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fictionalsweethearts · 2 days ago

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THE COMMISSION PT. 3 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

You can find part one here. Part two here.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw

Word count: 4,345

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

After that episode, Sevika stopped your supply of Shimmer and threatened any dealers that she would rip out their tongues and eyes if they dared to sell you, so the following week you found yourself in enforced sobriety.

You were adding the finishing touches to the strap, Sevika wanted it to be comfortable and aesthetically pleasing, so that was what you did. The straps were made of fine leather, secured with adjustable snaps. However, it was the long, veiny phallus that was the star of the piece, provided with texture and a purple color, quite similar to Shimmer. On the back, there was a small compartment with the dose of Shimmer, interconnected with the rest of the piece and the wearer, making the strap a dynamic, vibrant piece and certainly better than any other made of plastic or silicone. This one was “alive” so to speak, and designed so that the thrusts would release small bursts of Shimmer into the wearer’s bloodstream, causing as much pleasure as the one receiving it. One of your best pieces, you put a lot of pride into it and it cost you two sleepless nights and delaying other orders to give this one your full attention.

You made your way through the crowd. For a couple of weeks now, The Last Drop has been more crowded, the good sales of shimmer and the economic bonanza it brought made people look for a place to dance, drink more and bet their money in games that Sevika usually won.

Sevika.

You saw her at the back of the club, just like a few weeks ago when you went to her to check her arm and receive the commission you now had ready and kept in a box. She was focused on her cards, a cigarette between her lips and a couple of opponents with pursed lips sitting before her.

"Am I bothering?" you asked once you approached.

"Silco isn't taking guests." she muttered, without taking her eyes off the cards.

"I'm not here to see Silco." you said with a smirk before Sevika realized it was you.

She looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You looked… good. Rested, healthy, and more beautiful than ever. It was a striking difference from the last time she had seen you, and it made her feel more confident than ever about her decision to take away your Shimmer supply.

"Well, hello yourself." she said, raising a brow. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Merry early Christmas." you teased, placing the box on the table. "Commission done."

She smiled, taking one last glance at her cards before folding and placing them face down. Her opponents grumbled as they laid down their own and counted up their chips, which Sevika quickly started sliding towards her. She picked up the box, feeling the weight of it in her hands. "Finally. Took you long enough."

"Quality takes time." you smirked, leaning to take a sip of Sevika's glass. The woman lifted the lid to peek inside, knowing she had to take a better look of the product in private.

"Continue without me, boys." Sevika said, quitting the game in order to stand up and head to her office with you.

The other players grumbled in annoyance as Sevika stood up, but their protests died out as Sevika glowered at them.

"If I come back and see you've touched my chips, I'll make sure you lose a few fingers." Sevika warned, her voice dripping with malice.

They entered a dimly lit office, the smell of wood and tobacco welcoming you as soon as you set foot inside. There was a coffee table in the center, on it a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses, in front of it a vermilion sofa darkened by age and the ashes of hundreds of cigarettes. The office was undeniably Sevika's, she was a sober woman and the room showed it, however you always liked the small jar painted in gold and blue paint, which used to keep mint candies for the breath. The truth is that you tended to eat them yourself and force Sevika to buy more.

"How is Silas?" you asked as you entered, following Sevika. "Did his dick fall off?"

"No, but it's probably the only thing still functional about him." She replied, shutting the door behind her.

She walked over to the coffee table, dropping the box on it before turning her attention to the bottle of whiskey. She poured two glasses before passing one to you.

"Here." She said. "You look like you could use a drink."

"Indeed." you agreed, taking the glass between your fingers. "Booze seems an alternative, since someone put me on forced sobriety."

“Yeah, I’m not sorry about that.” She muttered, taking a sip of her drink. “You were out of control.”

She walked over to the sofa, taking a seat and gesturing for you to do the same. “Now, though,” she said, her voice a hint softer, “you do look better, I have to admit.”

"I look tired." you grumbled. "You know how hard is to work sober? I can't barely make the half of orders I used to finish in a day."

"You look gorgeous when you're tired." She observed, her voice low and full of innuendo. She took another sip from her drink, leaning back into the sofa. "And as for your orders, I don't care if you have to hire a damn army to finish them. You're not touching Shimmer again until I say so."

Sevika changed the subject so quickly that you couldn't comment on her casual compliment. Her eyes didn't betray the way she looked at you, nor the thoughts that had been running through her mind since she asked you for such a commission. She was sweet on you but her demeanor masked it well. "The workshop's rent is getting higher by the month." you said then. "I cannot afford working any less."

