right to be a tad more reckless.

So, dates.

Conventional, yes, but fuck you could do with some of that now. You had the money, the power, and now you had the girl. So, secret dates, grand gestures, the whole nine yards.

And yet, each one was its own little disaster.

An example: the restaurant.

Michelin stars, gourmet courses, over-the-top bullshit that you unashamedly love. Booking out the entire joint for the night, only for it to all go haywire when Mina showed up in that dress; tight, tiny, black.

"Eyes up here, darling," is what she said, before, "Or, you know, don't. I like the attention."

Just fucking you all the way up, having you pushing her into a backroom before the wine was even poured. Ruining said dress, rucking it up to her waist, making it some poor drycleaner’s problem.

“I was never big on grand gestures,” she assures you, as you pepper her neck with kisses, hands curving around to her breasts on sheer instinct.

"Wish you'd told me that in advance."

"And miss out on this?" Mina groans something fierce when your fingers find purchase. “Never.”

It's just Mina and you, doing what you've done a dozen times over by now, having long blown past any insecurities that this might just be too good, too perfect, that one of you might be the first to bolt for the door and run.

“I swear to god,” Mina’s managing, as you’re shoving her panties to the side, because you’re both well aware that this has to happen right here, right now. “This cock is going to be the death of me.”

You chuckle against her throat. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go though, right?”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Says you.”

“Please, just—”

Your hips snap into her. She flinches. Screams your name so fucking loud.

Each and every one of the kitchen staff receives a very, very sizeable tip.

—

It becomes a problem.

Oddly enough, neither of you are at fault.

Leaked photos light up every website, tabloid, and social media platform in mere minutes—Mina and her ex, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the unmistakable blur of a bedroom in the background. Nothing too lurid, nothing too explicit—but just enough to get the world to gasp in collective shock.

The fucking coward did it. You never knew he had it in him.

Sure there's dating on the pictures. Years, probably, back to when their happiness couldn't be called into question, but it does its job.

The statements pointing this out do little to shift the public's attention though, they've already latched on to the chance to rip apart her spotless record. You’ve seen it before, a hundred times with a hundred different celebrities. The cycle of love turned to dust in the blink of a camera flash.

And yet despite all of this, despite the shitstorm that’s swirling around her, despite the radio silence you're expecting, not an hour passes before Mina's calling you again.

“I need you.”

“Then come over.”

—

Mina belongs here, it’s so obvious.

Walking through the rooms of your home like she’s always been there, like she’s what’s been missing.

None of the art on the walls, the books on the shelves, none of the sculptures worth more money than any person should ever see in their life—none of it make as much sense as she does here, in your space.

Ours, you’re already thinking.

While you’re staring at her, she’s taking it all in—every detail of your domain, eyes brushing over the aged furniture and modern finishes, each aspect of your home that you’ve curated as meticulously as you’ve cultivated your own reputation.

She doesn’t say a word about whatever conclusion she’s drawing—because she’s not the type to judge—she’s just curious. She’s always been curious.

And then she’s in your arms.

Hands looping around your neck as you hold her tight, like it’s been years instead of the mere days since you’ve seen her. Since you’ve felt her heat, heard her whimpers, felt her nails dig into your skin like she’s trying to slip in underneath.

“It was inevitable, right?” She whispers against your collarbone. “Something was bound to fuck this all up eventually. My life, yours. It was all too perfect.”

You hold her tight. Letting her sink into your embrace, disappear into your chest. She’s so small in your arms—not that she’s ever not been, but right now, it’s stark. Like she’s shrunk, folded herself into something more manageable, something easier to hide. Something that won’t be torn apart by the teeth of the media and the rabid fans.

Kiss the top of her head to make her relax a fraction, opening a pressure valve that releases a shaky exhale.

You point out, “It still is.”

Mina blinks up at you, and you pretend you don’t see the dampening in the corners of her eyes. “I need to do the whole apology tour now. Keep my head down, hide my face. That’s what they’re saying anyway. What they expect.”

You shrug. “Could hide out here.”

That makes Mina smile, laugh even, colouring her features with something far more impactful than any of the decor. “And, I'm guessing, fucking each other’s brains out from sunrise to sunset?"

"There'll be a couple of meals in between. You may be surprised to learn I make a mean bowl of ramen."

Mina laughs again, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world—like the chiming of a bell that’s only meant for you. She looks at you, really looks, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind, the genuine consideration she's giving your proposal.

“What do you say?”

“I—”

Before she can finish, you add, “I can handle our little problem. Just leave it to me.”

Mina blinks. There’s the curiosity again. “Handle?”

“Yeah,” you reply, vaguely amused. Something darker in the back of your throat. “I know some people. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Mina stares at you aghast, the smile slipping from her lips. Wondering if she might have missed something in the reality of the billionaire with a silver tongue and a penchant for ruining dresses.

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’m kidding, Mina. Jesus, the look on your face. I’m not going to have the guy killed.”

Mina rolls her eyes. Slaps your chest with a little more force than intended.

You add, with a Disney Villain-worthy ominous tone, “For now.”

“You ass,” she says, but she’s smiling again, the tension all but dissipated.

“Not even I’m capable of having that sort of thing arranged. Well, maybe I am, just never tried, so—” you begin, only to stop immediately at the curving of Mina’s lips. “I was just planning on doing a bit of spin. Tap some of our PR Wizards, maybe offer the wolves something juicier. Whitewash the whole thing—shut him down.”

And a cherry on top of your whole plan—

"Make him wish I'd kill him instead."

Mina’s expression shifts, taking pause to study your face, your words. It’s the pragmatism that gets her, you think—but it’s baked into who you are. You don’t get to a billion dollars by making friends.

As a point of clarification, she asks, "What are you going to offer the press? I mean, you’re not going to leak dirt on someone else, are you?"

You shrug, an easy smile playing on your lips, "I was thinking we could just go public with us. Offer our whole thing."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"My jokes usually make you laugh."

Mina takes her time to ponder this, to consider what you’re actually saying. To process the idea of turning all this—the sneaking around, the private moments, the stolen kisses—into something so exposed. Something translated and made palatable for public consumption, to be picked apart by the vultures skirting the edges of the media.

And there’s fear there too. That the thrill could wear off for her again, the exhilaration could evaporate, and the boredom would settle in.

Or it could be a whole brand-new opportunity. Replacing one thrill with another, the rush that comes with being seen together, the excitement of the chase being replaced with the passion of the capture.

She asks, slowly, carefully choosing each word, doing her best to avoid setting off a bomb that could send this whole thing into a downward spiral. "Is this what you want to do?"

You pull her closer, fit her body flush against yours, and bring your lips down onto hers. You let them linger, let her sigh, let her melt and keen and smile against your mouth.

"Darling," you murmur against her lips, "I've been ready to tell the whole world since the moment I sat down next to you."

—

Sometimes, the conventional ways are the best.

Stumbling through your house—kissing her hard in the hallway, losing her skirt in the kitchen, tearing off her shirt at the top of the staircase. Carrying her past the threshold of your bedroom and leaving her panties at the door; truly letting her into your world in every way, shape, and form.

Holding her close, one hand at her waist, the other looping around her chest. Kissing into her neck as you lay her down onto your mattress, getting up close and personal until it’s all Mina, all the sweetness and heat of her, the richness of her perfume that’s become her signature.

The red of her blush, her lips, the marks you’re leaving on her skin. The white of her throat, her collarbone, the bra that’s half on, half of.

Pinning her wrists over her head, keeping her still, watching her pupils dilate.

Fucking flawless. Every inch, every glorious detail. Underneath you, at your mercy, already staining your sheets with her need.

And then, a beg:

“Please.”

“Greedy.”

“It’s how you made me.”

Your other hand ventures lower, drifting down her stomach, holding against her abs, leaving your fingertips to ghost over her mound.

She shudders at your touch.

You let her know, “I wasn’t complaining.”

And your tongue is on hers, soft to start, relaxing into familiar patterns, swipes of reintroductions, until Mina’s arching her back, urging you on. But you’re greedy in your own way; wanting to take your time, wanting to extract all these sighs and moans straight from the source.

Only, Mina’s having none of it.

“You’re really going to torture me after the day I’ve had?”

You quirk an eyebrow, push your thumb down against her clit. Applying enough pressure to make her hips buck.

"Torture is a strong word, darling."

Mina's huffs as you hold her there, keeping her locked in place and at your mercy. Wriggling under your grasp, but not making any real effort to escape. After all, where would the fun be in that?

"Fine," she's relenting, eyes slipping shut, unable to hide the smile that’s making its way onto her face. "Call it what you want. Just—more."

"Then let's just call it a pleasant distraction."

Your lips are together once more, your kiss quickly turning from something sweet to something a lot more demanding. Throwing Mina a bone, pressing into her a declaration of intent that has her wild for you.

You take your fingers, slide it down, swiping through her folds. Dancing around her entrance, seeing how nice and slick she already is for you, feeding that gnat in the back of your head that urges you to just fill her whole. Right before pressing up into her cunt.

“Yes,” Mina whispers into your mouth, hips rising to meet your hand, helpless little shivers around your first, then second digit—pushing until you’re knuckle deep inside her heat, making her squirm and cry, “Just stretch this fucking pussy, please.”

“Oh, you’re so wet for me,” you say, like it's a surprise, like she's ever not, like she doesn't part her legs and beg for you to take the invitation to her cunt every single time.

And Mina’s reaffirming, “Of course I am, I’m always—” but she never gets to finish her sentence, because you’re sliding a third finger in, and she’s trying so hard to keep it all together despite how determined you are to pull it all apart.

You’re too attentive—watching her face, every micro expression. Watching for every twitch, every whine, every cry that gets stuck in her throat when she tries to swallow it down.

There’s beauty in all of it, every single time, you could never get enough of it. Been burned into you now—what it takes to make Mina come undone. The right ways to touch her, the spots that make her preen. Where to be gentle, when to be rough, how to keep her guessing.

It’s all here, now, distilled to its basest elements, and it doesn’t even take much. You’re too good at this, know her far too well to need anything other than the sound of her breath to dictate your pace.

Your thumb plays at her swollen clit, doing nothing but pressing down as your fingers saw in and out of her slippery cunt, making her clench around you like she always does. Faster and faster, until she’s crying for it, shivering and trembling underneath you, struggling against your hold on her wrists because she's dying for something to hold onto.

“You—you’re too much,” Mina pants, because that’s all she can do now as you push into her with purpose. So, so fucking wet, creaming around your fingers, pooling in the palm of your hand. “Too—too—too fucking—”

Losing control over her own limbs, cumming with a sharp cry, levitating off the bed as your hand works magic between her legs, needing a hard kiss to ease her back down to Earth.

The aftershocks still roll through her body, leaving her with these tiny, frantic whimpers. You keep her pinned, soothe her with your thumb at her clit, padding around in gentle circles, feeling her spasm and pulse around your fingers.

Your kiss ends on that high note, parting lips to give Mina a chance at a complete inhale. Her chest is heaving, nipples poking out of the top of her bra, skin already sticky with sweat. Eyes opening, hazed over with need and the beginnings of tears.

“I—I need more.”

Hands let go of her wrists, fingers slide out of her cunt, and you lean back to watch her try to compose herself. It’s a battle she’s not winning.

Mina’s blinking up at you, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember how to do anything other than be fucked into oblivion by you. You help her—leaning over, thumbs hooking under her bra straps. Pulling it down with a gentle tug that makes her arch into the motion, makes her chest spill out and your mouth water.

You take the chance to admire her. To drink her in, appreciate her the way she deserves to be appreciated—a masterpiece spread out on your bed, naked and needy.

There’s the intoxication, knowing you’re the one that did that to her, knowing that you’re the one that’s going to do it again. Over and over again.

“If I have to wait another second, I’m going to scream,” Mina says, the demand losing its edge in a whine.

You chuckle, press an open-mouthed kiss onto her breast, sucking a nipple between your teeth.

Sometimes, you just can’t resist.

“Let’s not pretend that isn’t exactly what I want.”

“Make it happen, then.”

Mina holds position as you pull back, keeping her hands over her head, keeping as still as a statue as you come to your knees over her. Eyes on you as your shirt, your belt, your pants go. Eyes on your cock as your briefs fall away, leaving it standing tall and thick and ready for her.

There’s power dynamics at play here—how Mina’s so vulnerable to you, how she’s laid herself out, unwilling to move until you tell her to. She understands it, implicitly. Knows she’s playing right into your hands, forced to wait while you let the anticipation build.

You hold your cock above her, stroke it carefully. Watch her eyes track it. See her gulp.

And she begs, again, “Please,” softer now, the unmistakable tremble in her voice. "I just—I need it so fucking bad."

Whether on purpose or by instinct, her legs splay, presenting her pussy, glistening with want. There’s the pulse in her clit, the need dripping over her folds—you feed the agony just a little more, hovering over the entrance, letting the tip of your cock graze over it. Teasing, taunting.

"Beg for it."

Mina opens her mouth, but she fails to summon the words. Just leaves her lips hanging open, leaving you an opening for your fingers to push in and try to help her find the right plea.

Her tongue flicks out, licks at your digits, the taste of her arousal still thick on them. The wetness of her tongue as she sucks, the suction of her lips as she envelopes each finger, one by one. Savouring her own flavour with deep, longing slurps, with grateful hums resonating around your fingers.

Leaking down the tip of your cock, cunt getting wetter and wetter the longer she’s denied. Making you throb against her, making your hips jerk and bump dangerously close to where she needs you to be.

But you still don’t enter her. You just wait until she’s done, until your fingers are clean and wet, and she’s left a trail of kisses up to your wrist.

It’s then that you drag your fingers out from her lips and demand of her once more:

“Beg.”

And this time, Mina’s able to say it clearly, confidently, right from her chest—

“I need you inside me. Need to feel you so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I end and you begin. I want to make you cum so hard you’ll never want to leave, want to leave your mark so deep inside me that even if you do, I’ll still feel you.”

Each word, a fucking gift.

And her reward—

A hard, quick plunge straight into her cunt. Inside her, instantly buried, immediately unbearable. Just too good.

Mina can’t do anything, just dig her nails into the sheets and try not to scream at the suddenness of it, at the way you complete her without any warning at all.

It all just ripples through her, a second orgasm already possessing her and forcing her into seizure. Can’t even hold it together—can’t keep the moans contained, can’t keep herself steady—can only just lock eyes with you and hope that you’re seeing it all, hope that you’re feeling it too.

Mina’s got no control around you anymore, none at all.

“Your cock,” she’s saying, repeating it over and over. Like it’s brand new to her, like it hasn’t ever left her wrecked a hundred times over.  “Your fucking cock.”

Words punctuated by the slaps of your hips, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding, of Mina welcoming every stroke of your cock inside her. So fucking tight, gloved around you like it was forged specifically for your cock; not for anything else but you, only you.

“So hard, my God.” Mina’s hands clasp behind your neck, needing a firm hold on something solid and real. “So fucking hard for me, so—so—fuck—”

Her lips are everywhere, a flurry of butterfly kisses across your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, the edges of your jawline. Crazed, unbridled assault of affection. Disarming, incredibly hot. Mina doing her best to mark you up before she’s torn away again.

It’s far too early in the processions—habit would usually have her playing it cool, trying to keep up the façade of control, hold onto shreds of dignity, until she’s unravelling completely and begging you to fuck her harder, deeper.

But now, she’s just letting you have her.

No games, no pretences.

Just you, and her, and this wild, hopeless need to feel good, to be consumed by this.

“Yours,” Mina’s whispering, voice cracking around the edges, “All yours.”

And you know it. Have known it. Had it signed and sealed in ink since the very first time she told you. When you made her knees buckle and eyes water as you took her in every way possible. Since she called out for you, said your name into the quiet of the night like it was a secret she never wanted to keep.

Yet it’s hearing it now, the sum of all these moments stacked on top of each other; the haunts that you’d frequent, the private corners that you’d made yours, the endless phone calls and messages and photos that could fill entire warehouses with their filth.

Finally here—both of you, panting, sweating, sex thick in the air. The world outside forgotten.

Fucking Mina so hard, so deep, euphoria shooting straight through you each time your cock bottoms out inside her. The softness of her cunt, its heat, its creaminess, its fucking divinity. Leaking out all around you and squeezing you so good that it’s a miracle that you’re still coherent enough to speak.

But you do, with a gruff, “Already knew that, darling.”

Mina’s laughing, because that’s the type of high you’re giving her. Even with the way you’re stretching her open, even with her eyes barely open and her toes curling into the bed—she’s laughing because it’s the only thing she can do. Because it’s all so absurdly perfect that she can’t find the energy to do anything else.

“All this, all of you,” you’re leaning in, at the base of her throat, licking a stripe up to her earlobe. Drumming the words into her skin, until she shivers. “Every part of you. All mine.”

Simple words that hold so much sway over her, that could pull her apart or build her right back up. Words that make Mina clench around you, make her cunt grasp you so tightly as if she’s trying to make them real.

“Always,” she’s heaving, “Always yours.”

And there’s this look on her face, like she’s lost in a dream—eyes glassy and all fogged up, breath hot against your shoulder. Glowing under the dimmed lights, making the sweat pooling at the base of her throat shimmer.

Keeping your hand there, at her neck, like it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away. Ruining her. Because really, it’s all for her. All of this is all for her pleasure, her satisfaction.

You’re just along for the ride, so fucking lucky to have her like this. So impossibly beautiful, just knowing she exists would drive you insane if you didn’t get to be with her. Didn’t get a chance at this pussy, so perfect, dripping so much, made so hot for you and only you. Your own personal slutty cunt.

It’s the way her legs wrap around your hips—the smoothness of her skin, the power in those thighs, holding you like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. Like she’s terrified you’ll leave her like this, frantic and wretched and so, so fucking wet.

The newest picture you’re painting, your magnum opus in her name—her tits bouncing with each thrust, nipples stiff and flicking in the air. The yielding of her back, bending just so she can accommodate that extra length of you inside her. And her stomach—fuck, those abs. Tightening and loosening, shaking with every hit of your hips, with every sharp gasp of air.

Demanding of you. Cum for me. Please. Now.

“I need this. Exactly this from now on,” Mina’s declaring, stuttering it like you’re fucking every syllable out of her tightness. “Just you fucking me. Whenever we’re together, every second we get alone—fuck—"

And you’re nodding because you’re always right there with her, always on the same wavelength, thinking the exact same fucking thing.

“Keep filing me up until I can’t take it anymore. Until I’m screaming so loud, I can’t even hear myself think—”

Breathless words that flood your ears, that Mina needs to get out, needs to make sure you hear. Absorbed straight into your bloodstream, pumping into your cock, fed right back into her cunt. So fucking tight. So downright incredible that you’re speeding up, driving in deep, as deep as you could possibly go.

“Until I’m so full of you that I forget my own name—forget any other name but yours—until I—until I—”

A nasty hit makes her body curve and rise, makes her pussy clamp around you, in warning of the orgasm to come, the one you’re both hurtling towards with a kind of reckless abandon that’s become second nature.

“Until I—please—just always make me feel this way—”

“You will,” you promise, meaning it, fucking it into her like your life depends on it. Like you need it to survive, because maybe you do. Maybe you’ve never truly lived until you’ve felt Mina’s cunt quiver around your cock like this, until you’ve heard her beg for you like you’re the only thing she needs to breathe. And again, for good measure, “you will."

And oh, that’s all it takes. That’s enough to have Mina spilling.

“Cumming,” is her proclamation. Repeated, ad infinitum, just, “Cumming, cumming, cumming.”

All over your cock, all around your cock. Cunt strangling you with the force of it.

And this is where you decide Mina’s most beautiful.

When she’s consumed by climax, when she’s held prisoner by it, when she’s just nothing but a canvas for you to leave your marks all over.

“Feel so good—so fucking good—”

It’s the best kind of challenge, pushing her through it.

Worshipping her in all the ways that count, treating Mina in ways woman like her should never be treated. Tearing an angel down from the heavens just to hammer her cunt into submission, and being thanked for it afterwards.

“God,” Mina’s trying, voice rasping and broken, “I—fuck—I can’t—”

You take her, hand wrapping around her tits, pinching, rolling, teasing nipples until they’re as tight as her cunt around you. Leaning in and capturing her lips, drinking down her whimpers with a kiss so deep you can taste your name on her tongue.

Fucking her, ruining that tight, little pussy, through every wave that crashes down over her, that burns her up from the inside and makes her so Goddamn hot.

Leaving her in disbelief that it could ever feel this good again, that there's a light at the end of this tunnel, that there's a life after being fucked so thoroughly by your cock.

Holding her through it, preventing her from crumbling into a million overstimulated pieces. Slowing down the pace of your hips with steady, deliberate thrusts until you’re just inside her. Cock throbbing, bathing in her heat, waiting.

Mina stirs, eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Cum inside me. Wherever you’d like.”

There’s only one real choice. Mina knows this as well as you do.

Your cock leaves her cunt, slick with her juices, her cum. Proof of your dominion over her body, gleaming along your shaft.

Nothing but bliss on Mina’s face, so well-fucked and satisfied and just plain happy that it’s almost a surprise she hasn’t melted away into a puddle. She’s smiling, looking up at you through her lashes, sweet and soft and perfect.

Turning herself over, bowing down on her knees, pointing her ass up at you like it’s the universe itself handing you a present and saying, ‘Here, this is yours.’

You can’t resist that kind of temptation.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Mina tells you, rolling her hips higher still, flaring out her hips, treating you to the perfectly round globes of her ass. “Waiting for you to take me. However you want. Make it hurt so good. Make me remember how you feel.”

Her hands reach back, delicate fingers spreading plump cheeks apart. The tight, pink ring of her ass winking at you. A sight that never gets old, a vision that’s forever carved into the back of your eyeballs.

One last request. “Please.”

Your cock pushes in.

“Thank you.”

Right away, it’s too fucking much. Your cock breaching through her asshole, pushing in inch by inch. Slow and torturous, the kind of thing that makes you want to yell.

Then the first thrust—that first hit, like a narcotic, straight through your veins, every single time. Feeling it, sensations so intense, so sharp, that you forget to even breathe.

And Mina’s crying. Crying out, muffled by the pillow she’s biting into. Yet still, pushing back against you, urging you deeper, even though she’s coming apart, even though she’s shaking from the sheer effort of having you fill her.

“Darling,” you call to her, “you’re doing so good,” because she is. Good, good, so fucking good for letting you split her in two like this. For letting you ruin her in all the best ways.

The second thrust is easier, smoother. Body giving in to your demands, stretching around your cock like it always does, like it’s made to do. To bend and flex to your whims and desires.

With every push, every retreat, every agonisingly, achingly slow grind into her ass, you’re nearing that rapturous end.

“So fucking good for me, Mina. Your ass is so tight around me. Such a good girl.” You’re grunting now, trying to ease her into it, to build up to the point where you can pound her, push her like you really want to.

Mina’s nodding, eyes screwed shut, sunken in the way you’re stretching her out. It’s a familiar feeling, having her ass opening up for you. A dance you’ve performed so often it’s almost muscle memory—each step painstakingly learned; each move carefully choreographed.

You’re easing into her, slow, so fucking slow that it’s a wonder that either of you doesn’t implode with want. But Mina’s good, so good, letting out these tiny, shuddering breaths that you feel down to the marrow of your bones.

And then, as your is fully seated in her ass—

“Don’t hold back,” Mina says, quietly, barely audible, but the need is crystal clear. “All of it, please.”

Hand in her hair, hand at her waist. Gripping into her, guiding her and then fucking her, really, truly flooding her ass with your cock, disappearing into her tightness until your hips are slapping into hers.

So pretty, even like this, even when her moans are getting louder, borderline screams that are cut off by the cotton of the pillow, her knuckles turning white in the effort. Her back tenses, muscles rippling underneath your palms.

She dips a hand underneath her, between her legs. Fingers at her cunt, whirling around her clit, doing all she can to keep up with you.

“Feels fucking amazing. Your ass, Mina,” you’re trying to say, but it’s coming out all gravelly and thick. “So fucking tight for me.”

It’s the one through-line that’s kept steady over these months. Mina’s transcendental beauty, Mina’s razor-sharp intelligence, Mina’s pussy that’s always, perpetually yours. All these things; but it’s Mina’s ass—that perfect, juicy, heart-shaped, fucking flawless ass that keeps you up at night.

Every time you’re buried inside, it’s like coming home to something sacred. Tightness gripping you, ass swallowing your cock in waves, the kind of feeling that makes you believe in a higher power—because nothing so divine could possibly be man-made.

“Fuck, I just—” Mina’s breathing out, quick huffs because that’s all she can manage, “just love this so fucking much. Love how you feel in my fucking ass.”

Her hand’s working overtime now, circling her clit with a fervour that’s almost religious. Pussy starting to leak again, juices running down her thighs, mixing with the sweat, pooling at her knees. Fuck, the way she’s touching herself while taking you in, so willingly, so wantonly, so utterly destroyed for you—she’s going to cum again, you can feel it. And you’re not far behind.

“I think I’m going to—fuck, I only just—but I’m going to—again—you’re going to make me—again—” She’s squealing, half-mumbling, full-crying, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest because it’s all for you.  

You’re not even managing anything other than desperate thrusts, just fucking her with everything you have—like you’re trying to claim her inside and out, trying to leave your fingerprints on every part of her so everyone will know she’s been yours all along.

“Please, please, please,” again and again, stuttering out, “Just—just—just—”

Just keep going, keep pushing into her until she’s shaking, until she’s pleading for you to stop, to let her breathe, because she’s about to fucking break.

Or, really:

Keep going and never, ever stop.

The hand in her hair tightens, pulling her back, making her arch. That perfect spine, the curve that’s painted by God himself. Kisses into her shoulder, into the crook of her neck, making her whimper.

“Keep fucking me. Like this—like this—God—I’m going to—again—”

Pulling her closer to you, so you can feel the tremors starting from her core, spreading out like wildfire. Pushing her hand away, taking over between her legs—rubbing, teasing, circling her cunt and pushing her closer and closer to the brink. Fucking her so deeply that you can feel the first quivers of her orgasm from the inside out, daring to take over her body again.

“Keep fucking—touching me, fill me up—just don’t—please, I need it—”

A final plea, her last rites, before she’s lost.

“Cumming—cumming again—please, oh, please—oh—”

Mina’s body goes lax, a ragdoll in your arms. But you keep fucking her through it. Through the quakes and shivers, through the cries—through the crying out. Pleading. Pleading for you to follow her into oblivion.

And fuck. If you’re not right there with her.

You’re close, chasing her, feeling her orgasm, feeling it coil around your cock and pump through her veins and into yours. Feel her—her body, her muscles, her cunt—tightening, tightening, tightening around you until it’s unbearable.

“Cum for me—with me—” she’s repeating, her newest mantra, “cum inside me. Give it to me—please, I need it—please—so badly—”

Begging, dying for it. Willing, wanting to do anything for it.

But she doesn’t need to—you can’t fucking hold on any longer.

“Mina—fuck—"

You slam into her, and finally burst.

Filling her ass with your cum, feeling it spurt into her, thick and hot. Pumping into her, over and over, getting wrung dry by her ass, cumming so hard it feels like your bones might shatter.

Cumming until your vision swims, until the architecture in your knees threaten to give out, until all you can do is hold onto her hips and keep her in place, keep her right there, impaled on your cock, until every single drop of cum has found a home inside her ass.

Until you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful. Until the orgasm has passed over the two of you and left you feeling like you might dissolve into nothing but pure sensation.

“Christ,” you manage to get out, the word tearing out of you like it’s being ripped from your chest. Holding Mina close—embracing her, seeing just how much she’s loving it. How thankful she is. Taking it all, soaking it all in, moans turning into whimpers that you’d swear are prayers of gratitude.

Body limp and strung out, fucked so hard she can’t even hold herself up anymore—Mina collapses into the bed, pulling you with her, your cock still buried deep inside her.

Like the first time, like every time, it’s a complete fucking disaster.

Tangled up in sheets, in each other. Sticky with sweat, stickier with cum. And Mina turns her head to look at you, just so pleased, and so gleefully satisfied.

You lean in and kiss her, slow and deep, resisting the urge to stir, to roll her onto her back and start this whole thing over again. Claim her once, twice, a dozen times more.

But you don’t. You just lay there, breathing into her neck, letting all of this, your orgasms, your bliss, your absolute contentment roll through you.

There’ll be time to keep going, to keep fucking her. Give her the same tour of your house that she gave you that first night.

Eat her out in the kitchen. Fuck her into the sofa. And yeah, introduce her to the balconies on the higher floors.

For now though, there’s Mina, lips parting with yours, looking at you with a smile that’s this original blend of lust and love and admiration. “You really know how to ruin a girl, you know that?”

You chuckle, picking a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just trying to scratch an itch.”

—

Everybody loves a love story.

And yours is packaged up so nicely, polished and made shiny and perfect for the public to see.

It's the type of story the media dies for—a tale of modern romance, woven through the glitz and glamour of celebrity life. The cold-blooded billionaire who had his heart stolen by one of the nation’s daughters, and then chased her across continents in order to get it back.

