#like making the bed in the morning before work

[okaylikeschaewon]

Chapter 10: Choices

~6k words, male reader, smut

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Sakura yawned, rubbing her eyes.

“Kkura I’m fucking scared.”

She took one proper look at you and that was enough to let the drowsiness instantly fade from her face. The fact that it was the break of dawn and that she had just rolled out of bed a moment earlier seemingly no longer mattered. Shrugging her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, Sakura shut the door behind her and stepped out into the crisp morning air, pulling her robe tight around her body.

“What happened?” she asked softly, her beautiful, round eyes widened. Her expression was warm, despite the chilly morning air.

“What if she doesn’t take it well?” you asked, your breath catching in the cold and your teeth clattering.

“Let’s slow down for a second,” Sakura began shivering. “But first, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, right,” Sakura frowned. “Car?”

“That works,” you agreed, turning around and leading Sakura towards where you parked.

Sakura got into the passenger seat as you turned on the car.

“Much better,” Sakura shivered, holding her hands up to the vents as you started blasting the heat. “Alright, now do you want to explain what you’re talking about?”

“I slept on it, like you said,” you began anxiously. “I can’t shake my head around… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Sakura sighed, her eyes shimmering with compassion. Her gaze was soft and understanding, radiating a soothing energy that promised there would be no judgment on her end.

“You’re going to need to clarify who you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. It’s Zuha. I can’t get that girl out of my head. I swear ever since she confessed, I’ve felt something inside me that I just haven’t been able to shake.”

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

“Isn’t it fucked up though?” you raised your voice unintentionally, nearly shouting at the girl without even realizing it. “Sorry, I just mean like, for Chaewon, I feel awful. I still really love her, I think, but I think I also have feelings for Kazuha? I don’t know, nothing makes sense to me anymore, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not here to tell you what’s right and wrong,” Sakura replied calmly. “I love both of those girls with all of my heart.” 

“And I still have a lot of love for both of them.”

“But you can’t see both of them romantically,” Sakura smiled gently. “There’s no real nice way to put it, you have to pick one.”

“It just feels wrong,” you let out an exasperated sigh. “Why can’t I just have them both?”

“It’s one thing to sleep with both of them, but it’s another to have feelings for both,” Sakura chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be fair to either girl if you tried keeping both.”

It sucked to hear, even if for just a moment you tried to trick yourself into thinking it would be possible. “You’re right, I know, it just blows.”

“And I’m not telling you which one you should pick, that’s your decision,” Sakura continued. “Lucky you, by the way, in the grand scheme of things there are worse choices to be left with.”

“I know, I’m making my own life difficult.”

“I’m not saying it’s an easy choice.”

“But I have to make it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sakura pursed her lips as her expression bled empathy. “They both really like you, more than you probably know.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“My bad,” Sakura chuckled before her expression turned more serious. “If it makes you feel better, I know better than anyone that you’ll do right by Chaewon even if you decide to move onto Kazuha.”

Better than anyone. Something about that comment didn’t exactly sit right with you, and immediately you figured something was wrong.

“Sakura?” you gave her a look of confusion as you fixated on that one line.

“I’m fine,” her voice cracked as she quickly turned away from you to look out the passenger side window.

“I… are you…” your voice trailed off, and it was like there was a rock in your throat. All of a sudden you couldn’t speak, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for Sakura’s shoulder with your hand.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated firmly, pulling her shoulder away from your touch, still staring out the window. “Just… give me a second, please.”

“Sure, let me know,” you leaned back slowly.

This couldn’t be much further from what you expected the conversation would be like. It all happened too fast, you were still trying to comprehend how it turned into this. You kept your gaze fixated on Sakura’s back, confused and worried about her, forgetting about your own dilemma for the moment.

She brought one of her hands up to her face, presumably wiping her eyes with the cuff of her robe, followed by a couple of silent sobs. Her body trembled just enough for you to notice, as if she was still outside in the cold, but the car was as warm as it could be. She let out one final sniffle, shrugging her shoulders as she took a deep breath and turned back to face you.

“Sorry about that,” she stated, her beautiful round eyes stained scarlet. “As I was saying-”

“Sakura,” you cut in, barely hearing your own voice over your thumping heart. “Are you okay?”

A shaky exhale escaped her lips as her brow furrowed. Her lip began to tremble, and her eyelids began blinking rapidly. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sakura laughed as a couple of tears flew down her face. “About how pathetic I am? How it takes one mention of our past to send me down a fucking rabbit hole all night?”

“What are you talking about? You’re not pathetic-”

“Aren’t I?” she shouted, her voice unstable and shaky, each syllable wavering and threatening collapse. “I bet you didn’t think about it at all after we stopped talking last night.”

“Of course I did,” you responded unconvincingly, fully aware that she knew you were lying.

“Yeah? Did you also spend all night looking at pictures? Pictures that I refused to delete? Even though I told myself I would?” Sakura snapped back. “That’s what I thought.”

It was tough to hear and you were admittedly at a loss for words, staring at Sakura as she was on the verge of fresh tears. It hurt so unbelievably bad to see her like this. You’ve known this girl for years and seeing her in this state was a rare occurrence, but it was so fucking difficult whenever it happened. You hated it. You hated every second of what was happening in this car.

“I’m fine,” Sakura choked, still struggling to get the words out. “Being reminded last night just really had me thinking about those days.”

“I’m sorry-”

“It took me a really long time to forgive you,” Sakura confessed, ignoring your apology. “Like, a really fucking long time.”

“I had no idea-”

“I once told Zuha I was going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows. “Understandable, very reasonable.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sakura scoffed. “What you did was… honestly it’s been long enough, I’m going to say it. What you did was fucked up.”

“Excuse me? We both agreed to end things when we ended them,” you finally found your voice and defended yourself. “How can you put all the blame on me like that?”

“You’re right, we both agreed,” Sakura retaliated with her voice full of rage. “I’m talking about the reason you gave and what you did right after.”

“You mean-”

“Yes you fucking asshole,” Sakura interjected. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? And it’s not like she knew a thing, I made sure to never tell her, because it wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve to have that in her mind.”

“I didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did, you know this. It just… things just happened the way they did, no one could have seen it coming.”

“I. Fucking. Know,” Sakura sighed with exasperation, frustratingly agreeing as if she knew she had no other option. “Of course I fucking know, I’m the one who basically…” she sighed deeper with heavy pent up frustration behind her before adding in a nearly-silent whisper. “But it still really hurt.”

“I’m really sorry Kkura, I-”

“Never thought about it? Had no idea? Why would you? You had a pretty girl obsessed with you while all I had was fucking nothing, nothing but the pleasure of watching you replace me in less than… however long it was. I don’t even give a fuck about that part, it’s just the reason you gave me.”

She was right, to a degree. It’s not that you hadn’t thought about it, but you clearly did not realize how much you put her through, or perhaps you were just too much of a dickhead to care. She deserved better, and it took you far too long to realize this, you hurt the girl who was there for you far more than you ever could have known.

“Kkura-”

“Alright, fine, maybe I did care about that part as well, maybe I felt like what we had wasn’t very special if you could replace me that quickly. I don’t know, but I could have overlooked it,” Sakura kept going, not letting you get a word in. “Really it’s probably my fault, I could have said no when you asked me that night, I could have just ignored your text, never set you up on that date.”

“That’s not fair at all, no one could have ever predicted that night to turn into what it did. Chaewon wasn’t even in the picture at that point. It wasn’t even supposed to be her, you know this, things just kinda fell into place after.���

“Obviously I do, I set it up,” Sakura snapped at you. “And we both know damn well how I don’t have it in me to ignore you like that, but I probably should have.”

“Sakura, I know I hurt you,” you began as you chose your next words carefully. “But you know my first date with Chaewon was before the announcement, right? I had no idea she was going to debut again, she didn’t tell me until way later.”

“Even if you knew, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it still matters,” you replied softly. “The reason I gave you was genuine, and I don’t think I would have gone forward with Chaewon had I known about the group. You believe me, right?”

She paused for a moment to think about what you said. “Yeah, I do, and honestly I don’t really blame you, I know I don’t,” Sakura replied, her voice losing the anger and being replaced with a touch of dejection - one that stung much more than when she was yelling at you. “I get it, I saw the way you looked at her. It was clear as day you were madly in love with her, and you two were just so perfect together.”

“That must have made it even harder on you,” you muttered, your vision starting to blur. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sakura replied bluntly. “How could I be upset? Chaewon was happier than I had ever seen her. I was happy for her. Of course I was. It’s not her fault.”

Words once again escaped your brain.

“As mad as I was, I was also secretly happy for you as well,” Sakura confessed with a smile stained with melancholy. “It may sound stupid, but even though we didn’t work out, deep down I still wanted to see you happy. Oh, who am I fucking kidding, it wasn’t that deep down. I wanted you to be happy, even when you hurt me. Pathetic as fuck, right?”

“And I also want to see you happy, does that make me pathetic too?” you replied, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I hope you know I really mean that, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. And my reason wasn’t bullshit, I swear I really felt that way, I just wasn’t expecting that whole thing to unfold the way it did.”

“I know, I don’t think either of us expected it, I didn’t even know it was an option,” Sakura mumbled quietly under her breath. “I promise I never held it against Chaewon.”

“Just against me.”

“Only at the start,” Sakura laughed softly as the tears finally spilled. “You know how I said I know you’d do right by Chaewon? Yeah, as much as you hurt me, there’s a reason I didn’t actually murder you in your sleep.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, but sometimes things happen,” Sakura smiled faintly, her eyes glistening as she fought the losing battle against the wave of emotion threatening to break through. “Seeing how happy you made Chaewon made it a lot easier for me to forgive you.”

Just like that, tears also began flowing down your face in a way you couldn’t control.

“That… wasn’t supposed to be…” Sakura stammered quickly.

“Sakura I’m so-” you choked up before finishing your thought.

“It’s okay,” Sakura whispered, leaning over and wrapping you up in her arms. “I promise it’s okay. I’m here with you.”

It took you a few moments - squeezing Sakura tenderly - before you were able to compose yourself again. You let go of her slowly and another wave of warmth shot through your body when you saw her face tear-soaked.

“It’s all behind us now,” Sakura said softly. “Just like I was able to forgive you, I’m confident Chaewon will, too.”

“Does that mean you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Sakura quickly backtracked. “This situation is different.”

“Isn’t this one worse?” you asked nervously. “Fuck, Sakura I don’t know anymore, maybe this is all a mistake.”

“I don’t think you should doubt yourself, just listen to what your heart’s telling you. It’s also kinda too late to back out now, think about Zuha.”

“You really think so?”

“I don’t see a better option, but it’s definitely complicated,” Sakura replied nervously. “Just be thoughtful when it’s time to tell Chaewon, if you’re mean to her, maybe I will have to murder you in your sleep.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you half-smiled. “But let’s be honest, we both know I could never hurt that girl on purpose, ever.”

“You probably thought that about… actually let’s not go there again,” Sakura returned your smile half-heartedly. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

“Fingers crossed,” Sakura chuckled, wiping her face clean as she opened the door.

The two of you stepped into the brisk air once more. You walked around your car to Sakura who was waiting for you. Without speaking a single word, the two of you embraced in a tight hug, properly this time.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into her shoulder, the coldness of the morning being completely replaced by the warmth of Sakura’s hug.

“Good luck with everything, I’m always here for you if I can help with anything,” Sakura whispered back before letting go of you and shooting you a nervous glance. “When do you plan on talking to them?”

The talk with Sakura ended up creeping just a bit of doubt into your decision, but your mind was still set. You knew, as much as you didn’t want to do it, this conversation had to happen at some point soon because the longer you waited the worse it would become. With that in mind, you returned Sakura’s nervous expression with a look of determination.

“Right now.”

—

“Hey,” you whispered, peeking your head through the door to see if she was awake.

“Oh! I thought it was Kkura,” Kazuha blurted out as she looked up from her phone. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I came to see you, actually,” you answered while opening the door a bit more. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah of course,” she replied, sitting up in her bed and putting her phone aside. “Come, sit. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow at you as if you were an idiot. “I pieced together that much,” she giggled softly. “Did you not sleep well? Your eyes are a bit red.”

“Oh no that’s just-”

“You don’t have pinkeye do you?” Kazuha leaned back away from you. “I really don’t want to wear an eye patch, not during promos.”

“No, Zuha, it’s not pinkeye,” you smiled meekly.

“Okay good!” she giggled again, leaning back in and cuddling up next to you before quickly pulling away in fear. “Uh, sorry, that was… I probably shouldn’t do stuff like that right now with the whole… sorry…”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” you scooted closer to her as her face turned a shade light pink. “Forget everything else for a moment, because things are a bit complicated, but just listen to me. I like you, Zuha. A lot.”

“Oh,” Kazuha blushed even harder. “T-Thank you? I also like you, a lot.”

“I want to make you my girlfriend.”

“What?” Kazuha began blinking rapidly as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “But what about-”

“I told you, please just for a moment forget everything else, we’ll figure that stuff out,” you cut her off. “Just tell me, would you like that?”

Kazuha pondered your words. Unknown to you, her heart was beating harder than it ever has before. “I… I would…” she muttered before smiling brightly at you with her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I would.”

Just like that, you knew you made the correct choice. The way she looked at you, the way you felt right now, everything was perfect. You wanted nothing more in life than this girl sitting next to you, that precious smile and those pure eyes. Your insides were burning up in a warmth of comfort and love that you didn’t know you felt towards this girl, all of a sudden it just came rushing in. That gnawing sensation you’ve had inside you ever since her confession, it finally made sense.

Unfortunately, the feeling only lasted for a fleeting moment before reality came crashing in and Chaewon popped into your mind again.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuha looked concerned as she immediately noticed your shift. She pulled you into her arms, just like Sakura did earlier. “I guess we need to address the elephant in the room.”

“How am I supposed to tell her?” you whispered, pulling away from Kazuha slowly. “I want this, I really do, but I don’t want to hurt Chaewon.”

“And I don’t either,” Kazuha agreed as worry filled her expression. “Should we talk to her together?”

“You think that’s better? It’s a bit of a unique situation, I don’t really know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” Kazuha smiled softly. “You’d be my first relationship, remember?”

“I guess we’ll be traversing some uncharted territory together,” you smiled back at her before leaning in.

Without thinking, you kissed her. As soon as your lips touched, you froze, regretting and realizing this probably wasn’t the right time - but then you felt Kazuha kiss back. You let her take control as she ended up on top of you, her lips pressed softly against yours.

“Zuha,” you whispered into her mouth.

“You asked me to forget everything else, just for a moment,” she whispered back before kissing you again. “Can we really forget it all, please?”

“You mean?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she sat up and began taking off her shorts. “Can we?”

Your mind went a bit hazy as you thought back to the other night. The memories of how good Kazuha felt flooded into your brain.

“Fuck it,” you also began lowering your pants before you flipped Kazuha onto her back and spread her legs.

“Is this wrong?” she asked, looking up at you with her hair framing her face as if she was some sort of angel laying there beneath you.

“Probably,” you shrugged as you pulled her underwear to the side. “We could stop, we don’t have to do this right now.”

“No!” her voice cracked, immediately followed by an intense red glow of her cheeks. “I just mean… uh…”

“Don’t explain, I understand,” you smiled down at her as you lined yourself up. “Whatever happens in this room this morning, it’s between us and only us, let’s agree to put everything else on pause, alright?”

“I’d like that,” Kazuha nodded at you before spreading her legs a bit wider. “Go slow?”

“Let me know,” you whispered back as you pressed yourself forward carefully. You leaned in close, slipped your hands under Kazuha’s body, and pressed your mouth to her neck, kissing it softly as she flexed her body. “Try to relax, if you can.”

“It’s really fucking tight,” Kazuha whispered, arching her back.

“Should I stop?”

Kazuha hesitated, taking a couple deep breaths before speaking. “No, not yet, just… just slowly…”

“Okay,” you moved up a bit and began lifting Kazuha’s shirt up.

She helped you take it off, exposing her perky tits, letting a sweet moan escape her lips as you pressed your mouth to her chest.

“Oh that’s nice,” she whispered as you started moving your hips. “Good, but still really tight.”

“Hold on,” you moved your hips back and pulled out. “How about we slow down even more?”

Kazuha bit her lip. “I’m sorry, for some reason I’m more nervous this time.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly while bringing your fingers between her legs. With delicate and deliberate movements, you tried your best to ease her nerves, slowly pressing where she was most sensitive. “We can take our time, or we can try again another time, it’s up to you.”

“How about a different position?” Kazuha suggested as she pressed her fingers down on top of yours and pressed them down a bit harder. “But this feels nice.”

“Yeah? Should we just keep doing this?” you asked before leaning into her again and kissing her collarbone.

“This feels really nice,” Kazuha moaned softly as she pressed her fingers even harder, guiding your hand around her pussy.

Your fingers began sliding easier as time passed. The gentle sound of wetness, accompanied by Kazuha’s eyes shutting and her features softening, put you into a state of ease. It was working, and you didn’t want to stop. You had her entire body relaxing, you could almost see each and every fiber of Kazuha’s toned muscles relax.

She began moaning in a musical-like tone, one that screamed class and innocence with just a touch of naughty. It fit her so well, that pretty - unbelievably pretty - face. Even as she scrunched up her expression, she just looked so fucking pretty. You could stare at her all day.

While this was going on, the pressure building up in your cock was becoming too much. You couldn’t help but start stroking yourself to the view, trying to relax your own body as Kazuha began squirming beneath your fingers. It took a lot of self control, you knew that you could finish in just moments if you let yourself go, but right now you were more concerned with how Kazuha felt.

“You’re so beautiful,” you muttered softly under your breath as Kazuha’s body began trembling. He moans crescendoed, that beautiful voice of hers piercing your ears, but despite the increase in pitch, she stayed quiet. Elegant, in a way, even as she started cumming on your fingers, the epitome of grace and tenderness.

“I want it,” Kazuha moaned, fluttering her eyes open as she let go of your hand.

“What were you thinking? You wanna try being on top again?”

“No,” Kazuha smiled before pulling you closer. “Just like this, I want to see you, to kiss you. Is that fine?”

“Absolutely,” you gasped as Kazuha spread her legs a bit wider for you and took hold of your cock. She gave you a couple of soft strokes before rubbing her thumb against your tip, pressing against the little glob of precum. “That sounds perfect.”

With your cock in hand, you slid forward between her legs, pressing your tip against her entrance.

“Come on,” Kazuha replied while spreading herself even more, showing off her flexibility. “I need this.”

“So do I,” you muttered as you eased your cock into her pussy.

This time was a million times better than last time. She was still perfectly tight, but her pussy accepted your cock beautifully. The warmth and snugness hugged your cock like a blanket, bringing you unmatched comfort and sensation. She had the most ideal pussy.

She was like a flower, her soft and delicate curves moist to your touch. There was this warmth, this allure, that kept you captivated. You were entranced by Kazuha’s body, so much so that you felt this irresistible urge of greediness within you.

As carefully as you could, you grabbed Kazuha’s neck from behind and began kissing her deeply. Once you started, you pressed your thumb against her clit, making little circles along her skin. Your tongue slipped past her lips, gently intertwining and mixing against hers, while you worked her entire body.

“You feel so good,” you whispered as you leaned away from the kiss.

“Give it to me,” Kazuha pleaded with her eyes wide. “Please.”

So you picked up the tempo, pushing your hips harder, pressing your cock deeper. You slowly broke down that layer of delicateness that you viewed Kazuha through - her expression was basically begging for it. The more you fucked Kazuha, the harder you went, and the better it felt.

At this point, your thrusts had lost almost all degrees of tenderness, and both your hands had found their way to Kazuha’s hips. She took it well, bracing herself as you pressed your fingers into her skin and slammed your cock against her pussy. She showed no signs of anything other than raw pleasure as she took your cock over and over.

If she felt good, you felt fucking amazing. You lightened the grip you had on her hips as you slowed down your thrusting. This wasn’t a moment you wanted to rush, but you could only slow down so much - your body wouldn’t let you stop completely, it was out of your control. Still, you made do, sliding your hands up Kazuha’s body and giving her tits a few little squeezes. Her body was fucking amazing.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were too close to hold back. Despite your best efforts, it was already too late, so you took hold of Kazuha’s hips once more, pushing down on Kazuha’s body and shoving your cock into her as hard and fast as you could. Kazuha’s moans filled your ears as she shut her eyes and arched her back beneath you.

She looked so fucking good right now, even as your vision was going blurry. You held on for just a bit longer, fighting back any fatigue as your cock throbbed harder than ever. Her warm pussy felt better than heaven in this moment, and with a couple of final thrusts and grunts, you began launching your cum deep inside her pussy.

“Zuha,” you grunted a final time as your body gave up, collapsing onto her.

The next few moments had you in a trance as you let your cock pulse inside Kazuha’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around your body, rubbing your back softly.

“You feel so good,” Kazuha whispered against your ear. “Oh fuck, you feel so damn good, cum for me, fill me up.”

Such gentle words when delivered through her voice, but she was driving you insane right now. You almost felt paralyzed inside her as your cock just kept on spilling cum again and again, the pulsing felt like it went forever. It took so much strength for you to finally, carefully ease yourself out of Kazuha’s body. Even lifting yourself up off her was a task.

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” you mumbled as you pulled out, leaving your cum spilling between Kazuha’s legs as you reached for some tissues. “One second.”

“Wow,” Kazuha muttered as she gently rubbed herself, spreading your cum around, playing with it between her fingers. “That was something.”

“Something good or something not good?” you asked as you sat back down on the bed next to her.

“Something amazing,” Kazuha smiled softly. “But also a bit inappropriate.”

“If it makes you feel better, Chaewon technically wanted me to do this,” you carefully wiped her inner thighs clean before tossing the tissues away. “Although it still feels a bit wrong.”

“Oh,” Kazuha turned her head away from you.

“Not you, that felt amazing,” you quickly pulled her into your arms for a hug before grabbing her by both shoulders and staring tenderly into her eyes. “Zuha, let there be no confusion, that was fucking perfect.”

“Right, sorry, I guess I’m still just a bit…” her voice tapered off as she looked up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“You’re. Perfect. And. Amazing,” you whispered, kissing her neck between each word. “It’s totally natural to be a bit-”

“Sensitive?” Kazuha finished your sentence. “Because I am, I’ll admit it.”

“And that’s completely okay. What I said was stupidly phrased. I’m sorry,” you wrapped an arm tightly around Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her to sit next to you, and leaned against her head. “Things are just messy, but we'll figure it out. Together.”

“I hope so,” Kazuha sighed softly. Her hand began exploring your thigh, inching towards your shaft slowly until she gently caressed it with her fingertips. “I wish there was some sort of way that we could do this without all the mess.”

“Zuha, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” her voice faded softly and she unwrapped your arm from her shoulder, leaning away from you and turning towards you. “Okay, this might sound stupid since you call me Zuha all the time, but I loved that. This time it felt… different?”

“I’m glad,” you smiled as a wave of warmth flooded your body. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” you kissed the top of her head. “But one thing - do not call me daddy.”

“Oh no I could never,” Kazuha agreed quickly, sounding completely put off just by the thought of it as she rested her head against your body again. “I guess we should probably talk about boundaries and stuff at some point.”

“We have a lot to talk about, but maybe we should wait until…”

“Until after you talk to Chaewon?”

“Yeah, I think,” you replied as your mind drifted into thought, trying to figure out how to go about things, gently stroking Kazuha’s hair. “Hey, I thought you said we should both talk to her together?”

“Well, I think you got it, I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say,” you sighed. “Zuha, do you think this might cause problems with the group dynamic?”

“Truthfully? At first, yeah, I did,” Kazuha answered quietly. “But then I got to thinking.”

There was a pause, a bit longer than you expected. Kazuha lifted and turned herself slightly so that she could look up at you.

“And?” you encouraged her to continue as the anticipation grew.

“Promise you’ll keep this between us?”

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Zuha, yes, I know. Not a soul.”

“Alright,” she bit her lip nervously. “I think there might have been a bit of… something… between Sakura and Chaewon at the very beginning.”

“Oh?” you waited for her to continue as you thought back to what Sakura told you in the car earlier.

“Look, I met them a bit after everyone else, but I could tell there was some sort of… resentment? I don’t exactly know, and maybe it was just because we were all getting to know each other.”

“Well, most of you were.”

“So you see what I’m saying?” Kazuha pursed her lips. “Chaewon and Sakura barely talked. I never understood it since they knew each other already, but then, seemingly overnight, the two of them became closer than ever. I don’t know if the others ever noticed it.”

“Chaewon never gave me details, but I sort of know around when this happened,” you explained. “She told me she spent a night with Sakura, and I didn’t really ask questions.”

“Right. Anyway, the reason I brought this up is because I really think no matter how the conversation with her goes, as a group we’ll get through things, we always do.”

Her words were reassuring at least, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit better. “Thank you, really.”

Then, you leaned in, but before you could kiss her, Kazuha lunged up towards you and pressed her lips against yours, catching you a bit by surprise. She kissed you aggressively until you fell onto your back with her on top of you. It felt like this kiss would go on forever, and maybe it would have if it weren’t for the knock on the door.

“I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I really need to get ready!” Sakura's voice came through the door.

---

A/N:

I posted a poll and based on the first day responses, Dating Seraphs was in the lead. Ask and you shall receive!

The Kazuha arc continues! Maybe? Probably? I guess next chapter will have more answers. The talk with Chaewon, the history with Sakura, sex with Kazuha, there's so much to cover in the next few chapters! Also, there's a cameo appearance coming soon that I can't imagine anyone will be able to guess because I don't know if I've ever talked about this idol, but we'll see how popular she is among my readers (ex-izone member). I'll give this chapter at least a few days to marinate before my next post.

Based on how things are going in my writing world and the initial responses to that poll, Dating Seraphs needs attention. My next post will probably either be Debauchery p2 or something in the roommates universe, followed by Dating Seraphs ch11, and then most likely I'll give Twice some love and post an update to that story. Of course, this is subject to change!

Feedback, requests, messages, comments, asks, whatever you feel like sending, feel free. I'm a bit more active these days with writing stuff, but just please be considerate if you're going to send something. I've gotten a few questionable DMs recently. Use common sense!

[ramp-it-up]

Claim

Summary: Bucky's not the boss of you. But what is he?

Word count: 2.2 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

A/N: I saw Thunderbolts*! Definitely on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm, but can be read alone!

This should have no spoilers of consequence.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Protective Bucky, feral Bucky, dom Bucky, Bucky with the dirty mouth, reader tries to be a brat, but well, Bucky, kitchen sex, wall sex, allusion to nipple play, f receiving oral, and anal, raw p in v, praise kink, SIZE KINK, after care, the "what are we" discussion, tiny bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, also Boss, kinda. Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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Bucky flew in because you weren’t taking care of yourself. 

There were too many late nights grading papers, too many skipped lunches to tutor your students, and too many weekends you couldn’t make it up DC because you were giving time to everyone but yourself. You were overtired, cranky, and out of groceries.

When Bucky called, you told him you were going to bed early and would shop after the pancake fundraiser in the morning. Then, because you couldn’t help it, you reminded him he wasn’t your boss.

Hell, he wasn’t even your boyfriend.

That was the problem.

You and Bucky met, fell in lust, flirted on the phone, and hooked up once (several times) during a whirlwind weekend in DC. You hesitated just as hard as he did to put a label on things, but tonight, your feelings were in the way. You hung up on Bucky with a lump in your throat, curled up on the couch, and passed out at 5:16 PM.

At 9:06 PM, you woke to the sound of your front door opening.

And there he was, Bucky Barnes in a Brooklyn hoodie, grey sweats and a scowl on his too-handsome face. His hair flopped into those gorgeous eyes chaotically and your heart beat double time when you saw him.

He had bags of food, a backpack, wine, and righteous indignation.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“Sam gave me a lift,” he muttered as he pushed past you to the kitchen.

You stood by your open door, frozen, blinking as reality caught up.  

Winter Soldier. Congressman Barnes. Besties with Captain America.

Oh, right. That guy.

You closed the door and shook your head as you followed him inside the apartment that he’d never been in before, but was now taking over.

He complained about you running yourself down as he unboxed the food and watched you eat like a hawk, then ran you a bath.

“Yes, Boss,” you replied to his back as he retreated into your bathroom. 

How did he know the layout of your place? You shook your head again, laughing, because of course he did. When you stood to clear your plate, Bucky took the dishes from your hands.

The standoff began. You glared. He glared harder.

You, because he wasn’t the boss of you, him, because you’d sassed him for caring. The problem was that his glare was sexy as hell and now you were wet.

Bucky read you and chuckled, then his eyes dropped to your body in your zip up hoodie, tank top, and short shots, then back to glaring at the saucy look on your face. 

“Oh, I’ll boss you, Charm. Don’t even get me started.” 

You felt the heat rise to your face but…you couldn’t help it. You wanted to push him, because you knew why he was so grumpy. He was concerned about you.

And very, very horny. 

It had been a month since you’d seen him in DC. 

On anyone else this possessiveness would be annoying, on Bucky, it was so damn cute. But why? 

What claim did he have on you?

The bulge inside his sweats was so enormous it looked like someone stuffed a giant sausage down there. Yikes. You’d almost forgotten how massive he was. You wanted to tease him because there was something empowering and fun about having him entirely at your mercy. 

“How, Congressman? How exactly will you boss me?” 

Bucky cocked his head, challenging you with his devil-blue eyes. 

