#just think about it like: stepping down a bit

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (4)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: please do not ask me about chapter updates.

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: kissing & dry humping.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

please leave a comment/reblog and let me know what you think!

***

What does it mean when you have a wet dream about your boss? 

Surely this happens to everybody. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about because the other party involved has no idea what transpired. This feeling is like accidentally calling your teacher “Mom” or “Dad,” only a thousand times worse. 

You don’t remember much, only fragments and jump cuts that make you question if what you dreamt was real at all. But you remember what his naked chest and torso looked like and the way your hands roamed the expanse of his skin as you sat on top of him. You remember the way his legs parted to situate your body on his thighs, and you remember the way he looked when he was tugging on his dick to finish all over your body. 

It was enough to wake you with a startle. 

It’s just before 5AM and nothing you do can put you back to sleep. Your heart is beating erratically, and your mind races from scenario to scenario. Revisiting the remnants of your dream makes you flustered and you feel guilty. Surely it’s normal to think about your boss like that, right? 

There’s not much that Sunghoon isn’t perfect at. He can be a bit impatient and particular, but he’s the epitome of everybody’s dream. He’s so sure of himself all of the time and knows what he wants. Most importantly, Sunghoon is not afraid of pursuing his goals until the very end. 

It’s unfortunate that passionate, secure men are exactly your type. You don’t play games; you’re too old for that. This will-they-won’t-they is a thing of the past and a scenario you would’ve loved to experience back when you were seventeen. In adulthood, you appreciate men who respect your independence and find it attractive, even. 

Hearing Sunghoon tell his colleagues he knows to trust you because of how you need little help does more damage than good. Sunghoon’s praise is not the basis of your career, but it’s an added bonus when it all comes down to it. 

He’s everything you could ever want in a guy, but you can’t do anything about it. You haven’t been able to think about how attractive you found him to be upon the first day of meeting him because Sunghoon is your boss. He’s the one who delegates your work and at the end of the day, it would be unprofessional. 

It doesn’t stop you from having wet dreams about him, apparently. 

Getting yourself to leave your apartment is much harder than it usually is. You refuse to get in your car for a while and try to stall yourself until the inevitable anxiety about being late to work pushes you to get in it. Music doesn’t help quell your mind on the drive either. It all sounds like static noise to you with how loud and vibrational the wet dream is. Pulling up to the parking garage and your designated spot feels like a challenge. Stepping into the lobby and riding the elevator up to your floor feels damn near suffocating. 

It’s just your luck that Sunghoon happened to show up earlier than you did for once, truly. You like to be prepared and have a daily agenda to go over with him, but you need your peace and quiet to gather all your thoughts and priorities before beginning the workday. 

He stands with his back facing you. Sunghoon’s broad shoulders are covered by a black button down with sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow. Your breath hitches and you don’t think you can handle seeing him if he turns around, especially when you know he could probably see how you’re out of it today. 

You take a few deep breaths before your heels click against the hardwood floor, alerting Sunghoon of your presence. He turns around when he hears you and you try not to trip and fall. Damn his good looks so early in the morning. Damn him for not needing any makeup while you caked your under eyes with concealer. Screw him for looking so attractive when you’re trying to think of him as anything but. 

“Morning.”

“You’re here early.” 

Sunghoon smiles. “I know. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I’d come to the office early.” 

Did he have a wet dream about you too?

The thought disappears as soon as you think it because that seems both ludicrous and egotistical. Sunghoon doesn’t think of you like that. He sees you as his personal assistant and nothing more. 

Why does that feeling disappoint you? 

You’re desperately trying to keep a calm demeanor as you walk closer towards him. You try your hardest to push the dream away from your mind as the two of you look at each other, and instead take a seat by your desk. He follows behind you and lingers by the front of it as you take out your legal pad to write today’s agenda. The weight of his eyes are heavy.

“No meetings until 11AM when the Choi’s come for an informational meeting with the Decelis company for lunch at the InterContinental, and begin discussing the steps until I resign for good.”

“You have your shit down.” 

“It’s my job.”

“Do we really have to talk about the fact that you’re quitting?” 

You turn your chair to face him. “Yes. I’m leaving in a month and a half, there are a million projects I need to finish, and I need to make sure your new assistant has what it takes.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” 

“I have. It’s my decision and I stand by it. But I really did enjoy my time at this company and I want to make sure you have somebody who can manage you.” 

“Manage me?” 

You smirk when he chokes. “Don’t act like you’re a saint, Sunghoon. You rely on me for nearly all of your business and I’ve learned more about this company’s inner workings than anybody else. My work is triple what other assistants do at this office, but it gets results.”

“I’m passionate about my job.” 

“So am I.” 

Sunghoon leans over your desk and puts both palms on the wood below him. He looks at you and bends down until he’s significantly closer to your face. Even with the clear distance between the both of you, your cheeks feel like they’re heating up. Suddenly, your dreams from the night before reappear in your vision. You start imagining what Sunghoon would look like without his shirt on at this very angle. 

“You’re the best at what you do. You’re smart, intuitive, and you’re not afraid to argue with me and hurt pride. I’ve never had a business partner who’s been as sharp as you.” 

You’re nearly stunned into silence. Sunghoon’s plush lips look inviting and his piercing stare makes you feel all kinds of things an assistant shouldn’t be feeling about her boss. His words still register and float around your head.

“Business partner is a stretch.” 

“You make ideas and execute them. That’s more than what a personal assistant would do. It’s commendable how much you’ve learned about this company over the years.”

“The best I can do is help you find a worthy assistant. 

“I suppose.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything after that. Instead, he turns away without looking at you and retreats into his office. 

***

What makes a good assistant? 

So far, your list consists of:

Sense of urgency.

Able to meet deadlines.

Pays close attention to fine details and can multitask. 

Able to operate basic functions like Google and Microsoft Suite. 

Willing to work overtime, including nights and weekends. 

Manage calendars and be the bridge between employer and client.

Fulfill and execute holiday gifting for clients and partners. 

Create and maintain lists when needed. 

Of course, those are just the basic managerial tasks you do on a day to day basis. If you could be honest about what this job entails, the list would look something like:

Have a strong sense of urgency. 

Cannot be afraid to speak to strangers and build repertoire. 

Knows how to read a room and make judgment based on intuition. 

Knows how to speak multiple languages, even if merely conversational. 

Is an early bird and a night owl. 

Won’t be scared by how little time off is able to be taken.

Won’t be upset when needed to work very early hours and late evenings. 

Will not complain about accompanying the employer to personal matters. 

Knows how to be confident in a room full of people.

Doesn’t tolerate bullshit. 

Writing this job listing feels impossible at this point. It’s too long, too broad, and too complicated. You delete the entire draft and stare at the blank page as if to hope the listing to write itself. You’re trying to pass the time because your meeting with Sunghoon to discuss the next steps before you leave makes you feel like you’ll go insane.

But most of your projects are waiting on other people now. It’s a blessing and a curse to be one step ahead of everybody else. You’ve done all you could to follow up and distract yourself with your duties, but you can’t do anything until other people present their parts. 

Writing this job listing is something you’ve been putting off for the past week. It seems too hard to truly encapsulate what this job entails. It’s been bittersweet to walk down memory lane and think about all of the strengths you’ve learned over your time with Sunghoon. You want to do right by him and pick somebody that’s worthy of this position. You’ve spent so much of your career dedicated to him and the last thing you want is to undo all of the work you’ve done. 

Time doesn’t seem to be moving any faster and the thought of being alone with him after his obligations makes you feel uneasy. He lets you work in peace while he does his job. It’s not until an hour before his meeting do you see Sunghoon. It was hard to remain a stoic professional with a client when all you can think about is having sex with him on the large oakwood table your arms are resting on. When Sunghoon leaves for his lunch meeting, you picture his face buried deep in your cunt below your own desk. 

The way you think of your boss is unbecoming. There is a clear, set boundary you need to respect and maintain. But being near him makes things harder for you. 

If you were a better person, you’d quit while you’re ahead and stick to yourself until you were free from this company. It’s hard to work alongside somebody you’re physically attracted to. You see him walking around in his suits, so impeccably dressed that you’re not surprised at just how many people seek him out. He’s on magazine covers and rubs elbows with Korea’s rich and famous. Sunghoon’s circle resembles that of people who don’t need to think twice about spending money because they know it’ll never run out. The fact that he’s handsome, smart, and wealthy isn’t lost on you. In fact, it makes things that much worse. 

You’re not any of that. You don’t come from obscene wealth, nor do you have the friends and connections that Sunghoon does. You live in his world only as an adjacent, and then you go back to your apartment and order Chinese takeout while trying to feel like a regular human being. The imposter syndrome is what keeps you up at night. You’re afforded luxurious ways to travel, fine dining and drinks, and free clothes from time to time, but all of it is in the name of Sunghoon. He’s the one with the power to grant you these opulent wishes. You’re here because of him and who he is within society, not because it thinks you deserve to be here. 

It aches you to think that the next person to have your job will likely come to this startling truth like you did. Coming home to a small, studio apartment after an all expenses paid business trip to Berlin was a cold splash of water to the face. You are nothing without the company you work for. Somewhere along the line, you started to resent this lifestyle. It has consumed your life in ways you never thought imaginable. The late nights, days away from your bed, and the constant urge to prove yourself worthy is never ending. Even now, when most of Sunghoon’s colleagues and acquaintances know your name, people think of you as a mere servant.

The task then becomes how you can convey this through the job listing without making it sound like this job is miserable. It can be, but hinting at that is neither professional nor is it realistic. You need to find a worthy successor before you effectively leave. You can’t leave Sunghoon hanging without trying your best. He’s been good to you throughout the years, and the least you can do is make sure his next assistant doesn't make him resent having one. 

When Sunghoon is back from his lunch meeting, you’re calmer than you were at the beginning of the day. Knowing he’s been out of your sight has been good to quell your nerves. So has eating lunch. Instead of joining other assistants at the cafeteria, you’ve elected to pack yourself a lunch and enjoy the confines of your office until it’s time for you to go back to work. That hour is spent distracting yourself through Instagram, where an endless scroll of videos provides more entertainment than work does. 

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when Sunghoon comes back from his lunch meeting. He comes back looking triumphant and stops by your office after putting his suit jacket away in his office closet, knocking once before opening the door. 

“I take it the meeting went well?” you ask, not bothering to look up from your monitor as you type an email. 

“Swimmingly. Decelis has agreed to our terms and I had a very wonderful filet mignon as well.”

“BigHit called and requested a formal introduction. You have availability next Wednesday at 8AM and the following Tuesday at 10AM.”

“Let’s do Tuesday. Nobody likes an 8AM meeting.” 

“Got it.” 

Sunghoon steps inside and closes the door behind you when he hears the sound of an email being sent. You blink away the strain in your eyes from looking at a screen for too long and see him sitting on the chair in front of your desk. 

“It’s important we talk about what’s gonna happen for the next month and a half before you go, huh?” 

You sigh. “It is, Sunghoon. My time here has been good to me. I don’t want to leave you with somebody incompetent.”

“I feel touched that you’d extend your time here by two months to look for a new assistant.”

“You should. I’m trying to fill out a job listing before I post it. That’s been stalling me from figuring out what else I need to do. I figure I’ll tackle that and see what projects I can distribute until your new assistant gets the hang of things.” 

“What about the tasks you’re working on now?”

“Handled. I’m waiting for responses.”

“I’m gonna miss how hard you work,” he tells you. “It’ll be weird not seeing you everyday.” 

“You’ll get used to it. First up on the agenda: job requirements. I have a few basics–using software, meeting deadlines, accompanying you on business trips–what else is there that I can add?” 

Sunghoon looks over the list you’ve created. “Owning a passport and the willingness to travel is a must. But I’ll handle business when I need to travel by myself until I can fully trust my assistant.” 

You write it down. “Good idea. I think the first time I traveled with you was to Tokyo six months in. Pretty early to trust me, if I say so myself.” 

“Yeah, well, you proved to be a trustworthy person.”

“How so?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I don’t know. You always seemed like you were keen on putting your head down and doing your job. Somewhere in the mix, I guess you started learning my habits and picked up on things quicker than other assistants I’ve had. I knew I could trust you when you had the briefings prepared when we met with Hybe.”

“Hybe?”

“You know, the independent record label we helped fund and is now considered one of the biggest music corporations in Asia?” 

“I know who they are,” you retort. Sunghoon just smiles. “But I don’t remember that at all.”

“You came into my office the day before the meeting and gave me an entire binder’s worth of prep I never asked you to do. Information on the company, the CEO and founder, artist growth potential, the whole nine yards. I’d never had a thorough assistant at that time. You walked into my office and apologized if you were overstepping before you left me with that behemoth of a binder. It was impeccable and it’s what helped solidify my decision to work with them. And now, Hybe is a major record label with business in America.” 

“Oh…I never knew that.”

“I tried to keep it on the down low so it didn’t get to your head. I was just getting to know you, and didn’t want to take the chance of your ego blowing out of proportion.”

You scowl. “It wouldn’t have.”

“I know that now. But at that time, we were still getting used to the swing of things. That let me know you were loyal to me and had my back. I knew I could trust you with the everyday administrative work, and I knew I could trust you to form a good, solid opinion when it came to this business. It’s why I decided to take you abroad for international business and to handle things back in Korea.” 

Sunghoon’s words make you dizzy. It’s as if a warmth has bloomed in your chest from all of the positive things he’s saying about you. You’ve tried your best to keep yourself humble when it comes to your career for the fear of crossing a boundary you shouldn’t have. You don’t have the power Sunghoon does, nor do you have the capital to back yourself up. The wins, both big and small, are celebrated by yourself before you move onto the next project. 

Everything he’s telling you makes you wonder if you never truly appreciated the things you’ve accomplished just because you were insecure about your role in the company. You’re an extension of Sunghoon, not his equal. Even when you’d assist him in decision making or give your input that ultimately influenced his opinions, it never felt like something worth celebrating. Not unless he’d give you a verbal praise.

The stories he’s telling you about his time working with you makes you look at your job differently. For as competent as you are, you’ve got tunnel vision. Work is work and there’s nothing more to it. You’ve always believed that the essence of your accomplishments lie with Sunghoon, but now you’re starting to wonder about all of the things he’s noticed about you without having vocalized them. The wake of your departure seems to have stirred up emotions within Sunghoon, but you’re having a hard time trying to figure out what they are. 

“I don’t know what to say, Sunghoon. Thanks, I think.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you’re really good at your job. I know it’s stressful trying to find a replacement, but I want to make sure they can reach your level with time. There won’t be anybody who can do what you do.” 

Your face heats up and you go back to brainstorming. 

“I’ve got a general idea for the listing now and I’ll type the copy for your approval by the end of the week. Let’s move on to our clients, shall we?”

When the clock hand tells you it’s six o’clock, Sunghoon asks if you have anywhere to be tonight. When you tell him no, he asks that you stay at the office longer with the promise of ordering takeout to be shared between the two of you. You decide to stay, even if it means you have to work, because you’d never turn down a free meal from him. It’s the only time you allow yourself to splurge on food and Sunghoon prefers to eat at high end restaurants anyway. 

You settle on dim sum. Sunghoon orders just enough for the both of you and it sits across the desk in the main meeting office with Thai tea in to-go cups. He’s loosened his tie and doesn’t bother with appearances now that most of his colleagues have left for the day. You don’t see this carefree side of him often, as he likes to dress to impress. Sunghoon believes impressions are everything in the business of venture capitalism. He doesn't want anybody to get the wrong idea about him because he knows assumptions run far and wild, and he’d rather have people say favorable things about him than not. 

You’ve done a good job at forgetting the dream you had by using work and food as a distraction. But the second Sunghoon loosened his tie and untucked his button down made your mind briefly flash to the dirty things that transpired in your mind. You will yourself to push those thoughts to the back of your head for the umpteenth time. 

“Humor me,” Sunghoon says to break the silence as he looks up from his pile of documents. “You told me you don’t have a personal life and that’s why you want to quit.”

“I didn’t say it like that.” 

“Could’ve fooled me. Weren’t you the one who said you don’t have time for yourself?” 

Curse him. 

“Yeah, I did.” He drops the document on the table and puts the straw of his Thai tea in his mouth, letting it dangle carelessly. 

“You surely have things and people when you’re not at the office. I don’t make you work here like you’re chained to the building.” 

“True,” you tell him as you turn to face him. “That doesn’t mean I have my shit figured out, though.”

“Who does?” 

“People like you don’t have to think about your future.” 

He nods. “Okay, I guess you’re right. I know we don’t come from the same backgrounds, but that doesn’t mean your life isn’t rich without money.” 

“It’s not that I don’t have anything, but lately, it’s felt like nothing sticks around long enough for me to make it part of my life. My hobbies are short-lived. My family lives far away. I don’t have many friends.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What? Not having hobbies.”

“Not having friends.” 

“It’s true.”

“What do you mean by that?”

You push a dumpling in your mouth and speak between bites. “I didn’t have many friends before moving to Seoul. Everyone I knew from university moved after graduating except my roommate during my last year. She’s the only person who I’d consider my friend.”

“What about your neighbor, Nabi? The one who watches your cat when you’re with me?” 

“Is that friendship if I’m asking her for favors?” 

“Kinda. You trust her to watch over Pochi and you told me you’re both getting to know each other a little. I’d count that as friends.” 

“Okay, I have two friends. I don’t have an entire network of people I see. I never had many friends growing up because I was too focused on getting out of my hometown and making it in Seoul. Well, I did that, but it feels like I’m paying the price.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about not being likable.” 

“That’s not the issue, though. I just…I don’t have time to make connections because this job takes up so much of my day. When people invite me out, I have to decline half the time or I come at the tail end of the night because I’m working late. All of that adds up. I’ve only known this job and trying to be the best that I can possibly be that I’ve forgotten how to have fun. I don’t know anything other than this job.”

He looks away from you for a moment before returning back to your gaze. 

“I’m sorry I contributed to that.” 

“It’s not your fault. It comes with the job and I knew what I signed up for. You’ve been a lenient boss compared to other people at this company, and that says a lot.”

“I demand a lot from you, don’t I?” 

“Will I be in trouble if I agree?”

He smirks. “Maybe.” 

“Then my lips are sealed.” 

Sunghoon laughs. “I can relate to this job being a lifeline. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, did you know that? I watched my dad do this work when I grew up and I always had a knack for negotiating. It was my calling and I did everything I could to work my way up from the bottom, even though I knew he’d make me a partner whenever I asked. Sometimes I wonder if I’m too invested in this business. My parents keep asking me when I’ll settle down, and I never have an answer.”

“Will you?”

He looks directly at you. “We’ll see about that. For now, I don’t think about it too much. I like my life and it’s too busy to care about those kinds of things anyhow. If the opportunity doesn’t present itself, I won’t force one to appear.” 

“I’m the same way, I think. I don’t really talk to my parents all that much, but when I do, they’re always asking about when I’ll get a husband. It’s never about my job and my life. It’s always about whether or not their only daughter will grow to be a spinstress.” 

“Surely you’ve been on a few dates since moving to Seoul, no? I would’ve figured you found somebody by now.” 

You ignore his comment for your sanity. “I’ve been on a few, yeah. All of them went nowhere. I’m not the type of person who goes on multiple first dates, though. That kind of stuff doesn’t happen for me naturally.”

“Don’t you use dating apps?”

You laugh humorlessly. “I tried for the first year. Had people swipe right and talked a little, but nothing ever transpired from that. I wondered if I was that awful to talk to or if people who used dating apps were shallow. I deleted them one night and never redownloaded them again.” 

“Dating apps are a scam anyway. Jaeyun uses them from time to time and runs into that same issue. Ever the romantic at heart, even though he won’t admit it.” 

“I want to meet someone naturally and get to know them before I decide anything.” You look at Sunghoon. “Sorry, was that too personal? We’re still at the office.” 

“Nah. Don’t worry about that. I was the one who asked. So you’re the type of person who believes in fate.” 

“Kind of? I don’t know if I’d put it like that, but I’m like you. I don’t want to force things if it’s clearly not going to work out. I’d rather save my time and breath instead of wasting it.” 

“I think that’s admirable.”

“It’s slow and miserable, is what it is.” 

Sunghoon throws his head back and laughs. “Slow and steady wins the race, doesn’t it? 

“It’s taking its sweet ass time.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re the type to date to marry.” 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Just making sure.” 

“I want to like the person I date and not go out with a bunch of guys to see who sticks. That seems unproductive. I want a guy to take me seriously and not look at me like I’m a sack of meat, for once. Someone who will put me first and not leave me unsatisfied.” 

The tips of your ears burn red when you finish your sentence. The implication of your words ring in your ears as you look at Sunghoon, but he looks at you like nothing you said was out of the ordinary. If he’s picked up on what you mean, he doesn’t tell you that he does. 

“Love is a hard thing to find. I don’t know what I’d do if I had it.” 

“Me either. Quitting this job isn’t about finding a boyfriend, per se, but it’s part of it. I want to have enough time to do whatever the hell I want, and that includes dating.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything for a minute. He looks at you like he’s trying to decipher something, and you’re having a hard time keeping still under his watchful gaze. But he turns his attention to the empty takeout cartons and the empty Thai tea cups, putting them back into the plastic bag before tossing them into the trash can. You watch as he compiles the documents back into its holding place before he looks at you. 

“We’ve spent a lot of time talking but we haven’t moved an inch with these projects. Are you up for coming back to my house and working for an hour or two? I can’t think in this damn office anymore and I want a glass of bourbon.” 

“I don’t know. I need to feed Pochi. I also drove to work today.”

“Tell your neighbor to do it. I’ll drive you to the office tomorrow morning.” 

When Sunghoon pulls into the driveway of his ginormous penthouse, you tell yourself the latest you’ll stay is ten o’clock. It’s half past eight and you’re not the least bit tired, which concerns you. Your neighbor has agreed to watch Pochi and knows where you keep your spare key in order to take her back to her apartment. Once she’s sent you a picture of Pochi eating from her bowl, you allow yourself to relax. 

His garage hides behind a served driveway that makes you feel like you’re at the entrance of a luxurious hotel. The garage itself looks like it could store five cars and Sunghoon’s Supra sits right next to the BMW he drives when he goes to work. The Supra is a convertible and what he likes to call his “weekend car.” It’s the vehicle he uses when he’s not working. It’s the one he used to pick you up when the two of you went to dinner. 

The foyer is as grand as you remember it. His interior is minimalistic with elements of nature scattered across the house in the form of decor. Photographs of sea and forests, sculptures, and delicate souvenirs decorate the living area. You’ve never been able to tone down your amazement when you visit. Sunghoon is clean and meticulous. His home reflects that. 

Like the gentleman Sunghoon is, he offers you alcohol when he pours himself a glass of bourbon, but you elect for ice water if you want to make it through the night on these projects. You need to be laser focused because you run the risk of sleeping right on his marble counter and on top of the documents currently sprawled out against the large kitchen island. He provides a salty, crunchy snack because he knows you don’t have a sweet tooth like he does. You cave in eventually and eat a few chips. 

It’s all business talk for the next hour and a half. He jumps from topic to topic in order to make sure everything is accounted for and things that need attention get taken care of. Working with him feels like fighting with a partner in crime. You understand the way his brain works and you’re able to keep up with him when he’s talking at a million miles an hour. This is the kind of attitude he puts up when he’s networking, and you’ve learned over the years that seldom do people get the full, talkative Sunghoon unless he’s trying to get something out of them. With you, it’s a never ending cycle of conversations and opinions. You hear from him more than you don’t and he doesn’t shy away from talking your ear off. 

It does make you feel special sometimes. Sunghoon always indulges you and never puts your ideas and opinion on the backburner. You like that he’s able to carry a conversation and knows when to shut up (for the most part). He gives you the same level of enthusiasm back and respects your space when you come into the office without your mood to socialize. Those days are for getting work done only, and you’ve come to appreciate Sunghoon’s ability to know when you aren’t feeling like yourself. 

It comes with working together for six years, naturally. Seeing each other more frequently than friends and family creates some kind of mutual understanding. You’d like to think it’s a great working relationship so far. Sunghoon starts with the big ideas and you fill in the details. He’s able to pull innovation out of you and you’re able to reel him in and think about logic. It’s like a perfectly oiled machine with no hiccups. It’s been like this since you can remember and you’ll miss it when you leave. 

Eventually, ten o’clock comes and your eyes grow tired of blinking. Sunghoon feels the same, as his tie is far too loose around his neck and his hair is sticking all over the place from him running his hand through it. You’re no better, either. Your hair is down from its updo and your makeup is smudging to the point of no return. 

You’re about to pack up and leave when Sunghoon stops you. 

“Stay the night.” 

“What?” 

“I’m too tired to drive you right now.” Sunghoon yawns. “I’m sorry, I know I said I would. I didn’t think I’d be so tired. You can stay in my guest bedroom.”

“I’ll call a cab or take the bus home.” 

“It’s late and I don’t want you out there by yourself. I’ll be awake and wondering if something happened to you.” 

His words feel oddly sentimental in the dead of night. You shake it off, though. You’re both tired. 

“Pochi needs me, Sunghoon. I can’t expect my neighbor to watch her without saying anything.”

“Text her, then. If she doesn’t want to, I’ll call you an Uber home.” 

you: Hi Nabi, I’m so sorry to text you so late. I’ve been caught up at work and don’t think I’ll be back until tomorrow. Do you think you can watch Pochi overnight and put her back in my apartment before you leave for work tomorrow?

nabi: ah, I see. you’re with your hot boss, aren’t you? If that’s the case, don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure pochi gets breakfast and replenish her water 

you: You’re a SAVIOR

nabi: didn’t deny being with ur hot boss. interesting 

you: Goodnight :) 

“Nabi’s gonna watch my cat for the night.” 

Sunghoon smiles tiredly. “Great. Let me show you to the guest bedroom and get you some clothes you can change into. There’s makeup remover and skin care stuff in the bathroom.”

“Do you make it a habit of keeping girls to the point where you keep that stuff in your house?”

He laughs. “No, but my sister comes to visit me often enough that I know to keep it in case she stays later than planned.” 

“That's…sweet.” 

“Just trying to be a good older brother.” 

He leads you to the guest bedroom and you’re far too sleepy to marvel at the sheer size. Sunghoon fetches a shirt and sleep shorts, both of which are a bit bigger on you, and bids you goodnight. It feels weird being in his house and staying the night, but Sunghoon was right. There’s no use calling a cab when you’re like this. You slip under the covers hoping for a restful, dreamless night. 

Except, you wake up three hours later and can’t seem to fall back to sleep. 

It’s like your body knows you aren’t where you’re supposed to be. You don’t recall any kind of dream when you realize you’re awake and staring at the ceiling. Tossing and turning don’t seem to be like great options either because it makes you feel even more restless than before. Surely a glass of water won’t be too much. Sunghoon is probably in his room and you watched where he grabbed his glass from. 

As you make your way towards the kitchen, you see the faint light of a television screen from around the corridor. Sunghoon sits on the couch in front of it. He’s watching a rerun of a drama that premiered earlier this year on low volume. When he hears your footsteps behind him, he turns around and is surprised to see that you’re awake. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

His voice is so raspy. Shit. 

“No. Don’t know why.”

“Me either.” 

He pats the seat next to him and you sit right next to him. Neither of you speaks, too engrossed in the drama to address how different the atmosphere feels. There’s no work, no obligations, and no boundaries that exist here. It’s like his living room is some kind of liminal space that’s putting you through a limbo you’ve never experienced before. Sunghoon’s body heat radiates into you and it feels like you might as well be sitting next to a human furnace. 

Neither of you talk about why you can’t sleep. You’re not sure why you’re having a hard time, especially since the guest bed is far more comfortable than the one you have back in your apartment. But you do notice Sunghoon peeking at you every once in a while. It makes you feel a bit uneasy because you’re not wearing any makeup and your hair is surely a mess from sleeping, but then you start to notice that he’s looking at you when the couple on the television screen kiss. 

It almost feels like you’re in a movie scene when you look back, too. Sunghoon catches your eyes and doesn’t look away this time. He holds your gaze and you gulp when you see his Adam’s apple move. 

Are you dreaming right now? Is this some kind of test the universe is putting you under? 

Time seems to have slowed down and you’re drowning out the noise of the television the more Sunghoon looks at you. At this moment, he isn’t your boss. He’s not somebody who you’ve learned from, nor is he somebody who is miles out of your league. Sunghoon is the handsome boy next door who you’ve had a small crush on for the past six years but have ignored for the sake of keeping the peace. He’s the guy you’d notice in the grocery store and would think about when you two eventually part ways. 

All of your thoughts cut off when you realize he’s leaning in close to you. 

On instinct, you lean in closer, too. The distance between the two of you closes slowly. He inches towards you like he’s attempting to be as cautious as possible, and you’re following his lead. Your body aches for him. That much you know. 

Sunghoon’s lips touch yours eventually and it’s nothing like the hot and steamy dream you had the night prior. Instead, it’s delicate like the touch of a feather. Neither of you dare to touch one another more than you already are with your knee brushing the side of his thigh. His lips feel so good against yours and that’s all you can think about. 

He pulls away after a brief moment and when he doesn’t see any resistance, Sunghoon moves to touch you. Sunghoon cradles your jaw so delicately and it’s a new feeling for you. Nobody has been this gentle while he’s touching you, and your confident demeanor lowers just a little bit. His lips are dangerously soft and warm. The sound of the kisses bouncing off of his walls makes you fall that much deeper. 

When you open your eyes for a peek at Sunghoon, his eyes are completely closed. 

You surge forward and put more pressure into the kiss. He responds well and matches your desire, tilting his head to the other side as if to explore this part of your mouth. It’s so wet and warm. Sunghoon’s hands move from your cheeks to your shoulder until it runs right down your arm. His fingertips dance along your own until he reaches the bottom hem of the shirt you’re wearing. 

Sunghoon’s hesitation turns you on even more. It’s like he’s trying to withhold himself from touching you even further for the fear of making you uncomfortable, and that grace alone makes you want him to touch you even more. Without a word, you push his hand underneath the material of the shirt, and Sunghoon grips your thigh like he’s never felt you before. You can’t remember a single time somebody has turned you on by a mere touch. Something about Sunghoon makes you want to run without looking back. 

There’s no real battle for who gets to be in control. You’re enjoying your time and it feels like Sunghoon is too, especially with the way he caresses your jaw while his lips are on you. You feel so safe in this moment and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Should kissing always feel like you’re ready to lose your inhibitions? Surely, this is a first for you. 

You don’t know who moves first, but you move onto his lap with his hands moving to your waist. He keeps you there like that with his mouth attached to yours and your arms balance on either side of his head while you sit yourself down onto him.

Sunghoon is rock hard underneath you. The two of you feel it. You gasp in shock and Sunghoon opens his eyes to look up at you. 

He’s big. You know he is. That taste of his imprint practically makes you salivate when you feel his dick perfectly slotted against your core for just a second. It excites you to no end, but the way Sunghoon’s looking at you makes you quiver.

“Fuck…” Sunghoon pushes you up and looks away from you to look at his dick straining against his sweatpants. “You weren’t supposed to make me hard.”

“You weren’t supposed to kiss me.”

“But I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” 

Sunghoon leans up to push a short lived peck to your lips. 

“I’m your assistant.

“That you are,” he says with a smile.

“And you’re my boss.” 

“That I am.” 

He smiles anyhow and maneuvers your body until he’s above you. Your back hits the cushions and all of a sudden, you can see just how turned on Sunghoon is. He looks like a mixture of innocent and mischievous, and you decide that’s a dangerous look for you to receive. 

Sunghoon bends down to kiss you again, this time with a little more bravado than the mere peck. Your arms wrap around his muscular shoulders as you pull him closer into your body. He braces himself with one arm beside the couch cushion and in the process, his covered dick pushes right against your core.

The feeling of Sunghoon slowly grinding against you is magnetic. It makes you grind right back into him and use his body as leverage to push yourself up from the couch. You let out a sharp moan when the fabric of your panties creates a delicious kind of friction against your clit. Sunghoon closes his eyes shut and moans too. 

His pace is moderate, but it’s enough for the two of you to become a bit lost. Sunghoon’s imprint makes you wetter when you realize he’s really big. It makes you shudder when you picture what it’ll feel like if Sunghoon puts it inside you. 