You and Mina, becoming the ultimate power couple—the kind that makes the paparazzi's cameras click in unison and tabloids sell by the millions.

Together at every high-profile event, her hand nestled in the crook of your arm, your thumb tracing lazy circles on her wrist—a secret promise of the bruises she’ll wear under her designer dresses. A whispered reminder of the things you’ll do to her when the lights go out and the world isn’t watching.

But nobody sees that. The public sees the smiles, the kisses, the sweet little glances that pass between you—and they eat it all up.

They'll never see the way she begs for your cock, the way you fuck her until she can't walk straight, the way she rides you until all you know is her name. They don’t know that it wasn’t love at first sight—it was lust, paroxysms of it, pure and raw and unbridled.

But here you are.

Mina, in your bathroom, smiling at you through the mirror. Dressed to the nines, looking like a fucking dream. Making it so obvious now that you wonder how you missed it at the start. The way she looked at you that first night, the way she looked. It was all there, laid out in big bold letters, all caps, telling you that this is what you’ve been searching for—what you needed all along.

That dress she’s wearing—some dazzling shade of green. Olive? Celadon?

“Emerald,” she smiles, catching you staring. “It’s emerald, darling.”

You grin back. “Then it should match.”

Mina’s eyes flick to the box in your hand, curiosity piqued.

“Got you something.”

You hand her the box—a simple, muted green velvet, lacking any markers or logos to give away the contents. Ergo, it’s really fucking expensive.

She takes it out of your hands. Opens it, and her breath catches.

“It’s—” Mina whispers, lifting a necklace from the box. A simple, stunning piece. A thin diamond band with a solitary jade teardrop hanging from the center.

"Yours."

Mina holds it up against the light, seeing how it dances through the stone like it’s alive. When her eyes come back to yours, she’s beaming—a smile so wide it makes you wish you had your phone ready to snap a photo.

“Help a girl out, would you?” she says, turning her back to you, sweeping her hair over her bare shoulder.

You step forward, kissing the skin there, feeling the softness of her neck, the pulse of her vein. Your hands come up to fasten the necklace around her, the coldness of the diamonds brushing against your knuckles.

“You know, there’s one thing I was wondering about,” you murmur, letting the jade rest atop her throat.

Mina giggles, tilts her head slightly to the side. The jewels sparkle. “Oh?”

“That first night. The gala. You came alone.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Mina repeats, amused. Happy to have her own little secret, the one thing you've yet to pry out of her between the sheets. She regards you through the reflection, a twinkle in her eye that says she’s been wondering what took you so long to ask.

“Yeah, I’ve never quite figured it out. I mean I know why you were alone. But why did you come at all? What were you doing there, just sitting all pretty and by yourself. It felt so wrong to me at the time.”

That makes Mina laugh, making you feel somewhat silly to even ask. She spins on her heels, facing you; the necklace sitting perfectly against her skin. She runs her fingers over the chain, ending at the pendant. Tapping it. Once. Twice.

And she doesn’t even need to ask you if it looks good on her or if it suits her because she knows. She can tell by the look on your face.

She wears it like a fucking collar.

“Why?” Mina says again, stretching the syllable out long and wide, until you’re staring at her lips, knowing you’re about to kiss her again, knowing that you may very well not make it out of the house tonight, likely not even make it out of the bathroom.

You’ll be ruining that dress, fucking her against the sink, pushing her up into the mirror, kissing into the top of her spine and repeating over and over again—mine, mine, mine.

“Because you invited me.”

[savanir]

Danyal- or well, Daniel now he supposes, seeing as none of these “kind” strangers can pronounce his name right. Has found himself a golden opportunity to hopefully get back to where he actually belongs.

His current predicament was anything but what he could have ever imagined happening to him. He remembers an attack, an assassination attempt on him and his twin. He remembers taking a hit meant for Dami, he remembers the electricity coursing through his body from the weapon the assassin used and so graciously left in his abdomen, meant to make his body seize which would make attempts to keep him from dying just a little bit harder, and his death just that little bit more painful.

After that he vaguely remembers falling, and then burning green.

Next thing he knows he’s in a foreign place with foreign people trying to “help”.

Wherever he is he’s certainly not anywhere near Nanda Parbat.

But he’ll get back, and the easiest way to do so is to secure transportation and funding.

Which shouldn’t be hard as soon as he’s “convinced” this random rich guy to adopt him.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Oliver is starting to regret the brilliant PR idea of sponsoring and supporting the new improved Star City foster care system.

In and of itself that’s of course a very good thing, and absolutely something he cares about and is happy to spend his money on, but these things should just be a given, just a thing that’s done because it’s the right thing to do.

Can’t just do that of course… we have to make a huge spectacle about it, showcase some poor but very adorable kids in need of a loving family. make a big party about it.

Oliver is vaguely reminded of pet adoption days that some animal shelters do. Also a good thing he’s in full support of, but that’s animals, and these are actual children.

The thought is making it rather hard to keep a pleasant smile on his face. Thankfully he’s very effectively being distracted by the little guy who somehow managed to attach himself to his leg and refuses to let go.

Oliver looks down.

The boy with the biggest most blue eyes looks up.

There are cameras and reporters and Oliver can feel the bad decision creeping up and the voice in the back of his head screaming, “don’t do it. DON’T DO IT”

Oliver lifts the boy up, “hey there little man, what is your name?”

He gets a big smile in return and the bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, weird.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Roy had been talking, or well, it was more like venting to Dinah about something Oliver had done, or said, maybe both, probably both… When they heard the front door open and was quickly followed by a “Dinah I have a surprise but first you have to promise you won’t get mad”

Which… bad sign, very bad sign, terrible sign.

“Oliver what have you done”

The man walks into the room and proudly shows off his latest impulsive decision, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

…That’s a whole ass kid.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! you did not!”

But he did and that choice changes everything.

[simmplerussiangirl]

The Fugitive

Ambessa Medarda x The Reader

Synopsis: It's very simple. You're Ambressa's wife and you were afraid you could kill her with your magic. So you ran away from the capital. It's about what happened after that

Word count: 1.2k

Author: Sorry, I'm really crazy about magic and Ambessa.

Three weeks ago during your training with Ambressa, you couldn't do anything. Your magic, your legs, your arms weren't working, it was like someone had replaced you. And so when you were once again working with a new spell, you couldn't hold the magic in your hands, and a large ball of pure energy exploded in your hands. It didn't hurt you, because your magic is an extension of you and it can't hurt you.

 But Ambresse... The woman managed to cover herself with her shield and didn't get badly wounded. But the magic hit her arm. You instantly ran over to her as you recovered from the shock. Her left arm was bleeding, and the cuts were in the shape of the runes you'd drawn so diligently in the air a couple minutes before.

« It's okay, Witchy « the girl wheezed and leaned on her other arm to stand up, drops of blood falling from her hand to the floor. « It's okay, I'm not going to die from these scratches. Don't worry, you didn't hurt me badly and the runes didn't go deep under my skin. You just cut my skin. Don't worry.»

 But I just watched in silence, unable to say anything. The thought flashed through your mind of what would have happened if Ambressa had been standing there without her shield as usual. Would you have killed her? Most likely.

 That night you fled the capital, hoping to shield your beloved wife from yourself and your magic. But, of course, you were found and brought back.

Now you enter Ambressa's office, where she has been negotiating with her people about the war. Your heart sinks as she throws the warriors out of the room she was talking to in a cold and menacing voice. As the men left the room not forgetting to bow to you and Ambessa, the woman stood up from the table and walked around it. Leaning her hips against it in front of you, she folded her arms across her chest. You could feel waves of displeasure from the girl, and she didn't even try to hide it. For a while, you were both silent. You because you were insanely ashamed of what you had done. She because she was waiting for your excuses.

 You looked at the hand you'd wounded and saw the scattering of rune scars and breathed heavily, raising your gaze to her eyes.

« I was scared» you swallowed and hugged yourself to your shoulders, trying to pull yourself together «scared that I might accidentally kill you with my magic. You're very lucky you had your shield on that day. If you hadn't, it probably would have ended very badly.»

 I lowered my eyes to the floor, unable to find the strength to look into her eyes, where you could see the depths of worry and boundless love.

« Villains can't have family and happiness. I knew that, but I hoped it wouldn't affect us, but it did.»

«You're not a villain» Ambressa said in a steady voice, not trying to comfort, but rather stating it as a fact.

« I almost killed you!»

«But you didn't.»

«But I could» I cringed even more at the thought of it «that's why I left, because I don't want to. I can't live with the idea that I've done you irreparable harm. Now you've led with your hand, but what if.... If next time it doesn't work out.»

 Ambressa was silent and only watched you standing by the door like a little battered kitten who doesn't know what to do.

«You can run around as long as you like. But I'm gonna find you wherever you are. I'll find you and I'll bring you back home to me. You're my wife, my responsibility and I won't let you think you're evil. Even if you destroy the entire Earth, I'll find a million excuses for you and make everyone believe it. Let alone the fact that you hurt me a little while you were practicing. It's just a scratch and you couldn't have hurt me worse.”

 Ambressa moved around the room like a predator. Her steps were slow and measured. Her arms were folded across her chest as she sat down on the couch near the fireplace. The fire danced across her face, making her features look more and more menacing. The girl didn't look at me, which made my heart whimper.

 She certainly was not angry now. She was never angry with you. Was displeased or pissed off, but not angry. At the moment her heart was gripped by anxiety. A vice gripping her heart at even the phantom possibility of losing you. She was terrified that one morning she would wake up and realize you were gone again. The thought alone made her clench her eyes, trying to push such a thing away from her.

«But...»

« No buts.»  Ambressa said it in a tone after which there could be no arguments. She cut off any doubts, causing a flame of hope and boundless love to erupt inside you. Seeing you slump your tense shoulders, the girl smiled and spread her arms, inviting you into her strong, warm embrace. «Come to me, my Witch.»

 And you came. Of course you did. Almost running, you threw yourself into her arms, wrapping both arms around her waist and hiding from the world in her neck. You greedily inhaled the pleasant scent of the girl's perfume mixing with her natural odor. It was such a familiar scent that you had missed so much in a couple of weeks that it seemed that if you hadn't heard it for a couple more days, you would have gone crazy.

 Ambressa's hand stroked your back in a soothing gesture. She kissed the top of your head a couple times and turned back to the fire, glad to have you around again. The demons inside her calmed down, no longer lashing out, wanting to kill anyone who looked at her the wrong way. The creatures quieted, and Ambressa sank into the long-awaited calm, clutching you to her.

 You, in turn, clutched her clothes in your hands, afraid to open your eyes and not see your beloved. At such an action on your part, Ambressa laughed a little, admiring your childish behavior.

«Have you had enough of running?» she whispered into the top of your head between kisses.

 You didn't say a word, but nodded affirmatively, drew your legs closer, and turned to the fire.

«You won't run away again?»  Ambressa's hand gently tousled your disheveled hair.

«Never again in your life.» You whispered, and rested your head on her shoulder, moving it slightly, like a cat wanting to be petted. « I thought I was going to die without you... I missed you so much. Waking up every day and not seeing you, not hearing your voice, not feeling your touch - it's my hell...»

« I love you.» You continued after a little silence. «More than anyone else in this world.»

 The clan head moved her hand to your shoulder and pressed you against her. Her heart ached pleasantly at your warm words, she literally melted when you told her how you felt.

«Me too, Witchy, me too.»

Thanks for reading. If there are any comments I accept criticism in a mild form. Don't break my heart :)

[kizzer55555]

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[summertimesadnessirl]

It doesn't matter.

If you have done everything you can to try to get the life you want and nothing works, it doesn't matter why you got that way. All that matters is don't keep trying to get love and letting people use your desire for it against you.

I'm pretty sure it's not actually real. And it's just something they made up to sell soap.

So that's the model I work with.

As long as I refuse to allow myself to believe anyone loves me, everything works out well. When I break that, people hurt me.

People will guilt you into saying it's because you don't pick the right people but no matter what criteria you use it's always the same. And no matter what treatments you apply to yourself, it's always the same. And no matter how many new styles of communication you learn to talk to other people, it's always the same.

For me the only thing that kind of worked was doing sex work and being super fake and having several hundred shallow fake relationships that had a lot of sex and weren't boring and miserable, because whenever I've tried to not date and just hang out and do other things like working or something either people bother me all the time and are really mean and annoying or they are always "conveniently" introducing me to people they want to fix me up with. Men and women and like? Those people are always basically on the same emotional level as the people I have already dated and seem really shy and kind of uninterested in me. When I talk them out of their shell, they seem still shy, like they basically admire me for not seeming shy to them and like how I dress but don't have anything in common with me and we wouldn't have anything to talk about, or they have kind of a mental picture of a type of super assertive girl who will be into their lack of experience and want to like... put spices on them and let them sit on the counter top for a full moon cycle and then write out a recipe for them that they can use to attract someone who will love them now that they aren't virgins or something, and they don't want to admit that to me up front, which is very mean to do, to want someone to like... be your character development without asking and then not let them prepare to be left with nothing from that interaction in exchange for being a cute story you talk about with your future spouse or whatever.

Most people don't seem to want a relationship with a particular person or a particular type of relationship or even like have considered their own potential deal breakers. Not "I didn't realize this thing I thought everyone did wasn't a thing everyone did" or "i was wrong about my needs in certain areas" or whatever. They genuinely have no idea like what they do for fun that is a group activity, and they make you spend like an hour trying to figure out what they want every time they want something and most of the time when you give it to them they're unhappy.

It's like people want me to be in a relationship just so I'll be in a relationship and other people want to be in a relationship with me just to be in a relationship and even people with lots of money who can leave and who spend all their time complaining about their relationship don't want to leave their relationship. And when I'm like "I don't want to be in a relationship right now because I'm broke or whatever and I wouldn't be able to leave a relationship easily." People are like *shocked pika* why wouldn't you go enter into a relationship with someone who wants to date you based on you having a normal level of kind conversation that you would have with a person on the street and being able to give them sex? Why would you not want to break up with the person you are dating and date a random old man who did your boss a favor once because he gave you a ride in his truck? Why would you not just let other people make major life decisions for you? Why are you not jumping at every chance we give you when it doesn't look or feel right?

It feels like the goal of the whole thing is having someone else to blame for your problems. I don't wanna do that to someone. I hate when stuff isn't my fault and I have to suffer for it anyway. That's why I cut my own hair and pierce my own ears and stuff. So if it gets messed up, it's just an accident and it's because I have never done that before and I just need to figure out how to fix it and I can take all the time I need instead of trying to like... figure out the magic buttons to push to get someone who broke something to be willing to admit they messed up and will try to fix it and like... having to wonder if I can trust them if they're a specially trained and certified expert and they aren't better at doing something than a person who went on the internet and read a tutorial and kind of guessed.

Idk. It's like if you told me most people in the world don't like sex or dating or anything and they aren't in love either and there's like some kind of mystic force that attacks people who don't live with a partner by such and such a time and have a kid by such and such a time and no one told me? I'd totally be like

"That explains everything."

Was I raised without love or was I born unlovable?

[burrowdarling]

Your Surprise Tattoo

Summary: You make the decision to get a tattoo and surprise Joe with it.

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Some steamy talk post-tattoo

Note: Heyo! A totally random idea I had that I figured could be fun to write. I haven't done a headcanon in a bit and thought this idea would be a good fit. Enjoy!

Word Count: 935

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

You’d had this idea in mind for a while, something you always floated back and forth between since you were in your teens 

You’ve always taken a liking to tattoos but were unsure of exactly what you wanted to get and the right placement

Your parents always said that you had to wait until you were old enough and out of their house to do so if you ever wanted one

Over time, once you moved out, you ended up getting a few small ones scattered about your body

None too large or conspicuous 

Joe had always found the idea of tattoos cool, knowing that a majority of his teammates had them

When you first got together, he made a game out of finding the few you did have

When you told him you wanted to get another one, he didn’t mind too much

If anything it sent him down a rabbit hole of the possibilities of you with different tattoos, the placements, filling his mind with images of you

The thought did loom in his mind of what you wanted to get and where it would be, the anticipation and curiosity getting to him

You assured him it would be something hidden a majority of the time, calming a bit of his nerves to not send him into total shock when you did get it

He also secretly liked the idea of it being something that only he could see

That sent his mind reeling at the thought of you with tattoos

What would you get?

Would you want more than one?

Where were you gonna put it?

When? 

You also never told him when you were getting it, keeping to the idea of a surprise

You planned it during a time he was out of town, giving the piece some time to heal up and not be covered so he could see everything 

It was a totally ballsy move, but you figured go big or go home, and would truly test your pain tolerance

Yeah, it could be totally stupid to get something in such a sensitive area, but you really did like the way they looked

You connected with your local artist chosen and set a date, excited for what was to come

You went for a bit of a cliche back tattoo, some flowers with a butterfly that you felt would look really pretty

You knew it was basic, but it’s what made you happy so who cares

It came out exactly as you hoped it would, you were totally in love with it and had a feeling Joe would be too

It was a few days later when he arrived home, none the wiser to your newest addition to your skin

He’d come back from the facility sweaty and in need of a shower

You figured this was as good of a time as any to finally show him 

“You care if I hop in there with you?” you asked, not that this was ever anything new for you

“If I ever tell you no to an opportunity to see you naked, then you have full permission to fight me,” Joe said with a laugh

You ended up in your shared bathroom, you gathering the towels and Joe going to start the water

Here goes nothing you thought to yourself

You set the towels down on the counter and with Joe behind you, you slipped your shirt over your head

You heard a deep groan behind you quickly followed by hands wrapping around your waist

“When’d you get that done, hmm?” Joe asked, his voice heavy with curiosity and lust

“Wellll you did say that you wanted me to surprise you with it so I figured you being gone was the best time. Now I was able to show it to you when it was closer to fully healed”

Joe just groaned out another response

His mind was racing and blank all at the same time, nonverbals were his safest response

“What do you think, do you like it?” you asked, attempting to turn towards him but he held your hips firmly in place

“That’s not even a question, sweetheart”

And MY GOD did he like it

There weren’t words he could find at that moment to describe exactly how he felt about the new ink that went down your spine

His mind was too far gone elsewhere to come up with a coherent enough response to truly tell you how much he loved it

His fingers traced the edge of your tattoo trailing down your back, giving you chills down your spine at his tender touch

“Did it hurt?” he asked, feeling like he knew the obvious answer to the question

“Of course like a bitch, but I have it now and I love it” you spoke honestly, feeling your voice waiver the more he touched your skin

The room began to heat up from the steam of the hot water running behind you, forgotten about from the sight in front of him

“The shower can wait, I’m taking you right here right now”

He started to bend you over the counter, your chest pressing into the cold material while his warm hands traced delicate lines over the art on your back

You could feel his hard on through the flimsy fabric of his gym shorts making your breathing hitch

“Joe we could also do it in the shower, two birds one stone type of thing,” you said with a light laugh

“Who said there can’t be a round two?”

Joe had gotten a new appreciation for tattoos that day

[writingwisterias]

I was daydreaming today at college and thought about Leon absolutely ravaging me in my wedding dress... Would you be able to write the reader teasing him at the wedding all evening long, feeling him up, making him jealous until the end of the night when he finally gets you alone and just goes totally feral?! Your work is amazing, please never stop 🥰😌😵‍💫💦

YES, I CAN ANON!

I love this!!! I hope I did the idea justice! I did Death Island Leon because I rewatched it and he's on my mind. I rambled sorry this took so long, I needed it to be done right!

Warnings: Smut, MNDI, Fluff, Teasing, Praise Kink, Cowgirl, Oral (F receiving) Jealousy, Hidden touches, Comfort

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Words: 3.8k

Leon never thought he would get this chance, marriage was always just a distant dream, one that always seemed impossible with his job and lifestyle. Until you came along and made him feel easy to love for once. Your smile manages to brighten any mood he might be in. His home was dark and bare now filled with warmth and love, decorated with things that reminded him of how far you had both become. He made it his life's mission to ensure you never stopped smiling and never faced anything like he had. Your protection was his top priority as he kept you separate from his work life, a little hidden secret in this world. One for just him to enjoy.

The isle was decorated in soft greens and browns, the sun felt warm for once as it fell over his features. It felt like God was finally giving him a break from the whirlpool of life he was handed. He couldn't stop the swaying of his feet or fiddling with the tie that felt too tight around his neck. Neither of you wanted a big wedding, limiting your guest list to just close friends and family but the room still felt full. Despite the small number of people you had invited, their adoring stares at him and their whispers about what you might look like today didn't help. Leon didn’t care what dress you picked out, he gave you the budget to get the biggest one if you wanted it. All that mattered to him was that you were happy and at the end of the day were with him in an enteral promise. One he knew went deeper than simple love. 

Ignoring the waves of anxiety he felt, all the attention began to feel too much without you by his side to make it more bearable. Leon made sure to put on the biggest smile that he could muster up as he watched the wedding party begin to filter through the aisle. Soft instrumental music complimented them as they all walked down. The once red carpet is now being decorated with a range of petals as your niece went down alongside her brother who carried the rings. Everyone’s attention was drawn to them, their adorable stumbles thankfully gave him a chance to let out a shaky breath before he had to reach for the velvet box from the young boy. It felt heavy, similar to the feeling when he had the last velvet box in his pocket; a decision he would never come to regret in his life. He had thought about this moment for months, his dreams being filled by adding to the collection of rings he had given to you, all in a romantic promise that was tying your souls together forever.

Leon had memorized the order in which everyone was going to be coming through, all of them finding their place on the respected sides. Their smiles warmed his heart at how happy they were for the both of you. The love crashed over him in waves as your family welcomed him in with open arms. The change in song made his heart rate begin to pick up as you walked down. You looked like an angel, one that was finally ready to take him to salvation - a gift sent from the heavens for all of his hard work and trauma. You smiled at Leon, watching as his eyes twinkled with tears of happiness. He deserved this; there was no one more than deserving of your love. Your answer to his proposal was the easiest choice you had ever made. Just as you were for Leon he was the same for you. 

You could feel his hands shake as he lifted your veil, the sound of everyone around you melting away as he gazed upon your features like he was memorising them despite knowing that he does it every time he wakes up before you in the morning. You watched as his smile grew softer, his body trying to reign in his emotions as the tears fell slightly down his face. You felt the ghost of his breath against your palm as you wiped it away for him. Your touch is just a ghost of the love he knew you had for him. His love was always intoxicating to you. Helping your brain become fuzzy so you forget about the world around you. The nerves you had at the start of the day are now settled in a calm and peaceful feeling. That's what you loved about him, his endless ability to ease your anxiety. He was your bridge, your stable wall to lean on if you needed it. Leon had given you everything you needed and more in life; you will always be thankful for that. 

Your hands slotted in his perfectly; Leon was grasping them tightly in case you would fade away right in front of him like you were some dream he would wake up from. The vows you shared today would never be broken; the endless devotion you both shared was witnessed by everyone else in the room. “I love you” You whispered to him leaning on his shoulder as you both waited for the end of the ceremony. Leon glanced down at you, his eyes sparkling with more unshed tears, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I love you more” 

It felt like the world stopped as you turned to face each other before you finally kissed marking your new journey as Mr and Mrs Kennedy. Neither of you needed this, the large fancy wedding or the certificate you were now both signing with shaky hands and large smiles. You both know the love you shared was solidified with the care you put towards each other in each other darkest moments. There was no end to this life without Leon being by your side.

You grasped his hand tightly as you both ran down the aisle, your laughter filling the air mixing in with the confetti that fell around you. Leon pulled you back into him, greedy for another kiss before the true celebrations began, the fabric of your dress swirling around his feet as you collided with him. 

The rest of the evening felt like a blur, the both of you being dragged around by family and friends for endless photos. The camera flash soon became a permanent fixture every time you blinked. Yet, as everyone settled down for the evening meal, plates of food were being wafted around the room and the waitresses handed them out; Leon didn’t miss the longing looks you gave him. The squeezes of his thigh underneath the table as your hand inched higher and higher. Your delicate fingers brushed along the front of his trousers all whilst glancing at him with an adoring and innocent smile. It was driving him insane with how casual you were being about it. “You alright there honey? You look a little flustered” you giggled in his ear, leaning towards him. His smirk grew on his face, his eyes hidden by his dark hair as he turned to look at you. “Someone seems to be starting something I’m not sure they can finish” He teased. Normally Leon would have touched your skin and teased the fabric of your underwear groaning at the feel of the arousal he knew was drenching the thin fabric but your damn dress was too big. He was beaten by layers of white fabric. 

“We’ve still got many hours before I can show you what's underneath this dress” you whispered again. His face flushed - turning a dark pink as his brain tried to decipher what you meant. To his credit he recovered quickly, hiding his flushed cheeks from the guests with a kiss. Coos and chuckles surrounded you as you both shared this moment. When he pulled away his eyes narrowed, a warning. That if you continued then you would be in for a long night, but then when did you ever listen to him?

The night continued with tear-jerking speeches from close family and friends and you now both stood outside the doors waiting for the events organizer to announce you both as Mr and Mrs Kennedy for your first dance. His hand held yours firmly, almost like if he loosened his grip he would wake up from this dream. 

“Ready?” You asked him, looking up at his stubble-coated face in adoration. He never got used to your twinkling eyes when you looked at him, perhaps he never would. He didn't need the three words that meant so much to many people - your eyes told your story, your feelings. “To embarrass me with how badly I dance…no” he teased a toothy grin filling his features. Your laugh was better music than the song lined up for the rest of the evening. His own eyes crinkled once again as his smile grew. You heard your name announced and both jogged out onto the dance floor.. confetti and cheers surround you once again. 

Leon's hands gripped your hips tightly as they swirled you around, opting to stick to simple swaying and a few spins. You didn't care, you were smiling anyway. That was another thing you did that caused him to fall in love with you - how easily you accepted the simplest things he gave you. The size of his gestures is never an issue with you. When the song slowed down he bought you closer, his hands lowering to the swell of your ass. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the soft strands of his hair. His aftershave was intoxicating, filling your senses as you tucked yourself closer, his head resting on yours. The moment was peaceful, perfect. One he would remember every time a mission got too much, or he needed a reason to get back up after he's been slammed down numerous amounts of times. 

The moment was broken when one of the bridesmaids tapped him on the shoulder holding out a polaroid to him. He glanced briefly at you not failing to notice the large grin on your face. It was comical how wide his eyes went when he looked at the small picture; a choked breath following as his cheeks flushed. “What the fuck” he chuckled as he turned back to you, tucking away the Polaroid in his pocket before anyone else got to see. “There's plenty more where that came from” you spoke. Leon pulled you close again, trapping you against his body with a large grin on his features as his lips ghosted your skin. “You little minx” he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of yours. You smiled at the contact, at the small graze of his lips against your neck. Your fingers tugged gently at the hairs on the nape of his neck, swirling the soft strands in small circles. He felt you slip away leaving his arms to merge in with the rest of the dancefloor. Your white dress twirled around you as you greeted your friends. He watched with a smile, seeing your happiness leak into the people around you…into himself. 

Your feet moved gracefully along the dancefloor as you sauntered back to him often during the rest of the night. Interrupting and saving him from boring conversations with older relatives, your lips kissing in the pattern he knew would be repeated later when you were both alone. The collection of polaroids started to thicken his pockets as your bridesmaids continued to hand them to him, his face flushing each time - eyes narrowing as he found you giggling across the room from him. He was thankful as people started to wish you luck and goodnight, all heading off to their rooms. Instantly beginning to look for you to drag you to the bridal room. Leon found you helping the servers gather the remaining drinks handing them glasses over to the bar. Your hair was wild, strands sticking out of the braid it was neatly made into earlier in the day. Your makeup was smudged and the lipstick is virtually nonexistent but to him, you still looked just as beautiful at the start of the day. 

He felt giddy as you both stumbled your way back to the room, practically running through the halls. Your smile grew as you heard his laugh, the sound bouncing down the corridor. His hand held onto yours firmly not once letting go. It felt like you were teenagers again, running through the school corridors to escape school. You wished you had met him sooner in life, so you could have loved him sooner. Helped through the horrors he had told you, showed him a world of love and affection sooner before he fell into the habits he wasn't proud of.  His lips attacked yours as soon as you got through the door, the key card discarded on the desk landing on it with a clatter. Your hands slid under the shoulders of his blazer. Leon smiled into the kiss, his shoulders shaking it off in a poor attempt to help, the fabric landing with a thud on the floor. 

The contents of it scattered along the floor, his phone now hidden somewhere you'll both be scrambling to find in the morning. He smirked at the Polaroids that had now scattered everywhere, the photos of you that he kept hidden now a reminder of your promise. He felt his cock throbbing against the fabric of his trousers, he almost cummed at the idea of sinking into you finally after today. He pulled you towards the bed, pushing you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. Leon wished he hadn’t just lost his phone so he could have taken a photo of you sprawled out on the bed beneath him surrounded by the rose petals the hotel staff had thrown on the bed. Your eyes were intense as they looked at him with pure lust, you always did love him in his suits. 