“You want to know how?” 

His jaw was clenched and he looked almost dangerous, staring at you in a way that probably intimidated most people. It just got you wet. You were not scared of James Buchanan Barnes. 

He was your Bucky.

So you just shrugged and cocked your eyebrow at him as he set the dishes down and leaned against the counter, his t-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest; his grey sweats tented.

You crossed your arms against your hard, aching nipples and cocked your hip as you silently continued to sass him.

“Well, I’ll start with that smart mouth. Gonna kiss it until you’re hotter and wetter than you already are, Charm. Then I’ll peel off your clothes and suck those gorgeous nipples of yours until you’re squirming and maybe, possibly, I'll give you my thigh to grind on and get all wet with your slick if you’re a good girl.”

You shifted and Bucky smirked, but continued, his eyes on each body part as he reeled off filthy promises.

“I’m gonna hold you down, take my time playing with those sweet tits until you’re almost cuming, but not quite.”

Bucke remembered how responsive you were when he sucked your nipples, and in fact jacked off every day to a tit pic you sent him. He was making a mess in his pants because he knew you were making a mess in yours.

He was relentless in the mission of your ruin.

“Then, gonna take my time licking my way down that hot body to your sweet pussy and eat you out until you cum on my tongue. And my fingers.”

Then his eyes flicked to yours, those ethereal blue eyes making you gasp.

“M fucking starving, Charm.”

Poor baby, you thought, and then remembered you were trying to be a brat. Bucky smiled at you and then focused on your shorts again.

“And with every cute little tug that your pussy does to try and take my fingers deeper…Did you know your pussy does that, Charm? Pulls on my fingers and my cock so sweet, fuck, I need it.”

Bucky's voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued. 

“For every spasm of that cute little cunt, I’ll play your clit to make the pleasure last longer, so you’ll come that much harder. And longer. Until you beg me to stop.”

You were trembling, knees weak, trying not to moan. He watched your thighs press together and grunted, but he kept going.

“I’ll get you nice and wet and ready for me to fuck you with this big cock that is aching for you.”

Bucky reached down and lewdly grabbed himself, your eyes riveted. 

“Gonna fuck you in every position, until there’s no part of you I haven’t tasted and possessed as much as I fucking want. You’re gonna feel it in your soul, Charm."

God he was so damn smug.

"And then, Baby, you’ll sleep. All. Damn. Day. Fuck the fundraiser. I’ll buy the pancakes.”

Bucky met your shock with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I’ll work on my policy briefs and packets while you rest, tomorrow, and Sunday, we’ll go grocery shopping and stock the place before I get on the train back to DC.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, thinking of a plausible argument against what he just said. Everything but the sex part.

You held your finger up for him to stop.

“Give me a minute.”

You tried to regain your composure. You were wet. Very wet. Your panties and your shorts were clinging to you and your heart was beating fast.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw how flustered you were, and he leaned closer, murmuring into your ear as he crowded you back against the island, caging you in with his strong forearms.

“You like my dirty mouth, don’t you, Charm?” 

He nipped your earlobe as you whined in response. 

“I see you. You love how hard I am for you. You want to grab my cock and feel it, I can see that. I know you’re already wet for me. I bet if I slid my fingers inside your panties right now, you’d be all soft and wet and juicy like the sweetest plum in the world, isn’t that right? You’re just aching for me to eat you real good and make you cum, aren’t you?” 

God.

Yes. 

You thought it, but didn’t say it. You just couldn’t articulate words at the moment.

“And I’m going do all of what I said, Charm, but I think that right now I need to fuck you on this counter top.”

Bucky stepped back and pulled down his sweats and you saw the dark allure of him, a good nine inches, thick and dripping pre-cum in time with it’s own heartbeat making it throb. Bucky’s hand took himself in his grasp, and the pulsing almost purple monster looked beautiful encased in the rare vibranium. 

You appreciated this small dark tower and the dusting of dark hair at it’s base and you don’t know why, but when Bucky pulled his shirt up and pinned it with his chin as he stared at you and stroked, but you got so much wetter.

That’s a lie. You knew exactly why. 

“Take off your shorts and panties. Now.”

You scrambled to comply as Bucky advanced on you and lifted you on the island with one hand while simultaneously lining up with the other. His eyes rolled when he actually felt how wet you were for him.

“Good Lord, Charm. Fuck, it’s been too long.”

He said it as he looked down and tortured you with the head of his cock teasing your clit and the slick on your pussy lips. He looked back up at you, those blue eyes almost feverish.

“I- I didn’t stretch you out with my fingers. But I need it, right now, Charm. Do you want it too?”

You pulled off your top and threw it somewhere behind you. You started pulling your nipples and speaking your filthy mind.

“Don’t need your fingers’ Sarge. Fuck me with that…. whooooooohhhh my goddddddd!”

Bucky slid inside you as you spoke and the stretch had your pussy pulsing when he wasn’t even halfway in. The feeling was indescribable and you couldn't believe that you were cuming almost instantly.

You both looked down at your cream almost immediately leaking out and frothing around his big, red, pulsing cock as he pistoned slowly inside you. You both moaned and closed your eyes.

Bucky grabbed your neck to bring your head back up from lolling back on your shoulders as your pussy pulled him in with your orgasm. He batted your hand away from your breast and started pinching and rolling it, elongating your pleasure.

“I think we’ve lost the plot here, Charm.”

He said it through gritted teeth as he slapped into you and sped up incrementally.

“I told you that I was yours. And I assumed that you were mine.”

You croaked, “You know what they say about assuming…”

You still had a little brat in you. But Bucky took it as a challenge. His hands moved to pick you up, separating your asscheeks as he fucked you against the wall now. Your eyes were rolling from the feeling of vibranium in your asshole.

“I get the ass.”

“Take it, Bucky!” you were gasping for breath.

“Thanks for the invitation, baby, but it’s already mine. Isn’t it?”

You were cuming again, or you’d never stopped as Bucky pounded you hard against your kitchen wall. Pots were rattling in the cabinet, and you were afraid glasses were going to break until Bucky hit that spot.

And then you didn’t care anymore. 

“Yes, Bucky! It’s yours. I’m all yours.” 

You were cuming all over him at this point.

“Fuck, yes! Mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were black now as he fucked you through it.

“Your sweet cunt is milking me… fuckkkkk.”

Bucky came, adding to the moisture levels between your legs, and he buried his head in the juncture of your neck and your clavicle as his climax hit with a guttural moan. You managed to grab his head and make him meet your eyes, both of you dazed.

“Let me see you Bucky.”

Bucky looked at you, pupils blown, lips parted in awe.

“You’re my guy,” you whispered. “Am I your girl?”

Bucky smiled at you, and then grimaced, another pulse of semen spurting out of him.

“You’re my Best Girl, Charm.”

He kissed you as both of you trembled with aftershocks. After he caught his breath, he walked you out of the kitchen into the en suite, where your bath was waiting. Your combined fluids were running down your legs. 

Once there, he let you down slowly and held you until you were steady on your feet, then, he helped you step into the bath.

You looked up at him, eyes heavy.

“You coming in?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, tempted, but he had a mission.

“No, relax, enjoy your bath. I’ll shower and then clean up the kitchen.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead as he placed your robe and a bottle of water where you could reach it. Then, he grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. You enjoyed the view of him taking a shower as you got clean, then dozed in the warm water. You felt yourself be lifted and placed in your bed, warm and wrapped in your robe. 

And Bucky Barnes. 

Around 3 am you stirred, and turned in his arms to see Bucky watching over you, never tired.

“Time to make good on your promises, Boss.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkled, but then he pouted a bit.

He was so freaking adorable.

“That’s not my name.”

You smiled at him.

“Bucky. Baby. Boyfriend.”

“That’s better,” Bucky grinned as he parted your robe, his gaze hot down your body. Then he looked back up at you. 

“So much better. And you’re the boss. Because it’s my job to take care of my girl.”

[science-hoes]

Sugar Rush

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: FILTHY SMUT, lactation kink, unprotected sex, language

Description: Jack isn’t bashful in bed, but there is one thing that he won’t ask for. When the Reader has a clogged milk duct, he finally gets his chance to take what he wants.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

—

Jack Abbot never shied away from taking what he wanted, especially when it came to you. Every move, every word was calculated and intentional. Just like when he got you pregnant on purpose after mentally tracking your ovulation week and demanding that you didn’t take a Plan B after he came in you.

“Almost 50, love. I wanna see our kids grow up.” He had mumbled in your ear as he reeled from his orgasm high.

You were so giddy and even more turned on that you didn’t dare disobey the direct order from your soldier. And he got exactly what he wanted. A month and some at-home pregnancy tests later, you knew you were pregnant. You had Robby’s wife confirm with a transvaginal ultrasound, and she printed out the pictures of the tiny little bean for you to take home.

You brainstormed the cute ways to tell Jack, searching through Pinterest and TikTok that night when he was working. But when you came in to relieve the night shift and kiss him goodbye before he went home, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Robby had confirmed your suspicions when he pointed to the ceiling, not a single word uttered.

Jack was sitting on the railing of the roof, watching the sun climb over the buildings, instead of his usual lean with the rail against his back.

“That’s making me anxious.” You had called out to him to make your presence known.

Jack didn’t turn around to acknowledge you. Instead, he waited until you leaned forward on the safe side of the railing next to him. “I killed another vet tonight.” He mumbled.

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes focused on the sunrise. “Jack, you didn’t kill anyone. You just couldn’t save him.” You spoke the words that he had whispered in your ear many times after a rough shift.

“Same difference.” He replied, knuckles white as he grasped the railing.

You grabbed his large bicep, your hand not nearly big enough to wrap around it. “Will you please come to this side with me?” You begged in a calm whisper.

Jack closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath of morning air. “Why?” He asked, but he knew why. You wanted him safe, with a steel rail in between him and his death. Not balancing on it like a fucking amateur acrobat.

You reached into your back pocket, grasping the folded papers there. “I have a surprise for you.” Your voice lilted as a smile grew on your face.

Jack huffed and finally met your gaze. “Do I look like I’m 6 years old to you?” He deadpanned.

You giggled and waved the folded papers in front of him. “No, you look 50.” You replied and let the papers unfold, revealing the chain of ultrasound pictures. “Which is why I think you’ll like these.”

Jack’s eyes blew wide, the sunrise reflecting every single color off his irises. He faltered a bit on the rail as he quickly climbed down, probably the closest he’s ever come to falling off the building. You grasped his tight fitting black undershirt in your fists to balance him as he landed on his feet to the safe side of the railing.

“Is that ours?” He asked, almost afraid to hear the answer in case it was “no.”

But you passed the sonogram pictures to his thick hands, letting his fingers trace over the tiny bean that was your baby.

“That’s an Abbot.” You confirmed, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing your head against his broad chest.

Throughout the pregnancy, Jack served you in every way imaginable. He cooked every meal, tended to every chore, anticipated your needs before you could even place them. In his eyes, as your body began to change, he swore you turned more into a goddess by the day. And he especially couldn’t stop looking at your breasts. The way they swelled and hung heavy on your chest was enough to make his mouth water. But, for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to take what he wanted.

You returned from a long day shift, only your second one back from maternity leave, with aching joints and dark circles under your eyes. Jack was holding Daniel in his arms as he watched a replay of the Steelers game on the couch. The sight was a relief after a day of blood and chaos, and you silently snuggled against Jack.

“How are my boys?” You whispered, against his chest, letting a finger trace against Daniel’s cheek.

Jack pressed a firm kiss to your hair, inhaling your scent of vanilla and antiseptic, as he pulled you impossibly close. “We’re good. Just missed him. I think he was trying to stay awake for you.” He replied.

Your baby rested peacefully on his father’s chest, so tiny in comparison. Your heart swelled as you noticed his little fists holding onto the fabric of his old army shirt.

“I can’t believe you were a redhead.” You mumbled, tracing Daniel’s orange wisps on his head.

Jack chuckled, and the rumble of his chest caused your baby to stir, but not enough to wake. “He’s gonna drive anesthesia crazy.” He noted. “Redheads need more anesthetic.”

You giggled and nudged his prosthesis with your foot. He wore it around the house more often now instead of his crutches. He wanted to be able to carry his son wherever he went. “Is that what happened to you?” You asked.

He nodded with a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. I remember half of my amputation.” He confessed.

You grimaced at the thought, but then a jolt of pain shot through your chest. You shuddered and let out an uncomfortable breath.

Jack raised an eyebrow, thinking you were distressed about his story. “I couldn’t feel anything.” He clarified.

You shook your head and sat up. “No, it’s not that.” You said, clutching your breasts. “I think I have a clogged milk duct.” You hissed through another stab of pain.

He sat up straight with you, shifting Daniel in his arms. “Need me to look?” He asked.

Most of the time, you would have waved him off. You were a capable doctor and had read up on every single complication of motherhood during your pregnancy. But you weren’t sure how to fix this one. “Yeah.” You admitted.

Jack nodded and stood carefully. “Let me put him down real quick.” He said before disappearing to the nursery.

While he was gone, you shucked off your scrub top, but your breasts were still bound by your maternity bra. Your hand massaged at your chest, trying to relieve the pressure on your right breast where the suspected block was.

When Jack reentered the room, the sight of you was enough to make him freeze. Your palms kneading against your chest, moans crawling from your throat and leaving your pretty lips. He felt himself harden as he sat next to you on the couch again.

“Let me see.” He whispered because if he had spoken any louder, his voice would have cracked in desperation.

Jack trailed one hand behind your back and found the clasp of your bra, expertly releasing the hooks. A small bit of tension in your chest relieved when the bra fell from your shoulders, and you let out a shaky breath. Your breasts hung from your chest, overexpanded from milk buildup. Your nipples hardened as the cold air of the living room hit your skin.

Jack swallowed thickly as he tried to resist the urge to tackle you down and start sucking like an animal. He scooted closer on the couch, so he could examine you.

“Which one hurts?” He asked, amber eyes flicking between your breasts.

Your hand clutched your right one. “This one.” You answered.

Jack’s calloused but experienced fingers traced over your skin, searching for a hardened area. Your skin crawled with pleasure at his ministrations, but you were quickly snapped back to reality when he pressed against the spot where you’d felt pain earlier.

“Right here?” He asked.

You tried to twitch away from his grasp, but his hand held your breast securely. “Yeah.” You grunted.

Jack nodded and reached his free hand to your left breast, giving it the same examination. The way his eyes scanned your chest was so clinical and practiced. Like you weren’t his wife anymore but his patient. It was really, really attractive.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” He asked as his thick hands skimmed across every inch of your breasts.

You felt an uncomfortable rush of hormones in your rib cage as his hands continued to stimulate you. “Jack, you’re gonna have to fix it.” You groaned as your head dropped back.

His eyes finally looked up for the first time since your bra was discarded. “Fix it?” He questioned, but God, he knew what you meant.

The let-down reflex was nearing, and you couldn’t bear the discomfort in your right breast. You pushed him back against the upright couch cushions and straddled his hips. Your breasts hung above his face, and suddenly, he was as bashful as a teenage boy.

“Please, Jack.” You pleaded, massaging your right breast as the pins and needles sensation grew stronger.

Jack stared at you like a deer in headlights. The one thing he had been too shy to ask for because, well, it wasn’t supposed to be for him. It was supposed to be for your son. But here you were, straddling him, begging him to take what shouldn’t be his.

Before he could make a sound, you snatched the back of his head, fingers anchoring in his chrome curls, and shoved his face against your breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple like it was a primal instinct. His tongue suctioned underneath and began to suckle. His hands dug into your hips when his unconsciously bucked up against them.

The sounds that left your lips were vulgar, the sensation of pain and discomfort fighting against the pleasure of his lips around your nipple and his cock teasing your pussy through layers of his jeans and your scrub pants.

You shuddered as the let-down reflex initiated, and the first drops of milk dripped onto Jack’s tongue. He growled at the taste of the forbidden fruit, spurring him to suck harder. He used his free hand to clamp your other nipple in between his knuckles, tugging to release the milk on that side. The pain in your right breast slowly began to dissolve, and you yelped when a long drag from Jack’s mouth cleared the blockage.

Reluctantly, Jack released your nipple only to present the smallest clot on his tongue, his mouth starting to curl into a prideful smile. You let out a sigh of relief as Jack spit the clot out into a burping cloth from the side table, and he began to shift like he was going to get up.

You ground down against his hips hard in retaliation, drawing a startled groan from him. “You’re not gonna finish what you started?” You questioned.

Jack watched you with predatory eyes, and his hands squeezed your thighs. “Need me to fuck you?” He asked condescendingly.

You smirked and grabbed his face in your hands, puffing your chest out so that your breasts were showcased in front of his eyes. “Need you to milk me.” You corrected.

He wanted to play it cool. He really did. But his trembling hands gave him away as they moved to massage your breasts, letting the warm droplets race down his forearms as they fell. “You’re sure?” He asked, nearly choking on his watering mouth.

You squeezed your breasts on top of his hands, more droplets pearling at your nipples. “Daddy’s turn, yeah?” You teased, pulling off his worn out army shirt to reveal the corded muscles of his upper body.

His cock twitched at your words, and without another word, he dove into your chest, teeth snatching at your nipple again until he was latched. The short and fast suckles began to fade into deeper, longer sucks as your milk fully released to a constant stream.

He tweaked at your other nipple with his fingertips, pulling in a consistent pattern to release the milk from that breast. The pressure behind the stream caused it to spray onto his chest, decorating it along with his freckles.

You moaned in ecstasy as the oxytocin rush seeped across your body, and you began to unbutton his jeans. You managed to free yourself from your scrub bottoms and underwear without breaking Jack’s connection on your chest. You let your slick pussy slide against his abdomen for a few moments, combining your wetness with the rivers of milk that streamed from his chest.

“That wet for Daddy, huh?” He breathed in between swallows.

A desperate sound of confirmation left you as he twisted your nipple inside his hungry mouth. Your fingers quickly pulled his aching cock from his boxer briefs, sliding his jeans down enough to give you everything you wanted.

You sank down on his never ending length, the stretch still as paralyzing as the first time he fucked you. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock inside you. He groaned against your breast, teeth digging into your nipple as he felt the warmth of your pussy around him. You let out a scream at the sharp sensation, but he slapped his hand over your mouth.

“Don’t wake him.” He growled against your breast. “Daddy’s turn.”

Your cheeks flushed at his dominance, and you nodded against his large hand. That hand slowly trailed to your neck and squeezed against your pulse point. His hips began to roll as he continued to drink from your fountain. Milk dribbled down the edges of his lips when he came up reluctantly to breathe.

“You taste like a goddamn sin.” He mumbled, looking up to you with those bourbon eyes.

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and your fingers dug into his shoulder blades as you continued to bounce on his lap. At some point, he moved his focus to your other breast, draining its reserves.

“Jack, I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” You panted in between his thrusts and suckling.

He just doubled down on his worship to your body, bucking his hips impossibly deeper into you and swallowing harder around your nipple. The spring that had been coiling tighter and tighter in your belly finally snapped, sending your white hot orgasm across your body. You went limp in his arms as he fucked you like a ragdoll, chasing his own release.

It wasn’t long until you felt his hips stutter, his characteristic finish before he released inside you, ropes of hot cum painting your walls. Even as he breathed sharply through his nose and moaned through his orgasm, his lips remained faithfully latched to your nipple. His sucks had slowed as he drunkenly swallowed around your breast.

The stimulation made you shiver, and you ran a hand through his dampened curls. “Had enough?” You questioned, secretly hoping he would say no.

Jack chuckled and released your nipple, leaning his head back against the coach. His lips were beautifully swollen, eyes dazed like he was inebriated. His chest heaved as his breathing stabilized, pools of cream in the crevices of the muscles and veins of his chest.

“I wanna overdose on this.” He mumbled contently. “Giving me a goddamn sugar rush.”

—

A/N: Yeah I’m gonna need to go to church after writing this one. Also this was my first Jack Abbot smut fic 💕

[ilostthewar]

Omega!Reader trying to bond with pack!141 through grooming.

It’s obvious, but Johnny and Gaz fall into this much easier. Soap is a fellow Omega, so he gets the urge you’re having. Gaz is a beta, and while his instincts are a bit different, he’s completely fine with being cared for this way. Soap likes it best when you play with his hair. He might not let you shave him, he insists that it’s an art that is incredibly difficult to master Gaz is rolling his eyes the entire time. But Johnny wants you to oil his hair, play with the strands, deep condition them. Soap is the first to complain about the size of the showers cause how is he supposed to be lovingly scrubbed by your hands if the bathrooms are the size of a tiny closet? Even if he complains, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to bathe with you. Especially early in the morning when you’re both a little drowsy and the water is still hot, he can lock his arms around you and lay his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your gland. It makes your scent fill the steamy room, like a sauna specifically made for him.

Gaz is in a similar boat. Grease his scalp, help detangle his hair. He likes that you keep products specifically for his hair type. He ultimately prefers lying with his head in your lap, or with you straddling his thighs, gently working lotion into his face with the tips of your fingers. He likes doing face masks with you, as long as they aren’t the pulling kind. Enjoys you gently spreading the paste over his cheeks, and you always peck his lips afterwards. However long the masks take, he simply sits with you. He likes that afterwards you’ll use a warm cloth to gently wipe it all away until his skin is clean. Kyle doesn’t really feel the need to steal your time or attention, but he willingly admits that he would bite someone if they tried to interrupt this time with you. Kyle is constantly moving, so it’s more than nice to have his pretty omega fretting over him and ensuring his comfort. When you both are finished, you’ll rub your face against his and purr so sweetly and he would do anything to get to have this all the time.

John takes a bit more convincing. He’s a busy man, and while he gets what you’re trying to do, he has trouble wiggling the time in for extensive spa treatments. At first it’s simply being around while he gets ready. Sitting on the toilet lid while he goes through his routine, or sprawled in his bed while he gets dressed. Eventually, you can start to help once you notice the rhythm, buttoning up his shirts, helping tuck them in. Pulling him around by his belt to steal kisses while you fix his collar. Though John’s absolute favorite is when he sits you on the sink and you help him trim his beard. Your hands are firm and gentle, moving in steady motions, pulling the skin taught before swiping the razor. It’s quiet and almost reverent. And when you’re done, aftershave applied and items cleaned and put away, you’ll just press against his jaw and neck. Maybe he can spare a few minutes.

Simon is probably the hardest one to bond with in this way. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but some days are harder than others to have so much direct attention layered on him from his pack. It starts small. Simply ensuring his gear is in place, gently pulling his mask to cover his skin, maybe scenting an item of his clothing so he can have you with him all day. Peeling his gloves off to rub lotion into his hands when you both are sitting together, massaging the muscle until it twitches and relaxes. Sliding your hand under his mask to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. They seem like smaller gestures, but it’s in the way Ghost will lean into you and allow you to continue. How he searches you out when he’s had a long day. Eventually he’ll end up splayed across your body, and he swears he’s not asleep, but you’d beg to differ with his air horn snoring.

[wanderingbue]

Turns out, Wilson thinks he’s gay.

He drops that bomb on a Thursday night, sitting on House’s couch, where they’re splitting a greasy pizza and a large order of onion rings. Wilson’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be a joke, is the thing. His hands and voice are steady when he explains how it’s haunted him since he was a teenager, how he ran from it and into three failed marriages, how he cheated because he liked the thrill of the chase but was always unsatisfied with the outcome. He wants to tell the important people in his life to ask them for support in this new era, and House is the first one to know.

And yeah, it could explain things. A lot of things. Like the haircare routine, the regular mani/pedis, the shoe collection. This wouldn’t surprise many people. But House isn’t sure he believes him.

Still, Wilson is his best friend, so he tries.

He doesn’t interrupt the first time he sees Wilson getting a little too close and smile-y with a male nurse. (He interrupts the second time, because he knows that nurse is a vegetarian, and House can’t have that influencing Wilson’s cooking and takeout habits.)

He doesn’t sabotage Wilson’s first date with another man. (He does steal Wilson’s phone the next morning and delete the guy’s text asking for a second date, because anyone asking so soon is desperate, and Wilson can do better.)

He tells Wilson which shirts, ties, and pants make him look gay, only this time, he means it positively. He starts TiVoing Queer as Folk for them, instead of The L Word. He offers Wilson poppers one weekend, then has to explain what they are, and how he came to find out about them in the first place (he used to rave in the 80’s, so what?).

House is being supportive, really. Even if he still doesn’t totally buy that Wilson is actually gay.

Mostly, he doesn’t think Wilson is gay because nothing changes.

Wilson still comes over most nights to watch trash TV and drink beer. He still dutifully drops his responsibilities at work, albeit briefly, to provide a diagnostics consult, or to assist in some borderline illegal scheme. They still hang out, and argue, and laugh, and bicker, and celebrate wins together, and are there for each other in the quiet aftermath of loss. They’re still the same.

Maybe Wilson is just confused because he expected to have a wife and kids, and to live in the suburbs by now. Maybe he thinks the reason for this heteronormative failure is that he’s been chasing the wrong kind of tail, instead of the fact that he spends half his time at work and the other half with House, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And maybe House should feel guilty about that, about robbing Wilson of the life he deserves and forcing him into a fake midlife sexuality crisis, but he doesn’t.

He sort of feels bad about that part, though—the fact that he doesn’t feel bad at all.

But he’s forced to acknowledge his faults when Wilson approaches him in his office one night, trembling before he can even get the words out, I can’t hide how I feel anymore, I need to tell you the truth.

House accepts that he’s selfish because he lets Wilson kiss him breathless, knowing Wilson will never be able to kiss anyone else like this again, knowing that when he tells Wilson to take him home, he’ll never be able to leave. Now he gets it all, the early mornings and the late nights, the warm beds and the cold shoulders, the biting words and the gentle apologies, and every jagged edge left will be weathered by time.

He understands that he’s greedy because he drinks up all the praises and pleading, every filthy word Wilson moans into his ear and whispers into his skin. There’s a lifetime of hunger behind it, a cosmic collision of pain and joy and grief and devotion. It’s a wine aged for twenty years between them, bottled want and yearning, poured into an overflowing glass.

He recognizes that he’s possessive, because he knows he’s got him now, and it's for good. There’s no more sharing attention, or waiting his turn, or swallowing the bitter bile of jealousy. Wilson will stray from any map to follow his true north.

So, whatever, maybe Wilson is lying about being gay, but at least House is honest about being worse.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 8: Trick or Threat

prev chapter series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You and Harry are officially together, and everything’s going really well. However, something else is on the horizon… What could it be? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,5k, SMUT & ROMANCE & INTRIGUE, feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk, love triangle, intrigue, funeral, mention about death, car, racing authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

"When I returned from France, I took the reins of the business. Gerardo, Maria's husband, had managed things in my absence, but I could tell it was tough given their divorce. We're still piecing things back together."

In the morning, you two were lying in bed, just chatting and trying to unearth the smallest secrets lingering between you and Harry. 

“So, was work really the reason you went to France or was it all about Lucy?” 

Harry propped himself up on his elbow, looking deep into your eyes. “I can’t deny it; I was hurt. That much is true. But it didn’t last long. I threw myself into work to keep the melancholy at bay. But then I realized how unfair I was being to myself. Why should I mourn someone who wasn’t worth it?” His hand glided over the cream satin sheets. “So, I decided to move back to New York, even though Maria was always pushing me.”

“What about the matchmaker thing? What prompted you to feel such pressure to get married immediately after returning?” 

He smirked. “Maria... You see she has always been like a sister to me since I was a kid. She was convinced I needed to tie the knot ASAP and organized everything. I went on five blind dates before I met you, and trust me, they were all disasters. It seemed like all they cared about was what I could offer them for a comfortable, luxurious life—totally loveless and insincere. Maria and I agreed to one last date, and if I didn't find what I was looking for, she promised to cut me loose.” He gently stroked your cheek. “When I saw Melanie Johnson’s profile, I was so relieved; it felt like just the evidence I needed to convince Maria. But when I came across your photo, something felt off about the information. Your appearance warmed my heart. I felt like there had to be a mistake, so I took a chance and wanted to meet you in person.” 

You laughed. “Wow, looks like your instincts were right.”

“I think it was the best decision I’ve ever made,” he said, smiling as he slid his hand down your shoulder and along your arm, finally cupping your hand and leaning in to kiss it. 

Your fingertips danced delicately across his lips, tracing their curves. "What about that Stella, the girl in the photo Maria baited me with?"

He sighed, a hint of a frown crossing his face. “I promise, it was nothing serious. That lasted just a week. She was always caught up in the modeling world, and honestly, I think I was too old to keep up with her glamorous lifestyle.”

“Well, now you’ve got me wondering—how many women have you been with? I’m almost afraid to ask,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He tilted his head, clearly thinking it over. 

His thinking phase made you tense.

“Too many to even remember.”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror. “Slut,” you teased again, nudging him with your shoulder. 

Well, he was a really handsome guy—why would that surprise you?

He chuckled. “Okay, your turn, baby. Spill it.” His voice was low and teasing as he traced his nose along your cheek to your chin.

“Hmmm, way too many to count; it’s like counting grains of sand on a beach.” 

Suddenly, he stopped, looking at you with a serious expression. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at how intense he looked. “Stop giving me that look. I’m just joking with you—relax.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his temple.

“That was worse than I thought,” he murmured with curiosity in his tone. “So how many?” 