The two of you open your eyes at the same time. It’s as if some sort of veil has been uplifted when you see his sweaty forehead and when he sees your shirt ride up your body. The two of you back away from each other like fire and ice.

“W-Wow,” you stutter.

“I’m a good kisser, don’t you think?” 

You swat his bicep. “So arrogant and yet you were rutting into me like a dog in heat.” 

“Can you blame me?” Sunghoon asks, biting his lip. “You look like that while wearing my shirt.”

“Like what?”

“Sex on legs.” 

You choke. 

“Sunghoon.” 

He laughs and looks at the clock. It’s so late. You turn to look too, and the time makes your heart rate pick up. It’s past midnight and you two have to be up in four hours. 

“Shit,” you mumble. 

“Don’t want it to end, love?” 

You look back at him and, for whatever sheepish reason, nod. 

“We’ll have more time tomorrow.” 

Sunghoon bends down to kiss you twice more before pulling himself up and offering you a hand. He pulls you up as well and turns the TV off and leads you to your room before opening the door for you.

“Sunghoon—”

“I’ll make you cum tomorrow,” he promises before kissing you one last time. “For now, get some rest.” 

Your knees buckle when he looks you up and down. Sunghoon’s devilish grin doesn’t falter until you’ve forcibly closed the door on his face. 

***

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[thehoneybeestings]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲

𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 3.3k

Synopsis: Sevika has grown awfully fond of the owner of Zaun's only bakery; in fact, she'd do anything for her. So, when a hard heat hits the baker, Sevika can't help but offer a helping hand.

Content/Warnings: omegaverse! if it's not your thing don't read it; nsfw, top!sev, bottom!reader, soft dom!sev, reader is referred to w fem terms/pronouns, reader has female anatomy, sev has a dick bc i think all alpha's do?? idk im new here

A/N: so... heyyyy guys... yes i know this is not on my wip list but i was struck with divine inspiration and who am i to work against higher forces! this is my first time dabbling in omegaverse so i hope it suffices...

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

 ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

There’s something tugging at Sevika.

She’s already scanned the room for what it could be, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. The booth she routinely occupies at The Last Drop feels no different than it ever has, the playing cards and poker chips littering the rickety wooden table in front of her are just as beat up as they always are, and her drunken opponents are as easy to beat as ever.

She’s slouched back against the wall behind her, brows furrowed and eyes trained on the half-empty glass of whiskey dampening its paper coaster. The anticipation buzzing around her shouldn’t feel so foreign; the woman’s M.O. is to be at attention, at all times, with no exceptions. Still, there's a hum of urgency that's much louder tonight than usual. Something is telling her-something is demanding her-to remain alert, attentive, ready to be of service.

Her flesh hand twitches, fingers squeezing around the rim of the glass she holds for a split second.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She can’t put her finger on who it could be, or why it could be, so she taps at the glass’s rim with it instead.

A voice, gruff after nearly a lifetime of smoking, pulls her from her concentration on ripples running through liquid amber.

“You even payin’ attention?” The ash of his cigar falls onto the table as the hand that holds it gestures towards her chips.

On an ordinary night, she’d shoot the shit. Give him a playful scoff. Tell him that she wasn’t paying attention at all, and somehow, she was still kicking his ass.

But, despite the normalcy of The Last Drop’s Friday night debauchery, despite the inventory she’d taken of her surroundings telling her that everything should be okay, she still can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

It’s pulling her to her feet now. She downs the rest of her whiskey as she stands, mumbling something about everyone splitting her earnings evenly as she walks off. Her opponents are left entirely confused and a little bit richer as they watch her stride away with her usual purpose.

Where this pull is taking her, she has no idea. Frankly, she doesn’t care. She no longer feels her stomach wrenching as she tries to fight off the force yanking at her cloak, begging her to go wherever she’s going now. With every step, there is clarity.

Someone needs her. Someone needs her now.

She's getting closer to them. With every step she takes, she finds that her lungs are easier to fill now that she knows this person needn’t worry any longer.

When she ends up at your door, her entire body melts on exhale.

Of all the people in the world, there’s no one else she’d rather be needed by.

Be it the chaos that had ensued just before meeting you for the first time, or the way you seemed to calm her stormy seas at first glance, she remembers it like it was yesterday.

She remembers swinging the bakery’s door open in a panic, eyes wide and wild as they hurriedly scanned the room for a head of fluffy hair dyed blue.

“I’ve got her,” a voice rang out. A voice like honey to match your honeysuckle scent, she immediately noted.

You stood behind the counter, placing a piping bag down and wiping your hands on your blush-colored apron with a shy smile.

Lo and behold, there sat Isha, perched on the marble countertop next to you. She stared up at Sevika with big, innocent eyes; far too innocent for a girl who’d just escaped Sevika's grasp and booked it to the bakery she’d been begging to visit for weeks now.

“She’s quick,” you chortle. “Sugar may not have been the best idea, now that I think of it…”

You look over at the small girl whose mouth was now opening as wide as it could go to take a bite of the blueberry muffin you’d given her. It was too late. She was hooked and sure as shit to be bouncing off of the walls, now.

Sevika’s eyes trail from the crumbs stuck to Isha’s lips to the affectionate smile gracing your own. It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she was hooked, too.

That was nearly a year ago, now. Trips to the bakery slowly but surely changed from Isha’s demand to Sevika’s suggestion. Eventually, Sevika began visiting on her own; before work to get a coffee, during her breaks to grab a cheese danish, after work to pick up a blueberry muffin for Isha.

It would have been less-than-chivalrous if she hadn’t begun offering to hang around until you closed shop so she could walk you home, would have been impolite to decline the Sunday afternoon taste-testing sessions you’d started inviting her over for.

She’s a gentlewoman. It’s only principle. That’s what she tells herself, at least.

That’s what she tells herself as her knuckles tap thrice on your door.

She starts to feel antsy again when you don’t come bounding to the door as usual, when your honeyed voice doesn't call out that you’ll be right there. She worries even more when you do reach the door, but it doesn’t swing open to reveal a bright smile, a pretty girl covered in flour and smelling of vanilla. Instead, you flick the deadbolt to the right, trail back to your room, and leave the door unlocked for her to enter of her own accord.

Her stomach turns like the doorknob she’s grasping, but as soon as the door opens, she knows what’s wrong.

The blossom of honeysuckle in the spring floats through the air. This much was a given; she knows this is what she’ll smell when she’s around you.

Tonight, though, it’s honeysuckle and something else. Something thick, hitting her like a brick wall. A white musk that nearly knocks her back when it crosses the threshold of your apartment door to meet her in the hallway.

She’s quick to step in and even quicker to close the door behind her. That scent was sure to attract unwanted visitors: Alphas looking to sink their gnashing teeth into something sweet.

She twists the deadbolt back to the left, her eyes darting across the room to find you. When that doesn’t suffice-when you’re nowhere to be seen- she follows your scent trail instead. Follows it back to your room, where her heart nearly breaks at the sight before her.

You’ve got what she figures must be every pillow in the house propped up against the headboard, every blanket you own pushed down to the foot of the bed, and you sit at the center of it all with your legs pulled into your chest, your head buried in your knees, and your arms wrapped around the ball you’ve curled yourself into.

There’s a pedestal fan pointed directly at you, despite the oversized sweater you adorn. You’re refusing to take it off, she bets. Want something soft and warm wrapped around you at all costs, even if it means you’ll sweat through it.

A soft grin spreads across her face as she approaches, slow and steady. It was her turn to calm your storm, now.

She sinks to her knees next to your bed, elbows resting on the flower-shaped throw pillow she remembers you buying when you were out shopping in the square with her one day. She’d taken a liking to it herself, always opting to rest her head on its pink petals as she stretched her long legs along the length of your couch, or holding it close to her chest as the two of you watched yet another horror movie you both knew damn well would keep you up all night.

She tries not to think too much of the fact that of all the pillows stacked upon your bed, it's the one you’ve got right next to you.

Her voice is nearly a whisper when she finally speaks, grey eyes soft and warm as they gaze up at you from her place on the floor.

“Hey, doll.”

All you manage to muster in response is a weary groan.

She exhales through her nose, eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“Rough heat?”

Your muffled sob cuts through the quiet, and her hand flies out to knead your thigh.

Her eyes widen in sudden consternation. Your skin is a brazier underneath her large palm.

“Janna,” she suddenly calls out, eyes frantic as they travel across your figure. “Y/n, you’re burning up. How long have you had a fever?”

She trades flesh for cold metal, anchoring her mech hand to your thigh in hopes that it’ll cool you down. Her right hand splays across your back, rubbing large circles across its expanse as you sniffle into your knees.

“Two days,” you mumble weakly, and much to her dismay.

Two days was too long for you to be in this state, nevertheless alone.

“I thought I’d have been claimed by now,” you admit, your voice wobbling.

“Don’t talk like that,” she commands. “There’s no timeline for this stuff. It’ll happen when it-”

“It’s not like that!”

Your head finally snaps up from your knees, teary eyes locking onto hers.

“It’s not… It’s not that I can’t find anyone. It’s that I can’t…”

Your voice breaks, and her hand trails up from your back to rest on the back of your neck, her thumb massaging the tightness at the base of your skull as she waits patiently for you to gather yourself.

You’re well aware that in the crux of an already grueling heat is not the best time to share an admission that very well could permanently alter your relationship with the woman you hold dearest. You’re also aware that you won’t be able to keep lying to Sevika for much longer.

You wouldn’t be able to keep lying to yourself for much longer.

Your words are still shaky despite the bracing deep breath you take before speaking.

“I can’t stand anyone else’s scent…”

Her hand stills, but her touch doesn’t falter. Her face doesn’t fall.

She’s still here. She’s still steady, still constant, but she needs you to be sure.

“Anyone else?” She asks, her voice low.

A small huff escapes you. You know Sevika. She doesn’t do vague.

She’s going to make you say it.

“I can’t stand anyone’s scent but yours.”

A pregnant pause settles in between the two of you.

And then, her hand is moving from the back of your neck to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Do you want me to help?”

You nod fervently, words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

“Want you so bad, it hurts; please, Sev, I-”

Her lips crash into yours, stealing your breath away. Your heart is already racing, your core is already throbbing, you’re already whimpering into her mouth.

It was too late. You were sweet as honey, and she’d just gotten a taste.

 ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

It’s been hours. She’s been fucking you for hours.

You nearly feel bad for being so insatiable; only nearly, because she had made it very clear very quickly that you needn’t ever apologize for lasting so long, for needing the next round not even five minutes after the last, for wanting it faster, harder, deeper.

You needn’t ever apologize for allowing her the opportunity to take care of you.

Much to your dismay, sometimes taking care of you meant that she would slow down to check in, insist you take a breather, or get you a glass of water. Sevika knows that what you want is to be ravaged, to let your mind go all fuzzy and your body go all limp as she takes you, claims you, breeds you. Sevika knows that what you need is someone looking out for your best interest when you’re all-consumed by your heat, someone who knows that the responsibility of an alpha is to provide far more than a good fuck.

Still, she isn’t surprised that you nearly burst into tears when her pace begins to relent. Janna knows how hard it is for her to stop when you look so pretty laid out for her like this; legs thrown over her shoulders, hands desperately grabbing at firm muscle and cool metal, brows knit together in pleasure as you cry out for her.

She leans down to press a kiss to the beads of sweat forming on your hairline, and knows she needs to stop anyway.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you plead, wrapping your legs around her waist and rolling your hips up into her own, “please don’t stop, please keep going, Sev…”

She plants a kiss on your shoulder this time, the salt of sweat-sticky skin on her lips.

“You’re getting too hot, baby,” she purrs. “We’re not done, I promise. Just need to make sure you cool off for a second.”

You whine in defiance, and she hums in understanding, but you’re too fucked out to do anything but lay there and let her press a cool rag to your forehead and your flushed chest.

“You feelin’ okay, mama?”

She doesn’t miss the way your lip quirks up into the beginnings of a smirk.

“What?” She asks with a grin, bearing the gap in between her teeth. You’d told her it was cute once. The tips of her ears were dark red for the rest of the day.

“Don’t call me that,” you smile.

She just quirks a brow in playful curiosity.

“Not unless you plan on putting a baby in me.”

Her hands still. Her grin falters. For a moment, you worry that you’ve crossed a line.

Then, glittery grey irises go dark like a storm cloud rolling in. Her eyes are lidded, full of desire. Her jaw clenches, her nostrils flare, her muscles twitch for a split second.

Her head dips down to hide in your neck, but there, she finds that honeysuckle and musk hit her even harder here. You don’t miss the way her body writhes atop your own.

“Careful joking around like that,” she husks.

You buck your hips up in a challenge. “Who said I was joking?”

And then, she whines. Sevika whines.

“Couldn’t get you pregnant if I wanted to, doll,” she resigns. “I’m on suppressants.”

“That’s okay,” you coo, hands stroking up and down the length of her back, her skin warm and her muscles strong underneath your palm. “You can pretend. Jus’ want you to cum inside of me.”

This time, she growls, and you don’t miss the way her canines scrape across your pulse point.

She trails open-mouthed kisses from your neck, to your jaw, to the corner of your lips, breath shaky along the way.

Her resolve is crumbling, her restraint weakening. She had found you in need, and now, here she was, just as desperate as you had been.

“Come on, baby,” you urge, voice just over a whisper. “Take me.”

You're flipped over and pinned to the bed in a second. She yanks you up onto your knees by your waist, and her mech hand travels down your spine to push you further into the mattress while her flesh hand works to line herself up in between your legs. You gasp when you feel her sliding through your slick, whine when she presses an inch in before slipping back out and dipping down to nudge your swollen bud of nerves, groan when she finally presses into you completely, the head of her length prodding at your cervix.

She pants above you, both hands settling on your waist as she gives you a moment to adjust, and as soon as you're pushing back against her, she’s snapping her hips into you. Her grip is bruising as she pulls you back to meet every thrust. Your hands fly out to grab at the sheets next to you, your heady cries of pleasure muffled by the soft pillows piled at the head of the bed.

“How’s that? Huh?”

Her voice is gravelly from exertion. Sexier than it already is. How that’s even possible, you’re not sure. You don’t care. You can’t even think.

Sevika leans down to nip at your earlobe.

“Talk to me, baby,” she rasps. “This what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck a baby into you, hm? Wanted me to make you mine?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a yes, sobbing into the pillow. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, hiccupping against the breath you can’t seem to catch.

“I’ve got you,” she croons, her pace gentler now. “Deep breath for me, doll.”

Her flesh hand interlaces with your own, her thumb rubbing soothing circles into the meaty flesh between your thumb and your forefinger. You nod with a whimper, following her command.

“Good girl.”

She reaches down in between your slick-covered thighs to circle at your clit, rubbing lazy circles in tandem with her slow, deep strokes. She hisses at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around her, grits her teeth as she begins to speed up.

You make it so damn hard for her to keep it together, reaching up to grab the hair at the nape of her neck and pushing her head down into your shoulder. She knows exactly what you’re asking for.

Her bite.

You’re asking her to sink her teeth into sugar, and Sevika’s always had a sweet tooth.

She clenches her jaw even tighter. Takes deep breaths through her nose. Fucks you into the mattress instead.

The bite will come later. When you’re not in heat, when you’re thinking clearly, when you can comprehend that what you’re asking for is to be bound to her. When it does come- when you do ask for that- she’ll say yes. No question.

She’s been yours since the moment she walked through the bakery’s doors nearly a year ago.

But right now, she’s here to take care of you. Nothing more, nothing in return.

A voice like honey rings out like music to her ears.

“Oh- fuck, don’t stop. Mm- gonna… gonna cum…”

“That’s right, baby. Give me another, yeah?”

And when she latches onto the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, sucking just hard enough for you to feel a dull pinch, you fall apart, her name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

That’s when she liked her name most. When it came from you.

This time, it’s what pushes her over the edge. It’s all nearly too much; the sound of you moaning her name, your scent inundating her senses, the feeling of you tightening around her, the pulse that thrums against her canines.

Shimmer doesn’t even make her feel this feral.

You can feel her twitching against your walls as she fucks you through your release with a new vigor.

“Fuck,” she grits, “say the word and I’ll pull out.”

“Don’t.”

Sugar meets spice. Your command is stern, and Sevika is good at following orders.

She ruts into you with a broken moan, hissing with each involuntary twitch of her hips as she spills into you.

Soon, she joins you in a leaden slump, her warm body caging you in and her cock still sheathed inside of you. The hum of the pedestal fan and the rasp of your pants fill the room like white noise.

And then, you giggle. A blissed out, breathy giggle that has the corner of Sevika’s mouth quirking up into a smile.

“What?” she pants.

“Nothing. Jus’ happy.”

She hums in contentment. “Feel better?”

“Much better.”

And Sevika can’t ignore the way her heart flutters, the pride she feels knowing she was able to take care of you, the desire she has to take care of you for as long as she lives.

The bite will come later, she reminds herself. Right now, there’s just you. Sweet as honey.

“Good,” she muses. “That’s what I’m here for.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝 ୨ৎ

 ──˚₊୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

p.s. anybody want pt.2 feat. reader getting sev's bite...?

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i only see daylight

summary: a few months before the Pittfest shooting, Dana calls you to the ED to calm down Dr. Robby, who's had a rough shift. This is a follow up to a fic I’ve already posted, linked below. This is a prequel, so it’s not strictly necessary to read that first! previous wc:  2 k+  a/n:  Please feel free to send any requests my way! Title taken from Daylight by Taylor Swift warnings: general fluff, canon typical stress

A single text from Dana had sent you running for the emergency department doors. ‘Any time to stop by today?’ You did your best not to panic, but she wasn’t one to ask you to come to the hospital without reason to. It was your day off from the bakery, but you’d spent it in the kitchen nonetheless. Batches of banana bread had already been packed in a bag that you planned to pawn off on the next emergency department worker that was sure to stop in the next morning, but there was no reason to wait, emergency or no, so you threw it over your shoulder on the way out the door. 

The walk was short, but stretched out in front of you dauntingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you did your best to take steadying breaths in the interest of not needing a bed once you arrived. You’d long ago been given permission to come through the ambulance bay, but it still felt like you were committing a bit of a crime. You smiled at the EMTs waiting in the ambulance bay and made your way to the nurse’s station, finding Donna on the phone with her glasses perched on her head. She spotted you and tucked the phone against her chest. “Hey, doll,” she called, before whoever was on the other end of the receiver demanded her attention. It seemed the emergency could wait a moment or two. 

You snuck into the staff room, depositing a few loaves of banana bread on the counter along with a little note inviting people to take a slice along with a few plates and napkins. It wasn’t uncommon for all of the dishes to be stuck in the sink, so you took it upon yourself to keep some paper plates and things stocked for them, bringing extra with any treats as well. You allowed yourself a small smile before heading back into the fray. 

“He’s on a tear today.” Heather had fallen into step beside you. You peaked at her, not breaking your stride. There was no need to ask who she was talking about, there’s only one doctor you seem to have a special sauce for calming down.

“What provoked him this time?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you. 

“What makes you think someone provoked him?” she asked, laughing softly. “You are too nice, sometimes.” 

You shrug, unsure how to respond. 

“Thank god you’re here.” Frank falls into step on your other side. “I wasn’t sure Gloria would live to see the end of the day at this rate.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh, but take his sarcasm as a sign that things are maybe not as calm as you first suspected. “Banana bread in the breakroom.” 

“If I wasn’t already married…” 

“Go before I tell Abby about this.” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his arm. The threat was empty, just like his flirting. It used to freak you out, but after meeting Abby and seeing the way they worked together, you knew that he was harmless. Some assurance from Michael on the matter hadn’t hurt either. 

He turned on his heel, marching straight for the room you’d just left. “How bad is it?” you asked Heather, searching the central rooms instead of meeting her eyes. 

“He’s been snippy, Gloria’s caught the most of it but he’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “You know how he gets.” 

You nod, knowing that this likely wasn’t an easy day for anyone. You were searching for the right thing to say when a med student appeared at Heather’s side, pulling her away. She gave you a look that said ‘I’m sorry’, but you were quick to give her one that insisted you were okay in return. 

You flopped into a chair on Dana’s right, glad to see that she was off the phone. “What can I do for you, my love?” you ask, turning the chair side to side. 

“He’s finishing up with a patient in Central 7,” she said, not looking up from her tablet. 

“And?” 

“And we both know you’ll calm him right down.” 

“High expectations,” you huff, examining a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now. 

You felt Dana’s gaze on you before you even looked up. “I tried it all. I fed him, I plied him with coffee and that special creamer you left last week.” you fought down the heat in your cheeks, knowing that you’d been caught. You always insisted the things you left were for no one in particular, and you were a terrible liar. “We ran interference on Gloria but she’s slippery today.” 

For someone who was not employed at this hospital, Gloria was a surprisingly large thorn in your side. She had a way of choosing the most inopportune time to bother your friends, and you were left to pick up the pieces. You heaved a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you needed to do. “I’ll give it my best shot.” 

Dana laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. “I know, doll.” 

The curtain to Central 7 thwipped open, revealing your grumpy friend rubbing at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before shaking his hand, shoving his hands in the pockets of his zip up. You gave him a once over, noting the lines between his brows and the way his shoulders were nearly touching his ears. Gloria really did a number on him. You waited for his gaze to drift your way, not wanting to overwhelm him if he wasn’t ready to talk. You knew how to help but you weren’t keen on making him feel like he had to accept it. 

He stopped to talk to Samira, who was your favorite of the residents, not that you’d ever admit to having one in front of anyone else. After a few moments, she caught your eye over Michael’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. She offered you a little wave, but Micahel didn’t see, already checking over his shoulder. 

You gave him a sheepish smile, doing your best not to curl in on yourself. He said a few words to Samira, nodding once before making his way to the nurse’s station. He leaned on the opposite side of the counter, shoulders hunching as he leaned on the desk. He gave you a once over, checking you over for signs of sickness or injury, half a byproduct of his job and half because he had a tendency to worry about you more than most. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, breaking the silence. 

You can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but all you get is a heavy sigh. “I’m fine.” he insisted, voice heavy. 

“Mmhmm. I brought banana bread.” you gestured behind you to the staff lounge. 

He gave you one more once over, another sigh heaving from his chest. You lean forward, resting your chin on your folded hands. You do your best to look innocent, but his eyes narrow and you have to admit you’re losing the battle. “I’m fine,” he insisted. 

“You promised you wouldn’t do that with me.” your voice is soft, a stark contrast to the sounds of the ED that echoed around you. 

His head dropped, forehead resting against his arms. Your fingers twitched at your side, wanting to comfort him in a way that you knew would be more effective, but you were unsure if it would be appropriate at the moment. Probably not a good look for the attending to have his hair smoothed mid shift. After a few moments, he peeked at you, shield slipping just a bit. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, or at all for that matter, but please don’t pretend.” you took a breath, centering yourself. “I’m not going to break.”

You could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head. He’d confessed before that he worries about overwhelming you, or dulling some of your shine if he talks about a particularly bad shift. You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t spook him. You’d settled on a simple thank you, and the laughter that fought its way out of him had only made your heart warm. 

He nodded, his own deep breathing mirroring your own. You glanced at the clock, glad to see that it was late enough his shift should be ending soon. “Plans later?” He shook his head. “You wanna walk me back?” A nod. You smiled, some of the tension in your chest loosening. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Go finish saving lives.” He smiled, backing away a few steps and nodding again. “No pressure, though!” you called after him, and his laugh washed away the remaining worry. 

“You did good, kid.” Dana said, and you swiveled your chair towards her, unaware that she had been watching. “Thought I was gonna have to send Abbot up after him.” 

Jack had mentioned their trips to the roof so casually, you weren’t sure if he was being serious at first. But when you’d stopped by with a few treats and a coffee with his name on it and found him on the wrong side of the guard rail, your heart stopped. He’d climbed back over the instant he saw you, and you did your best to quell the guilt over him having to comfort you. 

You shook your head, shooing the memory away. “Glad it didn’t come to that.” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Dana caught it, smiling to herself. “Hasn’t in a while, dear.” Her tone implied she wanted to say more, but the charge phone broke the tension and you were saved for a bit. The time passed quickly, a few med students stopping by to complement the banana bread, fielding questions about the fall menu from Princess and Perlah. 

“That bad today, huh?” you looked up from your phone to find Dr. Jack Abbot, backpack slung over his shoulder and a mischievous smirk on his face. 

“It’s been relatively calm since I got here-” 

“He usually is after you show up, long as you’re not too banged up.” There was no humor in his voice.

This time, your face went hot within seconds. It wasn’t a secret that you had a soft spot for Michael, and that he was a bit protective over you. But it wasn’t something either of you talked about. “I, um-” 

“Dr. Abbot, can I get your eyes on this?” you were saved by a med student, iPad in hand. Jack gave you a final once over before lending his full attention to the student. 

You blinked a few times, willing your thoughts to clear. You were stuck for a moment in the middle of the aisle, the sounds of heart monitors and other various equipment making it a bit difficult to think. A rough hand rested softly against your elbow, grounding you. You turned to find Michael, familiar backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You ready?” he asked, eyebrows scrunching together above his nose. 

“If you are!” you said, mustering up some false cheer. 

“And you promised not to do that with me.” You spared him a sheepish look, knowing that you’d been caught. All you can do is nod, and let him lead you out. You waved goodbye to Dana, who was leaving in the opposite direction and did your best to focus on Michael’s hand on the small of your back, warm and sure and grounding. 

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so freaked out?” he asked once you were a few blocks from the hospital. 

“Just something Jack said.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not.” you laughed, although the nerves were still hanging around. “I thought I’d make dinner, if you’re up for it.” 

He laughed, the smile finally reaching his eyes. The little crinkles that appeared when he smiled made your stomach flip, in the most platonic way possible. “You’re a terrible cook.” 

“Fine, you make dinner then.” you huffed. He wasn’t wrong, you could make incredibly complicated french pastries, but cooking was often too freeform for you to really wrap your head around.  

“I ordered a pizza about three minutes before we left, we should beat it home by a couple minutes.” 

You smiled, looping your arm through his and doing your best not to focus too hard on how he’d referred to your place as home. There was time to worry about it later.

[poisonofthepaint]

thinking of you

jack broke up with you because he said you needed someone younger. yet, he's still offended when he hears you're going on a date with someone else. you show up to his apartment to set the record straight.

cw: MDNI, make up sex to the max, pinv, no protection, kind of angsty but like not really, reader is independent and sort of snappy (for good reason), nipple sucking, pet names (angel, honey, sweetheart), not sure what else lmk if you see anything!

a/n: i wrote this off two beers so i'm gonna say i proofread it, but who knows...

wc: 2k

Jack didn't get pissed off. Sure, he would get mildly annoyed. He could snap. But he was never filled with unbridled rage. He could contain himself, calm himself down. He learned it in the military. He knew you couldn’t fight as well if you were angry, it clouded your judgement too much, you have to keep, at least a little bit, of a level head.

But tonight, Jack was pissed off. Robby had told him you had a date tonight. He told Jack over text, saying he, ‘figured he should know.” Jack couldn’t decide if he was thankful for the message or not.

That is what he said to you, when it ended. That you needed someone your own age. That you needed to get out there and act your age. It wasn’t good to work with someone and date them, act older than you need to. It was self-defense, he later realized. He was insecure about himself, and what he could or could not give you, so he ended it. He couldn’t believe you had listened to his incoherent ramblings. What he said made no sense, and he knew that now, but he also knew he had to take a step back and leave you the hell alone. He had fucked up, that was for sure. Begging for you back, when you had no reason to come back, would be even more fucked up.

He was regretting that mentality right now, all he wanted to do was call you. To tell you to come home. To come back to him. That guy didn’t know how to treat you, he didn’t know what you needed. He was only there to get in your pants. You were far too fucking intelligent for some immature douchebag. Jack knew what you needed, he was the only one who knew how to treat you right. He would give anything for you. This kid would not. Jack didn’t even need to know his name to know that.

Jack’s finger hovered over the call button on your contact. He tried to think of some emergency to get you to come see him instead of being on that date. But he couldn’t think of anything. There was no reason, fake or real, why you shouldn’t be on that date. 

He sighs, puts down his phone, sits in his recliner. His cushy chair, one of the only things he has splurged on in his life, faces the window, which overlooks the city. The buildings sparkle at him. It’s around seven, usually he’d be at work by now, but it was his day off. He wishes it wasn’t, he wishes that he had something to distract him. He thinks about grabbing his go bag, thinks about changing into what he wears under his scrubs and telling Shen and Ellis to just leave him the hell alone and let him work. But, he hears you in the back of his head, telling him to slow down, telling him to wait a moment, to sit with what he’s thinking instead of shoving it down.

So that’s what he does. He sits. And he thinks. And he fucking prays to whoever is listening. That you’re safe. That you’re having an okay time. That maybe you’ll come back. Even though he’s a piece of shit. Even though he’s the one who told you to leave. You’re just following his orders, after all. 

Three small, basically unhearable, knocks strike his door. He pushes off his chair with a sigh, thankful he didn’t take off his prosthetic yet. He figures it’s a neighbor, he lives by a lot of older women who tend to check up on him. 

He opens the door with a force, but his eyes get heavy when he realizes it’s you standing there. 

“Did he fucking hurt you?” Jack thunders.

“What? How do you even know where I was?”

“Answer me.”

“No, he didn’t hurt me. He just–”

“You’re scaring me a bit, sweetheart.”

You let out a long breath, Jack has both of his hands on your shoulders, giving you the eye exam of a lifetime.

“He didn’t hurt me, he’s just not you. He’s too, spritely. Too eager. I don’t know.”

Jack fights a smile, he bites the inside of his cheek. “No one is me.”

“Not the time to be fucking cocky, Jack. We need to seriously talk.”

The smile he was fighting fades from his face. He becomes pale, his heart is tachy. 

“You fucked me up real good. You told me I was wrong about something that felt so right–” you say, crossing your arms and staring. You’ve entered the apartment at this point. You stand at the island in the kitchen.

He cuts you off. “I was wrong. I’m wrong. You’re what I need. I need you more than I need work, and I’ve never said that about anything.” 

Jack swipes a hand over his face, crossing the room to come stand in front of you. “I was scared, I was being a fucking pussy. Worrying about what people would think, worrying about you.”

“I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” you state firmly.

“I know that. I know that. Please, give it another go with me. I won’t fuck it up. I won’t. I see what it’s like now. I see it. I hear it. Loud and clear.” he’s inches from your face, holding you at your hips. 

You don’t move just yet. Your eyes scan his, you're used to his eye contact by now. You’re searching for any signs of lying, any signs of unseriousness, but there isn’t any. Jack gives you a sharp nod. His eyes are so sharp, you think that they could cut daggers into yours.

You swiftly nod back, just once. Up and down. And that’s all it takes.

Jack’s lips are on yours before you can inhale. All teeth and tongue, he wastes no time showing you how much he missed you. The grip at your hips tightens, and he pulls you closer to him, so that your hips grind against his. So that your stomach can feel his abs through the worn gray cotton t-shirt he has on. You try not to notice that it’s the shirt you would sleep in when you slept over, but you do. Because he’s a sentimental man, because he’s obviously been punishing himself with his memories of you.

He comes up for air and shakes his head at you. “Thank you.” he kisses you again.

“Thank me?” you query.

“Thank you for coming back. You know what I need.”

“You know what I need. I never had to fucking ask for anything. You just knew. Before I did.” you admit.

“You know me too. You know me better than anyone does, angel.”

You pull his face back to yours. Eager to feel his lips after a long five months. 

He grabs your hips again, hoisting you up onto him. You wrap around his midsection. The friction from your jeans rubs you just right and you moan into Jack.  

“Tell me more,” is all he says in response. 

You groan. “I didn’t miss your old man jokes.”

“Yes you did, that’s why you’re here.”

He lays you back in the bed and doesn’t give you a chance to respond. The kisses become more fervent as he pushes the gym shorts off of himself. You make quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down, along with your underwear. 

You and Jack didn’t need to talk it through any more. You were on the same page. You just understood it. You two could go hours without speaking, and still say a million words to each other. 