“You have a promise to keep?” He teased, bending down briefly to collect a polaroid off the floor - holding it out to you so you could see throwing it on the bed next to you. His hands began to push the layers of fabric up your legs, exposing your hips. He smiled at the garter that was still around your thigh. Leon’s head instantly lowered, his teeth tugging it down your leg, ignoring the chuckle that left your lips as he struggled to get it over your shoe. When he raised his head again you smiled at his smug look, the elastic band hanging from his teeth like a trophy. 

“You were meant to do that earlier and then see which one of your friends was getting married next” You smiled as you pulled it from his teeth, discarding the fabric somewhere else in the room. “Guess I’ll just have to marry you again” He spoke, kissing up your thighs disappearing amongst the fabric. “Already? We just made our vows” 

Leon’s head shot up again his hair falling over his eyes as he looked at you. “I’ll chant them to you every night if I have to. I’ll never forget them, nor will I let you forget them.” 

You knew if you wanted him to he would always be willing to do what it takes to prove he is forever grateful for your unwavering love and patience over the past few years. The same soft hands that now tugged his head towards your dripping cunt pulling him out of one of the worst states he’s ever been in. He didn’t like thinking about what would have happened if you hadn’t given him the final shove to pour the drink away. To stop for the first time since his 20s. His fingers looped in the waistband of the white lacy thong pulling it down your legs. You spread them, showing off your soaked core that he had skipped the cake for. Opting to save his appetite for a sweeter dessert instead. 

“I meant every single word” 

His mouth instantly latched on, sucking up the sweet arousal you were already dripping for him. Your legs wrapped tightly around his head, the fabric hiding him from sight as he worked his magic. Leon would spend hours like this if he wanted to, his head buried in a sacred space you kept so perfect for him. Forever - until death - now the only person that would be able to taste the sweet drink you created for him. Your legs shook as his tongue flicked against the sensitive bud, his nose occasionally brushing against it as he enthusiastically licked long stripes up your folds. 

You felt the incoming orgasm, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head only spurring Leon on to continue his assault of pleasure faster. He groaned when you finally spilt on his tongue, he lapped it up like he was dehydrated. You supposed he was, with the incoming date of your wedding you both barely had enough time for this. You moaned at the sight of his chin covered in his drool and your cum, his tongue swiping across his lips making sure he lapped it all up. He always was a messy eater. 

You could taste yourself on his as he crawled up to place a kiss on your lips. “How expensive was the dress?” he asked whilst nipping at your neck. His stubble was prickly against your skin. “Very. You gave me no budget remember” You chuckled, pulling at his hair causing him to look at you. “So if I fucked you in it, it would be a waste of money?” 

“We can always get it dry cleaned” 

He chuckled pulling away from you again. He was too slow at unbuttoning his shirt, you sat up, crawling towards the edge of the bed on shaking legs to help him. The fabric was discarded somewhere in the room with a thud. His hands worked on his trousers, his belt clinking loudly as they fell to the floor. You bit your lip at the sight of his pre cum on his boxers, both old and new stains. “Look at what you did to me all day, in this dress, the touches at dinner, the fucking photos. The day dragged on for far too long” He mumbled lowly. You loved it when he did this when his octave lowered with need and frustration for wanting you. Your teasing finally pushed him over the edge and now he had a taste there was no point in preventing him from the full meal. He was going to get it anyway. 

You stood up from the bed, spinning the both of you so he fell against the soft sheets. He waited for you to undo the dress, to let the fabric hide his trousers. Instead to crawled above him, pushing him towards the headboard. Leon pulled his boxers off, his cock thumping against his stomach at your approach. You smirked at the tip, angry and red as it waited for you. Dribbles of pre cum decorating it like candle wax, he was always so pretty.

 A large sigh from the both of you filled the room as you finally sank on him. The sight is hidden by the layers of the dress now pooling around you both. He could admire the way the bodice fit against your form, the delicate lace hems making you look even more magical. You were perfect, always were and always will be. 

Your hips moved too slow for his liking, the pleasure he needed not building up fast enough. Tired of your teasing his hips met your own. The lazy thrusts hit deeper and deeper as they collided with your own, brushing against the entrance of your cervix. He was always larger than you remembered, no amount of foreplay ever prepared you for the glorious stretch he gave you each time you fucked. His small whisps of hair tease your already sensitive clit. 

He could feel you quiver above him, your head thrown back with a large smile plastered on your face. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as it pushed out the breathless whimpers. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, the freshly painted nails leaving small crescent shapes along his already uneven skin. He wouldn’t mind a few more scars, not if they were left by you tonight. A forever memory etched onto his skin as well as in his mind. 

Had all his prayers finally been answered? All of his years of suffering finally bought to a close with the clench of your walls around his cock and a promise to love him until he gave his final breath. “I fucking love you, Mrs Kennedy” 

Hearing it made it more real somehow, made the whole day finish with another orgasm from you as you collapsed against him. Your sweaty skin cooling his down. He was so close, to his own ending. To coat and fill you with himself, the way it will always be now. Leon was now the only one who got this pleasure, that was allowed to do this. 

He was quick to move you, slipping out only briefly to place you on all fours. His cock slipped back into you; “I…will…always…fucking…love…you” he chanted with each thrust. Driving his cock deep into the velvet walls. Your whimpers and whines spur him on along with the begs to go faster and harder. The two of you lost in the moment, in the feel of each other. His ring was cool against your hip as it pressed into the flesh from his grip. Your dress rustles around you with every movement. Nothing else mattered, not the endless piles of paperwork on his desk waiting for him when he would return to the office, the complaints of customers you would eventually face in your own return to work. 

Everything could wait. Nothing would stop him from feeling this, the way you clenched and sucked him back in again. Trapped him in as he finally climaxed. His warmth flooded you, leaking out as he pulled away. Your shaking legs finally gave up as you fell onto the bed. A smile plastered on your face from where it was smooshed against the pillows. His fingers worked on undoing the back of the dress, your skin exposed to the cold. Fuck, he needed this sight engraved into his brain forever. You sat up, allowing the fabric to slip off your form with his help. The dress left to crease and crumple on the floor as you both tucked away in bed. 

He held you tightly against his chest, his heartbeat thumping loudly against your ear. Despite the great sex, this was what you cared about the most, the vulnerable moments where you slept the best. “Goodnight love” He whispered into your hair as he pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. You smiled against his skin, placing a kiss above the spot of his heart. Your fingers lazily traced along the scars that littered his chest until the room was filled with the soft snores of the newly weds. 

[evertidings]

— DECEMBER 2024.

Accomplishments.

I thought I was forgetting something and then I realized it was my monthly update. Oops. So even though we’re a third into the month, here’s what I did in December.

To be quite honest, most (if not all) of what I did throughout the month was work on the Holiday Special. I’m really glad to see that it was well received (honestly, even though I’ve been doing this for a while, putting anything out is stressful so it’s always great to see positive feedback). I’m a bit of a slow writer so it took me a while, but I’m glad it paid off. I always love writing extra content for you guys anyway.

In terms of Chapter 12, I’m back at it this month and slowly chipping away at it. Still no estimated time for when it’ll be released, but I’m hoping Q1 of 2025. Of course, the break last month didn’t help in terms of productivity and word count, but at least it refreshed my mind. I had just finished up writing a big branch (probably close to 15,000 words) so I was pretty exhausted and tired of the content. That happened a lot when I was writing Chapter 11, which eventually led to a big burnout that I am trying to prevent this time around, because, well, it was not fun. But now that I’ve stayed away from Chapter 12 for a bit, I feel excited enough to go back.

I’m currently writing Eliana’s initial meeting with the Hunter and am trying to pinpoint how I want her to come off. Of course, I have a set personality for her, but determining character traits is one thing—actually making sure they are portrayed in writing is another. It’s been a bit challenging so far, but I do usually say that I like a challenge, so I think it’ll be fun.

I’m estimating the final chapter word count to be somewhere around 45-50k—possibly more if I decide to torture myself with another branch—so I’m at least halfway or a third of the way there. None of the chapters have ever surpassed 70k and I doubt this will, so I don’t have to worry there.

For the rest of January, I’m focusing on just getting as much done as possible. My four year anniversary (wtf) is also coming up for this game, so I’m trying to decide what to do for it. I want to write another short, but that would delay Chapter 12 even further so I’m not sure. Perhaps just a set of drabbles? Let me know if anyone has any ideas. As always, take care of yourselves <3

Stats.

Chapter Total: 21,850 words (+1640)

Game Total: ~533,280 words

[lavenders388]

Hey! i was wondering if you can write a fluff story of kang dae ho x reader in the games! just about him being protective and stuff if you know what i mean!

~When the Sun Hits~

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚ Kang Dae Ho x Reader

requested 💌

wc: 709 (short n sweet!)

a/n thank you so much for all the love and all the requests!! I'm getting my nails done soon LOL they're so grown out its hard to write so after that ill be more active!!! ily all<3 -matcha

comfort was hard to come by in this place of death, desperation, and shock, let alone the safety and security you craved. you felt much safer than you did the first game, compared to being alone and confused you now were part of a team, another member claiming to have gone through the games and offering help.

all of the members of your group had such unique personalities, gi hun being the one that originally caught your attention with his assistance in the first game; geum ja and her son's loving arguments providing a sense of sweetness and even occasional entertainment; jung bae's jokes providing humanity in the dark place you've all found yourselves trying to survive in. but no one caught your attention nearly as much as the man closest to your age, dae ho.

dae ho's respectful admiration of gi hun and then jung bae made you smile to yourself. "how could someone be so bubbly after what just happened here?" you wondered to yourself, the situation in front of you becoming more contrasting to the place it was happening in. you giggled to yourself as he shouted "SIR!" at jung bae for the fourth time in a row.

you didnt notice how it made him smile.

your focus shifted as gi hun began explaining the next game. the reality of going through the childhood game-themed blood bath sinking in. you listened intently as he explained what shape to pick. you began to feel less anxious, you knew what to expect and how to survive in the next game; and you weren't doing it alone, you had your team this time.

the thought of that made your demeanor soften. shifting from the feared facial expression to one of relief and appreciation. jung bae notices, asking you kindly "how are you holding up with all of this?" you respond with a smile, appreciating his care "better. I'm glad i found people and even more glad i have an idea of what I'm going into this time."

dae ho smiles again. this time you notice.

"are you feeling better as well? you should be, i mean you're the one who asked him." you said genuinely. he stutters; not expecting you to strike up a conversation with him and a bit embarrassed you noticed him smiling to himself. "i am!" he beams, "I'm also glad to have found a group, thank you for asking." your smile deepens, more than you had wanted it to. "thank you! what did you say your name was again?" you ask; knowing he had told jung bae his name earlier. "dae ho!" he exclaims adorably. "what is yours if you're comfortable sharing?" he asks respectful of the fact you may not want to share personal information at a death game. "y/n!" you say to him with a smile.

this time everyone notices how it makes you smile. jung bae chuckles as he gives gi hun a suggestive look.

"lights out is in 30 minutes." the recorded voice echos throughout the room. your fear returns as gi hun warns that things might get violent as the night progresses. your worry begins to show on your face as you look around, trying to remember where your bed was. the group, especially dae ho notices, and they all agree to let you stay near them for the night.

a silence falls on the group as the players all begin to settle in for the night. you turn around, noticing that dae ho moved from his bunk behind you to a new bed in front of you. you pretend not to notice, afraid you might smile or blush in an obvious way. you deeply appreciated the secure feeling being around this tall, handsome, almost stranger gave you.

he didnt feel like a stranger, you reminded yourself you just knew his name and that he was in the marines. you wanted to learn more; as you went to bed with the comforting stranger in front of you, protecting you from whatever lurked in the darkness, you hoped not just for your survival in the next game, but for your whole group to make it out.

you knew he would protect you against whatever was to come the next day.

✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍵✮˚

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: INK'D Hearts: Tattoos and Tangled Sheets Pairing: tattoo artist!hongjoong x afab!reader Genre: tattoo shop au, strangers to lovers, romantic, fluff, angst, smut, opposites attract Wordcount: 26.7k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: All you wanted was to have your first tattoo done and over with. How were you supposed to know that your tattoo artist would be this cute? For the sake of your sanity, you try to get over how good he looks—but fate seems to have other plans. Although you keep meeting, and even if you seem to fit well together, there's something, unbeknownst to you, holding Hongjoong back.

Warnings: reader is described as feminine but uses gn pronouns, corruption kink mentioned, dom/sub dynamics, kinky stuff happens, mentions of feeling insecure, lack of experience on reader's part, the rest of atz make an appearance briefly and are being a little annoying, underground band!atz, hongjoong and reader are opposites (hongjoong being more edgy, while reader is a little softer), mentions of smoking

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

A/N: this fic was created before i decided to leave this blog permanently, and put on queue to be posted now. this blog is still not active. read here to find out why

Thank you @wongyuseokie for making this banner for me!

Masterlists

The music was loud in your headphones, but you couldn’t make out any of the words the band was singing - it was mostly there to distract you from your thoughts and the bustling city around you. For some reason, everyone and their mother decided to go out today. Walking towards the tattoo shop, you were forced to sneak around groups of people and snake through crowds. Ink’d was right around the corner of the popular market, a place which, unbeknownst to you, was holding a special event today. However, the crowds of people thinned out as you turned the corner down an alley. There were cafés, clothing stores, and hair salons in every other building. On top of each were fancy apartments, probably owned by the same people for the past forty years. However, your eyes didn’t wander much; as soon as you saw the sign for the shop, you didn’t need to look elsewhere. 

Looking down at your phone, you saw you were just on time for your appointment. Not even that could bring down your nerves. This was your very first tattoo appointment, and you had no idea what to expect. Some of your friends had tattoos, and their stories ranged from pretty okay to frightening. With their help, you found Ink’d — your friend, Seonghwa, had recommended you to go to one of the tattoo artists there. After looking through his work on Instagram, you decided to reach out. He was accommodating to your needs even over email and asked you to come in today to see what he could do for you. Despite all of the help and how kind the artist seemed to be, you were still nervous. 

As you stood in front of the tattoo shop, you debated on not going in. You could send an email to the artist and tell him that you were sorry, but you just couldn’t go through with this. It would be rude on such short notice, but you were practically shitting yourself in fear at the thought of having needles poke your skin with ink. The reflective surface of the doors mocked you, but you still couldn’t go in. The shop wasn’t big, but it didn’t need to be to get your attention. The walls were painted dark blue, and the sign that hung above the door was in the shape of a splotch of ink. In the middle of the sign, in big bold letters, it said INK’D. Great. Even the sign intimidated you. 

You looked down at yourself, at your baggy pants and oversized sweater - anything to make yourself as comfortable as possible. Was it good enough for this place? You wouldn’t know until you walked inside. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open… but it didn’t open. On the handle of the door, it very clearly said ‘PULL’, something you had managed to miss. Pushing down the embarrassment for the sake of the tattoo you were about to get, you pulled the door open and walked inside. 

The tile floors looked old like they had been there since the building was made. The edges of the pretty design were chipped, and a few places were missing entire tiles. It was a part of its charm. The walls, on the other hand, were newly painted white - but you couldn’t tell seeing as they were filled with frames. From floor to ceiling, there were paintings and pictures of all kinds covering the shop’s walls—posters of various artists, photos of artwork and clients, and photographs from abstract to realistic. Your attention was suddenly drawn to the reception. A man with cherry red hair and a playful smile stood behind the desk.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked.

The first thing you noticed about him was how his eyes pierced your soul. His gaze was kind yet powerful, to the point where you almost wanted to look away. This look was only amplified by the thin layer of liner that lined his eyes. His bright red hair looked like it was slightly grown out, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the many piercings along his earlobes. Silver jewelry dangled from his ears, they matched the silver chain around his neck and the rings that adorned his fingers. The tight, black t-shirt he was wearing revealed his toned arms covered with ink. Delicate designs and images adorned his skin, and you could only imagine how many tattoos he had. A few peeked out from under his collar, but you couldn’t make out what the black ink on his neck was supposed to be. You could study this man for hours, but you had to answer him at some point.

“Uh… yes! Hi.” You approached the desk as you fiddled with the edge of your sleeves. “I’m here for an appointment… it should be under Y/L/N Y/N, I’m here to meet Kim Hongjoong.”

“Oh, Y/N, hey…” He looked at his computer, the smile still playing on his lips. “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Hongjoong.”

He looked up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours with that same piercing gaze that seemed to see right through you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt yourself growing weak in the knees. This was the man who was going to tattoo you? The thought of the needle was already enough to make your heart race, but now, you had to contend with the added pressure of trying not to make an absolute fool of yourself in front of the impossibly attractive tattoo artist.

His sharp jawline and the confident way he carried himself only added to your nervousness. You watched as he adjusted his glasses, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as if he could sense your inner turmoil. He turned back to his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard – his nails were painted black, the polish chipped around the edges and almost completely scratched off on some nails. The stark contrast against his fair skin was striking.

As he continued typing, you couldn't help but steal glances at his hands, wondering about the stories behind each stroke of polish. What kind of person was he outside of this tattoo parlor? Your mind raced with questions, each one adding another layer to the mystery that was this man.

When he finally turned back to you, a professional yet warm smile on his face, you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “First tattoo, right?” he asked, his voice smooth and reassuring.

“Yeah, it is.” You nodded and looked around the shop while Hongjoong kept typing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a tattoo shop before.��

“Is that why it took you so long to get in?” he said in a teasing tone.

You looked back at him, only to see him grinning. His smile was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly despite your nerves. In his hands was a clipboard with a paper on it, which he handed to you along with a pen. Your eyes widened as you realized that the glossy, dark walls were actually windows, through which he could very much see outside. The realization added a new layer of vulnerability to your already jittery state.

“Sorry, I’m just teasing,” he quickly added, his voice softening. “I get that you’re nervous. So, why don’t you fill this form out, and then we’ll talk over what we’re going to do today? Does that sound good, love?”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the unexpected pet name, and instead of a coherent answer, an awkward cough escaped your lips. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you clutched the clipboard to your chest, nodding quickly before making your way over to one of the couches in the waiting area. The soft leather cushions welcomed you, and you sank into them, wishing you could stay there instead of going through with your appointment.

With a sigh, you placed your bag beside you and began to fill out the form. Your hands trembled slightly as you scribbled your name, date of birth, and other required details. The background noise of the shop – the hum of the tattoo machines, the low murmur of other conversations, and the soft rock music playing in the background – started to blend into a soothing symphony, helping to calm your racing heart.

You glanced up occasionally, watching Hongjoong as he moved confidently around his workspace. There was something mesmerizing about the way he carried himself, a blend of focus and ease that only came from years of experience. It was reassuring to know you were in capable hands.

As you continued to fill out the form, your mind wandered to the design you had chosen. It was something personal, a symbol of strength and transformation that you had wanted for years. Now, on the brink of making it a permanent part of you, the mixture of excitement and apprehension was almost overwhelming.

When you finally finished the form, you took a deep breath and stood up, clutching the clipboard as if it were a lifeline. You made your way back to Hongjoong, who looked up from his computer with a reassuring smile.

“All done?” he asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, handing him the clipboard. “Yeah, all done.”

“Great,” he said, scanning the form quickly before setting it aside, and he looked through them before giving you a pleased smile. Maybe it was your nerves, but your heart jolted at his smile. You wanted – no, needed – to please him like that again. “Let’s go to my studio and get started, yeah?”

His studio had the same intricate, patterned tiles on the floor as the waiting room, their glossy finish reflecting the ambient light and adding a touch of elegance to the space. However, the walls were painted a deep, matte black, providing a stark contrast that made the room feel both intimate and edgy. The black surface served as a canvas for vibrant spray paint art – swirls of neon colors and abstract designs that burst forth with energy and creativity. Interspersed among the graffiti were various posters, some showcasing famous tattoos, and others featuring artwork from local artists, lending a personal touch to the décor.

In one corner of the room, a small, well-organized desk sat neatly against the wall. On its surface were a sleek laptop, a modern desk lamp casting a warm glow, and a few neatly stacked papers. The desk exuded a sense of efficiency and order. Beside it stood a modest chair, perfectly pushed in and out of the way, maintaining the room's open and uncluttered feel.

The focal point of the studio was undoubtedly the tattoo chair, positioned prominently in the middle of the room. It was upholstered in smooth black leather, looking both comfortable and professional. Adjacent to it was a matching black leather stool, presumably for Hongjoong to use while working. Next to the chair stood a metal cart, meticulously organized with an array of tattooing materials – inks in a spectrum of colors, sterilized needles, and various other tools of the trade, all within easy reach.

The room was imbued with a sophisticated aroma that hinted at luxury and care. The air was filled with the delicate scents of bergamot, blackcurrant, and jasmine, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and intoxicating. You couldn't quite tell if the source of this enchanting fragrance was the candle burning softly on his desk or Hongjoong's own cologne. Either way, the scent wrapped around your senses, creating a foggy, almost dreamlike state as you took it all in.

Hongjoong moved closer to you, his presence both reassuring and electrifying. The scent intensified as he approached, enveloping you completely and making everything else fade into the background. His hand hovered right behind your upper back, guiding you towards the tattoo chair.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “You can sit down right here and we’ll discuss what I can do for you today.”

He took his laptop from his desk and sat down on the stool next to you. You jumped onto the tattoo chair, letting your feet dangle off the edge. Looking down at the floor, you saw Hongjoong’s polished leather boots next to your beat-up sneakers. Everything about him was somehow messy and pristine at the same time — delicate and coarse.

“You got my design idea, right?” you asked to break the silence.

“I did. It’s pretty.” He looked up at you with a friendly smile. “I took the liberty of drawing something up with it as inspiration, do you want to have a look?”

Before you could respond, Hongjoong turned the laptop so that you could see the design. It was a lotus flower, just like your reference picture, and connected to it were elegant, curved lines that stretched out a few inches away from it. It looked like small water droplets were attached to the flower and lines, some of them falling freely.

“What do we think?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured and leaned in closer. “Your art style is so graceful.”

“You’d be the first to say that.” He let out a laugh and pulled the laptop away from you. “This is a little further away from what I usually do. But this suits your tastes, right?”

“Definitely.” You nodded and watched him gather a few things.

“And it’s going to sit right by your hip?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and print out a stencil for you. How big do you want it to be?” He put his hands up and measured in the air. “About this big?”

“That looks good,” you answered.

“I’ll get that sorted for you then, love.”

Hongjoong left you alone in his studio, and your muscles finally relaxed. When Seonghwa recommended him, he said nothing about how good-looking and charming he was. Now you wish that you had tried a little harder to get one of your friends to go with you. Being all alone with him only made you more nervous. When Hongjoong came back, he walked over to his desk and picked up his glasses. The thin black frames sat on the tip of his nose as he studied the stencil in his hands. With a proud nod, he showed you the stencil to get your approval.

“Good size?” he asked as he walked up to you.

“It’s good.” You nodded, your fingers playing with the hem of your sweater. 

He looked at you closely, inspecting your nervous fidgeting and the way your eyes flickered around the room. Sitting back on the stool, Hongjoong got right up next to you. The intoxicating scent made you dizzy again, and you put your hand beside you to stabilize yourself.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just a little,” you admitted with an awkward chuckle.

“That’s okay.” He motioned for you to lay down on the chair and you did as he said. “I’ll put the stencil on you, then you can take a look at it and tell me what you think. Is it okay if I pull up your sweater?”

You nodded and helped him move away your clothes. When the sweater was out of the way, you moved your hands to your pants. They already sat low on your hips, but you loosened the strings and pulled them down enough to expose the entirety of your hip bone. Hongjoong was talking as he put on the stencil, walking you through the steps as he was doing it. His soft voice calmed your nerves and seeing as you didn’t have to look directly at him, your heart started calming down as well. When he peels away the stencil, revealing blue lines on your skin, you look down at his hands.

“There you go, love.” He pushed up his glasses and looked up at you with a smile. “There’s a mirror over there, why don’t you go look at it and tell me if you like the placement.”

You hummed and carefully got off the chair. While you walked over to the mirror, Hongjoong prepared his station. The blue ink looked good against your skin, mostly because of the design. This is why you have been wanting to get a tattoo for so long. You smiled to yourself, looking past the nerves and bubbly feeling in your stomach that you got from looking at Hongjoong.

“It’s perfect,” you chimed.

You walked back over to the leather chair, which was now covered in a protective sheet. A bright smile was painted on your lips as you sat down in front of him again. Something sparkled in Hongjoong’s eyes just then, and you couldn't figure out what it was but you knew that you wanted to see it again. 

“So… uhm…” He scratched the back of his neck and pretended to look for something. “Is the placement and size all good? You’re allowed to change anything, you know? I won’t be upset.”

His reassurance only made you more comfortable. The nerves that had made you want to puke just a few minutes ago, were now suddenly gone. Hongjoong looked back at you with his eyebrows slightly raised, still looking for an answer from you.

“Oh, yes. It’s good. I like it,” you said. “Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal.” He got closer to you, the wheels on his stool easily rolling over the ground. “You can lay back down and I’ll start as soon as you’re comfortable.”

He had black rubber gloves on now, a stark contrast to the delicate silver rings that lay on his desk. The rings, intricate in design, caught the light and glinted, a reminder of the careful preparation Hongjoong had undertaken for your session. His cart was meticulously organized, filled with the colors you had requested. Each ink bottle stood ready, a spectrum of possibilities waiting to be brought to life on your skin.

The tattoo gun in his hand looked like the tip of a small drill, its precision and purpose unmistakable. A medical-blue plastic wrap covered the cord attached to it, ensuring everything remained sterile. Hongjoong began to explain the process, his voice calm and reassuring, a professional easing the nerves of a first-time client. He gently pushed away your clothes, ensuring they weren’t in the way, his movements careful and considerate. The touch of his gloved hands was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you felt spreading from your core.

You couldn’t help but focus on the way he was inspecting the skin where your stencil was placed. His eyes narrowed slightly as he assessed the area, ensuring everything was perfect before beginning. Your breath caught in your throat, the moment feeling surreal and significant. His red hair, vibrant and striking, hung slightly over his eyes despite his efforts to push it back. The black roots of his natural hair had started growing out, a subtle detail that you could only notice from this close proximity.

He looked up at you then, and your eyes met. Behind his glasses, his gaze was intense and focused, yet there was a softness there that put you at ease. His eyes, framed by the sharp lines of his glasses, seemed to hold a depth of understanding, a silent communication that everything was going to be alright.

“Does that sound good, love?” he asked.

“Sorry?” You had forgotten to listen to what he was saying.

“I’m going to give you a warning before I put the needle on your skin,” he repeated. “Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, it does…”

You leaned your head back against the chair and shut your eyes tightly. Hongjoong warned you that he was going to start, and you clutched the bunched-up fabric of your sweater tighter. It wasn’t comfortable, of course, but it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. 

Hongjoong worked fast, and when he was halfway done he asked if you needed to take a break. You agreed as you were starting to feel a little lightheaded.

“Could you hand me my bag?” you asked shyly.

Your bag was hanging by the door, and Hongjoong quickly walked over to it and picked it up for you. While you pulled out your water bottle and an energy bar, Hongjoong massaged his wrist. He looked over at you with the same playful smile he had worn when you first walked in. 

“Do you have friends with tattoos or something?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“No, it’s just… you seem to know what to do despite this being your first tattoo.” He sat back on his stool, right by your side. “You know Seonghwa, right?”

“He’s the one who recommended that I should go to you.” You nodded. “To be honest, I didn’t even know he had tattoos.”

“Well, I think he only recommended me because we’re friends,” he said and your eyes widened. “He has a tattoo on his back, but I didn’t do that one for him.”

“Seonghwa never told me you were friends…” you muttered, wondering why he had refused to come with you if he was friends with the tattoo artist. You put away your things and dropped your bag by the side of the chair. Hongjoong took the hint and got ready to get back to work.

“I’m sure he just didn’t think of telling you,” he muttered. “He texted me last night to tell me you were nervous about the appointment.”

His words hit you like a bag of bricks. Not only was Seonghwa friends with this guy, but he was also texting him about you. Maybe that was why Hongjoong had been so friendly from the beginning. You had the feeling that he had a constant natural charm, but his comforting words and kind smiles had made you think that maybe you were receiving special treatment for reasons other than friend-nepotism.

“Is it okay if I start again?” Hongjoong’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you mumbled and closed your eyes as he put the needle into your skin again.

At the end of your session, the skin around your hip felt raw and sensitive, a testament to the meticulous work that had just been done. Hongjoong gently wiped off your skin with a wet paper towel, the coolness providing a brief respite from the heat and discomfort. His touch was careful, almost tender, as he ensured that no excess ink or blood marred the final reveal of your new tattoo.

"Go take a look in the mirror," he said, his voice soft and encouraging. You nodded, taking a deep breath before gingerly sliding off the chair. Your legs felt slightly shaky, both from the adrenaline rush and the prolonged stillness of the session. As you steadied yourself, you could feel Hongjoong's reassuring presence nearby, ready to assist if you needed it.

With cautious steps, you made your way over to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. The anticipation built with each step, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. When you finally stood in front of the mirror, you took a moment to compose yourself before lifting your shirt slightly to reveal your hip.