“Only three,” you admitted shyly. “All back in Atlanta—if you count high school. The second was a summer fling gone wrong. And the last one, three years back, was just toxic—emotionally draining, like an automatic routine... It felt like there was something essential missing. It had zero—”

“Passion,” he cut in for you, finishing your sentence.

You locked eyes, an electric connection sparked between you. “Yeah, exactly,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to his lips.

At that moment, he pulled you in closer and kissed you, pouring all his hunger and desire into it—just the kind of passion you’ve been talking about.

Yeah, passion was the word.

What a powerful force it was.

It felt like you were meant for each other, completely in sync. Being with him brought a sense of happiness you’d never experienced before. He didn’t just want your body; he craved your voice, your scent, every little part of you. It was like he found a piece of himself he thought he lost, and he was beyond thrilled about it.

What more could he ask for?

“So you're a chaste little kitten, huh?” he said, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Considering the dirty sounds you make with me, I was expecting something different.”

“Mmm, like what?” you teased, playing with his curls.

“I kind of thought many guys from your past would pop up.”

You chuckled lightly. “Nope. I’ve been so caught up with work that I barely have time to think about love. And let’s be real, I’m no beauty queen or model or anything���I’m not exactly turning heads everywhere I go.”

He pulled back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes alight with sincerity. “Are you kidding? You’re heartbreakingly beautiful. I’ve never told this to anyone before, but the first time I laid eyes on you, it felt like I was struck by lightning.”

You giggled, a playful spark fluttering in your chest. “That sounds like something straight out of a movie, or maybe even a cliché.”

“I know it does, but it’s the truth, believe me. I really appreciate the real Melanie for bringing us together, even if it was in a pretty strange way."

Your smile widened. “Same here.  And about those sounds I make, I have to admit, no one has ever made me feel this alive before.” His lips tugged into a teasing smirk. “Now I’m the one sounding like a cliché, right?”

"I’ll gladly accept that as a compliment.”

"You should," you laughed and pressed your lips to his ear. "Because in my previous experiences I have often "pretended". But with you it's all real you slutty ol'man."

He laughed darkly. "I fluttered, baby," he said as he lifted the sheet off you, exposing your body to the sunlight flooding the room. He pressed you down on the bed with his weight, pinning your wrists over your head with one hand and holding your chin in the other. You swallowed hard, blinking repeatedly as waves of ecstasy and exhilaration surged through you. "I really hope you won’t be mad at me for doing my best to make you this old man's little slut." He leaned down, grabbed your lips, and sank forcefully into your mouth, spreading your legs with his knee.

"Harry." Fluttering your eyes open you searched his face silently pleading with him to ease the bubbling sexual tension built between you. 

Pinching hard on your stiffened breasts he listened to you yelp. “Be a good girl and tell me.” He rubbed the tip of his hard cock against your slit, causing you to writhe and moan with ecstasy. Your body on fire, your breath filled with heat. “You wanna be my little slut?” He whispered sweetly.

With your body trembling, cheeks burning with heat, back arching, biting your lower lip you nodded frantically. “Yes,” you breathed harshly. Your body shuddered and flushed in anticipation at the thought of being filled by him.

And you were out of patience.

Your eyes flashed with a glint of mischief, pulling down your teeth crashed hard into his neck as you sucked roughly on his skin until you felt his hand leave your chest and clasped around your throat.

 “Naughty kitten,” he purred with delight.

The sound of you moaning and mewing like a real kitten into his ear sent a churning sensation through his stomach, sending him dangerously over the edge. 

Not so soon, he thought himself, eager to make it last longer.

He turned his head to find your lips once more and pulled them close to his, devouing your mouth eagerly, passionetly. Grabbing your thighs tightly, he plunged himself deep with your dripping pussy. “Fuck-” he groaned “-that never gets old.”  He started into a pulverizing rhythm of pulling himself almost completely out and then pushing himself as deep within you as your bodies allowed.

It was that moment of struggle again, he felt incredible inside you, he felt alive, indestructible, but he couldn't wait to get to the grand finale, eager to spill himself inside you, desperate to feel your walls close around him, and once again, he was caught in the middle.

It felt like he could never get enough of you, not at all.

Egged on by your gasping for breath he switched his hand positions from your waist to your hips to bring you both closer to the edge.

Your eyes glazed over with ecstasy watching the muscles on his arms and chest flex as he pounded into you mercilessly. You loved the way his brow furrowed in concentration as you made love. His body was perfect, like a statue sculpted by the many hours spent. 

“Mmmh—I don’t mind being your slut—if this is the view,” you choked between his brutal thrusts, gripping his biceps wildly. “Fuck your little slut harder!"

“You’re so—mmh—you’re so fucking dirty, baby. I love it. Gonna come—.” Letting out a loud groan he felt your walls contracting hard around his throbbing member. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the bed, pulling your body close to his.

“Me too,” you replied breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck, your nails dug into the back of his neck. Hopping onto his lap violently up and down caused your nails to graze his skin painfully, and he groaned loudly.

However, he didn't even mind if you almost made him bleed.

You could do whatever you wanted with him; he was yours to take.

Ragged breathing halted as he poured himself into you. His movements slowed as you held onto one another. He leaned your bodies back down to rest against the bed.

Your lips sucked softly against his flesh, tasting the glistening salty tang that coated his body. Gratefully, he returned the favour, licking your neck up to your chin, biting, sucking, savouring your sweet taste and the moment itself.

Feeling his heart beat returned to its normal steady rhythm you looked up to see his face looking down smiling at you. "I love you, baby," he purred.

"I love you too, Harry."

He smiled before leaning down to kiss you. “Shower?”  

“Count me in,” you said, laughing.  

His mouth broke into a playful, cheeky grin this time. "How about a hot shower?"  

He asked as if you hadn't just had incredibly hot sex.

You widened your eyes in surprise. "Seriously? It’s been like 5 or 6 times since last night, and you're still being greedy, mister."  

He buried his nose in your hair, breathing you in. “You bring it out in me, baby.”

"Okay, but let’s make it quick; I need to be ready for work soon."  

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms. "It’ll be the fastest and hottest shower ever—buckle up!"  

You both giggled all the way as he carried you to the bathroom.

As Harry dropped you off at the hotel around noon, a wave of relief washed over you. Alan wasn’t lurking around, and that was a small victory. You couldn't bring yourself to share the weight of what Alan had told you last time—not yet. The prospect of creating unnecessary tension made your stomach churn. Besides, he would surely come to understand the seriousness of your relationship in time, and he would give up, wouldn’t he?

Before saying goodbye, Harry mentioned he had a special event to attend that evening and invited you to join him. Your instinct was to decline—after all, you had a million things to do—but his persistent charm won you over. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you reluctantly agreed. That meant you had to cut your work short to prepare, which sent you rushing into the hotel, straight to the kitchen.

In the midst of the chaos, Bruno reminded you about the upcoming fair. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he explained that if you launched your own bakery brand in time, it could be the perfect opportunity to promote it. That news felt like a double-edged sword. On one hand, you had promised Harry you would leave your cleaning job behind, meaning you’d spend the entire week at the hotel—including those dreaded Mondays and Thursdays. Your internship was finally nearing its end. But on the flip side, the thought of starting your own brand meant you’d need to open a shop soon, which required financial support. Harry was eager to help, but you felt a deep sense of obligation that made accepting his generosity uncomfortable.

And, of course, with your renewed schedule, you’d definitely run into Alan more often.

Just what you needed.

Shaking off the worry, you reminded yourself that you were close to achieving your dreams; patience was key. But the moment you spotted Alan in the dining room, anxiety flared up again. The memory of your last conversation haunted you, and just seeing him sent your nerves into overdrive. Then you noticed Maria seated across from him, her expression growing increasingly troubled. Each time she glanced at him, her frustration deepened, and when she abruptly stood up, you felt compelled to go after her.

“Maria!” you called out, sprinting after her. She turned around, and your heart sank—she looked on the verge of tears.

“Are you okay? What happened?” you asked softly, touching her shoulder gently.

“It's nothing, really,” she replied, pulling a handkerchief from her bag, but her eyes revealed a different story.

“Come on, Maria. You look awful. What’s going on between you and Alan?” 

Her lip trembled as she fought to mask her anger. “He’s an asshole—a truly wicked, evil man.”

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

“Just forget it, okay? I’m begging you, please don’t tell Harry you saw me here, especially with Alan.” 

“But if he asks me—”

“Please,” she interrupted, almost pleading.

Seeing her like this was shocking; she was usually so strong and fearless. “Okay, of course, I won’t say anything,” you assured her softly.

She pulled out a compact mirror, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll catch you at the reception tonight,” she said, turning towards the exit.

You watched her leave, your mind swirling with questions about what had happened to upset her so deeply.

After work, while waiting for Harry to pick you up in the hotel lobby, you decided to give Zoe a call. Thankfully, her ankle had fully healed, and she told you she'd be back at work on Monday. 

“Oh my God, I can't believe you two are finally official!” Zoe's excited voice rang through the phone. 

“Yeah, it's about time,” you laughed. “So, how did everything go with John?” 

“It went amazing! Just so you know, we're officially a couple now. Our first date is lined up for next week.” 

“That’s fantastic, Zoe! I’m so happy for you.” 

You couldn't help but wonder if John had shared everything with her. You knew you should ask her in person instead of over the phone. 

“Since you’re at your boyfriend’s place now, when do you plan to pick up your things?” 

“Whoa, I’m not moving in just yet. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Wait a sec... Are you trying to rush me or something? Or is John thinking about moving in?”

She fell silent for a moment. 

“Babe, don’t you think this is all moving a bit too fast? It feels kind of early, right? I mean, does it really make sense to move in together when you’ve just started dating?” You were running your fingers through your hair when you suddenly noticed someone next to you. You hung up just as you caught Alan giving you this awkward smile. “Call you back…” 

What the hell? 

How long had he been standing there, and did he hear any of that?

Avoiding his gaze, you got up, acutely aware of his eyes on you.  

“We didn’t get a chance to talk today. How have you been?” 

The jerk acted as if nothing had happened.

Why would you want to talk to him anyway?

That was the real question.

"Fine," you replied coldly, looking away, your tone sharper than intended, fingers tightening around your bag's strap. Just then, he reached out, his hand clasping yours.

“What happened to your hand?” 

Oh right, when you were rushing around in the kitchen, you accidentally splashed hot oil on yourself.

Bruno had treated the burn, it wasn’t serious but still.  

“It’s nothing,” you said, trying to pull your hand back, but he held on tight.  

You looked away as he examined your hand, and your heart nearly stopped when you caught sight of Harry through the glass windows at the entrance. Panic surged through you, and you tried to tug your hand free from Alan's grip with all your might. Immediately, you regretted it—the sudden burn stung painfully against his skin, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan.

At that moment, Harry spotted your expression and strode through the revolving door toward you, shoving Alan away.

Alan stumbled back, initially shocked but then laughing angrily.  

"What the heck are you doing to her?"  

"Harry, calm down."  

But he didn’t hear you; the two men were locked in a tense, unwavering stare. Alan casually adjusted his tie. “Don't be so dramatic, Castillo.” 

Harry turned to you and stepped protectively in front of you. “Why are you always lurking around her? What's your problem?”

People in the lobby were watching intently, all eyes glued to the unfolding scene. 

“Don’t be ridicolus. This place is mine. It’s my hotel, and she’s my employee.”

"I wonder if you’re equally concerned about your other employees?”

You grabbed Harry’s arm, “Harry, please, let’s just go.” You tugged at him as the curious gazes around you felt more pressing.  

But seriously, he wouldn’t even look at you.

What the fuck?  

“I warn you. Stay away from her.” 

“And if I don’t?”  

Harry was fuming, and you gripped his arm tighter.  

"Alan, cut it out!" you snapped at him. With all your strength, you pulled Harry toward the exit. “Let’s just get out of here. Everyone's staring at us.”  

“Keep away from my girlfriend, Finnigan,” he warned, pointing his finger at him, his voice low and threatening.

“Did you bother to mention your family background to her? I’ll bet she’ll walk away the moment she finds out.”  

That crossed the line for Harry. He grabbed Alan by the collar, his fury erupting. “You say one more word, and I'll make you regret it.”  

Alan shot back with a smirk, “Ooh, I’m really scared, Castillo.”  

You stepped between the two men and pushed them both apart with an assertive shove.  “Enough! Just stop it!”  

They turned to look at you, along with the doorman and a few others. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t care. But I’m not going to stand here and watch this nonsense,” you declared, pivoting on your heel and striding toward the exit.

Harry shot Alan a glare, pushed him aside, and quickly followed you outside. “Wait, please,” he said, reaching out to grab your wrist and turning you to face him. “Let me see your hand.”

You turned away from him. “Oh, now you’re concerned? I guess you were too busy bickering with Alan to notice.” 

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, but when I saw he was touching you, it really ticked me off.” He examined your hand. “What exactly happened?”  

“It’s just a little burn,” you replied with an exasperated huff.

But as you saw the worry on his face while he tended to your wound, your anger began to wane. “This is becoming really tiresome, Harry.” 

He looked straight into your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to explain what’s going on between you and him. It clearly goes back a long way.”

He glanced at your hand again. “There’s nothing to explain.”

“Oh yeah? It certainly doesn’t look that way to me.”

He brought your hand to his lips, planting a gentle kiss over the bandage. “Baby, I promise I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, we really need to go. Come on,” he said, taking your other hand and leading you to the car.

Harry stood behind you in the softly lit dressing room, carefully helping you zip up your dress. The fabric clung to you perfectly, and as you turned to admire yourself in the mirror, you felt a rush of excitement. He stepped closer, his presence both calming and electrifying. He gently brushed your hair back, a tender gesture that made your heart flutter. He fastened a delicate pearl necklace around your neck, the cool beads contrasting with the warmth of his kiss on your cheek. “You look absolutely stunning, darling,” he whispered, his lips brushing tantalizingly against your shoulder. His gaze locked onto your reflection, and he frowned slightly. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “This is our first formal event as a couple, and there will be many more to come, so you might as well get used to it." His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke. “Maybe someday you’ll be attending as Mrs. Castillo?” He grinned at your reflection.

You turned to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I would love that."

With a grin broadening across his face, he leaned in for a kiss that ignited a fire within you, passionate and consuming. His strong hands slid from your waist down to your hips, pulling you against him, trapping you between his body and the wardrobe door.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your heart racing. “Harry, we really should stop, or we won’t make it to the reception at all.”

He chuckled, his laughter rich. “Right,” he said, reluctantly releasing you and stepping back.

“It’s a good thing my lipstick is waterproof,” you joked, shooting him a playful smirk.

He licked his lips. “I loved the taste.” 

“Strawberry,” you said, linking your arm through his.

“Mmm, that's nice,” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. “But nothing beats your own taste; you’re ever so much more delicious.”

You covered his lips with your hand, giggling softly. “Shut… up,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You’re about to get me dangerously wet, ol' man.”

He kissed your palm before gently removing it from his mouth. “So, we’ll continue where we left off later?”

“Deal,” you giggled once more.

Before leaving the room together, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and whispered in your ear, “Can’t fuckin' wait, baby.”

“Everyone's staring at me,” you murmured, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you stepped into the hall where the event was taking place, with Harry right beside you. 

“Of course they are; you’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered in your ear. It was sweet, but it didn’t do much to calm your nerves. 

The room buzzed with chatter, the light baroque music playing softly in the background, glasses clinking, and the upper crust exchanging eye rolls. Harry was right—it was a scene you’d have to get used to being with him.

But it was a struggle...

As you and Harry made your way to the center of the hall, heads turned and eyes lingered on you. Some of Harry's friends approached, chatting you up. Harry beamed with pride as he introduced you, one hand gently tracing your back, warmed by the exposed skin of your dress. His touch calmed you, reminding you of his presence. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him as he spoke earnestly to the others; he looked so handsome and charming in his suit. You could feel the jealousy of the other women in the room directed at you.

“Where could Maria be?” Harry murmured, his eyes darting through the crowd.

She said she was coming, you thought, almost speaking out loud before recalling that you had to keep quiet about seeing her at the hotel earlier. Just then, a familiar face approached—his friend from the last wedding, the groom himself.

“How’s it going, man?” Harry greeted him with a hug.

“Hey Harry,” he replied with a smile, then turned to you. “Aren't you the waitress from my wedding?”

“Yes,” you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“I owe you one. I heard from Lucas that you saved the wedding cake. Harry, you’re lucky to have such a diligent, versatil girlfriend,” he laughed heartily.

Harry turned to you, “I really am.”

Your cheeks flushed with warmth at his words. 

“So, are you a chef or something since you're so talented?” he asked.

“Kind of. I'm doing an internship to become a pastry chef right now,” you said with a smile.

“That’s awesome. I bet you make some really tasty scones.”

“She totally does. They all taste amazing; you wouldn't even believe it,” Harry added with a proud smile. “My amazing girlfriend will have her certificate soon and plans to open her own shop.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, and you smiled shyly.

Suddenly, a figure caught your eye—someone famous. Excitement surged through you as you recognized him. “It’s Sebastien Loeb, oh my God!” You turned to Harry, “Can I meet him, please?”

Harry squinted in that direction. “He’s a rally driver, right?”

“Yes! Nine-time WRC champion. His iconic car: The Citroën Xsara, but I can’t decide between the C4 and the DS3. I have to ask him how he aced that course in his last race.” You started moving toward him, leaving Harry momentarily behind. 

His friend, clearly impressed, leaned in close to Harry. “She makes great desserts, watches rally racing, and knows about cars? Harry, you'd better marry her.”

Harry chuckled. “I absolutely will.” He winked at him before maneuvering through the crowd to catch up.

“Hello,” you greeted when you reached Sebastien.

“Hello there,” he replied, offering a friendly handshake. You gave it a squeeze. Just then, Harry showed up behind you, and he and Sebastien did the handshake thing too.

“I’m a huge fan, Mr. Loeb. It’s too bad you’re no longer racing. We need more talent like yours,” you said admiringly.

Sebastien laughed shyly. “I was surprised to see a lady watching the races; I’ve been surrounded by men all night,” he said, glancing at Harry, who smiled but seemed a bit uneasy. “May I ask what your favorite race is, ma’am?”

“Rally de France, bitche 2—your 60th victory and 7th championship, of course. What an incredible finish, passing Dani Sordo at the last moment. Racing in all that mud must’ve been challenging.”

“It certainly was; it was a memorable yet tough rally—I’ll never forget it,” he leaned in closer. “Between you and me, that race is my favorite too,” he said with a wink.

 "What was your setup at that race btw?"

He rasied his eyebrows in surprise but continued. "Well for the alignment (Rear) Camber Angle -1.00 °. And brakes, force was 3030 Nm. And gear..."

"6th I presume?"

"Exactly."

"Perfect."

"Wow, I've never encountered a woman so enthusiastic to learn about car setup," he laughed.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

Harry forced a smile, but inside, he was drowning in jealousy. 

Was Sebastien flirting with you?

“Darling,” he said, pulling you closer. “How about we grab a drink over there? I’m sure Mr. Loeb has plenty of people to chat with, right?”

Sebastien nodded. "Meeting a woman who knows so much about cars and is genuinely excited about them is a rare treat. You’re quite fortunate, Mr. Castillo."

Harry's grip on you tightened. “Absolutely—it’s fantastic to have such a unique woman. You can’t imagine how special she is to me."

You sensed the rising tension and extended your hand to Sebastien. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Loeb. You’re a legend and always will be,” you said, shaking his hand again, but Harry was pulling you back toward him.

“The honor is all mine. Just call me Sebastien next time we meet, and I really hope it’s soon.” He gave your hand a friendly shake.

“All right, Sebastien,” you replied, waving goodbye.

As some guys walked up to him, you turned to Harry while Sebastien was still chatting with them. “What's up with you, ol' man?” you asked.

“Are you seriously just going to talk to him all night?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re getting jealous.”

He shrugged and grabbed a couple of champagne glasses from a tray held by a waiter. “I'm not.”

You took the glass he handed you. “Harry, he’s a 52-year-old married guy with a kid.”

“Good,” he replied, looking away while taking a sip.

You laughed, took a sip yourself, "I can't believe it." Then leaned in a bit closer, your fingers lightly brushing his collar. “You know... That’s actually kind of hot,” you said playfully, giving him a flirty look.

Harry met your gaze. “If you keep looking at me like that, baby, I might just scoop you up and dash out of here without caring who’s watching.”

You chuckled playfully and leaned in closer to him, bringing your lips near his ear. "And if you keep talking like that, mister, I'll get so wet I'll might have to take my panties off."

He swallowed, and you grinned at his look. "Fuck," he said quietly, realizing he was becoming hard. When you noticed what was going on, you put your hand to your lips and giggled. "Oops I didn't mean that."

"Naughty kitty," he said, laughing. "I have to punish you when we get home."

You playfully brushed against him with your thigh, a teasing smile on your lips. "Hmm, I can’t help but wonder what kind of punishment you have in store ol' man."

He reached back and squeezed the part of you that was touching him, his voice low and sultry. "I’ll be thinking about that all night long, baby." He followed up with a lingering kiss on your cheek, sending your heart racing.

Fortunately, people began to approach, chatting and mingling, which helped ease the sexual tension between you and him a bit.

Melanie and her mom made their way over, and even though you tried to tune them out, they invited you to join them. You decided to go along while Harry caught up with some friends for business. Still, even from a distance, you and Harry exchanged smiles and playful winks, the sparks between you never quite fading.

Melanie's mother, as usual, didn’t hold back in her uncouth and disrespectful manner, leaving your pride wounded as she continuously pointed out that, among other women, you worked as a housekeeper in her home. After excusing yourself, you stepped into the women's restroom, glanced at your reflection in the mirror, sighed deeply, and muttered to yourself that you had seen this coming, reminding yourself to stay calm. This was simply how the world worked, and it always would be; nothing truly mattered as long as Harry was by your side. Yet, your pride still stung—after all, there was no shame in earning a living through hard work.

Did they truly build their fortunes through their own hard work and determination?

Nope.

Some got lucky by being born into rich families, while others just married someone wealthy.

Those ruthless bitches.

Just then, the last person you'd hoped to see approached the sink next to you—Lucy. She turned on the faucet and caught your eye in the mirror, her expression a mix of complexity and calm. “You must be having a tough time,” she said while washing her hands.

“Excuse me?” You refused to meet her gaze as you dried your hands off.

“Those women—they're all about high society, luxury cars, opulent homes, and designer clothes. Their conversations make it feel like you come from a different world, right? It must be hard for you. Even though you dress like them, you don’t quite fit in,” she remarked, glancing at your dress and necklace while opting to dry her hands with a paper towel.

“Nothing changes with what you wear or where you live; it all comes down to who you are. If your heart is in the wrong place, you can drape yourself in the most beautiful outfits and still be ugly inside.”

She let out a laugh, one filled with disbelief. “You can preach all you like, but that doesn’t change reality.”

“I’d rather hold onto the truth I believe in,” you replied.

“There you are!”

You both turned to Melanie’s voice. She was glaring at Lucy, fury radiating from her. “You little snake! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Melanie, what are you doing?” you interjected.

Ignoring you, she zeroed in on Lucy. “This bitch is trying to set Nate up on a date. What is it? ‘Perfect match’? Now I'm going to make your face perfect match with my palm!” she shouted as she lunged at her.

You quickly grabbed her arm.

“Are you out of your mind? Your parents are right here! You need to snap out of it. Whatever issues you have with her, just try to talk it out.” You attempted to calm her, but she remained agitated.

Lucy quickly shook off her shock. “I’m just doing my job, helping my client, Miss Johnson,” she explained.

“Really? He’s my boyfriend, you bitch! Do you honestly believe he wants to marry? He’s just looking for a hookup!”

Well she had a point, it was Nate after all.

Lucy tucked her purse under her arm and glanced back at her before stepping out of the restroom. “I don’t know; he seemed sincere to me. Besides, he’ll definitely want to get married when he meets the right match I’ve found for him. I’m confident in my skills,” she said with a smug smile.

"You bitch!" she barked.

You grabbed her again but she was hard to restrain.

"Don’t yell! People will hear you. Do you really want to make a scene?"

She looked at you and asked, "Why are you covering for her?"

"I’m just looking out for you and your family. I don’t want you to embarrass your dad."

"Right. That girl you're defending was just talking to your boyfriend."

You stopped and pulled your hands away as she laughed, adjusting her dress. "Oops, huh? I heard they used to date. You’re mad at her, aren’t you?"

"There has to be a reasonable explanation," you insisted, though your frustration was hard to hide. "Keep on being reasonable, polyanna, but I'm gonna kick her ass," she said it and took off after her.

“Melanie! You really…” you called out, chasing after her.

Despite all your efforts, Melanie, as immature as ever, lunged at Lucy from behind, grabbed her hair, and yelled, acting like a cheap prostitute. At that moment, everyone turned to look at Jack and his wife. Anger, annoyance, and frustration were etched on his face, matched by the condemnation in the gazes of those around them. He didn’t deserve this.

Just as you were about to intervene with Melanie, a hand grasped your arm and pulled you back.

“Stay out of this; let her parents handle her,” Harry said, his voice as firm as his gaze. But it softened when he turned to you. "I think the night is over. How about we head out now?"

You looked at him and nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed. He wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked together toward the exit, but your eyes were still on Jack, Melanie, and her mother.

The people who had been focused on them were now absorbed in their drama, and you couldn't help but feel a little sad for them.

As the driver took you to Harry's house, a comfortable silence filled the car, even though your hands were intertwined. You were about to break the quiet and ask him about his conversation with Lucy when he turned to you at the same moment, both of you beginning to speak simultaneously.

"Lucy—"  

"Why—"  

You both chuckled at your coincidental timing.  

"You go first."  

"No, you tell me first," he replied, flashing a smile.  

"Alright, I was curious about what you and Lucy talked about," you said, pressing your lips together, pressing your lips together, feeling a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

"Actually, that’s what I was gonna say."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so?"  

‘Look, I generally brush her off in situations like this, but this time, it was about you, and I let her speak.’  

"What did Lucy say about me?"  

"She said there was something going on between you and Alan, and that it was messing with their relationship." He looked at you, his face serious.  

"Harry, I—" You tried to argue, but he interrupted you with a gentle touch to your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything like that, and I get that he’s got this weird interest in you, but I really wish you would’ve said something."  

"Harry, there’s nothing to say. He’s my boss, and I’m just putting up with it until I leave his hotel—nothing more."  

"What do you mean, 'putting up with it'?"

Oops, wrong choice of words.

Damn it.

"So until my internship is over—"

"Did he say something inappropriate to you?" His tone turned angry. 

You took his hands in both of yours, "No, don't worry, it’s nothing like that."

He seemed to search your eyes for the truth, remained unconvinced.

“But it’s not fair.”

"What’s not fair?"  

"You want me to spill my secrets while you keep yours hidden. You said you're gonna tell me everything between you and Alan."  

He let out a deep sigh. "You’re right. Alright, then I’ll share. Our families have known each other for a long time—our fathers were good friends until some tension grew between them." His expression shifted, as if he dreaded what he was about to reveal. "His father had feelings for... my mother, or at least that’s what my mother has said. She doesn't want to talk about it much. My father passed away when I was ten, so I never learned the whole story from him and I'm not sure about the details."

"Alan’s father had feelings for your mother? Was he married at that time?"  

"Yeah, I was six—I have only faint memories of his father, and Alan was around my age."  

"Well, that certainly clears things up."  

"Every time we crossed paths at family gatherings, events... whatever they were, there was this fragile veneer of civility, yet beneath it, the tension simmered, thick and palpable. The gossip—my mother weathered so much of it. That’s why she hasn't stepped outside since my father passed. And since..." His voice quivered, breaking as shadows of the past lingered in his eyes.

 In that moment, your heart ached for him. "Since what, Harry?"  

He released a long, shaky sigh as if trying to exhale his sorrow. "Since my sister's death."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, a chill running through you. "Harry, I... I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry."

He looked fragile, a storm of emotions battling just beneath the surface, and without thinking, you slid closer, wrapping your arms around him, offering solace. He bowed his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your hair, grounding you both in that moment. "It’s alright, baby. I was young; it’s been a long time." His fingers grazed through your hair, a comforting gesture, before he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. A faint smile broke through the sorrow. "I should take you to meet my mother. She can’t leave the house, but we can go see her."

You froze, feeling a rush of tension. "Don’t you think it’s too soon?"  

He caressed your cheek with his knuckles. "Too soon for you, perhaps, but late for me. I’m an old man remember? I don’t want to miss a single moment with you, darling. We should embrace everything life has to offer, fast and fully as a couple.” His voice lowered to a whisper in your ear, filled with sincerity, before he leaned down, capturing your lips with a soft kiss. "You’re my everything.”

The week flew by, and at last, Chef Bruno announced that you would be able to wrap up your internship the following week. A wave of relief washed over you—not only would you finally be free from the daily trek to the hotel for work, but you also hadn’t seen Alan in days.

Now, the focus shifted to working hard until the fair, where you planned to build your brand by creating original desserts and baked goods to showcase. Thankfully, your billionaire boyfriend Harry had a spacious kitchen that you could use. Since you were planning to move in with him anyway—especially after Zoe and John's relationship sped up your decision—the transition felt exciting.

The day you left home with your suitcase to move into Harry's penthouse could easily have been the happiest day of your life. Both of you seemed thrilled that your relationship had reached this milestone, and everything was going smoothly. 

Throughout the week, while Harry was at work, you were busy at home, baking as many desserts and pastries as possible. When he returned, he devoured them all and offered his critiques. 