It’s like at work, all you had to do was shoot him a look and he understood. When a patient wasn’t going to make it, when something suspicious was going on, when something hysterical was going on, but you couldn’t laugh. You didn’t need words to convey how you were feeling. And if your eyes weren’t going to tell him tonight, your cunt definitely was. You could feel yourself dripping onto his sheets. 

“I don’t think I have any condoms. I–” Jack’s eyes dance around his minimalistic bedroom.

“I don’t care. I’m clean, you’re clean. Please, I need it.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He lines himself up, groans at the wet spot on the bed. And then he goes in. One long, deep, thrust. He bottoms out. You throw your head back onto the pillows before you’re reminded of his ‘thing’. Your eyes snap up at him and he grins. A cheshire smile. One that you couldn’t forget if you tried. 

His cock curves inside you like you’re two puzzle pieces. You clench around him until he has to ask you to let up.

He sets his pace. Long, deep, hard. Jack wasn’t one to fuck fast. He needed to enjoy it. To soak it all in. To feel you, to remember every inch of your walls. He wanted to always remember each individual fuck. What sets them apart? How did you look when you came this time versus the other fifty times? He once told you he thought about starting a sex journal so he could become the best at getting you off. 

Jack has about zero thoughts in his head that don’t surround around making you finish. He wants it like a prisoner wants an escape. He feels like he just saw his parole officer and they set him free, or put him on house arrest, he’s sure he’s not completely out of the dog house, but none of that matters to him now.

He’s inside you, and you’re making the noises he’s dreamt about every night since you left. “That’s it, pretty girl. That’s it.”

You clench again, hard. “I wanna– fuck– be on top.”

He doesn’t respond, just flips you over.

You straddle his waist and he pulls you in closer, sucking on your pert nipple. Jack guides your hips up and down before giving into what he really wants to do. 

Instead of moving you, he holds you still, opting to drive his cock up into you. You hiss, make a noise between a groan and a squeal. You bury your head into his shoulder and it moves you impossibly closer to him. 

He shifts so that one arm has a hold of your waist. The other comes between your two bodies, searching for your clit. He finds it, without looking, and rubs sharp circles that follow his pace on it. Your head flies back. 

“Fuck I’m—”

“Yup, me too, honey. C’mon, let me have it. Let it all go.”

You gasp at the feeling. It rushes out of you almost as soon as you recognize the tight knot in your stomach.  You can’t control your noises anymore, and neither can Jack.

He comes with you, burying his cock into your heat. He groans, over and over, and then pants.

You hum against him, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He moves so he can place a kiss on yours, a sweet one, to tell you you’re okay.

Neither of you make any effort to move, pleased to stay intertwined after being separated.

“What was his name?”

“Here come the questions. Can’t you let me enjoy this?”

“Never,” Jack quips. He shoots you a look, waiting for his answer.

“His name is Jack.”

His face turns pale, all jokes leave his brain, “You went on a date with someone who has my name?”

“I thought it would make the transition easier! I was hoping you wouldn’t ask!” you shake your head in shame. 

“How old was he?”

“Oh my god. That I am not answering. It doesn’t matter. The whole time I just thought about you, and your bullshit excuses for ending it. Telling me I need someone younger, c’mon.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Forgotten. We’re here now. Just don’t ever fucking do it again. I hate working day shift.” your face lights up. “Is that how you found out? Did Robby say something to you?”

Your mouth falls open at Jack’s cackling. 

“So old men gossip too, got it. This is fucked.” 

Jack shakes his head at you, calms himself down. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here.”

“You don’t have to. I know.”

[strayingawayy]

hidden in plain sight...

...the one where the two of you are so stupidly obvious, it hurts

seungmin and you have somewhat of an interesting relationship in the eyes of stays. with his skz family character cheating on aunty lina with you, your skzoos holding hands like the world depends on it and the fond gazing that forever goes on between the two of you... it's... interesting, is what one can say.

in between performances, fans catch the little things. like how his hand somehow always finds yours when you're huddled backstage, nerves buzzing before a big stage. or the way he wordlessly tucks your hair behind your ear when it falls into your face, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. neither of you say much about it — you never really need to.

tonight’s encore stage is no different. the air is electric, the confetti falling like snow, and everyone is bouncing around, singing into each other's mics and laughing until your stomachs hurt in the middle of lots of teasing. and somewhere in the middle of it, there's a moment — brief but so loud if you know where to look. and stays...well, they always do.

you’re playfully scolding him for stealing your line again, tapping his forehead with your finger.

"yah, that was my part," you say, half-laughing, half-serious.

seungmin just grins, that wide, scrunchy eyed smile he saves for only a few people, and leans forward to gently tap his forehead against yours. it’s clumsy, soft, and so very him.

"it's called teamwork. eight years since debut and you still haven't learnt that have you?," he mutters cheekily, voice low into the mic.

the crowd roars at the interaction, chan dramatically wailing into his mic, "get a room!" which earns a wave of laughter from the members. you and seungmin just laugh it off, not bothering to explain yourselves. in this band, everyone has a rumour with everyone so there truly isn't a need to.

later, when the lights dim and you're all sitting at the edge of the stage waiting for the video made by the fans of the city to start playing, it’s quieter. sentimental. the kind of atmosphere that oozes warmth and love. you’re sat beside seungmin, your knees knocking slightly, and somewhere between jisung rambling about how much he loves stays and felix fighting tears, you feel it. a pinky hooking softly around yours.

you glance down for half a second. his hand, resting casually between you, barely touching. but his pinky wraps around yours, a silent promise. safe, hidden in the folds of your oversized sleeves.

seungmin doesn’t look at you. he just squeezes once, barely there. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckle, grounding you because he knew you might cry too. you don’t say anything, but the corners of your mouth lift just the tiniest bit, and you know he's noticed it despite his eyes looking straight ahead.

when the speeches are over and the final bows are done, you’re all waiting to usher off stage, laughing and bumping into each other like a messy line of dominos, seungmin falls into step beside you, close but not quite touching.

"you were good tonight," he says quietly, once you're out of earshot of the fans.

you tilt your head, pretending to think as you sip through your straw. "only tonight?"

he huffs a small laugh through his nose. "fine. you’re always good, my singer."

you nudge him with your elbow, grinning. "you too, min."

there’s a beat of comfortable silence, and then he says, almost shyly, "you make it easier."

you blink, warmth blooming in your chest. "same."

he doesn’t say anything else. he just bumps his shoulder against yours gently, and when you finally reach the dressing room, he lets his hand brush against yours again. just enough that you know, even in a crowd, even under a thousand lights, you’re not alone.

maybe that’s what makes it all so interesting. not the public moments, not the teasing or the playful banter— but the quiet, constant way you choose each other, even when no one’s really looking. but little do you know, that people always are. because the love between the two of you is so evident, it spills out in every glance, every shy smile, every touch you think is hidden. it’s so clear, so undeniable, that even the world beyond the stage can’t help but notice, and quietly, fondly, root for you both.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ when i feel you (from within), i exist. : second half.

wnba!paige x wnba!azzi. men & minors dni.

hey, sugar. read the first part here.

cw: that weird blurring of lines in your friendship when you’re both in love with each other, light sexual content, mentions of weed, love confessions, avoiding each other at public events, the embarrassment of wanting someone so badly you'd do anything for it, being mean to each other because it's easier than taking the leap.

notes: i hope you guys enjoy this. i feel a bit kinder about it than the first part. still giving credit to where credit is due. dedicated to the beautiful @loeysoi simply because i love her and appreciate her warm, creative spirit so much.

anyway, i hope you all enjoy. all my love. always.

they don’t talk about it, but it consumes them. it almost seems to up the stakes. they think about it all the time. 

paige thinks about it, gasping and shuddering underneath the ho,t spraying shame of the shower. azzi thinks about it, lying on her side in the dark with her eyes pressed shut and her mouth parted. 

they both get invited to the same athletic philanthropy event. something clean and public and charitable, which makes it worse, somehow.

azzi sees paige first. she always does. paige is near the drinks table, talking with her teammates, backlit by the golden wash of some fake candlelight. when paige finally sees azzi, it’s later, deliberately so. she has that practiced distance, the kind that makes you feel childish for wanting anything. the realization, once made, makes azzi’s face flush with the salt-heat that comes with tears. 

she turns to go three hours in, her blown-out curls now flat and devoid of any further interest to beautify her tonight. she looks beautiful as she leaves (she comes to this conclusion later via an instagram fan page) in her gown: blue leopard, cut down to her belly like an incision. her chest peeks out delicately, something azzi often feels she isn’t, and she’s careful to be camera-aware as she bends to scoop teammates and friends into loose, departing side hugs. 

she makes it down the long velvet hallway on her own. it smells like mildew. old money and old fabric. it’s a museum, so there are exhibits to catch her eye. she’s calling her driver. she’s almost out. but it’s on the stairs that she finally falls. 

she trips over air, or maybe all of her carefully built emotional architecture, built just for this evening, has found the crack in its foundation. 

either way, she’s going down. one step, one twist of the foot. 

she lands hard. hits the middle spread of the staircase, the step wide enough for her to bring her knees to stone and crack the front of her foot against the edge before rolling over with a sick little cry. she winces as she examines the sole of her foot, the awkward roll and bend of her ankle. lets out a mewl of pain as she presses into the center. 

there’s a sharp cut there, beading with blood like a stigmata. there’s not a lot, but there’s just enough to embarrass her. 

and then paige is there. of course. not running, not even striding. just appearing, like she’d been there all along. she’s at the bottom of the stairs, hands in her pockets, mouth drawn into something unreadable. 

her eyes move over azzi’s body. assessing, maybe. amused. azzi feels the salt-heat climb back into her face. she wants to get up on her own, to say something casual, to pretend none of this matters. 

she wasn’t going to say anything, really. she wasn’t. she was going to be good about it with a slight grimace and roll of her eyes as if to say god, i’m so clumsy, even though they both know it’s not true. but instead, her skin-brain connection is corrupted, and the pain wins out, and she says it before she means to.

“fuck you.”

it comes out low and neat. not thrown, not spat. in the same way her flatmate in london used to drink whiskey during that one semester abroad. measured and burning. it seems to hit paige like a slap. 

one light eyebrow lifts, then both. cartoonish surprise. azzi tries to push herself up, mortified, but her ankle screams and she crashes back down, dress blooming around her like a wave.

somewhere in the distance, someone puts on “empires” by niki and the dove like a sick joke.

nothing stays the same i've learned my lesson well if you wish too hard it eludes you just the same but my love is young, it's young it burns the edges of my heart i'm dying for ya

her scream gets swallowed up by the synths. it’s grotesque and a little funny. she hates that.

paige moves then, her body always responding to azzi’s own, and practically flies up the steps to where her best friend is heaving hard through her nose. azzi isn’t in any position to refuse her help, but she digs her nails into paige’s pale shoulder when she bends and smiles, sharp and bittersweet, at the pained grunt she gets in response. 

maybe that’s why paige is purposefully so slow when she picks her up, strong hands sliding up beneath azzi’s clenched thighs and gathering up every bit of her dress as she swings her off the ground. it’s definitely that and not the fact that there’s love between them threatening to be lost. love, along with the memory of their bodies wet and pressed together in the sanctity of that dallas shower. 

her face gets rushed with that burst of tears again, and she tries to turn away, but once again paige proves that she knows her innately, is so intimately involved with the fabric of who azzi is. paige slows, a hand coming up to tenderly bring azzi’s face into the open by the base of her neck. 

“hey,” she says, and azzi begins blinking fast because everything is fine. it is. “hey. azzi, mama, look at me. does it hurt?”

azzi lies, but not really. “yeah.”

“shit, maybe we should take you to the er. they can—“

“charge me thousands for what i already know?” azzi snaps. “i just need to put ice on it.”

paige is quiet for a moment, and then she says, “okay, princess.”

and azzi knows when they get to her car, paige is going to climb right in after her and sit with her hands curled around the delicate bridge of her calf as she keeps her foot elevated. and then they’re going to arrive at azzi’s apartment. 

and then paige will never leave. 

which azzi used to want. but since the kiss, she’s not sure anymore. because paige let her leave. well, maybe azzi could’ve—

the car pulls round and azzi looks right into the headlights, lets the mean shine bleach out all of her doubts.

✈︎

“god, are you trying to kill me?” 

paige looks up from where she’s bandaging azzi’s foot. 

“i don’t know,” she answers drily, and azzi rolls her eyes. “i could be asking you the same question.” 

azzi flushes then. 

when they’d entered her apartment she’d immediately demanded paige put her down and had shimmied out of her dress until she only had her ass tucked into a pair of deep blue briefs and a bare chest. she’d ignored the hitch of paige’s breath from behind her and hobbled into her bedroom to grab an oversized loewe cotton tee. 

she’d planned to hobble her way back out, but paige had come into the room with a hard look and swung her back up until she could dump her onto the l-shaped sectional.  

“bitch,” azzi mutters and paige presses her thumb into the bruise right above her ankle. 

azzi cracks her jaw with the clench of it, and paige’s mouth quirks up. 

“watch your mouth, az.”

and just like that, she’s back in doctor mode. her hands are clinical, confident. azzi watches her and aches.

it reminds her of high school, college. when bruises were an invitation. when paige used to press into her softest spots, those mottled blooms of gold and violet, under tables and behind closed doors, pushing until azzi broke. her eyes or her cunt, one of them always leaking. 

they never talked about that either.

god forbid. 

paige’s eyes are still trained on the swelling like it’s got secrets. if she keeps pressing it, something’s going to speak.

so, she presses again. slower this time. thumb dragging just slightly across the indigo strip of pain swatched across azzi’s brown skin like she’s testing ripeness. like she’s wondering: which one is wet?

something in azzi’s stomach flips.

it’s not a question out loud, but it hangs in the room like steam. and azzi knows what she means. or doesn’t mean. or can’t say. her thighs twitch a little, involuntarily, and she hates herself for it. hates how paige notices. how her steel blue eyes flick up, fast and sharp.

“does that hurt?” she asks, the words so soft they’re nearly a coo. her thumb stills, warm and heavy against the throb.

azzi nods. lies again. or maybe doesn’t.

“here?” paige asks, sliding the edge of her thumb lower, closer to the hinge of azzi’s ankle. slower this time, like she’s waiting for the wince, or the breath hitch. like she wants to feel it in her teeth.

“paige,” azzi says, and it’s not a protest. it’s a warning. or a plea.

“hmm?”

azzi leans back against the couch like she’s trying to melt into it. tries to tilt her face away, but paige’s free hand catches her at the neck again, not rough but definite. they’re always like this: somewhere between a chokehold and a cradle.

“you’re flushed,” paige murmurs, the thumb still circling now in a pattern azzi can’t ignore. “you hot?”

“you know i am,” azzi says, and it’s an irritated whisper.

paige hums again and lets the sentence curl in her mouth before she licks it clean and says, “yeah. i know.”

she shifts forward, her hand never leaving azzi’s ankle, and the other trailing up her calf now, slow and reverent. “still wanna ice it?”

azzi can’t answer. 

doesn’t want to. 

she just lets her legs part a little wider and watches the way paige’s mouth changes when she notices. but then. but then paige gets closer, and once again, azzi just blurts it out, her mouth a river with no dam. 

“will we always be like this? just pressing?” 

and it’s so revealing. the ache persists in the way she says “just pressing.” it’s tactile and vague and brutal all at once. it reveals how their bodies are always so close but never aligned, always almost.

paige doesn’t answer. maybe her hand presses just a little harder, and azzi gasps. 

her whole body folds in on itself like a piece of fruit bruising from the inside out, and paige—sweet, stubborn, unbearable, in love paige—presses again like she’s asking something with her hands that she doesn’t have the language for. 

and azzi, caught in that taut place between wanting and wincing, kicks out reflexively. not hard, not really, but it’s the wounded foot. the one she’d been babying. the one paige had carried her because of.

the contact is enough. it doesn’t injure, but it startles. azzi’s ankle throbs, and her chest feels worse, like it’s been punctured. when paige reaches out again, softly this time, carefully now, azzi jerks away, and her eyes are welling, and they both realize they’re standing on the edge of something they can’t unknow.

azzi is tearing up and trying not to, and it’s worse because she knows what it means now. knows that pressing can’t be only “play” anymore. not if it makes her cry. not when it’s been echoing in her chest since they were kids, since bruises under tables and reverent touching on court.

paige opens her mouth to say something. another sorry, maybe. azzi just shakes her head and says, quietly and shaking:

“we can’t keep doing this. it’s not just touching anymore.”

paige seems to drop like a body in a fall, and she bends until her forehead is on azzi’s shin and she can smell the thick slather of coconut oil and honey cream on the skin. she gathers strength that quickly dissipates as she thinks of what azzi may say if they do talk about it. 

“i asked you,” azzi continues, “not to be sorry. and then i texted you to talk about it because i knew we would end up just like this.”

“you broke the rule,” paige mumbles, and azzi pulls her bun so that the other woman lets out a hiss of pain. 

“it’s a stupid rule, madison.”

paige sits up then, her middle name coaxing out the meaner part of her that azzi secretly likes.

“don’t fucking call me that, azzi.”

“then stop being mean.”

“is this what you wanna do?” paige asks, squaring her shoulders. “because i can get real mean.”

“oh, fuck you, bueckers,” azzi huffs, and she tries to swing her legs off of the couch but paige holds her down with a warm palm on her good ankle. “always so big and bad.”

“nah, because you know that’s not the first time we’ve done that, but you want to talk about this one.”

something about that makes azzi feel as though she’s backed into a corner, so she verbally lunges with venom sweet and dripping from her teeth.

“i want to talk about this one because you can’t be a coward, and justify not talking about it because we're not teammates anymore.”

paige’s eye twitches, and azzi lets her sit there and flinch like she’s been buzzed by an electrical wire. she manages to get up and lets out a thin yelp from between her teeth. paige lets her be in pain, and that almost makes azzi cry. 

almost.

with a drawn-out sigh, she begins to hobble her way to her bedroom because she’s already embarrassed; she might as well commit to the bit. it’s a pitiful, miserable little escape, teeth gritted and eyes shining, and she can feel paige watching her go the same way you’d watch someone walk out into traffic. 

she makes it a few, bumbling, shuffling steps forward before paige pushes off the sectional and dives for her. they’re kids again: two newborn basketball prodigies with a rivalry running under the bone of the friendship. 

paige goes lower as azzi tries to weave out of the way, and snags her leg with an open hand. her fingers curl, long and hard, around the muscle, and azzi can’t pry it loose. so, as expected, she begins to fight. which means she falls. 

azzi yanks her leg up, trying to slide it out of paige’s hand, but paige has never been above playing dirty with her. her palm glides sweetly around azzi’s good ankle and then switches to the other, the one with the bone bruise and thirty thousand leagues of pain. she clutches it, and azzi lets loose a sharp “holy shit!” at the white flash of agony and stumbles.

she loses her balance, begins to plummet toward her shiny apartment flooring. paige catches her without thinking, rolls onto her back underneath her just in time. azzi lands heavy on top of her, her breath knocked out in a sharp, startled gasp.

their faces are too close, and azzi can feel the vibrational echo of the way their ribs knock together. paige’s hair has come loose. azzi can smell the cheap, scentless conditioner she always uses when she’s traveling. azzi plants her hands on paige’s chest to push herself up, but doesn’t.

her best friend’s hand is splayed wide over her spine. she can feel the tremor in it. the heartbeat. she feels it as it moves lower, as it dips to squeeze at the fatty crease of her ass and thighs. it’s less erotic than it would be with anyone else. 

paige always liked the fuller parts of her. azzi thinks it's because it makes her feel comfortable enough to take more. 

azzi narrows her eyes, narrows them further when paige mockingly does the same. she asks, breathless and wrecked,

"if i hadn't booked that flight to dallas, would you have ever called me?"

paige’s eyes widen, blue and startled. azzi’s hands are idly on her tits, and it would be slightly funny if azzi wasn’t desperate for the truth. instead, she presses down on the tissue. thinks of paige’s nipples, rosy pink and hard in the mornings when she takes those frigid showers, and then crushes them like the flowers they remind her of.

paige grunts, and she pushes uncomfortably on the base of azzi’s spine.

“chill,” is all she says, and azzi grabs her face and squeezes.

“i told you not to be sorry. i asked you not to regret it,” she says again.

paige shrugs. “‘nd i didn’t, ma.”

“you didn’t respond to my text message.”

“right, cause imessage is the place to have life-changing conversations. i wonder if our government’s tried that.”

“we could’ve facetimed,” azzi protests, slightly outraged. “you know that i’m always available for you.”

something flickers across paige’s face. azzi seizes it. 

that twitch, that terrified, guilty twitch, like a rabbit’s nose. she can see paige’s beautiful, pink brain begin to expand; she’s finally realizing the full weight of her, sitting on her chest, of how they sit in one another’s lives.

azzi tilts her head, lashes low, almost tender as she says,

"why. wouldn’t. you. call. why were you lying all alone, getting high like the loser you like to pretend to be? say it."

paige's throat bobs. she squeezes the meat of azzi’s thigh like she’s grounding herself there. she mutters, almost inaudibly:

"didn’t know if you wanted me to."

azzi lets out a little sound, high and bitten-off, like it tears straight out of her chest. she fists her hand harder in the collar of paige’s t-shirt.

“why wouldn’t i want you to, p?” paige relaxes slightly, knowing they’re back on softer ground with the use of the nickname. “what exactly was i doing that would’ve ever taken precedence over you?”

“you were in your skims dress,” paige says, and azzi’s face twists with confusion. “you posted a picture on your story. that’s your date dress.”

azzi sits back, eyes fluttering like she’s receiving a premonition. 

“you weren’t mad about losing the game,” she says, and it's not a question.

paige grins against her mouth, that stupid cocky grin azzi wants to punch out and kiss at the same time, and says:

“that’s the point of the game, princess. someone wins and someone loses.”

azzi closes her eyes. 

“there is something seriously wrong with you, paige.” she opens them again and reaches down to pinch the side of her best friend’s neck. "i was at a last minute brand event."

“hey!” paige squeals, and azzi lets a wry smile tug at her mouth. "how was i supposed to know that?"

"by calling me, madison," azzi hisses, sliding off of paige’s stomach to sit on the floor. she sighs.

“would you ever tell me that you loved me, if you did? like loved me. for real.”

she hears paige shifting, sees her rise in the periphery of her eyesight. she’s not sure why it surprises her when paige turns her head by the chin, fingertips fragile enough to allow azzi to pull away if she wants to.

“azzi,” she says, her face so soft it’s like a wound, “i do love you for real.”

azzi’s whole body jerks like she’s been struck. this is the body when it has forgotten how to process tenderness and has spent so long bracing for impact.

she blinks at paige, wide-eyed and trembling, mouth parted. for a second, they just stare at each other.

paige’s hand is still there, cradling the hinge of her jaw, thumb slipping instinctively higher, brushing the soft undercurve of azzi’s lip. she sends it higher, slips it inside. she tastes like azzi’s skin.

“are you into that?” paige murmurs, eyes never leaving her finger on the slick petal of azzi’s tongue. “tasting yourself?”

it’s too much.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” azzi answers.

paige smiles. azzi lets out a noise. it’s hoarse, punched-out, almost feral. she launches forward.

the kiss lands clumsily, all teeth and open mouths, azzi’s hands scrabbling at the loose fabric of paige’s t-shirt like she’s trying to climb inside her. paige catches her like she’s been waiting her whole life to. she’s still conscious of keeping azzi’s foot out of the collision, and that makes azzi kiss her harder.

she fists a hand in azzi’s curls and yanks her closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, until there’s no air left between them.

it’s not delicate. it’s not even sweet.  it’s desperate.

they are both swollen with greed.

azzi pulls back just an inch, just enough to pant against paige’s mouth, to feel her breath coming in hard waves. she searches her face, studies the flushed skin, the slack pink mouth, the wildness in paige’s blue eyes. 

paige must see the same thing reflected in her because she shudders, almost shakes. she grabs azzi’s shirt like she’s ripping off a band-aid. azzi lets it go. the cotton burns up somewhere behind them.

her mouth finds azzi’s breast like instinct, like muscle memory, needling at the peaked nipple with her teeth. azzi spasms so hard she almost tears away.

"mmm," she breathes out.

"yeah," paige answers, voice low and heavy like fruit. “c’mon, mama.”

then paige’s hand is slipping into the elastic of her shorts, blunt fingers dragging through slick, through heat, until they find the saltwater taffy pink of her, the electric pearl right above it. she presses there. not gently, not cruelly, just certain. azzi’s hips chase her touch.

azzi almost bites through her own tongue, trying not to scream. she knows what is wet this time.

she curls over paige like she’s trying to fold them into one person. she cups paige’s jaw, palms the strong lines of her throat and cheeks like she's memorizing them. paige presses her forehead to azzi’s, hand still working slowly, dragging circles, and mouths into the wet, open space between them:

"azzi."

paige lifts her head.

azzi cradles her face in both hands like she’s trying to crush paige and save her at the same time.

"p," she manages, and paige rubs against her with new urgency.

forehead to forehead. breath and blood and everything loud between them.

the wanting’s already unspooling through both of them, irreversible.

it’s good sometimes, azzi thinks, to break the rule.

© hcneymooners.

[sushirrrry]

TRACE a harry styles x original character one-shot word count: 7,785 cw: this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but harry is very hot summary: a shy writer commissions a tattoo from an artist who is way too hot to handle; she can’t stop staring at his hands while he works. and, he notices quite quickly. tag list: @gotdrxnkonu @mads3502 @mellamolayla reply to this story if you would like to be added to the tag list in the future! enjoy, and let my know what you think <3 home - send me a message - masterlist

When something got into Lily’s head, it stayed there. It stayed there for a long while, and even though Lily had no intention of really ever getting a tattoo, something about the idea felt like a step forward. Lily had trouble with decision making; while that was a terrible quality for permanently inking skin, it had grossly taken over her brain that she just wanted to do something different.

All of her friends – the two that were the closest, really – had tattoos, a few actually. She didn’t want to just be like them, but she wanted to fit in, in a way. She wanted to be able to share experiences with people, even if it were in small ways that were her own decisions. While indecisive, she knew that she could at least say that she made the decision to walk through the front doors of a tattoo shop and ask for something that she wanted.

Or, at least, get their opinion on it first.

The bell above the door chimed, a soft, musical sound that echoed through the quiet shop. The décor caught her eye first – lots of art deco, prints on the walls, a leather couch that could have easily stepped out of 1970. Lily stepped inside, heart thudding hard enough she could hear it in her ears – she had been noticed by the girl at the front desk now, so she couldn’t just leave.

The air was thick with the scent of ink, leather, and something smoky-sweet that made the place feel untouchably cool. It was the kind of cool that lived in the margins of a life she didn’t know how to be part of, but she was trying her best.

Her fingers tightened around the crumpled piece of paper she carried; it had a few quotes that she’d picked weeks ago but hadn’t had the nerve to act on until now. They were all quotes from her favorite works, but she didn’t know where one would fit best, or where it would fit best.

The shop was dimly lit, but cozy. Exposed brick walls were plastered with art: flashes of color, delicate lines, portraits that seemed almost alive. A soft buzzing sound came from a back room, like a needle whispering against skin. It was sharp and delicate, and she appreciated the artistic value that these works of art held. Lily shuffled forward, swallowing hard as she approached the front desk.

Behind the front desk sat a woman with dark hair that sat on her shoulders, bangs higher on her forehead, and tattoos trailing up both arms like ivy. Her neck was inked with blues and oranges, delicate flower pieces that she could tell had beautiful delicacy. She looked up from her half-finished crossword puzzle, and her mouth pulled into a slow, warm smile — the kind that said, I see you, and it’s okay.

“Hi there,” She greeted, setting down her book. “Are you here for an appointment with someone?”

Lily swallowed, clearing her throat as she gave her best, confident smile back. “Oh – um, no I don’t have an appointment actually,” Her hands held the piece of her paper before she approached the desk, “Do I need an appointment?”

The woman shook her head with a smile, “You don’t need one, we do walk-ins. Do you have a design in mind?”

Lily raised her brows, “Um, yes. I do,” She placed the quotes on the desk for the woman to look at; she had chewed her gum a bit as she nodded.

“A quote is super easy – we can definitely get you in today. We only have one artist here today, so we’ll have to have him draw something up for you. Is this your first tattoo?" The woman asked, tapping her pen against the desk in rhythm with the low thump of music playing somewhere deeper in the shop.

Lily nodded, cheeks burning. She hated how obvious her nerves always were.

The woman leaned in a little, her voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "No worries, love. You're in good hands here. Everyone has to do something for the first time every once in a while. I’m Kaila, by the way.” She stuck out her hand to help ease Lily’s nerves a bit.

“I’m Lily.” Lily answered, shaking Kaila’s hand before feeling a bit of relief from her prior anxiety. She still felt the rumbling of her heart against her chest, but it had started to ease.

“Well, Lily, I think,” Kaila checked behind herself, neck stretching to see behind the curtain where the sound of the tattoo gun was coming from. “I think we have our artist finishing up here in a minute. Let me check.”

Before Lily could even think to protest, the woman disappeared behind a beaded curtain that rattled softly in her wake. A few voices were heard – a deep, low voice came from that direction before Lily saw Kaila reappear from behind the curtain.

“He’s finishing up in a minute, so you’re welcome to have a seat. Here,” She handed Lily a large book, “Try and see if any fonts jump out at you while you wait.”

With a nod, Lily took the book in her hands before going to sit on the sofa. She had tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the drawings pinned to the wall — intricate vines curling around skeletal hands, bold quotes stitched into roses. She perused through the pages of the book, calligraphy of many sizes and curves. She bit her lip, feeling a bit overwhelmed with that decision. She was halfway through convincing herself to just leave when she heard a low, amused voice.

“Come back in a week or so, we’ll let that heal for a bit. Kaila will get you on my book,” Two men approached from behind the curtain; one had significantly shorter hair that had streaks of blue through bleach. It was so much more alternative than Lily could pull off, surely. His arms were coated in colorful ink and a bandage that coated the inside of his left arm.

The other man had shaggy brown hair, tortoiseshell glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose that held a small silver hoop. He was tall, had a short button-down shirt that held a checkered pattern, a tighter white t-shirt sat underneath it. The jeans sat on his hips with a baggie fashion, the Converse on his feet were filthy and worn to the point of unfathomability.

He was downright beautiful in a way that Lily should have run.

“It’s going to look so sick when it’s finished,” The brown-haired man told Kaila with a smirk. He joined Kaila behind the desk while she took the other man’s payment and got another appointment. Lily had been staring at the interactions, trying not to be obvious as she kept flipping through the book.

In a moment of staring, her eyes reached up to see that Kaila bumped the man with her shoulder, nodding her head towards Lily with a smirk. The man’s attention drew to her; Lily didn’t know what to do but smile back.

"You must be Lily."

She stood from her spot on the sofa, and the breath she'd been trying to catch abandoned her completely.

The man standing there looked like every fictional bad boy she'd ever secretly fallen in love with between the pages of her books. He was a vision of sorts. His messy, dark hair fell into his green eyes, which crinkled slightly at the corners like he laughed more than he should. The tattoos crawled up his forearms in swirling black ink, disappearing beneath the sleeves of the button down that covered muscles that flexed when he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. And the way he looked at her — like he already knew she was nervous, and found it almost unbearably charming — made something in Lily's chest twist hard.

"I’m Harry," he said, his voice rough and lazy, the kind of voice made for midnight conversations and whispered secrets. He reached a hand out for a shake greeting, to which Lily reciprocated. The only thing she could do was smile back, barely able to form a word.

Lily swallowed, feeling her own pulse against her throat. She nodded, too flustered to trust her voice yet. Harry made his way back to the desk where Kaila stood, Lily followed.

“So, Lily,” Harry said, dragging his knuckles lightly across the counter as he leaned in; Lily took note of the way that his arms were coated with ink, each one telling a different story of a different time, she was sure. “Tell me about this tattoo, then.”

His mouth tugged into a slow, crooked grin, like he already knew she’d stammer her way through it.

Lily unfolded the paper with shaking fingers, offering it like a peace treaty as she slid it across the counter. Harry’s head turned slightly to be able to read some of the words on it.