The fresh lines of the tattoo contrasted beautifully against your skin. Despite the slight irritation that surrounded the new ink, the design was incredibly striking. The intricate details and vibrant colors were even more stunning than you had imagined.

“This is gorgeous.” You gasped and turned back around to Hongjoong.

With your sweater still bunched up you showed him the piece with a small smile, as if he hadn’t been looking at it for the past few hours. Still, he approached you and crouched down a little to inspect it. He wore a small, giddy smile; you couldn’t help but think that for someone who looked like he could kill you with a single glare, his mannerisms were awfully cute. After giving you a proud nod, he backed away from you.

“Some of my best work,” he commented. “Do you mind if I take a picture of it and put it on my Instagram?”

“Not at all, go ahead.”

Hongjoong went to look for his phone and you stayed in the same position, with your sweater still bunched up and your pants almost falling off due to the strings being untied. It was an awkward position, but you didn’t know if you were allowed to move yet. Hongjoong soon came back with his phone in hand and crouched down right in front of you to take a picture of your hip and waist.

“Thank you.” He stood back up and inspected the photo as you put your clothes on properly. “Oh, hold on– before you put everything back on, I have to wrap it up for you.”

You froze as you were about to pull on the string of your pants, and Hongjoong let out a panicked laugh as he went over to the cart with materials. He took out a roll of some white plastic with green stripes in a criss-cross pattern and a big blue line in the middle of it. When he came back to you, he measured it to the size of the tattoo before he cut it off. 

“This is Second Skin,” he said and parted it open in the middle of the blue line. “It’ll feel a bit weird, but you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.”

He pulled off a top layer and pressed the now sticky side to your stomach. His hands were warm now that he didn’t have the rubber gloves on. A shiver sent down your spine as he smoothed out the plastic against your skin. After he expertly pulled away another plastic layer, the Second Skin lived up to its name - you barely felt it. You were much too distracted by the loss of Hongjoong’s hands against your abdomen.

“I’ll give you some more of this stuff so that you can reapply it yourself after twenty-four hours. Then you’re going to want to leave this on for three to five days, and then peel it off under running water. It’s not difficult at all, just take one of the top corners and slowly take it off,” he explained as he examined his application. “You might get some ink bubbles in there, that’s fine you can just leave it- and if your skin gets red where the plastic is applied, that’s normal too. If you’re unsure, you can always just send me an email.”

You hummed and turned back to the mirror, inspecting the now plastic-covered tattoo. You caught Hongjoong’s eyes on you in the mirror, but he wasn’t looking at the tattoo. He was just looking at you - all of you. However, his eyes quickly diverted as he saw that you had caught him in the act.

“Thank you,” you said as you went back to tying the strings to your pants. “I really love it.”

“I’m glad,” he answered. “Listen, I’ve got to go out to the reception- but take as long as you need to get yourself ready. We’ll handle the payment as soon as you’re done, and I’ll get you some more Second Skin and a lotion you can use at home. On the house.”

“Oh, no- I’ll pay for it, I don’t mind,” you argued.

“You’re Seonghwa’s friend, he’d get mad at me if I didn’t.” He walked towards the door to give you some privacy. “Besides, it’s your first tattoo- I have to give you some incentive to come back.”

As if you didn’t have enough reason to come back already…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The next few days, all you could think about was your cute tattoo artist. Hongjoong's comforting atmosphere, his pretty smile, and his charming words were plaguing both your waking and sleeping hours. His presence lingered in your thoughts, like a sweet yet torturous melody you couldn’t escape. During the day, you found yourself daydreaming about his soft eyes and the way he had meticulously worked on your tattoo. At night, your dreams were filled with his voice, his touch, and the mesmerizing red of his hair. It was as if he had left an indelible mark not just on your skin, but on your mind and heart as well.

Conversations with your friends became dominated by your incessant musings about him. "I can't believe I didn’t ask for his number," you would lament, your frustration palpable. Your friends, patient at first, were growing tired of your constant complaints. Their sympathetic nods were starting to turn into exasperated eye-rolls. "Just ask Seonghwa for his number," they would suggest, not realizing that this simple solution was a source of internal conflict for you.

Seonghwa was the one person you hadn’t confided in about your infatuation. Now that you knew he was friends with the red-haired man, you didn’t dare tell him a thing. The thought of revealing your feelings to Seonghwa filled you with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. When he asked how your tattoo appointment went, you kept your response strictly about the tattooing process, carefully avoiding any mention of the charming artist who had captured your heart.

A week had passed since your tattoo appointment, and you found yourself in a bar with your friends, trying to shake off the haze of infatuation that seemed to follow you everywhere. The Second Skin had been removed, revealing your tattoo in all its healed glory. Despite the itchy phase that had begun, you did your absolute best not to scratch or touch it, knowing how crucial this period was for the healing process. Each prickling sensation on your hip served as a reminder of Hongjoong, making it even harder to move on.

You nursed your drink in your hands, staring into the glass with sad, distracted eyes. The ambient chatter and laughter of the bar did little to lift your spirits. As your friends' conversation ebbed, they noticed your slumped shoulders and the faraway look in your eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking about him again.” One of your friends groaned.

“They can’t help that they have a crush!” Another one defended you.

You looked up at all of them. They quieted down as you opened your mouth to say something. However, you quickly shut your mouth again and went to chug your drink instead. The glass hit the table as you finished it, and you hissed at the feeling in your throat.

"Hey, you okay?" one of them asked, their voice tinged with concern.

You looked up, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Yeah, just... thinking."

"About him again?" another friend teased gently, though their eyes were sympathetic.

You sighed deeply, swirling the liquid in your glass. "I just can't get him out of my head. It's like he's everywhere I turn."

"Maybe it's a sign," one friend suggested. "Maybe you should just go back to the shop and see him again. You know, for a touch-up or something."

The idea sent a jolt of both excitement and fear through you. The thought of seeing Hongjoong again was intoxicating, but so was the fear of making a fool of yourself. "I don't know," you murmured. "I don’t want to come off as desperate."

"Desperate? No way. You’re just interested. There's nothing wrong with that," another friend chimed in. "Besides, from what you've told us, he seemed pretty interested in you too."

“Just go back to the shop and ask him out. If you won’t ask Seonghwa for help, you have to help yourself.”

Their words gave you a flicker of hope, though your insecurities quickly tried to snuff it out. "Maybe," you conceded, taking a sip of your drink.

As the night went on, you continued to ponder their advice, your mind a whirl of possibilities and anxieties. The itch of your healing tattoo was a constant reminder of the artist who had given it to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if fate was nudging you to take a chance.

A couple of days later, you were standing outside of INK’D once again. You had even dressed up for the occasion, which now felt a little pathetic. Nevertheless, you walked up to the door and pulled it open. It looked exactly as it had the last time you were there, which shouldn’t be a surprise since it hadn’t been that long. Glancing around the shop, you couldn’t find Hongjoong anywhere. Until you heard his laugh, you were starting to think that he wasn’t even there. 

Your eyes immediately followed the sound of his gentle laugh. Behind the reception, stood Hongjoong as he talked with a customer. The shop hadn’t changed, but Hongjoong certainly had. His hair was now shorter and bleach blond, he had a new eyebrow piercing that matched his other silver jewelry, and you could swear that he had gotten even more tattoos - but maybe that was just because he wore a more revealing shirt. The customer on the other side of the desk was a gorgeous woman, who looked to be just a few years older than you. Her arms were also covered in tattoos, and her hair was dyed a fiery red almost like Hongjoong had before. The two of them were leaning against the counter, talking about something that was apparently very interesting - seeing as Hongjoong’s eyes were completely transfixed on her.

You felt stupid in your cute crop top and midi-skirt, feeling the need to hide the single tattoo that you had purposefully left exposed earlier - being surrounded by people who had tattoos all over their skin somehow made you feel self-conscious of only having one, almost to the point that it would’ve felt better to have none at all. The customer paid and left. You were about to follow her out, but it was too late. Hongjoong had spotted you.

“Y/N, you’re back!” he said as you reluctantly approached the counter. “Is everything okay? Is the tattoo healing as it should?”

He looked a little worried, and it hit you that coming in unannounced like this may cause suspicion. This was the last thing you wanted. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and an anxious clump building up in the back of your throat.

“Oh, the tattoo's fine, really, it's just a little itchy right now—well, more than a little, actually—but I know that's part of the process and I'm trying my best not to scratch it, even though it's really tempting. You said it would be like this while it heals, right? So I'm not too worried, but I can't help feeling a bit anxious about it. I'm just reminding myself it's normal, and honestly, I can't wait to see how it looks once it's fully healed," you rambled but stopped as you saw Hongjoong smiling at you.

His eyes were warm and gentle, but his smile was playful. It was a cruel combination of features to put on such a kind man. Why did everything about him have to leave you speechless? Your long pause caused Hongjoong to speak up.

“Did you come in to book another appointment then, or what’s up?”

He leaned against the counter again, looking up at you with sparkling eyes. The new hair suited him, although it looked like it had gotten a little damaged. Still, he looked just as pretty as last time, and you felt your words get caught up in your throat. You couldn’t ask him out, not now or ever.

“I wanted to…” You looked over at a sign about drop-in piercings that stood on the counter, standing there like your savior. “...get a piercing.”

The words came out of you before you could process them. You had been thinking of getting another piercing soon, but you had no plans on doing it today. However, it was the only way for you to get out of the awkward position you were about to put yourself in.

“Ah, really?” Maybe it was a trick of the light, but you almost thought he looked disappointed for a second. “Well, our piercer is out for lunch at the moment, so you’d have to wait for a while- that is if you don’t mind that I do it. I’ve done piercings before, but it’s been a while.”

“I don’t mind.” You heard yourself saying. To be fair, you were only there to see him - so having him pierce you maybe wouldn’t be so bad.

So there you were. Back in Hongjoong’s room, sitting on his leather tattoo chair. This time it was lower to the ground, allowing him to get closer to your head. You had decided on another ear piercing, adding to the ones that were already there. Hongjoong had stepped out to get his coworker’s equipment, and you were left alone with your thoughts. The prickly feeling under your skin wouldn’t go away, no matter how many deep breaths you took. You had one thing to do today, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to do it. Technically, you didn’t even have the money for a piercing - the tattoo was supposed to be the thing you treated yourself with after working so much lately, so you had only budgeted for that. You were lucky that the piercings weren’t as expensive.

“Alright, this should be all that I need.” Hongjoong snatched you out of your thoughts as he slipped back into the room. 

He organized his station on the rolling table beside your chair. You watched his ringed fingers, admiring his pretty painted nails - wondering if he made the cute designs on them himself. His hands moved quickly and steadily, his eyes analyzing the different items he had brought with him. Despite saying that he hadn’t done this in a while, it certainly looked like he had. Everything about him was authentic, in a way that was both comforting and intimidating.

“Nervous?” he asked. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m just thinking,” you admitted, and he turned to you with a piqued interest. 

“Want to share what’s in that pretty little head of yours, then?” The words came out of him so naturally that it almost felt wrong that your body had such a strong reaction to them. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Work mostly,” you lied and looked down at your dangling feet as you desperately tried to find another subject to talk about. “Does this piercing hurt a lot?”

“It’ll sting,” he admits and looks up at you with that warm smile of his. “But I’ll be gentle, love.”

If Hongjoong wasn’t staring right at you, you’d clutch your chest and lean back against the chair at his words. Instead, you’re gripping the edge of the seat, and hoping that it’s not too obvious that he’s got such an effect on you. An “okay,” that sounded more like a peep than a word, came bubbling up your throat, and Hongjoong stifled a laugh at, what you could only assume was, your innate ability to make a fool out of yourself.

“I’m going to puncture the skin with this.” Hongjoong held up a needle to you. “And then I’ll push in this piercing.” He showed you a simple stud that matched the rest of the metals you were wearing. You nodded carefully, giving him a worried glance. It has been a while since your last piercing and even though you knew you had nothing to be scared of, you couldn’t help but be irrational. Hongjoong notices your nervous state and puts his hand on your knee. His palm is warm, burning through the material of your midi skirt.

“You’ve got this.” That was all he said before he stood up beside you.

His head was right by yours as he angled the needle against the ink dot he had placed on your skin earlier. You could feel his breath against your skin, his warmth radiating from his chest. This man had to secretly be a radiator with the amount of heat he was giving off. You closed your eyes as the tip of the needle made contact with your ear.

“Ready?” Hongjoong asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured back.

The needle prodded through your skin, and it stung just as he said it would. A quiet gasp flew out of you as he pierced through your ear. Hongjoong left the needle and grabbed the small stud again.

“You’re doing so good,” he mumbled as he fidgeted with the earring. “I’m almost done, love.”

You took a deep breath and Hongjoong got back to work. Before you knew it, you had a new piercing.

Your right ear was burning ever so slightly as you were making your purchase at the front desk. You found yourself frequently trying to touch your ear, and then quickly putting your hand down again at the sight of Hongjoong’s warning glare. His small talk had quieted down as you pushed in your code to complete the transaction. The lack of words exchanged only made the air feel more stuffy. When the receipt rolls out of the machine, Hongjoong quickly grabs it and hands it to you. Your hand brushes against his as you take it, and sparks are sent flying through your bloodstream. This was your last chance to ask him out…

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he said with a wink, and your words got stuck in your throat.

“Thanks!” you squeak out before turning on your heel and all but bolting out of the tattoo shop.

That night, you met up with your friends at your usual bar, sporting new earrings but still no love confession to speak of. Your friends were almost more annoyed with you than you were with yourself for the lack of action. As soon as you told them the story, they all groaned in unison, a chorus of exasperation that filled the dimly lit space.

"You've got to be kidding me," one of them said, shaking their head. "What happened this time?"

“I said ‘Thanks!’ when I left, like an idiot.” You groaned and put your head in your hands.

“What? How is that bad?”

You tried to explain, telling them how Hongjoong was just out of your league and how you didn't have the guts to ask him out. They weren't having it, though. They kept trying to hype you up, their voices a mix of encouragement and frustration. "Come on, you can't give up now!" one urged, while another complained about your tendency to chicken out.

Drinks were downed in rapid succession, the alcohol fueling your emotions. Tiny shouts of anger and regret burst from your lips every so often, punctuating the lively conversation. Each time you vented, your friends would nod sympathetically or roll their eyes, depending on how many times they'd heard the same lament.

Just as you were about to resign yourself to a night of self-pity, you saw Seonghwa walking towards your table. Your body reacted on its own, your hand shooting up to point at him. In your slightly inebriated state, your finger ended up pointing slightly past him. One of your friends quickly helped you correct your aim, turning your arm toward the startled man.

"You know Hongjoong!" you blurted out as if this was news to him.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "What happened to 'hello'? 'How was your day?' 'Was work okay?' You have to relax," he said, his tone gentle as he sat down on the chair in front of yours. "I heard that you didn’t ask him out."

You felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you. "Do you know when his next shift is?" you asked, ignoring his attempt to make small talk.

Seonghwa sighed, a mix of amusement and mild frustration. "In two days, I think... why?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I'm going back," you declared, mostly to yourself but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I won’t chicken out this time!"

Your friends erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable. "That's the spirit!" one of them exclaimed, raising their glass in a toast. "To not chicken out!"

Seonghwa smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Just be yourself," he advised, his voice kind. "Hongjoong's a good guy."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The night continued with more drinks and lively conversation, but this time, there was a spark of hope in your heart. As the evening wound down, you found yourself thinking about what you would say to Hongjoong, rehearsing possible scenarios in your mind.

When you finally left the bar, the cool night air was a welcome relief. Your friends hugged you goodbye, their encouragement ringing in your ears. "You've got this," they assured you, their support unwavering.

You regret your words as you stand in front of the tattoo shop, two days later. Nevertheless, you’re determined to do it. Partially because it was about damn time, but also because Seonghwa had relentlessly teased you about not being able to do it, and now you can’t face him ever again if you fail. You haven’t had a date in at least a year, and this was the first guy in real life you’d found remotely attractive since then. He was attractive, kind, and just your type. It was now or never—you just had to go for it. With what you hoped were confident steps, you walked up to the door and swung it open... only to find the shop empty. The sound of someone rustling around in the back rooms caught your attention.

“Hello?” you called out, walking up to the receptionist's desk.

“Just a second!” It was Hongjoong’s voice, coming from further inside the shop.

Sure enough, Hongjoong walked out of his tattoo room thirty seconds later. His hair was still a blond mess, but now he was wearing a perfectly fitted, black button-down with the sleeves rolled up. If you hadn’t been able to restrain yourself, your jaw would be on the floor. He wore a customer service smile, which faltered at the sight of you, turning into a genuine grin. He walked up to the reception with a spring in his step.

“Getting multiple things done in a week, huh?” he said, a playful look in his eyes. “Are you a masochist or something?”

The previous confidence you felt transformed into a ball of shame in your chest. You couldn’t look him in the eyes as your face grew hotter and hotter. Hongjoong noticed your freak-out and immediately went into panic mode himself.

“Oh shit—I'm sorry, I don’t know why I said that. That was too far—”

“It’s okay—”

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“I’m not offended—”

“Please don’t take this as a bad reflection of the shop, I don’t know why—”

“I came here to ask you out.”

The words flew out of you without warning, catching both you and Hongjoong off guard. They lingered in the air as the tension built up until it was thick enough to cut with a knife. The longer it took him to answer, the more anxious you were getting. With a soft, pitiful chuckle, you looked down at your shoes.

“Never mind,” you mumbled. “I’m sorry—it was stupid—”

“No, Y/N—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Don’t feel pressured to say anything, please.” You looked back up at him and gave him a polite smile. “Thank you for everything, I’ll be… I’ll leave.”

Without waiting another second to hear his response, you turned around and walked out of the shop, shame weighing down your shoulders.

For the next few days, you stayed in bed for most of the day, only going out to go to work or get groceries. You’d do anything to avoid your friends, and you were doing everything in your power to never see Hongjoong again. Have you planned on going to him for another tattoo sometime in the future? Yes, but that was out of the question now. The scene kept replaying in your head—his shocked expression and how poorly you had handled it. You couldn’t remember the last time you had made that big of a fool of yourself.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, you kept replaying every detail of that embarrassing encounter. You wondered what possessed you to blurt out your feelings like that, why you hadn’t just played it cool or at least waited for a more appropriate moment. Each time you thought about it, a fresh wave of humiliation washed over you. Your friends' encouraging words now felt like cruel jokes. Why would he ever go out with you? It was stupid to even let your friends suggest that you should go for it.

Every time your phone buzzed with a message from Seonghwa or anyone else, you felt a pang of anxiety, worried it was another reminder of your failed confession. You avoided social media, not wanting to see anything that might remind you of Hong or the tattoo shop. Even the sight of your tattoo in the mirror was enough to send you spiraling back into regret.

Days blended into each other, each one marked by a series of small, mundane tasks that you performed on autopilot. The only solace you found was in the brief moments of distraction that work could provide. Yet, even in those moments, Hongjoong’s image—his smile, his kindness, and that playful glint in his eye—kept creeping back into your mind.

Why did it have to be so difficult? You’d always been so cautious, so careful with your heart, and now this one act of bravery—or foolishness—had left you feeling more exposed and vulnerable than ever before. The fear of facing rejection again loomed large, and you couldn’t bear the thought of putting yourself through that kind of pain once more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On the seventh day, there was a knock at your apartment door. Thinking that it was the food you had ordered, you begrudgingly made your way to your door. To avoid having a stranger see the mess of a state you were in, you only opened it far enough for someone to pass the bag of food to you. A perfectly manicured hand wrapped around the side of your door and pulled it all the way open.

“Seonghwa!” Your eyes widened at the man in front of you.

“It’s been four days and you’ve declined all of our meetups,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Your bottom lip quivered. It wasn’t as if you had gone through heartbreak, or had broken up with a long-term partner, but Seonghwa always managed to get you to crack as soon as you were remotely upset. You threw your arms around him and sobbed against his chest.

“I fucked up, and he totally hates me now!” you wailed in between sobs.

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh and gently patted your back as he invited himself inside. While it was difficult to move around while still holding him, you refused to let go. Your friend stayed with you by your front door, patting your back and mumbling “there, there” every few seconds. After some time of crying, your sobs slowly dying down, there was another knock at the door.

“Food delivery!”

“Coming!” Seonghwa answered. “Go inside, okay? I’ll get that for you, and then we can sit down and talk.”

Seonghwa made himself a cup of tea while you ate your dinner. He hadn’t said anything since the delivery guy had left, and you were trying your best to ignore the tension growing from it. You could practically hear him thinking from where you sat on your couch. Seonghwa was simply watching you from the kitchen counter, where he was leaning and sipping his tea, and waiting for you to make the first move.

“I may have overreacted,” you finally said after finishing your plate. “But I don’t think I’ll ever see him again- just out of embarrassment, really.”

“So you asked him out and he said no?” Seonghwa approached the couch and sat down next to you.

“Well, not really…” You looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not going to tell him we talked, right? I know you’re friends, he told me.”

“I know he told you.” He sighed and put down his cup on your coffee table. “And no, I won’t tell him anything. I’m your friend too, you know?”

“How can I be so sure when you didn’t even tell me that you have a tattoo?” you argued playfully. “How have you hidden a back tattoo from everyone?”

“Don’t change the subject,” he warned. “What happened? Did he say no?”

“Hasn’t he told you already?”

“I haven’t seen him since last week.”

“Oh…” You fidgeted with your fingers and took a deep breath before continuing. “I walked in there, got nervous, and blurted it out like an idiot. He looked so shocked that I just walked out…”

“You didn’t even let him answer?” Seonghwa exclaimed.

You put your head in your hands with a big groan. Falling on your side, you put your head on your friend’s lap - silently asking him to pat your back again. Seonghwa put a hand on your shoulder, while the other played with your hair. You wanted so desperately to know his secrets to have his shit together, but you knew that he’d never tell you — instead, he’d just tell you that you’ll “figure it out.” Whatever that means.

“I just wanted to spare him from having to let me down,” you explained. “It was written all over his face.”

“Y/N, you wouldn’t know what that guy was thinking even if it actually was written on his face,” Seonghwa answered with another sigh. “I can talk to him for you if you want to.”

“You’re not my mom,” you said, “And he’s not my middle school bully.”

“No, you’re right, I’m your mutual friend who could settle this miscommunication…”

You sat back up, facing away from Seonghwa. Rationally, you knew that he was right and that you probably should try to smooth things over. However, you didn’t want to make it worse by not being able to do it yourself. 

“I’m fine, I promise,” you muttered.

“Okay…” He stood up and walked over to your door. “Then you’re coming out with me tomorrow. At our usual place, around eight, okay? Dress up cute, you deserve to feel luxurious.”

“Fine.”

At eight PM the next day, you’re standing outside the bar where you’d promise Seonghwa you’d meet him. To make yourself feel better, you dressed up for the occasion - wearing the items in your closet that you never got a chance to wear otherwise. The cold crept in as the evening turned darker, and you were starting to regret your pretty but short dress. Lucky for you, you saw your friend walking up the street with long steps - it doesn’t take long for him to get to you.

“Sorry, I’m late- work, you know?” He immediately grabbed your arm and led you through the doors to the bar. “You look great.”

“Thank you?” You’re not sure he heard you as he pulled you through the loud crowd to your usual table in the corner, where someone was already sitting.

Your mouth fell open as you saw who was sitting in your usual seat. Hongjoong was looking right at you, just as shocked as he was the last time you saw him. His hair was still blond, mostly hidden under a beat-up, black cap that looked like he had decorated it himself—no manufactured cap could look so creative and authentically him. He stood up to greet Seonghwa, but his eyes never left yours. You couldn't tell if he was checking you out or questioning his decision to come here. You couldn't help but check him out; he was dressed more casually than you but still somehow outdressed you. The sleeves of his black hoodie were pushed up, revealing tattoos that curled up his forearms, and his jeans were artfully distressed. Seonghwa all but forced you to sit down on the couch seat next to Hongjoong.

"I'll get us drinks!" Seonghwa shouted as he walked back into the crowd.

You hadn't had time to process what was happening, but as Seonghwa left, you were filled with embarrassment and pure rage—the latter almost overpowering the former. Almost.

"Hi," Hongjoong said, his voice a familiar blend of calm and curiosity.

He was sitting close enough to talk normally, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, just like when he had given you that piercing—a constant reminder of your embarrassment. Only a truly cruel creature would curse you with an uncomfortable new hole in your ear that you had to ever so carefully take care of, which, on top of everything, made you think about Hongjoong. However, considering that you had just been freezing, you welcomed his warmth, to the point where you had to keep yourself from leaning closer to him. His scent, a mix of cedarwood and something distinctly him was both comforting and disarming.

"Hi," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Before either of you could speak any further, Seonghwa came back with two bottles of soju and two small glasses. He put them down in front of you, giving you both a look that could only be described as a parent telling their kids to make up after a fight.

"Talk." He pushed the bottles toward the two of you and took a few steps away from the table. "I'm not going to be your messenger."

"Wait, where are you going?" you asked, a hint of panic in your voice.

"Home! To my cat!" He smiled and waved before disappearing into the crowd.

Hongjoong leaned back in his seat with a scoff, making you look over at him. His head was leaning back against the wall, and his eyes were shut tight as if trying to find some inner peace. Suddenly, he sat back up and picked up one of the bottles. As he opened a bottle of soju, he motioned for you to pick up one of the glasses. You did as he asked, and he poured you a shot, the liquid shimmering in the dim light of the room.

“Might as well, right?” he said.

“Right…” You nodded and put the glass to your lips.

“You look pretty.” His words made you choke on the liquid as it came down your throat.

Hongjoong apologized profusely as he patted your back while you coughed. You looked up at him with teary eyes, and the worried look in his eye changed to his usual playful look. The two of you broke out in laughter, the tension finally releasing you from its grasp.

“Off to a good start,” you said and picked up the bottle to offer to pour him a shot.

He accepted the drink, and the two of you took a shot together. Hongjoong’s knee was grazing against yours and, despite the burning sensation, you refused to remove it. As he put down his empty glass, he turned to you.

“I’m sorry about before,” he said, “I was going to say something- you just surprised me.”

“Please, it’s not your fault… I shouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.” You sighed as you poured yourself another drink. “I should know better than to assume your good customer service was flirting.”

“But I was flirting.”

You whipped your head to face him again. He was so casual about it, taking another drink before meeting your gaze. Hongjoong smiled as if he hadn’t just said what he had said, and you felt an overwhelming urge to disappear for at least a few months. The nonchalance in his expression, combined with the casual lift of his glass, made you feel like the ground had shifted beneath you.

“You were flirting?” you asked and looked down at your hands. “So I was overreacting this entire time?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly handle it great,” he countered. “I think you had every right to be upset by my reaction- even if it would’ve been nice if you had stayed to hear my answer first.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down to try to meet your lowered gaze. “We’re here now, right?”

You looked up at him, and he gave you a lopsided grin that you couldn’t help but return. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe you were just feeling butterflies in your stomach, nevertheless, your skin was tingling all over.

“Even if it was orchestrated by our friend,” you added.

“Yeah… can’t say that I hate him for it, though.” He turned to pour himself another drink, but you could see his shy smile.

“So?” you said, suddenly more confident as you leaned in a little closer to him.

“What?” He looked back at you, his nose inches away from yours.

“Would you go out on a date with me?”

“Sure. Wanna go now?”

That’s how you end up walking beside Hongjoong to a small restaurant that he had looked up just a few minutes earlier. It was close to the bar, but you were already freezing after just a few minutes. You glanced at the jacket hanging over Hongjoong’s arm - it felt a little cliché of him to have a leather jacket, but you suppose it’s part of his charm - and pray that he can sense that you’re freezing.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked.

“Not really,” he replied. “Are you?”

“A little,” you mumbled.

He picked up his jacket from his arm, and got your hopes up, only to put it down on the other arm - the one furthest away from you. Your brows furrowed slightly but before your brain could start spinning ideas, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He had given you a taste of his warmth before, but now it overflowed in you. You kept your eyes on your feet as you kept walking, and Hongjoong bent down to try to find your gaze.

“Warm?” he asked.

“Why’d you…” You couldn’t find any words, too engrossed in his embrace.

“What? Did you want my jacket?” He finally got you to look at him, and flashed you a teasing grin. “Cute.”

He must have been a little tipsy — as evident by the pink glow on his cheeks — because, while he had been confident before, you had never seen him so comfortable being a flirt like he was right now. Hongjoong let go of you and took his jacket to wrap around your shoulders. The jacket was heavy and his scent lingered on it, it was a constant reminder of what his hold would feel like. A while ago, you would’ve never believed that you’d be in this position - now that you were, it was almost overwhelming.

“The restaurant’s over there!” Hongjoong grabbed your hand and led the way, completely unaware of the effect he had on you. “Let’s go!”

“Favorite color?”

“Red and yellow.”

“Really? Not black?”

“I like colors, too.”

You hummed and picked up another fry. The restaurant Hongjoong had found was a cute 50s-themed diner - the kind with big milkshakes and long, plastic menus. It was late, and this had been the only thing open that you didn’t need a reservation for. The milkshake you shared was almost gone, and the fries were half-eaten and getting cold. Both of you stuck out in your colorful booth - you for being so dressed up, and Hongjoong for being dressed in all black. It wasn’t the kind of date you’d brag to your friends about, but you were still having a good time. 