On the weekend, you realized you were low on supplies and had to hit up the supermarket for a big grocery run. Harry stepped in to help, and you both went to the mall together, like a married couple. 

He also mentioned that he wanted to try baking cupcakes for the first time, which you found cute and encouraged him to do. While you were busy whipping up the cream, the oven timer chimed. Harry slipped on his oven mitts and carefully pulled a tray of cupcakes out of the oven. “Here’s my first solo batch,” he said with a proud smile.

As you looked at the cupcakes, you noticed they were a bit too light in color. “Hmm, babe, don’t you think they look a little undercooked? They probably need more time in the oven,” you suggested.

Dipping your finger into one of the cupcakes, you lifted it up to find the batter still runny. Licking your fingertip, you joked, “Here’s a little advice: if it’s still runny, it’s not a cupcake; it’s a beverage.” With a chuckle, you returned to whipping the cream on the counter.

“Alright, I’ll pop these ‘runny’ amigos back in the oven,” Harry said, putting the tray back.

“And please increase the time,” you said without looking at him. 

But he couldn't help but gaze at you from behind, admiring how you looked while cooking. Out of the blue, he wrapped his arms around you and showered your cheek and neck with quick, playful kisses.

“Harry, stop! You’re going to make me spill the cream. What are you doing?” 

He gently swept your hair to one side, revealing your shoulder, and you felt his lips caress your skin. “I can’t resist; you look stunning, whipping up delicious treats in my kitchen, like you're already my wife,” he murmured softly, making you giggle.

His hand slid up your thighs beneath your skirt, lingering just above your hem. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands to myself when you’re wearing that dress?" 

Your heart began to race. "Harry..." you murmured.

He lifted the hem of your dress and pressed himself against you. You gasped as you felt how hard he was. You almost dropped the cream container.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, spun you around, and lifted you onto the counter. Before you could even process what was happening, he pressed his lips against yours. What started as a sweet kiss quickly turned into something much more passionate, and without thinking, you instinctively draped your arms around his neck, spreading your legs for him. He leaned in closer, drawing you to the edge of the counter. One hand rested on your hips while the other gently traced its way along your thighs. He let out a soft moan as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his clothed cock teasing you in a delightful way.

Now you were as eager as he was, consumed with a sudden desire. 

What a beautiful persuasion, what a beautiful surrender. 

"All right," you said, breaking the kiss with difficulty. "But let's hurry, there are lots of cupcakes and desserts to make." you said as you tried to take off your kitchen apron, but his fingers had already reached behind you and untied the apron string.

"We've got 15 minutes." 

His hands reached under the skirt cupping your ass,  picked you up, then turned you around, reset the timer, and turned the heat down a bit. "Make it 30," he said with a smirk

You raised one eyebrow, "Slow cooking... Hmm, that could totally be a new way to get a better crust. I can’t wait to try these."

"Me too but first, I want to relish on that sweet pussy of yours," he said kissing you again, sending delightful shivers through your spine.

His words were enough to turn you on.

It was hot... so damn hot..

With that, he carried you in his arms to the bedroom, taking your panties off and throwing them only-god-knows-where on his way.

Your moans and giggles echoing around the hall.

“Now, get ready guys… here comes the red velvet cake—the angel on the outside, the devil on the inside.” You proudly presented your dessert to everyone gathered around Harry's large table in the dining room, where Maria, Mia, Oliver, Zoe, John, and Harry were all eagerly tasting and voting on the treats you had whipped up throughout the evening.

Maria was the first to raise her hand. “I’m giving this dessert an 8, darling, I’m not a fan of the sweetness from the white chocolate.”

“I’ll try adding agave next time; I’d love for you to give it a shot,” you replied with a smile. “How about you all?”

Oliver chimed in, “I’d give it a 9.”

Zoe followed, saying, “I also give it a 9.”

"I think it’s a 9 for me too," John added, sharing a smile with Zoe.

You turned to Mia. “What about you sweetheart?”

“I think it’s a 9 as well,” Mia said.

All eyes shifted to Harry, waiting for his verdict. “I’m giving it a 10, it’s fantastic. Can we even go higher than that and give it an 11?” He grinned at you, and you laughed, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

Maria rolled her eyes. “You’ve been giving everything a 10 that your girlfriend has made tonight. I’m not sure how objective you’re being.”

Shrugging, “But she did make everything amazing,” Harry said, lifting your hand and kissing it softly. “You’re going to shine at that fair, baby.”

"Yeah, I know you’ll do great," Zoe added supportively.

“Did you find the brand name?” Maria asked. “Mia and I put together a list for you, didn’t we bunnie?”

“Yeah, here it is,” Mia said, pulling out her tablet and setting it on the table. You quickly glanced at it. 

“Wow, this is all fantastic, ladies. Good job, It's tough to choose, though.”

“Honey, we should probably get going,” Zoe said as she stood up.

You looked at her, “Okay, thanks for coming, guys,” as you hugged both her and John.

“Good luck at the fair,” John smiled at you.

“Thank you John."

“Good night, everyone! See ya,” Zoe called as the others waved goodbye.

“See you later,” Harry said as you followed them towards the door. 

“Thanks for being cool about John coming along,” you said to Harry as they stepped into the lift.

“When I say ‘let me into your world,’ I mean that John is part of it since he’s your cousin’s boyfriend. It’s all good. Besides, everything between us is just a minor blip from the past,” he said.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi amor,” he said softly, pulling you close and kissing you.

Just then, a throat clearing interrupted the moment. You both pulled back and turned to see Maria standing there, her phone in hand. 

“Harry, you need to see this,” she said, handing him her mobile.

The smile faded from Harry’s face as he glanced at the screen before returning it to her. 

“What happened?” you asked, feeling a knot of worry forming.

“Alan…” he mumbled.

“His mother has passed away,” Maria added.

Silence hung in the air as you studied Harry. “Are you going to the funeral?”

“No, it wouldn’t feel right for me to go,” he replied.

You gently touched his arm. “But you’re not responsible for what happened in the past, Harry. Besides, it’s a funeral.”

“Still, I don’t think I’d want to see him if I were him,” he said.

“Harry is right, I’ll go,” Maria suggested.

Sensing an undertone in Maria’s voice that left you uneasy. She was somehow keeping something from Harry about her conversation with Alan earlier that day, and it made you feel uneasy.

Finally, the day you had eagerly anticipated arrived. It was the end of your internship, and Chef Bruno was set to hand you the letter for your certification. Harry had been called away from the company early that day, so you decided to go on your own.

The walk wasn’t far anyway. 

Upon entering the hotel lobby, you were taken aback by the sight of a crowd gathered there. You recognized the doorman and approached him. “What’s going on? Why is everyone gathered here?”

“Mr. Finnegan,” he replied, his voice laced with distress. “He’s declared that no one can enter the bar or dining room, and the customers are absolutely furious.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, remembering he had just lost his mother. You understood the pain of loss all too well.

“Honestly, I've worked here for 20 years, and I’ve never seen him like this before,” the doorman replied.

“Is Bruno around?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright, I’ll wait in the kitchen, thanks.” 

As you made your way toward the kitchen, murmurs of anxiety rippled through the air, the tension palpable. You pulled out your mobile phone, scrolled through your contacts for Bruno’s name, and pressed call. As it rang, you took off your coat, draping it casually over a chair, while casting glances at the other waiters, whose faces mirrored the stark worry that filled the room. They were nervous about Alan, how he had secluded himself in the dining room for hours, demanding solitude. When Bruno called to say he would be late, your anxiety heightened.

What a last day at the hotel!

It was supposed to be a celebration in the air, but instead, there was worry, sadness, and frustration.

You started to feel bored waiting in the kitchen with the other waiters. You decided to glance through the door to the dining room, and it shocked you. Alan sat at a table, his clothes disheveled, hair in disarray, and clearly upset. Despite your previous feelings toward him—you clearly didn't like him—a wave of pity washed over you.

Marvelous.

After a while, he called out to the waiters, who exchanged worried glances. No one seemed brave enough to approach him in his current state.

You made a decision that you suspected you might regret later. “I’ll go,” you said, trying to reassure them while putting yourself in a highly tense situation.

As you stepped into the dining room and walked toward his table, he didn’t look up initially, but once you stood beside him, his gaze met yours, surprise evident on his face.

“I’m really sorry for your loss,” you said softly, barely above a whisper but sincerely.

You felt uncomfortable under his intense stare and quickly looked away. 

“Please, sit down,” he urged, almost pleadingly.

Usually, you wouldn’t have done so—after all, he wasn’t your boss anymore. But given his distress, you took a seat. 

“Alan, you really need to gather yourself,” you said coolly.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be alright soon. Don’t worry.”

“Not that I’m worried, but your actions are really causing a stir among the customers, and the staff are starting to feel uneasy. And let's not even get started on the reporters hanging around."

“Do you really think I care about them? I’m done caring about anyone or anything,” he said, his tone stern as he focused on you. “Except you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, don’t start that again.”

“Oh, honey, I haven’t even begun yet, trust me.”

Your arms crossed defensively. “What in the world are you talking about?”

He leaned in closer, his face getting serious. “Just end things with Harry.”

What the fuck?

What on earth was he saying?

“Alan, I think you should—”

“You won’t? Fine. Then I’ll ruin him.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you tried to comprehend his words. “What are you even talking about?”

“My mother died because of his mother.”

“Harry isn’t to blame. This is something that happened ages ago.”

“My mother fought cancer for years; she couldn’t cope with my father’s betrayal. She meant everything to me. Now I’ve lost my mother, my all, and he will lose everything too.”

You stood up abruptly. “Look, you’re clearly too upset and possibly drunk to understand what you’re saying.”

“No, I’m completely clear-headed. I’ve waited years, held back by my mother’s presence, but that’s over now.” He rose, taking a step toward you. “I’m going to make the Castillo family pay for what they did to mine.”

Anger bubbled within you; this was too much. “Alan, snap out of it. You aren’t solving anything this way. I get your pain, but this is excessive.”

He laughed hysterically. “Excessive? Is that what you think?” Then he grabbed your shoulders. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like to watch my mother suffer in the hospital for all those years?” he shouted, startling you.

Just then, Bruno entered the dining room. "Mr. Finnegan."

“I’ll be there in a minute,” you said nervously.

Bruno took in the situation with a disapproving look but nodded and returned to the kitchen.

But Alan wouldn’t let you go, gripping your wrist tightly. “Let go of my arm, now,” you said through gritted teeth. 

Instead of releasing you, he tightened his hold and leaned in close to your ear. “Don’t forget, every moment you choose to stay with him only brings more trouble for him. I’ll make sure of that.”

You jerked your arm free from his grasp. “Your eyes are clouded with anger. You’re not thinking clearly. I love Harry, and nothing will come between us. I'm not leaving him, no matter what you do, understand?”

A wicked smile crept onto his face. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so confident, honey. You have no clue what I’m capable of.”

“Do your worst,” you shot back. 

“I will,” he replied ominously.

You couldn’t despise him more at that moment.

Throwing him a disgusted look, you turned away and strode out of the room with quick, determined steps. 

Yet, deep down, an unsettling worry clung to you like a shadow, gnawing incessantly at your thoughts about Harry and his family.

After you left, Alan took his cell phone out of his pocket and called someone. “Start foreclosure proceedings.” After hanging up, he let out a soft, almost sinister chuckle to himself.

“You’ll have no choice but to come to me, sweetheart.”

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[paarksunghoon]

resignation (5)

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: unrelated to this fic, trendwave sunghoon has me acting UP. but also when am i not when it comes to him…my bf fr

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: an incredible amount of sexual tension & fingering.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

The first thing you feel when you wake up is Sunghoon’s fingers brushing the hair from your eyes. The second is the warmth of his hand. 

It startles you to see him sitting on the edge of the bed and so close to you. He chuckles at your reaction and watches you gather yourself when you remember you awoke in his guest bedroom and not your own. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” 

Even his morning voice sounds like Heaven with how deep and sultry it is. You blink the sleep away from your eyes and Sunghoon continues to cradle your face as you adjust to the morning light peeking through the window. 

“What time is it?”

“A little past six. How’d you sleep?” 

You nuzzle against his palm and close your eyes. You miss the way he smiles down at you. “Really well, actually. You rich people have this sleeping shit figured out.”

He caresses you again. “You snore like a little kitten.”

“I don’t snore.” 

“Yes, love. You do.” You ignore him, and you ignore the pet name. 

“We have to get to work, don’t we? I don’t have an extra outfit and I don’t feel like showing up in the clothes I wore yesterday.” 

“We’ll stop by your apartment before going to work.”

You make a face. “We’ll be late.”

“I’m the boss,” he says. “I can tell you when to come in.” 

“Oh? This is a first for you.” 

“You need to take care of Pochi too, don’t you?”

“Hm. You’re right. I do miss my cat.” 

Sunghoon bends down and kisses you like he’s done this a thousand times before. He’s slow with it, moving his lips in tandem with you until you’ve truly registered that he’s kissing you. It’s a new sensation. It’s weird, neither good nor bad, just different. Sunghoon’s breath is minty and when you pull away, you’re surprised when he lets out a small whine.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you tell him when he leans in for another kiss. Your arms brace his shoulders and you try to keep him at bay. He doesn’t seem to care, though, and steals another kiss from you. 

“You think I care about that?” Another kiss. Your cheeks heat up. 

“I dunno. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Kiss your boss and wake up in his arms?” 

You roll your eyes and sit up, pushing him away while he laughs. “Dumbass. I haven’t kissed anybody in a long time.” 

“You’re doing just fine.” 

Looking at him makes your heart race for more reasons than one. Sunghoon is absolutely gorgeous from this angle, especially when he’s wearing casual clothes and sporting hair that looks like it hasn’t been brushed. He looks painfully normal instead of the high-demanding businessman you know him to be. Sunghoon looks almost approachable like this. If the two of you met under different circumstances, you might’ve gathered the courage to ask him out. 

On the other hand, there aren’t many times you can say you’ve awoken in a man’s guest bedroom with gentle kisses being pressed upon your face. It’s the first time anybody has ever woken you up like this, and it took a great deal not to immediately panic and push him away. It’s scary how nice being doted on feels, and you’ve only gotten a little taste of it with Sunghoon kissing you as soon as you awoke. 

This feels different than what you’re used to. Typically, Pochi makes her way to your face and nuzzles her own between your neck, the outside construction prevents you from falling back asleep when you're able to sleep in, and you usually wake up alone. What you’re not used to, however, is Sunghoon looking at you like he’s got stars in his eyes. The idea that anybody could look at you like that is alarming and unfamiliar.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” he says before bending down to touch your lips with his. “I can hear that little brain of yours working so hard.”

“My brain isn’t little.” He smiles against your mouth and gives your lips a peck. 

“Mm. Definitely not. My smart girl. I can still hear you thinking, though.” Sunghoon’s hand touches your outer thigh and it sends a shiver up your body. 

“Oh yeah? What am I thinking about?”

“How we’ll be late if we don’t leave in thirty minutes. You’re probably thinking about what clothes you have left in your closet and if Pochi ate breakfast.” 

“…Am I that predictable?” 

Sunghoon shakes his head and moves his hand up your thigh. “I’d like to think I’ve picked up a thing or two after knowing you all these years. You’re not the only one who observes, you know.” 

“Hmph.”

“Relax for me, okay?” He brings his other hand up to your cheekbone and caresses that spot. “I’m not in a rush. We don’t have meetings or anything important on my docket today.”

“You looked at my calendar, didn’t you?” 

He grins. “Might’ve taken a peek. It’s connected to mine anyway.” 

Sunghoon’s blankets are keeping you warm and toasty, and his touch feels like you’re being lulled to sleep. You find yourself at odds with the idea that Sunghoon could convince you to relax at this hour, especially when you have to stop by your apartment before going into the office. It’s not like anyone would notice either. Sunghoon’s colleagues are in and out of the building all day, some of whom don’t show up until late morning or early afternoon on account of personal business. You aren’t worried about what other assistants might think either, as you’re the assistant who has been there the longest. With the hierarchy system in place, it’s more believable that you’re in business with Sunghoon than being in bed with him.

Yet, some part of you doesn’t like that you’re breaking the routine you’ve built over the years. You’ve never spent the night at anyone’s place, much less on a weekday, and you don’t enjoy the fact that you haven’t seen Pochi. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten my promise,” Sunghoon says, pulling you out of your cycle of thoughts. He’s perched on the side of the bed with his elbow resting comfortable on the pillows and you look at him quizzically.

“What promise?” 

The look he gives you is akin to the way he looked at you last night. Suddenly, the memory of his hard dick straining against his sweatpants comes to mind. You’ve been so distracted by Sunghoon’s lips and sweet talking that you nearly forgot about the way he felt in between your legs. Sure, the fabric of your clothes acted as a barrier, but nothing could ever hide the way his dick felt pressed right against your covered cunt. 

Sunghoon leans down close to your ear like he’s trying to tell you a secret. You feel his breath touch the shell of your ear and that alone is enough to make you squirm. He must know, and you can tell by the way Sunghoon digs his fingertips into your skin just a little.

“I told you I’d make you cum today. Will you let me?”

Your mouth runs dry. You look up at Sunghoon and there’s nothing humorous about the way he’s watching you. His eyes are a deep shade of brown that stare directly into yours like he’s trying to hold himself back from being too hasty. It’s almost alarming that he’s being so forward with you at this moment. There’s not a hint of shyness that you can detect, unlike how you feel with your heart beating too fast and your uneven breath. 

Would it be so bad to indulge yourself in his request? It’s not like you’re getting any action beyond the quiet of your bedroom or with the only vibrator you bought yourself after a short stint of bad sex. The fact that he’s your boss is out the window. You know what his dickprint feels like and you’ve practically memorized the way his lips feel when they’re pressed against yours. There shouldn’t be any harm in letting Sunghoon pleasure you when that’s all he seems to want. 

Sunghoon watches you spread your legs from underneath the covers and grins to himself. He helps push the comforter off just enough to expose your legs to him. 

“Can I take these off?” he asks, fingers removing themselves from your thigh to the waistband of the shorts you’re wearing. He traces the hem and you suck in your stomach at the feeling of his hand being so close to where you crave him the most. 

You consent quietly because of the intensity of his gaze. He looks like he’s moments away from devouring you whole, like a boa constrictor who’s locked eyes on its prey. The shorts come off and he tosses them behind him, and you try not to care that he’s haphazardly throwing clothes he’s taken off of your body to focus on the moment. 

Like an instinct, you close your legs when you realize you’re only wearing underwear. They’re plain black cotton, nothing exceptionally fancy since you didn’t plan on having anyone see them. Sunghoon doesn’t rush hastily. He slips his large, warm hand between your knees and slowly guides himself up your legs until your body starts to relax. 

He must feel how nervous you are. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the lack of intimacy you’ve received in the past couple of years. It’s like your body locks on itself at this foreign sensation of somebody else’s hand on your body, even if it’s consensual and yearned for. 

He doesn’t rush, nor does he immediately push his hand towards your covered cunt. Sunghoon bends down to capture your mouth in a slow kiss, his plump lips pushing against yours like he’s trying to talk to you with his body. You’re not sure what to focus on—how smooth his hands are or how wet your mouth is becoming—but it all feels so good. For somebody who is as touch deprived as you are, it feels like a million sensations all at once. 

Sunghoon moves up the expanse of your thigh when your body starts to relax against him. Whether it be the sound of your lips smacking echoing through the room or getting used to his hands, your legs start to part before him. Sunghoon doesn’t break the kiss like you think he will. His palm slides up your leg until the edge of his fingers barely brush against your panties, and that alone is enough to make you gasp against his lips. 

“Want me there?” he asks through the kiss. “Need me there?” 

You can barely pay attention to his words when his hand is hovering above you. Sunghoon’s fingers trace the outline of your covered cunt and his seductive caress makes you squirm and buck your hips with every passing touch. When you manage to nod, he rubs you with the pads of his finger. 

Sunghoon’s touch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s determined, almost like he’s got a mission he needs to complete. His fingers aren’t hesitant and scared to touch you like men from your past. Sunghoon’s touch is calculated and meaningful. He’s urgent about it, but unlike all the times you’ve had sex before, this doesn’t feel like he’s trying to get you off as quickly as possible before he gets his turn. 

Instead, it feels like Sunghoon might be as desperate as you are. He keeps a cool exterior for the most part and doesn’t allow others to see him let go of himself completely. You’ve been around him long enough to see cracks in his office persona, but Sunghoon maintains an air of professionalism when he’s not asking you to help him in his personal life, which doesn’t happen as often as people think it does. 

He brushes his thumb over your sensitive clit and it has your hips bucking by his touch. You’re embarrassed by how much he’s turning you on, and he hasn’t done anything yet. Are you that depraved? 

Before you know it, Sunghoon’s hand covers the entirety of your cunt. You marvel at how big his hands are and ask yourself why you’ve never noticed them before. He’s got his expensive black plated watch with silver accent on, the one he wears everyday without fail, and you tense. Something about Sunghoon’s accessory puts you in a frenzy. 

“You’re so worked up,” he says with a short laugh. “When’s the last time you relaxed?” 

“I don’t relax.” 

He tuts. “That’s your first problem. You don’t let go.” 

Well, it’s hard with so little time and too many obligations. Sunghoon probably knows it too, but that won’t stop him from reprimanding you for pushing yourself past your limit. 

“God, you’re so wet already. I can feel you through your panties.” His words nearly have you choking. Since when is Sunghoon bold like this? Is he like this with other girls, too?

Sunghoon pushes them aside and eyes your bare cunt. It makes you feel shy, which isn’t something you feel very often when you’re with him. But at this moment, you feel like you’re out to gain some kind of approval from him because he’s looking at it like he’s trying to inspect it. Knowing you didn’t prepare yourself for him to look at your naked lap makes you feel somewhat awkward and unprepared, but Sunghoon looks like he couldn’t care less. You pulsate around him and he groans quietly when he notices.

“That’s so good,” Sunghoon mutters as the tips of his fingers slide down your entrance, coating himself in your wet slick. The subtle intrusion makes your head spin. “Do you always get this wet?”

“W-Well, it’s been a long time since anyone touched me the way you are.” 

He grins. “Do your fingers not work?” 

“Sunghoon. This is so embarrassing.” You try to cover your face with a spare pillow, but he laughs and tosses it away from you.

“Surely my fingers will do the job. Yours are so much smaller and shorter than mine.” 

Sunghoon pushes his middle finger into you and stops when it’s half way inside. He watches you from where he sits and watches your breath hitch by how your chest has nearly stilled. 

You don’t protest nor push him away and he takes it as a sign to push his finger deeper. Sunghoon feels your smooth walls envelop him the more he maneuvers his finger in and out of your pussy, and you don’t know if you love or hate the way Sunghoon is smiling down at you. It’s like he knows he’s got you underneath his spell when he’s got you acting like this. 

“Doing so well,” Sunghoon mumbles, tongue licking the corners of his mouth as he salivates at the sight before him. His abdomen tenses and his dick swells in his pants. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from me.” 

Your face warms up when he talks about your cunt like that. But it makes you gush even more, and it starts to splash onto Sunghoon’s wrist the more he thrusts into you. 

He adds another finger and cherishes the deep, loud moan that comes from deep within your chest. Your hands brace his free arm when he picks up the pace until the entire room sounds like plat plat plat. Sunghoon expertly curves his finger until he’s reaching parts of you that you’ve always thought to be unreachable. 

His forehead starts to sweat and his arm flexes. Every vein in his arm comes to your view and you feel yourself clenching around his fingers when you truly notice how well-built Sunghoon is. He’s got muscles and biceps that make you wonder what it would be like for him to pin you underneath his body. 

“Shit,” you curse. “C-Can’t believe you’re good at this.” 

He smiles wickedly. “I’m good at everything, aren’t I?” 

“Not good at checking your texts. Not good at that.” You yelp when Sunghoon thrusts his fingers inside of you at a faster speed. It’s pushing you towards your orgasm the more he moves.

“What was that?” he asks with his ear turned towards you as you gasp for air. “What did you say?”

“Not good at texting.” You manage to say it between harsh breaths but it seems to egg him on even more. Sunghoon pushes his hand harder against you until the heel of his palm rubs against your clit.

“Not good at texting? Who says I need to text you, anyway?”

“I do,” you choke, holding onto his arm as your nails dig crescents into his skin. “You need me.” 

“I need you?” His fingers don’t let up. You nod anyway.

“Brat,” Sunghoon mocks. “But you’re right. I do need you.” 

The way you clench around him makes him yearn to see you come undone like the beautiful mess he knows you can be. His hand aches from fingering you at lightning speed, but he’ll be damned if he stops now.

“Need you to cum more than anything,” he says while chuckling. “I need that.” 

Sunghoon says it halfway between desperation and with arrogance like he knows he’ll get what he wants. He knows you won’t fight him on it either because he knows how badly you want to cum. If not by the way you grip his body, then because you’ve mentioned how many times people have left you high and dry over the past few years. It seems unfair to edge you right now.

It doesn’t take much for you to crash. He stills his fingers when he realizes you’ve come to your orgasm, letting your hips rut against his palm as you chase your high. Coming undone before him is a beautiful sight to see and Sunghoon drinks in the way your hands move from his arm to the bedsheets underneath you. You try to grip onto them for stability as your hips grind against his hand while you finish on him. 

When your eyes open, the room has gotten significantly lighter from the sun peeking through the sheer curtains. Sunghoon has made you forget about the time. You push your head up and pucker your lips for a kiss. He gives into your request right away and gently rubs your aching cunt, pushing your panties where they belong before kissing and touching you slowly.  

“You’re so hot when you cum.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter against his kisses.

“Nuh uh. Just you.” 

“Mhm. I’ll believe that for now.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t get up until he’s sure you’ve returned to a state of consciousness and doesn’t leave your side until you sit up by yourself. He keeps his mouth attached to you while you steady your breath and find it in you not to feel completely mortified that you’ve allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of him. He doesn’t seem to hear your racing thoughts when you’re kissing him, and you feel your worries ebbing away. You don’t think you’re ready to decipher why that is.

He brings a rag soaked with warm water and pries your legs open with little resistance. Sunghoon gently wipes your inner thigh and pulls your panties aside again, cleaning your cum from your skin. This makes you feel more self conscious compared to his fingers rooted deep inside of you, but you try not to look away. Sunghoon looks calm and focused, like he’s getting paid a lot of money to look after you. He spends a bit of time making sure you’re all cleaned up before throwing the rag in an empty hamper. 

“Let’s get going, hm?” Sunghoon says absentmindedly when you stand from the bed. He doesn’t make a fuss about his dick straining in his sweatpants and steps out of the room before you can even think about returning the favor. Sunghoon moves around his house like you’ve been there a million times before. 

“We still need to go to your place. Is there a café by your place that you like? We can stop for breakfast before heading into the office.” 

His nonchalance pleasantly surprises you. But you think you prefer his attentive care over being left alone in bed to deal with the aftermath of feeling alone once your partner has left the room. Sunghoon doesn’t leave until he’s sure you’re walking behind him.

It’s nice.

***

Nabi texts you just before you and Sunghoon leave his place to lets you know Pochi is back in your apartment with breakfast and a new bowl of water, and attached a cute video of Pochi jumping onto bee favorite spot on your couch. It makes you coo out loud, to which Sunghoon laughs at.

“You really love this cat, don’t you?”

“Pochi is my child, Sunghoon. Of course I love her.” 

“When did you adopt her?”

“The third year I worked for you.” You’re stuck between looking at him and the scenery outside as he drives to your apartment. “I was pretty lonely after a bunch of my friends moved away from Seoul. My little brother has always told me I resemble a cat growing up and suggested I get one.” 

“Sunoo, right?”

“Yeah. It’s funny though. When we were younger, our personalities were completely switched. I was the extrovert and he was the introvert. Seems like we changed over time.” 

“Why does he think you’re like a cat?”

“I don’t like being around people very much and it’s hard for me to open up to strangers. He jokes that I have to be the one to warm up to people before anyone can really get to know me.” 

“So, what, you need people to leave you alone before you decide you like them?”

You laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“That’s funny. I think I’d describe you as a lion.” 

“A lion?”

“Still a cat, just more powerful. You run the hell out of my inbox.” 

You roll your eyes. “Haha. So funny, Sunghoon.”

“I’m serious! You’re so good with meeting new people and getting them under your fold. I would’ve never assumed you don’t like being around people with how good you are at making connections.” 

“It’s for work, though. I turn on the charm because it’s good for business. At the end of the day, we all use each other just a little bit. In my personal life? I guess I can make a friend or two, but there’s never any time to meet new people.”

“This job eats you alive, doesn’t it? I feel the same way sometimes.” 

“It’s fun and it makes my week interesting. I’ll give it that.”

“It’s time for something new, huh?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Sunghoon swallows the unwanted feelings that creep into his mind. 

“How do I get your cat to like me?” he asks suddenly. 

“My cat?” 

“Yup. Who else?”

“Why do you want to get in her good graces?” 

“I don’t want to get mauled when I meet her for the first time.” 

You laugh. “You won’t get mauled, Sunghoon. She’s pretty shy and it takes her some time to get to know new people.” 

“Sounds just like you.” 

“Mhm. We’re twins.” 

“Seriously, though,” he says, glancing at you. “I’ve never been around cats much. My parents are dog people. How do I get a cat to like me and not spook them?” 