“I… um, they’re quotes,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes, even though, in her mind, she was already completely in way over her head. “One’s from Jane Eyre - it’s, ‘Conventionality is not morality’, and then I have this Oscar Wilde quote, 'All art is quite useless’ which I just think is quite on-the-nose,” Her voice wobbled as she kept talking, making eye contact with him every so often to make sure that he was engaged.

“Oh, and then this one, from Anna Karenina, 'Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking’. I think it’s just beautiful. I’m just not sure where I want it yet - or which one I want, I guess. I only want one.”

Harry took the paper from her, his fingers brushing hers — warm, calloused. He had marks on his knuckles, some scrapes, she could tell. Lily’s stomach flipped at the interaction, but she took in a deep breath to try and even out her breath.

He scanned the quotes, his brow furrowing slightly in thought, then lifted his gaze back to hers, softer now, like he understood more than he let on.

“We can take our time figuring it out,” he said, voice low. “That’s the best part.”

He rounded the counter, moving with a lazy kind of grace that made her toes curl in her boots. He stood close, leaning against the front desk as he studied the paper closely. He was close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny silver ring in his left ear.

“The decision on where to put it is mostly about if you want it somewhere only you can see, maybe,” Harry murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a shiver down her spine as she thought of him seeing it. Of him painting it on her. “Or somewhere you can show it off, if you want the world to know you’re braver than you look.”

From behind the desk, Kaila watched the interaction and the way he spoke to her, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth as she picked up her crossword again.

Meanwhile, Lily felt her entire face heat, but her feet stayed planted. She couldn’t look away from Harry if she tried. “I-I’m down for whatever, really. I just – um.” She cleared her throat, fingers playing with her bottom lip as she tried to think about his suggestions. Harry tilted his head, studying her like she was something delicate and fascinating, like he didn’t want to rush and risk breaking the moment.

"Here’s what we’ll do," he said, voice almost a purr. "I'll draw up a sketch so you can see it on you. No ink yet, just a little marker. It'll help you picture it."

Lily opened her mouth to say something — to agree, to flee, she wasn’t sure — but the words caught somewhere behind the pounding of her heart. Harry smiled like he already had his answer. He took the piece of paper that she had crumbled and written on.

"Come on back," he said, jerking his head toward the beaded curtain, where a tall leather chair sat against the wall, His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he led her over — a barely-there touch that made her skin tingle under her sweater.

She perched on the edge of the seat, feeling like a statue — awkward and frozen, almost like she was at the doctor’s office— as Harry grabbed a very fine-tipped marker from a nearby tray. He popped the cap off with his teeth, tossing it aside with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Do you have a kind of an idea of what you want it to look like?” He sat on a chair next to her, a notebook in his hand as he sat the piece of paper on the notebook for reference. Before she could answer he had already started a freehand sketch of the design.

“Um, I think just more of a pretty font,” She nodded, crossing her ankles. “Maybe more of a like,” She shrugged, “Softer?”

Harry nodded, which let a piece of his hair fall over his glasses. “Just letting you know that I actually like the Anna Karenina quote the best. Don’t make that decision based on me, though. It’s your body.”

“Any reason?” Lily found herself asking, feeling that it was a bit bold of her to even create an open conversation.

Harry shrugged, with a smirk that revealed a dimple in his right cheek. “Guess no reason. It would make a boyfriend happy to see his girl wearing a quote like that, I think. It would be a good nod to a good love.”

Lily felt her cheeks flush a heat that made her shake her head. “I-I don’t – uh, there’s no boyfriend.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from revealing on his face before he looked up from his notebook. “Good to know,” He shrugged then, “I think it’s the most poetic. Any reason you want a quote before a drawn art?”

Lily licked her lips, “I’m a writer, and I think having written works on me is like – I don’t know. It makes sense to me.”

With a nod, Harry understood it. “I get that, same with me and drawn art, I guess. Makes sense to me.”

Lily watched his continue to draw on the notebook for another moment before he seemed satisfied with how he had finished it. He sniffled, scrunching his nose before he lifted his head.

"Mind if I...?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to her arm. “Do you have anything on under the sweater? Or you can roll it up if it’s more comfortable.”

Lily took in a breath as she shook her head, as if it was stupid to wear the most clothes to a place where she needed to show skin. "Oh, yeah, of course.” Instead, she threw the sweater over her head, leaving her in a plain white t-shirt. A flush of her skin came back in a rush when she realized that she hadn’t put on a bra, leaving her a bit more intimate than she had intended.

She hadn’t thought this far – how stupid could she have been.

Instead of overthinking it now, she offered her forearm like it was some kind of ancient, sacred ritual.

“Just going to touch you,” He smirked, “Know that goes without saying, but I just want you to know that you can tell me to stop or let go whenever – sometimes people think they can’t do that, but just letting you know… you can.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, his touch firm but somehow careful, like he could feel the way her pulse raced under her skin, she was sure of it. Slowly, he pressed the tip of the marker to the inside of her forearm, right where the skin was soft and sensitive; Lily breathed out at the unfamiliar touch. His other hand steadied her, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles against her skin.

"Here’s one idea," he murmured, voice low and private. "Something you can glance at whenever you need it. Something just for you, but for everyone too."

Lily's breath caught as he sketched a delicate curve of letters along her skin, his hand feather-light, almost reverent.

Then, without warning, he lifted his hand to let his thumb touch her collarbone with a slight rub motion. The rest of his fingers grazed over her shoulder.

"Could go here too," he said, his knuckles grazing the edge of her shoulder. "Something that peeks out when you wear a wide neckline, if that you’re thing. A bit teasing."

The word teasing hung heavy between them, almost like he noticed the fact that her nipples were practically on display for the world. He didn’t make it known that he was catching glimpses, but maybe he was quite more of a gentleman than that.

Harry's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the air between them snapped tight like a wire. His hand was still at her shoulder, his thumb now resting on her skin like he hadn’t had any reason to let go.

Lily's skin burned under his touch. She swore he could hear her heart pounding.

"And then there's always..." His voice dropped even lower, tougher, more dangerous. He let his fingers trace — just barely — along the outside of her ribs, not quite touching, more of a whisper of suggestion. "...somewhere a little more private, if that’s your thing.”

Her breath hitched audibly; she flinched just a bit even though he hadn’t touched her. The smirk on his face was bitten back as he shook his head.

Harry grinned, wicked and beautiful, then. "No pressure," He said, sitting back as he ran his fingers to push his hair back but slowly, like he wanted her to feel every second of the space he left behind. "Just giving you options."

She swallowed hard, trying to understand the understated feeling of tension that laid between them. It was almost like he had the charisma of a movie star, but she knew that she shouldn’t feel special. Men like Harry didn’t look at girls like Lily.

"Maybe...” She managed, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt the way that her own hand ran her thumb over the site of her ribcage. “Maybe here, I guess. Will it hurt?”

Harry took a sip of the water cup that sat on his station; it kept him from showing the overzealous smile that would appear on his lips at the way that she suggested the private site. He started to smile; it widened like the sun coming up over some dangerous horizon.

"Good call," he said, picking up his pen, "And hey," he added, voice a soft scrape near her ear as he leaned in, "First tattoos are supposed to hurt a little. And I’m pretty good at making sure you’ll like it enough to come back for more. It’s an addicting kind of pain.”

Harry had moved towards the notebook, before he went to go prep the transfer. “Did you like the font of that?” Harry asked, referencing the quick sketch in the middle of her arm that he had given her for reference. “Size too?”

Lily took in a breath, staring at it before she bit her lip, “I think I want it a bit more… rougher, I guess. Nothing too professionally written, I guess. More like regular, messy cursive handwriting. And the size is good. Can we do it in a stanza? Overlapping each comma. You know?”

Staring at the work on her arm, Harry nodded at her notes. Letting his own hand mimic the way that she wanted it – the notes had given him a bit of a warmth in his chest to know that she was asking for exactly what she wanted. On the paper, he turned to show her his interpretation of her thoughts before he pushed his glasses on his nose.

“Something like that?” He asked, Lily’s eyes looked over the design. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before she nodded and looked back at him.

Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

“That’s perfect.” Lily told him in all honesty; her vision, while very biased on the fact that she was unable to really decide on her own what she liked, was definitely brought to happiness with the way that he sold his design and where she should have it.

“Awesome,” Harry said, pleased with the way that she agreed without any further remarks. This step always took much longer, as people wanted their design to be something in their head – Harry had to figure out how to bring their designs to life, but he was creative in that sense. He could usually try to understand them by their character, getting to know them a little bit before designing it.

He just knew that Lily would like this, without knowing her at all.

“So, I’m going to go trace this for you really quick so I can get a stencil. Grab a soda of something out of the fridge, make yourself comfortable. This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes or so,” He told her, “It will take more to prep and clean you up than anything else. Also, assuming you want black ink?”

Lily let her hands fold in her lap before she nodded at his instruction, “Yes, black is good.”

With that, Harry stood from his own seat before taking his work over to trace it for stenciling. While they were apart, Lily took the moment to let out the largest breath that had been holding back in her lungs. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself.

Now, she lay back against the leather chair, her sweater discarded on her lap as she tried to play with a loose string. Her eyes shut in a few flutters before she laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. She turned her head for a moment to stare at the way that Harry’s back arched over the small desk that held the stencil he was carefully tracing.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands – she grabbed her purse, taking her phone out of her purse before she brought up her text messages with her best friend, Tess. She rolled her lips into her mouth before she snapped a quick photo of the set up where the ink and tattoo gun were held.

Lily:  Going under the knife… or gun?

Lily: Also… the artist could not be cuter if he tried

“Okay, this is where you need to stand up so we can make sure it’s straight.” Harry’s voice took her out of her phone, startling her a moment before she nodded. She moved herself out of the leather chair, placing her feet on the floor, using her hands to make sure that her silk skirt was straight.

“Also, the cowboy boots are sick, by the way.” Harry complimented her with a bite of his own lip. Lily noticed their height difference when she looked from her boots up to him; the shine of his nose ring caught her eye before she blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you- I, uh, thrifted them in Shoreditch a few weeks ago,” The genuine brown leather hit against her calves as she showed them off a bit, “Thought they were fun. My first time wearing them.”

“You pull them off well.” Harry nodded. There was a slight tension as Lily cleared her throat; shaking her head, they found the moment of silence to be too much. Harry broke it.

Reaching over his station, Harry worked silently at the little rolling table nearby, snapping on a pair of black gloves with a crisp snap. The sound made her flinch — not from fear — but something deeper. Anticipation, maybe.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so low and easy it crawled over her skin like smoke. "I’m gonna clean the area first, and then I’m gonna to lay the stencil where I think you’ll like it. If you don’t like it, we can do it again.”

Lily nodded, even though her throat had gone bone dry.

Taking a seat in his chair, Harry rolled closer, a small squeeze bottle and cloth in hand. She stood taller than him now, but she would have to admit the view from above may have been just as good – if not better.

“So, just lift your shirt up – which are we thinking, right or left?” He watched as Lily took the edge of her shirt in her hands before she looked between them, incredibly indecisive, but also without a care, so she just stated, “Left, I think will be better.”

Harry wheeled himself to her left ribcage, using his glove to push her hand up a bit to show more of her skin.

“You doing okay?” He asked; when he received the nod of her, he used his thumb to brush the latex over her skin before using the wipe to clean the area. Lily flinched at the chill of the cool wipe before Harry looked up at her – she had been staring straight ahead.  

The antiseptic was cool against her overheated skin, making her jerk slightly when he swiped it along the curve of her ribcage. He steadied her with a gentle, gloved hand at her side.

"Sorry," Harry said, grinning, "It's always a shock at first."

Lily could barely breathe, acutely aware of everywhere he touched — even though he was professional, methodical, only exposing the small area he needed to work on.

Still, the intimacy of it — the way he had to tilt and maneuver her slightly toward him, the way his hands bracketed the sensitive space just beneath her breast — it felt like too much and not enough, all at once.

"There we go," he said, voice all concentration now. "Now stay real still for me, okay?"

She nodded again, uselessly, because the second the stencil met her skin, she swore she could feel him — the heat of his body, the careful drag of his focus on the straightness of the stencil. She could have sworn his face was close enough that a few strands of his messy brown hair brushed against her bare side.

"You're doing good," Harry murmured after a minute, his breath ghosting over her ribs. "Very good."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. She was utterly doomed.

When he finished the stencil, he sat back just slightly to admire his work, pulling off one glove with a snap to smooth the tracing paper carefully against her skin. The backs of his fingers skimmed her ribs — feather-light, deliberate — and when he looked up, the green-gold of his eyes darkened.

"You sure you wanna stop at just one?" he asked, voice roughened with something almost tender. "Because, honestly, you wear ink way too well."

She swallowed hard, daring to glance down at the delicate tracing tucked along her ribcage, just under the swell of her breast. She drew in a breath, “Let’s see how much this one hurts first.” She let out a breath of a laugh.

Harry — still sitting beside her, still half-smiling like he knew every thought flying through her head — looked like pure, heart-wrecking trouble. Harry’s grin turned wicked. He peeled off the second glove and stood, flexing his fingers, muscles shifting under the ink that wrapped his own arms like stories written just for him.

"You never know," he said, voice a promise. “You might like a little pain.”  

Turning to his station, Harry grabbed a bunch of unopen supplies that were sterile, and he turned to prep the needle and machine, leaving Lily alone on the chair — heart racing, skin burning, body already craving the sting of his touch.

The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space again, a steady sound that somehow made Lily’s heart race even harder. Harry sniffled, looking over at her before he cleared his throat.

“I think we’re going to have you lay on your back,” Harry went to maneuver the chair to lay flat; Lily moved with it, laying down on her back before Harry shook his head. “Hold your arm over your head.”

Harry leaned in close, resting his newly gloved hand flat against her side to steady her. The spot was so sensitive — right under the curve of her breast — that when the needle first kissed her skin, she gasped and instinctively arched slightly away.

"Hey, hey," Harry murmured, his free hand held at the underside of her breast, right at her ribs– which gave him a bit of unease at first. "Easy, sweetheart. You're alright. Deep breath for me, yeah?"

Lily swallowed hard, her face burning, but she nodded. She focused on breathing through her nose, trying to ignore the feel of his palm anchoring her, the heat of his body so close it was dizzying. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, knowing that each moment felt more and more difficult.

"You’re doing great," he said, voice low and soothing. "First tattoo’s always the hardest. Especially a spot like this. Let me know if you need to stop.”

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely there. "Y-Yeah, I guess I don’t do things halfway."

Harry’s smile widened — not mocking, but warm. Proud, even. He adjusted the machine in his hand and carefully started again, the fine line of the quote beginning to take shape along her ribs.

Harry’s mouth curved into a slow, appreciative grin. "Figures. You’ve got that stubborn look about you."

The machine whirred as he carefully pressed the needle into her skin again, beginning the delicate line of the quote. "What's the quote from?" Harry asked after a minute, his voice soft and warm, keeping her distracted as he worked.

"Anna Karenina," Lily said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It’s about... someone seeing you. Even when you think you're invisible."

Harry’s hand paused for the briefest second before he resumed, wiping gently at her side with a cloth.

"Sounds like it means something to you," he said, glancing up at her with a flicker of something real in his gaze.

She shrugged, the movement small against his steady hand. "I just... sometimes it feels like... if you're quiet, people don't really notice you. But when they do..."Her voice trailed off.

Harry's smile softened, a little less cocky and a little more sincere. "They’d be bloody stupid not to notice you," he said, almost too low for her to hear.

Before she could say anything, he leaned back in to finish the script, his concentration fierce, brow furrowed. His hand was careful, stabilizing her, and even through the sting of the tattoo, all Lily could focus on was the way his touch felt: steady, grounding, almost reverent.

"You’re holding up better than most," he said after a few minutes, wiping away a smear of ink. "Some people swear and curse the whole time."

She gave a breathless laugh. "Maybe I'm just too shy to complain." She knew very well that it hurt – it hurt more than anything she had done, but she laughed at the idea that maybe she just needed to stay quiet.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "I don’t mind a little shy," he said, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her waist without thinking. "Means you don't bullshit."

She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. As he finished the final strokes, he leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against her skin.

"And it’s the quiet ones," he murmured like it was a secret, "who usually end up being the most unforgettable."

Lily's breath hitched, her entire body tense — not from the tattoo, but from him.

"I know you marched in here scared outta your mind," he said, carefully wiping away excess ink with a cloth. "And you still picked one of the hardest spots to get tattooed. You sat through it like a champ."

Lily didn’t know what to say to that, but the smile pulling at her mouth was uncontrollable.

Harry kept working, his touches careful, respectful — but God, she could feel him everywhere. His hand steady against her waist. The occasional brush of his knuckles against her ribs when he adjusted the angle. The warm breath from his mouth when he leaned closer to focus. It was overwhelming in the best, most terrifying way.

"You from around here?" he asked, glancing up again as he shifted slightly, bending lower to reach the final curve of the quote.

"Yeah," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "Grew up about fifteen minutes away. You?"

"Born here," Harry said, grinning as he dabbed gently at her side. "Escaped for a bit. Came back when I realized not everywhere has diners open 'til 3 a.m."

Lily laughed softly at his remark. It surprised them both— the way it slipped out of her so easily, warm and bright. Harry looked at her like he wanted to bottle the sound; she hadn’t showed as much emotion than from that little, stupid remark.

"You're loosening up," he said teasingly, switching out a cartridge on the machine to do the finer details. "Almost like you’re not terrified of me anymore."

"I was never terrified of you," she said quickly, eyes wide.

Harry just smirked. He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially as he waited for the color to rise on her cheeks the color of fire. Somehow, he already knew the buttons he needed to press.

"Then why were you blushing so hard you looked ready to faint when I walked over?"

Lily opened her mouth — and then shut it, mortified. She knew that her cheeks could not have been redder than they were in this moment.

Harry's laughter — warm, deep, good — filled the studio space that they were sitting in.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his knuckles brushing her side again in a way that felt far too deliberate to be accidental. "You’re not the first to get a little shy. You just wear it way cuter than most."

Her heart fluttered so violently she was sure he could feel it vibrating under her skin.

"You're... very confident," she muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might save her.

Harry tilted his head slightly, the machine buzzing softly again as he started on the delicate flourishes of the script, intricate details were needed as he stared deeper onto the inked skin.

"Suppose I have to be," he said, easy with a shrug to his shoulders. "People are trusting me to carve something into them forever. Can’t really be shaky about that." He pulled back for a second, wiping gently again, then leaned closer to blow softly on the ink to dry it.

The puff of air against her raw, sensitized skin made her shudder. Harry grinned like he noticed, like he was tucking it away somewhere private.

"Almost done," he said softly. "You’ve been a dream to work on, Lily."

The way he said her name with a slow, deliberate tone made her stomach flip. When he finally clicked the machine off and peeled his gloves away, the quiet that fell was almost deafening. It hadn’t been too long then, but Lily had missed the feeling already.

He sat back on his chair, running his hand through his messy hair, looking her over like he was committing the sight to memory.

"Alright," he said, voice a little rough, "moment of truth. Want a mirror?"

She nodded, and he passed it over carefully, brushing her fingers with his own in the exchange.

Lily angled it, looking down to be able to see where the writing sat on her skin. It was raw, her skin, red around the darkened ink that was now visible and permanent.

The quote curved perfectly under her breast, right on the ribcage, elegant and understated — exactly like she had imagined it in her head a hundred times. She knew that this would help her, this would connect her with her peers knowing she had gone through this experience.

"It's..." She swallowed hard. "It's really beautiful. Thank you."

Harry's smile softened, all the cocky teasing bleeding out of him until he looked almost bashful at her complimented admission.

"Hey," he said, reaching out instinctively to squeeze her hand that had been holding the mirror in place, fingers brushing along softly as he let go. "Thank you for trusting me. Let me bandage it up for you, and we can send you on your way.”

Lily nodded at that, biting her lip as she kept looking at the mirror while he grabbed the bandages. Harry wiped the ink again, giving it a sheen as he gave her instructions for aftercare. He handed her a small paper bag that included a lotion, a soap wash, and instructions for first time care of a tattoo.

"You mind if I grab a quick photo?" Harry asked, twirling the tattoo machine cable loosely between his fingers as he started to clean up his space; he was trying to act nonchalant about getting the photos, knowing she could possibly say no – but hoping she would just say yes. "For my portfolio. Only if you’re cool with it. I know it’s a spicy spot."

Lily blinked at him, heart still pounding. His smile was easy, but there was a gleam behind it, something playful, like he already knew she wouldn’t say no.

"Okay," she breathed, before she could overthink it. “Yeah, sure.”

Harry grinned a gleaming smile that allowed his dimples on display. He grabbed his film camera from under his station – of course it was a film camera, Lily thought.

"Stand up over here for me," he said, nodding toward a spot near the exposed brick wall where the late afternoon light pooled golden through the windows. “Better lighting.”

Lily slid off the chair, legs slightly unsteady, the fresh sting of the tattoo a thrilling reminder that this was real.  Harry watched her cross the room, head tilted like he was studying a living piece of art. His gaze dragged over her with an intensity that made her toes curl inside her boots.

"Just... pull the shirt up a bit,” he said, his voice going rough at the edges. "Show it off."

Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her shirt, tugging it just enough to reveal the tattoo.

"There," he murmured, camera drawn up to his eye, voice a velvet scrape "Perfect. Hold still for me, pretty girl." he said, almost under his breath as he concentrated on getting the perfect shot.

The first snap of the camera echoed too loudly in the quiet shop. Lily's heart thudded against her ribs as Harry moved around her, finding angles, framing her tattoo, but it didn’t escape her that his eyes kept straying back to her face. Her mouth. Her flushed cheeks.

"One more," Harry said, voice low and rough now. “Chin up. Look at me."

Lily obeyed, realizing that her face would now be in the shot before she even thought about it, tilting her face toward him — and the look that passed between them nearly set the air itself on fire. For one breathless, infinite second, it didn’t matter that the camera was between them. It didn’t matter that she was shy, or new to this, or that her heart was beating out of control.

All that mattered was the way Harry was looking at her. It was almost like she was already his favorite work of art.

The camera clicked. Harry dropped it to his side without a second glance.

He stepped closer again, too close — the kind of close where all she could see was the glint in his hazel eyes and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You killed it, Lily," he said softly, with the hint of humor coating his tone. “First tattoo... and you already look dangerous."

Her cheeks flamed, but this time, she didn’t look away.

"Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to see you again." He murmured, trying to keep it between them, even though Kaila was just at the desk behind the beaded curtain. “If you want to, I mean.”

Before Lily could even straighten up, a warm hand closed gently over hers.

She looked up — right into Harry’s eyes. Up close, they were even more devastating — a messy green-gold, framed by thick lashes, flecked with something reckless and soft all at once.

“Y-You want to see me again?” Lily asked, almost like the words coming from him weren’t real. They couldn’t have been; there was nothing intriguing enough about her that would allow a man like this to be interested in her. But the way that his eyes shone behind the glasses as he looked at her held a truth that she couldn’t deny.

"I’ve got about an hour before my next appointment," he continued, like he hadn't just tilted her whole world off its axis. "And I was thinking maybe instead of a payment, you could just... walk to get a coffee with me instead."

Breathless, Lily opened her mouth to speak, letting a breathless laugh escape her. “Oh, uh,” She shook her head, but watched Harry’s smile start to fade as if she was denying him, “Oh- I mean, yes. I would… I would like to do that. But you’re sure you don’t – I mean, I can pay you for your work.”

Harry smiled wider, clearly delighted by the reaction he was pulling from her.

"No, really," he added, even though they both knew there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at her right now. Harry reached over to the chair, handing her the sweater. "I wasn’t expecting this today, so I’ve kind of already been paid. In a way.”

Kaila snorted quietly behind her crossword, drawing Harry’s attention. This time his cheeks reddened at the reaction.

Lily hesitated for half a heartbeat, then found herself smiling, small but real. Maybe a little reckless as she pressed her tongue into her cheek.

"Okay," she said. "Coffee sounds... good. I like coffee."

Harry’s grin turned into something full of promise as he nodded, finding his cheeks hurting from the smile emitting from him.

"Yeah?" he said, stepping back just enough to snag his jacket from the hook by the door. "Good. I know a place.”

Lily pulled the sweater over her head, pulling it back over her frame as she looked up at him. “Do you mind if I freshen up really quick?”

Harry perked up, “Oh, sure. The restrooms over there.” He pointed towards the back, “I’ll meet you at the front.”

Lily moved her way towards the restroom, taking her small purse as Harry grabbed his jacket and sunglasses before going towards the counter where Kaila was sitting with her crosswords in front of her. Harry blew out a breath and raked a hand through his messy hair. The slow smirk on her face was overtaking her smile, Harry caught it immediately.

"You good, Casanova?" Kaila asked without looking up, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “I’m surprised you were able to keep your hand steady enough to get good ink out of it with how jacked up she made you.”

Harry leaned his elbows onto the counter, head dropping between his arms with a low, muffled groan. "I’m gonna marry her.”

Kaila snorted so hard she almost dropped her pencil. "You talked her into coffee, not a courthouse wedding."

He peeked up at her through his messy hair, a cocky but boyish grin tugging at his mouth. "Coffee first. Courthouse second. I’m a gentleman, of course. I do nothing without second thoughts."

Kaila rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. "Well, just don’t scare her off with your strong puppy energy. She’s sweet. You don’t get a lot of that. You don’t usually throw yourself at girls, it’s a lot of the opposite, so I can tell she’s going to challenge you."

Harry straightened up a little, something serious flickering across his face for half a second. "I know," he said quietly, “That’s hot.”

Kaila softened, just a little, watching him. Then she shook her head and went back to her crossword, voice light again. "Go easy, Fabio. Try not to spill coffee on yourself this time."

Harry flipped her off good-naturedly just as the bathroom door opened, and he immediately turned around, smoothing his jacket down like he'd been standing there casually the whole time. Kaila bit her lip to stifle another laugh.

When Lily came back into view, cheeks still a little pink and hair a little mussed from the day but pulled back into a clip now, Harry couldn’t stop the wide, helpless grin that broke across his face.

“I’ll be back, Kai.” Harry walked in front of Lily, he held the door open for her, a little old-fashioned but somehow so natural it made Lily’s heart ache as she moved out in front of him.

The bell above the shop door jingled as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was still warm, the city humming around them. For a few seconds, they just walked, side by side, the silence between them not awkward, but tentative — fragile, like the first brushstroke of something beautiful about to begin.

Harry glanced sideways at her, his voice a little lighter now, teasing again. "So, Lily," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. "Tell me something about you. Something I wouldn’t guess."

Lily looked down at the ground, shy, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. After a beat, she said softly, "I once won a spelling bee because I memorized an entire Russian novel in case they picked a word from it."

Harry laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her grab onto her sweater sleeves a bit tightly. "Let me guess," he said, grinning as he walked sideways to face her. "Was it Anna Karenina?"

She laughed too then — a real, bright thing that made her feel lighter than she had in months.

"Maybe," she said, pretending to be coy. "Maybe not."

He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, careful but playful. "Oof, you’re going to keep me guessing,” He bit his lip, “I like it.”

They rounded the corner together, the coffee shop coming into view — a cozy little place with fairy lights strung up in the windows.

And for the first time in a long time, Lily felt like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.

Maybe she was finally being seen.

[beautyinthewayofthings05]

Dick would definitely go after Joker first. Jason has no idea and assumed he’d go after him. Tim however definitely knows and started finding ways to just mildly inconvenience Dick. Not enough that people suspect outside play but enough that it is definitely upsetting Dick.

Dick convinced that he’s somehow managed to do something to piss off some kind of luck god( or goddess he doesn’t assume) hides away in his apartment and Jason, assuming that since a couple days have passed he is now free to do his job as little brother, stops by without saying anything. Jason arrives at Dicks apartment to see it in total disarray trash everywhere and the kitchen, god the kitchen. Take-out trash litters every inch of the counter space and some even spills onto the floor. Jason is now slightly concerned not only about the mess but also Dicks eating habits. He makes some sort of comment about Dick being in his mid twenties and still eating like a child left to fend for their self and Dick still half asleep and already on edge mistakenly thinks that Jason is just one of his hallucinations arriving just to tell him how pathetic he is and instead of breaking down or getting angry he just gets up completely calm and leaves. Jason slightly more concerned now just opts to clean up his apartment and then meal prep for him.

While Jason is doing this Dick just up and brakes into Arkham to brutally murder the Joker. The scene is so bad that by morning when police arrive it makes even the most seasoned officers lose their lunch (even Gordon needs to step out for a couple minutes ). Afterwords Dick just leaves. He goes back to his apartment and sleeps for nearly 24 hours straight.

The batfam at this point is in total disarray and after reviewing the tapes are left speechless because that can’t be Dick in the footage no way. The golden boy breaking Bat’s number one rule. It just can’t be true most are considering the possibility of the footage being doctored somehow. But no it’s true and the only ones who believe it are Tim, Bruce, and Alfred. Tim the little evil genius who planned all this is like “well if he did it once then I guess he could do it again”. Jason already panicked is now screaming asking Tim what the FUCK he means by that. And Tim the chaos demon himself( who really just wanted Jason to come around more so that Dick would stop moping) and figured the best way to do that was to have someone avenge him) is like “oh wait you didn’t know. Yeah this is the second time Dick has killed the Joker” and watches with well hidden glee as Jason freaks out, jumps on his bike, and rushes off towards Dick’s place. When he gets there Dick is still sound asleep covered in Jokers blood and other bits of flesh. When Jason wakes him up to ask what the hell happened Dick has no clue what he is even talking about tells him as such before falling back asleep.

(Saw this and thought about dick killing the joker sorry it’s bad)

*Dick crashes out while on patrol and beats someone within an inch of their life*

Bruce: Dick might be a little bit fragile after last night, so let’s try to be sensitive.

Jason: Oh, believe me- I am going to be nothing but nice to Dick from now on. If he snaps and goes on a rampage, who do you think he’s coming for first?

Bruce: He’s not going on a rampage.

Tim: I bet he’d let me live. He likes me.

Damian: I’m just gonna say it. I never trusted him.

[rafesplaymate]

Does stepbro rafe really love step sis like she loves him 🥺

Stepbro!Rafe really does but through actions rather than words.

Like burning in his chest, daydreaming about her when she’s not around, noticing things that remind him of her, bringing her up in every conversation like …

“oh yeah, my sister likes-“

“my sister said-“

“nah man, I gotta get back home to my sis-“ like alright bro we get it.

Waking up thinking about her. Going to sleep thinking about her.

Buying things he knows she would like. Talking about some, “don’t make a big deal out of it, alright?” when she squeals and presses kisses to his face.

Giving her the bigger portion when they spilt something. Or the last appetizer.

Going to the store and getting her pads / tampons. And tossing the pack in her face with a “here, brat” — as she mopes on his bed. Keeping advil in his nightstand for that time of the month.

Straightening or curling the back of her hair where she can’t reach. Making baths for her when she’s whiny. Letting her do skincare on him and wax his eyebrows. Or paint his toes when she’s bored.

Massaging her sore feet and pressing kisses to her toes after a night out in her 5-inch stilettos.

Zipping up her outfits when they’re too tight because she prefers them skin-tight. Lacing up her corsets and shoes, helping her zip up a boot and bending down to slip her mule-stilettos on.

Massaging her scalp when they’re laying down. Rubbing sunscreen or tanning lotion onto her back or digging a dip in the sand so she can lay flat on her stomach and not have her boobs hurt.

Giving her the first bowl-hit he freshly packed. Giving her the fatter line. Ordering for her when she’s too high to talk after a smoke session and they have munchies. Getting her favorite snacks and drink when he goes into the gas station without her asking as she sits pretty in his passenger seat.

Paying for her lash, nail, and wax appointments. So does Ward.

Making people scoot over so she can sit next to him.

Pressing people who make her upset. Men and women alike. Sneering at her mom when they fight. Defending her 24/7.

Making the effort to go out of his way to do things for her.

Doting on her. Missing her. Yearning for her. Protecting her.

Just loving her — TYPE SHIT.

He may not always be the nicest verbally or super-soppy. And he may act like doing these things are doing her a reluctant favor.

And yeah? He may push her and smack her around a bit, he gets real rough with her sometimes (all the time).