"I'll cover the rent," she offered, her voice gruff. "You just focus on your work."

The speed with which she resolved the issue struck you as comical, Sevika seemed convinced enough of the quality of your work to become your financier. You huffed. "Are you into charity now?"

"Charity? Hardly." She replied, her voice dry. "I prefer to think of it as an investment. You're an investment."

She paused to look at you, the way you traced the rim of the glass with your finger, your exposed shoulders, the softness of your neck, your cheekbones visibly more flushed with sobriety. She let out a sigh. "Besides, you owe me."

"Owe you?" you asked.

She couldn't contain a smirk. "For one," she started. "You're sitting in my office, drinking my booze, and you've still yet to even show me the commission I asked for. That's one reason."

She leaned forward, her gaze steady on you. "Two, you've been sleeping and eating in my club for weeks now. You think those things come free?"

Funny. Nothing's free when it comes to Sevika. She believed in the power of trades, of taking advantage of people’s qualities in an honest and effective way. You couldn’t deny that you’d turned to Sevika more times than you’d care to admit, whether it was to get another dose of Shimmer, sleep somewhere other than the workshop, and even sneak into her office and eat her snacks while she was minding her business at the brothel. Not to mention that she was now offering to pay your rent. You owed Sevika, whether you liked it or not. Your silence was your answer.

She leaned back into the sofa again, her expression smug. "That's what I thought." She muttered, taking another sip from her drink. "You're in my debt, dollface. And sooner or later, I'm going to collect."

She put the glass down, her eyes flickering to the box. "Now, are you gonna show me my commission?"

You sat up on the couch and nodded, Sevika's words not to be ignored. "Sure." you said, leaning over to carefully open the cherry-colored box you had brought for her. You lifted the lid and carefully placed the product on the table, unwrapping it.

Sevika couldn't help the way her eyebrow rose, her eyes studying the piece intently before a grin played on her dark lips. What a piece. "Damn." She muttered, her voice low with appreciation. Her hand hovered over the item, the tips of her fingers carefully tracing the leather straps, the velvety texture of the phallus.

"Is the color alright?"

Sevika took the strap, running her fingers over the texture and feel of its components, her eyes taking in the small Shimmer compartment in the back, the neatness of the finishes, even the light, comfortable weight. "Yeah. This is... better than I imagined." She admitted, her eyes flickering to you.

"Just make sure to not overdo it." you warned her, watching the woman testing the weight, the lightness of the piece and the exceptional quality of the materials. She seemed pleased, even though her face was inaccessible when it came to expressions. "It releases small doses of Shimmer, make sure to not wear it for too long."

"Oh, I'll definitely be testing the limits of this thing." She replied, her voice thick with innuendo. "I know when to stop."

"Just don't overdose." you mumbled, leaning back on the couch as Sevika stored the strap back into the box.

"I'm a big girl. I know how to handle myself." she insisted, taking a sip of the glass as her mind began going to places. The potential was massive.

You let out a sigh, you were sober and tired, the smell of the workshop clinging to your overalls and your hands still stained with oil and ink, which seemed to acquire the status of tattoos since they didn't seem to come off with any washing. You finished the glass, Sevika got up to search through her desk for the second half of your pay. She came back, holding out the the pouch. "Here." She said. "All yours."

You accepted the money willingly, thinking you would spend it on something stupid right away. You weren't good with finances, it's an understatement to say that if Sevika didn't manage your expenses regarding materials, machinery and labor, your business would go to hell overnight. She was always behind, watching over you and your lack of common sense when you had a bag full of coins. "I'll make sure to use them wisely."

"Oh, that's what you always say." She teased in return, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And then what do you do instead? Gamble it all away at the fight pits, I suppose?" She knew better than to trust you with money. You'd always been as reliable as a leaky ship, especially when you were hopped up on Shimmer.

"I make good bets." you replied. "But the fighters are getting lame lately."

She crossed her arms across her chest, her expression mocking. "You always pick the ones who look good but have no chance of winning. You always bet on the long shots, and you always lose."

You laughed, because you did tend to bet on the best looking boxer rather than the most skilled. You were a simple girl, you liked to drink in the sweaty bodies of the fighters in the Pit, men or women, releasing adrenaline charges with every punch, spitting and gasping. You found pleasure in premeditated violence, in the cheers and the boos, in the heat of a crowd committed to the spectacle. And perhaps it was because of that bad habit of yours that you bet on Vi last week, and Sevika didn’t take it well.