“Well, your best bet is to ignore their existence until they come up to you. They’re a hunting breed, you know. You shouldn’t make any sudden movements if you can help it. If you find yourself making eye contact with Pochi, blink slowly. It lets her know you aren’t a threat.” 

“Ignore your cat?”

“Foolproof way to get her to be okay with you in the room if I’m not there.” 

“It sounds like you’re trying to set me up.”

You gasp. “Why the hell would I do that?” 

“I don’t know!” Sunghoon says with humor. “Maybe you’re trying to get back at me for all the years we’ve worked together. You and Pochi could’ve made an alliance to kill me.” 

“Right,” you say sarcastically. “Me and my domesticated cat want to put a hit out on you, even though she’s a fraction of your size and I’m trying to help you find a new assistant.”

“Exactly. See? You’re following my logic.”

“You’re so stupid.” 

Sunghoon pulls up to your complex and parks his car on the street underneath a large tree. You make a split second decision and invite him up to your apartment so he doesn’t have to wait in the car and waste his gas by keeping the engine on to avoid sitting in the frigid air. He doesn’t make a joke like you think he will, especially since Sunghoon made you come an hour ago. Instead, he nods and follows you through the front door. 

The journey to your third floor apartment is nerve wracking. Is your apartment tidy enough? Is it clean? Is there any lingering dust that Sunghoon will notice? His house is far cleaner than your apartment will ever be, and while you pride yourself on keeping a tidy home, your two hands are no competition for the cleaning crew Sunghoon hires every week.

He seems excited enough. Sunghoon fills the silence by vocalizing his observations and particularly likes that your lobby has a state-of-the-art machine that can prepare coffee and espresso in various different ways. He likes that the mailroom is safeguarded by a touch key entrance and likes how the lobby is decorated. 

When the two of you arrive at your apartment, you hear Pochi meowing from the other side of the door. To your pleasure, your space isn’t as messy as you thought it might be, save for the throw blanket you forgot to fold after watching an episode of Castlevania. Pochi jumps down from the armrest and waddles her way to your feet when Sunghoon enters your apartment and closes the door behind him. 

You’re too busy locking the door and crouching down to sift your hand through her soft fur to notice Sunghoon surveilling your apartment like he’s in a museum. He sees your dark green couch and all of the decor you have in frames. The living room is far smaller than his, but he thinks it represents who you are perfectly. 

“I missed you, baby,” you say as Sunghoon looks down to where your body is and takes off his shoes one by one while Pochi rubs her small body against your ankles. You’re cute when you talk like that. 

“Why’d you name her ‘Pochi’?” he asks when you make your way deeper inside of your apartment. He watches you throw your jacket on the back of the couch while Pochi follows and climbs up the piece of furniture to get closer to you. 

“Pochi means ‘spot’ in Japanese,” you tell him. “You see these spots on her ears? I thought she looked so cute and unique when I saw her at the animal shelter. We bonded pretty quickly and I would always kiss both of her ears when we were first getting to know each other. She gets annoyed if I don’t kiss both of them and only one.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm. Watch.” 

Your lips come to touch her ear. You pull back soon after and Sunghoon watches Pochi sit back and watch you with the other side of her head like she’s waiting for the other kiss. When you don’t move to complete the routine, Pochi meows until you relent and kiss her other ear too. 

“She’s so cute. Pochi might as well be my daughter with how well she listens to me.” 

“You’d look cute with a girl.”

You look at Sunghoon, bewildered. 

“You’re certifiably crazy, Park Sunghoon.” 

He just shrugs. “I’m just saying.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let me change my clothes and put some makeup on, then we can head out. Make yourself at home. It shouldn't be more than ten minutes.” 

When you disappear, Sunghoon hears the faint click of your bedroom door and walks to your couch to sit. He can hear you walking in your room in the dead silence of the morning when Pochi looks at him like she’s trying to figure out if he’s a threat or not. He follows your instructions when she tilts her head and looks away from her. 

Sunghoon notices pictures that line your fireplace. He doesn’t recognize anybody except for you, but adores the way he can see how much you’ve grown up. There are pictures of you and your childhood friends together, one of you he assumes is on vacation, and a few of you and your college friends littered throughout your space. It makes him realize there’s more to you than meets the eye, and for as long as he’s known you, Sunghoon gets the feeling he’s only scratched the surface.

He also tries not to think about the fact that his hands know what you feel like. Flashes of the early morning run through his mind. He loves the way you sound when you’re about to climax and had to keep himself in check before he made any rash decisions that the two of you would later regret. Sunghoon shifts in his seat and does his best to will his yearning because the last thing he wants is to sport a boner around Pochi, just for you to walk out and see him like that. What would you think of him then?

From the corner of Sunghoon’s eye, he sees Pochi grooming herself and tries to blink slowly when she makes eye contact with him. He feels silly and looks away when he starts to laugh at himself. In all of his years working with you, Sunghoon never thought he’d be playing nice with your cat. 

You emerge from your bedroom looking polished, and Sunghoon is impressed you were able to pull yourself together in fifteen minutes.  

“How do I look? Presentable enough?”

His eyes glance up and down your body. 

“Stunning as ever.” 

“Be serious, Sunghoon.” 

He walks to you and puts both of his hands on your hips, dragging them down to your waist before pulling your body flush against his.

“I’m serious. So gorgeous.” 

He learns in and slots his lips between yours, gently holding your body against himself. You get lost in it too, recalling the way Sunghoon’s fingers felt inside of you as he squeezes your body. The familiar ache emerges before you can even think about it, and you find yourself clenching against absolutely nothing. You think you’re somewhere between desperate and pathetic at this point, but Sunghoon can’t see or feel you down there for you to give a shit. 

“We should get breakfast,” you mumble against his mouth. 

“We should.” He doesn’t stop kissing you and your hands come to gently grip the lapel of his suit jacket. 

“There’s a place around the corner. Killer croissants and good espresso.” 

“Mhm.” Sunghoon pulls your arms away from his body to turn you around and press your ass right against his crotch, effectively caging you against his body while his lips litter short kisses down your neck. “Could eat you for breakfast, though.”

The moan that escapes your throat makes you feel embarrassed, but it makes Sunghoon’s pride swell. 

“W-Work,” you choke out as Sunghoon’s hand touches you above your work trousers. His fingers make out the ridges of your folds and slots his index finger between them. “We need to get to work.” 

“You’re no fun.” Sunghoon pouts and lets you go, but not without giving your cheek a kiss. 

“You are such a fucking menace,” you say as you scold him. “In front of Pochi too?” 

“She wasn’t even looking. Relax.” 

You look and find that Pochi is indeed nowhere to be found. She’s perched on the windowsill behind your curtain and you breathe a short sigh of relief. 

“Did you make nice with her?” 

“I ignored her, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Good,” you say with a definite nod. “She’ll like you in no time.” 

“I’m not so sure about that? It feels counterintuitive to ignore an animal if you want them to get to like you.”

“Cats and dogs are different, though.” You unlock your door and slip your shoes on at the same time after you’ve double checked that everything you need is in your work bag. “Dogs need love and affection all the time. Cats pick and choose when they want to receive it.” 

“Is that why your brother calls you a cat? Because you’re picky about all the people you let into your life?” 

He follows you out and watches you lock the door. 

“Mhm. I wouldn’t have let you touch me if I didn’t want you to.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Don’t think you’re special just because you’re my boss, Park. Keep up.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

***

taglist 1: @i58ssj @motherscrustytoenailclippings @immelissaaa @sunnyjayjays @skzenhalove @tobiosbbyghorl @babystrlla @sagegreenhairclip @doririsstuff @second-floors @sievenderz @favoritten @kiikiisblog @ynzyy @jessicaradreamer @questionsdearreader @leeymws @wonislife17 @semi-wife @synamon @letwiiparkjay @spicxbnny @bbinwrld @25dejulho @globaloppaaa @1-800-peakyblinders @heesunghooney @ambi01 @simpforskz143148 @shaysimpss @steddie-steddie @ning2lover @fairystudio @yujinxue @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @in-somnias-world @mellowgalaxystrawberry @1ckyw1ckyyyyy @kgneptun @ithinkulikeme @kristynaaah @jessxxxfwd @lovingjongseong @intoomanyfandom-s @jeoncarla008 @just1moodz.

if I couldn’t tag you, please fix your settings! x

[holyblonded]

untitled | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, Olga rios x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you can barely breath and for the first time in your life, people notice.

warnings: depersonalization, hate comments

notes: pls send requests!! i am running out of ideas

You weren’t even supposed to be on the app. You’d opened it to watch a highlight, just one clip someone tagged you in. The nutmeg, the assist, the way the crowd gasped. It had been a long week, flights, games, sore muscles, sleepless nights. You just wanted that thirty seconds of reassurance, something to make the grind feel like it mattered.

But you scrolled. You shouldn’t have. You knew better. Everyone always said not to. But your thumb moved on its own, and the comment popped up like it had been waiting for you.

“Alexia and Olga's charity case."

It didn’t even hit right away. You stared at it, blank, the words not quite sinking in. Then they did. And your whole chest went hollow.

It wasn’t that it was the worst thing anyone had said about you. You’d been called worse. You’d survived worse. But something about it… this one felt personal. Close. Too close. Like someone had peeled open your ribcage and found the one quiet place you never let anyone touch.

And then, you kept scrolling. You couldn’t stop.

"Why did Barça even pick her up?"

"She's a liability."

"Does she even start on merit or just 'cause of who she's living with?"

"Another case of talent wasted on a broken kid."

"She's gonna ruin that team."

"Nothing but trouble."

You stop breathing for a second.

You blink, but the comments don’t blur the way you wish they would. They just sit there, sharp and clear. And they echo. They get louder the more you read. Until they’re not just comments anymore, they’re truths. Ones you’d buried deep. Ones that have always hovered under the surface.

Because you know what? Maybe they’re right.

You don’t close the app. You lock your phone, but you don’t throw it away. You just sit with it. The silence in the room grows teeth. The hum of traffic outside doesn’t ground you like it used to. And for some reason, your bed, this soft, expensive mattress in this warm, clean home, feels like a place you don’t belong.

Isn’t that what they’re all saying? That you don’t belong here. That you never did.

You’re not crying. It’s worse than that. You’re stuck. Frozen. Like you’re watching yourself from outside your own body. You can feel your thoughts spiraling, dragging you down with them, and you just let it happen. Because what are you supposed to do? Argue with people who are only saying what you already fear?

You think about how you got here. Not the goals or the contract or the jerseys.

No.

You think about the cold nights sleeping with your hoodie tucked over your face. You think about sneaking into 24-hour diners just to sit and feel heat. You think about how you always wore your backpack while sleeping because it had everything you owned. You think about the jobs you worked, the lies you told, the way you learned to run before you learned to trust.

You think about how no one was there. Not your mom. Not your dad. No system. No safety net. You built yourself out of broken glass and concrete and the sound of police sirens in the distance.

And now? Now you’re in Barcelona, living in an house with two people who love you, who really love you, but you still flinch when you hear footsteps outside your door. You still expect it to all disappear.

Because somewhere inside, you believe you’re temporary. That no one knows who you truly are.

You open your phone again. Not to check the comments. Just to feel the weight of it in your hand.

Not the part of you that starts to believe all the things people say. Not the part that thinks Alexia and Olga are wasting their love. Not the part that thinks even football can’t save you if you’re already lost.

You lie down, eyes wide open. You can’t sleep. You don’t eat the next morning.

You’ve always been good at disappearing. It was survival.

But this time it feels like vanishing from a place you were finally starting to think might be home. And you hate that one stupid comment was all it took to make you doubt that. But here you are. Vanishing anyway.

You showed up to training fifteen minutes early. Not because you were feeling extra focused or anything motivational like that, but because you didn’t want anyone waiting on you. You didn’t want the questions.

You’d already dodged enough of those from Olga. You mumbled something about being tired and sore, then went into the bathroom and stayed there until she stopped hovering by the door. Alexia didn’t push, just met your silence with her own quiet kind, but you saw the way she looked at you over breakfast. The way she kept glancing up every few seconds, as if willing you to talk.

And nkw, training. You thought maybe you could just run it off. Breathe it out. Be the version of yourself that made everyone shut up when you stepped on the pitch. But from the first warm-up, everything felt wrong.

Your legs were heavy. Your timing was off. You couldn’t connect a pass to save your life. Every touch felt like it came a beat too late or too early, and it made your stomach twist. You knew everyone was watching. You knew.

Alexia tried to talk to you on the walk out to the pitch, something soft and careful like, “Maybe after training, we can go to the beach?”—but you just nodded, eyes forward, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind her voice.

You saw Sydney waiting by the cones, laughing at something Vicky said. Normally, that would’ve made your chest unclench, would’ve pulled a smile out of you without effort. You waited for it to hit.

It didn’t.

Vicky nudged you during rondos, joking about how she was about to nutmeg you again, and you just gave her a tired, half-hearted smirk.

Sydney touched your back, low and comforting, asking quietly, “You okay?”

You just said, “Yeah,” without even meeting her eyes.

And they knew. Everyone knew.

Even Pere noticed. About halfway through drills, he blew the whistle and called you over. His tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t casual either.

“You good?” he asked, frowning. “Anything hurting? You look off.”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly. “Nah, I’m fine. Just… tired. Long week.”

He watched you for a second too long, then nodded and let it go. But you could feel his eyes on you even after you jogged back.

You messed up your next three passes. Lost your marker twice. You knew you were playing like shit, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Alexia pulled Frido aside during the water break.

“She’s been like this since last night,” she said, arms crossed tight. “Olga’s worried sick. She barely said a word this morning.”

Frido glanced toward where you were sitting on the grass, hunched over your cleats, barely touching your water bottle. “Want me to try?”

Alexia hesitated, then nodded.

So Fridolina came over, crouched beside you like she always did when she was about to say something kind. “Hey, flicka. You don’t seem like yourself. Want to talk?”

You didn’t even look at her. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

You tied your shoelaces slower, pretending it took all your focus. “I said I’m good.”

She didn’t push. Just gave you a small nod and walked back, but you felt it in your stomach, the disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that made you feel guilty for not being able to be okay.

Then Sydney sat next to you, legs stretched out. She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting the silence build.

Eventually, she asked, “Is it me?”

That made you glance at her, finally.

“No,” you said. Quiet. Honest.

She nodded, biting her lip, then offered, “Do you want me to sit here, or leave you alone?”

You didn’t know the answer. You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want anyone near you either. You just stared at the ground and said, “I don’t know.”

She stayed anyway.

Vicky tried too, after drills, when you were walking off, dragging your feet behind the group. She bumped her shoulder against yours and said, “Come on, you always yell at me when I mope.”

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Maybe I’m tired of yelling.”

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Because the truth was, you weren’t okay. And you didn’t know how to say that out loud without breaking something inside you. So you stayed quiet.

Even when practice ended and Alexia’s arm brushed yours gently in the locker room. Even when Olga texted again:

Tell me if I need to come get you.

Even when you saw your name in another headline online later that night and your whole chest ached. You just kept spiraling. Quietly. Completely.

It had been days, but you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Everything you did, every step, every blink, every word, it all felt like watching someone else do it. Like you were floating behind your own eyes, watching your body move through the world on autopilot. You brushed your teeth because that’s what you did every morning. You got dressed because that’s what came next. You stood in front of the mirror, tied your hair back, stared into your reflection… and didn’t really see anything.

You weren’t tired. Or maybe you were, but it felt deeper than that. It wasn’t exhaustion, it was detachment. Like you were living your life underwater. People talked to you, the team, Olga, Alexia, but it felt like their voices came through layers of fog. You responded when you had to, short clipped answers. Enough to keep everyone from pushing harder.

Today felt no different. You stood by your closet, already in training gear, lacing your cleats when the door creaked open behind you.

“Don’t bother,” Olga said softly.

You turned to look at her.

She was already dressed. Not fancy, but normal. Jeans. A hoodie. No makeup.

“You’re not going to training today,” she said, stepping in further. “We’re going out instead.”

You didn’t say anything. You just sat on the bed and began taking your cleats off.

She didn’t explain where you were going. You didn’t ask. You just followed her, got into the car, and stared out the window. The city disappeared behind you, and the roads thinned, the traffic faded, the sky stretched wider.

Eventually, she turned down a dirt path and parked beside an open field.

It was beautiful.

Not the curated kind of beauty, like the manicured parks in the city or the postcard beaches. This was messy and real. Wildflowers grew in uneven patches. Cows roamed lazily through the tall grass, and there was a soft murmur of water in the distance.

“Come on,” she said.

You followed her down toward the stream, to a flat spot shaded by a few crooked trees. She sat down in the grass, patting the spot next to her.

“This is where I come when I feel like everything’s too much,” she said, voice quiet. “When the noise in my head gets loud. When I feel like I can’t breathe.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked out at the cows. One stared back, disinterested.

“I don’t come here to fix anything,” Olga continued. “Just to remember I’m still part of something. Nature doesn’t expect anything from me. It just lets me exist.”

There was a silence. Long. Heavy. Then you heard her sniffle. When you looked over, her eyes were wet.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked, voice shaking. “The way you’ve been acting… It’s scaring everyone. You’ve shut us all out. You don’t even look like you anymore.”

That’s what finally broke through the haze. That voice. That crack in it. The fear underneath. You blinked hard. The weight in your chest loosened just enough to let words out.

“There was this comment,” you said slowly, your voice sounding foreign in your own ears. “Someone called me ‘Alexia and Olga’s charity case.’”

Olga’s face hardened.

“And I know… I know it’s just a comment. But I kept scrolling. And there were more. People saying I don’t belong at Barça. That I’m a liability. That I shouldn’t have been taken in. And I just—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t stop hearing it.” Your voice cracked. “I started wondering if they were right. If I’m just… a problem you two decided to fix. A project. I started thinking maybe you didn’t really want me. Maybe I was just—convenient. Like you took me in because you felt guilty.”

At that, Olga broke completely. “No,” she choked out. “Hell no.”

She reached for you, and before you could stop her, she was pulling you into her lap like you were a little kid. You were taller than her, but it didn’t matter. She held you like she used to when you had night terrors, when you’d cry yourself hoarse from fear and hunger, back in LA. Like she knew how to ground you even when you couldn’t find your own hands.

“Listen to me,” she said, holding the back of your head, her voice thick with tears. “You are not a charity case. Don’t you ever think that again. You are my little sister. You’re blood. I don’t care what anyone says. You’re mine. You’re ours.”

You felt your body sink into her. The first real thing you’d felt in days.

“I love you,” she whispered fiercely. “We love you. Alexia. Me. All of us. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to earn it. Just be. That’s enough. That’s always been enough.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness soak into her hoodie.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Thank you for not leaving.”

She kissed the top of your head.

“You’re stuck with me, kid.”

When you got home that night, the world still felt a little off. The colors weren’t quite sharp. The air still didn’t sit right in your lungs.

But when you sat on your bed with your notebook, you wrote something down.

THE PEOPLE WHO STAYED

- Olga

- Alexia

- Sydney

- Vicky

- Frido

- The Team

- Yourself (eventually)

You looked at that last one for a long time. And for the first time in a while, you believed it might be true.

[lexiputellas]

all the ways i loved her

i love alexia

with all my heart and soul.

i loved her the first time i met her. her hair was soft and her smile made me feel safe.

i loved her when she asked how i was after catching me crying in the bathroom at work.

she didn’t ask what happened. just sat next to me and waited.

i loved her when she kissed me after a date, when i was talking too much and tripping over myself, and she just leaned in and shut me up.

i loved her when she laughed so hard she cried during a board game night, because i kept losing and blaming the dice.

i loved her when we went shopping for furniture for our apartment and argued over a lamp we both hated.

i loved her when she let me paint the bedroom green even though she said it gave her a headache.

i loved her when i was too sick to get out of bed and she did everything without saying a word, just ran her fingers through my hair and made me food like that was enough (it was).

i loved her when she proposed in our living room, barefoot, holding a ring with chipped nail polish and her heart in her hand.

malaga wine, her favorite. she always said it made her feel powerful.

i loved her when she said she wanted kids, and said it like it was already real. like we were already capable.

i loved her when she kissed my shoulders every morning before training.

i loved waking up to the smell of coffee and her moving around the kitchen, barefoot and humming.

i loved her when she did my IVF injections because i was too scared to push the needle in myself.

she never made me feel weak for it. just kissed the spot after.

i loved her and maybe hated her a little when we found out we were having twins.

fucking twins.

i didn’t sleep for three nights.

i spiraled, hard.

she didn’t try to fix it. she just held me. said we’d figure it out, like she always did.

i loved her during birth. when everything was chaos and pain and panic, and she was calm.

she didn’t cry.

and even then, she held me together.

i loved her when we met our daughter and our son. maite and nico. the only two people who could steal her from me and still make me love her more.

i loved her when we went grocery shopping and couldn’t figure out how to unhook the car seat.

i loved her when she sang to them in the car, off-key but soft.

i loved her when maite burped all over her dress ten minutes before we had to leave for a wedding, and she just laughed and said, "buena puntería tiene, eh."

i loved her during the messy, blurry nights. when no one was sleeping and she walked laps around the apartment with nico on her shoulder while i googled “why won’t babies stop crying.”

i loved her in every quiet moment. the ones no one else saw.

the little things—her hand on my knee during meetings, her thumb rubbing circles into my back when she knew i was anxious, the way she always kept her calendar in sync with mine.

now, i love her even more.

watching her with nico and maite on that pitch, champions league medal heavy on her chest, sweat in her hair, holding them like they belong there.

like they always did.

watching her own that grass, that title, that spotlight and my heart.

[vaginalvr]

Close Quarters, nsfw

spencer reid x reader

cw: rivals to lovers, degradation/praise kink, light dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, jealousy, hate sex vibe turning into affection, unprotected sex (p-in-v), name-calling, dirty talk, arguing, mutual obsession

a/n YAYAYAYAYAYA new post or wtv ik I already wrote a hotch one like this but I love my man spence ok leave me alone

You’d always admired Spencer Reid—brilliant, composed, infuriatingly correct Spencer Reid—right up until you joined the BAU and he made it his mission to prove just how much smarter he was than you.

From your very first case, it was clear he saw you as competition. Every quote you cited, he one-upped. Every theory you offered, he expanded, tweaked, made more “statistically accurate.” It wasn’t that he disliked you—if anything, that would’ve been easier. Instead, he hovered around you like a moth circling a flame, watching, pushing, challenging.

And you… you gave it right back. You matched him. Beat him, sometimes. The others found it amusing—Morgan even placed a bet once on which one of you would crack first.

No one expected it to happen the way it did.

It had been a rough case. Three children murdered in a small town outside Denver, the unsub a former teacher with a savior complex. You’d interviewed the parents, the victims’ classmates, the community.

You and Reid had argued in front of the team. You were convinced the unsub’s actions were ritualistic—symbolic. Reid disagreed. He cited statistical patterns, behavioral inconsistencies.

And then the unsub had targeted a fourth child. And you had been right.

The guilt was immediate, the grief even worse. No one blamed you—you had been right, after all—but it didn’t feel like a victory. Not when the little girl didn’t make it.

Hotch called it early that night. “We’ll head back tomorrow morning. Get some rest.”

The motel only had a few rooms left. You didn’t hear most of the conversation, only the part that mattered: “You’ll have to share.”

With Spencer.

Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth to protest, but Hotch gave you a look. You closed it.

The motel room was silent.

You stood on one side, arms crossed, jaw tight. Spencer Reid stood on the other, pacing like a caged animal.

The team had wrapped the case hours ago, and now you were stuck. The motel overbooked. Two twin beds, one room. You and him.

Perfect.

You watched him with narrowed eyes, simmering. “You always do this.”

Spencer turned. “Do what, exactly?”

“Undermine me. Talk over me. Use those stupid statistics to make everyone second-guess my instincts. You think you’re better than me.”

“I am better than you,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

You blinked. “Wow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “No, I didn’t—That came out wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. You meant it.”

You stalked toward him, fury sharp in your throat. “God, you’re such a smug little know-it-all. You can memorize every fact in the world, but you can’t even read a room. We lost that girl because you couldn’t shut up and listen.”

His eyes darkened. “Don’t pin that on me. You knew the ritualistic signs. You should’ve fought harder.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“That’s not how this works,” you hissed.

“No,” he said, stepping into your space, “but maybe if you were less obsessed with trying to one-up me in front of everyone, you’d think more clearly.”

“Go to hell, Reid.”

“Already there,” he muttered. “Right here. With you.”

The air between you snapped like an electrical wire. Too close. Too angry. Too much.

“You really think I’m beneath you?” you bit out.

He looked down at you. “I know you want to be beneath me.”

That did it.

You slapped him.

It wasn’t hard—more of a sharp tap to the cheek—but it echoed in the tight room. His head turned slightly. Then he looked back at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

He surged forward and kissed you.

No, claimed you.

Teeth. Tongue. Frustration. Filth.

You kissed him back with equal fury, grabbing his collar, dragging him closer. His hands found your hips, slammed you back against the wall.

“Say it,” he growled into your mouth. “Say you want this.”

“I hate you,” you gasped.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped. “You’re still gonna beg.”

You didn’t make it to the bed right away.

He had your pants off before you could blink, spinning you toward the wall, one hand shoved between your thighs.

“Already wet,” he sneered. “Of course you are. You get off on fighting me, don’t you?”

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Come on,” he hissed in your ear. “Be honest for once. You’ve been dying for this. For me to ruin you.”

You pushed back against his hand despite yourself. He was too good—those brilliant fingers weren’t just good at tying case files together. They knew exactly where to touch, how to curl, how to wreck.

“Fuck you,” you gasped.

“Oh, you will,” he said darkly. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

He yanked you away from the wall just long enough to throw you onto the nearest bed, stripping you with efficient hands. Then he stood above you, shirt undone, pants unzipped, eyes hungry.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low and cruel. “So desperate you’d fuck your rival just to feel something.”

You glared. “At least I feel something. You’re just a machine with a PhD.”

His lip curled. “A machine that’s about to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

You didn’t even get a retort out before he was on top of you, sliding between your thighs, lining himself up.

“No condom,” he muttered.

“I’m on the pill,” you breathed. “Are you clean?”

“Yes,” he growled, then sank into you with a guttural moan. “Fucking hell, you’re tight.”

You cried out—half from the stretch, half from the sheer power of the moment.

He didn’t move at first. Just held himself inside you, watching your face with a cruel smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he mocked. “Finally speechless?”

“Keep talking,” you gasped. “I want to see if I can make you shut up for once.”

That broke him.

He started thrusting hard, fast, brutal. The bed creaked under the force. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand and leaned close, breath hot against your cheek.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being fucked like the little brat you are. Always mouthing off. Always trying to beat me.”

“Still could,” you choked, already close. “Even like this.”

“You can’t even think right now,” he said with a grin. “Can you feel how deep I am? You’re dripping. It’s pathetic.”

He let go of your wrists just to yank your leg over his shoulder and ram in deeper. You sobbed his name.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on my cock. Right now.”

You did.

It hit you like a freight train, legs shaking, back arching, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck—fuck—you feel insane—”

He didn’t stop. He kept going, chasing his own release while you whimpered under him, overstimulated, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growled. “Look at you. So dumb on my cock. You gonna cry?”

You did. A little. From how good it was.

He moaned, full-throated and raw, and came inside you hard, hips stuttering, voice breaking with it.

For a moment, all you could hear was panting.

Spencer collapsed beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes, still breathless.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, mind wiped clean.

“Wow,” you muttered.

He turned to look at you, his voice rough. “You okay?”

You blinked at him.

That was soft. Unexpected.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “You?”

He nodded. “Didn’t mean to be that rough.”

You turned toward him, still flushed, still naked. “Didn’t hear me complaining.”

He gave you a smirk. A real one this time. No venom. No defense.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I hate how much I want you.”

You reached over, brushed your fingers over his stomach. “Same.”

“I don’t want it to just be this.”

You looked up.

That was vulnerable.

“You want more?” you asked, voice soft.

“I want everything,” he said simply.

You smiled.

“Then you better keep up, Doctor Reid.”