But he truly loves her.

His actions say it all.

[enhaeil]

GARTER TOSS! ☆ 엔하이픈

☆ reader x enhypen during the garter toss at ur wedding

c/w : suggestive, sweet tho. search garter toss on tiktok if ur confused

heeseung

song : wet the bed - chris brown

when you told heeseung you wanted to do a garter toss at your wedding, he didn't hesitate to agree... i mean, a free excuse to get underneath your dress ? sounds like a win to him!

as that part of the reception comes, your decorated bride chair is dragged to the middle of the dance floor, and you sit down.

heeseung stands there waiting for the music to start, and as he's looking, he realizes something he stupidly forgot; all your friends and family are about to see him do this.

before he could even think anymore, the intro came on.

too late now.

'I'ma kiss it right, yeah, yeah I'm gon' lick all night, yeah, yeah..'

heeseung body rolls and makes the most seductive faces possible, even grinding his body onto the floor.

he finally makes his way towards you, sinking down to his knees and grabbing one of your legs, caressing it. his touch is delicate, compared to the scenario that's in front of you.

he kisses your ankle before lifting your dress enough for him to go under. his lips trail up your thigh to where the garter lays snug, and he smoothly pulls it down with his teeth before standing up with it still in his mouth as everyone hoots and cheers.

he'll be taking that dress off you next.

jay

song : promise - ciara

per usual, jay loves to please you, so when you bring up a garter toss, he quickly nods and presses a kiss on your forehead.

he left the planning and the song choice completely up to you, so you chose lyrics you felt matched him the best.

'there's nothing I won't do to spend my life with you... I'll give my all to you. i promise that I will never lie to you, boy..'

when jay hears the lyrics as he's kneeled in front of you, he can't help but smile up at you, seeing so much love in the eyes he's looked in multiple nights.

jay kept it classy, yet sensual. fingers grazing against your legs, as he reaches under your dress, still holding eye contact with you. he gives your thigh a squeeze before he pulls the thin fabric down your leg, shooting you that smile you love oh so dearly as he takes it off.

he stands up, pressing a kiss to your lips before turning around a bowing to your friends and family watching.

jake

song : wifey - next

'sweet—but you know when to flip it street. freak—but only when it comes to me. see—that's why you're my wifey'

jake had heard the song at one of your family's summer barbecues and has been obsessed with it since, randomly singing it around the house and making it his goal to include it when you guys get married one day.

that day came, and when discussing a garter toss, he was a bit hesitant, not wanting to show his freak side to your family, but eventually agreed to it and chose this as his anthem.

you sat in the middle of the dance floor as your now husband two stepped and grooved his way over to you, pausing to do his lil' dance in front of you, causing you to move along with him in your seat.

he dances his way down to the floor, playing with the hem of your dress before pulling it up a bit and diving under, still vibing underneath you.

you feel his teeth graze your thigh in a playful bite before he drags the garter down and past your foot.

he stands up with his arms in the air like a frat boy, as everyone cheers for him and lines up to catch the garter.

you're so happy you married this man.

sunghoon

song : ride - somo

you've always wanted a garter toss to be included in your wedding, but sunghoon was indifferent, not wanting to do something so sensual in front of his family and members.

you were upset about it, sporting a pout once he said no, but when it came to your wedding day, that thought was completely gone out the window.

you guys danced the night away, ate good food, and exchanged loving looks the whole entire night. you were just happy to finally be married to the man you've been in love with for years.

as everyone began to leave, and the once full hall was now empty, you noticed your new husband had run off somewhere, and the only thing left was your bride chair.

before you have time to be confused, you hear music playing and your man comes out with roses, and your favorite smile on his face.

he walks towards you, pushing you down in the chair and handing you your flowers.

'take off those heels, lay on my bed. whisper dirty secrets while I'm pulling on your hair. poison in our veins, but we don't even care..'

he gives you your own personal show, body rolling, grinding, and making the nastiest expressions he could. he finally makes his way in front of you before he gets to his knees, letting his hands roam underneath your dress to caress your thighs.

your breathing becomes heavier as he smirks, loving the effect he has on you. it's no one but you two, so he takes this opportunity to lift your dress up as much as he pleases, revealing the pretty garter you wore and giving him a peek of the lacey lingerie set you planned on showing him later.

he kisses up your thigh before sliding the material down with his mouth and taking it off, still continuing to leave kisses on your thighs afterward.

the song finally ends, causing him to get up and help you out your chair.

"let's hurry up and get to our suite, or we won't make it to the limousine.."

a/n: i enjoyed writing this way too much . i will be writing more wedding scenarios. Thanks

[lee-laurent]

It's Hard to Keep Secrets -- Luke Hughes

Summary: sadie and luke get the shock of their lives

content: situationship, make out session, pregnancy, birth (not graphic), angst, fluff

wc: 8.4k

notes: hi guys! i hope you like this one, it took me a bit cause i didn't like the way it was going at first. lemme know what you wanna see in the future! i think a quinn fic is coming up!!

Sadie cracked open the door just wide enough for Luke to slip inside, the hallway light catching on the bright red of his Devils hoodie. His hair was messy under his backwards cap, cheeks pink from the cool air outside, and he was grinning like he was on some sort of super secret mission.

Technically, he was.

She stepped back to let him in, quickly locking the door behind him. Luke kicked off his sneakers with a soft thud, his movements the same as the hundred other times he'd done it before. He shrugged out of his hoodie, leaving it in a pile on the floor like he lived there, like it wasn't just another stolen night between them.

"You're late," Sadie whispered, voice low even though Sophia's room was at the other end of the apartment.

Luke shrugged, looking entirely unbothered as he padded after her toward her bedroom. "Blame Jack. He wouldn't stop talking about his NHL 25 win. Full play-by-play, for like an hour."

Sadie smiled without realizing, shaking her head as she pushed open her door. The moment it clicked shut behind them, Luke was on her, hands sliding under the hem of her sweatshirt, mouth finding hers with a heat more intense than that of the cheap radiator buzzing in the corner.

She kissed him back instinctively, fingers threading through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Luke kissed the same way he played hockey--all energy and drive, but with a passion that made her chest ache if she thought about it too hard.

Which she didn't.

Thinking was dangerous.

Luke backed her toward the bed without breaking the kiss, both of them laughing quietly when Sadie's legs hit the mattress and she toppled backward. He followed her down easily, bracing himself with his elbow next to her head, hovering just enough to look at her face.

"Miss me?" he teased, voice rough and low.

Sadie rolled her eyes and yanked him down by the collar of his t-shirt. "Shut up."

Later, much later, Luke lay tangled in the sheets, one arm thrown across Sadie's waist, his breathing deep and even. His body was heavy in his sleep, anchoring her to the mattress.

Sadie stared at the ceiling in the dark, her heart still beating harder than it should've been.

This was normal now. Sneaking him in after games, stealing a few hours together, pretending in public like they only interacted at work. No labels. No promises.

Sophia's muffled sigh of annoyance drifted through the thin wall between their bedrooms, followed by the unmistakable creak of Sadie's bed as Luke shifted in his sleep.

Sadie clamped a hand over her mouth to smother her laugh. She was definitely getting an earful in the morning.

~~

Sunlight filtred weakly through the kitchen blinds, making the linoleum floor look even more pathetic than it usually did. Sadie shuffled in wearing Luke's abandoned hoodie, it hung halfway down her thighs, and found Sophia already at the counter, aggressively pressing buttons on the Keurig.

"Morning," Sadie croaked, dragging her hand through her hair until it caught on a knot.

Sophia didn't look up. "You and your boyfriend kept me up half the night," she said, voice flat. "I hope you're happy."

Sadie blinked blearily. "He's not my boyfriend."

Sophia turned slowly, holding out a coffee mug like it was a peace offering, or maybe a weapon. "Tell that to the three-hour amateur porn soundtrack I was forced to listen to."

The blonde wrapped her hands around the warm cermaic and bit back a grin. "You're being dramatic."

"Am I?" Sophia leaned against the counter, an eyebrow cocked. "Because if I have to hear Luke Hughes groaning your name through the wall one more time, I'm gonna start charging you for the therapy I'll have to attend."

Sadie blew on the coffee, not meeting her best friend's eyes. "We're... you know it's not serious."

Sophia snorted. "Could've fooled me. Guy's here more than Uber Eats."

She didn't bother defending herself. What was the point? Luke tended not to correct Sophia when she called him her boyfriend. He didn't act like it was just sex when he lingered after, tracing patterns on her hip or scratching her head until they both drifted off.

But they'd never said it out loud. That was the rule, unspoken but ironclad.

Sadie drained her coffee in a few gulps and headed back to her room to get ready for work. Another day of pretending everything was normal. Simple enough.

~~

The Hockey House at the Prudential Center was buzzing when she arrived, players and staff moving between morning practices and meetings. She tucked herself in the flow, camera bag over one shoulder, work badge clipped to her quarter-zip.

She found a spot near the boards and pulled out her work phone, tapping through the dozens of pictures she'd taken at the game the night before. Quick edit, capation, post. Repeat.

On the ice, Luke skated backward, head on a swivel, sticking handling the puck with an ease that would've made her week in the knees if she weren't already used to him by now.

Jack skated up behind him, jabbing at him with the knob of his stick. Luke whipped around, laughing and pushing him in retaliation, and the two of them chirped each other loud enough for everyone to hear.

Sadie caught the moment out the corner of her eye, Luke's quick glance toward her, the smirk he tried (and failed miserably) to conceal.

She ducked her head quickly, pretending to fiddle with the settings on her camera.

Jack, of course, wasn't about to let it go.

"Rusty, stop trying trying to look cool for Sadie!" he called out, voice carrying across the ice.

A couple guys laughed. Luke shoved Jack hard enough to send him sliding. Sadie kept her expression neutral, but her fingers twitched around her phone, itching to text Sophia about it.

Business as usual.

Except for the part where Sadie's stomach twisted painfully, a low ache blooming deep in her gut. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, frowning slightly.

Cramps. Nothing new. Her period had been weird lately--lighter, shorter, but not enough to make her think anything of it.

Her phone buzzed. Sophia.

Soph: just got one of those posts that was like the first person in your share button is pregnant. if you're knocked up i'm suing you for even more emotional damages.

Sadie laughed under her breath and fired back a middle finger emoji, rolling her eyes.

Pregnant? Funny. She'd just had her period. Kind of. Mostly.

Everything was fine.

Totally, completely fine.

~~

Sadie woke up to a sharp twist of pain low in her abdomen. She groaned, curling tighter into herself under the blankets. Her room was still dark, the cheap digital clock on her nightstand blinking 7:12AM in angry red numbers.

She'd been dealing with cramps for days now, but this was worse. Deeper. Heavier.

Still. It was nothing a hot shower and an extra-strength Advil couldn't fix.

She hauled herself out of bed, wincing as she stood, and dragged on a pair of sweatpants and the first hoodie she could find, one of Luke's (of course) because half of her closet was unofficially his at this point.

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and cinnamon cereal when she shuffled in. Sophia was perched on the counter, bare feet swinging, eating Froot Loops straight out of the box.

"You look like shit," she said through a mouthful of cereal.

Sadie grunted in response and headed straight for the coffee pot.

Sophia crunched loudly and gave her a once-over. "You're glowing, though. Remember what I texted you about. Pregnant women glow, right?"

Sadie flipped her off without turning around.

"I'm just saying. You're either pregnant or dying."

"Probably dying," Sadie muttered, pouring herself a cup of coffee and leaning heavily against the counter.

Sophia watched her for a long beat, the teasing fading from her eyes. "You good, though? Like for real?"

"Just cramps. Nothing new."

Sophia didn't look convinced, but she let it go, hopping off the counter and shoving the cereal box at Sadie. "Eat something before you pass out, idiot."

She rolled her eyes but grabbed a handful of cereal anyway, crunching absently as she scrolled through her notifications. Devils practice at 10AM. A TikTok scheduled to post at 9. A team meeting she wasn't invited to but would probably show up at anyway since her coworkers sucked at taking notes.

Busy day. No time to feel like shit.

~~

Sadie quickly tucked herself into the controlled chaos of the arena, phone in hand, camera on her shoulder, and her second coffee of the morning in the other.

Same as always. Smile, nod, get good content, stay mostly invisible.

Except she wasn't invisible, not really. Luke's eyes found her almost immediately when she stepped onto the edge of the practice rink. He didn't smile or wave--he never did when they were in public--but there was a flicker of something there. A caringness in his gaze.

Sadie lifted her phone and started recording as practice kicked off. Jack was being his usual self, cracking jokes at everyone within a fifty-food radius. Nice was focused, laser-locked on the drills. Luke looked good, fast, confident, but somewhat distracted compared to most days.

Or maybe that was just Sadie projecting. Because five minutes later, her stomach twisted so hard she nearly doubled over behind the bench.

She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing shallowly through her nose. Jesus. It felt like someone was wringing her insides out with their bare hands.

As soon as practice ended, her phone buzzed.

Lu: You okay? You look kinda pale today

Sadie swallowed hard, texting back:

Sadie: fine. just tired

She forced herself to focus on her work, wiping the sweat from her forehead. It was just cramps. Bad ones, sure. But she wasn't going to make a scene at work over something stupid.

~~

By the time she got home, she was ready to collapse.

Sadie tossed her bag down and immediately sank onto the couch, grabbing her heating pad from the basket of blanket, then curling into the corner like a wounded animal. She fumbled with the remote and flipped through channels until she landed on some trashy reality dating show, the noise comforting in it stupidity.

She barely registered Sophia's footsteps until the other girl flopped onto the couch beside her, a bag of chips in her lap.

"You look worse," she said bluntly.

Sadie didn't even argue. She hugged a heating pad tighter to her stomach and closed her eyes. "Still dying."

Sophia muted the TV, brows drawn together. "You seriously don't think something's wrong?"

Sadie cracked one eye open. "It's cramps. I'm not gonna waste three hundred dollars at urgent care to be told to take some Midol."

Sophia hesitated, then reached out and touched Sadie's forehead like a worried mom. "You're sweating."

Sadie batted her hand away, embarassed.

But a sharp bolt of pain made her whole body jolt a second later, and she gasped without meaning to, folding over herself.

"Okay, nope, we're done," Sophia said, standing up so fast the chip bag toppled onto the floor. "Get up. We're going to the clinic."

Sadie shook her head, stubborn. "Sophia--"

"No. I'm not gonna sit here and watch you pass out on the couch. Get. Up."

Sadie tried to protest again, but the wave of pain nearly knocked the wind out of her. Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden.

She didn't even remember standing. One minute she was hunched over, and the next Sophia was hauling her toward the door, shoving sneakers onto her feet and grabbing her car keys with a muttered, "If you die in my passenger seat I swear to god..."

The drive to the walk-in clinic was a blur. Sadie sat curled into herself, forehead pressed to the cold window, breathing shallowly as Sophia broke every speed limit on the way there.

Luckily, the clinc was half-empty.

Sophia bullied the receptionist into fast-tracking Sadie, and within minutes, she was in a freezing exam room, trying not to throw up from the pain.

The nurse was kind but brisk. Asked her a million questions Sadie barely registered. When was your last period? Any chance you could be pregnant? Any nausea? Fainting? Or bleeding?

Sadie answered automatically: Last week. No chance. Just cramps.

The nurse frowned but nodded, handing Sadie a plastic cup for a urine sample and promising the doctor would be in soon.

So she sat on the edge of the paper-covered exam table, shivering, arms wrapped around her middle.

Sophia paced the tiny room, muttering under her breath about worst-case scenarios.

Sadie tuned her out, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing, the way the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the way her whole body felt like it was floating and anchored down all at once.

She was fine.

It was nothing.

It had to be nothing.

~~

She had moved her focus to the sterile white walls of the exam room when the door opened again.

The doctor was young, maybe mid-thirties, with kind eyes and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He didn't smile. Didn't joke. Just stepped inside and shut the door careufully behind him, like he was containing something dangerous.

Oh my god, maybe she was contagious.

Sadie sat hunched on the table, one hand pressed to the deep cramp in her lower abdomen, the other gripping the edge so hard her knuckles were white. Sophia stood off to the side, arms crossed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Hi, Sadie. I just got the results from your urine catch. I was going to order a bedside ultrasound, but I've decided against it here."

Sadie blinked at him, confused as ever. "Okay...?"

The doctor pulled a stool over and sat, his voice low and even. "I know this is going to sound impossible, but you're not just cramping. You're in active labour."

Sadie stared at him.

And then, out of reflex, she laughed, although it was completely humourless. "No, I'm not. I had my period. I have my period. Last week... it's been lighter, but... I would know."

Sophia stiffened like she'd been struck, eyes wide as saucers.

The doctor nodded patiently, like this was the reaction he had been expecting. "I believe you. It's rare, but cryptic pregnancies happen more often than people realize. Sometimes hormone levels stay low enough that you don't stop bleeding. Sometimes symptoms are mild enough that they're mistaken for normal cycle changes."

Sadie shook her head, trying to physically shake off his words. "No. No way. I'd know. I'd feel different."

"You didn't," the doctor said gently. "But it's happening. Would you mind if I did a quick exam to see how far dialated you are? We need to transfer you to a hospital as soon as possible."

Sadie nodded, opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. The room was tilting sideways. She tasted acid at the back of her throat.

"You're about five centimetres dialated."

Sophia finally moved, stepping forward. "Is it... I mean... is the baby okay?"

"We won't know until we get to labour and delivery," the doctor said, standing. He opened the door, calling down the hall for an ambulance.

Sadie sat frozen on the table, heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

A baby. A baby. Inside her. Right now.

Tears blurred her vision. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Sophia was suddenly in front of her, crouching to meet her eye level. "Hey. Hey. Sadie, listen to me. It's okay. It's gonna be okay. You're not alone."

Sadie let out a hysterical little laugh. "Soph, there's a fucking baby."

"I know," Sophia said, her voice wobbling just a little. "We're gonna handle it."

The EMTs arrived in a blur of noise and flashing lights. They helped Sadie onto a gurney, strapping her down carefully. The pain was coming in faster now, like waves hitting too hard against a crumbling bridge.

Someone was talking to Sophia--paperwork, hospital forms-- but Sadie couldn't focus. She was being wheeled through the clinic, the cold air hitting her sweat-damp skin like a slap.

"Is there someone you want us to call?" one of the EMTs asked kindly as they loaded her into the ambulance.

Sadie squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted her mom. She wanted Sophia. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was hours before.

Another contraction hit, sharp and vicious, and she gasped.

Sophia appeared in the doorway of the ambulance, holding Sadie's phone.

"Who should I call?" Sophia asked, voice urgent.

Sadie clutched at the stretcher rails, breathing hard. Her mind went blank, then filled with one image:

Luke.

Luke's stupid, soft curls. Luke's steady hands. Luke's smile when he thought she wasn't looking.

"Luke," she croaked. "Call Luke."

Sophia didn't argue. She turned and bolted toward her car, fumbling with the phone as the ambulance doors slammed shut and the siren wailed to life.

~~

Luke was sprawled across his bed, half-watching a movie, when his phone buzzed.

Sadie.

A weird pit opened in his stomach. She never called him during the day, especially when she had work to get done at home.

He answered immediately. "Hey's, what's--"

"LUKE," Sophia's voice exploded through the speaker, shrill with panic. He shot upright, his heart slamming into his ribs.

"What's--what's wrong?"

"You need to get to University Hospital right now," Sophie said breathless, near tears. "Sadie's in labour."

Luke's brain flatlined for a full two seconds.

"Labour?!" he repeated stupidly.

"YES. LABOUR. BABY. NOW. MOVE YOUR ASS." Sophia hung up without waiting for a response.

Luke sat frozen for half a second longer, then the adrenaline kicked in.

He grabbed the first hoodie he could find and bolted into the hall, sprinting to Jack's room.

Jack opened the door, hair sticking up in every direction, looking like he'd just been woken up.

"Dude--?"

"I gotta go," Luke gasped, already halfway down the hall. "Sadie's--Sadie's having a baby."

Jack's face went through about six stages of confusion before Luke disappeared out the front door.

~~

Sadie felt like she was floating above her own body by the time they wheeled her into the labour and delivery unit.

The pain was constant now, rolling through her like a freight train. She could hear monitors beeping, nurses shouting orders, the bright clinical lights in her eyes again.

"Almost there, Sadie," a nurse soothed, adjusting something on her IV. "You're doing so good."

Sadie didn't feel good. She felt like she was dying.

And then--

A flash of movement at the door.

Luke.

He stumbled into the room, hair wild, hoodie half-zipped, sneakers untied, eyes huge and horrified.

He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world.

"I'm here," he said, voice cracking. He crossed to her bedside in two strides and grabbed her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sadie didn't even think--she clutched at him like a lifeline, squeezing his hand until her fingers ached.

The doctor glanced at the monitors and nodded. "Okay, Sadie. It's time to push."

Sadie turned her head, met Luke's wide, terrified eyes. Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.

The world had already split wide open.

~~

Sadie didn't even realize she was screaming until her throat was raw.

Everything blurred, the bright lights, voices shouting encouragements, Luke's hand crushing hers. Sweat dripped down her temples. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only push because her body had taken over.

"You're almost there!" the nurse was saying, way too cheerfully.

Luke was leaning in close, forehead nearly touching Sadie's. His voice was low and frantic. "You're doing so good, Sadie. You're so strong. I'm right here."

Tears stung her eyes from the pain, the fear, from the sharp reality of it all.

This was happening.

There was no way of stopping it now.

Another contraction ripped through her and she bore down, every muscle straining, vision going white around the edges. Luke squeezed her hand harder.. or maybe she squeezed his. She couldn't tell anymore.

One final push and--

A sharp, wet cry filled the air. Tiny, raw, and very real.

Sadie gasped, her whole body sagging back against the bed. The pain ebbed instantly, replaced by something heavier, something dizzying.

There was a baby crying.

Her baby.

Their baby.

She blinked through tears and saw the nurses moving fast, bustling around the tiny, squirming form. Sadie caught a glimpse, wrinkled skin, wild flailing arms, before they whisked the baby over to a warming table.

She tried to sit up but her body was boneless, trembling.

Luke stayed rooted by her side, looking completely wrecked. His face was pale as hers, his eyes leaking tears.

A nurse touched his arm, smiling kindly. "Dad? You want to come meet her?"

Luke looked at Sadie, silently asking for permission.

She gave a tiny nod, throat too tight to speak.

He stumbled forward like he wasn't sure how his legs worked anymore, hovering awkwardly by the table where their daughter was being cleaned and checked.

Sadie watched through blurred eyes as Luke bent over the baby. She saw him reach out a shaking finger, saw the way his whole body jerked when the baby's tiny, hand curled around it instinctively.

Luke made a choked-off sound, half-laugh, half-sob, and wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie like he could pretend he wasn't crying.

Sadie bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Something inside her cracked.

Luke turned back toward her, cradling a tiny pink bundle in his arms like she was made of spun sugar.

He crossed the room in careful steps and sat down gently on the edge of her bed, holding out their daughter.

She automatically reached for her, hands trembling so badly Luke had to help her adjust her grip.

The second her baby was in her arms, Sadie felt it-- The click. The one everyone always talked about. The way her whole world shifted and snapped into place around this tiny, squirming perfect thing.

"Oh my God," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Hi, baby. Hi."

The baby blinked up at her, mouth puckered.

"She's... she's so small," Sadie said hoarsely, like the words couldn't possibly hold enough weight.

Luke laughed weakly, wiping his eyes. "She's perfect."

Sadie couldn't argue.

~~

They let her rest for a while--as much as anyone could with nurses checking her vitals every ten minutes and monitors beeping constantly.

Luke never moved more than a few feet away.

Sophia finally made it to the hospital after the adrenaline had worn off enough for her to drive safely. She peeked into the room with red-rimmed eyes and mouthed holy shit when she saw the baby curled up on Sadie's chest.

Sadie gave her a shaky thumbs-up.

An hour later, a nurse came in with a clipboard and huge grin.

"We need to fill out the birth certificate before we can start even thinking about discharging you," she said, flipping to the appropriate page.

Sadie's stomach twisted. She clutched her baby tighter, heart speeding up again.

The nurse smiled again. "Name for the baby?"

Sadie swallowed hard. She hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't had any time to think, but the name slipped out, soft and sure.

"Elisabeth," she said. "Elisabeth Jeanne Howard."

The nurse scribbled it down. "Beautiful name? And what's your name, Dad?"

Sadie's whole body locked up.

Luke was sitting in the chair next to the bed, Elisabeth's tiny hat clutched loosely in his big hands. He looked up at her then, not demanding or pleading, just waiting.

Waiting to see if she was going to let him be part of this.

Sadie's throat closed up. Her mind raced: It would be easier if it was just her name. Cleaner. Simpler. Safer.

Luke could walk away. He should walk away. He wasn't supposed to stay. They weren't supposed to be like this.

But when she looked at him, his hoodie rumpled, his hair a mess, his eyes still red, she knew.

She couldn't erase him from this. Not when he showed up. Not when he stayed.

Sadie nodded, voice barely a whisper.

"Luke Hughes. He's the father."

Luke exhaled a shaky breath, nodding back like she'd just given him the universe.

The nurse beamed and filled in the rest of the form, humming under her breath.

Sadie leaned back against the pillows, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. She stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard against the fresh wave of tears that had hit her.

Beside her, Luke shifted closer. Sadie turned her head just enough to see him lift Elisabeth from her chest, whispering nonsense under his breath like she was the most important thing he'd ever seen.

Sadie let her eyes flutter shut.

The world outside the hospital room was still turning. But inside, for one perfect moment, everything else had faded away.

It was just them.

Sadie. Luke. Elisabeth.

And a future she hadn't planned for, but could maybe, just maybe, survive.

~~

Sadie thought that leaving the hospital would make things feel normal. Like maybe once they were back in the apartment, she could pretend this was just another weird, bad dream she could wake up from.

It didn't work.

Sophia helped balance the ridiculous number of bags and folders the nurses had given them while Sadie clutched Elisabeth like she was made of glass. Luke hovered so close it was a wonder he didn't physically carry both of them to the car.

Loading Elisabeth into the car seat (one they'd sent Sophia to get) was an absolute disaster.

Sadie fumbled with the straps, her hands shaking so badly she couldn't figure out which clip went where. Elisabeth let out a wail that sliced right through Sadie's already fraying nerves.

"I'm hurting her," she panicked, blinking back tears. "I'm already fucking this up."

"Hey, no, you're not," Luke said quickly, scooching in to help. His hands weren't much steadier. "We'll figure it out. She's okay."

"Barely," Sophia muttered as she elbowed Luke out of the way and buckled the car seat in two quick moves.

Sadie sagged into the passenger seat, still physically and emotionally drained, listening to Elisabeth's tiny cries of discomfort in the backseat.

Yeah, definitely not a dream.

The apartment felt different when they got back even though nothing had physically changed.

Sadie set the carrier down in the middle of the living room, not sure what the hell to do next.

Sophia grabbed their stack of takeout menus from the junk drawer and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering about needing to eat or she was gonna pass out. Luke stood awkwardly beside Sadie, shifting from foot to foot, looking just as lost.

Then Elisabeth started crying again, the sound instantly making Sadie's chest ache.

She tried to pick her up, tried to rock her like the nurse had shown her how to do at the hospital, but Elisabeth's face screwed up even tighter, her little fists waving angrily.

"Uh... maybe she's hungry?"

Sadie stared at him. "Cool. So you breastfeed her."

Sophia barked out a laugh from the kitchen.

Luke flushed but didn't back down. "Didn't they give you some bottles? Formula?"

Sadie almost cried from relief when she remembered the little starter packs the hospital had shoved into her bag. Luke ripped one open and started reading the instructions out loud while Sadie stumbled through mixing the powder and water with her shaky hands.

The first eating out of the hospital was a disaster, half the bottle ended up on Sadie's shirt, but Elisabeth drank it down, making little coos as she enjoyed her meal.

By late afternoon, Sadie was fading fast. Her whole body felt like it was aching. Elisabeth was sleeping, again, swaddled awkwardly but securely thanks to some frantic googling. Sophia was passed out in the armchair, one hand still clutching her half-eaten granola bar.

Sadie couldn't blame her.

Luke stood up, stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to flash a strip of his toned stomach. Sadie quickly looked away.

"I'm gonna go shower and grab some stuff," he said quietly. "You'll be okay?"

She nodded, even though the thought of him not being there made her even more anxious. She pulled the laundry basket that had turned into a makeshift bassinet closer, breathing in that new baby smell.

Luke hesitated. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something important but he just leaned down and ran his thumb over Elisabeth's cheek before slipping out the door.

~~

Jack was waiting.

The second Luke opened the apartment door, Jack was standing there in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, eyebrows practically up to his hairline.

"Okay," Jack said, voice tight. "Start talking."

Luke kicked the door shut behind him and ran a hand through his hair, feeling ten years older than he had the day before.

"It's... a lot."

Jack snorted. "You think?"

Luke flopped onto the couch, head in his hands.

There was no easy way to say it, so he just ripped the plaster right off.

"Me and Sadie... we've been, uh, seeing each other."

Jack blinked. "You mean fucking?"

Luke groaned. "For two years... a few weeks after I got here."

"TWO YEARS?!" Jack choked.

"Yeah."

The older boy paced in front of him like a caged animal. "And you didn't tell me? Your own brother? I thought we were cool, man."

"We are! I just... it wasn't--it wasn't supposed to be serious."

"You said she was in labour?" Jack stared at him. "You just had a baby with her?"

Luke scrubbed his hands over his face. "I KNOW."

"So what, you're together now? You're dating? You're what?"

Luke swallowed audibly.

"We're not focused on figuring that out right now," he said finally, voice rough. "But yeah. She's, uh, she's not doing this alone. I'm not bailing."

"Good. Cause if you bailed, I'd kick your ass."

"You'd try," Luke laughed weakly.

There was a heavy silence between them as they both took the time to process what was happening.

Then Jack perked up.

"So... can I tell the guys?"

Luke gave him a look.

"Absolutely not. Nobody can know yet. Not until Sadie and I figure it out. Promise me, Jack."

Jack sighed dramatically, but reached his hand out to shake his brother's. "Fine. I swear. Not a word."

Luke didn't feel relaxed.

He knew Jack. Secrets never stayed secret for long.

~~

The first couple days after Sadie disappeared, nobody thought much of it. Social media was always chaotic, schedules changed last minute, people missed games for personal stuff, it wasn't weird.

But by day four, the whispers started.

Sadie's absence wasn't just a day or an emergency doctor appointment. She was just gone. No warning, no cover posts, no subtitute lined up to watch over the Instagram and TikTok.

Someone from ticketing mentioned it first, standing around the coffee machine in the break room.

"Anybody heard from Sadie?" she asked, casually, like it was nothing.

A guy from PR shrugged. "Maybe she quit."

Another assistant chimed in, lowering her voice like she was afraid Sadie might appear out of thin air. "I heard she had a baby."

The room went silent.

Someone snorted. "Sadie? A baby? No way?"

"No, seriously," the assistant insisted. "My roommate's friend works at the hospital. She said Sadie came in last week in labour. Like... didn't even know she was pregnant."

Another beat of stunned silence.

"Bullshit," someone said finally.

"Swear to god," the assistant said, crossing her heart. "Arrived in an ambulance, labour and delivery, boom. Baby."

Nobody knew what to do with that information.

It didn't take long for the rumour to hit the locker room.

Players trickled into the locker room, sweaty from morning skate. Luke sat in his usual spot, untying his laces, heart pounding harder than normal.

"Yo, you hear about Sadie?" Dawson called across the room, towel slung around his neck.

"What about her?" Timo asked.

Dawson grinned. "Supposedly she had a baby."

Half the room laughed like he'd just told a bad joke.

"Sadie? Nah," Nico said, shaking his head. "There's no way. I saw her like, last week. She looked fine."

"She's always wearing sweatshirts, man," Dawson said. "Maybe you just didn't notice."

"Still," Timo said, frowning. "Was she even dating anyone?"

That sent another ripple through the group. Nobody could remember her even mentioning a boyfriend, let alone looking pregnant.

"She always kept to herself," someone muttered.

Luke kept his head down, taking off his pads with more focus than necessary, pretending he didn't hear a word of it.