“What is your…” Hongjoong leaned back and paused to think of his next question. “... favorite ice cream flavor?”

The two of you had been going back and forth, asking each other banal questions to get to know each other better - getting through the questions quickly “to make up for lost time,” as Hongjoong had put it.

“Hm… that’s hard,” you muttered. “I do like mint-choco–”

“No…” Hongjoong groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in disappointment. “You’re seriously into chocolate and toothpaste?”

“It doesn’t taste like toothpaste!” You giggled. “You can’t judge me, you like minions.”

“They’re cute!”

“They’re horrible!” you countered. 

“Maybe you just have bad taste.” Hongjoong ate another fry before meeting your eyes again, slightly more serious. “Except for tattoos, I think your design was really sick.”

You leaned against the table, the plastic sticking to your warm skin - just a few seconds ago you had been freezing, but now you could practically be the heat source for your entire apartment complex. 

“It’s all you,” you said earnestly. “You really brought it to life.”

He leaned against the table with his forearms as well, his hand getting closer and closer to yours but his eyes never looked away from your face.

“If you keep complimenting me like that, I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to seduce me.” His middle finger reached yours, and you swore you could feel sparks coming from where they met.

Maybe it’s the lighting, but you swear that his brown eyes go on forever. The lighting can’t make everything else disappear, though - that was just him. Hongjoong’s hand inched closer until it covered the back of your hand. The intricate tattoos on his hand were faded, but it made it seem more genuine. This feeling was dangerous, you knew that - but can’t you allow yourself one night of indulgence? As you were about to reply, the waitress came up to your table.

“Is everything alright over here?” she asked with a classic customer service tone, but her tapping foot told a different story from her bright smile.

“Yeah, thank you.” You sat back in your seat, pulling your hand with you and onto your lap - you could no longer look Hongjoong in the eye, not now when the spell was interrupted.

“Alright, just checking in,” the waitress continued. “Just to let you know, we close in about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we were about to leave now anyway,” Hongjoong answered and stood up from his seat and put enough cash on the table to cover the cost of the food and a tip. “Can I walk you home, Y/N?”

You looked up at him as he held his hand out to you. With little to no hesitation, you grabbed the leather jacket by your side and took his hand. The two of you said goodbye to the waitress and thanked her, before quickly leaving the establishment.

Hongjoong walked you home, the two of you talking all the way to your apartment. You asked him about his practice, and he asked you about your plans for the future once you had told him you didn’t want to continue being a barista. His jacket was wrapped around your shoulders again, but now his hand was in yours - keeping you more than warm. The streetlights were illuminating your path toward your apartment complex, and you could already see the building in the distance. A sudden urge to slow your steps down struck you then - a need to slow time to make his presence last. Maybe it was his warmth or the way he laughed at every silly joke you said, but you couldn’t help but want to spend more time with him. You’re so lost in your world, that you don’t even realize that Hongjoong has quieted down - or that he’s staring at you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just tired,” you answered, almost too quickly.

“It’s late.” He nodded. “Where’s your place?”

“Just up ahead.” You pointed to your building and let your arm fall to your side again. “You don’t have to walk me all the way if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” He shrugged. “I liked spending time with you tonight.”

While his eyes were fixated on the building not too far from you, you took the time to study his profile. Enamored with the sharp lines of his face — his nose, his jaw, his cheekbones — you found yourself wanting to look at him for just a little bit longer; as if you had wasted so much time by looking away out of shyness. Before you knew it, you arrived at the door to your apartment complex and Hongjoong stopped walking.

“I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he promised as he turned to you with a boyish smile.

You almost wanted to ask him to come up to your place, but decided it would be too forward for a first date. If he had been anyone else you might’ve invited him up, but Hongjoong was the type of person you wanted to savor. 

“Goodnight, then,” you said with a smile and started walking to the door.

“I’m glad that Seonghwa made me come out tonight,” he added quickly and you turned back to him. “Really glad.”

Within a few steps, you were right next to him again. Leaning towards him, you pressed a kiss on his cheek. He took your jaw in your hands, bringing you closer for a real kiss. It was short and chased, but you could feel the effort it took for him to break the kiss as the air around you became thick. 

“I’m glad, too,” you murmured. 

“Goodnight, then,” he mimicked you.

“Goodnight.” You gave him a last smile before turning around and walking into your apartment building.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few days passed before you saw Hongjoong again. During that time, you couldn't stop talking your friends' ears off about him—every conversation seemed to circle back to his smile, his style, and the way he made you feel. Your friends, exasperated yet amused, repeatedly urged you to ask him out on another date already. The only problem was that you still hadn’t gotten his number. Despite this, luck seemed to be on your side. 

The late shift had been brutal. You were exhausted, every muscle in your body ached, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed. The chaos of the day had left the place in disarray, and cleaning up had taken what little energy you had left. As you dragged your feet towards the exit, you heard your name being called out.

You turned, slightly puzzled, to see Hongjoong standing beside a sleek red motorbike. You blinked in surprise, not having expected him to be the type to ride a motorcycle. The sight was jarring at first, but then you realized it actually fit perfectly with his whole aesthetic—edgy, confident, and effortlessly cool. His face lit up with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. You hadn't seen him in a while, and the sight of him brought a rush of mixed emotions.

"Hey! Need a ride home?" he called out, holding up a spare helmet.

“How did you know my shift ended now?” you questioned with an incredulous smile.

“I asked Seonghwa,” he explained with a shrug. “Thought, since I hadn’t seen you in a while, I’d offer you a lift.”

“You did?” You felt your face grow warm as he walked over to you. “That’s very sweet of you…”

“So can I?” he asked.

You had no clue what he was talking about, as you were too distracted by everything about him. Now that he had come a little closer, you could smell the faint scent of his intoxicating perfume. An urge to wrap your arms around him hit you then, and you had to press your nails into your palms to stop yourself.

“Can you what?” You looked up at him with big eyes.

“Drive you home?” He let out a small laugh that had your heart beating a mile per minute.

You blinked, processing the offer. "Uh, sure," you replied, your voice wavering with nerves and excitement.

Hongjoong's grin widened. "Great! Hop on."

Hongjoong walked back to the bike, got you a helmet, and helped you put it on. With shaky hands, you took the helmet and fastened it on, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach. Climbing onto the bike behind him, you hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist. The engine roared to life, and you clung to him tightly as the bike sped off into the night.

The ride was a whirlwind of sensations. The cool evening air rushed past, the roar of the engine vibrated through you, and the warmth of Hongjoong's body against yours provided a strange comfort. Fear and exhilaration mingled as you held on, your heart pounding not just from the speed, but from the closeness to him.

When he finally pulled up in front of your place, you reluctantly let go and removed the helmet, your hair slightly tousled. Hongjoong turned to you with that infectious smile. He got off after you and walked you to the door of your apartment complex.

"Safe and sound," he said as you arrived at the door. "Hope the ride wasn’t too scary."

You shook your head, unable to suppress a grin. "No, it was... amazing. Thanks for the ride home, Hongjoong."

"Anytime," he replied, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. "Get some rest.”

It was a sure goodbye, but neither of you moved. You kept your eyes on him, and you couldn’t shake the building anticipation in your chest. A realization that you still didn’t have his number hit you—your eyes widened and you let out a soft gasp. Hongjoong raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, as he watched you rummage around your bag. Finally, you pulled out your phone.

“I don’t have your number!” you exclaimed.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Hongjoong chuckled and took your phone in his hand.

The screen showed a new contact, and he typed his information into the small boxes. It only took a few seconds before he was done, and he handed you back the phone. “Tattoo guy,” it said in the box where his name should be.

“Tattoo guy?” You snorted. “Is that how you think I see you?”

“Okay wait, give it back. I’ll fix it.” Hongjoong chuckled and held out his hand.

You put the phone back in his hand, and he quickly typed something new in the name box. When you got your phone back it now said “Cute tattoo guy” instead. You smiled at the phone and looked back up at him.

“I’ll accept it.” You nodded.

“Good,” he said and paused to look at you. “I really want to kiss you again… is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

Hongjoong leaned down, capturing your lips with his for a chaste kiss that left you wanting more. Yet again, he didn’t give you more—but he smiled knowingly when he noticed how you chased after his lips. 

“Call me?" he asked.

"Definitely," you nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at the prospect.

As you watched him ride off into the night, you couldn't help but feel a spark of something new and exciting igniting within you. The exhaustion of the shift faded away, replaced by a thrill.

After getting up to your apartment and getting ready for bed, you called him. You weren’t sure if he had meant “call me as soon as you can” when he had asked you to call him, but you didn’t know when else to call. Your heartbeat quickened with each ring before he eventually answered.

“Hello?”

You heard someone shushing other people in the background—maybe you were hallucinating, or it really sounded like Seonghwa. 

“Hongjoong?” you asked.

“Hi, sweetheart!” You heard him shuffle to get up, the murmurs continued before you heard a door open and shut—the wind was now the only background noise.

“Am I interrupting something?” you mumbled.

“Not at all, I’m just with a few friends,” he explained. “I was going to step out for a smoke anyway, they’ll just have to deal with my absence for a bit.”

You heard the sound of a pack of cigarettes opening and a lighter being lit. With the nerves slowly disappearing, you lay down on your back on your bed.

“You smoke?” you asked.

“Is that a turn-off?” he answered with a question. “I’ll stop if it is.”

“No, it’s fine.” You giggled and turned over on your stomach. “I’ve just never smelt any smoke on you before.”

“I don’t smoke that much. I’m trying to quit,” he admitted. “... just not very hard.”

The sound of him taking another drag from the cigarette echoed through the phone, and you let out another small laugh. You felt like you were in high school again, your feet kicking in the air in a slow rhythm.

“Is there a special reason you called tonight, or do you just miss me, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Ah, well… you said to call you and I wasn’t sure when I was supposed to…” you mumbled.

“You’re cute.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad you called, actually. I wanted to ask you out on another date.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat as you listened to Hongjoong's voice on the other end of the line. You fumbled around on your bed until you sat up, trying to calm your nerves. Even though he couldn't see you, you quickly fixed your now messed-up hair, wanting to feel more presentable. His laugh echoed through the phone, and you found yourself smiling, but your hands still shook a little. Talking to him made your heart race, and you couldn't help but imagine him right there with you.

“When?” you asked.

“I have a late appointment tomorrow,” he admitted. “But how about the day after that?”

“I could do that–” You hesitated and thought of your work schedule. “I have a shift until the afternoon, but I could meet you after.”

“Sounds great, I’ll pick you up after your shift. Just text me what time it ends and I’ll be there.” The sound of the door opening and the chatter from inside poured through the phone. Someone asked Hongjoong something and he told them to wait a minute. “Sorry, sweetheart, I have to hang up… text me later, okay?”

“I will,” you hummed. “Goodnight, Hongjoong.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said melodically. 

You hung up with a big grin on your face. The only issue now was how you could ever fall asleep tonight.

The day of your date finally arrives. You finish your shift and eagerly text him the time you’ll be off your shift. True to his word, you spot him waiting for you outside your workplace on his sleek black motorbike, a charming smile lighting up his face as you approach.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you warmly, swinging off the bike to offer you a helmet. “Ready for a little adventure?”

You grin, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of riding with him. “Absolutely!”

You hop on behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he starts the engine with a low rumble. The ride to the rooftop bar is exhilarating, the wind tousling your hair and the city passing by in a blur of lights. Hongjoong navigates effortlessly through the traffic, occasionally glancing back to check if you’re comfortable.

Arriving at the rooftop bar, you dismount gracefully, a thrill still lingering from the ride. Hongjoong leads you inside through a discreet entrance, where soft, ambient lighting and the distant hum of conversation immediately set a sophisticated and intimate mood. It’s a casual bar, making your nerves about being underdressed disappear. The bar is adorned with modern decor, plush seating, and a breathtaking view of the city skyline twinkling in the distance.

“This place looks amazing,” you comment, taking in the cozy atmosphere as you settle into your seat at a secluded table.

“I thought you might like it,” Hongjoong replies with a grin.

A waiter walks up and talks to Hongjoong like they’re old friends. He introduces himself to you as Yunho and offers the two of you free first drinks. While Hongjoong tries to decline, Yunho is adamant that he wants to leave a good impression on the person who’s had Hongjoong so distracted lately. With that teasing remark, Hongjoong lets up. Yunho leaves with a wink to you, telling you that he’ll be back with drinks soon.

“I thought he’d be normal about this,” Hongjoond admitted with a sigh. “Sorry…”

“I think he’s nice,” you said and looked over at him with a sly smile. “... I distract you?”

“No– well, yes, but…” You’ve never seen Hongjoong stumble over his words like this before, it’s a sight you could get used to. “I was at Yunho’s place when you called the other day. They haven’t stopped teasing me about it since.”

“I’m sorry,” you said with a not-so-sorry smile but decided to change the subject to be lenient on him. “How do you know each other?”

“He’s in a band I’ve written a few songs for,” he explained. “I’ll take you to one of their gigs sometime if you want.”

“That sounds fun.” You stare at him quizzically. “You just keep revealing new secrets to me, I’m wondering what else you’re hiding.”

“What?”

“It’s just that… there’s so much I don’t know about you, and everything new I learn surprises me.” 

You fidget with one of the napkins on the table. Hongjoong puts one of his hands on top of yours, finding his way to hold your hand. When you looked up at him, he was smiling—a smile that was more like a hug, comforting and soothing.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he said. “Soon it won’t be very surprising.”

“I’ll be honest… I don’t know how you could possibly top being a smoking, bike-riding, song-writer.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

Before he can answer, Yunho comes back with the drinks. As you sipped your cocktails, conversation flowed effortlessly between you. You talked about music, discovering Hongjoong’s unique taste, and deep knowledge of various genres. The live band started playing soft, soulful tunes, their melodies blending seamlessly with the murmurs of other patrons.

At one point, Hongjoong leans closer, his voice softening. “I’m really glad we could do this,” he says, his eyes locked on yours. “You look beautiful tonight.”

You blushed at his compliment, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thank you,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze with a smile.

The night continued with laughter and meaningful conversation. Hongjoong suggested taking a walk along the rooftop’s edge, where you can feel the cool night breeze and admire the city lights below. You strolled hand in hand, the soft glow of the moon overhead adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

As the evening winds down, Hongjoong leads you back to his bike, helmet in hand. He helped you put it on with a gentle touch, the closeness making your heart race with anticipation. The ride home was quick, and Hongjoong drove carefully—although he only had one drink many hours ago, he told you that he didn’t want to risk it.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said softly, overwhelmed with gratitude for the wonderful evening.

“It was my pleasure,” Hongjoong replied warmly, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Can we do this again soon?”

You nodded eagerly, already looking forward to the next adventure with him.

“I’ll text you,” he promised, leaning in to give you a tender kiss on the cheek before you parted ways.

You watched him ride off into the night again, a contented smile on your face. This night, filled with exhilarating moments, heartfelt conversations, and a touch of romance, has left you certain of one thing—Hongjoong is someone special.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The following week, you decided to surprise Hongjoong with lunch. He had mentioned offhandedly that he often didn’t have time to grab something to eat between appointments, and you figured a little gesture of kindness would brighten his day—and give you a reason to see him again. You had the morning shift, and at the end of it, you made the lunch of any leftovers that your boss wouldn’t notice if it went missing. As soon as the clock struck twelve, and your shift was over, you headed out.

As you approached the studio, you saw Hongjoong through the window, chatting with a customer. Your heart sank when you realized it was the same person he had been talking to the last time you were here. She was as gorgeous and intimidating as the first time you had seen her. They were laughing, and the way she leaned in closely sent a pang of jealousy through you.

You hesitated at the door, debating whether to turn around and leave. Just as you were about to retreat, Hongjoong glanced up and his eyes met yours. His face lit up with that familiar, infectious smile, and he immediately bounced over to the door, leaving the customer mid-sentence.

"Y/N! What brings you here?" he asked, genuinely pleased to see you.

You held up the lunch bag, trying to keep your tone casual. "I brought you lunch. You mentioned you didn’t have much time to get food, so I thought I’d help out."

Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with delight. "That’s so sweet of you."

He took the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. The customer, now standing awkwardly by the counter, cleared her throat and gave a half-hearted smile before leaving the studio with a curt goodbye.

Hongjoong didn’t seem to notice the customer's departure or the slightly annoyed look on her face. Instead, he turned his full attention to you, completely oblivious to the fact that she had been flirting with him just moments before. Your eyes met his again after watching her leave.

"Was that jealousy I saw on your face just now?" he teased, raising an eyebrow playfully. "You looked like you were ready to storm out."

You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly shook your head. "No, I just... didn’t want to interrupt."

Hongjoong chuckled warmly, his laughter putting you at ease. "Well, I’m glad you did. This looks delicious." He peeked into the bag and smiled appreciatively. "Seriously, thank you."

You shrugged modestly, attempting to hide your nervousness. "It’s nothing. Just thought you could use a good meal."

His expression softened as he stepped closer. "It means a lot. Really. I’ll make sure to savor every bite."

His sincerity touched you deeply, and a warm feeling spread through your chest. "I’m glad," you managed to say, feeling a surge of happiness at his genuine appreciation.

Hongjoong leaned in slightly, his voice softer now. "You always seem to know how to make my day better," he confessed, his gaze earnest.

A flutter of butterflies danced in your stomach at his words. "I’m just happy to help," you replied softly, meeting his eyes with a smile.

He nodded, his smile widening. "Well, I’m grateful for it. And I owe you one."

Before you could respond, he reached out and gently squeezed your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. The simple gesture sent a rush of warmth through you, leaving you both comforted and excited for what might come next.

"I'd love for you to stay," Hongjoong said earnestly, his eyes reflecting a mix of sincerity and hope.

You hesitated, feeling a flutter of nerves despite the warmth his presence brought. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude..."

Hongjoong shook his head, his smile reassuring. "You wouldn't be intruding at all. I enjoy your company, and I'd love to share this lunch with you."

His sincerity melted away your reservations. "Okay then," you replied softly, smiling back at him.

He led you to a cozy corner of his office where he had already set out the lunch you had brought. You settled into chairs nearby, the familiar buzz of the studio outside muffled by the closed door.

As you both ate, the conversation flowed easily between you. You talked about his latest projects, your shared love for certain bands, and plans for the upcoming weekend. Hongjoong's passion for music shone through as he animatedly described his friend’s upcoming gig.

"You should come," he suggested, his eyes lighting up. "It’s going to be a great show, and I’d love for you to be there."

You considered it for a moment, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought of experiencing another part of Hongjoong’s world. "I'd love to come," you replied warmly. "It sounds like a lot of fun."

His smile widened, a mixture of happiness and anticipation. "Great! I’ll send you the details later. My friends will love you, I’m sure."

As lunch drew to a close, you found yourself reluctant to leave. The afternoon had been unexpectedly intimate and comforting, deepening the bond between you and Hongjoong. You were beginning to see glimpses of how well you fit together, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

"I should probably get going," you said, glancing at the time.

Hongjoong nodded, but his eyes held a hint of reluctance. "I understand. Thanks for staying. I always enjoy your company."

You smiled warmly. "Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time."

Walking out of the tattoo shop, you couldn’t help but replay the moments spent with Hongjoong in your mind. Each interaction seemed to reinforce the connection between you, leaving you eager for more shared experiences and conversations. As promised, Hongjoong texted you later with the details of his friend's gig. You replied with enthusiasm, already looking forward to the weekend and the chance to see him again. 

Your heart raced with excitement and a touch of nervousness as you meticulously prepared for your next date with Hongjoong. After several wardrobe changes and a quick touch-up of makeup, you settled on your favorite outfit: a soft, flowy blouse paired with well-fitted jeans. The blouse, a delicate shade of lavender, complemented your complexion, while the jeans, perfectly worn-in, exuded a laid-back vibe. You added a few subtle accessories—a dainty necklace that caught the light just so, and a pair of earrings that added a touch of sparkle.

The anticipation bubbled within you as you imagined the evening ahead. It wasn't just about the outing itself but the chance to see Hongjoong in his element, surrounded by the music and energy that fueled his passion. You wondered what surprises the night might hold, eager to share more moments together and deepen the connection that had been growing steadily between you.

With a final check of your phone for any messages from Hongjoong, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door. Each step carried a mixture of excitement and anticipation, knowing that tonight would be another chapter in your unfolding story with Hongjoong—a story that seemed to promise more laughter, heartfelt conversations, and perhaps even a hint of romance.

When you arrived at the venue, the place was already buzzing with energy. The dim, moody lighting and the low hum of the crowd set the perfect atmosphere for a night of live music. Hongjoong had invited you to his friend's gig, and as you stepped inside, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between your outfit and the attire of the other attendees. The room was filled with people dressed in sleek black attire—leather jackets, ripped jeans, and boots. Hongjoong fit right in.

For a moment, self-consciousness crept in as you wondered if you had misjudged the dress code. However, Hongjoong's wide smile and warm hug dispelled any lingering doubts.

"I’m so glad you came," he said, taking your hand. 

You returned his hug, feeling reassured by his warmth. "Wouldn't miss it," you replied with a smile, trying to shake off your initial uncertainty about your outfit choice.

Hongjoong glanced at your outfit, a playful glint in his eyes. "You look amazing," he said sincerely, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I love the pop of color—it stands out in the best way."

His compliment eased your nerves, and you found yourself relaxing in the vibrant atmosphere of the venue. As Hongjoong's friend took the stage, you settled in beside him, enjoying the electrifying energy of the crowd and the raw passion in the music.

As the concert started, the venue's atmosphere crackled with energy. Jongho, the charismatic singer; Mingi and San, the energetic guitarists; Yunho, the cool and composed bassist; and Yeosang, the talented drummer took their positions on stage. Wooyoung, who, despite not seemingly being a part of the band, was just backstage as Hongjoong pointed out to you. If only Seonghwa were here, the entire group would be together—and you were starting to notice why they were so close.

They launched into their first song, filling the air with pulsating rhythms and electrifying melodies. Not only was their music and stage presence impressive, their chemistry with each other was undeniable. The crowd around you danced and cheered, fully immersed in the music and the infectious excitement of the performance.

You stood beside Hongjoong, initially captivated by his enthusiasm and the way he effortlessly moved to the beat. However, as the concert progressed and the crowd grew more animated, you found yourself momentarily separated from him in the sea of bodies. Panic gripped your chest as you scanned the area, searching for his familiar figure amidst the shifting shadows and flashes of colored lights.

The dim lighting and the swirling mass of people seemed to conspire against you, making it difficult to pinpoint his location. Voices merged into a distant roar, blending with the thumping bass and reverberating guitar riffs. You pushed through the crowd, calling out his name in a mix of urgency and concern, your heart pounding in your ears.

Just as your anxiety peaked, a flash of bleach-blonde hair caught your eye in the crowd ahead. Relief flooded through you like a tidal wave as you hurried towards him. Hongjoong turned at the sound of your voice, his face breaking into a wide smile when he saw you approaching.

"Hey! There you are," he exclaimed over the music, reaching out to take you by your waist and pull you in closer.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension drain from your body. "I was looking everywhere for you," you admitted, relieved beyond words to have found him safe and sound.

He chuckled, his eyes bright with amusement and affection. "Sorry about that. Got caught up in the music." He leaned in and spoke softly in your ear.

You couldn't help but smile back, the rush of emotions settling into a warm glow of contentment. "It's okay," you replied. "I'm just glad I found you."

He took your hand again, and this time, he didn’t let go. You moved through the crowd together, finding a spot near the stage where you had a great view of the performance. The band was fantastic, and you quickly realized why Hongjoong was so proud of his friends. Together, you leaned into each other, enjoying the rest of the concert side by side. The music continued to pulse through the air, weaving a tapestry of melodies that seemed to resonate with the newfound closeness between you.

After the set, he led you backstage—an area littered with dirty towels, instruments, gear, and a few empty beer bottles—a grin spreading across his face as he introduced you to everyone. "Guys, this is the person I’ve been telling you about."

They greeted you warmly, but it wasn’t long before the teasing began. Jongho was the first to speak up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, you’re the one who’s got Hongjoong all smitten?"

Mingi chuckled, nudging San. "Yeah, you don’t look like his usual type at all."

San nodded a playful smirk on his face. "Looks like our boy Hongjoong has developed a bit of a corruption kink, huh?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you glanced at Hongjoong, who was trying to suppress a laugh. "Guys, come on," he said, shaking his head. "Don’t scare them off."

Yeosang joined in, trying to make up for the others’ drunken comments. "We’re just surprised. You look so sweet and innocent compared to his usual taste."

You felt a mix of emotions—embarrassment, amusement, and a strange sort of pride. Despite the teasing, it was clear they cared about Hongjoong and were curious about you. Hongjoong wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

"Don’t mind them," he whispered in your ear. "They can be jerks when they’re drunk."

You smiled up at him, feeling more at ease. "It’s okay. I can handle it."

Wooyoung clapped his hands together, grinning. "Alright, enough teasing. Let’s get to the after-party!"

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, music, and good company. Hongjoong stayed by your side, making sure you felt included and comfortable. As the night drew to a close, you realized how much you enjoyed being a part of his world and seeing him in his element.

When it was time to leave, Hongjoong walked you to the front door, his arm wrapped protectively around you. "Thanks for coming tonight," he said softly.

You smiled, leaning into him. "I had a great time. I like your friends."

He chuckled. "Yeah, they’re a handful, but they’re the best." You stood there for a moment, the night air cool and crisp around you. You wanted to say something else, to question what his friends had said earlier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Hongjoong drove you home, the hum of the engine and the cool night air doing little to ease the swirling thoughts in your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Hongjoong’s friends had said. The teasing comments replayed in your head, making you wonder if you really were out of place in his life.

When he pulled up in front of your apartment, you hesitated before speaking. "Hongjoong, would you mind coming inside for a bit?"

He looked at you, concern etched on his face. "Of course. Let’s go."

He parked his motorbike and followed you inside the apartment complex for the first time. You led him up to your apartment, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation. As you opened the door and stepped inside, you suddenly felt self-conscious about the cute decor—soft pastel colors, plush cushions, and delicate trinkets that filled the space. It was a stark contrast to the edgy vibe Hongjoong and his friends exuded—the very reason you were feeling so self-conscious.

He took in the surroundings with a smile. "Your place is really nice. It suits you."

You blushed, fidgeting slightly. "Thanks. I just... I know it’s not exactly your style."

Hongjoong stepped closer, his expression was serious yet gentle. "This isn’t about what the guys said, right? I think it’s great. It’s you."

You looked down, feeling a little better but still needing answers. "Well... they made me feel… Am I not your type?"

He sighed, running a hand through his bleached hair. "They were just messing around. I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable– it’s just that, they know me. They know how I was before you. In the past… I wasn’t always the nicest guy when it came to relationships."

You looked at him, curiosity and concern mixing in your gaze. "What do you mean?"

Hongjoong took a deep breath, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. "I dated a lot, but I never really cared about anyone, I guess? It was all just fun and games to me.” He took a deep breath and looked at you with an overwhelming sense of worry. “But with you, it’s different. You’re different. I don’t want to mess this up."

You couldn’t help yourself, you had to ask. "Is that why you haven’t... you know... tried anything with me yet?"

He opened and closed his mouth again, unprepared for the question. "I just don’t want to scare you off. I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with."

“Why would you scare me off?” you asked.

Hongjoong’s face turned red, and he looked down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly. His usual confident demeanor seemed to vanish, replaced by a shy vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. The blush creeping up his neck and the way he bit his lower lip were both endearing and unexpected, revealing a side of him you hadn't seen before. The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken emotions.

Hongjoong took a deep breath, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "I'm a bit more... adventurous in bed than most… God, I can’t even explain it." He groaned and shut his eyes tight.

You blinked, processing his words. The vulnerability in his eyes confessed secrets to you that you hadn’t seen before, a part of him he had kept hidden. "You mean, like... more adventurous how?"

He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "I like trying new things, pushing boundaries… I have certain… kinks. I understand if that’s not what you want– I think that’s what the boys were getting at, that you just don’t… you don’t look like the type to enjoy that, which is completely fine and–"

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, and Hongjoong’s rambling quieted down. "I appreciate you being honest with me. I want to understand you better, and… I’m willing to try some things."

His eyes softened. "Are you sure? You’re not just saying that, right? Because if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine– the last thing I want to do is to make you uncomfortable."

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I trust you… just go slow? Please?"

Hongjoong pulled you into a gentle hug, holding you close. "We’ll take it slow, I promise."

As you stood there in his arms, the worries and doubts from earlier began to fade away. Your arms wrapped around his torso, and you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. From the way he was acting now, you couldn’t picture him being as rough as he seemed to be alluding to. Excitement bubbled up in your stomach, surprising yourself.

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Hongjoong cupped your face gently with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. The warmth of his touch made your heart race.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. "Yes."