[cosmicalily]

'hormones are high' ot8 skz headcanons by @cosmicalily | skz during your pregnancy

“give me more than just some butterflies.” - ‘juno’ by sabrina carpenter

author's note: lowkey the final entry of my little juno triology! find the previous part here x warnings: pregnancy (obviously)

hormones are high...with chris

so fucking overprepared, but in the best way possible. you don’t have to lift a finger or even think, only sleep, eat, sometimes throw up and tell him about your day. he immediately switches to work from home as soon as you tell him your news, and usually ends up working during the late hours of the night so he can spend most of the day taking care of you. already has researched the best brand of cloth diapers, the safest baby strollers and car seats and the best brands of baby food and prenatal vitamins. he practices putting on the baby carrier for his morning walks and becomes a pro before you’re even at 6 months. definitely protective, no, you’re not allowed to touch the bump, ask first, jesus christ.

hormones are high...with minho

there’s distance between you, but the comfortable kind. he’s not the type of guy to need to have his hands all over you (or your bump) constantly, but just likes to quietly observe you from a distance. even if he’s not touching you, he’s always got an eye on you, making sure you’re happy and comfortable. this doesn’t mean there’s no physical attention, though. he’s a big fan of featherlight kisses down your neck or collarbone while he cradles you from behind, letting you lean into him and distribute some of your front-heavy weight. he’ll be cooking for you regularly, reading articles on pregnancy and nutrition to make sure he’s only feeding you (and mini minho) the absolute best. overall just a very calm, supportive and protective presence throughout your pregnancy.

hormones are high...with changbin

gets so offended when you complain about how the pregnancy weight will make it harder for him to carry you everywhere, and takes it as a challenge. tells you to shut up (politely) about your concerns about the size of your bump, reminds you that you’re beautiful and literally carrying a human, and that for god’s sake, he benches double your weight anyway, of course he can still carry you from the bed to the sofa. how rude to think otherwise! he massages your back when it aches, your shoulders when they cramp and kisses your cheeks when they’re warm from your nausea. he’s committed to becoming a superdad; early mornings, gym, time outdoors. we’ll see how his plans unfold.

hormones are high...with hyunjin

oh, he goes into nesting mode instantly. starts painting pictures for the baby’s nursery, curating pinterest boards for the room’s decor, planning all sorts of mini creative projects to document each stage of your pregnancy. eventually, he settles on painting on your belly (with nontoxic paints, of course) for each month, taking photos on a film camera to have developed after you give birth. he’s anxious at times, getting worried when you complain about back pain or nausea, feeling guilty that there’s nothing he can do about it. he’s absolutely infatuated with your bump, constantly pressing kisses to it or admiring it from a distance. poor guy, he’s down bad.

hormones are high...with jisung

he’s definitely more on the anxious side, but tries to keep it toned down to avoid worrying you. googles anything and everything to make sure your pregnancy is on track, and asks so many questions at every doctor’s appointment that you have to gently remind him that you’re the one carrying the baby, not him. among his nerves, there’s a silly side to jisung that you’re thrilled the pregnancy brings out in him. he makes jokes and giggles, chatting to your bump every evening while you cuddle on the couch. makes silly songs and lullabies, and is convinced that the baby’s first word will be ‘j-one’. he’s already clingy, and the fact that you’re carrying his little human only intensifies this.

hormones are high...with felix

oh goodness, he’s so excited. tries to keep it lowkey to avoid overwhelming you, but every morning he can’t help but giggle, absolutely taken over by how overjoyed he is that he gets to go through this with you. bakes and cooks whatever your heart desires, and isn’t afraid to try whatever horrifying pregnancy craving you’re obsessed with. lots of cosy nights in spent making your little future family in the sims, planning the nursery and discussing baby names. he’s also well educated, doing as much research as he can so you don’t have to worry. so many hugs and kisses, and he’s constantly requesting for bump photos whenever he’s not at home with you.

hormones are high...with seungmin

another very gentle and comforting presence in your life. despite his usual teasing behaviour, his softer side fully blossoms during your pregnancy. still calls you stupid from time to time, but it’s okay, because you’re now carrying his future stupid. immediately switches the beans in your home coffee machine from regular to decaf, and finds the best brand of decaf coffee for you to drink, making sure you stay away from all sources of caffeine (matcha is particularly difficult for him to withdraw from you). you spend a lot of time just resting on the couch with him after a long day, letting him rest a hand gently under the swell of your belly as you talk to him (and the baby) about your day.

hormones are high...with jeongin

a million and one silly nicknames for his baby before it’s even been brought into the world. some of them are sweet, like ‘bean’ and ‘peanut’, and some are downright mortifying (‘pet sperm’ is your least favourite). he’s excited, but also remains pretty calm and tries to keep his focus on you and your wellbeing, checking up on you constantly both in person and over text to make sure you’re alright. he loves coming with you to buy baby clothes, and trust, when they arrive, they will be the best dressed at daycare! likes to keep a hand on the small of your back while you’re out in public; it makes him feel closer to your bump than holding hands does.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @heartsbyani @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing @urlocalmultigroupfan @shuuporanglinos @lezleeferguson-120 @r1nstaaa @bibibahngg @jessxxxfwd @koiiqqqq @lenfilms @yaniblvsh @dearmini @ilovedallywinston@0sunshinecryptid0 @peskybirdysya @channieschocco - dm, comment or send an ask to be added :)

୨ৎ fic library ୨ৎ about me ୨ৎ req rules ୨ৎ taglist ୨ৎ

[cherrikii]

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 : 박성훈

─── 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱

( ❤︎︎ ) 𝒢．oneshot / drabble　 𝒫．bf!sunghoon x f!reader 　 𝒞𝒲．established relationship, comfort, kisses, skinship, pet names, reader is insecure, hoonie’s a sweetheart (let me know if i anything ><) — 𝓁ibrary !

— YOU’D JUST WOKEN UP FROM YOUR SLUMBER, rubbing your eyes and stretching out of your bed. it was a bright saturday morning, the sun peeking out from your curtains.

suddenly you hear the door squeak open, “good morning my love..” sunghoon makes his way over to you, sleepily watching him.

when sunghoon entered your shared bedroom, he came in wearing a chic and flashy outfit. you had no clue what his intentions were, but you did know that he looked so good.

he kisses your forehead gently, engulfing you in his warm embrace. “did you sleep well princess?” he asks, running his fingers through your bedhead hair.

“mm..” you hum in response, nodding slightly before resting your head on his chest.

he chuckles softly out of his nostrils, “i wanna take you somewhere today. you’ve been working so hard lately, especially with exams around the corner. let me treat you today.”

removing your head from his shoulder, you look up happily. “really hoonie?”

“really, baby.” — 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

he gets up from the bed, pulling you up with him. “is that why you’re dressed so nicely?” you say, tugging at the collar of his polo tee.

“well yes, but don’t worry. take your time, we’ll leave whenever you’re ready princess,” he caresses your cheek so gently, his touch sends shivers down your spine. “i’ll be waiting downstairs,” he says, kissing you before getting up and heading down to the living room.

you sigh lovingly at the closing door, inhaling the trail of cologne that follows him. you get up and start your day with a shower and some basic hygiene. shaving your legs down to compliment the skirt you picked out prior to your shower, brushing your teeth, and brushing your hair.

you sit down to start on your makeup when you notice that your eyes seem more off center today and one eyebrow is looking more like a distant relative than a sister. small nitpicky imperfections. you begin to whimper, trying to hold back your tears, but it was no use. it didn’t help that your period was coming next week too.

“baby?” sunghoon enters the room hearing your cries. he approaches you softly and looks at you in the mirror asking, “what’s going on love?”

“i’m sorry hoon.. i don’t.. know what’s come over me..” you whine out, turning in your chair and clinging to him.

“hey, hey, shhh.. it’s okay baby.” he lets you cry it out on his abdomen, tracing patterns along your back.

your cries die down a little, enough to tell sunghoon how you’re feeling.

“i was just fine.. then i looked in the mirror..” you say, turning back to look in the mirror.

sunghoon’s face twists in confusion, soon realizing what you meant. “looked in the mirror and saw what? all i see is a beautiful girl with the brightest smile and the prettiest eyes.”

hearing sunghoon compliment you that way made you tear up even more, bursting back into your sob. he was such a sweetheart to you.

you turned around and hugged him tightly, accidentally damping his shirt with your tears, but sunghoon didn’t mind.

“look at me hun,” he says tilting your chin up, “don’t doubt your beauty for a second. you’re my pretty girl, yeah?”

he leans down to close the space between you two with a slow, genuine kiss. his thumb brushing your cheek in soft strokes. he always knew what to say when you were upset, and you loved that about him.

“cheer up baby. do you want me stay here with you until you finish?” he asked, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

you nodded, needing his warm presence there to comfort you. with him around, everything felt okay.

“i love you ynie,” he stays, kissing your head before sitting down on your shared bed.

you muster a smile and wipes your tears, looking back at him lovingly, “i love you too hoonie.”

𝓉ags : @itjengirl (send an ask/comment here to be added !)

[littlebluebird2000]

Twirling Hearts- part 2

pairing: yeon si-eun x reader (female reader)

rating: 18+

genre: romance, smut

warnings: overprotective sieun, school bullying, discussion about food and weight, violence, harassment, smut, mature language, sexual harassment, slow-burn, jealousy, baku always being at the scene of the crime...

summary: Who would've thought that a ballerina and the school's most feared nerd would complete each other so well? Being the new student was never easy-especially not when you were the only girl transferring into an all-boys school. To make matters worse, Eunjang High had a reputation for having its fair share of troublemakers. Some of the rumors were enough to make anyone second-guess stepping through those front gates.

author's note: this chapter contains sexual content. if you are not comfortable with that, it’s okay, i’ll see you in the next story.

word count: 8k+(again, sorry)

follow #bluebirdyeonsieun for updates on the story. for some reason, my tags aren’t working :(

part 1, 2, 3,

Your skin was warm. Too warm.

Your alarm buzzed just after 5, sharp and unforgiving in the quiet of your room. You groaned, arm fumbling over the sheets until your fingers finally found your phone. The floor felt cold when you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, but even in the chill of the morning, your body pulsed with leftover heat.

You'd dreamt of him again.

Sieun.

You sat there for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to shake it off. But the dream lingered—soft at the edges, vivid where it counted.

You fanned your face with your hands, skin flushed and your heart embarrassingly loud in the silence. You forced yourself to get moving. The weekend had gone too fast for your liking… You started to get ready for the academy.

You dropped your bag and sat on the floor, beginning your stretches with practiced discipline. Pain helped. Just a little. You moved through the routine without thinking, tying your bun tight enough to pull your focus back. You were supposed to be grounded—pointed toes, perfect turnout, breath timed with grace—but your mind kept drifting.

“Y/N,” your teacher’s voice cut through the room, firm but not unkind. “Focus. Again, from the top.”

You nodded, blinking hard as if it would clear the fog in your head. You moved when the music resumed, but your body didn’t feel like it belonged to you. Your pirouette was too fast. Your landing was too soft. Your chest tightened as you pushed into the next movement.

“Your balance is off.” Mrs. Kim said again. “Center yourself.”

You sighed. This was going to be a long practice…

The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped out of the studio, the air brushing cool against your flushed skin. The bus was quiet this morning, filled with the low hum of the engine. You sat by the window, forehead lightly resting against the cold glass, watching the world blur.

No matter how many times you blinked, his face kept flashing behind your eyes.

When the school came into view, you sighed, adjusting your skirt and brushing down your coat as if that would help settle the nerves crawling beneath your skin. You stepped off the bus, blending into the slow-moving crowd of students, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder.

You slipped into the classroom a few minutes before the bell, doing your best to appear casual—even though your heart skipped a little when your eyes found him.

Sieun was already there—head down, pen moving neatly across his notebook. He looked the same as always: dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, faint shadows clinging beneath them, his shoulders relaxed like he had found a way to exist separately from everything around him. His eyes flicked up.

You gave him a small smile in acknowledgment, the kind you hoped appeared casual and effortless. Just a soft curve of your lips, barely there, before you slid into your seat beside him, heart thudding louder than you wanted it to.

He hadn’t smiled back, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to. Still, his eyes had lingered on you a moment before dropping back to his notebook.

No one notices the way the tips of his ears flushed. Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one having dreams that lingered long after waking…

You pulled out your notebook, uncapped a pen, trying to act normal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him stealing a glance.

Quick. Barely there. But it happened.

You shifted in your seat. Sieun’s pen keeps moving, neat and controlled. His expression remains unreadable—aloof, almost bored. But there was tension to his stillness now, like he was focusing harder on the page than necessary.

The classroom was starting to fill up—chairs dragging, bags thumping against desks, conversations bubbling with half-suppressed laughter. You didn’t look up. You just kept your eyes on the board, pretending to go over your notes even though you hadn’t really read a word.

You could feel it when Hyoman entered. His presence carried a weight, a cocky energy that crept over your skin like static. You heard his voice—low, arrogant, already joking with someone like the room revolved around him.

It made your stomach twist.

He passed by your row, and you could hear every step of it. The exaggerated scuff of his shoes. The scraping of his chair as he slouched into the seat directly behind you.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a glance. Still, your shoulders tensed.

The teacher entered a moment later, his footsteps brisk as he reached the front of the class. “Settle down,” he said, placing a stack of papers on his desk. “Let’s begin.” Conversations quieted. Papers rustled. Pens clicked. The usual chaos smoothed into a quiet rhythm as the class finally began.

You tried to focus, but then—

Tap Tap Tap.

The steady rhythm of fingers drumming against a desk behind you. Not too loud, but pointed. Deliberate.

You didn’t react. You told yourself not to. That’s what he wanted. Or maybe you were overthinking it. He probably didn’t register he was doing it. A kind of nervous tick? You—

Then came the kick.

Not hard, but enough to jolt your chair. Enough to make your back stiffen and your fingers freeze on your pen.

Still, you stayed still. Your eyes didn’t move from your notebook. You wouldn’t give him attention.

A breath passed. And then, beside you, Sieun moved. Barely. His gaze slid toward Hyoman—calm, cold, unreadable. The effect was immediate.

The tapping and kicking stopped.

Sieun turned back, calm and unbothered, resuming his writing without a word. He didn’t even glance your way.

You stayed still for another breath, letting the quiet return. You relaxed a little bit, but unease lingered in the edges of your thoughts.

Since the very first incident, 5 months ago, Hyoman hadn’t bothered you. Not in class, not in the halls. It was Sieun’s warning that had stopped him then. It had been enough to keep him away for months… until last weekend outside the karaoke room.

You’d tried to convince yourself it was the alcohol…That he hadn’t fully thought about the consequences…That he had temporarily forgotten about Sieun’s threat…That he wouldn’t have tried if he had been sober…

But maybe you were wrong.

And you couldn’t help but notice: even if he was testing the limits again, unlike last time, he wasn’t doing it boldly…Like he was still affected by Sieun’s warning… just no longer fully stopped by it.

You wanted to figure out had happened. Why was he testing the edges again, pressing into the boundary he had seemed to accept before, and why the warning that once worked no longer held the same weight….What had changed?

You pushed the thought aside, let it unravel before it could take root. You were probably reading too much into things. He hadn’t touched you today, not really. Just background noise—his fingers tapping, the occasional thud of his shoe against your chair. Maybe he was just bored and hadn’t noticed he was doing it?

You told yourself it didn’t matter either way. You weren’t going to give him the space in your mind.

Not today.

Because your mind was already full of someone else. Someone quieter. Someone who never asked for your attention, yet had it anyway.

There was only one boy who constantly lingered in your thoughts these days—and it wasn’t Hyoman.

It was Sieun.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The cafeteria was its usual chaotic mess—loud voices, trays scraping, the scent of fried food lingering in the air. You were seated comfortably between Baku and Sieun, one leg crossed over the other, completely engrossed in the ridiculous story Juntae was telling about his failed gym test.

You laughed, shaking your head, leaning slightly forward as you reached for your drink.

You didn’t notice your skirt riding up.

But Sieun did.

He’d been trying to keep his focus on the tray in front of him, eyes locked on a piece of kimchi he hadn’t touched. But out of the corner of his eye, that small shift caught him. A flash of bare skin, just above your knee.

His breath hitched—so quietly that no one heard.

He shifted in his seat. Once. Twice. First adjusting his legs, then his shoulders. He pressed his knuckles into his thigh, jaw tight, expression perfectly neutral, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

His knee brushed yours.

He moved it away quickly.

You kept chatting with Baku and Gotak, totally unaware, sipping on your drink. You adjusted again in your seat, accidentally rising your skirt another half-inch.

Sieun’s eyes flicked to the side, then to the ceiling, then back to his tray, scolding himself for looking. But the damage was already done…The dream from last night flooded back without warning.

He didn't ask for the dream. He hadn't gone to bed thinking about you like that, not really. But it had come anyway, slow and consuming.

Your breath in his ear. The softness of your voice. His name leaving your lips in the dark. The way you touched him. That dream had been soft and slow and maddening. And now this—you, here, real and inches away, so unaware. He’d woken up in a rush, skin flushed, breathing uneven. Aching. It was all new to him. He hadn’t known he could feel that way…Hadn’t thought it was possible for him. It was warm, unfamiliar and terrifying.

Shame curled through him like smoke. You deserved better than his messed-up thoughts. You didn’t deserve to be pulled into the confusing mess of whatever he was feeling—especially not like this, not without your consent. He had to stop.

But his body betrayed him. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm on the table. His shoulders were slightly tense. His breathing had grown shallower, barely noticeable unless you were paying close attention.

Which Baku was.

He didn’t say anything. But across the table, he watched Sieun shift again, the tips of his ears burning faintly red. Baku smirked to himself, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes flicked from Sieun to you, then back again. A secret.

Sieun let out a barely audible sigh through his nose and finally scooted half an inch away from you, giving himself just enough space to breathe. But even then, his knee bounced slightly under the table—like his nerves wouldn’t quit.

You just glanced over at Sieun, your brows pinching slightly as you noticed he’d only picked at his food. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He blinked, his tone low and composed. “Not that hungry.”

You studied him for a second, eyes flickering over his face, like you were trying to read between the lines of a book no one else had bothered to open. But then, you slowly nodded in understanding before looking away. Sieun didn’t miss the concern look passing over your face. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. You had no idea what he was thinking—what images were tangled up in his brain.

The first bell rang, a warning that class would start in 10 minutes. Chairs scraped against the floor as students stood, gathering their trays. You stood too, unaware of the soft tension beside you, brushing past Sieun as you adjusted your skirt.

He didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Not yet.

Sieun sat there, rigid, his legs tense beneath the table. His jaw was locked, his breath shallow. He kept his gaze down, refusing to look at anyone—especially not you.

Because if he moved now, someone might see.

His uniform pants weren’t doing a good job of hiding it. The ache between his legs had built slowly throughout lunch, each brush of your arm, each innocent laugh of yours pushing him closer to something unfamiliar, something he didn’t understand.

His hands clenched into fists beneath the table.

He wasn’t like this. He wasn’t. He had spent years feeling numb, emotionless and detached. He had never once looked at someone and felt this.

“Go ahead,” he muttered to the others, barely above a whisper. “I’ll catch up.”

Baku glanced over with a knowing grin—but said nothing. You hesitated for half a second longer, eyeing Sieun with quiet worry.

Baku leaned toward you and nudged your arm. “Give him a minute. He’s okay.”

“But—” You started to protest.

“He’ll be okay. Just trust me.” Baku said, softer this time.

Y/N looked back at Sieun, still motionless and unreadable, then slowly nodded.

The group left, and Sieun finally stood, slow and cautious. He angled his bag in front of himself and turned the corner toward the bathroom, heart thudding in his ears.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

He didn’t stop at the sinks. Just ducked into the nearest stall, locked it, and pressed his back to the door, chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

His fingers trembled as he touched his waistband.

What was happening to him?

It wasn’t just arousal. It was confusion. Shame. Need. Want. He had never done this before—never felt the desire to.

For so long, he had been empty inside, untouched by anything, distant even from himself.

And yet here he was, alone in a bathroom stall, pulse racing, thoughts tangled in the memory of your smile, the warmth of your leg against his, and the ghost of your scent that refused to leave his nose.

He didn’t want to.

But he had to.

He exhaled shakily, teeth gritted.

It was over quickly. His hands curled tight at his sides afterward, and he didn’t move for a long moment. He just stood there, breathing hard, forehead against the cold wall. The shame settled right after.

He cleaned up in silence, eyes avoiding the mirror above the sink. His face looked the same. Cold. Blank.

But something inside him had shifted.

He dried his hands, adjusted his uniform, and left—shoulders tight. As he rejoined the hallway, he caught sight of you up ahead— entering the classroom with the others, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you laughed. He looked away.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The bell rang, signaling the break between classes. Students spilled into the hallway, some stayed in class chatting and laughing. You couldn’t help but feel a strange shift in the atmosphere between you and Sieun.

He was quieter today—more withdrawn than usual if that was possible. His gaze kept flickering to the side, avoiding yours, and the usual cold mask he wore seemed to hide something more. He was studying, but his focus seemed scattered.

Curiosity stirred in you, and without thinking, you slowly reached over to touch his hand. Your fingers brushed against his lightly at first, but then your hand settled on top of his, fully connecting.

Sieun immediately tensed. His eyes snapped to your connected hands and his fingers twitched beneath your touch, as if he was trying to pull away but couldn’t. His hand—that hand. The same one you were touching so softly now—had been doing something else earlier. Something messy.

A quiet breath escaped him, and he clenched his jaw tightly, trying to mask whatever emotion was playing out on his face. You had no idea what that same hand had been doing, moments ago. How your name had been stuck in his head like a prayer…

“Sieun,” you said softly, your voice a little unsure, but you couldn’t ignore the growing concern building in you. “Are you feeling okay?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His face flushed ever so slightly, though he tried to hide with his hair. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a slow, shallow breath as if to steady himself.

“I’m fine,” he muttered quietly, his voice neutral.

But the blush on his cheeks didn’t lie.

"Are you sure?" you asked, a little more insistently this time. “You don’t seem like yourself today. You barely ate.”

Sieun finally lifted his eyes to meet yours. “I’m fine,” he said again, this time with a little more finality. He shifted in his seat.

You hesitated for a moment, sensing the tension between you, but you didn’t pull your hand away. There was something about his reaction that made you feel like maybe you should push just a little bit further. Was he sick?

Sieun’s eyes flickered down to your hand again. He let out a quiet sigh and returned to his studies, but this time, his posture was stiffer.

He didn’t want to look at you. He couldn’t look at you. Not when his thoughts still felt twisted. You stayed like that, touching him like he was clean…. His stomach tightened, guilt crawling up his throat.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Baku interrupted, walking past Sieun’s desk with a smirk on his face. You quickly snatched your hand away, your fingers retreating as if caught doing something wrong.

Baku’s eyes narrowed knowingly.

Sieun’s eyes drifted down to his hand, still resting on the desk. He stared at it—at himself—and felt his cheeks burn even more.

If you knew what he had done, would you still look at him with that softness in your eyes?


Would you still reach for him?

Baku caught the shift in Sieun’s body. He knew exactly why Sieun was reacting this way—he had seen that look before. The kind of look a guy gives when he’s fighting with himself over something he didn’t want to admit.

Baku couldn’t help it. He chuckled quietly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You’re a mess, Yeon Sieun.” He murmured, his voice low enough that only Sieun could hear. "You're so obvious."

You, on the other hand, had no idea what Baku was talking about, but his laugh only added to the strange feeling in the air. Sieun, still avoiding your gaze, seemed even more uncomfortable now. You weren’t sure if it was because of your touch or because of Baku’s teasing, but something had definitely shifted in him.

As Baku walked away, he shot a quick wink in your direction, still chuckling softly under his breath. You caught the glance and felt a little confused, but Sieun seemed almost ready to crawl under his desk to avoid all the attention.

“Just ignore him,” Sieun mumbled, though the words came out as a hushed whisper, like he was trying to calm himself down more than you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

Class resumed, the teacher’s voice cutting through the lingering tension. You kept your eyes on the board, though your mind was still with him. Sieun sat stiff beside you, eyes trained forward, unmoving.

Minutes ticked by.

When the final bell rang, you rapidly stood up, not wanting to miss the buss bringing you to the academy.

Sieun didn’t move. You stopped in your tracks.

Baku caught your glance. Quietly, he stepped behind you and nudged your elbow.

“Hey.” He said low enough that only you could hear. “Let me talk to him.”

You hesitated but nodded, casting one last look at Sieun before walking out with the others.

Once the room emptied, Baku slide in the chair in front of Sieun’s desk. He glanced at him, then at the hand Sieun kept staring at.

“You planning to burn a hole in it or what?” Baku asked, leaning forward. “You’ve been staring like that thing betrayed you.”

Sieun didn’t answer.

Baku exhaled, more gently this time. “You wanna talk about it?”

Still nothing. Just that tense silence.

“Is it about her?” Baku asked, voice softer now.

Sieun hesitated, then nodded. “Earlier … After lunch. I just—” He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept thinking about her…and then her skirt rode up a little today and—I didn’t mean to look... But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I felt like—like I had no control.”

There was a long pause before Sieun finally spoke again. His voice was low, almost tight. “After lunch, I went to the bathroom... I had to…” He couldn’t finish.

“You touched yourself” Baku said plainly, not judging.

Sieun lowered his gaze. “Yeah.”

“So?”

Sieun looked up, startled. “So? That’s it?”

“What, you thought I’d freak out? Yell at you? Nah.” Baku leaned in closer, voice dropping. “It’s natural. You didn’t do anything wrong by reacting. You’re human, even if you hate it sometimes.” He teased at the end.

Sieun sighed, fidgeting with the sleeve of his uniform. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I… I had to relieve it. I didn’t want to. It just—happened. It felt—wrong”

“No, it felt intense. You’re not used to that. She makes you feel things, and you’re scared of what that means.”

Sieun’s jaw clenched. “She sat beside me, worried about me. She was being kind, like always. And I was just... I feel like some kind of creep.”

“You’re not a creep. You didn’t do anything to her.” Baku argued, voice softer now. “You didn’t cross a line. You just… felt something really strong and didn’t know where to put it.”

There was a long pause. Sieun shifted again, head bowed. “I don’t know how to handle, this feeling.”

“And that’s okay,” Baku said simply. “You’re figuring it out. Just like the rest of us.” Sieun exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

”Just don’t get weird about it.” Added Baku. “You’re not some monster for having feelings. You're also not the first guy to get worked up thinking about someone he likes.”

Sieun’s gaze flicked to him.

Baku smirked, nudging him. “I mean it. Stuff like that… wanting someone like that. It’s not something to be ashamed of. You like her. So what?”

Sieun blinked. His ears flushed as Baku went on, voice more serious now.

“I’m pretty sure she likes you back. Anyone can see it. Don’t beat yourself up just because your feelings don’t look clean in your head.” Baku gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re allowed to feel good things, man. You’re allowed to want them too.”

Sieun stayed silent, but his fingers flexed slowly, like he was finally testing whether the shame still lingered in the skin.

“And come on, man. She’s beautiful. Smart. Got that ballerina grace and all. If you weren’t thinking about her like that, then I’d be concerned.” Baku added with a knowing grin.

Sieun shot him a look—half scandalized, half mortified.

Then Baku added, laughing just a bit, “And hey, if you’re losing it over a glimpse of her thigh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Don’t cross the line, now.” Sieun said quietly, but the threat wasn’t serious. The blush on his cheeks was unmistakable.

Baku raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But hey, it’s cute seeing you get all worked up.”

They sat in silence for a while. It was a rare moment—just the two of them, neither needing to speak, but still sharing an understanding. A silent thank you for the advice Baku had given him.

Then, out of nowhere, Sieun muttered, almost too low to hear:


“…It didn’t even last a full minute.”

Baku blinked—then let out a sharp laugh, nearly choking. “Dude—”

Sieun winced, clearly regretting saying anything. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, no—this is great,” Baku wheezed, grinning like an idiot. “That’s—man, that’s so pure.”

Sieun groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Baku clapped him on the back. “It just means you're really into her. And also… maybe you need a bit more stamina.”

“Please shut up.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Baku said, laughing. Then, more gently, “Seriously, though. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re allowed to feel this way. It’s not shameful. It’s just human.”

Sieun glanced sideways at him, still wary.

Baku smirked, but his tone softened. “And hey. When it does happen for real—you’re gonna want it to last more than a minute, right? You have to make it last. Let it build.”

Sieun gave him a flat stare. “Stop talking. You're the worst.”

“I know,” Baku said proudly. “But I’m also right.”

For the first time, Sieun’s lips twitched up slightly.

And Baku, satisfied, leaned back in his chair.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The night was still, the world outside silent as Sieun lay in his bed, his mind restless. It had been days since that awkward moment with you at school, the touch of your hand was still lingering in his memory.

His eyes closed slowly, exhaustion pulling him into a deep sleep, but his thoughts followed him, lingering at the edge of his consciousness.

In the dream, it was warm—almost too warm. The air was thick with the scent of something sweet and familiar, and Sieun realized it was you.

You were there, standing across from him in a soft, flowing dress. Your hair cascaded down your shoulders, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost ethereal. You stepped closer, and with each step, Sieun’s heart began to beat faster.

He didn’t speak. He never did in dreams.

His breath hitched as you reached out to touch his arm.

“You’ve been distant.” You said softly, your voice a whisper that echoed in his ears. “Why?”

His throat felt tight, and the air between you felt charged, like the space was too small to hold the tension that had been building between the two of you for weeks.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, and he felt a shiver run through him. Your touch was gentle, almost delicate, and it set something in him alight.

He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real—too real to ignore.

“You know, I always thought that you were cold.” You said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But now, I’m starting to think you’re just shy.”

Your hands slid to the back of his neck, drawing him down to as your body pressed into his. “Sieun…” Your voice was low, sensual. You leaned in closer, so close that your lips brushed against his ear. “If you ever need someone to talk to… or something more…” You said, your voice teasing and playful, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’ll be here.”

And then, before he could stop it, the dream shifted again. The tension that had been building snapped, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming rush of heat.

He woke up with a start, his breath ragged and his body tense. His heart was pounding in his chest. His mind raced with confusion, the remnants of the dream still lingering in his thoughts. He exhaled through his nose, hand dragging down his face. He looked down and saw what he already suspected. What he already felt.

He was painfully hard.

No shame, he reminded himself. Just... focus on what feels good. It's natural.

Slowly, his hand slipped beneath the covers, fingers brushing against his stomach, his chest, before slipping lower, seeking the release his body was craving. Sieun’s breath hitched slightly when he gripped himself. He started the motion slowly. Up and down. Up and down. There was the faint sound of skin against skin—low, rhythmic, wet. A quiet curse left him. His fingers flexed, and the wet sound grew sharper, slicker.