Beside him, Jack was weirdly quiet.

Too quiet.

And when Dawson made a joke about how maybe Sadie had a secret life, Jack visibly flinched.

Luke glanced sideways to see Jack muttering under his breath, almost too low to catch.

"If anyone knew her secret life, it was Luke."

His stomach dropped.

Nobody reacted, too much noise, too much movement. But a young intern standing near the doorway raised an eyebrow. He didn't say anything. Just slipped out of the locker room a few seconds later, phone already out in hand.

Jack realized what he'd done half a second later, eyes wide, mouth opening to apologize.

Luke shook his head tightly. Too late. He knew with a sick certainty that it wouldn't take long now.

~~

Upstairs, in the offices behind the glass walls of the Prudential Center, the gears were already starting to turn.

The staff who needed to know already knew: Sadie was out on emergency leave. She had a healthy baby girl. It was a private matter. No need for an official announcement, social media posts, or a team statement. Yet.

But Sadie wasn't just anyone. She was on the content team. She was constantly around players. And now there were rumours swirling that one of those players, maybe several, had known a lot more than they were supposed to.

It wasn't hard for the whispers to make their way up the chain.

When HR got the tip that Luke Hughes and Sadie Howard might have crossed professional lines?

They flagged it immediately.

Luke knew something was wrong the second he stepped off the ice the next day. The way the coaching staff looked at him. The way one of the HR reps was standing just inside the tunnel, arms folded.

He didn't get pulled... not yet. Not today at least.

But the look on their faces told him everything he needed to know.

Time was up.

~~

Luke had just finished his first warm-up lap when he saw them.

Two HR reps, black blazers and stiff expressions, standing behind the bench like they had a death warrant in their hands.

His stomach dropped to his feet.

Coach Keefe skated over to Luke mid-drill, murmured something low and tight. Luke's chest squeezed when he heard the words: "You need to come with us."

The entire team was watching. Not a full stop, but enough that the mood shifted. Eyes followed him as he skated off, taking off his gloves with jerky movements. Jack caught his gaze briefly, brows pinched together in worry.

Luke kept his head down as he stepped off the ice, tugging a hoodie over his damp hair, suddenly feeling very exposed.

The HR reps said nothing as they led him down the hall, the click of their shoes echoing off the concrete walls.

Luke already knew what was coming. He just didn't know how bad it would be.

The conference room felt colder than the rink. Sleek, glass table. Leather chairs. A pitcher of untouched water in the centre. HR, legal, two guys from upper management, all sitting there like a jury.

Luke swallowed hard and sat when they motioned.

The lead HR rep, a woman with sharp eyes and a crisp file folder in front of her, started immediately.

"We've received a report regarding a potential violation of the organization's Code of Conduct."

Luke's palms went sweaty.

She continued, voice even, almost mechanical. "We have reason to believe that you've engaged in a romantic or sexual relationship with a member of the Devils' social media staff. Namely, Sadie Howard."

Luke's throat felt tight enough to cut off air. He forced himself to nod. "Yes. I have."

"How long has this relationship been ongoing?"

He could lie. He could say it was new, recent, barely started. But his gut twisted at the thought.

He didn't want to start this with a lie. Not about her. Not about Elisabeth.

"Two years," he said quietly. "Since my rookie season."

One of the legal guys whistled low under his breath before catching himself.

The HR woman kept her expression blank. "And you confirm the relationship was fully consensual?"

Luke lifted his chin. "Yes. Always."

More notes scratched onto legal pads.

"And you acknowledge that at no point was this relationship disclosed to management or HR as required by organizational policy?"

"No. It wasn't disclosed."

He could see it in their faces, the weight of that admission.

The HR rep closed her folder with a soft snap.

"We're evaluating next steps. There could be disciplinary action, including but not limited to suspension from team activities. Ms. Howard's employment status is also under review."

Luke's heart dropped even more. Sadie. She could lose her job. Because of him. Because of them.

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn't her fault, that she hadn't meant for any of this to happen. But the HR woman stood and smoothed down her jacket.

"You'll be informed of the organization's decision within the next twenty-four hours," she said crisply. "You're dismissed for the day. No media appearances. No contact with staff."

Meanwhile, across town, Sadie was fighting her own battle.

Elisabeth was wailing in her arms, tiny face scrunched and bright red. Sadie bounced her gently, humming nonsense under her breath, but it barely made a dent.

She was exhausted. Bone-deep.

The ring of her phone made her jump. She almost let it go to voicemail, but something in her gut told her to answer.

"Hello?" she cleared her throat.

"Ms. Howard?" The woman's voice was smooth and polite. "This is HR from the New Jersey Devils organization. We'd like to request you come in for a meeting regarding your employment status. Today, if possible."

Sadie's blood went cold. "I... I just had a baby," she stammered. "I'm on leave."

The woman didn't miss a beat. "We understand. This is a time-sensitive matter."

Time-sensitive. Employment status.

Someone knew. They knew about her and Luke.

Sophia came barreling into the room, took one look at Sadie's face and grabbed Elisabeth out of her arms.

"Go," Sophia said fiercely. "I've got her. Go do what you need to do."

~~

Luke was sitting outside the HR office when she got there. He stood the second he saw her. Sadie stopped short, heart cracking at the sight of him. Neither of them said anything. They didn't have to.

It was written all over Luke's face: I'm scared. I'm sorry. I'm here.

Sadie opened her mouth to ask what happened, to ask how bad it was, but a woman in a blazer stepped into the hall.

"Ms. Howard? We're ready for you."

Sadie forced herself to move, to walk into the conference room like she was a dead man on trial.

She sat down in the stiff leather chair, her back straight, her hands flat against the cool glass tabletop.

Across from her sat the same people Luke had met with, three faces she'd worked alongside for years, now looking at her like she was a liability they didn't know how to handle.

"Ms. Howard, we're here to discuss a violation of the organization's professional conduct policy. Specifically, the nondisclosure of a romantic relationship with a player currently on the New Jersey Devils roster."

Sadie swallowed hard but said nothing.

The HR woman flipped through a file. Sadie caught glimpses--notes on notes about her and Luke. It felt invasive.

"You admit to being involved with Luke Hughes for the past two years?" she asked, pen poised.

Sadie forced a nod. "Yes."

"And you understand that under organizational policy, you were obligated to disclose any personal relationship with players to HR at the outset?"

Sadie clenched her hands in her lap. "It wasn't--" She cut herself off, took a breath. "It isn't a relationship. Not officially. We weren't... aren't dating. It's private. We kept it separate from work."

One of the men leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "No one is accusing you of unprofessional behaviour in your job, Sadie. But perception matters. Risk matters. If the public were to find out and perceive bias, favortism, or worse, it damages the organization's credibility."

Sadie stared down the table at them.

They weren't wrong. Intent didn't erase risk.

The HR rep continued. "Effective immediately, you'll be placed on administrative leave pending an internal investigation. You'll retain your benefits, but you are not permitted to perform work duties or access any Devils facilities."

Sadie nodded numbly.

"Termination is a possibility, depending on the outcome of the review," the other man added, almost as an afterthought.

They dismissed her after that, politely, formally, like it made it easier. Like manners softened the blow of your entire life falling apart.

Luke was pacing the hallway when she walked out, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.

Sadie brushed past him, head down, throat burning.

"Sadie--" he started, reaching out.

"Don't," she snapped, whipping around. Her voice cracked from how hard she was trying not to cry. "Don't you dare."

Luke's face crumpled, but he didn't move, didn't argue.

"This is my life, Luke," Sadie hissed, keeping her voice low because God forbid someone else overhear. "My career! The thing I worked my fucking ass off for. It's all I had."

Her chest heaved, watching Luke open and close his mouth. She wanted to punch something. She wanted to scream.

Instead, she said, bitter and broken, "I can't do this right now. I need to get home."

"I'll drive you."

The ride home was thick with silence. Sadie stared out the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, blinking back furious tears. Luke gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

Halfway home, the words started to spill from her mouth before she could stop them.

"I never planned this. Not the baby. Not sleeping with a guy from work. I had it all figured out. Graduate. Work for a sports team. Build a career. Be independent. Never have to rely on anyone but myself and Sophia from time to time."

She laughed, wiping her nose.

"And now I'm twenty-one, possible jobless, a single mom, and completely screwed."

Luke put the car in park as they rolled up to her building, turning to look at her.

"You're not alone," he said. "I know it feels like it, but you're not. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, Sadie."

She didn't answer.

Sophia was waiting when they walked in, Elisabeth in her arms.

She took one look at Sadie's face and immediately handed the baby to Luke without a word, disappearing into her bedroom to give them space.

Luke shifted Elisabeth in his arms, moving carefully, like he was afraid to break her and Sadie.

Sadie sank down onto the couch, staring blankly at the TV that was playing a cooking show on mute. Her vision blurred and before she could stop herself, she turned into him, pressed her face into the fabric of his sweatshirt and sobbed. Big, ugly, shuddering sobs she hadn't even known were inside her.

Luke didn't say a word. He just stroked her hair until she cried herself to sleep, cuddled into his side.

~~

Back in the conference room, back in the stiff leather chair.

But this time, there was no waiting, no buildup.

The HR rep looked at him over a thin stack of papers.

"Mr. Hughes, we've concluded our investigation."

Luke nodded, trying not to bounce his knee under the table.

"Given the circumstances, the absence of workplace misconduct or complaints, we're opting for a formal reprimand. You will need to disclose any future relationships immediately. And be aware, any further incidents could lead to suspension or more severe consequences."

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly.

She slid a paper across the table. "Sign here acknowledging receipt."

Luke signed without hesitation.

"And Mr. Hughes," she added, softer yet still professional, "congratulations on the birth of your daughter."

He blinked, completely caught off guard. He mumbled a "thank you" and practically bolted before they could change their minds.

~~

Sadie's meeting had been shorter, but no easier.

They'd told her she'd remain on leave for now. No termination. Not yet.

When--if-- she returned, she'd be placed on a three-month probation, monitored closely for any sign of unprofessional behaviour. One wrong move and she was out.

She had nodded, signed, agreed to everything without really hearing the words. She was focused on surviving. One hour, one day at a time. At least she still had a job.

~~

Luke braced himself as he walked into the locker room. Morning skate had just ended, but he'd been in his meeting.

Guys were half-dressed, laughing about something when they spotted him.

The room went dead silent. Every head turned.

Luke froze in the doorway, pocketing his phone.

Jack broke first. He grinned so wide it was almost blinding. Dawson followed, smirking like he was having the time of his life.

"HEY," he said loudly, standing up and pointing at Luke. "YOU HAD A WHOLE SECRET GIRLFRIEND AND A BABY?!"

The room erupted.

"What the fuck, Rusty?"

"No warning? No gender reveal party? Weak."

"Dude, you pulled Sadie? Respect."

"Was it your TikTok skills? Is that how you got her?"

Luke flushed red up to his ears, but he couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. He shook his head, knocking Jack with his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Jack was practically vibrating with glee, clapping Luke so hard on the back that he stumbled.

Nico, ever the team dad, gave Luke a nod. "Congratulations, Rusty. Seriously."

"Yeah," Siegs chimed in, grinning. "You're officially a hockey dad. Better start working on your minivan budget."

Laughter broke out around the room, guys elbowing each other, tossing chirps back and forth like it was any other day-- like Luke hadn't just dropped a nuclear bomb onto their normal lives.

But under all the jokes, Luke could feel the acceptance. No anger. No resentment. Just a weird, clumsy love. The only way hockey guys knew how to show it.

It was going to be okay. They had his back.

~~

Back at the apartment, Sadie was curled up on the couch, Elisabeth dozing in a bassinet beside her, Sophia scrolling through baby clothes online.

Lu: They know. They're not mad. They're actually being kinda annoying abt it lol

Sadie stared at the screen, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Sophia looked over, saw the look on her best friend's face, and smirked.

"Told you," she said, nudging Sadie with her socked foot. "He's not going anywhere."

~~

Sadie was curled up on the couch, one of Luke's hoodies swallowing her whole, bare legs tucked underneath her. Luke sat on the other end, close enough that their knees touched, hands fidgeting in his lap.

Elisabeth was finally asleep, bundled so tightly in her swaddle that she looked more like a burrito than a baby.

Sophia had left earlier, giving Sadie a pointed look and a mumbled excuse about "spending the night at Travis's place."

Sadie knew she was trying to give them space. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or terrified. Maybe a bit of both.

Luke cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "She's... cute when she's not screaming."

Sadie laughed. "Yeah. When she's quiet, I almost think I know what I'm doing."

He smiled, nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck the way he always did when he was anxious.

Sadie bit her lip, staring down at the worn throw blanket bunched up in her hands. She knew they couldn't avoid it any longer.

The conversation. The where do we go from here.

Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, voice low.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words rough. "For everything. For not protecting you better. For putting your job at risk. For... everything I guess."

Sadie opened her mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but he shook his head before she could.

"No. Just let me say it," Luke said. "You didn't ask for this. You didn't plan any of this. And you still handled it better than I ever could've."

Sadie blinked hard, tears burning behind her eyes.

Luke kept going, voice cracking at the edges.

"I don't expect anything, Sadie. I don't want to trap you into something you don't want. I just... I want to be here. For you. For her. Whatever you need."

Sadie stared at him.

At this boy, who was still so young but somehow had already given her more than most people twice his age ever would.

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

"I'm scared, Luke," she whispered. "Like really scared, all the time."

He didn't flinch. He carefully shifted closer, like if he moved too fast, she'd run away.

"I'm scared too."

Sadie opened her eyes. Met his.

She saw it in his eyes, the fear. But also hope.

Stupid, stubborn hope.

She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely audible.

"I don't know what the future looks like. But I want you in it."

Luke's face crumpled for a second, before he reached out and pulled her into him.

The kiss wasn't frantic or desperate. It was slow, taking their time to show their love for each other. It was a promise. A beginning.

~~

Later, they lay tangled on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. Elisabeth snuffled in her sleep, her tiny fists twisting inside the swaddle.

Luke's hand found Sadie's, tracing slow patterns along her knuckles. He murmured nonsense about baby clothes and daycare options and future trips they could take together.

Sadie just listened, her heart so full it ached.

For the first time in forever, she let herself believe it. Believe in him, them, their future.

She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to Luke's shoulder, feeling the beat of his heart against her cheek. It wasn't the life she had planned. But it was one she was starting to see work out for her.

[rosierin]

tastes like sadness | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a heartfelt chat about her complicated relationship with atsumu

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

It’s past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Suna hears the faint click of the balcony door behind him but doesn’t turn. From the soft shuffle of her steps, the faint scent of her shampoo, to the barely-there way she moves when the world is asleep—he knows it's her.

(Y/n) joins him without a word, settling into the chair beside his. A moment later, a warm mug is nudged into his hand.

“Chamomile,” she says lightly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Her voice is soft, sweet, and as gentle as the night breeze that sweeps through the air. It’s silly, really—she’s barely said a word, and yet Suna finds himself fighting the urge to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear, just to give her a reason to say it again.

Part of him wonders what she'd think if she ever found out. If she knew about what she did to him—if she knew that the sound of her alone could knock the air right out of his chest.

He pushes down the thought and instead glances at the mug, then at her, but she’s already curled into her blanket like some sleepy little burrito. Her hair’s a bit messy. Her eyes still carry remnants of a dream she hasn’t quite left behind. He takes a sip, lets the bitterness settle on his tongue.

“Chamomile is such a sad flavour,” he murmurs.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You think chamomile tastes like sadness?”

“A bit.”

She doesn’t argue. Just sips hers in silence, the steam curling up toward the stars. Somewhere below them, the city glimmers—wet streets, red tail lights, a puddle reflecting the glow of a corner store sign.

The silence between them stretches. It isn’t awkward, per se—it never is with her. Their quiets speak fluently.

It’s usually so peaceful, so familiar. But tonight, it feels... a little melancholic.

Suna tries not to think about why.

“You’re up late,” she says.

“So are you.”

He doesn’t try and read her expression—not that he needs to. He knows she didn’t come out here for tea or small talk.

He's known her for so long, has had so many years to read her—learn her. By now, he knows the shape of her silences like they're his favourite song, has memorised the weight behind her all her pauses.

There’s something on her mind tonight. Something—someone—she’s been holding in all day.

And she chose him to talk to.

Not because it’ll be easy, but because she knows he’ll listen.

That knowledge settles heavily in his chest, dull and quiet. He should go inside, finish that true crime video he was watching. Make some excuse. Pretend he's tired. Walk away before it hurts.

But he doesn’t.

Because Suna never takes more than she’s willing to give.

And if this moment, this conversation, this ache—is all she’s offering, then he’ll take it. Even if it bruises something tender inside him.

She breaks the silence first.

“Do you think he likes me?”

Her voice is still quiet, still gentle. But it cleaves through him like a blade anyway.

The question is more painful for him to hear than it is for her to say, though he'd never be bold enough to say that out loud.

He stares out at the buildings, eyes unfocused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

“Who?” he asks, though he already knows. Of course he knows. It's a stupid reflex—deflecting.

Nonchalance, silence—they’re the greatest weapons in his arsenal. A double-edged sword, really—because when it came to her, maybe they had always been his downfall.

“You know who.”

And there it is.

He wonders for a second what it would be like to lie. To say no. To protect himself for once. But he’s never been that kind of selfish.

So he swallows and asks—the bitterness in his throat no longer from the tea—“Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is so unsure it makes something twist in his chest for so many different reasons. “Sometimes it feels like yes. Other times... I think I’m imagining it. Or maybe he’s just playing around. I can’t tell.”

This time, he finally looks at her. The blanket has slipped a little, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the way she’s curled in on herself like she’s afraid of the answer. Steam from her tea curls up and around her like magic. A streetlamp glows behind her, casting its light through the strands of her hair that cascade down her shoulders like a river of gold.

Angelic, he thinks. So sad, so afraid—and still, somehow, so unbearably beautiful.

He turns his gaze back to the skyline. Tries to steady his pulse.

He’s aware the second she goes back inside, she’ll keep wondering about Atsumu.

She’ll laugh at something he says. Maybe fall for him a little more.

But right now?

Right now, she’s here.

And god, it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” he says.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick to him, searching for something, but he doesn’t give it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“...You think I’m reading into things?”

“I think if someone wants you,” he says slowly, carefully, “they should make it obvious. Especially with you.”

Her brows furrow slightly. “Why especially me?”

He exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. The words come out before he can stop them.

“Because you overthink everything. You feel everything. You’ll blame yourself if you get hurt.”

It hangs there between them—heavy, raw, too close to the truth.

She doesn’t speak. Just holds her mug a little tighter. He hates the way their silence feels different tonight—thicker. Like maybe she’s hearing something underneath what he’s saying, has somehow managed to pick apart his brain and see through his act.

She doesn't, he realises. And he doesn't know what stings more.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs.

Relief? Is that what he should be feeling?

He's already said so much, let words he'd only ever thought about fall from his mouth.

And still, still she doesn't know. Doesn't see it. Doesn't read between the lines of his own self-deprecating script.

Sometimes he wishes he had Atsumu's nerve. Just so he could stomp down his ugly feelings and deflect them with loud words and flirty one-liners.

But he's not that kind of person.

He's not Atsumu.

He's Suna.

And Suna... loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes.

So he forces it down, locks away his thoughts and feelings, and tosses away the key.

She's not his.

Might not ever be.

And he refuses to become someone else's problem.

It takes him a lot more effort than usual to play it off, forcing the smallest, faintest smirk before saying, “Yeah. I’m annoying like that.”

She smiles at that—soft, sleepy, affectionate—and rests her head against his shoulder without asking. She never does. And what makes him tense when others try, what makes him pull away without thinking, only makes him crumble when it’s her.

The thought tugs unpleasantly at his heartstrings.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just lets her stay there, warm and oblivious, while his heart folds in on itself quietly. Gently. Like paper.

Because if he shifts even a little, if he opens his mouth again—

It’ll all come pouring out.

So he takes another sip of the tea. Lets the steam blur his vision, just for a moment.

“Still tastes like sadness,” he says, voice low.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she murmurs against him.

He huffs a quiet breath that doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

Their shoulders bump slightly, then settle again.

And somewhere inside, where no one can see, Suna’s heart breaks—quietly, completely, and without a sound.

[flux1563]

A Regret ft. Yujin, Karina, Wonyoung

Words : 13k

"You know what I've been craving lately?" Karina mused, her eyes glinting mischievously at her friends Yujin and Wonyoung. They were lounging in their shared apartment, the walls adorned with posters of their favorite rock bands and the faint smell of incense lingering in the air.

"What's that?" Yujin asked, her curiosity piqued as she glanced up from her phone.

"To lick the sweat off a hot, muscular guy's body," Karina said, her voice dripping with desire.

Wonyoung chuckled, setting down her magazine. "Only you would say something like that out of the blue."

"But seriously," Karina leaned in, her voice a sultry whisper, "Wouldn't that be amazing? The saltiness, the warmth... it's like a forbidden dessert."

Yujin's cheeks flushed a shade darker as she considered the idea. "I've never thought about it that way before."

"Well, I have," Wonyoung confessed, a sly smile playing on her lips. "And I've always wanted to try it."

The three friends looked at each other, their thoughts racing. They had always shared a unique bond, their friendship unshakeable despite their wildly different personalities. Karina was the fearless leader, always eager to explore new boundaries, while Yujin was the more cautious one, preferring to think things through. Wonyoung, the youngest, often found herself caught in the middle, but her adventurous spirit made her a perfect fit for their trio.

"What if we made a pact?" Karina suggested, her eyes lighting up. "We'll travel to America, find the sweatiest, most muscular guys, and live out our fantasies."

The room grew quiet as they contemplated the idea. It was daring, it was risky, but it was also incredibly tempting. They had all heard the rumors about the men in America, particularly the ones who frequented gyms. The thought of their desires becoming reality was intoxicating.

"But guys in gyms are usually... well, not exactly our type," Yujin pointed out, breaking the spell.

"That's where the challenge comes in," Karina said with a wink. "We're not looking for just any guys. We want the ones with the biggest... assets."

Wonyoung's eyes widened. "You mean...?"

"Yes," Karina nodded, her voice growing more excited, "Big, black cocks. We're going to find them and make them ours."

The room was electrified with anticipation. They had always shared their kinks and desires with each other, but this was a step beyond anything they had ever dared to dream.

"But where would we even start?" Wonyoung asked, her voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Karina had it all figured out. "We'll start at the gym. It's the perfect place to find guys who are both fit and sweaty. And who knows, we might even get to fulfill our other little fantasy."

Yujin bit her bottom lip, her pulse quickening at the thought. "Double penetration?"

Karina nodded. "Yeah, baby. And not just by any guys. By the biggest, blackest, and sweatiest ones we can find."

Their conversation grew heated, and the three friends knew that there was no turning back. They had set their sights on a wild adventure, and they were going to see it through. Little did they know that their journey would lead them to a fateful encounter with six men named Marcus, Tyronne, Darius, Omari, Amon, and Zubari. These men would change their lives forever, fulfilling desires they had never dared to speak aloud.

The three friends decided to make their fantasy a reality. They packed their bags, booked their flights, and set off to conquer America, one gym at a time. As they stepped into the bustling New York City, their hearts raced with excitement and nerves. The Big Apple was their playground, and they were ready to indulge in the sweetest fruit it had to offer.

Their first evening in the apartment was filled with anticipation. Karina, ever the planner, had found a place that was close to a gym that was known for its diverse and fit clientele. The apartment itself was modern and minimalist, with a single, large bed that they would share for the duration of their stay. It was a small sacrifice for the thrill that awaited them tomorrow.

"Let's go rest up," Karina suggested after they had settled in. "Tomorrow is going to be a big day."

Yujin and Wonyoung nodded in agreement.

The following morning, the sun began to rise, casting a warm glow through the apartment's windows. The trio woke up with a sense of excitement that was palpable in the air. They each picked out their most revealing gym outfits, showcasing their toned bodies and ample curves. Karina went with a neon pink sports bra and tiny shorts that accentuated her voluptuous figure, while Yujin chose a pair of tight black yoga pants and a crop top that highlighted her slender waist. Wonyoung, not to be outdone, wore a skimpy red ensemble that left little to the imagination. They were dressed to impress, each outfit designed to catch the eye of the men they so desired.

As they got ready, they giggled nervously, applying just the right amount of makeup to look both natural and seductive. The scent of their perfumes mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. They were about to embark on an adventure that would push their boundaries and fulfill their wildest fantasies.

Finally, dressed and ready, they made their way to the gym. The streets of New York were already bustling with life, but the gym was their destination. Their hearts raced as they stepped through the doors, the thumping bass of the workout music echoing in their ears. They scanned the room, eyes darting from one sweaty, muscular body to the next.

The gym was a veritable buffet of fitness enthusiasts, but it was the six black men that had caught their eye the day before that truly stood out. Marcus, Tyronne, Darius, Omari, Amon, and Zubari were all present, their dark skin glistening with sweat as they pushed their bodies to the limit. The sight of them made the three friends' knees wobble slightly, their stomachs fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

They approached the water fountain, each taking a deep breath before they started their workout. As they hydrated, they couldn't help but feel the heat of the men's gazes on them. They knew they had the power to make their desires come true, and they were going to use it.

The gym was a dance of muscles and sweat, with each machine and weight station filled with grunts and the clank of metal. The women began their workout, subtly positioning themselves near the men they had their sights set on. The tension grew as they stretched and bent, their eyes meeting and holding, the promise of something more hanging in the air.

Marcus, the tallest and most muscular of the group, noticed them first. His eyes locked onto Karina as she bent over to tie her shoe, her ass sticking out in a way that was both innocent and tantalizing. He licked his lips, his eyes filled with a hunger that was unmistakable. The other men followed his gaze, and soon all six were watching the three friends with open interest.

The women continued their workout, their movements growing more sensual with each passing minute. They knew they had the men's attention and they reveled in it, their confidence soaring. The air in the gym grew thick with desire, and it was clear that the game had begun.

Marcus, unable to resist the allure of Karina's voluptuous figure, sauntered over to her, a towel slung low over his hips. His muscles bulged beneath his tight tank top, and his deep-set eyes bore into her as he spoke. "Can we join you?" he asked, his voice a smooth rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very core.

Karina looked up, her heart racing. "Sure," she breathed, her voice a seductive purr. "I'm Zubari," he said with a smile, his teeth gleaming. "And this is my friend Marcus."

While Tyronne and Darius came close to Yujin, they couldn't help but be drawn to her sleek, black hair and piercing gaze. Yujin felt a shiver run down her spine as their muscular forms approached. She had never been so close to such power and masculinity before. Her legs trembled slightly as Tyronne offered her a hand to help her up from the floor, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Hey, I'm Tyronne," he said with a grin, his teeth shimmering against his dark skin. He was tall with broad shoulders, his abs rippling as he breathed. Darius followed suit, extending his hand as well. "And I'm Darius," he said, his voice a low growl that made her knees feel like jelly. His eyes were a piercing blue, a stark contrast to his chocolate skin.

Wonyoung looked up at the towering figures before her, feeling a thrill of excitement. "I'm Wonyoung," she replied, her voice a little shakier than she intended. "What can I do for you two?"

"Oh, you're gonna do more than enough," Omari said, his grin widening as he took in her skimpy outfit. His eyes roved over her body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with a beard that was trimmed to perfection. "I'm Omari," he introduced himself, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And this is my friend, Amon."

Amon, equally as tall and muscular, stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. He had a shaved head and a tattoo that snaked down his neck and disappeared beneath his shirt. "We couldn't help but notice you three," he said, his voice deep and gruff. "You seem like you know how to handle yourselves around some real men."

Wonyoung felt a blush spread across her cheeks as she took in their impressive forms. "We like to think we can handle ourselves," she said, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Well, let's see," Omari challenged, guiding her over to the hip abductor machine. He positioned her in front of the contraption, her legs spread apart and her ass sticking out just enough to be provocative. "Ever tried this before?"

Wonyoung's eyes widened, but she nodded eagerly. The thought of having two such powerful men train her was thrilling beyond belief. Amon took up position behind her, his bulging biceps flexing as he adjusted the weight. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck as he leaned in close, whispering instructions in her ear.

Her heart raced as she began to lift the weight, the sensation of her muscles stretching and contracting almost as tantalizing as the feel of Amon's hands on her hips, guiding her movements. The fabric of her shorts grew wetter with each rep, the outline of her arousal becoming more and more prominent.

Marcus and Zubari led Karina to the bench press, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She positioned herself on the bench, her legs spread open to accommodate the wide stance required for the exercise. The fabric of her shorts grew damp as her pussy grew wetter with each passing second. Marcus took the weight from her, placing it gently on the rack before taking a spot beside her. "Let me show you how it's done," he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

He laid down, his muscles bulging as he pushed the barbell upwards, his eyes never leaving hers. Karina could feel the heat emanating from his body, and she knew that he was just as turned on as she was. Zubari stood behind the bench, spotting Marcus, his own eyes glued to the apex of her thighs. Her breath grew ragged as she watched the two men, their power and strength an aphrodisiac that she couldn't resist.

As Marcus completed his final rep, he sat up, his chest heaving with exertion. He took a sip of water, his eyes never leaving hers as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Your turn," he said, his voice thick with desire. Karina's legs trembled as she laid down on the bench, the cold metal pressing against her hot skin. She knew that she was on display, that the other men in the gym could see her wetness, and she reveled in it.

Marcus took his place at the end of the bench, his thigh brushing against hers. Zubari took the barbell from her, placing it on her chest with surprising gentleness. "Remember to breathe," he said, his voice a soothing balm to her racing thoughts.

With a deep breath, she pushed the weight up, her muscles straining with the effort.

Darius and Tyronne watched as Yujin approached the chest fly machine, her tight black yoga pants stretching over her curvy ass as she walked. They exchanged knowing glances, both aware of the effect they had on the Asian beauty.

"You've got a good form," Darius said, his voice a low rumble as he stepped closer to her, his hand brushing against her hip. "But I think you could use a little help."

Yujin's pulse quickened as she felt the heat of his body beside her. She nodded, trying to keep her cool as Tyronne took the opposite side of the machine, his muscular arm reaching over her to grab the handle. Together, they guided her through the motion, their bodies so close she could feel the heat of their skin.

As she pushed the weight away from her body, she could feel the fabric of her pants stretching against her growing arousal. The smell of sweat and cologne was intoxicating, and she had to bite back a moan.

The two men made a show of adjusting the weight for her, their hands lingering on the bars, their eyes never leaving her chest as it bounced with each rep. They whispered instructions, their breath hot against her ear, their fingers brushing against her skin as if by accident.

The tension grew with each passing moment, the air around them thick with desire. Yujin knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't help herself. She was so close to the men she had fantasized about for so long, and she wanted to feel their touch, to taste their sweat.

Her breath grew ragged, her body responding to the intimate dance of muscles and power. She could feel the heat of their gazes on her, and it only served to fuel her passion.

Marcus leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, "You're doing great, baby," as his hand slid down to grip her hip firmly. His thumb brushed against her skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip, trying to focus on her reps as the pressure of his grip grew more insistent.

On the other side of the gym, Tyronne and Darius had moved on to helping Yujin with her leg press. They positioned themselves at the base of the machine, each taking one of her legs and placing it on the platform. As she began to push the weight, their hands slid up her thighs, their grips tightening around her hips.

Their touch was electric, sending waves of desire through her body. Yujin's eyes fluttered closed as she felt them tease her, their fingers digging into her flesh just enough to leave marks. She knew she was their plaything, and the thrill of it all made her pussy throb.

The men's laughter filled the room as they watched the women struggle under their watchful eyes, their grips on their hips growing firmer with every passing second. The sound of metal clanking and the scent of sweat grew more intense as the tension mounted.

Wonyoung's heart raced as Omari and Amon pushed her limits on the hip abductor, their hands on her hips, guiding her movements. They leaned in closer, their breath hot against her neck, whispering words of encouragement that had her pussy begging for more. The fabric of her shorts was soaked through, and she knew that everyone in the gym could see her arousal.

As the women pushed themselves further into their workout, the men's grips grew more possessive. They whispered sweet nothings into their ears, their breath hot and ragged. The girls couldn't help but let out soft moans, their bodies responding to the power dynamics at play.