She huffed, her voice terse. "You picked Vi because she was hot, didn't you?"

"I picked her cause you despise her."

"Damn right, I do." She muttered through gritted teeth. "And you should too. Do you have any idea how many of my thugs she's beat up? Or the crap she caused Silco when she was in Piltover? That woman's always been a pain in my ass."

"You have a thing for problematic women." you shrugged, leaning to pour yourself more whiskey. "The difference is that some you hate, others you keep close."

Sevika rolled her eyes, craving a cigarette to deal with your tongue and insolent smile. "Causes involve problems." she said.

"And you seem to love both." you said.

"Oh, great." She muttered. "Another smartass back talker in my life... Just what I needed."

"Who's the other?"

"Jinx."

Her sigh said it all, Sevika was tired and her patience threatened to falter. Silco was her leader, she championed the cause, Zaun, yet Jinx figured as the constant component ruining her formula. You can't be a good soldier with a leader who is unable to see the flaws of his daughter, or at least, how he sees Jinx. "Sounds like you need to get something off your chest." you said.

She huffed. "I could write an encyclopaedia about everything wrong with that girl." She paused for a moment, her expression hardening once again. "She's Silco's blind spot. He can't see her for what she really is because he's too damn soft on her. And it's getting to the point where we can't cover for her anymore."

"He loves her." you said. "We all act like fools when it comes to love."

"What a joke. He's blinded by his affection for her. He's been babying her for years, giving her everything she wants and then some. And look where it's gotten us? The entire damn city is on the brink of a war because of her, because Silco can't bring himself to step away from his goddamn daughter and see her for what she really is."

Hell, she was mad. You put the glass on the coffee table, watching Sevika retrieve a cigarette from the pack in her pocket. Before she noticed, you were before her, lighting up with your zippo. "Jinx is a part of the game, want it or not. And it's up to you if you wanna keep up with Silco's whims or give up."

Her grey eyes locked on yours, releasing the smoke to the side.

"I'm loyal to Silco. I always have been, and I always will be. I believe in his cause, in his vision for Zaun." She stated. There was not a single hint of doubt on her words; when Sevika commits with a cause, she carries it to the end, no matter what.

That's what you admired of her.

"Then..." you said, grinning. "You need to let off some steam." your eyes flickering to the box on the coffee table.

Sevika thought you were joking. "You suggest I should take a stroll to the brothel while you stay here alone, a room away from the Shimmer reserves Silco keeps here?"

"I'll behave." you insisted.

"You better." She warned. "I don't know how Silco would feel if he came back to his supplies all gone because you had a goddamn party in his absence."

You smiled. "If I wanted to get high, I'd do it with my own money and merit, trust me." you stepped back, walking over to the couch. "It's up to you, Sev. But if I were you, I would go and try my new toy right away."

Sevika rolled her eyes.

"Dammit," she growled. "I can't believe I'm seriously considering this..."

Seeing you settle down on the couch, half drunk from the whiskey, Sevika actually considered taking a stroll around the brothel. She needed to release a pressure that only increased every time you were in front of her, with your stupid jokes and your arms and chest exposed, with your playful eyes and your insolent smile. You were a limit she forced herself to not cross. The woman grunted, picking up the red cape from the coat rack and putting it on.

"Take a bath while I'm gone, you smell like a workshop." she muttered, taking the box from the table

"Excuse me?" you protested, your expression one of mock-offence. "I smell just fine."

Sevika huffed a laugh at your protest, her eyes flickering over your figure. She had to admit she kind of enjoyed the way you smelt. A subtle yet intense medley of oil, grease and sweat - it was almost seductive.

"Don't pretend like I don't know the last time you took a bath was three days ago." She shot back, her voice full of sarcasm. "You smell like you live at a damn workshop."

Now you were offended. "I do live in a damn workshop."

"Don't make it obvious, then." she said, walking over the door. "I ain't paying your rent for you to smell like that. Bath." she added, leaving the room as she didn't just called you dirty.

At the slam of the door, you couldn't help but bury your nose in your armpit, letting out a groan. "Bath, yeah right," you muttered, getting up to grab one of Sevika's treats. "Next time I'll put less oil on that arm of hers…"

Sevika left the office with heavy steps, riled up by your entire presence. She was playing a dangerous game but she didn't intend to lose, not when you had become her most precious jewel but also the hardest to obtain. She wanted to possess you, in more ways than one, but she knew your limits and your whims, getting involved with you would not only be risky but directly novice to her plans. Letting you slip into her her will would only destroy the mettle she took years to build. She had to control herself.