His mind flashed to the dream again—your face, your touch, the warmth of your body. His breath caught, and his hand moved a bit faster now, the memory of you pushing him past any hesitation. He moved through the motions, not out of guilt or shame, but out of necessity, out of understanding that his body and mind were connected… and he needed you.

Baku's voice—a little teasing, but with a hint of advice, echoed in his mind: "Make it last. Let it build. Focus."

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lips, trying to push everything else out. His hand adjusted, a soft slick sound following, and a quiet exhale slipped from his lips. His muscles tightened, and his pulse raced as he focused on the sensation, feeling the pressure build slowly, forcing himself to hold back, to make it last longer.

He tried to savor it, to stretch it out, even as his body was demanding more. It was like a tug-of-war—his mind telling him to slow down, to take his time, while his body pushed him closer to the edge. The heat in his stomach spread outward, burning through him, but he kept his hand steady, slowing the pace.

Your touch, the way you’d smiled at him, the heat that had curled in his chest. He could feel you so clearly now, even if you weren’t there. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he focused harder, trying to make it last.

It was so hard, but he kept going.

He could feel the tension winding tighter inside of him, building, and he focused on every little sensation—every brush of his skin, the way the sheets felt beneath him, the rush of heat spreading through him. He pushed aside every other thought, except for you.

His breath quickened, and his hand moved with more urgency now. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. A soft, involuntary sound slipped from his lips. The bed creaked faintly beneath him. His muscles tensed hard, breath ragged as he chased the rising heat—every stroke making the pressure more unbearable, his body tight with need, straining as the release crept closer, impossible to hold back.

And then, with a groan, it happened. The release was overwhelming, crashing over him, almost too much. His mouth stayed open as low whines left him. His chest rose and fell quickly as the warmth flooded him. The images of the dream were still there, still in his head, and his heart pounded.

His hand fell limply by his side, and he lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his body trembling. There was a part of him that almost regretted not making it last longer. He stayed still for a moment, the silence of the room wrapping around him like a thick fog. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, but his mind remained restless.

His body moved on autopilot as he cleaned himself up, wiping away the evidence of what had just passed. It was a strange routine, but at least now there was no confusion or hesitation. The act of it felt natural, even though his mind felt fogged. His body felt light, like the tension had completely left him. There was no more pressure, no more urgency—just a heavy satisfaction that lingered, like he could finally relax.

With that last thought of you in his head, Sieun let himself sink deeper into the mattress. The coolness of the sheets wrapped around him, and his body naturally fell into a state of rest. He didn’t fight it.

Sleep claimed him then, gentle and soothing, pulling him under with ease.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

You couldn’t stop smiling as you pulled the envelope from your bag, heart fluttering with anticipation. These tickets meant more than just a performance. They were a piece of you—your world—and you were about to share it with them. With him.

You walked over to the group, pulse picking up as you handed Baku his ticket first. He flashed you a teasing grin before you could even speak.

“Of course I’ll be there,” he said, winking. “Wouldn’t miss my favorite ballerina for anything.” You laughed softly, rolling your eyes, but the warmth in your chest stayed. Then, you turned toward Sieun.

He was seated, calm as always, looking vaguely distant—but when you stopped in front of him and held out the ticket, his eyes flicked to yours. You felt it again—that odd flutter in your chest that only he seemed to cause.

“Sieun,” You said, quieter than before. “You’ll come, right? I really want you to be there.”

For a moment, he just stared at the ticket in your hand. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but hesitated. Your heartbeat slowed, waiting—uncertain.

Then he finally looked at you, and the world narrowed. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and shy. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” You breathed, holding his gaze a little longer than you meant to. He didn’t look away right away. But then, as if remembering himself, he dropped his eyes to the ticket, and you could have sworn his ears turned pink.

You handed out the rest of the tickets, but your mind stayed on him. That strange stillness between you hadn’t gone away. If anything, it lingered deeper now, like a thread pulling tighter. You couldn’t explain it—not fully—but you liked it.

You couldn’t wait to dance that night. To see them in the audience.

To see him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

It was late when you finally stepped out of the ballet academy, the air crisp with the bite of late evening chill. Your hair was still damp from your quick post-class shower, clinging to your neck and soaking into your coat collar. You’d meant to dry it, but the clock had run faster than expected, and you didn’t want to be late for the hangout your friends had planned.

You spotted them right away—Baku, Gotak, Juntae, and—

Your heart gave a small, traitorous jump.

Sieun.

They were all leaning against the railing just outside the entrance, half lit by the warm glow spilling from the building, laughing at something Baku said. But Sieun wasn’t laughing. He was watching you.

He didn’t say anything at first when you approached. He just stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his usual cold expression in place. But the moment his eyes caught on your hair—his brows furrowed. A flash of something unreadable crossed his face. Concern? Confusion?

“You didn’t dry it?” he asked softly, once you were close enough.

You blinked, surprised by the quiet urgency in his tone. “There wasn’t time. I didn’t want to be late.”

He stared at you a second longer. Then, in a small, awkward movement, he reached up—hesitated—and gently tugged the edge of your hood up over your head.

“It’s cold,” he said, voice low. “You’ll get sick.”

Your breath caught a little, more from the gesture than the air. His fingers brushed your hair as he adjusted the hood, and something inside you pulled tight. His touch was soft—tentative—but filled with a kind of quiet care that made your chest ache.

“I’ll be fine.” You whispered, but your voice had softened. He didn’t answer, just looked at you for a beat longer before stepping back.

Baku clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Let’s go, before we all freeze to death!”

The group started walking, laughter echoing into the night, but as you fell into step beside Sieun, you could feel the warmth of his gesture lingering—like the heat of a small flame, tucked quietly between you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The small restaurant was tucked into a side street, glowing with warm yellow lights and the hum of quiet chatter. It wasn’t anything fancy—plastic menus, mismatched chairs, steam rising from bowls of noodles—but it was cozy, and it felt like your little corner of the world.

You slid into the booth beside Sieun. Baku and Juntae sat across from you, still bickering about something, while Gotak was at the counter ordering for the group.

“Okay, but,” Juntae said, readjusting his glasses, “You can’t seriously tell me that the main guy isn’t overpowered. He literally destroyed an entire demon clan in the first episode.”

“That’s the point!” Baku argued. “He’s cool. You’re just mad because you don’t understand peak character writing.”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The way Baku got so animated when talking about his favourite anime reminded you of a kid—unfiltered, excited, alive. You leaned your chin on your hand, watching him with amusement.

“You really like this one, huh?” you asked.

Baku beamed. “I love it. I even ordered the limited edition figurine. It’s coming next week.”

You giggled softly, and as your eyes flicked sideways, you caught Sieun’s profile beside you. He was facing forward, expression neutral, arms crossed over his chest—but there was a slight tension to his jaw. His eyes flicked to Baku, then to you. Then back to Baku again.

You didn’t notice. But Baku did. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Sieun shifted slightly, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, then sat rigidly, trying to look indifferent. But the faint crease between his brows gave him away.

The food arrived, and the table filled with warmth and scent—spicy broth, sizzling meat, bowls of rice. You reached for the side dishes, brushing your knee against Sieun’s by accident. He tensed but didn’t move away.

Baku leaned back, grinning to himself behind his chopsticks.

Sieun glanced at him warily—and Baku just shrugged, sipping his soup like he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

You were halfway through your bowl of noodles when Baku leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you with a grin too wide to be innocent.

“So,” he began, dragging out the word, “Y/N, when exactly are you planning on falling for me?”

You blinked, almost choking on your bite. “What?”

Gotak let out a loud laugh, nearly spitting out his drink. “Bro, give it a rest. She’s way out of your league.”

Baku raised his brows at him. “You wound me, Gotak. I thought we were on the same team.”

You rolled your eyes and smirked, swatting at Baku with your chopsticks. “You’re not my type.”

Baku clutched his chest dramatically. “Well, aren’t you harsh!? I’m hurt. You’re lying though—How could I not be everybody’s type?”

The table erupted again—Gotak practically howling, even Juntae was cracking a smile.

But Sieun stayed quiet.

The spoon in his hand paused midair, his jaw slightly clenched. He looked at Baku a little too long—expression serious, but the faintest twitch in his fingers betrayed him.

“Alright, alright,” Baku said, holding up his hands. “I’ll stop flirting. For now.”

“You’re assuming you ever started.” You replied with a grin, making Gotak wheeze into his drink.

“Burned!” Gotak laughed It made you smile, proud of yourself for the comeback.

You noticed Sieun staring down at his bowl, not eating anymore. Something about the way he was hunched slightly forward, made your smile dim.

But before you could say anything, Gotak launched into a chaotic retelling of a fight that broke out between first-years, instantly dragging the group’s attention back to the noise and laughter.

Everyone except Sieun.

He was still quiet. Still thinking.

And still stealing the occasional glance at you when he thought no one was watching.

But Baku saw everything.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

The warmth of the restaurant still clung to your skin as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, the night air crisp and buzzing with weekend energy. Gotak was the first to suggest it. “Bowling?” he asked, swinging his arms in excitement. “Come on, it’s Friday night.”

“Why do I feel like this could end badly?” Juntae mumbled, but he didn’t protest when Gotak threw an arm around his shoulder and started leading the way.

You walked beside Sieun, the neon glow of storefront signs lighting up the pavement ahead. His hands were in his pockets, as always, and his gaze was on the ground. But he walked just a little closer than usual.

The bowling alley was noisy and crowded, filled with flashing lights and the echoing crash of pins. Gotak was already trying to pick the heaviest ball he could lift, boasting that it would give him “maximum power,” while Baku filmed him for evidence in case he dropped it on his own foot.

You were laughing when you turned around—and stopped.

Sieun was gone.

You frowned and scanned the room, only to see him returning from the far end of the lanes. In his arms was a pale blue bowling ball. He walked over and wordlessly placed it on the return rack right in front of your lane.

“For you,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

You blinked. “You… got this ball for me?”

He gave a small nod. “Your hands are smaller. The others were too heavy.”

Something fluttered in your chest. You opened your mouth to thank him, but he was already turning away, pretending to adjust the score machine with Juntae.

Baku passed by behind you with a slight smirk, murmuring just loud enough for only you to hear, “He’s getting brave. I’m so proud.”

You bit your lip, heart racing just a little faster, as you stepped up to bowl your first turn. As you lined up your shot, you could feel it again—that soft, quiet gaze. Sieun watching you, just like always.

But this time, he wasn’t pretending he wasn’t.

No one expected much when Sieun stepped up for his turn. He looked as bored as ever, standing at the edge of the lane with a bowling ball in his hand. “Bet he drops it behind him,” Gotak snorted, elbowing Baku.

Baku grinned. “One thousand won says it’s a gutter.”

You shook your head. “Don’t count him out.”

Sieun didn’t respond to any of it. He just adjusted his grip on the ball, calculated the lane with a quick glance, then stepped forward with smooth, almost lazy movements—and released.

The ball rolled down the center of the lane with unnerving precision.

Crack.

A perfect strike.

The pins scattered like dominoes. The machine blinked its approval, the strike animation flashing across the screen.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then—


“What the—”


“No way.”


“Did you see that?!”

Gotak’s jaw dropped, mouth wide open. Juntae looked like he forgot how to blink. Even Baku—who always had a comeback—was speechless, eyes darting between the pins and Sieun like he’d just witnessed sorcery.

Sieun turned around slowly, expression unreadable. “It’s just physics,” he said flatly, walking back toward the group as if he hadn’t just blown their minds.

You burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me? That was amazing!”

“Physics, my ass,” Gotak said, still frozen, almost scared.

Baku was the first to recover, squinting suspiciously. “You secretly compete on weekends, don’t you? Be honest.”

Sieun sat back down beside you, his shoulders relaxed. “I’ve never played before.”

You leaned closer, grinning. “Well, I’m officially naming you our secret weapon.”

He didn’t answer, but you saw it—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest smirk.

“I’m scared to go next,” Juntae mumbled.

You giggled and nudged Sieun lightly. “Thanks for showing us all up.”

He didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the scoreboard. But his fingers were fidgeting slightly in his lap, and the soft glow in his eyes hadn’t faded. For once, he didn’t seem to mind the attention—especially not when it came from you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

After the first match ended—with Sieun’s name glowing confidently at the top of the scoreboard—you slipped away while the others headed toward the bathrooms, still laughing over their defeat. You told them you’d be right back, then wandered to the vending machine tucked into the quietest corner of the alley, past the claw machines and blinking arcade games.

You stood in front of the machine but didn’t press anything. You weren’t really craving snacks—you just needed a breather.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt it.

The air shifted.

“How many days until the performance?”

Sieun’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether it would reach you.

You turned slightly, and there he was—hands in his pockets. “Next Friday,” you answered. “Seven days.”

He nodded once, slow. “Is it a solo?”

“One of them,” you said. “It’s just a showcase for the academy, but there’ll be scouts.”

Silence settled in again. Not awkward—just…

“I think you’ll do great,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. “Even though I’ve never seen you dance.”

Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to compliments like that from him. Especially not so simply given.

“Thanks.” You murmured. “It means a lot.”

His eyes flicked to you, just briefly. But that one glance held something warmer.

You shifted your weight slightly, your shoulder brushing his arm. He didn’t move. “You’re acting weird again today.” You said, a teasing edge to your voice, trying to ground yourself.

“I’m not,” He replied, just a touch too quick. Then, quieter: “Maybe I am.”

The air between you grew heavier.

You turned slightly to face him. “Are you okay?”

His gaze dropped. “I’m fine,” he said. Then after a pause, “Just...thinking too much.”

You waited, but he didn’t elaborate. You didn’t push right away. Instead, your hand instinctively reached toward his, covering it gently.

The contact was innocent, simple. But his reaction wasn’t. His fingers stiffened beneath yours, and you felt the slightest tremor in his breath.

“Sieun? Please, talk to me.”

“I’m okay,” he said again, more softly this time. “Y/N, I have been meaning to—”

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

��Hello.” A rough voice called, and you turned to see a group of three unfamiliar guys sauntering around the corner. They weren’t students from your school—definitely older, and their cocky grins made your stomach twist in discomfort.

One of them stepped forward. “You two... you’re friends with Baku, right?”

Before you could answer, Sieun moved in front of you, his body positioning itself between you and the group. His shoulders tensed, a dangerous kind of energy radiating from him. He wasn’t saying a word, but his body language was clear.

The group’s leader smirked, clearly amused by Sieun’s protective stance. “You don’t have to act tough, kid. We just want to know if you’re on his side.”

Sieun’s voice was calm, but it held a warning. “You should leave. Now.”

One of them stepped around a little bit, his eyes scanning you for a moment before speaking. “You’re pretty,” he said, his voice a mix of admiration and something else—something less than kind. “What’s your name?”

Sieun, calm as ever, kept his eyes locked on the guy. You couldn’t help but feel a little safer behind him. You noticed the slight tension in his jaw, the way his body was just a little bit more rigid than usual. He didn’t look away as he spoke, his voice flat but firm.

“Don’t talk to her.”

The tallest guy gave a slight chuckle, clearly unfazed.

After a split second, one of the other boy in the group spoke up. “Omg! Look at his eyes.” He laughed. The leader of the group chuckled as well. “C’mon, we’re just talkin’. No need for the psycho stare.”

Then the first guy tilted his head toward you again, ignoring Sieun’s warning. “Why don’t you answer instead, sweetheart? Pretty girls shouldn’t act so rude. Are you guys with Baku?”

You took another step back, hiding completely behind Sieun’s back now.

“Yo, what’s your problem? Can you move?” One of them directed at Sieun, starting to get irritated. “You’re her guard dog or somethin’?”

Then—Sieun pulled something from the pocket of his jacket.

A pen.

He clicked it once.

Twice.

The smirks started to falter.

One of the guys shifted on his feet. “Wait… I’ve heard about this—ain’t he the dude that stabbed people with a pen?”

Another face drained of color. “No way. That’s him?”

Sieun didn’t say a word. Just clicked the pen again. Slowly. Deliberately. His cold eyes locked with theirs, unflinching, unmoving.

The first guy tried to save face. “You really are messed up, bro. You got—like—crazy eyes for real.”

They were backing away now. One even bumped into the wall without realizing it.

“Just answer.” The leader asked, visibly unsettled. “You’re one of his guys? Baku?”

Sieun tilted his head slightly to the side. Not a nod. Not a denial.

Just enough to make them unsure.

Click.

The three of them turned and left without another word, muttering to themselves as they hurried off.

Your heart was still racing. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath until your chest started to ache. And then—slowly—you let it out. A quiet, shaky exhale.

Sieun stood there, unmoving, his back still to you. His presence was solid. Steady. Like a wall no one could pass through.

Without thinking, you stepped closer and gently leaned your forehead against his back. His jacket was warm, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath beneath it.

You stayed there for a second, eyes closed.

“I didn’t like how they were looking at you,” he said, voice low, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond at first. You just let yourself stay there, your body pressed lightly to his. The warmth of him. The quiet protection. “Thank you,” you murmured. “Really.”

Sieun didn’t move, but you felt the slightest shift—his hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach back

“I don’t know how I can repay you.” You whispered, your voice trembling with something deeper than just nerves. “You’ve saved me three times already.”

The words hung between you, fragile and warm like breath on cold glass.

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his jacket as you leaned more into him, your cheek now resting against his back. You could hear his heartbeat through the layers of cloth—steady, but just a little too fast.

Then, softly—almost too soft to catch—he said. “You don’t have to repay me.”

“But I want to.” I answered back quietly, like a secret.

A few feet away, partially hidden behind a vending machine, someone watched with quiet interest. Their phone raised slowly. One photo. Crisp, clear. You and Sieun caught in the middle of something almost tender. The glow of the device lit up the stranger’s hand, thumb quickly tapping the screen, sending off the image with practiced ease.

[22:41] “Looks like Baku’s got new friends.”

A pause. Then another message:

[22:41] “Think we could use them?”

The response was curt.

[22:42] “Let’s keep a tab on them. They could be useful.”

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.8.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,2K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: safe word use mentioned from Viktor's POV, subdrop & domspace (Viktor's), mentions of asphyxiation via throat fucking, light slapping and crying from Viktor's POV, some good ol' sex and you wouldn't believe it, actual fluff.

author’s note: Viktor's POV of what happened so we take a step back in timeline! Dinner next week. And as usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡ translations from Czech at the bottom! @rennethen beta read, thank you ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

He wakes to the smell of coffee—not the acrid, burnt kind that Jayce swears by, but something softer. Sweeter. Something you made.

The light in the flat is watery, the clouds outside dragging slow shadows across the walls. He blinks blearily at the bedroom ceiling and shifts, noticing first the ache in his leg, then the heaviness in his chest.

You’re not in bed. But your warmth is still in the sheets, curled faintly into the pillow beside him.

Viktor forces himself upright, limbs slow. His body doesn’t feel wrong, just... unfamiliar. Like someone else’s skin laid gently over his own. The memory of your hands—so sure, so careful—makes his mouth go dry.

He finds you in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie, hair tied back loosely, humming under your breath as you pour hot water into the press. You don’t startle when he appears. You just glance over your shoulder, smiling, as if you’ve always known exactly where he is.

“Hi,” you say, setting a mug down for him.

He hesitates before taking it. “You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I wanted to,” you reply, simply, like it’s obvious and it disarms him.

The morning passes like that—quiet, your fingers brushing his side when you walk past, his eyes following the curve of your smile like it’s something sacred. You don’t tease him. Don’t press. You just move around him like you know the weight of what you shared, and refuse to treat it lightly.

It should soothe him, but it doesn’t. The secret spilled last night—wordless but scratched open—lingers in the silence between you like a held breath. Even though he’s absolutely certain that you know what it feels like, it remains unspoken. And it seems as if touching it would be asking too much of you. So Viktor grits his teeth and tries to survive it on his own.

Until you’re dressed and ready to go, arms draped loosely over his shoulders, sat on the edge of the kitchen table like you belong there.

“I have to get going,” you murmur, nose brushing against the rough plane of his cheek, warm and certain in a way he can barely bring himself to match. You pull his hair back from his face with one hand—a loving gesture—and then trace your thumbs down the hollows of his cheeks.

“I can’t convince you to take a day off, can I?” he asks, the words raw with something too close to need. He tells himself he means it as a joke, but there’s no dignity in the way his fingers wrap around your wrist, desperate to keep you just a moment longer.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, smiling with that soft guilt. “Young Vic needs me.”

“Old Vik needs you more today,” he tries again, thinner now, an attempt at levity that collapses when the line leaves his mouth. The moment it does, he has to turn away from you—because the recoil twists something awful in his face, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

You hesitate, then offer gently, ���I could call you in the evening? Or come over?”

“Eh, I’m… joking,” he says quickly, waving his hand. “Go to work. I’ll be alright.”

There’s a pause, and then: “Viktor?” His name sounds different when you say it like that. Soft. Careful. “I—” You bite your lip, then exhale. “I know how… this feels,” you say, smoothing a hand over his chest.

“I know you do. And I know how this feels,” he replies, reaching for you and placing a flat palm over your heart. “Go and use it for something good. I have an easy day today.”

You wait until he’s looking away to rise up, hovering over his lap before kissing him. There’s no rush in it, just something tender and attentive. His hands come to your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer as he pulls you in and gives the kiss back. But not for long. He breaks it, pressing his face to yours with a tired sound in his throat.

“You’re making it worse,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible against your lips. It isn’t accusation—just truth, hushed and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your forehead rests against his, your breath warm between you. “But leaving you doesn’t feel right today.”

He huffs a soft sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so pained. “Does it ever feel right?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “But it feels less wrong when you’re perked up.”

That earns you a faint smile, crooked and tired. “Well, you will be back, won’t you? I need a day.”

“Of course,” you say, brushing your knuckles down the sharp line of his jaw. The gesture is soft, familiar, meant to soothe. “Call me though?”

His eyes meet yours—something tender flickering behind them. He doesn’t answer right away, but the nod that follows is slow and sure. Then his eyes grow distant, as if he’s trying not to grab blindly for what you’re taking with you. 

By the time he arrives at the Institute, he’s already chasing the part of himself that slipped out of reach last night. The one you pulled into your hands and held so reverently it scared him. He spends the day half-there, sketching absent lines into his notebook, one ear tuned vaguely to Jayce’s humming.

He tells himself it’s because he misses you, and not because he’s trying to claw back the version of himself you once begged to submit to.

The workbench doesn’t help. The lab work under his fingertips feels alien in a way it never has before—he assembles, disassembles, calibrates again, but none of it lands. His hands move, but they don’t belong to him today. 

At lunch, Jayce tries to corner him about a supply delay, but the words slide past like water on glass. Viktor nods where appropriate, gives a half-hum of agreement, and then stares at a small flaw in a solder point for twelve minutes, unable to remember what made it wrong. When Jayce circles back later, brows lifted and lips curled with mock concern, Viktor doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You sick or something?” Jayce finally says, nudging him with a wrench. “Is your leg bad?”

Viktor shrugs, without irony. “No. Just tired.” Which isn’t a lie. He is tired. But it’s the sort that sleep doesn’t touch.

He manages through it—just barely—riding a vague cloud of undefined sadness and borrowed momentum until the sky turns the soft blue of dusk. It’s a day in which nothing really happens, and yet, getting through it feels like wading through wet wool. Every hour stretches like taffy. Every question aimed at him demands a version of himself he can’t quite locate.

It’s very late when you call, but your pseudonym on the little black screen does serve as a lifeboat. At first Viktor wonders if just the sheer act of you calling him would be enough—and whether he should actually pick up. He does, in the end.

Your voice balms over him, the sound of it wrapping like gauze around an open wound. He exhales, head tipping back against the wall behind him as you sigh—relieved, clearly—that he picked up.

“I’m sorry, it’s so late. How are you doing?”

“I—” His throat tightens. “I actually don’t know.”

A pause. Then: “Would you like to… elaborate?”

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You calling is nice.”

There’s a breath on the line. Then: “Look, I… I wouldn’t be opposed to coming back to the initial… setup.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed?” he echoes, mouth twitching faintly.

“I would love to come back to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs, quieter now. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m good, but, hmm… irritable?”

That earns a small smile from him. “Oh?”

“It’s hard to explain,” you say, voice lilting in that way that always means you’re hedging. “Suddenly it’s very hard for me to understand when people just don’t do what I ask of them perfectly… Charlie called me Idi Amin today, so, uh, you know, I fear it might’ve turned me into a villain.”

“Ah, that.” Viktor chuckles softly, the sound hollow. “I can imagine it’s harder when you actually are in charge of something.”

“Yeah, I might not be the best person to wield such power.”

He lets his head fall back again, the ceiling above him blurred in the low light. “It’s something you can learn, should you wish to.”

“I—maybe.” A shift in your voice, tentative. “But Viktor, I don’t want you to think that something changes now.”

His chest tightens with that dull pressure he’s come to associate with wanting too much. “Well, something has changed,” he says, slowly, carefully. “In the spirit of honesty, which should be a pillar of this arrangement, I can tell you... that it perhaps was a little bit too soon for me.”

His own admission tastes strange in his mouth, too open and bare, but it’s true, nevertheless. “But I offered,” he adds, swallowing. “So the consequences are on me. I just don’t feel like myself today. But it will pass.”

“What can I do?”

He smiles, brief and tired, the expression hidden in shadow. “Hold back your control freak tendencies until we meet again? For the sake of theatre industry and possibly humanity?”

A soft exhale from the other end of the line. “It seems that we are on the opposite poles of control freakiness.”

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward, his elbow braced on his knee. “Two halves of one giant freakiness.”

“Viktor?”

He hums, eyelids lowering.

“I never said thank you. So thank you, for trusting me.”

The silence stretches for a beat before he answers, voice soft. “You are welcome.” He presses a thumb to his temple, almost without thinking. “You’ve earned it.”

“You are such a sap, I swear.”

“And you are romance repellent.”

That pulls a laugh from you—quick, bright, and it lingers in his ear even after the words fade. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, holding the phone just a second longer than needed before finally ending the call.

Truthfully what Viktor needs is you, right here with him in no particular setup, just being. He chuckles at his own contemplation on how strong or utterly stubborn you must be for not crawling back to him night after night, only every two or three nights, and still manage to tease him. Were you to walk through his door right now, he would fold like a napkin.

And Viktor would never call himself a person with a bleeding heart, yet for you he seems to be haemorrhaging slowly, from a small vein where the blood is airless, thick and lazy, so it can remain unnoticed for the longest time.

He stands under the scalding stream in the shower for ages, trying to purge the tension away from his body. The water pelts his shoulders in rhythmic bursts, but it does little to dissolve the tightness lodged deep beneath his skin. His mind is too loud for that—replaying your voice, dissecting its tone for layers of guilt, affection, detachment, something he can hold onto.

Eventually he turns the tap off, but lingers, head bowed. The air steams around him like a fog he doesn’t step out of.

When he finally makes it to bed, his leg is restless enough that he has to fumble for the crutch to keep it tucked against the nightstand—just in case. He hates using it at night, hates the metallic echo it taps across the floor, but tonight the ache is sharper than usual, aggravated by the weight of a day spent dragging emotions behind him like a second body.

He lies down without much ceremony. Gets his injection. Shifts once. Then again. He flips the pillow over, though it’s still warm on both sides. The silence hums in his ears. Sleep doesn’t come—not for a long time. When it finally does, it’s light and hollow, and Viktor wakes cold in his own bed.

The next day drags unbearably. He’s irritable and impatient, self-loathing rocketing sky-high as every weak spot crawls to the surface. There’s a monstrous, near-comical need welling up inside him, and it leaves him deeming himself utterly useless. He’s pliant with the investors. Jayce notices—worries—and eventually makes him go home, despite Viktor’s scoffs and brittle protests.

By the third day, he breaks. His good leg jumps up and down as he sits hunched on the stool in the lab, clutching his phone. The sass has long evaporated. He deletes a message three times before settling on something tolerable.

First attempt: Can I see you tonight? Utterly outrageous. No. Second: Come over in the evening. It feels presumptuous. He has no right. Third: How are you? Pathetic. Eventually, he settles on: What are you wearing?

You reply almost immediately, and he exhales—relieved. He’s certain your ass is perfectly fine, and you’re just indulging him. He snorts when you say you can afford his begging. Jayce raises an eyebrow, the question already forming, so Viktor simply mutters, “Cat videos.”

And when you text back I can’t wait, the giddiness rushes in—like a teenager. He can't wait either. When you buzz in and stumble out of the elevator, eyes distressed and posture tight, practically falling into his arms, Viktor has a single, foolish dream: That he could lift you, toss you onto the bed, and love you so gently the world would fall away. That maybe, just maybe, it would fix everything.

It’s the first time Viktor sees you like this—begging from the very threshold of his apartment. Pressing against him as if he offers some kind of relief. The sheer demand in your body for him to fall back into a role scrapes at the edges of his restraint, tipping him toward something darker when you won’t say what happened. He wants to know so badly who hurt you like this—so he can burn their house down and salt the ashes, tear their family apart, ruin them beyond repair.

You feel like an answered prayer in his arms, desperate and pliant. He takes you to the living room, watching the way you move—shaky, flushed, undone—as if his presence alone steadies you. He gestures to the cushions beside the couch. You kneel without protest.

It’s the image that splits him open.