Suddenly, Darius's deep voice echoed through the gym. "Alright, ladies, it's time for a new kind of workout," he said with a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a wicked intent. "Let's go to the locker room, we'll teach you the next routine."

The other men chuckled in agreement, their eyes never leaving the three friends. The air was thick with desire and the promise of something more. The gym-goers around them had noticed the intense scene playing out, and whispers began to spread.

Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung exchanged glances, their hearts racing with excitement. This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. They nodded in unison, their bodies trembling with anticipation. The six men led them through the gym, the eyes of everyone in the room following their every move.

As they approached the locker room, Marcus couldn't resist the temptation anymore. He reached out and squeezed Karina's ass, his fingers digging into her flesh. She gasped, her body reacting instinctively, arching into his touch. The sound of his hand connecting with her skin echoed through the room, and the other men followed suit, their hands roaming over the three women's bodies.

Yujin felt the hot, firm grip of Darius on her ass as he guided her through the door. She bit her lip to stifle a moan, the pressure from his hand sending waves of pleasure through her. Tyronne was right behind her, his hands caressing her curves as they walked. The feel of their hands on her made her legs weak, but she managed to stay upright, her body buzzing with desire.

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as Omari and Amon took turns squeezing her ass, their fingers brushing against the fabric of her shorts. The sensation was overwhelming, and she stumbled slightly, only to be caught by their strong arms. They chuckled, their grips tightening, as if they were claiming her as their own.

When they finally entered the locker room, the men didn't waste any time. With a swift motion, Marcus tore the fabric of Karina's pink sports bra, exposing her heavy breasts to the cool air. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the room, and the other girls gasped in shock.

Yujin felt Tyronne's hands on her yoga pants, his thumbs hooking into the waistband as he began to pull them down. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, and she saw the hunger in his gaze. He was going to take her, and she was going to let him. The fabric gave way easily, and her pants slid down to her ankles, revealing her bare pussy.

Wonyoung watched in amazement as the men's expressions grew more intense. They had expected some resistance, some shyness, but these girls were ready, willing, and completely bare. The sight was almost too much for them to handle.

"Wow, these girls are sluts," Amon exclaimed, his eyes wide with lust as he took in the scene. "They're not even wearing panties."

The locker room erupted into laughter, a mix of shock and excitement. The tension was palpable, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire. The men couldn't believe their luck, and the women basked in the attention.

"Now, all of you get to your knees," one of the men said, his voice commanding and authoritative. The three friends obeyed without hesitation, dropping down to the cold, tiled floor.

The six men had shed their gym clothes, standing before them in all their naked glory. The sight was overwhelming: each one more muscular and more intimidating than the last. Their cocks stood erect, varying in size and girth, but all of them were substantial. The girls looked at each other, their eyes wide with excitement and a hint of trepidation.

Marcus and Zubari stood before Karina, their chests heaving with excitement. Marcus's cock was the largest she had ever seen, thick and veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Zubari's was slightly smaller, but no less impressive, curving slightly upwards as if begging for attention.

Yujin couldn't tear her eyes away from Tyronne and Darius. Tyronne's cock was long and lean, bobbing slightly as he stepped closer. Darius's was thick and powerful, the head a dark shade of purple, promising a night of unbridled passion.

Wonyoung's knees grew even weaker as she took in Omari and Amon. Omari's cock was thick and heavy, the kind that would fill her to the brim, while Amon's was long and smooth, the perfect length to hit all the right spots.

Karina licked her lips, her eyes locked on Marcus and Zubari's cocks. "Our fantasy," she began, her voice a seductive whisper, "is to lick every inch of your sweaty bodies. We want to taste your power, your strength, and your passion."

The men's eyes grew dark with lust, their cocks twitching in response to her words. Yujin added, "And we want to be filled by the biggest black cocks we can find. Double penetration is the ultimate prize."

Wonyoung nodded in agreement, her voice shaky with anticipation. "We've never been with guys like you before," she confessed. "But we've dreamed of it. We want to be taken, to be used, to feel what it's like to have no control."

The men's grips on their hips tightened, and they shared a knowing look. This was more than they could have hoped for. They had stumbled upon a trio of eager, submissive women who were begging to be claimed.

With a nod from Marcus, Karina leaned in, her tongue darting out to taste the salty tang of sweat on his inner thigh. She traced the path of his muscles, moving closer and closer to his ass. The room grew silent as the sound of her tongue slurping against his skin filled the air. She took her time, savoring every inch of him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Her hands followed her tongue, cupping his firm cheeks before moving to his tight asshole. She licked around the edges, her tongue delving into his crack as he let out a low groan. His cock grew harder beneath her, the precum pooling at the tip.

Zubari watched, his own cock twitching with anticipation. He knew that he was next, and the thought made him lightheaded. He stepped closer, his hand guiding Karina's face to his own body, urging her to taste him. She didn't need much encouragement, eagerly lapping at his sweat-slicked skin.

Her tongue slid over his muscled ass, tracing the contours of his cheeks before she moved to his asshole. She licked it, her tongue probing gently, the taste of him making her pussy throb. The sound of her moan was muffled by the flesh she was worshipping.

Marcus's hand reached down to stroke her hair, his cock bobbing in front of her face. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with desire, and took his length into her mouth, sucking and licking him with an enthusiasm that had him grunting with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Yujin had Darius's cock in her hand, her slender fingers barely able to wrap around his girth. She licked a path from his ass to his balls, her tongue swirling around each one before moving to the base of his cock. Tyronne stepped closer, his cock brushing against her cheek, and she eagerly opened her mouth to take him in as well, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him off.

Wonyoung couldn't help but copy Karina's movements, her eyes on fire as she licked her way down Omari's muscular body. Amon's cock was next, and she took him in her mouth, her cheeks bulging as she tried to accommodate his size. She could feel his hands in her hair, guiding her movements, his hips bucking slightly as she worked her magic.

The men watched, their cocks swelling as the three friends took turns pleasuring them. The locker room was filled with the sounds of wet, sloppy kisses and guttural moans, the sight of the women on their knees, eager to serve, was more than they could have ever asked for.

The tension grew as the men grew closer to climax. Karina's eyes watered as she deep-throated Zubari, her throat muscles working overtime as she tried to take all of him. Marcus's hand tightened in her hair, his hips rocking back and forth as he fucked her mouth.

Yujin's jaw grew sore as she switched between Tyronne and Darius, her tongue dancing around their swollen heads. Darius's fingers tightened around her ponytail, pulling her closer as he neared his peak.

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as she tasted the precum from Amon's cock, her pussy begging for the same attention she was giving the men. Omari's hand slid down to cup her face, his thumb tracing her plump bottom lip as she worked on his cock.

"You're all so good at this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

The girls took the compliment as a challenge, redoubling their efforts. They knew what was coming and were eager to be the ones to push the men over the edge. Yujin could feel Tyronne's cock pulsing in her mouth, and she knew he was close.

Karina felt a sudden warmth on her face as Marcus and Zubari both erupted with a roar. Their cum shot out, painting her face in thick ropes, the sticky fluid dripping down her chin and onto her chest. She didn't flinch, instead leaning into it, letting it cover her as a badge of honor. Yujin and Wonyoung watched, their own mouths watering at the sight.

Yujin took Darius's cock out of her mouth and turned to Tyronne, her cheeks already flushed from his earlier attentions. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading, and with a smirk, he stepped closer. His cock twitched in her hand as she stroked him, her other hand playing with the tip of Darius's still-hard shaft.

With a grunt, Tyronne came, his cum spurting across her face, mixing with Darius's as it painted her features. Yujin's eyes widened with shock and pleasure as she felt the hot jets hit her nose, her cheeks, her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, her heart racing with excitement.

Wonyoung watched as Karina and Yujin were showered with cum, her own pussy dripping with need. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so consumed by desire. Omari and Amon's eyes bore into hers, their cocks rock-hard and demanding. She knew it was her turn.

The men stepped back, watching as the three friends knelt before them, their faces a canvas of their desire. Omari stepped closer, his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly as he admired Wonyoung's eager expression. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick the precum from the tip, her eyes never leaving his.

With a growl, Omari came, his cum spurting across her face, a warm, sticky mess that she greedily licked away. Amon was next, his cock pulsing in her hand as he painted her features with his seed. Wonyoung reveled in the feeling of being used, the power dynamic making her wetter and wetter.

As the men caught their breath, the girls turned to each other, their faces a mess of cum. Without a word, they leaned in, their tongues reaching out to clean the sticky residue from each other's skin. They tasted the salty, musky flavor of the men's release, the intimate act driving their arousal to new heights.

Karina looked up at Yujin, her eyes glazed with lust. She reached out and wiped a trail of cum from Yujin's cheek, bringing her fingers to her own mouth to lick them clean. Yujin watched, her breath hitching, before leaning in to kiss her friend, sharing the taste of their conquests. Wonyoung moaned, feeling left out, and they both turned to her, their tongues swirling together, sharing the cum that had been spilled.

The men watched, their cocks already starting to harden again. The sight of the three friends so eagerly devouring each other was more than they could take. "Let's take this to the next level," Marcus suggested, his eyes dark with hunger. The girls looked up at him, their lips swollen and shiny with cum, nodding eagerly.

Without hesitation, they dropped to their knees and began to lick the men's feet. The feeling of their tongues on his skin was like nothing Marcus had ever experienced before. He could feel the hunger in their movements, the desperation in every flick of their tongues. His cock grew harder as he watched them worship him and his friends.

Yujin took her time with Tyronne's foot, her tongue tracing the arch before moving to his toes. She could feel him shivering with pleasure, his cock jutting out towards her. She took each toe into her mouth, sucking gently, savoring the taste of his sweat and the power she had over him. Darius watched, his hand stroking his own cock as he felt the beginnings of his own climax build again.

Wonyoung licked her way up Omari's leg, her eyes never leaving his as she approached his cock. She took his foot in her hand, her thumb circling the sole before moving up to his toes. He groaned, the sensation driving him wild. "More," he murmured, his hips jerking forward slightly. She didn't need any further encouragement, her mouth closing around the tip of his foot.

Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin between his toes before she moved on to the next one, her eyes locked with Amon's. He watched her every move, his cock growing harder by the second. The smell of their sweat was intoxicating, a potent mix of pheromones and power that had the girls drooling.

Their mouths moved upwards, latching onto the men's sweaty armpits. They took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of their musk, the taste of their manhood. Karina moaned as she took in the scent of Marcus, her tongue swirling in circles, cleaning him of any trace of sweat.

"It's like nothing I've ever smelled before," Wonyoung said, her voice muffled by Omari's arm. "It's like... it's like the essence of a real man."

The men's chests rose and fell with excitement, their bodies trembling slightly as the girls worshiped them. The gym had become their personal playground, their desires laid bare for the world to see.

Yujin looked up at Darius, her eyes glazed with lust as she licked his armpit. "You taste so good," she whispered, her voice breathy. "I want more."

With a smirk, Darius leaned down, bringing his cock closer to her face. She took it in her hand, her eyes never leaving his as she took him into her mouth, her tongue flicking at his balls.

The locker room was filled with the sounds of wet licks and sighs of pleasure. The men's cocks grew harder with every touch, their bodies responding to the women's eager attentions. They had never felt so desired, so needed.

The tension grew as the girls continued their sensual exploration. They licked and sucked, their tongues tracing the paths of their muscles, tasting the salt of their sweat. The men's hands roamed, caressing their breasts, pinching their nipples, their touch setting the girls' skin alight.

"It's our time to give pleasure to yours," Marcus rumbled, his voice deep with desire. The six men stepped closer, their cocks standing at attention, eager to return the favor.

Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung looked at each other, their eyes sparkling with excitement. They had come so far, their fantasy coming to life before their eyes. They lay back on the locker room benches, spreading their legs, offering themselves up to the men.

Marcus knelt before Karina, his tongue sliding along her inner thigh, moving closer and closer to her wet pussy. She gasped as he reached her clit, the sensation making her body arch off the bench. "So sweet," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

Yujin felt Tyronne's mouth on her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone as his hand slid down to cup her breast. Darius took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then more firmly as she whimpered.

Wonyoung looked up to see Omari leaning over her, his dark eyes filled with lust as he took in the sight of her swollen pussy. He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin before his tongue touched her clit. She let out a sharp cry, her body trembling with pleasure.

The girls' moans grew louder as the men worked their magic, their tongues and teeth exploring every inch of their bodies. The sensation of being licked and sucked by such powerful men was overwhelming, their every nerve ending alive with sensation.

They were lost in a haze of pleasure, their bodies writhing under the men's expert touch. The locker room echoed with their cries of ecstasy as the men took their time, savoring every moment.

Karina felt Zubari's hands spread her ass cheeks, his tongue delving into her tight hole. She gripped the bench, her knuckles white as she held on, her body tightening as she approached climax.

Yujin's eyes rolled back in her head as Tyronne and Darius took turns lapping at her clit, their tongues swirling and flicking in perfect harmony. She was close, so close, and she didn't want it to end.

Wonyoung's breath hitched as Amon's tongue slid into her ass, his hands playing with her pussy. She had never felt so full, so complete. Her moans grew more frantic as she felt herself on the brink.

The men didn't stop, their tongues and teeth working in tandem, bringing the girls closer and closer to the edge. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the girls were putty in their hands.

Their cries grew more urgent, their bodies begging for release. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the sound of wet licks and moans bouncing off the tiled walls.

Karina's pussy clenched around Marcus's tongue as he worked her clit, his thumb sliding into her tight asshole. She felt the beginnings of a squirt building deep within her, and she knew it was going to be intense. Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold back, but it was no use. With a loud gasp, she squirted, her juices spraying across the bench and onto Marcus's face. He pulled away, laughing, and she looked down to see his face covered in her cum.

Yujin's body tightened as Tyronne and Darius took turns flicking her clit with their tongues, their fingers delving into her pussy and ass. The sensation was too much, and she lost control, her body spasming as she squirted all over them. They didn't flinch, instead, they eagerly lapped up her juices, sharing them in a passionate kiss.

Wonyoung felt the pressure build as Amon and Omari worked her over, their tongues swirling and probing her most intimate spots. She couldn't hold back any longer, and with a scream, she squirted, her juices coating the floor beneath her. They watched with fascination before leaning in to clean her up, their mouths greedily sucking up her sweet release.

The men were insatiable, and they didn't wait for the girls to catch their breath. "Back on your knees," Marcus growled, his cock still standing proud and gleaming from Karina's eager mouth. The girls obeyed, eager to continue their journey into the depths of their shared fantasy.

The sound of slapping skin filled the locker room as the six men began to slap their cocks against the girls' faces. The impact was surprisingly gentle, but the sensation was intense. Karina felt Zubari's thick cock hit her cheek, leaving a sticky trail of precum behind. She opened her mouth, eager to catch the next slap.

Yujin's eyes watered as Tyronne's and Darius's cocks slapped her face in unison, the smack echoing through the room. She leaned into the sensation, her mouth open, tongue flicking out to taste their salty, musky flavor.

Wonyoung took in the sight of Omari and Amon, their cocks slapping against her cheeks, leaving a sticky mess she was eager to clean up. She stuck her tongue out, catching a drop of precum, and the taste sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

"We want to taste all of you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the symphony of moans and slaps. "We want to be spit-roasted, filled to the brim with your big, black cocks."

The men's eyes lit up at the mention of their favorite position. Marcus looked over at Tyronne and Darius, who had already moved into place behind Yujin. "Looks like our little sluts are eager to be used," he said with a wicked grin.

"More than you can imagine," Yujin panted, her face flushed and eyes sparkling with lust. She leaned back, her ass in the air, offering herself up to the men. "Take us, please. We're ready."

Marcus and Zubari didn't need any more encouragement. They positioned Karina on the bench, her legs spread wide as they lined up their cocks, both men eager to claim her. Marcus slid into her pussy first, his thick cock stretching her to the brink as he pushed deep. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt the fullness of him. Then, without warning, Zubari pushed into her ass, his cock thick and unyielding as he filled her completely.

"Ahh!" Karina's scream echoed through the locker room, the pain and pleasure mixing in a heady cocktail. She had never felt so full before, so stretched, so claimed. Her body tensed as they both began to move, their rhythm matching perfectly as they fucked her.

Yujin watched, her own desire mounting as Tyronne and Darius positioned themselves behind her. Her heart raced as she felt the tip of Tyronne's cock at her pussy, Darius's at her ass. The men didn't hold back, pushing into her simultaneously. The pain was intense, but it only served to heighten the pleasure.

"Ahh, it hurts!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. But she didn't want them to stop. No, she wanted more. She pushed back, taking them deeper, her body adjusting to the intrusion. The men groaned, their cocks sinking into her tight holes, the pressure building.

They began to move in tandem, their thrusts long and deep. Yujin's screams grew louder as she was filled and stretched to the limit. The sensation was indescribable, a delicious agony that had her nails digging into the bench, her body writhing in ecstasy.

But the show wasn't just for them. Marcus and Zubari had moved aside to give Omari and Amon their turn with Wonyoung. They took their place behind her, their cocks slick with precum and desire. Wonyoung's eyes widened as she felt the tip of Omari's cock at her pussy, and Amon's at her ass. She braced herself, her heart racing.

With a powerful thrust, Omari filled her pussy, his thickness making her gasp. Amon didn't wait, pushing into her tight asshole, his cock stretching her even further. Wonyoung's scream of "Ahh, it hurts! I can't!" echoed through the locker room, but instead of pulling out, the men took it as a challenge, their strokes growing more forceful.

Her cries grew more desperate as they fucked her, the pain mixing with pleasure until she couldn't tell which was which. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt her body start to convulse, the pressure building, building, until she thought she'd explode.

Marcus and Zubari watched her intently, their own pleasure reflected in their eyes. "Her ass is so fucking tight," Marcus groaned, his voice strained with effort. "I've never felt anything like it."

Zubari nodded in agreement, his cock buried to the hilt in Karina's ass. "And that pussy," he added, his voice low and reverent. "It's like a vice grip around my dick."

The other men chuckled, their cocks slapping against the girls' faces as they watched their friends take the Asian beauties. "Look at her," Tyronne murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Look at how much she loves it."

Yujin's face was a mask of pleasure and pain as Tyronne and Darius fucked her, their cocks sliding in and out of her stretched holes. "It's like she was made for this," Darius said, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock disappearing into her ass.

Wonyoung's moans grew louder as Omari and Amon took her, their powerful strokes pushing her closer and closer to the edge. "Her pussy is so tight," Omari grunted, his teeth clenched. "It's like a second skin around my cock."

Amon's breath was hot in her ear. "And that ass," he groaned. "It's like heaven."

The men's praise only spurred the girls on, their bodies moving in time with their partners'. They were lost in the moment, their every thought focused on the cocks inside them, the sweat and cum that coated their skin.

"Ahh, fuck!" Karina's scream pierced the air, her voice high and keening. "It's like being split in two, but in the best way possible!" She threw her head back, her eyes rolling up into her head. Marcus and Zubari's strokes grew more forceful, their muscles straining with the effort of holding back. "It's like you're tearing me apart," she panted, her voice trembling. "But I don't want it to stop. It's so good, so fucking good!"

Their rhythm grew more erratic, their bodies slapping together with every thrust. Karina's breasts bounced with the force of it, her nipples hard and sensitive. She felt the pressure building, her pussy clenching around Marcus's cock as Zubari hit her G-spot with every push into her ass. "I'm going to cum," she yelled, her voice echoing in the tiled locker room. "Oh my god, I'm going to cum so hard!"

Yujin watched her friend, the sight pushing her own pleasure to new heights. She could feel her own orgasm building, the sensation of being split open by two massive cocks driving her wild. She threw her head back and screamed, her voice joining the cacophony of passion. "It's so good," she panted. "So full, so deep."

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as Omari and Amon fucked her harder, their cocks moving in perfect sync. "Ahh, fuck me," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Fuck me like the sluts we are!"

The men laughed, their strokes growing more powerful as they felt the girls' bodies tighten around them. "It's like they're begging for it," Darius said, his voice filled with a mix of amazement and lust.

Marcus looked down at Karina, her pussy clenching around his cock. "You're getting tight, baby," he said, his voice low and seductive. "You're going to squirt all over us."

Sure enough, Karina's pussy tightened further, her body spasming as she felt the beginnings of her orgasm. "Ahh, I'm gonna... I'm gonna...," she stuttered, unable to form coherent words.

The men watched, their eyes widening as they felt the pressure build around their cocks. "Her pussy's like a vice," Zubari groaned, his grip on her hips tightening. "It's so fucking tight."

Marcus nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, she's going to squirt," he said, his voice filled with excitement.

The tension grew unbearable as the girls' squirts grew stronger. Yujin's body was wracked with spasms as Tyronne and Darius pounded into her, their cocks stretching her to the limit. "Fuck, I'm going to cum," she screamed, her voice breaking. "Make me squirt, please!"

The men didn't need any encouragement. They picked up their pace, their hips smacking against the girls' asses in a frenzied rhythm. Wonyoung felt the pressure in her own pussy and ass building, her body begging for release. "Do it," she panted. "Make us squirt all over you."

The force of their orgasms was explosive. Yujin's pussy clamped down around Tyronne and Darius's cocks, the sudden release of pressure sending them flying out of her. She collapsed forward, her body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. "Oh my god," she gasped, her voice hoarse. "That was incredible."

Marcus and Zubari pulled out of Karina with a wet pop, their cocks glistening with her juices. She looked up at them with a sly smile, her chest heaving with each ragged breath. "Your turn," she murmured, her voice still filled with desire.

Wonyoung's pussy and ass clenched around Omari and Amon, and with a final, powerful thrust, they were expelled from her tight holes. She slumped down onto the bench, her legs trembling. The men stepped back, their cocks still hard, their eyes glittering with excitement.

The locker room was a mess, a testament to the intense sexual encounter that had just taken place. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional giggle from the girls as they looked at each other with a mix of satisfaction and amazement.

"Alright, it's done," Karina said with a sigh, her legs still trembling from the exertion. "Our bodies just got what we need."

The girls walked out with trembling legs, and when they reached the door, they were shocked; suddenly, they were stopped by all the men."We're not done yet, I haven't cum." One of the men said.

Karina looked at her friends with a mix of fear and excitement. They had never gone this far before. But the desperate look in the men's eyes made it clear that they weren't going anywhere until they had all had their fill. "Please," she whimpered, "my ass is so sore, I can't take any more."

Yujin and Wonyoung nodded in agreement, their voices filled with a needy plea. "Our pussies are sore too," Yujin managed to say, her voice cracking. "We need a break."

But the men didn't listen. With a grin that was half mischief, half determination, Tyronne grabbed Yujin's hips and flipped her over, pushing her face-first into the bench. "You're not done until we say you are," he murmured, his hand smacking her ass playfully.

Darius chuckled, moving behind her, his cock still rock-hard. "You're going to love this," he said, lining up with her pussy. He didn't wait for a response, sliding in smoothly, his cock hitting her G-spot with ease.

Yujin's scream was muffled by the bench, her body jolting as she was filled once more. Tyronne's cock slammed into her ass, the pain making her eyes water. "Please," she whimpered, "not so deep."

But the men were lost in their lust, their eyes glazed over as they took what they wanted. The sound of their hips slapping against the girls' asses grew louder, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the locker room.

Karina felt her own pussy clench around Marcus's cock, the pain and pleasure blurring into one intense sensation. Zubari didn't wait, pushing into her ass, his girth stretching her even further. She screamed, her voice raw and desperate. "It's too much," she sobbed. "I can't take it!"

The men's laughter was low and dark, their hands moving to squeeze the girls' breasts and pinch their nipples. "You're going to take it," Marcus growled. "And you're going to love every second of it."

Their strokes grew more erratic, their bodies moving in a frenzied dance of desire. The girls' moans grew more frantic, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. The men were like animals, driven by instinct and lust, their every thought consumed by the need to cum.

Wonyoung felt the beginnings of another orgasm building, her body already over-sensitized from the previous ones. "I can't," she moaned, her voice high and desperate. "I can't take it anymore."

But Omari and Amon didn't stop, their strokes growing more forceful. "You can," Omari murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "You can and you will."

The girls' bodies began to spasm once again, their juices spraying out as the men fucked them, painting the floor and benches with their desire. They couldn't believe they had another orgasm in them, but the men's relentless pounding brought it out of them, their cries of pleasure mixing with the sounds of the men's grunts and slaps.

Wonyoung looked over her shoulder at Omari and Amon, her eyes glazed with a mix of pain and pleasure. "My holes are getting sore," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "They feel like they're going to break."

The men's grins grew wider at her admission, their strokes becoming more powerful as they pushed her closer and closer to the edge. "Don't worry, baby," Amon murmured, his cock sliding in and out of her ass with ease. "We're going to fill you up until you can't take anymore."

Her pussy clenched around Omari's cock as he thrust into her, the sensation of being used so thoroughly sending her over the edge. "Ahh, I'm cumming!" she screamed, her body bucking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

The men didn't stop, their cocks pumping into her until she thought she'd pass out. But she didn't. Instead, she felt another orgasm building, this one more intense than the last. "Fuck, it's too much," she moaned, her body trembling with the effort of taking them both.

Marcus and Zubari watched, their eyes on Karina's tight asshole as it stretched around their cocks. "Look at her," Zubari said with a smirk. "Her ass is going to be sore for days."

"And her pussy," Marcus added, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. "It's never been this good."

The room was a symphony of pleasure and pain, the girls' cries growing more desperate as the men pushed them to their limits. Yujin felt her body tighten around Tyronne and Darius, their cocks pounding into her with a force she had never felt before. "Please," she begged, "I can't take anymore."

But the men were too far gone, their own need for release driving them to fuck the girls harder and deeper. "You're going to take it," Tyronne said, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "You're going to take it all."

Their strokes grew more erratic, their breathing ragged. The girls knew it was coming, the moment they had been waiting for, the moment they had all been building to. The pressure grew unbearable, their bodies begging for the release that was so close.

And then it was upon them, the men's cocks pulsing with their climax, filling the girls' pussies and asses with hot cum. The girls' screams were music to their ears, their bodies milking the men for every drop, eager for more.

As the men pulled out, their cocks still twitching, the girls collapsed onto the bench, their bodies spent and sore. They looked at each other, their eyes wide with amazement. They had done it. They had pushed their boundaries and come out the other side, forever changed by the experience.

The men stood before them, their cocks still hard, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum. "That was amazing," Marcus said, his voice filled with awe.

"The best we've ever had," Tyronne agreed, his eyes never leaving the girls' faces.

The girls giggled, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. They had found what they were looking for, and it was better than they could have ever imagined. They had become the sluts they had always dreamed of being, and they had never felt more alive.

But the men weren't done with them yet. Marcus and Zubari stepped forward, their cocks still rock-hard and gleaming with Karina's juices. "We've got an idea," Marcus said, a wicked glint in his eye. "Something that will make you scream even louder."

Without waiting for a response, they pushed their cocks together, the heads touching and sliding along each other. Karina watched, her eyes widening in shock and excitement as they positioned themselves at her pussy, their cocks touching and teasing her swollen lips. "Oh my god," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you doing?"

The men chuckled darkly, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "We're going to give you a taste of something new," Marcus said, his voice low and seductive. "Something you've never had before."

With a grin, Zubari lined up his cock with Marcus's, both of them pressing the heads against Karina's stretched pussy. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, the heat and pressure of two massive cocks at her entrance. She gasped, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation. "Oh god, please," she whimpered, her body quivering.

The men didn't wait for further encouragement. With a powerful thrust, they pushed into her together, their cocks sliding in side by side. Karina's scream echoed through the locker room, the sensation of being split open so wide was almost too much to bear.

"It's painful," she gasped, her voice strained with the effort of speaking. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before."

Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, and she clutched the sides of the bench, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. The sensation of two thick cocks pushing into her at once was overwhelming, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable. But there was something else there, something dark and thrilling that had her hips bucking back to meet them, desperate for more.

"It's... it's too much," Karina managed to whisper, her voice tight with strain. The fullness was unbelievable, a pressure so great she thought she might burst. Yet she couldn't help but crave it, the pain morphing into a strange, twisted pleasure that made her wetter, her pussy clenching around the invading cocks.

Marcus leaned down, his breath hot on her neck. "You can take it, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Take it all."

Karina felt her body stretching to accommodate them, the pressure building until she thought she'd scream. And then she did, her voice echoing off the tiles as the men pushed deeper, filling her completely. The pain was intense, but there was something else there, a dark pleasure that had her hips rising to meet them, her body begging for more.

The men began to move, their strokes long and deep, their cocks sliding in and out of her in a rhythm that made her vision swim. Karina's screams grew louder, filling the locker room with the sound of her pleasure. "It's too much," she sobbed, her voice lost to the intensity of the moment. "It's so fucking good, but it's too much!"

But the men didn't stop, their bodies moving in a frenzied dance of lust and power. They watched her in the mirror, their eyes glittering with excitement as she took them both. "You can do it," Marcus whispered, his voice soothing despite the fierce grip he had on her hips. "You're a good girl."

Yujin, still face down on the bench, felt Tyronne and Darius move closer. She knew what they wanted, and the thought made her heart race. She tried to push herself up, to protest, but she didn't have the strength. "No," she whimpered, her voice weak. "It won't fit, I can't..."

Her protests fell on deaf ears as the men positioned themselves, their cocks pressing against her sore pussy. The head of one cock slid inside her, and she gasped, the pain making her eyes water. But the pleasure was there too, a dark, thrilling sensation that had her hips moving back, trying to take more. And then the second cock pushed in, and she felt herself stretched to the limit. "Ahh," she moaned, her voice strangled. "It's too much, please..."

But the men didn't stop, didn't even pause. They pushed in together, their cocks stretching her beyond what she thought possible. The pain was white-hot, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, of being utterly owned and used. "Fuck," she screamed, her voice hoarse with desire. "It's so good, so fucking good!"

Wonyoung's eyes widened in shock as Omari and Amon approached, their cocks still hard and gleaming. She tried to scoot away, her voice trembling. "No, please," she begged. "My pussy is too small."

They just laughed, the sound deep and dark. "That's what makes it even better," Omari said, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "The tighter the better."

Their fingers trailed down her body, exploring her curves, and she shivered with anticipation. She knew she couldn't take them both, not after what she'd just been through, but the thought of trying had her pussy clenching with need. "I'll break," she whimpered, her voice small and scared.

"We'll go slow," Amon assured her, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear. "We'll make it good for you, baby."

Their cocks touched her, the tips sliding along her slit, teasing her clit. Wonyoung felt her body respond, felt her pussy start to clench and pulse with the need for release. "Please," she begged, her voice desperate. "Please make it feel good."

They didn't need any further invitation. With a grin, Omari pushed into her, his cock stretching her open with a delicious pain that had her nails digging into the bench. "Look at her," Amon murmured, his cock sliding in beside Omari's. "Look how much she wants it."

Wonyoung's eyes rolled back in her head as they began to fuck her, their strokes slow and deliberate. It was a new kind of fullness, a new kind of pleasure that had her toes curling and her back arching. "Oh god," she moaned, her voice shaking. "Oh god, it's too much, I can't... I can't..."

The men watched her in the mirror, their eyes filled with a hunger that made her stomach clench. They were enjoying every second of her struggle, every gasp and whine that escaped her lips. "You can take it," Omari murmured, his cock moving in a steady rhythm. "You're doing so good, baby."

Their strokes grew faster, their hands moving to grip her hips, holding her in place as they pushed deeper. Wonyoung felt her body start to shake, her pussy tightening around them as the orgasm built. "I'm going to cum," she panted, her voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Oh god, I'm going to cum so hard!"

The men grinned at each other, their eyes locked on Wonyoung's face as she squirted around their cocks. The sensation was unlike anything they had felt before, her pussy spasming and clenching as she came. "Fuck, she's squirting," Amon murmured, his voice filled with amazement.

Yujin watched her friend, her own pussy clenching with envy. The thought of being filled so completely, of having no control over her own body, was intoxicating. "I want to cum like that," she moaned, her voice desperate.

"And you will," Tyronne assured her, his strokes growing more forceful. "You're going to squirt all over us, baby."