Several glances fell upon Sevika as she entered The House of Pleasure, she hadn't been seen around these parts for weeks, and more than one of the ladies-in-waiting approached her doors hoping to be chosen by her. She was a client who paid well and made love well, there were no cons on her visits. "With Robin." the woman murmured to the owner, before being led to the largest room in the brothel.

Robin was waiting for her on the couch, wrapped in an olive-colored robe, playing with her black locks and looking as willing as ever. Sevika liked her, she had freckles and fleshy curves, she knew how to combat her bad mood.

"Sevika," the woman purred, standing up. "Long time no see. I missed you around here"

"Missing my attention or my money?" she huffed.

"Money lost importance a long time ago." she smiled, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on her client’s cheek before carefully removing her cape, revealing her mechanic arm. Sevika liked to be welcomed with a cigarette and Robin’s sweet perfume, to sit on the couch, manspreading, inhaling the smoke with her on her lap, giving her kisses on her neck and jaw.

However, Sevika saw you standing by the curtain, like an insistent ghost, reminding her that the woman on top her was not you. "What's in the box?" asked Robin then, leaving a kiss on the corner of Sevika's lips, her eyes flckering to the box sitting on the coffee table.

"A new toy." She muttered, her voice gruff.

Robin smiled. "You'd like us to try it?" she asked.

Sevika stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray that rested to her right, cupping the back of Robin's neck to begin a kiss that she hoped would erase you from her mind for a while. "Yeah." she said, against her lips, her hand gripping firmly the hooker's butt.

Sevika knew she was being foolish, that she was using Robin as a replacement for you, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The woman's moans, the feel of her body in her lap, it was all so familiar yet so different. She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged as she looked up at Robin with darkened eyes. "Get the toy.

Robin was helpful and elegant, she knew how to deliver an erotic show on each visit and please Sevika. She had already become accustomed to the rhythm and endurance of her client, her firm hands, her obscene kisses and subtle and not so subtle bites. The hooker opened the box, her smile was not faked when she saw the quality of the piece.

"Robe off, doll." said Sevika, her legs spreading with a latent confidence. Robin approached, an arm around her waist as Sevika pulled her closer. "You'll keep up with me, don't you?"

"Always..." whispered Robin, as Sevika watched the woman undress before her, trying to ignore the picture of your smile on the back of her mind.

Third round, Sevika seemed to hate you more and more as she discovered that the piece you had made for her was sensational.

Each thrust released a small charge of Shimmer, taking Sevika on a roller coaster of sensations, a constant upward slope that did nothing but shake her nerve fibers from head to toe. She had Robin on her stomach on the bed, hips and ass up, one hand firmly in her hair, another on her hip, as she thrusted into her relentlesslty, growling against the back of her neck in an obscene and not at all concealable symphony; the entire brothel knew that Sevika was back.

She had you to thank for this, you and your damn ingenuity. She would never admit it aloud, but gods how she hated you for this. For making her feel something, for making her lose control.

She knew she wouldn't survive another round as she leaned down, her breath ragged and hot in Robin's ear. "I might have... to take you home sometime."

"I'll go anywhere, as long as you fuck me this good." Robin purred, her body melting as Sevika leaned down to place kisses and bites on her shoulder. Sevika refused to open her eyes, she wanted to imagine you beneath her, your smell, your moans, your legs shaking with pleasure and begging for more. She held the woman's neck between her fingers, pressing her hips hard as a tickling sensation settled in her lower belly. Fuck, this was so good.

She felt herself melting, her veins burning, her heart pounding. Robin could see the purple glow in her client's eyes, they had grown deeper throughout rounds, and certainly her strength too. "I want you... so bad." She breathed, her voice gruff and breathless as she began speaking out her thoughts. "But I can't... fucking have."

"Shit... I-'m... cumming." whined Robin, which Sevika straightened up and pulled Robin's back against her chest, choking her harder with every deep, nerve-shaking thrust.

"Shut up," Sevika snapped, her voice guttural and her eyes still tightly shut. She didn't want to hear anyone's name but yours, any voice but yours. She wanted you beneath her, begging and pleading for more.

Sevika growled, her forehead suddenly resting against Robin's back, a firm hand between her legs, rubbing her clit as her brain corrected her moans and made them yours.