Your mouth on him is so familiar, so obedient. Like a script returning to its first draft. He doesn’t speak much, just watches—eyes dragging down your face, your hair, the subtle tremor in your shoulders. He doesn’t ask what you need. Doesn’t outright ask what happened anymore, just scolds you playfully for not telling him. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he does—but because it feels too dangerous. Because if he asks, you might tell him, and he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

So he rewrites it all into performance. He slaps his cock against your cheek. The noise is louder than he anticipates in the quiet of the flat, and you flinch. That should have been the moment, but it isn’t.

Something in your expression falters—uncertainty where there should be surrender. But you stay with that tear prickling your eye. It’s such a gorgeous sight Viktor can’t help himself. He cups your face, and slaps you once. Again, he doesn’t stop. It crosses his mind he should ask if you want to.

But he presses back in, and then the second slap lands and he knows already that you are gone. He hears in the way you plea with his name. Then in the way you say, “Stop.” And then, red lands sharp and awful and your voice alone shatters him. The way it lands in the room, like a gunshot through fog. He blinks, as though just now returning to his body. You’re trembling. Not aroused. Not soft. Just… splintered.

And he realises, he’s panicked, trying to stitch together the version of himself that you looked at like a prayer answered, like you trusted it. Trying to make something static out of something inherently alive.

What he’d seen on your knees—open, vulnerable—wasn’t a call to power. It was a call to care. And he missed it. Because the sight of you there made something inside him settle. For the first time in days, his skin had fit again, like the shape of him had returned. He'd felt whole. Drunk on it. And he’d mistaken that relief for balance.

His reaction is instant, yet it feels far too slow. Every movement is thick, underwater. He guides you up gently, though all he wants is to lift you and carry you to bed. The fact that he can’t—because of the crutch, because of the day, because of his body—makes him feel small. What makes him feel worse is when you ask if he’s angry.

You cry so beautifully on his lap, he nearly slips again. Torn between crying with you and soothing you, Viktor settles on a compliment: You are wonderful. Many times already he’s fought back what keeps trying to breach the border of his lips, and he manages to hold it again—barely. Still stunned and ashamed by what happened, he makes a quiet vow: he will never corrode love into something cruel. Not with you. Never with you.

When you're finally in his bed, he leaves only for a moment. To get a towel for you. To steal a breath for himself. He brings back Jayce’s t-shirt and notices sombrely that the marking on your belly is nearly gone.

He’s ready to call it a night. To cradle you through the shame and the silence. But then your hands ghost over his stomach, pleading. And it takes every last ounce of his willpower—and some borrowed from whatever extraterrestrial entity set this whole cruel universe in motion—to refuse you.

But you keep begging. Frustrated, you throw your hands up, and he wishes he could read your mind. And then suddenly—he can.

And Viktor cannot exactly put a pin in the moment it finds him—or rather, the moment he catches up with it. The love that has kind hands, the love that snores, the love that cracks her bones ten thousand times a day, the love that finds shelter in the crease of his thigh and gives, gives, gives—and takes. What he has to shed, she wants. What she gives, he takes and says thank you. When he caught up with it eludes him. But where it found him—he is convinced—it was at the world’s end.

By the time he shakes off the weight of that realisation, you’re already asleep. Curled over him. Breathing warm air against his cock like it’s nothing, like it’s everything. His hand rests on your head, the other clutched to his chest. He says your name, softly, just to be sure. When you don’t stir, he gathers every shard of nerve he has and whispers: “I think I love you.”

Soon after that sleep takes him too. He wakes to the pressing throb of his leg and the weight of your head nestled into the plane of his stomach. One of your arms is draped across his waist, fingers curled possessively into his hip like you’d grown roots there in your sleep. It’s still dark out. His phone buzzes once—4:43 AM—and he grimaces as sensation starts returning in a slow, mean wave down his thigh.

He hates moving you. Every instinct he has screams to let you stay as you are, peaceful and slack-jawed against him, hair tickling his skin with each breath. But he needs to get up. The pressure is unbearable, the stiff ache turning sharp.

Carefully, he shifts—easing your hand from his waist, brushing your cheek. You murmur something into the warmth, not quite words, but when he brushes your shoulder again, your eyes blink open, bleary and unfocused.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Need the bathroom.”

You nod, half-asleep, and roll away just enough to let him move. He reaches for his crutch, standing slowly with a tight breath, and pads toward the door. When he returns, you're sitting up, barely upright, blanket wrapped loosely around your chest.

“I pinned you,” you say, voice raspy, eyes dragging over the crutch.

“You were warm.” He pauses, settling in beside you again. “I didn’t mind.”

You make a noncommittal sound and tug the blanket tighter. Your eyes are clearer now, more awake, still a bit puffy, watching him as he eases himself back onto the bed. The mood is subdued, but not strained.

You yawn into your sleeve. “Do you think people will notice?”

Viktor blinks. “That you pinned me?”

You give him a look. “At dinner.”

He exhales, amused but wary. “Ah.” It hangs between you for a second. The Soho dinner. Mel’s big revival of her hosting streak. You were both invited—separately—as this is of course still, a very casual secret.

“I mean, we haven’t exactly rehearsed public performances,” you add.

He rubs a hand across his face. “Yes, and I imagine ‘friends of friends’ won’t suffice if I accidentally lick your neck.”

You snort, surprised. “Jesus, Viktor.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “I’m not especially discreet.”

“No, you're not.” You draw your knees tighter. “Do we… act normal? Or pretend we don’t know each other?”

“I’d prefer not to pretend,” he says. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll behave.”

There’s a pause, then you ask: “Will it be weird for you?”

He shakes his head. “Not unless you flirt with someone else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which you’re free to do,” he adds quickly. “I just… reserve the right to have an internal crisis about it.”

That draws a real laugh out of you. And he’s grateful for it. The air in the room lightens, just enough. “I guess we’ll play it by ear,” you say, softer now. “See how it feels.”

He nods. “We’ll be fine.”

But still, after you settle back beside him, your head near his shoulder, he finds his thoughts wandering—through the dining room in Soho, the faces of your friends, the chance proximity of your knees under the table. The idea of being in a room full of people who don’t know what you are, who assume they know. The ache of not touching. The unbearable sweetness of being near you, and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.

He lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. You’re here. And oh, under Viktor’s lids you are there too, crying into his sleeve. He rolls to his side to face you, brushes hair off your neck, and kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. You giggle, shoulders squirming up.

When he leans in to kiss your mouth, you twist away with a playful groan. “That’s cheating, you cleaned your teeth!”

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, mouth already grazing your jaw. “You can go and brush yours if you wish.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s very early,” he murmurs, planting a kiss at the curve of your neck, “so we have time for this—” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. “—and maybe some of this.” Then, shifting closer, Viktor grinds the weight of his cock into the soft apex of your thighs. “And possibly also this,” he purrs, voice dipping low.

You hold back your breath in the hollow of your palm, eyes fluttering shut. Then a beat. You wriggle away. “Wait here.”

“Hurry up,” he groans, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Impossible man,” you mutter from the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

When you come back, he’s splayed on his side, head propped in his hand. You drop onto the bed with theatrical exhaustion and lean over him, exhaling sharply into his face. “See how nice?” you ask, breath fresh and smug.

He chuckles, grinning as he slaps your thigh. “Very nice indeed. Now come here.”

You shift over, kneeling beside him, and Viktor’s hand finds the small of your back. But before things slip further, his gaze lifts to yours, steady and searching. “How are you?” he asks softly. “After last night.”

You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers trace his sternum with deliberate calm. “I’ll tell you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just not now.”

His eyes stay on yours for a moment longer. Reading. Weighing. He nods, and the quiet is warm again. “Alright,” he says.

You bend forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How’s your leg?”

He scoffs, a little theatrical himself now, trying to dismiss it. “Uncooperative, as always. But I’ll manage.”

You arch a brow. “Well, I want you to last me a long time, so you better not strain yourself.”

That earns you a pleased hum and the faintest flush at his ears. He rolls onto his back with a smirk and props his good leg slightly, one arm behind his head. “Well then,” he says, voice rich with suggestion, “you better get to work, no?”

Your grin flashes bright as you crawl over him, your reply low and teasing: “Yes, sir,” your hands already sliding down his underwear.

He groans as you free him, his cock twitching against his hip. You peel off your t-shirt next, then your knickers, tossing them somewhere off the edge of the bed. Straddling his lap, you settle your hands on his chest, lean down, and kiss him—his mouth, his cheek, the edge of his jaw. You press slow kisses along his neck, over the yellowing bruise your mouth left nights ago. Viktor watches you, breath catching when your lips drift down the plane of his torso.

You take your time. His collarbones, his sternum. The raised edge of a scar. You kiss each wrist, the fingers that gripped your waist last night. When your mouth finds the V of his hips, he jolts—half a gasp, half a plea. You guide your tongue there gently, purposely, and feel him pulse against your cheek.

He’s hard now, fully, his breath uneven as he stares down at you with something like awe and confusion. “What is all this for?” he asks, voice ragged.

You lift your gaze, your lips swollen with affection. “It wasn’t so bad last night,” you say. “I actually feel better today. I want you to know this.”

His brow furrows, mouth parting, but no words come. Then, slowly, he exhales and murmurs, “My girl. Come here.”

You crawl back over him, hips bracketing his, and Viktor wraps one arm around your back, pulling you to his chest. The other hand comes to your face, brushing your temple. “You don’t apologise to me now or make it up in any way, do you understand?” he says, voice low and tender. “I pushed too hard. But I will make it up to you.”

You nod against him, your breath soft where it hits his skin. Viktor exhales through his nose, cradling your jaw with his hand. You are warm under his fingers, pliant, trusting. The weight of you straddling him feels steadying, like gravity remembering its job. He runs his hand down your spine, all the way to your tailbone, and presses you closer.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hairline.

You hum softly, shifting your hips against his, and Viktor’s cock nudges the slick heat of you. His breath stutters—just a little. He cups your hips, stills you with firm hands. Not yet.

“Lift for me,” he says, voice low.

You rise up on your knees, and he lines himself up with one hand. When you sink down onto him, both of you moan—a sound drawn from the deepest parts. You’re slow with it, careful, and he can feel your thighs trembling already, but today he’s patient. Anchored. One hand slips to your belly, pressing you gently down until he’s fully sheathed inside. Your walls clench around him, and Viktor has to close his eyes for a moment.

“There you are,” he says quietly. “That’s it.” He exhales, relieved. His mind quiets again. He’s home again.

He entwines your fingers in his and stretches his arms over his head, pulling you with him. Your chests touch—Viktor’s ribs pressing gently into the soft parts of your body—and he stretches until his stomach hollows.

You kiss him, first softly—barely a brush. Then again, deeper, as your mouths part and your breaths spill together. He tilts his head, angling into you, and when your tongues meet, it’s with a hum low in his throat. His fingers tighten instinctively in yours.

You taste like mint and heat, like morning and want. His lips part to welcome more of you. The slide of your tongue against his makes his chest flutter, his pulse knocking unevenly beneath your joined hands. When your teeth click softly against his, he huffs a laugh into your mouth, but doesn't pull back.

You kiss like you need him. Like you missed him. He melts into it, into you, mouth open and pliant now, his tongue sweeping yours slowly. The heat of you around him, the weight of you above him—it all swells into something dizzying. He’s not sure what’s better: the lazy rhythm of your hips or the wet, drugging pace of your kiss.

You moan softly against his mouth and Viktor’s hips twitch beneath you. He groans in return, the sound swallowed into your mouth as his hands squeeze yours tighter. You’re both breathless when you pull back just a little—lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting you for a heartbeat before it breaks.

He whispers your name, bewildered. His eyes are half-lidded, his body strung taut with pleasure. “You kiss me like you mean it.”

You smile against his mouth. “I do,” you say, and the words go straight through him. Viktor swallows, chest rising beneath yours.

His hand slips free from yours and rises to cradle your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, then traces the soft curve of your lower lip. “Good,” he murmurs, “me too.”

You roll your hips, slow and sure, and the breath leaves him. His grip tightens—not to stop you, just to feel it all more.

The rhythm you set is unhurried. Measured. He falls into it like something practiced, like the steps of a dance his body never forgot. It’s you that brings him back—your weight, your warmth, your breath on his face. You ground him. Remind him that he’s not chasing anything now. He’s already here. He doesn’t need to reach or grasp or force. He can just be.

He exhales long and slow, letting himself dissolve into the motion of your bodies meeting, again and again.

There is no urgency in you today, only that devastating tenderness he finds hardest to survive. You ride him like you’re trying to memorise something, to mark it, to hold it without breaking it. And he lets you. No—he offers himself up to be held like this.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers suddenly, surprising himself. His hands find your hips and he steadies you, pushes up into you just a little, guiding the angle. “It wasn’t long, and I’ve still missed you.”

You lean forward and kiss him—slow and deep again—and he arches into it, gasping softly when your cunt flutters around him.

Everything else falls away. The shame. The mistake. The panic from the night before that had clawed inside his ribs and refused to let go—it's quiet now. Gone, mostly. Or caged well enough that he can breathe again.

“You feel good,” he tells you between kisses, hand sliding from your hip to your thigh. “You always do. But now—” he pauses, groans as your cunt clenches again, “Now it feels—” He doesn’t finish.

You nod against his forehead, your body rocking into his like you understand something too. Like this, slow and deep and raw, is the only thing either of you really knows how to speak in.

And still, Viktor guides you. His hands adjust the angle again, murmuring soft instructions against your skin—“There, like that—yes. Just like that, good girl.”

You whimper as you find a new depth, and Viktor feels your fingers slide through his hair, anchor against his scalp. The next time you grind down, a helpless noise breaks in his throat. He grabs your ass, helps you move, then presses a kiss to your sternum, your throat, your collarbone.

His voice is rough now, soaked in need. “I want to stay like this. Inside you. Under you. Watching your face when you come.”

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed, and he catches your cheek in his palm again. “Don’t hide,” he whispers. “Let me see you.”

You slip your hands to cradle the base of his skull, thumbs pressing into the hinges of his jaw. “Viktor, you feel so good, oh God,” you whisper into his mouth, lips catching. Your brows scrunch above his and Viktor breathes you in deeply through his nose, through his mouth.

"Talk to me, please," you ask him.

Viktor cups your jaw, reverent. His hips lift in time with yours, steady, deep. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice roughened with restraint. “So strong. So soft, taking me so well.”

You whimper, and he kisses you again, slower now. Tongue brushing yours, careful, coaxing. “Děvče moje,” he breathes against your lips. “Podívej se na mě. Look at me.”

Your gaze finds his—eyes glassy, wide—and he almost breaks there. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Show me how good it feels.”

You clench around him—tight, fluttering—and Viktor sees it ripple through you, the way your thighs begin shake, how your rhythm stutters. “That’s it,” he says again, encouraging, barely holding himself back. “You’re close. Come for me, my girl. Just like this. Let me feel you.”

Your whole body tightens and then unravels all at once. Your breath is gone, your mouth opens, but there are no words, only a sound—guttural, cracked, full of something big and raw. Your hands twist into his hair. Your cunt clamps hard around him, again and again.

And Viktor—oh, Viktor is gone.

The wave of your orgasm rolls through him, not just in the way you clench around him, not just in the rhythm of your breath—but in the ache in his chest. The swell behind his ribs. The unbearable beauty of you coming apart on top of him.

His vision blurs as his own climax hits, deep and low in his spine. His hands grab at your hips, hold you still, and he grinds up into you once, twice—moaning through his teeth as he spills inside you.

You collapse forward, gasping against his neck, and Viktor just holds you. Hands on your back, one curled protectively at the nape of your neck. His thoughts scatter. All distant now—like fog that’s lifted. There’s only this: you with him, the feel of your heartbeat pounding where your chest meets his.

Viktor closes his eyes, presses a kiss into your hair, and lets his body soften under yours. “Děkuju,” he whispers, and doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud.

“Viktor?” you murmur into his neck after a moment. He hums in response, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m hungry.”

His mouth falls open, incredulous. Then he laughs—an outright undignified cackle. “Impossible. That’s it. From now on, we fuck in the mornings.”

You snort. “Bite me.”

“Gladly.” He shifts, rolling you onto your back, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress before dipping to your throat. His teeth find your skin and nip, just hard enough to make you squeak. He licks over the spot, smug as anything. “There. Breakfast in bed.”

You pinch his side and wriggle free, both of you still warm with the afterglow. He grumbles but lets you go.

You help him up, fingers brushing his ribs as he stretches. He tips his head toward the bathroom, and you go on tiptoe. On the way to the kitchen, you snag the blanket off the bed and wrap yourself in it like a makeshift cloak, your feet and legs bare, hair tousled and glowing.

You interrupt him while he’s cooking—eating pieces of fruit and slices of cheese before they make it into the plate. Viktor swats at you with one hand, then jabs at your hip with the end of his crutch, scolding in half-hearted Czech. You only grin and steal more. And then you have your first real breakfast together.

—

Děvče moje - My girl Podívej se na mě - Look at me Děkuju - Thank you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 9

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday mornings are usually those where you wake up restless. It’s the day you work on chores. Yet when you rouse, you only want to sink back into the bed. You could spend all day in the faded afterglow. 

You roll onto your side and squeak. Your thighs are tender. Every bit of you is sensitive to the point of twitching. Even just the touch of the duvet is too much. 

Yet the man who made you feel this way is gone. Your chest tweaks. Is he gone? Was this all just a twisted plot by him? That would make your life so much easier. If this could just be a fantasy, 

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s drawl makes you tense. 

You lift your head and look at the door. He fills the frame easily. He’s in a pair of grey boxers and nothing else. His muscle-forged shoulders are round and firm, his middle thick and padded too. You can see all the strength you felt the night before. 

You sit up and hug the top of the blanket. You look around. “What time is it?” 

“Take your time,” he assures. “I was just looking in on you.” 

“Oh,” you rub your neck. “I-- I should--” you search for anything to cover yourself. “Get up.” 

You turn your legs over the side of the bed and keep the duvet up. He hums. “You don’t gotta.” 

“I do. I have to get the laundry. The dishes. And groceries--” 

“Laundry’s folded, waiting in a basket. I did the dishes. And we can grab groceries later.” 

You blink at him, “huh? No, you didn’t--” 

“You know, being locked up, the little things, they’re almost fun these days. I don’t got some guard glaring at me or barking at me for standing the wrong way,” he chuckles and crosses the room. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that. We got a road trip.” 

“A road...trip?” You echo. 

He sits next to you and caresses your bare shoulder, “mhmm. As much as I’d like to stay in bed all day.” 

You squeeze the blanket tighter and blush. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Going to see your brother. Like mom said we should.” 

“What?” You wince. “No, I’ll go. You don’t have to--” 

“I don’t have to. I want to. We’re together now.” 

You gulp and lean away from him. You stand up and brush by him. You take your robe off the dresser and open it. Before you can pull it on, there’s a tug on the other end. 

“Why’re you running?” He yanks until you face him. 

“I’m not,” you angle it in front of your body as best as you can. 

“You’re hiding--” 

“I’m cold--” 

“You could’ve stayed under the blankets--” 

“Steve,” you tug until he lets go. You wrap yourself up. The robe smells like him too. “You shouldn’t... come yet. It’s just Vaughn, he can be...” 

“A brat. Oh I know it. It’s why you’re lucky I was there to watch over him. But what about now?” 

You search his face. “You don’t think...” 

“I’m just saying. I was in there. He wasn’t making any friends.” 

“Steve,” you gasp. 

“I can’t lie to you, baby.” He puts his hands on your arms. “Not ever. Your brother needs a heavy boot to keep him in place. I might not be inside but I still got connects on the inside. And he needs to see that I still got his back so he stays in line. Make sure he gets out one day. I’d like our kids to know their uncle--” 

You choke. Kids? That’s not an argument for today. Hopefully, it never truly comes to a head. 

“I didn’t... I don’t have an appointment,” you say. 

“I do. Special request for a family meeting. The two of us.” 

“What? He’s not—He's not going to like that.” 

“He’s going to like what I’m tell him too,” Steve’s voice deepens and he brings a hand to your chin. “He should like whatever makes his sister happy. Especially after all you’ve done for him. And if he isn’t, well, then, I guess he’s on his own.” 

“It’s just—he's—he's just very--” 

“He needs to grow up. You go out there and see him and he doesn’t appreciate that. Well he’s going to start or he’s not going to see you anymore. You got a life to live here. With me.” He pets your cheek with his knuckles. “And I spent enough of mine behind bars. I’m not waiting any longer.” 

He steps closer and leans it, drawing you to him. You don’t stop him. You know better. He kisses you as you close your eyes, hiding the anxiety brewing in your heart. You have a bad feeling about this. 

💙

You’ve only ever gone to the prison alone. Being with Steve feels strange for several reasons. He keeps your hand in his as you step inside the visitors’ entrance and approach the front desk with its thick plexiglass windows. 

He lets you go to take out his wallet. You glance around as you sense the gazes of several guards. Even out of his prison garb, they must recognise him. As ever, his blond and silver hair is tidily combed and parted. He wears a blue-grey short-sleeve button up and a pair of grey slacks. The sleeves are tight around his biceps and a gold watch flashes on his wrist. 

You take out your ID and hand it over with his. You swelter in the judgment of the errant eyes around you. What must they think? You show up here with a former inmate... He might have been acquitted on appeal but how much do they know about that? 

“Step over on the x’s,” the woman directs. “Officers will search you and escort you in.” 

You follow her instructions. The officers sweep over you quickly but you notice the extra attention they give to Steve. He chuckles. 

“Miss me?” He asks. 

One of the officers clucks. 

“Outside’s treating you well,” the one feeling him up turns his wrist to admire the watch. 

“Well, you know, I got a good bag for the settlement. False convictions are a cash grab,” Steve scoff, “low pay for time done, though.” 

The officer huffs with a hint of doubt. 

“Alright, go in,” he points down the hall. “They’ll get you seated.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve salutes him and reaches for you. “Come on, sweetheart.” 

You let him drag you down the hall to the visitors’ room. Another officer greets you and checks his clipboard. He takes you to a spot at the desk with two seats and two receivers. The chair on the other side of the transparent barrier is empty. 

You fidget as you wait, staring at the white seat across from you. What will Vaughn think? What will he do? The last question worries you most. 

“Damn, I’m just thinking about the days it was me over there,” Steve chuckles and puts his hand on the back of your chair. “We’re you this nervous then? I could never tell.” 

You shrug. 

“I can tell you now. I counted down the days. I’d be on my cell bed, sat all pretty and patient for you, ‘til they sent one of these bozos to get me,” he sighs and slaps his thigh. “I can’t hardly believe I’m sitting right next to you now.” 

He plays with your sleeve. He leans over and kisses your other shoulder. You shiver and twine your fingers together tightly in your lap. 

You wince as a door shuts with a muffled thunk. You sit up as you sense the approach on the other side. Vaughn drags his feet between two guards and stops behind the chair. He snorts. 

You can’t hear through the glass as his face twists. He tenses and the guards struggle with him. You stare at him as his eyes scour you venomously, then flick over Steve. His lip curls and he tries to shake off the guards. They finally get him to sit. 

Steve clicks his tongue and sits forward, bend one arm over the table. He chuckles as he picks up the receiver. Vaughn crosses his arms and squares his jaw defiantly. You hesitate but lift your receiver too. 

Steve points through the glass. Vaughn sneers. Steve leans forward and taps the glass. Your brother rolls his eyes then reaches for the phone. The guards cautiously back off. 

“What the fuck is this--” 

“You watch your mouth,” Steve warns. “We came all this way. The first thing you can start with is thanking your sister for being here and telling her how much you love her.” 

“Fuck off, pal.” 

Steve laughs. A dark rumble that unsettles you. You’ve never heard that from him. He gets an edge now and again, the kind that makes you nervous, but this is something more dangerous. 

“I’m giving you another chance to show some respect,” Steve warns. “So clean up the language and thank your sister.” 

“You fucking him?” Vaughn sets his sight on you. 

“Vaughn, please, settle down.” You plead 

“Huh? Is that it? How the fuck did that happen? I mean--” He snarls against the phone. “I love you, sis, but I got nothing but this for a slut.” 

He swallows and spits at the glass. Steve bristles and squeezes the receiver tight. You look over as his knuckles turn white. He leans forward. 

“Last fucking chance. Apologise--” 

“Fuck you, dude. You’re out. You got nothing in here. You run shit. So I’ma say what I want to my sister and you’re going to sit there like an old decrepit man and choke--” 

“You’re walking the line,” Steve is terrifying calm. 

“Me? Me?! You’re fucking my sister--” 

“I’m gonna marry your sister. I’m a man. Unlike you.” Steve insists. 

“Marry?!” Vaughn erupts.  

He stands and gnashes his teeth. He slams the receiver against the glass. You drop yours and sit back as he hammers at the barrier until the phone breaks in his hands. The guards grab him and drag him off away from the table. 

Steve is unfazed. He watches the tantrum. You stare at the pieces of the broken receiver as the cable hangs limply. Vaughn kicks and writhes as he’s wrestled to the door. 

Steve hangs up the phone. “Ungrateful.” 

“Steve, you should’ve let me speak--” 

“And what? Let him call you a slut?” 

“I could’ve talked to him. You didn’t let me--” 

“I’m not letting anyone disrespect my woman,” he stands up. “Not even your brother. You understand me?” 

“Steve, I understand, but he’s my family--” 

“You don’t get it sweetheart,” he takes your hand and tugs you up. “You need me. You don’t take care of yourself like you should. You let them walk right over you. Well, that’s not happening anymore.” 

You get up and sniff. “I’ll come back on my own. I’ll talk to him--” 

“You’re not coming back. He can deal with consequences.” 

“Steve.” 

He squeezes your hand. You quiet. He doesn’t let up as he drags you from the room. You pass the guards with your head down. He doesn’t stop at the front desk as he marches you out. 

Finally, he stops. Right by his car. He puts his hand on the passenger door and faces you. 

“Get one more thing, doll. You don’t argue with me like that. Especially in front of other men.” 

Your mouth falls open, “I wasn’t--” 

“You were,” he puts his other hand on his hip. “I’d do anything for you but I need you to meet me halfway, got it? We’re a unit so you stand by me. Your brother wants to act like a child, so let him mope like one. He spit in your face and you’re going to take it? Nah. Not my woman.” 

“He’s upset--” 

“You’re too soft. I love that about you but it’s no good,” he tuts. He stands straight and opens the passenger door. “Come on. We got business to take care of.” 

You get in, hiding your confusion and chagrin. You knew it would go about as well as it did. So did Steve. He's not stupid. And he’s not telling you everything, not like he said he would. This business... what exactly is that? 

You would ask but you’re not sure you’d get an answer. Knowing won’t do anything to change whatever he has planned. Just like you can’t do much to stop all those big dreams of his; wife, kids... you’re caught in the whirlwind of his lost years. 

[lovemepartly]

mornings with...  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 

featuring: choi seung-hyun, kwon jiyong, kang daesung

warnings: none except i was too lazy to proofread

a/n: first of all, sorry that this is short and sorry for generally being so inactive :(( i have exams for the next two weeks and my senioritis is so bad i just wanna arghsjbdf

also, i know i haven't written for sg in so long that's mb 🙁 i have so many wips for lots of characters that i just haven't had the motivation to finish but i will lock in soon trust me 🙏 anddd i may start posting for skz soon!

finally, i've really liked writing these headcanons for bigbang so if you have any requests i'll probably do them :')

choi seung-hyun ⋆⭒˚.⋆

• seung-hyun either wakes up extremely early (and once he does he can’t fall back asleep) or he wakes up at like 2pm. 

• when he wakes up early, he quietly slips out of bed, not wanting to wake you. he’ll spend some quiet time to himself - i definitely see him as the kind of guy that has a diary and meditates and does yoga and whatnot. 

• around the time you wake up, he’ll make some breakfast for the two of you. he’s not the best cook but can make something simple and honestly the gesture is so sweet you wouldn’t care even if the food was bad.

• seung-hyun usually wakes up late on the weekends. he’s definitely a heavy sleeper, so he probably wouldn’t even notice when you wake up, kissing him softly on the forehead.  

• when he finally stumbles out of the room at 1pm, rubbing his eyes groggily, you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself. he has markings all over his cheek from the bedsheets and can barely open his eyes as he stumbles over to you, kissing you lazily.

kwon jiyong ⋆⭒˚.⋆

• jiyong sleeps in late, but not too late. he loveees sleeping with you and is definitely a cuddler. it doesn’t matter if he’s the big spoon or small spoon, he just loves to be near you and sleeps so much better next to you.

• if you wake up early to go to bed, good luck getting jiyong to let go of you. when your alarm sounds and he feels you stirring in bed, he’ll tightly wrap an arm around your waist and bury his face in your shoulder, sleepily mumbling, “five more minutes.”

• on weekends, when the two of you can both wake up late, he loves cooking breakfast with you. picture the most cliché couple that makes breakfast together in silly aprons - and that’s you guys. you love it, though. 

kang daesung ⋆⭒˚.⋆

• daesung wakes up early. he has his alarm set and everything and loves sticking to his schedule. if you try to get him to stay in bed, cuddling up next to him, he’ll happily comply, staying with you for a couple more minutes before insetting that he really does have to get up.

• he’ll make breakfast for you, though, and when it’s finally time for you to wake up for work, he’ll plant a soft kiss to your forehead to wake you. 

• on weekends, he still likes to wake up early, but if you’re really insistent, he’ll stay in bed with you a little longer. he’ll hold you tightly, stroking your hair, letting you sleep in his arms and i just know it’s the best feeling ever.