He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to back out if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You tilted your head up to meet him halfway, your lips finally touching his. The kiss started out tender and tentative as if he was afraid of breaking the moment. His lips were soft and warm, and you melted into him, feeling the world around you disappear.

As the kiss deepened, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own. The passion between you grew, the kiss becoming more urgent and fervent. His other hand slid down to your waist, holding you tightly against him.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss, the rest of the world fading away. All that mattered was the connection you felt with him, the electricity coursing through your veins. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

Hongjoong's eyes were dark with desire, his voice a low murmur. "Should we... go to your bedroom?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "Please."

You took his hand, leading him down the hallway to your bedroom. Your heart was racing when you finally reached the door and opened it. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the window, casting a gentle glow over the bed.

Hongjoong turned to face you, his expression tender yet intense. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

You smiled, placing your hands over his. "I'm sure."

He kissed you again, this time slower and more deliberate, savoring every moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you backed toward the bed. When the back of your legs hit the mattress, you sat down, bringing him with you—his knees on the bed.

Hongjoong's hands roamed over your body over the thin material of your blouse, exploring with a reverent touch. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers through you. He kissed along your jawline, down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You leaned back onto the bed, pulling him down with you. The softness of the sheets contrasted with the firmness of his body above you. Hongjoong reached his hand to the buttons of your blouse, which he hesitantly unbuttoned—his lips staying on yours. You helped him take off your clothes, leaving you in your underwear. He pulled away from you and paused for a moment, looking down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. The soft lace of your bra and panties practically called out to him, and he delicately traced it with his fingertips.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

You felt too naked staring at his clothed body. Once he noticed your nervous stare, he pulled off his shirt and shuffled out of his pants. You could see the outline of his cock through his underwear, and you found yourself clenching around nothing at the sight. He smiled, then leaned down to capture your lips once more. The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the sensation of his touch, the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body against yours.

“Is it okay if I take this off?” he murmured against your lips, breathless, as he played with the hem of your bra. As soon as you nodded, he unclasped it and let it fall off your shoulders. His lips immediately met your delicate skin, pressing soft kisses before marking your most sensitive areas.

“Hongjoong–” Your breath hitched in your throat as his tongue swirled around your nipple.  

He paused, immediately looking at your face to make sure you were okay. When he saw your swollen lips and big eyes he smiled—unlike the sweet smile you’d seen so many times before, this time he almost looked wicked. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Is it okay if I tie your hands up, baby?” he asked gently.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Tie my hands up?” 

“Yes.” He leaned back up and pressed a kiss to your jawline. “Against the headboard. I want to have you writhing underneath me.”

You nodded and whispered a yes when you saw Hongjoong’s stern gaze. While he picked his belt up from the floor, you moved over to the headboard. Without him saying a word, you put your hands up, putting your wrists near one of the railings of the headboard. You knew you had done the right thing when Hongjoong looked at you with a proud smile, and you pressed your legs together at the feeling it gave you.

“You’re so obedient,” he murmured as he went to tie your hands to the headboard. “It’s cute.”

Hongjoong carefully made handcuffs out of his belt and tied your wrists to the headboard. You couldn’t move your arms, but the belt was tied loosely enough for it to still be somewhat comfortable. He put two fingers between your wrist and the leather to make sure it wasn’t too tight. You could probably get yourself out, but you didn’t want to. Hongjoong stepped back to look at you, the wicked smile back on his lips. He got between your legs without another word, pressing his thumb against your clit over the soft material of your panties. You tried to close your legs, but he held them apart.

“Are you doing okay so far, baby?” he asked as he caressed your hips and looked at you with his familiar gentle eyes. You nodded. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“I’m okay,” you murmured.

“Good.” He looked back down at your cunt, noticing the wet patch growing on your underwear. “I’ll keep your hands tied until I’ve made you cum twice… don’t cum without my permission.”

It was clear that he had thought about this before, and the thought of him lying awake at night picturing you in such a lewd position made you throb with need. You’d never noticed this side of you—a depraved part that you had apparently been keeping under lock and key. Hongjoong just had the talent of luring it out of you. When he looked back up at you again, his eyes were ever so slightly softer.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me and I’ll stop immediately. No matter what. Okay, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” The title just came out of your mouth, you didn’t even process it.

Hongjoong didn’t say anything about it, but you could see in his eyes that he liked it—you did well. He laid down between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep them open. Before you could say another word, he pressed his tongue flat over your clothed pussy. You gasped at the sudden warmth, your arms straining against the restraints. Hongjoong groaned at the taste, and you watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he pressed his nose against your core. Your heart was beating a mile a minute; you’d never seen someone react to you this way. With soft motions—too soft—Hongjoong began rubbing your clit over your panties. It was too slow and you could barely feel anything, your hips desperately bucking up to get more friction. From the look on Hongjoong’s face, this was apparently the point. He wanted to break you, just a little before you got what you wanted. He studied your expression, the way your eyes shut tight and eyebrows furrowed whenever he pushed down a little harder. 

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?”

“Take them off,” you begged, “I want to feel you.”

It was all it took for him to rid you of your panties, and you dutifully lifted up your hips to help him. Only a few seconds later, his tongue was on your cunt again—lavishing in how wet you had gotten from just a bit of teasing. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to build up. Your moans grew louder, your legs started shaking, and you pulled more and more on your restraints. Hongjoong kept studying you, keeping his eyes open and focused while eating you out. He stopped before you reached the edge.

“Why?” you whined.

“I told you not to cum without my permission,” he stated, matter-of-fact.

You whined and wiggled your hips. Hongjoong pushed them down with one of his hands, the other one caressing your side soothingly. “As long as you do as I say, you’ll feel good, baby.”

You nodded pathetically— whimpering out another “yes, sir,” which had the same effect on him as it did before. It was all he needed to dive back into your core. His tongue expertly lapped at your pussy, his eyes now closed in pleasure. As his tongue started prodding at your hole, his tongue bumping against your clit, you started grinding on his face. It wasn’t like you meant to do it, it just felt too good. With a stern arm, Hongjoong held you down. You wanted to do something—anything—your orgasm was building up in your stomach once again and you needed to move. You wanted to push your legs together at the overwhelming feeling, pull his head closer to you by his hair, and keep grinding against him all at once. Hongjoong was restricting all of your movements.

“Please, let me cum!” you all but shouted.

“Do it.” Hongjoong’s demand was simple. A low growl that you barely heard over the sound of your own wet pussy, but it had you unraveling there and then.

The sound of you pulling on your restraints was drowned out by your own moans as the coil in your stomach snapped. Hongjoong moaned against your core, the vibrations making your legs shake. You heard yourself murmur a “thank you, sir,” as Hongjoong helped you come down from your high by letting you rub against his palm.

“You’re doing so good,” he praised. “Just one more before I free your hands, alright?”

You hummed. Hongjoong slapped the inside of your thigh, the stinging sensation made you gasp. You looked at him with wide eyes, only to be met with a grin.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you to use your words again, should I, baby?”

You shook your head, and then quickly added, “No, sir.” Hongjoong rubbed a soothing hand over the area where he had slapped you, and you melted into the touch. The feeling quickly disappeared, however, as his fingers reached for your core again. Your head became clouded as his fingers prodded at your entrance. Just one more, you repeated in your head. You wondered if he’d let you have his cock tonight—almost worried about it—and you let out a low whine. Hongjoong looked at you with concern.

“Are you going to… you know…” You looked at his arm, at the tattoos sneaking down to his hand which was still toying with your core. “Fuck me?”

Hongjoong’s hand faltered at your vulgar words, a smile broke out on his face. “Thought I’d save it for when you can touch me.”

There will be more? Your head was spinning at the thought. You were used to cumming once on your vibrator before going to sleep, too tired to go on by yourself. Cumming three times in a row wasn’t something you’d done in a while—if ever. If you had, you couldn’t remember.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he reminded you as his middle finger entered you.

After pumping the finger inside you for a while, he added another. He put his palm against your clit and let you grind against it while he kept thrusting his fingers into you—curling them against your g-spot, once he’d found it. While you were busy shutting your eyes tight at the stimulation, Hongjoong leaned up and captured one of your nipples in his mouth again. You gasped at the feeling—it was almost overwhelming. All of these sensations, and the promise of getting to have his cock inside you, were making you get closer and closer to the edge.

“Are you going to cum again, baby?” he coos at you, whispering in your ear, “I can feel you clenching around me.”

You let out a gasp that turned into a moan, as he started sucking on the sensitive spot right by your jaw. After managing to whimper out a confirmation, he ordered you to cum again. It was all you needed to release all over his hand. Your moans were drowned out by his lips on your again. His fingers slowed down, but he kept his hands between your legs until your movements stopped. Without another word, Hongjoong licked his fingers clean and helped you out of your restraints. As soon as you were free, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your head lay on his chest, and Hongjoong welcomed you into his embrace.

“Are you okay to keep going, baby?” he asked softly.

You were practically buzzing with anticipation. “Please.”

When Hongjoong asked if you had a condom, your heart dropped to your stomach. You hadn’t been sleeping with anyone for a while, of course, you didn’t have condoms anywhere.

“... no,” you muttered. “I’m on the pill. Are you clean?”

“Checked it a few months ago. I’m clean,” he murmured. 

You looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Then, please, just fuck me?”

How could he say no to you? He smiled, pressing an unfittingly chaste kiss on your lips. After he moved to sit by your legs again, he quickly manhandled you onto your hands and knees. Your fuzzy brain didn’t even have time to process what he was doing before it was done.

“But I can’t touch you like this!” you whined.

“Mm… I lied.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Cum one more time and I’ll let you touch me. Just one more.”

You wanted to whine and complain, but the proud look on his face appeared in your mind. You wanted to please him, you couldn’t deny that. So, you shut your mouth and arch your back—pressing your ass against him. You can feel that he’s pulled off his underwear now, and you ached to see him. All of him. Your mouth all but watered at the thought.

“Please, fuck me,” you said again. “Please, sir.”

He groaned at the feeling of your wet pussy rubbing up against him, and quickly guided his cock to your entrance. He goes slowly at first, letting you get used to his size. However, you grow impatient and start moving yourself further down his cock. Hongjoong gripped your hips—his warm hands feel like they belong there—and stopped you from moving.

“I’m in charge here, sweetheart,” he reminded you. “Want me to go faster? Beg.”

“Please fuck me faster, sir, I want you to fill me up.” The words come pouring out of you without stop, you become a blubbering mess as he starts shallowly fucking into you at a faster pace. “Yes! Please, more! I need more!”

You can’t think of anything except how good he’s filling you up. You’re not sure you’ve ever lost yourself in someone this way—no one has ever taken control over you like this, fucked you like this, molded you to their body like this. He’s ruined everyone else for you, you’re sure of it. His hips slam against yours, filling you up completely. You open your mouth to thank him, but only a noise of surprise and pleasure comes out. Hongjoong’s hand had come down on your ass, leaving a stinging sensation on your skin.

“Again,” you whimper.

His hand comes down on you again, and you moan. You never knew you were into pain like this—but whatever he was doing, he was not allowed to stop. Hongjoong’s hips started moving against yours again, and his hand came down on you with every other thrust. You were a drooling mess. The makeup you had put on was running down your cheeks as you babbled out an endless sentence of thank you. 

“You’re mine,” he growled. “So good, taking whatever I give you—aren’t you such a good obedient slut?”

“Yes, sir! I’m your obedient slut!” you moaned out, your hands gripping the sheets. “Please, let me cum! Please, please, please…”

“Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he demanded.

With a choked moan, the coil in your stomach exploded into a fiery pit—burning your skin until it made you see stars. Hongjoong pulled out and came on your back, groaning as he did. You collapsed on the bed, and you felt the bed tip to one side. He had gotten some tissues from the box on your nightstand and wiped off the cum from your back. You turned around to see him throwing the tissue to the side, holding your arms out to him. His chest pressed against yours as he embraced you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The dominant Hongjoong was gone, you could tell from his soft kiss. There was still a craving lingering in you. Although you were tired, you started grinding against his still-hard cock. He put his hand on your hip, right by your tattoo.

“Baby, you’re too tired,” he murmured.

“You said I could touch you if I came again,” you whined.

Your brain was foggy, all you needed and wanted was for him to touch you—to fuck you slowly into your mattress. He smiled at your pout, before leaning in to kiss it away. You smiled back at him, and Hongjoong strangled a laugh at the sight of you.

“Just one more?” you asked.

He groaned as you reached down to guide his cock to your entrance again. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

He started to slowly thrust into you again. Hissing at how sensitive you both were, you paused all movement as he had bottomed out in you. Hongjoong’s arms were on either side of your head, holding himself up to look at you. You reached out your finger and carefully traced the tattoos on his chest.

“You’re pretty,” you murmured.

It was dark in your room, but you swore you could see his face get red. Hongjoong didn’t respond, he only started moving slowly against you again. You let out small grunts and whimpers, your hands finding their place on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

“You feel so good…” Hongjoong’s head fell to the crook of your neck, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to hold him there.

One of your hands found its way to his short hair, tangling your fingers into the mess. Your legs wrapped around his waist, desperate to keep him close. His body was warm, and you wanted to steal that warmth to keep it safe.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “So good to me…”

“Hongjoong.” You made him look at you again, his hips never stopped moving. His forehead leaned against yours as he stared deep into your eyes. “Cum inside me.”

He didn’t respond, but you knew he’d keep you to your word from the way that he kissed you. It was as if he was pouring his adoration into every move of his lips. One of his hands moved down to rub your clit, making your legs shake around him. With a grunt, he came inside you and you came soon after him. The two of you stayed in that position, chests heaving.

“You’re amazing,” you breathed out.

“I could say the same about you.” He grinned before pressing a kiss to your cheek and getting up. “I’ll get you cleaned up, stay here.”

He walked over to the door but hesitated as he realized that he didn’t know the layout of your apartment. “The bathroom’s to your left when you walk out of that door.” You giggled. 

He walked out with a sheepish smile, his ears red, and came back only a few seconds later with a warm, wet washcloth. Hongjoong wiped you off carefully as if he was wiping off porcelain. You reached your hand up to his head, trying to tame his wild hair by running your fingers through it.

“Does it look weird?” he asked without looking up at you, his focus was on your tattoo—he traced the lines of the lotus flower with his fingers.

“It’s just messy…” you hummed. “... maybe a little weird.” He looked away from your tattoo, and the two of you laughed as your eyes met. 

After cleaning you up and helping you to the bathroom, Hongjoong got you under the covers in your bed before he got in next to you. Lying together, you nestled against Hongjoong’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothed any lingering nerves, its gentle thump a comforting backdrop to the stillness of the night. He stroked your hair tenderly, his fingers moving in a slow, relaxing pattern that made your eyelids grow heavy with contentment.

“This feels nice,” you murmured, your voice thick with drowsiness.

He tightened his embrace slightly, resting his chin on top of your head. “It really does… I’m glad you invited me up.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the soft, dim light from the street lights and passing cars filtering through the curtains. The tenderness in his gaze made your heart swell. “Me too.”

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Was it okay? You’re not overwhelmed or anything?”

“I’m fine, Hongjoong,” you murmured.

“I just want to make sure—”

“I know.” You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. “It’s sweet… but I’m okay… I liked it, actually.”

“Good.” He couldn’t hide his boyish grin. “Are you sure you haven’t done it before? You were too good for—”

You slapped his chest lightly, biting back your smile at his teasing. “Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He snickered, his laughter a low, pleasant rumble against your ear. “Seriously though, you were amazing.”

“So were you.” You sighed happily, snuggling closer. The warmth of his body and the security of his arms around you made you feel incredibly safe. As you lay there, you felt a profound sense of peace, the worries of the world melting away. Hongjoon’s hand found the lotus flower design on your hip again. Moving his body ever so slightly, he looked at the inked skin under the sheets, carefully studying his work. His fingers continued to trace the intricate design of your tattoo, the gentle touch sending shivers down your spine.

“It healed well,” he commented.

“It did.” You hummed, cupping his face in your hand to make him meet your eyes. His eyebrows raised and he looked at you with big eyes, silently asking if you were okay. You nodded and he smiled, leaning up to press a kiss on your swollen lips.

“I thought the design was pretty on its own.” He pressed a kiss on your cheek. “But it’s even prettier on you.”

“Smooth-talker.” You scoffed but smiled lovingly anyway.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m just telling the truth,” he said with a playful smile. Hongjoong wrapped his arms around you again while you rolled your eyes.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight, baby,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur in the darkness.

The two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. His hand stayed on your hip.

You woke to the gentle caress of morning light streaming through your curtains. The first thing you noticed was Hongjoong lying beside you, his presence as comforting as the warmth of the sun on your skin. His hair, a tousled mess of soft blond strands, framed his peaceful face, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He looked so serene, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, completely at ease in his slumber.

As you lay there, your heart swelled with a sense of contentment, the kind that only comes from waking up next to someone you love. Carefully, you reached out, your fingers gently threading through his bleached hair, feeling its softness against your skin. He stirred slightly at your touch, his nose twitching in response, and a soft hum escaped his lips. Instinctively, he tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as if even in his sleep, he couldn’t bear to be apart from you.

You watched him for a moment longer, memorizing the way the morning light kissed his features, casting delicate shadows on his skin. The peaceful expression on his face, the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, the gentle curve of his lips—it all filled you with a warmth that radiated from deep within, spreading through every part of you.

Careful not to wake him, you slipped out of his embrace and out of bed. After putting on clothes, you padded to the kitchen to start breakfast. The sounds and smells of cooking soon filled the apartment, and just as you were finishing up, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

"Good morning," Hongjoong mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

You turned your head to look at him, his hair even more disheveled now. "Good morning. I hope you like your eggs scrambled."

He grinned, planting a kiss on your cheek. "I love them. Especially if you're the one making them."

The two of you moved around the kitchen in a cozy, intimate dance, making breakfast together. There was a comforting rhythm to it, an easy familiarity that made you feel like you’d been doing this for years. You chatted about small things, laughed at silly jokes, and stole kisses in between setting the table and making coffee.

Once everything was ready, you sat down to eat. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you felt a deep sense of contentment. After breakfast, Hongjoong insisted on helping you clean up, and soon it was time to get ready for work. As you gathered your things, he offered to drop you off, and you happily agreed.

When you arrived at the café, you saw Seonghwa already seated at a table near the window. He ate breakfast at the café from time to time, mostly when he missed you or when he didn’t have the energy to make breakfast at home. He glanced up and saw you through the big windows as you walked up to the café, a curious look in his eyes. 

Hongjoong walked you to the door, his hand lingering on the small of your back. "Have a good day at work," he said softly, leaning in for a quick kiss.

You blushed, aware of the eyes on you. "You too. Thanks for breakfast and everything."

As you stepped inside, Seonghwa immediately waved you over. "Hey, you look... different today. Did something happen?"

You shrugged, trying to keep your expression neutral but unable to hide the small smile playing on your lips. "Just had a good morning, that’s all."

Your coworker joined in, smirking. "Uh-huh, sure. And was that Hongjoong who just dropped you off?"

You felt your cheeks heat up again. "Maybe..."

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. "What did he do to make you glow like that this early in the morning, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "... he may have spent the night after we saw the gig that his friends were playing. But I’m not saying anything else. You would’ve known if you had been there!"

“I was busy with work,” he whined. “You have to tell me!”

“I don’t remember putting that in our contract,” you joked. “Now, leave me alone! I have a shift to get to!”

With that, you slipped behind the counter, ready to start your shift. Despite the teasing and the curious glances, you couldn’t help but feel light and happy. The memory of the morning with Hongjoong stayed with you, a warm, comforting presence that made the day feel just a little bit brighter.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Over the next few weeks, you saw Hongjoong regularly. Your connection deepened with each meeting, but despite the growing intimacy between you, he never initiated anything sexual. It was both endearing and frustrating. You appreciated his respect for your boundaries, but it also made you shy and hesitant to make the first move.

One afternoon, while you were tidying up at the café, your phone buzzed with a message from Hongjoong.

Hey, can you stop by the shop after work? I have something I want to show you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message. You quickly typed back, Sure! I get off at 5. See you then!

The rest of your shift passed in a blur of anticipation. As soon as the clock struck five, you grabbed your things and headed to his studio. The familiar walk seemed shorter than usual, your excitement propelling you forward.

When you arrived, the shop was quiet, a stark contrast to its usual buzz of activity. You stepped inside, greeted by the faint hum of a tattoo machine and the scent of ink and antiseptic. Hongjoong looked out from his tattoo room and smiled, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

"Hey," he greeted, finishing up the last touches on his current project. "Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right with you."

You nodded, taking a seat and watching him work. His focus and skill never ceased to amaze you. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, his hands steady and precise.

After a few minutes, he finished and cleaned up, then came over to you. "Thanks for waiting. I’m really glad you could come by."

"No problem," you replied, your curiosity piqued. "So, what did you want to show me?"

Hongjoong grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Follow me."

He led you to a back room you hadn’t seen before. Inside was a collection of his artwork, framed and displayed on the walls. Sketches, paintings, and tattoo designs filled the space, each piece a testament to his talent and creativity.

"Wow, Hongjoong," you breathed, taking it all in. "This is incredible. I knew you worked a lot but, this…"

He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, it’s kind of my personal gallery. I wanted to share it with you."

You turned to him, touched by the gesture. "Your work is amazing."

He stepped closer, his expression softening. "I wanted you to see this because... well, you’re important to me. And I want you to know me better, all sides of me."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached out, taking his hand. "Thank you for showing me this."

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes locked onto yours. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken feelings and mutual understanding. You felt the urge to close the distance between you, but still, the hesitation lingered.

Sensing your uncertainty, Hongjoong smiled and pulled you into a warm embrace. You lost yourself in the domesticity of the moment, feeling content in his arms. "How was your day?" he murmured.

"Good," you replied, smiling up at him. "How about you?"

"Busy, but good," he said, pulling away from him. "Listen, I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight. I’d like to cook for you, as a thank you for the breakfast from a few weeks ago."

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea of Hongjoong cooking for you in an intimate setting set loose the butterflies in your stomach. "I’d love that."

He grinned. "Great! Let me just lock up, and we’ll head over to my place."

As he closed up the shop, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation. You assumed that inviting you over for dinner meant he might finally make a move, and the thought both thrilled and made you slightly nervous.

The ride to his apartment was a little longer than it had been to your place, and you started to understand why he had bought a motorbike instead of a car. While the cars were stuck slowly rolling forward during rush hour, Hongjoong easily passed them in between the lanes. When you arrived, he led you inside, and you took a moment to take in your surroundings. His place was cozy and stylish, with a mix of modern and vintage decor that reflected his artistic nature—most of it in black.

"Make yourself at home," he said, gesturing to the living room. "I’ll get started on dinner."

You settled onto the couch, watching him move around the kitchen with practiced ease. The aroma of garlic and herbs soon filled the air, and you felt that warm sense of domestic bliss wash over you yet again.

"Can I help with anything?" you offered, not wanting to just sit idly by.

He shook his head, smiling. "Nope, I’ve got it covered. Just relax and enjoy."

You chatted as he cooked, the conversation flowing effortlessly. It felt so natural, so right, to be there with him. Before long, he called you to the table, which he had set beautifully with candles and your favorite flowers.

"Dinner is served," he said with a flourish, placing a delicious-looking pasta dish in front of you.

You laughed, feeling a bit like you were in a romantic movie. "This looks amazing. Thank you, Hongjoong."

He walked back to the kitchen with a pleased smile on his face. "I’m glad you like it."

Hongjoong came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. You watched him with heart eyes as he opened the bottle, practically drooling over how his hands looked—and either he just didn’t notice, or he decided to ignore it, but he didn’t comment on your staring. He sat down in front of you and poured you a glass.

“You always call me ‘Hongjoong,’” he said.

“Hm?” You looked up at him from your glass of wine. “It’s your name.”

“I know, I know…” For the first time since you’d met him, he was getting shy. “I think it’d be nice if you started… I don’t know, forget about it.”

“What? Do you like pet names?” you asked with a hint of amusement in your voice. When you saw him nodding, your heart all but soared. You hadn’t expected someone like him to like cute, couple nicknames—maybe you should’ve guessed it from the number of times he called you sweetheart, baby, or love. “Like ‘baby?’ ‘Sweetie?’ ‘Pumpkin?’ ‘Sugar-cube?’”

“Now you’re just teasing me.” He groaned, but let out a laugh soon after. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” you admit with a giggle and start eating. “Could you pass me the salt, baby?”

Hongjoong’s grin grew wider, just at the cusp of letting out an adorable giggle, and he handed you the salt.

As you ate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was special. The food was delicious, the atmosphere perfect, and the company even better. Every now and then, your eyes would meet, and the unspoken connection between you seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment. Despite the pleasant ambiance, restlessness gnawed at you, making it difficult to focus on the meal. You twirled your fork absentmindedly, dropping subtle hints and playful comments, hoping Hongjoong would pick up on your mood.

He looked up from his plate, eyebrow quirked in amusement. "What's gotten into you tonight?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of teasing.

You chuckled nervously, trying to brush off his question. "Oh, nothing," you replied, avoiding his gaze as you took a sip of water.

Hongjoong leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes—as if he was ready to get you back for teasing him before. "Come on," he urged, reaching across the table to gently touch your hand. "Tell me what you're up to. You're acting strange."

Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, and you struggled to maintain composure. Looking into his eyes, you found it hard to resist his playful charm. "Okay, fine," you finally admitted, your voice quieter than intended. "I've just been thinking... about us."

A flicker of concern crossed Hongjoong's face, and he squeezed your hand gently. "About us?" he prompted softly.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your confession. "Yeah," you began slowly, choosing your words carefully. "I miss... I miss how it felt when you touched me."

Hongjoong's expression softened, and he pulled his hand back, his thumb absently tracing circles on the tablecloth. "I miss that too," he admitted quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of longing and affection.

The honesty in his voice made your heart swell with warmth. "I didn't realize how much until tonight," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've been trying to ignore it, but... I can't."

There was a moment of silence between you, filled only with the soft hum of traffic outside. Hongjoong broke the quiet, his voice low and sincere. "I'm glad you told me," he said softly, reaching across the table again to take your hand in his. "Because I've been feeling the same way… I just didn’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything."

“I want you,” you admitted in a small voice. 

After your quiet admission, Hongjoong's eyes softened, his grip on your hand tightening slightly in reassurance. He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been wanting to hear you say that for so long," he confessed, his eyes searching for any hesitation.

After your quiet admission, a warm flush spread through you as Hongjoong’s gaze deepened with a mixture of affection and desire. His hand squeezed yours one last time before he let go, leaning back in his chair with a soft, contemplative smile. You were left stunned—how much more clear did you have to be for him to touch you again?

However, as the meal continued, the air between you was charged with a newfound intensity. You could barely focus on the food, each glance exchanged with Hongjoong sending a shiver down your spine. The unspoken tension only grew as the minutes passed, and it became clear that the two of you were in sync, your thoughts mirroring each other’s.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Hongjoong put down his fork and began gathering the dishes. "I’ll take care of this," he said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a smoldering undercurrent of emotion. He rose from the table, heading toward the kitchen with a stack of plates balanced effortlessly in his hands.

You watched him go, your heart pounding in your chest. Restlessness gnawed at you once more, and before you could overthink it, you found yourself rising from your seat, following him into the kitchen.

As you stepped through the doorway, you found Hongjoong standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes with deliberate care. The sound of running water filled the space, but it did little to drown out the thudding of your heart. You approached him quietly, the warmth of the dimly lit kitchen wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Without a word, you slipped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. He froze for a moment, the dish in his hand forgotten as he registered your touch. Slowly, he turned off the faucet and set the dish aside, his body relaxing into your embrace.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" he teased gently, his voice laced with affection as he turned to face you, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You looked up at him, your arms still wrapped around his waist and shook your head. "Not for long," you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips.

Hongjoong’s eyes darkened with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He cupped your face in his hands, his touch firm yet tender. "You know, you’ve been driving me crazy all night," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Before you could respond, he dipped his head, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was a kiss that held all the unspoken longing, the unexpressed emotions that had been building between you throughout the evening. Your hands slid up his back, fingers tangling in his hair as you melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing but the two of you.

Hongjoong deepened the kiss, his hands traveling from your face to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat between you was palpable, the kiss growing more urgent with every passing second.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer. The cool surface of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat coursing through your veins, but it only heightened your awareness of every touch, every sensation.

Hongjoong’s hands roamed your body with a gentle urgency, one hand sliding up your back while the other cradled your neck, angling your head to deepen the kiss even further. His lips were relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You gasped softly, your fingers gripping his shirt as you arched into him, lost in the sensation of his lips against your skin.

"God, I’ve wanted this," he murmured against your neck, his voice rough with desire as he continued to press kisses along your collarbone. "You have no idea."

You pulled his face back up to yours, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. The tension that had been building between you all evening finally found its release, each kiss, each touch igniting a fire that burned hotter with every second.

Hongjoong’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he explored your skin with a tenderness that only fueled your desire. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you clung to him, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

But then, just as the kiss had deepened, Hongjoong suddenly slowed, his lips lingering on yours with a gentler, almost reverent touch. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his forehead resting against yours. The air between you was thick, both of you breathing heavily as you took in the weight of what was happening.