The pressure in Karina's pussy grew, her body stretching to accommodate the two massive cocks. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm, her pussy clenching around them as they fucked her with a ferocity that bordered on brutal. "I can't," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "It's too much, I'm going to pass out."

Marcus chuckled darkly, his grip on her hips tightening. "Not before you cum for us," he said, his voice a command. "You're going to scream our names as you squirt all over our cocks."

The girls' bodies were a symphony of pleasure and pain, their cries of ecstasy mixing with the sounds of the men's grunts. They had never felt so full, so used, and it was driving them wild. Their pussies spasmed, releasing a flood of juices that soaked the bench beneath them.

Marcus and Zubari didn't let up, their strokes deep and punishing. Karina's pussy was stretched to the limit, the pain and pleasure melding into a white-hot need that had her begging for more. "Cum for us," Marcus growled, his teeth clenched as he watched her in the mirror.

Yujin felt her pussy tightening around Tyronne and Darius, their cocks pumping in and out of her like pistons. The men's eyes were locked on her, their smiles predatory as they watched her approach the edge. "Do it," Darius murmured, his hand sliding up to pinch her clit. "Squirt for us."

Their words were like a command, and her body obeyed, her pussy clenching around their cocks as she squirted, the warmth of her release coating their cocks. "Ahh, yes," she screamed, her body bucking with the force of her orgasm.

Wonyoung's pussy was on fire, the sensation of Omari and Amon's cocks moving inside her almost unbearable. "I can't," she whimpered, her voice tight with strain. "Please, I need to cum."

The men chuckled, their strokes growing more forceful. "You will," Omari promised, his voice dark and seductive. "You're going to cum all over us."

Their hips slammed into her, their cocks hitting her deepest spots, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. And then it was there, the orgasm tearing through her like a storm, making her body shake and her eyes roll back in her head. "Oh fuck," she screamed, her voice hoarse with need. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!"

The men watched the girls, their cocks swelling with every scream and spurt of juice. They knew they were close, their balls tight and heavy with the need to release. "Ready to fill these sluts up?" Tyronne asked, his voice a low growl.

"More than ready," Darius grinned, his cock pumping in and out of Yujin's tight pussy.

The men moved together, their cocks sliding out of the girls' pussies with a wet sound that made them all shiver. They stepped back, their eyes on the prize, their bodies tense with anticipation. "Open up," Marcus said, his voice a low, guttural growl.

The girls obeyed, their legs spread wide, their pussies gaping and begging for more. The men didn't waste any time, pushing back in, filling them to the brim with their cum. The girls' bodies jerked as the hot, thick fluid filled them, the sensation overwhelming.

They came together, their screams mixing with the sound of the men's grunts. The locker room was a sea of sweat, cum, and desire, the air thick with the scent of sex. The men's cocks twitched as they emptied themselves into the girls, their eyes never leaving the sight of their swollen, filled pussies.

But the men weren't done. They had been waiting for this moment for too long, and they were going to take everything they wanted. As the girls lay there, panting and exhausted, the men pulled out, their cocks still hard. "Again," Marcus said, his voice a command.

Karina's eyes snapped open, her body tensing. "No," she gasped. "Please, no more." But the men didn't listen. Zubari pushed her legs apart, his cock sliding back into her pussy with ease. Marcus followed suit, filling her ass with his own thick length.

Yujin and Wonyoung watched in horror as the men began to fuck Karina once more, her body already stretched to the brink. They knew that if they didn't do something, they'd be next. But their protests were cut short as Tyronne and Darius pushed their cocks back into them, filling their pussies and asses with their thick, cum-covered lengths.

The men fucked them without mercy, their strokes powerful and relentless. They switched positions, sometimes filling their pussies together, sometimes taking turns with their asses, the girls' cries of pain and pleasure melding into one. "Please," Wonyoung begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, I can't take anymore."

But the men just laughed, their eyes gleaming with lust. They were in control now, and they weren't going to stop until they were fully satisfied. They pounded into the girls, their balls slapping against their asses, their cocks hitting deep inside them, making them scream.

The girls felt their bodies betray them, their pussies clenching and releasing, their muscles spasming with each thrust. They were powerless to resist, their need for release overwhelming them. They begged and pleaded, but the men just fucked them harder, their strokes never slowing.

The locker room was a cacophony of sounds, the slap of skin on skin, the wet squelch of cocks sliding in and out of tight, filled pussies, the girls' desperate cries for mercy. But the men didn't stop, didn't even slow down. They fucked them through one orgasm and into the next, their own pleasure building with every thrust.

Karina felt her body giving out, her pussy and ass feeling like they were on fire. She was so full, so used, she didn't think she could take anymore. "Please," she sobbed. "Please, no more."

Marcus leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "You're going to take every drop," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to be our little cum sluts."

The girls looked at each other, their eyes wide with terror and desire. They knew that they had no choice but to submit, to take everything the men had to give. And as they felt the cocks inside them swell, they knew that the end was near.

The men's strokes grew faster, their bodies tense as they approached their climax. The girls could feel it, the pressure building inside them, the inevitable release that would fill them once more. And then it was upon them, the men's cum flooding into their pussies and asses, mixing with their own juices and spilling out onto the floor.

They screamed, their bodies shaking with the force of it, their pussies clenching around the cocks, desperately trying to hold onto every drop. But the men kept fucking them, their cocks never leaving, their seed never stopping. It was an endless cycle of pain and pleasure that the girls were trapped in, their cries for help lost in the symphony of their own desperate moans.

Finally, with a roar of triumph, the men pulled out, their cocks still spurting cum. It rained down on the girls, mixing with the sweat and the juices that coated their bodies. They lay there, panting and spent, their eyes glazed with the overwhelming sensation of being completely used.

The men stepped back, their chests heaving with the exertion. They looked at each other, grinning with satisfaction. "That was some of the best pussy I've ever had," Darius said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Agreed," Tyronne chuckled, his eyes still on Yujin's trembling body. "But I think we've worn them out."

The girls lay there, unable to move, their muscles quivering with the aftermath of their orgasms. They were covered in cum, their bodies sticky and wet, their pussies and asses gaping. They had never felt so used, so utterly owned.

But the men weren't finished. With a wicked grin, Marcus picked Karina up by the neck, lifting her to her knees. "Open your mouth," he ordered, his cock pointing at her face. She tried to shake her head, her eyes wide with horror, but she had no strength to resist.

Wonyoung watched in shock as Omari and Amon did the same to her, their cocks thick and pulsing. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's not what we... we didn't agree to this."

The men ignored her protests, their eyes dark with desire. They had taken them to the edge of pleasure, and now they were going to push them over into something else entirely. "You're going to swallow," Tyronne said, his grip on Yujin's neck tightening. "You're going to swallow every drop."

The first spurt of hot, golden liquid hit Karina's face, making her gasp. She tried to turn away, but Marcus's grip was like steel, forcing her to take the stream of piss into her mouth. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she couldn't stop the flow. The taste was bitter, the sensation overwhelming, and she choked, trying to breathe.

Yujin and Wonyoung watched in horror as their friends were degraded before them. "No," Wonyoung sobbed, her voice weak. "Please, no more." But the men just laughed, their piss arcing through the air as they emptied their bladders into the girls' mouths.

The scene was one of complete domination, the men's power on full display. The girls' bodies trembled, their eyes wide with shock and fear. They had come looking for a kinky adventure, but this was more than they had bargained for. They had become the toys of these six black gods, their desires and boundaries pushed to the limit.

The piss filled their mouths, their throats, their stomachs, and the smell of it filled the locker room. They choked and gagged, their eyes watering, as the men used them for their own pleasure. It was a final act of submission, a demonstration of just how far they would go to satisfy their dark desires.

The men watched them, their smiles wide and cruel. They knew they had broken the girls, pushed them to a place they had never been before. And as they finished, their cocks still twitching with the last drops of piss, they felt a sense of triumph that was almost as intense as their orgasms.

But the girls had reached their breaking point. As the last drops fell from their chins, they collapsed onto the floor, their bodies heaving with sobs. They had never felt so violated, so used. And yet, as they lay there, their pussies clenched, the faintest echo of pleasure still lingering.

The men stepped back, their eyes on the sobbing, trembling girls. They had given them an experience they would never forget, one that would stay with them forever. And as they zipped up their pants, their eyes never leaving the scene before them, they knew they had found what they were looking for. They had found the ultimate in submission, the ultimate in pleasure.

With a laugh, Marcus turned to the others. "Spread the word," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "We've got living toilets in here."

The men filed out of the locker room, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The door swung open, and in streamed a line of eager gym-goers, their eyes on the girls on the floor. Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung looked up, their eyes wide with terror as they realized what was about to happen.

One by one, the men approached, their cocks in hand. They didn't even bother to aim, just letting their piss spray over the girls, soaking them from head to toe. The girls choked on the foul liquid, their bodies convulsing with the humiliation and the pain. They had never felt so low, so used.

But even as the piss rained down on them, their bodies betrayed them. Their pussies clenched and released, their asses quivered, and they couldn't help but feel a dark thrill at the degradation. It was as if their kink had been taken to a new level, one that they had never even imagined.

The gym patrons took turns, some pissing in their mouths, some on their faces, and others on their breasts and stomachs. The girls' bodies were a canvas for the men's desires, their cries of protest lost in the symphony of male laughter and the hiss of piss hitting the tiles.

The scene was one of complete and utter degradation, a testament to the power of the men's desire. And as the last man finished, the locker room was filled with the acrid smell of urine, a scent that would stay with the girls forever.

They lay there, sobbing, their bodies trembling with the aftermath of their ordeal. They had never felt so dirty, so used, so completely owned. But somewhere in the back of their minds, a part of them knew that they had found what they were looking for, a part of them that reveled in the pain and the pleasure of it all.

Slowly, they managed to get to their hands and knees, their legs wobbly as they crawled towards the locker room door. The floor was sticky with cum and piss, making it difficult to move, but they had to get out. They had to find someone to help them, to save them from this living nightmare.

But as they reached the door, it was blocked by a figure, a man they hadn't seen before. He was tall and muscular, his skin dark like the night, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

The girls looked up at him, their eyes wide with fear. "Please," Wonyoung begged, her voice barely a whisper. "Help us."

The stranger chuckled, his hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Oh, I'll help you alright," he said, his eyes raking over their bodies. "But first, you're going to show me what you're really made of."

With surprising strength, he grabbed them by the hair, dragging them out of the locker room and down the empty walk street. They struggled, their cries echoing off the walls, but it was no use. He was too strong, too powerful. They were helpless in his grasp, their bodies his to do with as he pleased.

As they stumbled out into the night, the cool air hit their soaked skin, sending shivers down their spines. The street was deserted, a perfect stage for their ongoing degradation. The stranger's words hung in the air, a promise of further humiliation that made their stomachs churn. "You're going to be the talk of the town," he sneered. "Living toilets, ready for anyone to use."

The girls looked around frantically, their eyes searching for an escape, for a glimmer of hope. But the street was eerily silent, the only sounds the distant sirens of the city and the squelch of their cum-filled pussies. They were trapped, their fates in the hands of this sadistic man.

"Please," Karina managed to gasp, her voice hoarse from screaming. "We'll do anything."

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Oh, I know you will," he said, his voice a dark caress. "You're going to be everyone's little sluts, aren't you?" He said.

The girls complied, their bodies trembling with fear and arousal. They couldn't believe what was happening to them, that their kink had led them to this dark, twisted place.

The news of their depraved activities in the gym had spread like wildfire, reaching every corner of the city. Men from all walks of life now sought them out, eager to use their bodies for their own perverse pleasures. Each day brought new faces, new cocks, new humiliations.

The streets were their new playground, where they were fucked by the homeless, criminals, and any kind of people their cries of pleasure and pain echoing through the alleyways. They had become the ultimate sex toys, available for anyone's use.

Their lives had become a never-ending cycle of degradation, each day a blur of sweat, cum, and piss. They had lost count of the number of times they had been filled and emptied, their pussies and asses stretched beyond their limits.

The regret grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder of their fall from grace. If only they had been able to control their desires, they wouldn't be the public sluts and toilets they had become.

Their days were spent on their knees, servicing the never-ending line of men who sought them out, their nights were even worse, as they were passed around like property, their bodies used and discarded without a second thought.

Their fantasies had become a prison, a nightmare they couldn't escape. They had become the very thing they had once dreamed of, but now, it was a reality they wished they could wake up from.

Their eyes held a haunting mix of desperation and lust, a testament to the depths they had sunk. They had no control, no say in what happened to them, their lives now dictated by the whims of the men who used them.

Each new act of debasement brought a fresh wave of pain, yet they couldn't help but crave more. The very thing that had brought them to this point had now become their undoing, a cycle they were trapped in with no end in sight.

Their cries for help fell on deaf ears, their pleas for mercy only serving to excite their users further. They were no longer Karina, Yujin, and Wonyoung, just three holes to be filled, three mouths to be used, three sets of tits to be played with.

And yet, amidst the pain and the humiliation, there was a dark thrill that pulsed through them, a need to be used, to be owned, to be filled with cum and piss. It was a part of them now, a twisted part that had grown too strong to ignore.

As the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, they became known as the gym sluts, the girls who would do anything for a taste of a black cock. They were the talk of the town, the legend that grew with every retelling, their degradation becoming a part of the fabric of the city's underbelly.

Their names were forgotten, their past lives a distant memory. They had become living embodiments of the darkest desires of the men who used them, their existence solely to satisfy the most depraved appetites.

The regret lingered, a constant presence in their minds, a reminder of what they had lost. But with each passing day, it grew fainter, replaced by a need to serve, to be used, to be filled with the very fluids that had once disgusted them.

Their bodies had become a canvas for the men's lust, a toilet for their cum and piss. They had become what they had once fantasized about, and the only thing they had left was the hope that one day, they might find a way out of the hell they had created for themselves.

[ktownshizzle]

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea. 

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva? 

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence. 

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding. 

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts. 

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent. 

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off. 

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time. 

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just... 

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse. 

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it. 

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue. 

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug. 

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp. 

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive. 

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step. 

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest. 

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?” 

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can. 

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all. 

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on. 

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest. 

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed. 

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does. 

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound. 

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak. 

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you. 

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind. 

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down. 

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts. 

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you. 

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms. 

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined.  Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to. 

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again. 

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet. 

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly. 

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him. 

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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[spookysanta]

The Stack Effect. (3/3) (MBJ)

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: smut

part three babies! enjoyyyy

She didn’t expect to feel nervous.

But as she walked the familiar path toward his trailer, lunch in hand and butterflies chewing through her stomach lining, it hit her that this time felt different.

Michael was back to himself.

No gold teeth. No silk shirts. No slow-drawl, slick-smiled Stack. Just Michael. Hoodie up, sweatpants low on his hips, head bent over a script.

She knocked anyway.

The door cracked open a few seconds later, his head peeking out. His smile was immediate.

“Twice in one week? You tryna spoil me or something?”

“Brought you lunch,” she said, lifting the bag.

“Mm.” He stepped aside, motioned her in. “Or you’re just missin’ me.”

She walked past him, trying not to inhale too deeply. He still smelled like set: cedar, sweat, heat. But cleaner now. Calmer.

Normal.

Except nothing about her thoughts were.

He shut the door. Locked it. Then leaned against it, arms crossed.

She set the food down on the little table but didn’t unpack it.

He watched her. Smirking.

“You weren’t this obsessed with my other characters,” he said slowly. “Why now?”

She blinked.

“Huh?”

He pushed off the door. Took a few steps forward.

“I’ve played all kinds of motherfuckers. You ain’t never looked at me like you were ready to risk it all in public. But Stack?”

Her face flushed.

“Stack had you folded. Blushing. Shaking. Needing.”

“Stack is…” She shook her head. “Different.”

Michael raised a brow. “How so?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

He stepped closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to keep eye contact.

“You ain’t got the words? Thought you were the one always teasing me about staying in character too long.”

She swallowed.

“Michael.”

He smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.

“Nah. You called him by name when you came. Twice.”

Her knees weakened.

He leaned in, nose brushing her temple.

“Now you’re bringin’ me lunch like you’re innocent. But I can see it. You still feel him in your body, don’t you?”

“I came to feed you,” she whispered.

“You did.” His lips ghosted her neck. “Now let me feed the part of you that’s starvin’.”

She didn’t have time to answer before his hands were on her hips, lifting her effortlessly to sit on the counter.

He stood between her thighs, mouth inches from hers.

“That character ain’t got shit on me,” he murmured. “You think he was bad? You ain’t seen obsessed yet.”

He kissed her like it hurt. Hands greedy, rough, dragging down the front of her shirt until skin met skin.

“You know why it’s different?” he said between kisses. “’Cause I’m the one who gets to keep you. Not him. Not the accent. Me.”

He bit down gently on her collarbone, made her gasp.

“He had his fun. Now it’s my turn.”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t let her breathe.

By the time he dropped to his knees, hoodie still on, eyes dark and locked on hers, she realized this wasn’t about proving himself.

It was possession.

And he was never giving her back.

Tags: @childishgambinaax @blackisy2k @hamzahsf4vg1rl @siasoup @heyyimmisunderstood

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[dior-luxury]

hiiiii hope you're having a good day! Can I request Idia, Azul, Ruggie, Jamil, Lilia, Ace + anyone else you like with a reader who has a crush on them but is utterly convinced there's no way he likes them back? Just "he's so cute and I love him but he's way out of my league, oh well back to daydreaming" Thank youuuu ~ 👾 nonnie

You Being Convinced They Don't Like You Back

( ✧ ) ────── pre-boyfriend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . ruggie . azul . jamil . idia . lilia

- [𝐩:𝐬] Self-deprecating thoughts / Low self-esteem . Mutual pining . Angst with a happy ending . Romantic insecurity . Fluff

Note: I literally am in LOVE with this prompt hello 🥹 thank you so much for requesting 👾 nonnie! I hope my writing exceeds your expectations ( ´ ω ` ) .

Ace Trappola

The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon, the hum of distant conversation muffled by the towering shelves of books and the occasional creak of an old wooden chair. You sat in the farthest corner, your favorite spot, hunched over your notebook but not really writing. Not really thinking, either.

You were doodling again—him, of course. The slightly messy hair that was always a shade redder in the sunlight, the crooked smirk that came out right before he teased someone (or charmed them), and those stupid little hearts he sometimes made with his hands just to be annoying. Ace Trappola.

You sighed and dropped your pencil, watching it roll off the desk. “Ugh, why is he so cute,” you mumbled under your breath, face down in your arms.

It wasn’t like he knew you existed in any special way. Sure, you were classmates, sometimes group partners, sometimes sparring partners in flight class. He joked with you a lot, yeah. But he joked with everyone. He winked at everyone. He didn’t look at you the way you looked at him—soft, lingering, completely lovesick.

You were convinced Ace belonged in a whole different universe than you. He was bold, charming, magnetic. And you? You were… fine. Okay. Passable. Not his type, whatever that was. So you kept it inside. You giggled with your friends about how cute he looked in his uniform, you wrote little daydreams in your journal and then crossed them out, and you tried to survive the actual conversations with him without letting the pink in your cheeks get too noticeable.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that Ace had been hovering outside the aisle for the past five minutes.

He’d come to return a book, seen you, and almost walked away. But your muttering had stopped him cold.

He leaned a little closer, his heartbeat just a bit too loud in his ears. Did you just call him cute? No way. You were probably talking about some manga character.

But then you sighed again and muttered, “He’d never like someone like me. Not when he’s... him.”

And something in Ace's chest twisted.

He stepped out casually, pretending like he hadn’t just eavesdropped on your heartbreak. “Yo,” he said, tossing the book on the return cart. “Didn’t know you talked to yourself. Should I be worried?”

You jolted upright, face turning crimson the moment you saw him. “A-Ace?!”

He leaned on the edge of your desk, eyes scanning your doodles. “Wow, that guy looks exactly like me,” he teased. “You got a little crush or something?”

You tried to cover the page, but it was too late. Panic surged in your chest, your throat tightening as every possible excuse dried up on your tongue.

Ace tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly into something softer. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Was that about me back there? What you said?”

You froze. Busted.

He laughed—gently, not the loud, showy kind. “You think I’m out of your league? That’s rich. You literally do everything better than me except math, and I still think about how you beat me in Spell Target last month.”

You blinked, stunned.

Ace grinned wider, leaning just a bit closer. “So... maybe I’ve got a little crush too. Don’t go writing me off like that next time, yeah?”

Ruggie Bucchi

It was late afternoon, and the Savannaclaw lounge was mostly empty—except for you, perched on the steps outside, and Ruggie, balancing a tray of snacks with a practiced hand. You’d offered to help, but he’d waved you off with a grin.

“Relax, I got this.”

You smiled politely, folding your arms tighter. Not that he’d notice the way your chest fluttered when he smiled like that. That sly, sleepy-eyed grin that made your stomach dip every time.

Ruggie was… everything you weren’t. Fast-talking, adaptable, clever, confident in a way you never could be. He made jokes even when Leona was glaring daggers. He knew how to turn scraps into something useful. And you? You were just you.

No way he’d be interested in someone who wasn’t cool, cunning, or at least a little dangerous. He needed someone who could keep up with his sharp tongue and trickster nature. Not someone like you who blushed too easily and got tongue-tied every time he looked your way.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve, sighing. “He’s way out of my league,” you whispered to no one.

Unbeknownst to you, Ruggie was returning from the lounge, just in time to hear that.

He paused in his step, the grin faltering as the words sank in.

Out of your league? Him?

He tilted his head, watching you. You looked… soft. Tired. Not just from today, but maybe from carrying that weight in your chest. The kind he knew too well. Ruggie bit the inside of his cheek and walked over quietly, plopping down beside you without a word.

You looked up, startled. “Oh! You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He offered you one of the sweet pastries he’d snagged from the kitchen. “You looked like you needed somethin’ sweet.”

You took it, hesitating. “Thanks…”

The silence lingered a moment too long. Then Ruggie said casually, “You know, I heard what you said.”

You froze.

Ruggie turned his head to look at you, his smile smaller now, more sincere. “You think I’m outta your league?” He snorted. “That’s a laugh. You’re the only one around here who’s nice to me without expecting somethin’ in return.”

You stared, lips parting, but no words came out.

“I notice things, y’know,” he continued, voice lower now. “How you bring extra snacks just in case someone forgets lunch. How you patch people up after training. How you always wave to Grim like he’s the main character or somethin’.”

You smiled weakly. “He thinks he is.”

Ruggie chuckled. “You’ve got no idea how easy it is to like you, do ya?”

The air went still.

He leaned a bit closer, a mischievous spark lighting back up in his eyes. “So, what d’you say we make this official? You stop pretendin’ I don’t like you, and I stop stealin’ snacks to get your attention. Deal?”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded—furiously.

And Ruggie, with a smug little grin, nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Knew you liked me, too.”

Azul Ashengrotto

The lounge was closed for the night, lights dimmed, the usual chatter of customers replaced by the quiet shuffle of papers and the gentle clink of glass as Azul organized the bar. You sat alone at one of the side tables—he’d offered to let you hang out while he finished work, a kind gesture wrapped in professionalism. You didn’t question it. You were just happy to be near him.

Azul was perfect. Not in an untouchable way, but in the dangerously magnetic way. His intelligence, his poise, the calculating way his eyes always seemed to know more than he let on. He could make a deal with a king and still get the better end of it. He ran a whole business while juggling classes and contracts and never once looked like he was struggling.

Meanwhile, you were just… you. No cunning. No genius intellect. Just someone who barely passed alchemy and still got nervous speaking in front of people. Azul was miles above your league.

So, you admired him from afar. You listened carefully when he spoke in class, hung onto his every word when he got passionate about potion theory, and then pretended not to ache when he’d smile politely and move on without knowing how he affected you.

Tonight was no different.

You watched him from behind your drink, your heart fluttering as he adjusted his glasses, sleeves rolled to his elbows. You sighed under your breath, “He’s so beautiful. And way out of my league. Oh well. Back to daydreaming…”

Azul looked up.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his mer ears were… sensitive. The words hit him harder than expected. You thought he was out of your league?

He swallowed hard, turning away quickly to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks. Was that a joke? Were you playing him? No, no—your voice had been too soft. Too sad.

He closed the ledger and made his way over to your table, rehearsing something casual to say. But he couldn’t do it. The usual charm slipped. He sat down across from you instead, unusually quiet.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said too quickly. Then, after a breath: “I overheard something just now.”

Your heart dropped.

“I didn’t mean to. But you said…” He paused, searching your face for any trace of irony. “You think I’m out of your league?”

You froze. Busted again. Why did the universe keep doing this to you?

Azul looked… uncertain. Vulnerable. His fingers tapped the edge of the table in a rare moment of nervous fidgeting. “You have no idea how intimidating you are to me.”

You blinked. “Me?!”

“Yes. You’re so—genuine. You smile without scheming. You care without a contract. That’s not something I’m used to.” His voice dropped, soft and serious. “And I’ve liked you for a while. But I didn’t think someone as… sincere as you could ever return that kind of feeling.”

Your chest clenched. “Azul, I… I do. I have. For a long time.”

He gave a breathless little laugh. “Then perhaps… a real date? No contracts, no business. Just us?”

You nodded, overwhelmed but glowing. And for once, Azul Ashengrotto looked flustered. Adorably so.

Jamil Viper

The sun was setting over Scarabia, painting the desert sky in shades of gold and crimson. You sat at the balcony edge of the dorm’s main building, legs dangling, fingers absentmindedly picking at your sleeve as you watched the horizon burn.

Jamil was training below—moving with that smooth, graceful precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much attention he was getting. But Jamil never asked for attention. He earned it quietly, consistently, and refused to let it change him.

You had it bad. So bad it was kind of pathetic.

He was calm, composed, mysterious in the way that made your heart race just a little. But also kind, thoughtful, and far too selfless for someone with his level of talent. You loved the way he took care of others, even when they didn’t realize he was doing it. You loved the way his eyes lit up when no one was watching and he actually let himself enjoy something.

And of course, you’d convinced yourself he’d never return the feeling.

You were ordinary. Not someone with elegance carved into every step. Not someone with a voice that could silence a room. You were nice, and dependable, but not the kind of person who got someone like Jamil Viper.

You sighed and murmured to yourself, “He’s so cool and so out of my league… but I love him anyway. Guess I’ll just keep dreaming.”

Unfortunately, your voice carried.

Jamil paused mid-step, hearing your words. The rhythm of his movements faltered for just a second. He glanced up, spotted you on the balcony, and blinked.

Your eyes met. Panic.

He jogged up the steps—not fast, but direct. Intentional.

You stood, heart racing. “J-Jamil, I didn’t know you—”

“I heard you,” he said, his voice even, but there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “What you said.”

You turned crimson. “That was—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not for you to—”

He held up a hand gently. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nodded, too stunned to speak.

“I’ve spent a long time trying not to like anyone,” he said slowly. “Because it’s easier. Because I don’t get to have things I want. People expect me to stay in the background, to be useful—not to be seen.”

Your breath hitched.

“But then you came along. You’re kind. You notice things most people overlook. You see me.” He looked away for a second, a rare flicker of vulnerability. “And I didn’t think I was allowed to want someone like you.”

You were stunned. “Jamil… I see you because I care. I’ve always cared.”

He looked at you again, softer now. “Then maybe we’ve both been idiots.”

You laughed shakily. “Definitely.”

Jamil stepped closer, a real smile pulling at his lips. “Then let’s stop pretending. I like you. And I’m not letting you drift away into daydreams anymore.”

Your heart soared. Maybe… just maybe… you were enough for him all along.

Idia Shroud

The glow of the computer screen lit your face as you sat cross-legged on the floor of Ignihyde's rec room—aka Idia's fortress. You’d been invited to a co-op gaming session, not unusual since you’d proven yourself in battle simulators, strategy MMOs, and the occasional horror VR run.

But what was unusual… was that Idia had invited you.

You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. He was probably just being friendly. Maybe he appreciated that you didn’t make fun of his Otaku shrine or that time he totally short-circuited a project trying to install AI voice lines of a waifu into Ortho.

Still, every time he laughed softly at one of your dumb jokes, or his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a controller—you felt that dizzy, heart-thumping feeling in your chest. And you reminded yourself, for the millionth time:

“He’s brilliant. Cool in a mysterious, tech-wizard way. That anime hair glows. He’s basically a boss-level character. And me? I’m just a side quest.”

So you kept your feelings locked behind your own firewall and resigned yourself to the background.

Tonight was no different. After you won a particularly chaotic match, Idia leaned back in his chair, hoodie half-draped over his head, giving you one of those rare, sheepish smiles. “Y-you’re really good at this… I mean, I knew you were decent, but like… whoa. T-totally NPC-crushing it.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “Guess I just like playing with you…”

He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but if you’d been watching closely (and you always were), you’d notice the way his avatar just… idled.

You were about to awkwardly fill the silence when you heard it—his voice, quiet, uncertain. “You know, I always thought you were… like… out of my league.”

Your brain lagged.

“Wait—what?”

Idia pulled the hood further over his head, hair flickering in shades of anxious pink. “I mean, you’re normal. Like, good at talking to people, and helping Ortho with projects, and you actually listen when I go off on anime world-building lore instead of hitting skip like everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “But I thought I was just the sidekick here! I mean—you’re… you. I figured there was no way someone like you could like someone like me.”

He glanced up, eyes wide and glowing faintly. “No. You’re not ‘someone like’ anything. You’re just… you. And you’re kind of my favorite player two.”

Silence stretched.

And then he blurted, fast and fumbling, “So—uh, do you wanna maybe do a… real date co-op thing? Like a—non-digital questline?”

You beamed. “I’d love to.”

And somewhere in the corner, Ortho’s little scanner lit up green. “Successful confession: confirmed.”

Lilia Vanrouge

The Diasomnia garden was especially quiet in the evening, the moonlight bathing the stone paths in silver as soft wind rustled the leaves. You often came here after a long day—it was peaceful, and you could just… think.

And of course, he was often there.

Lilia.

Sometimes humming an old lullaby. Sometimes practicing aerial flips. Sometimes just tending to the strange, glowing plants with that serene little smile. He was enigmatic, ageless, playful in a way that made your heart ache. He flirted with everyone, joked like he’d seen centuries of stories unfold—and maybe he had.

You were utterly, hopelessly, in love with him.

But you’d buried it. Because how could someone like Lilia Vanrouge—mysterious, powerful, ancient, and radiant—ever love someone like you?

“He’s basically immortal. I’m mortal, awkward, and sometimes trip over nothing. He’s been alive since kingdoms rose and fell. I’m just trying to pass my midterms without dying of stress. He probably sees me like a cute stray cat or something.”

So instead of confessing, you smiled, nodded when he teased you, and let the daydreams pile up where he couldn’t see.

Tonight, you didn’t notice him approach until he sat beside you, quiet and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Lost in thought, little one?”

You startled slightly, then laughed. “Yeah. Just… life stuff.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, gaze flicking over your face like he was reading something written across your skin. “You've been sighing a lot lately.”

You tried to deflect. “Guess I’ve just been thinking about someone.”

His eyes twinkled. “Ah… a crush, perhaps?”

You flushed. “Maybe.”

Lilia tilted his head, fangs barely visible behind his grin. “And what is this mysterious someone like?”

You bit your lip. “He’s… incredible. Playful but wise. Mysterious. Totally out of my league.”

That grin faded—just slightly. “Out of your league?”

You nodded, sighing. “Yeah. He’s someone who probably sees a million people every day and never notices someone like me. Which is fine. I’m just… daydreaming. That’s all.”

Lilia was silent for a beat. And then he did something you hadn’t expected.

He took your hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “for someone who’s lived as long as I have… very few people surprise me anymore. But you? You always do. With your honesty, your kindness… and the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

You froze.

“I do notice,” he added, voice lowering, soft as dusk. “And I would be a fool not to return the favor.”

You stared, eyes wide. “Wait… you—?”

“Yes.” He smiled, a touch bittersweet. “And I’ve been waiting for the right time to say it. But it seems we’ve both been sitting in our little corners of longing, haven’t we?”

You nodded, heart hammering.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to your knuckles. “Well then… perhaps it’s time we step out of the daydream.”