His thumb gently caressed your cheek, his eyes searching yours with a mix of longing and tenderness. "I don’t want to rush this," he murmured softly. "I want it to be perfect."

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. "Me too," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. There was a pause, a shared moment of understanding, where the intensity of the moment gave way to something deeper, something more meaningful.

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a gentle smile as he kissed your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. "How about we go somewhere more private?" he suggested, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, the simple touch grounding you both in the gravity of the moment.

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief and excitement wash over you. "Okay," you agreed quietly, your heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and eagerness. The urgency was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but now it was tempered with the knowledge that this moment was about more than just passion—it was about connection.

You walked in comfortable silence, the weight of your shared confession hanging in the air like a promise. Reaching his bedroom, he opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, the familiar surroundings feeling suddenly new and charged with possibility. Hongjoong closed the door behind you, and you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a mix of uncertainty and desire.

He took a step closer, his hands gently cupping your face. "I want to make sure this is what you really want," he said softly, his gaze intense and sincere.

You nodded, your hands resting on his chest. "I've never been more sure," you replied, a teasing smile spreading on your lips. “Take me however you want, sir.”

With a newfound hunger, Hongjoong leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. It felt like he was pouring his energy into you, every touch feeling like an electric spark.

Hongjoong pulled back from the kiss, his breath warm against your lips. He searched your eyes, his expression earnest and caring. "Are you sure you’re okay with going further?" he asked softly, his voice filled with a mix of desire and concern.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, the anticipation building inside you. You nodded your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, I trust you."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "Good," he murmured, his hands sliding down your arms to your waist, pulling you closer. "I promise I'll take care of you."

His lips captured yours again, this time with more urgency, his hands exploring your body. You melted into his embrace, the world outside disappearing as you focused entirely on the sensations he was awakening within you.

He gently pushed you onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he stood over you. "I want you to let go, to feel everything," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, your pulse quickening at the authority in his tone. "Yes," you breathed, your body aching for his touch.

Hongjoong's smile deepened, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good girl," he whispered, his words sending a jolt through you. He took his time undressing you, his hands and mouth leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Every touch, every kiss was deliberate, heightening your anticipation.

It was only when you stood completely naked in front of him that he allowed himself to let go of you. He looked you up and down, and you felt the sudden urge to cover yourself—but when your hands reached up to cover your chest, he immediately took your wrists to keep them away.

“I told you before,” he murmured, “you’re beautiful. Don’t hide from me.”

You let out a shaky breath. “What are you going to do with me?”

“You’ll find out.”

He left your side and walked over to one of the closets. Inside the closet were no clothes. The drawers were filled with different toys—some things that you had never seen before—from dildos to restraints. Your jaw practically fell to the floor, and you could hear Hongjoong try to stifle a laugh.

“Do you still want to go further?” he asked, although it was clear that he knew he didn’t have to.

You could only nod, your eyes wide with suspense. 

“Sweetheart,” he warned.

“Yes.”

At one single word, you ended up on the bed with a blindfold on and your hands tied up behind you. Your knees were resting on the unsteady, plush mattress, and you were trying your hardest to stay upright. Despite not being able to see him, you knew that Hongjoong was still dressed—and it made your skin burn.

"You're doing so well," he murmured against your ear, his voice laced with both command and praise. The words sent shivers down your spine. 

Something soft, barely noticeable, tickled your chest. You heard Hongjoong laugh as you tried to squirm away. “Remember, baby, you can’t fall over. You promised me you wouldn’t. Liars get punished, you know?”

Gritting your teeth, you unsuccessfully tried to suppress another whine. You buried your knees into the mattress while Hongjoong kept teasing you, with what you could only assume was some sort of feather. The feather’s touch went from your clavicle to your chest, down your stomach, and to your spread thighs. 

Just as you started getting used to the feather’s touch, it disappeared from your skin. The bed tipped to your right, and you had to use every fiber in your being to not fall over. Hongjoong’s chest pressed against your shoulder, you could feel the soft fabric of his shirt. The urge to wrap your arms around his strong shoulders was irresistible. But no matter how much you pulled on the fuzzy handcuffs, they wouldn’t budge.

“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered in your ear.

“What is it?” you murmured.

“Patience…”

He moved around, and you could feel him right in front of you now. Pressing a few soft kisses to your clavicle, Hongjoong took his time loving you. The sweet kisses turned hungry when he began sucking and grazing his teeth against your skin. You soughed, leaning your head back and to the side to allow him more access. His lips disappeared and the bed dipped slightly to the side. Hongjoong had reached for something that he had put beside the bed earlier, and you were eagerly awaiting your surprise.

A burning sensation, like stepping under the shower before the water has heated up fully, pressed against your chest—the small point encapsulated by Hongjoong’s pillowy lips. A gasp escaped your lips, and you struggled against the restraints by mere intuition. Despite telling you to keep yourself upright, Hongjoong put his hands on your back to keep you still. The ice cube in his mouth ran over your warm skin, and he hummed as you let out a shaky moan.

“Baby, please.” You squirmed.

Hongjoong replied by humming again, but the ice cube stopped gliding over your skin. One of his hands fell on your jaw, guiding you to his lips. The piece of ice, now barely a slither, melted between your tongues as you kissed—a sense of euphoria that you never thought you’d experience.

Hongjoong pulled away, and your lips tried to chase him but he was no longer in front of you. Before you could register that he had climbed off the bed, you had fallen against the soft mattress—your ass up in the air, and your hands struggling on your back. You heard Hongjoong tsk beside you, and a harsh slap landed on your ass. His warm palm rubbed soothing circles over the stinging skin, but the message was clear; you had messed up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Your apologies fell on deaf ears as another slap hit your still-sensitive skin.

Hongjoong’s other hand went to your back, holding you in place. “Count ‘em.”

Another slap rang through your ears, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “Sir, I’m sorry–”

“I said.” Hongjoong’s fingers threaded through your hair, bending your head up until you could feel him breathing by your ear. “Count them.” His hand left your hair and went back to rubbing the burning skin of your ass. 

After managing to count to ten, Hongjoong’s fingers went from stroking your ass to rubbing your aching pussy. A soft mewl left your lips and you couldn’t help but to wriggle your hips. Your brain was fried at this point, and Hongjoong could tell. His hand disappeared from where you needed it most, although you had no time to complain about it. The handcuffs came undone, and your arms fell to your sides. He flipped you on your back, your aching thighs resting heavenly against the soft, cool sheets. Hongjoong got on top of you, pressing a few uncharacteristically soft kisses on your jaw and neck.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured, barely audibly.

You could only nod your head as you wrapped your arms around his neck. After you pressed a kiss on his temple, Hongjoong pulled back with a lovesick grin. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated, and his hair a mess. He looked angelic.

“You can keep going,” you muttered. “I can take it.”

“Oh yeah?”

You used the little strength you had left to lean up and kiss his plump lips—soft and chaste, your lips just barely touching before you laid back down. “Yeah.”

His lips attached to your neck again with a new sense of passion and intensity. You let your eyes fall close as a hum bubbled up your throat, your hands spreading out on his back to keep him close. You gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, trying to pull it up.

“Off,” was all you managed to get out. Despite wanting to keep teasing you, Hongjoong didn’t have the strength to do so. His shirt went over his head and flew somewhere else in the room, just like your clothes had earlier. His pants followed shortly after, and soon enough you finally got to feel his naked flesh against yours. 

Hongjoong’s hips were moving agonizingly slow against yours, but you had no voice to complain about it with—his lips wouldn’t leave yours. When your hand tried to go down your body to rub your clit, his hand was quick to pin your wrist to the bed.

“Let me take my time,” he murmured against your lips.

“You’ve been teasing me for so long,” you muttered back.

“You want control, baby?” he asked mockingly. Before you could say anything else, you found yourself on top of him. “Ride me. Take control.”

As soon as you tried to move your hips up, you realized just how tired your thighs were. A broken whine escaped your lips as you tried your best to set a pace. Hongjoong’s hands landed on your hips. He must’ve taken pity on you, as his hands started guiding you to follow a steady pace.

“That’s it, baby,” he hummed. “You’re doing so good.”

Your mouth fell open as you managed to pick up the pace—your climax quickly approaching. Hongjoong’s hips started to move to match your pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your moans growing in volume. Endless praise echoed from his lips, but they just barely met your ears. Only when he told you to cum could you really hear him.

When your climax finally hit, it was like a tidal wave, powerful and unstoppable, crashing over you and stealing the breath from your lungs. You cried out, your body arching as the sensation consumed you. Hongjoong help you through it, his arms a secure anchor in the storm of your release. His own climax followed, his body shuddering against yours, and in that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you intertwined in a pure, unfiltered intimacy that left you both breathless and sated.

-

You and Hongjoong lay entwined in bed, your breaths mingling in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. The tender patterns his fingers traced on your skin whispered promises of comfort, a soothing contrast to the fiery intensity you shared just moments before. The warmth of his body against yours wrapped you in a cocoon of safety, easing the lingering heat of your passion, yet beneath his gentle caresses, a flicker of concern danced in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice barely a breath above the silence. "I didn't... go too far, did I?"

Turning to face him, you cupped his cheek, your hand cradling his face with a tender intimacy. His eyes searched yours, seeking any sign of unease or regret. "I'm more than okay," you whispered with a soft smile, your thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone.

Hongjoong exhaled, releasing a breath he'd unknowingly held, his gaze softening, though the shadow of worry still lingered. "I just... I worry a lot," he admitted, a sheepish chuckle escaping his lips.

You shook your head gently, brushing your thumb across his lips, feeling the warmth of his breath, the softness of his touch. "I know, my love," you murmured. "I want you to feel just as safe and cherished with me."

His eyes closed briefly under your touch, relief washing over him in waves. When he opened them again, there was a new light, a quiet resolve in his gaze. "I do feel safe with you," he confessed, his voice steadier now, carrying the weight of sincerity.

Your smile deepened, warmth spreading through you. "Good," you replied, intertwining your fingers with his, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse, a comforting reminder of your connection.

The air between you grew lighter, the weight of unspoken fears dissolving with each shared word. There was a clarity, a deep understanding that bound you both in that moment. Hongjoong took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a look of profound connection.

"I... I love you," he murmured, the words tinged with both hesitation and certainty, hanging in the air like a fragile confession.

Your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions. "I love you too," you replied softly, your voice a tender echo of his confession.

Hongjoong’s arms tightened around you, his body molding to yours as though it had always been meant to be this way. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest, each breath syncing perfectly with yours, creating a harmonious symphony of togetherness. His hand stroked your back in slow, soothing circles, sending ripples of warmth through your soul.

The room was bathed in a soft, golden light, the bedside lamp casting delicate shadows that danced across the walls. The world outside faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you in this intimate sanctuary. Hongjoong’s breath brushed against your forehead, his lips pressing a tender kiss there, sealing the moment with gentle affection. His fingers found yours, interlacing them with a loving squeeze. As you gazed into his eyes, you found them brimming with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. Without breaking the gaze, he brought your knuckles to his lips. In that moment, clarity washed over you both—this was where you belonged.

feedback is always welcomed!

taglist:

@d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @niktwazny303, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy,

@hyneyedfiz, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang, @notevenheretbh1

[jjscrybaby]

the birthday boy

daryl dixon x fem!reader | fluff | (cringe, cringe, cringe! i can’t help who i am😖basic gift ideas bc i couldn’t think of anything, kissing.)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

One thing you were you would never get back was knowing the date. You’d spent the last couple years in the dark, you had a brief idea of how many years had gone by but dates? Absolutely no clue. It was when you and your group got to Alexandria that you learnt they knew the date, they’d kept track; it wasn’t like they were out killing walkers and fighting for survival, so they had the time to do such a mundane thing.

You’d asked Daryl when his birthday was a long time ago, just after the farm fell and before you reached the prison. The two of you were on watch whilst everyone else slept — or at least tried to — and you wanted to know his zodiac sign. It was silly, but you wanted to talk about something that wasn’t the hell your lives had become. He’d muttered out ‘January 6th’, and then gone silent once again. You kept that information stored in the little Daryl section in your mind, and you hadn’t forgotten it.

“What’re you doin’?” Daryl muttered sleepily, waking up to you sitting on him with a wide grin on your face. He opened one eye, looking from you to the window. “The sun ain’t even fully risen. Better ‘ave a good reason to wake me up.”

“I do,” you murmured, leaning down to catch his lips with yours. He didn’t argue, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist as he kissed you back.

“You alrigh’?” He checked quietly. You definitely weren’t the early riser out of the pair of you, in the morning’s that he had to go on an early supply run and tried to wake you to say goodbye he’d usually be cursed at.

“Yeah,” you reassured softly, running your hand through his growing locks. “Happy birthday, handsome.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he let out a soft huh. “Is that today?”

“Yes, it’s today you idiot,” you giggled, pecking his cheek. “Do you want your presents now or at the party?”

“What…” he muttered, eyes widening.

You snorted, swatting at his chest. “I’m kidding. There’s no party. But me and Carol are baking a cake and you can’t say no, I already had to talk them out of finding a birthday banner.”

“Mhm, appreciate it,” he smirked lazily, drawing circles into your thigh. “Can we go back to sleep now, darlin’? I appreciate the birthday wake up, but ‘m exhausted.”

“You don’t want your presents,” you pouted.

“Thought you were kiddin’?” He questioned, leaning on his elbows to sit up slightly.

“About the party, yeah. You really think that I wouldn’t get you presents? Have you met me?” You teased. He smiled softly at you, a quirk of a lip that you were sure no one else was ever on the receiving end of.

“Didn’t even kno’ it was my birthday, so I wasn’t expectin’ presents,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes fondly, switching the bedside table lamp on before getting off of him to rush over to the closet. You pulled out a paper bag, handing it over to him. “I couldn’t find any wrapping paper,” you sheepishly explained.

“That’s alright,” he chuckled, reaching out for your hand. You sat down next to him as he sat up, looking between you and the bag. “You know you didn’t ‘ave to get me anythin’.”

“I wanted to,” you argued. “Now, open it, please. I’m getting impatient.”

He let out a quiet laugh, opening up the bag. First he pulled out a knife; it wasn’t new, or even very sharp — although he’d be able to sort that out — but there was something on the side of it. Both yours and his initials carved into the side. You knew that wasn’t really his thing, something so cheesy, but you wanted his gift to have meaning. It was difficult to find things for anyone’s birthday in an apocalypse, but Daryl? Well, that’s pretty much impossible.

“Thankyou, darlin’.” He ran his fingers over the messy carving you’d done, a fond look in his eyes. “I love it.” He leant in and pressed a peck to your lips, making your eyes twinkle.

“Really? I know it’s not much…” you said, about to go on a classic ramble.

“Stop. I love it, seriously. I ain’t ever— I’ve never gotten a birthday present before, ‘least not one that I can remember,” he admitted, squeezing your hand.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, but you kept the smile on your face. You hadn’t expected that Daryl had many fun birthday’s growing up, not with the family he had. Maybe Merle took him to a bar on his 21st to have his first legal drink, but that was probably it. You kissed the corner of his mouth, stroking his hair.

“Well, now that we’re not fighting for our lives constantly anymore, expect presents every year. Christmas, too,” you said softly.

“Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less from you,” he responded, caressing your cheek lovingly. He placed the knife on the bedside table, moving to switch the light off.

“What’re you doing?” You asked.

“Goin’ back to sleep?” He answered, looking back at you over his shoulder. “That alright with you?” He teased.

“But… you haven’t opened your other present,” you explained. There was something in your tone, nervousness, shyness, he wasn’t sure.

“Another one?” He looked at you in confusion.

“Don’t be dramatic, Dar. It’s not like I spent any money,” you giggled. You went behind you, opening the drawer and pulling out something. You held it in your hand, not letting him see. “It’s a bit stupid, but I wanted to give you this for awhile. Since you gave me mine, at least.”

You opened your palm and revealed the silver band, a shy smile on your face. Six months ago, Daryl had gone on a week long supply run and he’d returned home with a ring. It wasn’t like you could have a proper wedding, not like the one you used to dream about when you were younger, but you wanted to marry Daryl. You wanted to tell people he was your husband. So, of course, you’d cried your eyes out and said yes. Ever since you’d wanted him to have a ring, too. Your engagement ring would probably be your wedding one as well, it wasn’t like you could go shopping. If you were going to get married, both of you needed proof of the wedding.

It was silent, you stared at him waiting for some sort of reaction. Slowly, a smile made its way onto his face. “You ain’t gonna ask me?”

“What?”

“I ain’t acceptin’ a ring without a proposal,” he joked.

You giggled, moving to straddle his waist once again. “Daryl Dixon, will you marry me?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, cradling your cheek in his hand as he brought your face down to his. “‘Course I will, baby.”

His lips moved against yours, arms wrapping around your waist to tug you to lie down on top of him. You pulled away first, grabbing his hand to slip the ring onto his fingers.

“Wouldn’t want to spend my birthday’s with no one else.”

[tiyawnyana]

Hey hey heyyy!

I actually love avatar too! I’m counting down the days until Avatar 3 comes out so I can watch it a million times <3

Anyway, I was hoping you could do headcannons of Viktor x councillor!reader who is an advocate for building up the Undercity so it gets to Piltover level if that makes sense. (Basically just wanting equality within the two districts)

Thank yeww!

-🎐 anon

Thank you for the request!!! (I mightve gone a little off track) Gaaaah I love me some good quality characters that wear their heart on their sleeves. Also I cannot wait for avatar 3!! I fear everyone around me will hate me bc that is all I will be talking about

A/N: two fics two days in a row?? A Christmas miracle

Characters: Viktor x Counselor!Reader

Warnings: nothing explicit—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Heart

You took over the counselor position after your Uncle, Torman Hoskel, retired.

You got into politics for the sole purpose of giving equality to those less fortunate. You were a black sheep of sorts, in comparison to your other family members

you were seen as childish- bright eyed and naive, but you played your cards closely and carefully, much like one Medarda (she too realized this)

It was earlier on into the beginning of the age of Hextech, Jayce Talis and his partner, Viktor from the Undercity were becoming the faces of the future.

People mainly only acknowledged Jayce, but you often sought out Viktor as well, including him on the conversations with the progress of Hextech

You gave Viktor the equal respect and admiration as Jayce received from everyone, and that surprised Viktor- a welcome surprise, thankfully

Over time, you built a steady, healthy friendship with him and Jayce, genuinely happy and enthralled with the progress and creations they made over the years

At first, Viktor thought your actions were none other than another counselor wanting Hextech in their pocket-

He was mistaken and he's glad of it, you never came in with that as your goal

You first poach the idea of installing something of good use to the undercity to Jayce in private, hoping for him to take the hint to speed things along.

His best friend, his partner in Hextech after all, was from Zaun. Viktor deserved to see their creations be used to help his people.

You advocated for Zaun more as time went on, acknowledging the name that the people have given their home. You brought in infrastructure ideas, growing more and more agitated as your ideas kept being pushed to the back burner.

This got you into arguments- Many arguments with the other counselors but you refused to bend. Counselor Heimerdinger remained neutral, not able to see that his people were starving in the undercity, suffering and ill ridden despite his prodigy being a product of that environment. You appreciated Heimerdinger for everything he's done, but came to the realization that it wasn't enough.

word of uprisings and crime lords gaining power in the Undercity after all the things that happened 5 years prior (the explosion at Jayce’s, the one down by the southern docks, the death of the ‘Hound’, Vander); it all gained your attention more

You had called for a meeting with the other counselors the night you returned, bringing your own collected vile of what was called Shimmer. The purple, glimmery fluid almost glowed, pulsing with light as you placed it before Counselor Heimerdinger.

“I’m afraid I must be completely honest and blunt here,” you usher to the vile,

“This is the product of our blatant disregard of our people in the Undercity.”

Counselor Salo scoffs, rolling his eyes and spewing some vile insinuations of ‘heathens’ and ‘animals’.

You ignore him, standing in the middle of the circular table,”I commend Counselor Kirammans house for commissioning the pipes in the lower parts of the Undercity to give them safe, proper air to breathe,” you nod to the woman,”But this is not enough. The people deserve more. They need our support, our protection-“

You don’t realize that Jayce and Viktor have been summoned, approaching the room and being let in halfway through your rant.

Viktor is surprised-

“These people have dug their own grave- they start riots and spew violence-”

“Only because they've been backed into a corner, Salo!” You shout, walking closer to his seat and therefore cornering him, despite the barrier of the table,”Anyone will do what they can to protect themselves, their families, from violence.”

You stand up straight, looking around the table. The counselors either look away or face you, a scowl on their lips.

“We are supposed to protect our people, not bury them underground with no hopes to getting out,” you usher to the vile once more,”This is what our lack of protection and equality does to them. Strips them of their lives. They're constantly in fear or struck by illness or addiction, all because we've been turning a blind eye. It's no wonder they've been rioting- it's the only thing that has gotten your attention!”

You glance over to Counselor Shoola, at least hoping she would acknowledge it but you're surprised to see Jayce and Viktor in the entryway.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Counselor Heimerdinger speaks out, beckoning the two in the entryway in.

You send a scathing glare at them all before storming out.

Viktor finds you a few hours later on the terrace above the gardens.

He's quiet, his cane the only form of noise as he approaches. There's a brisk chill to the air, moon high above the clouds cascading a cool glow along the flowers below.

He sighs, leaning against the banister, gazing down below before drifting his eyes back up to the sky

You huff out a soft sigh, head bowing in exhaustion,”They're all idiots.”

He laughs softly, nodding in agreement as he peers over at you,”Yeah- yeah, they can be.”

You bring your head up, frustration in your brow,”I just- how can these people be so stuck up? I get that my head was in the dirt for a while- but I learned and I'm trying to make things right-”

“You're using your status and position to do good,” he murmurs, leaning on his elbow and facing you,”That's more than any of them can say, honestly.”

You glance over at him with a sorrowful look,”What if that isn't enough? I'm doing all that I can, I've started production in the lower mines to clear out the old piping-”

Viktor shakes his head at that, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours,”Even speaking it aloud does something. Your actions alone have proven that, don't think I haven't heard you giving ideas to Jayce for the undercity while I wasn't there.”

He smirks at you and you huff.

“Just keep doing what you're doing, I'm right there with you and I know Jayce is too,” he reassures softly.

You nod quietly, peering down below,”I hope I haven't squandered my position.”

“I don't think you have, and honestly,” he steps closer,”I don't think you will anytime soon. Your seat in that chamber is important for Piltover's Infrastructure- I'd say you hold more cards than Shoola or Salo.”

You roll your eyes with a fond huff,”Now, I doubt that-”

“Don't,” he speaks firm but careful,”You have what they don't seem to-”

You raise a brow,”And what would that be?”

He's silent for such a brief moment, eyes flicking across your face before he smiles softly,”A heart.”

Your face warms, surprisingly, and you attempt to brush it off with a sarcastic laugh.

“Considering one of them is made of metal-”

“I mean it,” he steps closer, and suddenly you feel his warmth,”You have a heart- full of fire and care for people you haven't even met-”

He cups your forearm,”You were kind to me without scorn, even when we first met.”

You're silent, gaze drifting down to his hand holding your arm. Your heart is thundering away in your chest,”It's not difficult to be kind.”

“For some, it is,” he murmurs, his warm eyes drifting over your face, urging you to look at him,”But you never wavered.”

You bring your gaze back up to his, almost taken aback by the genuine smile on his lips.

He brushes back a stray hair, tucking it behind your ear and cupping your cheek tenderly, pulling you in.

You almost think he's going to kiss you, but instead presses his forehead against yours, sighing softly.

“Keep using your voice,” he murmurs,”They're sure to listen eventually.”

You lean into his hold, hand moving to cup his elbow softly as you nod quietly.

He's the one to pull back, another surprise, but doesn't let you pull away completely- instead peering at you with a soft, but questioning gaze, eyes moving down to your lips before trailing back up to yours.

You nod, nose brushing his as he slots his lips over yours.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

A/N: requests are still open!

[moonjellysfeast]

My Own Galatea- Crybaby x Top Male Reader

cw; (C/n) is Code name, manipulation, abuse, unethical science, dehumanization, Crybaby is @yanderefarm's character

You were probably too young to be involved in such an experiment, not even proper college age nor finished with your classes. But, you were very advanced in your studies, you were still top of your classes despite moving up several grades when you were younger, and they were getting desperate. You remember sitting in the meeting, this company had really only planned to discuss simple matters as a way of showing you how you were expected to interact once you finished school and they actually hired you. They got caught up in more urgent matters and forgot you bore witness to their panic and desperation until you raised a hand to silence the room and flatly announced.

"I have the darling gene... I could probably further his infection. He'd listen to me, I promise" They weren't happy about it, but they were truly desperate, so you were hired.

You first met him in the facility's basement, he was in a large glass room, a small hole cut into the bullet-proof glass to keep you safe when talking with him. You had several psychology classes and so you felt confident in your scheme to make him obedient.

"Hello" You spoke softly and he turned to you, clearly upset, "It's nice to meet you. Do you have a name?"

He glared at you for a bit before walking towards the hole in the glass and quietly grumbling, "I do... A real one..."

You smiled at him, he was only a year or two younger than you, but you would have to treat him more like a child until he knew you were safe. You approached him, ensuring you looked as confident as you felt, you weren't scared of him and he had no need to fear you yet.

"Give me your name, then. We can't be friends unless you tell me at least that much" Your words were laced with honey, he eyed your sweet smile with suspicion and you watched his eyes shift. He was coming around to the idea.

"Elias... I think... no, I am right... I am named Elias..." Even just at the confusion of his name, his eyes were round and damp. You held back the tug of a grin to give him a gentle smile instead.

"You can call me (Y/n). Elias is a beautiful name. It suits you" He looked at you with awe now, like it was the first compliment he'd ever heard, "You know, the people here call me (C/n), isn't that a funny name? Do they call you something like that?"

"Yes. Crybaby... I don't like it" He'd looked so adorable, crouched on the other side of the glass, confessing his thoughts like deep secrets, and watching you with those wet eyes.

You had been completely correct in your assumption that you could further his infection, when you next saw him, his irises were clear heart shapes and he hopped up to greet you at the glass.

"Good morning, Elias~ You seem energetic" You mused as he fidgeted a bit and nodded. "I'd like to play a game today, if you're up for it"

"A game?" He was clearly wary, surely experiments had been done to him in the form of 'games' previously, but he had to trust you.

"It's like simon says. Do you know that game?" he shook his head slowly, "Well, I'm going to tell you to do things, but I only want you to listen when I call you Crybaby, Ok?"

"Why?" He whined

"Because, It'll be fun. Friends play games all the time and we're friends now! We'll start easy; Crybaby, sit down," He sat with little hesitancy, "Very good. Stand up, Crybaby," He stood, "Elias, please come closer"

He walked toward you and you made quite a show of disappointment, causing him to scramble back into place and apologize, already welling up with tears.

"No, no, it's ok. You forgot the rules. Like I said, we're starting easy so it's not a big issue. Crybaby, come here" He hesitated before scrambling to the glass window, tears streaming down his face already.

The games continued each day, once he was good at listening as crybaby, you started referring to Crybaby and Elias as different people, even giving them rules.

"Crybaby doesn't know my name, you only know me as (C/n), right? You pet his head, watching him nod along to your words. "Who am I?"

"(Y)- no... (C/n)..."

"Good boy, you're really learning. I'm sure Elias would be proud of you as well, Crybaby"

You also had begun entering his cell, he adored when you did and would cling to you until you demanded he stop. With becoming so close to him, you also had to begin enforcing all of your rules more strictly.

"(Y/n) I don't kno-" He crumpled to the floor the moment you hand landed on his cheek.

"That's not what you call me, is it, Crybaby?" You sneered as he cradled his cheek and began to tear up again.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'msorry- mhhn, Please don't be mad! (C/n), sir, please!" You placed a hand over his own, silencing him.

"I know you didn't mean it, but we can't have you being bad, can we? No, Crybaby, you have to be a good boy and listen to me. Now, you remember where it is, mark the artery I told you to."

He shakily got up and made an x on the mannequin's neck, precisely where you told him to.

"Good boy" you smiled a bit, " We'll have to work on your crying. as much as your name is apt, no one will like you crying so much when you start to actually work..."

There will be more of this fic but I am stuck.

[lanafofana]

lana, may i humbly request a teeny bit of rookanis please? with or without spite, up to you

Anything for you Doe! ‘In the hands of a master the simplest of weapons was transformed into an artist’s tool. When he moved, the blade acted as an extension of his very will. Light flickered off the edge like a dance echoed in the perfect choreography of an a—

“Rook.”

The quill made a wet inky smear across the page as it slipped from between Bellara’s startled fingers. Below her perch, the thunk of blade against cutting board seemed a tad more menacing when one realized Spite was on the other end of it.

“Spite. Hello.” Rook’s voice was warm and friendly as always. Privately Bellara marveled that her protagonist boss was so unflappable in the weirdest of situations. “Does Lucanis know that you’re…um. What are you doing?”

“Preparing. Food. Feed the.” Spite growled, low and guttural, as if slipping out of the range of his vocabulary and displeased by it.

“Are you making dinner for everyone?” Rook supplied, her voice slowly approaching as she drew closer to see what Spite had wrought of their provisions.

“Yes,” confirmed Spite.

“I see. That’s, well,” faltered Rook. “I think that’s potentially very nice. Well done trying to help Lucanis with meals. I do have one question though, just a thought. Feel free to not answer.”

“Ask. Question!”

“Do you have any idea what to feed, um, people?”

Spite was silent for a long moment. The sounds of a knife slicing through something and hitting the cutting board started up again, slowly at first and then gaining more speed. And then, finally, Spite said: “Cut into pieces, collect into pot, fire!”

“I see you’ve been paying attention to Lucanis’ cooking,” Rook’s voice noted, amused. “Perhaps I can answer any questions you might have on what types of things you should be cutting into pieces.”

“Types,” grunted Spite.

“Types of food,” said Rook. “Cheese. Bread. Fresh things, you know like, uh, fruits and vegetables. Fish, venison, pork…that mystery jerkey Solas left behind in the back.”

“Mystery…” Spite’s knife paused on the cutting board. “This? Not. Food?”

“No,” said Rook, sounding relieved their impromptu lesson on digestible ingredients had taken root. “No. That’s not food.”

“Start. Over?” Spite demanded, sounding torn between anger and, just detectable in the lilt of his pout, frustration.

“That’s alright. You learned a new thing anyway,” said Rook. “Tell you what, I’ll take care of dinner tonight and next time I’ll teach you something easy you can make everyone. All by yourself if you really want.”

Spite growled.

“Or we can make it a group effort. See if Manfred wants to learn a new recipe besides tea and those little sandwiches.”

“Curiosity doesn’t? Know recipe?”

“I haven’t taught them anything in the kitchen so I don’t really know. Probably not.”

“Rook teach Spite,” declared Spite suddenly. “Not Curiosity!”

“How will Curiosity, I mean Manfred, learn something new then?”

Spite nearly shouted in his excitement. “Spite! Teach! Curiosity!” Spite laughed, a hoarse dry cackle that raised the hairs on the back of Bellara’s neck.

“If you like,” said Rook gamely. “For now, if you grab me some onions from the back I can show you a couple other ways to cut up vegetables.”

The sound of the knife clattering to the table was followed by the retreat of footsteps as Spite retrieved the onions. Bellara leaned out of her hiding spot and could just barely see Rook’s profile as she cleared whatever Spite had been diligently dicing into the garbage bin.

“Rook?” Lucanis, having just emerged from the pantry, blinked sleepily as he looked from the onions in his hands to Rook, confusion bleeding into dismay.

“Spite thought you could use a break from cooking,” Rook said, taking the onions from him and returning to the kitchen. “Might have a point too, you look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Lucanis.”

The assassin set his jaw. “I’m fine.”

Rook’s grip on the onions tightened before her shoulders drooped and she sighed. “None of us are fine, Lucanis.” The sound of a knife slicing through onion started up and the crinkle of paper onion skin being discarded followed. “It’s alright to depend on us as much as we depend on you.”

“Are you giving me one of your famous pep talks?”

“Only if it’s working.”

“Hmm,” Lucanis joined Rook in the kitchen. His arms folded while he watched her knife work. “You should take your own advice some time.”

Rook looked at him from the corner of her eye. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t always have to be the one to pick up the slack. Let someone else cook, you’ve been going at full speed ever since—”

“I’m fine.”

“Ah,” said the assassin with a smile Bellara didn’t have to see to know was gracing the curve of his lips. “Of course.”

Rook’s hands stilled and she shot Lucanis an annoyed look. “Point taken, Dellamorte.” She hesitated, head dipping down, and then sighed as if very gently releasing a hidden pressure valve in her chest. “Sometimes I think if I stand in one place too long, my secret will be out.”

Lucanis tilted his head to one side, “And what secret is that?”

A hollow, self deprecating laugh shook loose in the silence. “What an utter fraud I am.”

“Nobody who has seen you do the things you have could think you’re a fraud.”

Rooks hair moved as she shook her head. “I wasn’t meant for this. Leadership? Me? I don’t know what I’m doing and any minute it feels like someone’s going to call my bluff.”

“Nobody questions your leadership,” said Lucanis, still staring at Rook’s face as if waiting for it to crack open and reveal the secrets hidden within.

“Maybe they should,” she retorted.

“Rook.”

“Lucanis,” she parroted.

“Are all Lords of Fortune as insufferable as you are?”

“No,” Rook laughed. “I’m one of a kind.”

“I was already aware of that.” Bellara felt her heart swell to burst and clamped her mouth shut on a squeal before it could escape.

Rook sucked in a breath and finally tilted her head to meet the assassin’s eyes. “Now who’s giving the pep talk?”

“I told you, did I not?” Lucanis closed the distance between them and nuzzled his face into her hair, hands on her hips. “When you doubted yourself, I would be here to remind you how magnificent you are.”

“Magnificent is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Lucanis was adamant. “Magnificent,” he murmured into her hair. “Magnificent,” he said against the warm freckled skin of her neck. With a deft touch he removed the knife from her hand and placed it with the onions. Tugging on her hands Lucanis drew her away from the kitchen and into a soft embrace. “Magnificent,” he promised.

“Sap,” Rook scoffed through a smile. “What are we going to do about dinner?”

Lucanis grinned. “Bellara volunteered.”

From her perch Bellara’s heart stuttered.

“She did?” Rook asked as Lucanis led her away towards the main door.

“She did,” confirmed Lucanis.

From her corner Bellara peered around the edge of her hiding spot and locked eyes with the crow. He winked before ushering Rook out of the building.

[later, in another part of the lighthouse] Emmrich: where the devil are my gloves Manfred: *innocent hiss*

[that-hazbin]

Sorta AU/story idea where Alastor's a serial killer but he doesn't... completely realize that he's a serial killer.

He's super mentally Not Okay with a whole load of traumatic baggage, and sometimes when he gets past a stress threshold, he sort of... blacks out. Not faint, exactly, but his body moves on autopilot while his consciousness is just. Not there.

The first time it happened, he was fourteen. His father had beaten him black and blue, and left him limp on the floor to go beat Alastor's mother. When Alastor came to the realization that his mother stopped moving, his vision went blurry.

When he regained consciousness, his father was on the floor, bleeding from the head, eyes glazed over. It looked like he fell and hit himself on the corner of the dining table. Alastor lost both his parents on the same day.

After that, Alastor started having "episodes" a bit more often. A majority of the time, he manages to get home, and when he wakes up, he's hiding under his bed or in his closet, confused as to how he even got home. He doesn't want to be admitted into an asylum, of course, so he keeps quiet about this.

Sometimes, though?

Sometimes, he'll wake up knee deep in water, staring into the dark of a bayou. Sometimes, he'll wake up half-submerged in his bath, red going down the drain, with no clue as to where he's injured. Sometimes, the person who was screaming at him before the episode hit just went... missing the next day.

Alastor keeps quiet.

Naturally, when Alastor dies, he goes to hell. He doesn't remember the crimes, but he did commit them regardless. Of course, when people ask him what he did to end up down there, he can't give a real answer. The truth of the matter is that he doesn't know. Sure, he has... suspicions. Theories. But he doesn't know.

Things happen. He has several black out episodes in Hell before they simply stop happening, because he's stressed all the time and he can't just block every single second of every day from memory. He learns how to consciously survive in hell. Makes a name for himself.

Things roughly stay truthful to canon from there.

Then, one day, Charlie has a brilliant idea for a hotel activity. Part of redemption means acknowledging what brought you to hell to begin with, and what you can do now to make up for those actions! They go around the room, talking about the sins they committed, and what they can do now to improve. Alastor fully intends to stay out of the activity, he's not working towards redemption after all, but... Of course, Lucifer has to taunt.

Lucifer: What, you're just gonna sit around judging us?

Charlie: Er, dad—

Alastor: Hilarious coming from you, your majesty, truly. In any case, your memory seems to be failing you, I'm not here for redemption. I have no reason to participate.

Lucifer: Uh huh, neither is the bartender or the maid, you think you can be exempt just because you're staff? I'm the King of Hell and you don't see me skipping out. And here I would've thought you would have taken the chance to brag about the fucked up shit you did up there.

Charlie: Hey, guys, I don't think—

Alastor: Husk and Nifty are grown adults who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. I am also a grown adult, and my decisions don't need to reflect theirs.

Lucifer: Oh, I see, you're a coward then?

Alastor: Believe whatever you want to, it makes no difference to me.

Lucifer: Sure it doesn't. Why don't we make this a game, huh? I'll guess your sins, and you stop me when I get it right.

Charlie: Dad, Alastor—

Lucifer: Can't imagine you fucked before marriage or anything, I mean, you scream prude. Bet you died a virgin.

Alastor: Hah, I wouldn't know. Are you done with your childish taunts, or are you going to allow your daughter to continue?

Lucifer stops dead, both because of the reminder that he's interrupting Charlie's activity, and also because he's replaying Alastor sentence back in his head. And, as the father of lies himself, he realizes that Alastor... wasn't lying when he said he didn't know.

Charlie: Great, yes, thank you Alastor! So, anyways—

Lucifer: Wait.

Charlie: Dad!

Lucifer: Seriously, wait. Bellhop, what the fuck do you mean you wouldn't know?

Angel: ... Oh shit.

Alastor: ... Charlie, continue your activity.

Charlie: Uh.

Lucifer: Oh, FUCK YOU! No, what the fuck did you mean by that?! What, were you like, drugged or—

Angel: HEY LET'S TALK ABOUT MY DEEP DARK PAST AS A MEMBER OF A MAFIA FAMILY!

Charlie: YES THANK YOU ANGEL LET'S TALK ABOUT IT! I'M VERY PROUD OF YOU FOR VOLUNTEERING!

Alastor gets the fuck out of dodge, and Lucifer finally gets the hint that he definitely stepped on a landmine that he very much should have not touched. Unfortunately, Lucifer alongside everyone in the hotel are left with a misunderstanding regarding Alastor's history.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Locked In    by cellythefloshie

Summary: When the NHL season is abruptly halted by a global pandemic, and you find yourself sharing your tiny apartment with your brother's rookie teammate, Quinn Hughes. Kinks & TW: Tanev Sister Reader, Forced Proximity, Secret Hook-up/Romance, 2019-2020 Season, Covid-19 Lockdown, Hints of Mild Dominance from Quinn, Mild Alcohol Consumption, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, A Little Angsty (unresolved). Word Count: 4k+ A/N: I hadn't planned to post anything in January. I was just going to post my Best of 2024 and be done until February. BUT then I decided I wanted to challenge myself a little. I wanted to write for a player I thought I would never write for. AND then I was writing for a time I never thought I would write before because, of course, his rookie season had to be during the pandemic. Please be gentle with me. I took a lot of creative liberties here, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Why does he have to stay here?”

The tension in your shoulders grew as you glared up at your brother Chris. If your words hadn’t been clear enough in telling him just how displeased you were with his proposition, your body language would have to help get the point across. 

“It’s just for a few days until they get everything figured out,” Chris replied, brushing off your annoyance with a casual shrug with an ease that left a bad taste in your mouth—and it really shouldn’t have. As your big brother, he had years of practice in the art of convincing you to do things you didn’t want to do. 

Sighing, you passed Chris and at the player your brother was hoping you’d welcome into the small one-bedroom apartment you called home. Quinn Hughes, the team's rookie defenseman. Tall, and handsome, you had done your best to keep your distance from him when you had met once before—knowing yourself too well to trust that you would behave around a guy like him. 

He was shy back then and seemed just as timid as he stood awkwardly in the hallway, pretending not to hear the conversation you were having with Chris. Quinn kept his head down, his warm brown eyes locked on the floor like a sad, pound puppy that nobody wanted, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his team branded hoodie. 

Forcing a smile, your gaze focused back up on your brother, and his toothy grin that was always just enough to convince you. 

“It’s bad enough that there’s some illness going around that’s so serious that they halted the season and the world feels like it’s ending,” you began, “but now you’re locking me in my apartment with the team’s rookie?”

“I can hear you, you know?” Quinn spoke up from the hallways, his gaze raising from the floor for the first time since he had arrived. 

Your heart beat hastened, and it pounded so strongly you could feel it against the delicate flesh of your throat. It raced so quickly; you thought it might burst through your chest as a wave of heated embarrassment washed over you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you tried to play it cool, but if Quinn had reached out and felt just how sweaty your hands had become, he would know just how much of a facade it was. “Why can’t he stay with you?” You cocked your head as you brought your arms up to cross over your chest, begging him to get to the point he was trying to make. 

“The kids’ daycare is closed. Mom’s flying in before things get worse–but he’s my responsibility since we already got Petey home to Sweden and they don’t want any of the guy alone for-” Chris cut himself off, as if there was more to say but he didn’t want you to hear it. You hung on his words for a moment, ready to question him on it, but you didn’t. You knew better than to question your big brother. 

“Does mom think it’s a good idea to stick me in an apartment with him?” You challenged him in a last ditch effort to try to get out of the familial obligation of helping out your brother when he needed it. 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His smile grew wider as he placed Quinn’s bag down on the floor just inside the door. 

“You know,” you sighed, leaning against your door, giving Quinn just enough room to come inside, “instead of flying mom home, Quinn could have helped with the kids.” It was your final, half-serious attempt to escape the arrangement, but it only made your brother laugh. 

“Thanks, Sis,” he said simply, ignoring your every attempt to say no before he was gone, leaving you and Quinn alone in your apartment. 

You lingered by the door for a moment, your head resting against the surface as you let out a steady breath. Maybe if Chris had given you a heads up, you might have felt differently about the entire situation, but your place was in no condition for a houseguest. Dishes had piled up in the sink, your laundry was half folded on the couch, and you were in the middle of rewatching your favorite television series on Netflix as a way to avoid the hell that was going on in the world. And Quinn, he was just going to have to accept all of it. 

But only for a few days. 

With a sigh, you pushed back from the door and forced a smile. “Sorry about the mess,” you told him as you moved to the couch and gathered armfuls of clothes. “You can set yourself up on the couch. Put on anything you like. I’ll get this all out of the way.”

“Do you need a hand?” Quinn offered, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t expected him to be so nice. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assured, carrying the clothes into your bedroom before throwing them onto your bed. You would deal with them later. First, you would have to deal with Quinn. 

Leaving your room, you shut the door firmly behind you. “That’s my room,” you gestured to the closed door, “it’s off limits to you unless stated otherwise. Obviously, you’re in the living room, which also happens to be the kitchen and the dining room. And through there is the bathroom, and if you can manage all of that without getting lost, tomorrow I can show you where the laundry room is down the hall.”

It wasn’t much of a tour, but the apartment was small. Surely if Quinn needed anything, he would figure it out—and you wanted nothing more than to retreat and hide away from the awkward situation your brother had forced you into. Maybe it made you seem harsh—or maybe it didn’t, because Quinn met your words with a soft smile and a quiet thanks before he settled in on the sofa, making himself at home. 

“If you need anything,” you started softly, your words becoming heavy with a sigh, “just knock.”

Slowly, you slipped away into the sanctuary of your bedroom, your lips moving in a whisper of a prayer as you began to put your laundry into its place. “It’s only for a few days…”

Days turned into weeks. And as the world’s condition only seemed to worsen, necessity foiled your determination to keep Quinn at arm’s length. You could only take so much solitude in your room before the silence became unbearable. While you had movies on your laptop and video chats with your friends to keep you entertained, you needed real human contact to keep yourself from insanity. Slowly, you began to share meals together, and small talk that slowly grew beyond hockey and the relationship you had with your brothers Chris and Brandon. And to your surprise, he wasn’t the worst house guest. Quinn was self-sufficient, considerate, and–while you would never admit it to Chris–the only person keeping you from losing your mind. 

“Do you maybe want to watch a movie together, or something?” you asked him one night after dinner, your tone as casual as you could muster. 

Quinn’s attention snapped to you, shifting from his phone that lit up the surprise that overtook his features. “Yeah, sure. I can set it up. Anything you want to watch?”

You shrugged as you tucked the last of the clean dishes away. “Just put on whatever. I’ll pop some popcorn.”

Settling on the couch minutes later, you place the bowl of popcorn in the space between you. As the movie played, the distance between you and Quinn seemed to shrink with each handful. You felt the warmth of his body radiating from him, and the softness of his hands as they collided with yours on the hunt for just another handful of popcorn. It was a subtle, but unignorable touch that made your pulse quicken. 

Biting down on your lower lip, you brought your hands back to rest on your lap, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. Quinn was focused on the movie, his sharp jawline tense as he enjoyed the last handful of popcorn. His eyes didn’t hold the heavy sadness they had when he had arrived at your apartment weeks ago, but seemed to have a hint of a smile in them as he laughed at one of the jokes as it played out on screen. 

You smiled softly to yourself. 

You liked his laugh, and maybe it was just the weeks of isolation consuming you, but… he wasn’t bad company at all. 

“What?” Quinn’s question sent a nervous jolt through you. He had caught you looking. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool. 

The couch shifted as Quinn turned his body away from the movie, giving his attention to you as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch. “Tell me.”

For a moment, you thought about ignoring him. That the two of you could ignore what had just happened and just get lost in the movie until the crack in your hardened facade was forgotten. But his stare left you giddy, and there was no hiding the smile that began to blossom over your features. 

“You’re not a bad guy to have around, Hughes,” you finally admitted, “and I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached up to push his thick brunette hair from his eyes, “your brother thought it would be best for you–”

Your brows furrowed, your question leaving your lips in a firm question before he could continue, “I’m sorry, what?” “He didn’t want you to be alone during all of this,” Quinn explained, his voice soft and sheepish, as if he knew he shouldn’t have been telling you anything. 

You leaned back against the opposite arm of the couch, your legs coming up to spread across the cushions and dragging along his leg slowly, accidentally, until you were comfortable there. “That lying bastard,” you laughed in disbelief, “he told me you being here was for your sake!”

Quinn’s laughter joined yours, warm and contagious as it created a symphony with yours. “We’ll have to give him hell for it later… but it hasn’t been all that bad, has it?”

You shook your head slowly, a silent admission that the weeks you had spent together in forced proximity weren’t all that bad. Standing up, you moved to the fridge, finding two tall beer bottles in the back. You carried one in each hand back to the couch, offering one to him as you stood just behind him, your body leaning against the back of the couch. 

“I can think of maybe two people I’d rather be stuck here with,” you joked lightly. 

“Ouch,” Quinn teased as he twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip. 

“Don’t lie,” you told him. “I know you’d rather be at home with your brothers.”

“My brothers aren’t as easy on the eyes as you are,” Quinn said quickly, without hesitation. But then his face flooded with color, and his eyes went wide. Just as quickly as his words had been said, Quinn had realized they had not just been the thoughts reserved for his head. “Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

You raised your brow, challenging him with a smile as you asked, “What would be the fun in that?” 

Quinn’s smile grew. 

Your brother had thrown you both into this situation. You, his sister, cooped up with him, the team’s rookie defenceman, during a global pandemic that left you both isolated and alone. What Chris had expected to happen? You didn’t know. But it was only a matter of time before the lines you had created became blurred. 

After a long, satisfying sip of beer to boost your confidence, you leaned forward and placed it down on the coffee table. Licking your lips slowly, you hesitated, your mind screaming no, but your body telling you yes, as you climbed into Quinn’s lap slowly. You seated yourself there, his lap between your thighs as you straddled him. His eyes shot wide, a quiet cough choking him as he forced back a sip of beer and silently handed the cold bottle to you. 

Leaning back carefully, you place it down next to yours, Quinn’s hands reaching out to grip carefully at your thighs to keep you from falling back. He anchored you there, in his lap, as you settled back into place carefully, your body arching further into his, stealing more and more of his space until you were a breath away from his lips. A small smile blossomed over your lips slowly, your body consumed with the giddiness of what you were about to do. Your brother would kill you for this, or Quinn, but you didn’t care. It made it all the more exciting to lean in and kiss him. 

There was a moment of hesitancy in the careful kiss of Quinn’s lips as they welcomed yours. His kiss was slow, and curious as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Your touch was a feather light fleeting touch that quickly found its way into the thick wisps of his hair as his kiss deepened with desperation. 

He kissed you like you were a glass of water, and he hadn’t had a sip in weeks. His tongue stroked your lips slowly before parting them, and you could taste the beer on his tongue as you welcomed it into your mouth. The sweet contact unleashed a hum that caused through Quinn’s body in a subtle vibration that could feel between your thighs. And suddenly, your entire body was weak, like gelatin, and craving more than just the kiss of his lips. 

“Quinn,” you whined against his lips, your hips moving in slow rotations over his lap, grinding your core against his cock that you hoped to coax into an erection. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, breaking the kiss for the first time as he threw his head back. Quinn’s touch left where he held you firmly at the back of your thighs, dragging upwards until they settled on your hips and encouraged your every movement. 

You watched as his face melted into a soft expression that you couldn’t quite place, his mouth agape and his eyes shut as he focused on the very feeling of you. And between your legs, you could feel the stiffness of his cock, hard and ready. Reaching down, your fingers fumbled to work him free of his pants, but the quick lurch of his one hand captured both of yours in his hold. 

You looked up at him, your eyes wide in shock as he guided your hands to the waistband of your pants carefully. 

“Take those off,” he told you, his words firm and far from a suggestion, “and go to your room.”

Holy fuck. You had never been someone who liked to be told what to do, but in that moment, Quinn could have told you to do anything and you would have done it. 

Standing slowly, you stood between his knees as she remained seated on the couch. Your eyes fixated on his features, worried that if you had let them wander down out of curiosity, you might moan. As you held your breath, your hands pushed down at the waist of your pants, you pushed them down—and your panties went with them. 

They remained in a heap on the floor, your toes tripping over them slightly as you began the agonizing walk to the bedroom. With every stride you could feel your own wetness dripping down the inside of your thighs, your core begging to be filled. And as you got to your bedroom, you froze, your legs pressed firm together as you waited. His footsteps didn’t fill the silence. Quinn wasn’t following you. 

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, your flesh suddenly red hut and sent a shimmer with a sheen of sweat. Quinn was still in the living room, his thoughts entirely his own as you waited, near panicked, for him to join you. 

Standing with your back to the door, your eyes shut as you took deep breaths in an attempt to remain calm. Maybe you had been too forward. He wasn’t interested—or maybe he wasn’t as reckless as you and wasn’t ready to throw away a good relationship with his teammate by fucking his teammate’s sister. 

“Fuck,” you cursed to yourself, ready to accept the mistake you had just made. 

Reaching for your blanket, you had intended to wrap it around your waist and retreat back into the living room with an apology, but when you turned around, Quinn was standing in your doorway. 

His steps were slow as he entered your bedroom for the first time since he had arrived two weeks prior. Quinn wasted no time getting familiar with his surroundings. He only had eyes for you as he met you where you stood frozen at the foot of your bed. Quinn’s arms wrapped around you in a careful bear-hug, drawing your body flush with his as his lips found yours in a kiss that reassured you that your advances had been welcome. 

You moaned against his lips as he lay you out on your bed with an effortless strength and splayed your legs open wide. Quinn could have settled himself in between them, but instead, he lay down at your side, your one leg propped up against him. He stroked at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh slowly as he kissed you. His touch moved up only an inch at a time, teasing you as he encroached on the apex of your thighs. He left your body shuddering with anticipation, his hand hovering over your eagerness but void of his touch when you knew he was so close to where you wanted him. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you muttered against his lips. 

It had been weeks since you had anyone touch you, and when he had become your unexpected house guest, he was the last person you thought you would welcome into your bed. But now that you had him there, you wanted all of him, or as much of himself as he was willing to give you. 

First, you felt him smile against your lips, a hum of a laugh coursing through him, and then you felt his fingers on your clit. 

Your teeth grit in a satisfied hiss, your hips raising to meet his touch with an eagerness that was out of your control. Your heels dug down into the bed, your hips rolling into every careful circular stroke he made before his fingers dipped down, feeling the slick of your arousal and plunged into your core. 

“Quinn,” you gasped out, your hips dropping into a downward angle to welcome his fingers into your core. 

His middle and ring finger worked you in quick thrusts that left your mind dizzy and your movements purely instinctive as you anchored yourself to your bed with the grasp of your hand and bucked your hips up into his hand just to feel more of him. Quickly, you were so embarrassingly close to coming, and it left you reeling as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. 

“Are you going to-” you started, your body trying to roll on top of him in a swift movement that was interrupted by the careful push of his free hand against your hip. Quinn pushed you back to laying flat against the bed, one hand still buried in your core while the other held you down at the hips. The angle he worked you into, paired with how his fingers curled at just the right spot as they worked you, sent a fire burning through you. Your arousal coated his fingers, dripping down over his palm and making a mess of the bed as pleasure pulsed through you. It left you moaning, your head thrown back against the mattress as your core clenched around his fingers, wishing that it was his cock. 

As you lay in your bed, panting, you tried to remember the last time you let someone do something as adolescent as getting you off with nothing more than their fingers. But your mind was fogged by the bliss of your climax—but one thought hung low over you, preventing you from enjoying it fully. Quinn hadn’t gotten to enjoy releasing himself. 

Rolling over slowly, you tried to reach out for his waistband again, but he caught your hand. Your gaze met his, his eyes soft, and his smile small as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb slowly. 

“You didn’t get to-” You started, but he cut you off. 

“I know,” he said, his hand bringing your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss on your palm—a small attempt at a distraction from how his cock still seemed to throb in the confines of his pants. “But let’s sleep on it, okay? Make sure you don’t regret this in the morning. I mean, your brother is my teammate, after all.”

“Oh,” you sounded softly, trying to hide your disappointment behind understanding, “yeah, okay. But ah- can you stay in here with me tonight?” You requested slowly, “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore-”

Quinn nodded slowly, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. “I can do that, anything to get away from sleeping on that damn couch–”

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the table as you sat across from Quinn. It was the first morning since he had arrived that it felt like you weren’t walking on eggshells. It was a quiet, comfortable affair, yet there was a new tension in the air. One that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe he was regretting what had happened. That thought alone left your stomach in your throat as you poked at your breakfast, trying to find the will to take the first bite. 

Then, breaking the silence, Quinn found the courage to speak. “I’m allowed to fly back to Michigan, to be with my family until the season resumes.”

Your grasp on your fork tightened, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. You could feel your face wanting to fall into a scowl, but you did your best to mask it by taking a long sip of your drink as you sought composure. 

So that was it. After weeks of shared solitaire, an awkward beginning that turned into something that felt natural, he was leaving? Just like that?

“That’s great,” you said, forcing a smile. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered. 

You could feel his gaze on your face, searching for the reaction you refused to give him. Instead, you let your features soften, a practiced smile on your features as you set your fork down on the table with deliberate care. “I won’t keep you then. You’ve got some packing to do. The last thing you need is a distraction.”

Pushing your chair back, you abandoned your place on the table, your breakfast unfinished, and moved towards your bedroom. Your footsteps were quick, your eyes fixated on your bedroom door, and they did not deviate from it. Not even as Quinn’s voice followed you, your name leaving his lips in a gentle plea, “Please wait, can we talk about this?”

His words didn’t stop you. You didn’t turn around; you didn’t look back at him. Instead, your hand just tightened into your fist at your side as you reached the threshold of your doorway. There, you lingered for a moment, your flexed hand reaching up to rest against the door frame. You could feel Quinn’s eyes on your back, and your lips parted as if to say something–a sharp retort, a clever quip, anything to fill the silence–but no words came. 

Only a quivering breath left your lips as you stepped into your room and closed the door firmly behind you. 

The quietness and sudden isolation of your room were suddenly suffocating. Just mere hours ago you had Quinn had woken up there, together, and now he was going to just leave? It felt like some sick and twisted joke that left you trembling as you sank to your knees. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had known before breakfast, and that last night only happened because Quinn knew he was going to leave. The what ifs were all-consuming in your mind, raging louder and louder even if you tried to combat them with: Quinn, isn’t that kind of guy. He’s good—at least that’s what you wanted to believe. But the thought wasn’t enough. Your tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting as you silently sobbed. The hot tears spilled down your cheeks as you pressed your psalm into your face to muffle any sound that threatened to escape your lips. 

Quinn was leaving. After everything. After the awkward days of learning to live together, and the late-night talks, the laughter, and the moments that felt too intimate to be casual. You’d finally allowed yourself to settle into the strange shared existence the two of you had been thrust into. For two weeks, it was just the two of you alone in the little world that was your apartment. When Chris had dropped him off weeks ago, you knew the arrangement was temporary. At one point you had been counting down the hours until he could leave… but now, as you struggled through shallow breaths in search of a glimmer of composure, you had to accept he was leaving you behind, and it felt achingly permanent. 

In just twenty-four hours, Quinn would be gone.

You spent each one of them alone in your room, your mind racing with so many things you wanted to say, but never brought yourself to. As the next time you left your room, the apartment was unbearably quiet, void of Quinn’s presence. And for the first time in weeks, you were truly alone.