Gosh, she almost could smell the goddamn oil and ink.

The Shimmer was beginning to take over her wits, her veins heating up, her breath coming out in loud gasps as a second orgasm began to take over her. And Robin wouldn't shut her mouth, goddamn it!

"Shut. The fuck. Up." Sevika growled, covering Robin's mouth with her flesh hand. The woman whined against her palm, panting at the same time Sevika moaned into her neck, enjoying an unprecedented orgasm. "Fuck...! Take it well and nicely." she whispered against Robin's ear.

Robin fell back onto the mattress, her body marked by dozens of bites, a hand on her buttock, a hickey on her neck. Sevika was the only client who could afford to mark her girls, and Robin accepted it willingly. But today she had gone too far.

Sevika let out a pant, sitting up in bed, dizzy and shaky, as if she had run across all of Zaun. Her flesh hand trembled, she was a round away from overdose, she knew it. She took the strap off and tossed it somewhere in the room before searching for a cigarette on the nightstand. Just the bitter taste of the smoke managed to calm her down and return her from that portal she refused to cross.

"Something's up with you." mumbled Robin, barely catching her breath as she reached out to wet her throat with a glass of water.

Sevika sat on the couch, her cinnamon skin lightly beaded with sweat. Her entire body was still alert, sensitive and active, from her erect nipples to the thickened veins on her arm. The Shimmer was not quick to digest. "Nothing's up." she mumbled.

Robin propped on her elbow, reading Sevika's expression. She knew that one, has seen it on other clients, but it was the first time she saw it on Sevika's face; the expression of frustrated passion. "There is someone, isn't there?"

Sevika dragged on the cigarette, her eyes darting around the room before landing on the strap. Damn you. "Yeah, there's someone."

Robin's eyes softened. "Who...?" she asked softly.

"It doesn't matter," she muttered quietly, avoiding eye contact. "She's...off-limits."

As Robin was about to ask for details, there was a knock at the door. The hooker put on her robe, taking heavy steps towards the door after having dealt with Sevika's stamina for two hours. Sevika let out a cloud of smoke, pulling her head back as she thought about you, and a bitter sensation pooled on her stomach.

I'm wasting my damn time.

When Sevika had already put on her boxers, Robin turned to look at her, her expression suggesting urgency. She frowned. "What is it?"

"It's a message from the Last Drop," Robin said. "A girl overdosed in your office."

Suddenly the Shimmer effect seemed to be heightened, but it was actually raw, pure adrenaline.

No.

Sevika jumped off the couch, looking for her clothes as Robin stood there. "Sev?" she asked worried.

"Get me my damn cape," she said. "I gotta go."

To be continued...

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enthusiasticharry · 17 hours ago

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the one where YN gets a job as a bartender in a motorbike club's bar, and Harry runs the club.

author's note: suprise!! i'm back again!! i promised i wouldn't keep you waiting and i'm not. this is the first part in my biker!harry mini-series which i started a while ago and only just got around to finishing! let me know what you think and what you'd like to see in the next instalments!

word count: 11.6k of sexy biker!harry (that's it, that's all).

WARNINGS: strong language, smut, bike riding, a bar fight and talks of a motor accident.

let me know what you think of clover here!! mwah <3

1979

“Look, sweets, I’d hire you on the spot if I thought it would be a good idea,” Mick spoke from across the bar, towel over one shoulder and another in his hand drying a glass, “But it just isn’t, I’m sorry.”

YN sighed, dropping her hands down on the bar. This was the fourth one she’d tried, and so far, she hadn’t had any luck. She wasn’t asking for much – just a job to help pay for her student loans. She had graduated a year ago and bounced from job to job, and yet none of them seemed to fit. It wasn’t necessarily her dream to work in a bar, but she hadn’t a single clue about what her dream was. She had a first-class honours history degree (which she adored getting) and yet not a single idea of what to do with it.

She couldn’t think of the future at this moment, she needed to think about the now and if she wanted to continue to live in her small apartment and eat — she needed a job.

Clovers had been her last hope. It was the last bar in town that YN was yet to try, and despite its less-than-positive reputation – it was always busy, and that meant money coming in. As she turned to look around the bar, which was already quite crowded for it being early on a Friday night, she couldn’t help but imagine the cash that was funnelling through the establishment, and how she wished she could get at least some of it.

“Can I get you a drink, sweets?” Mick spoke again, offering her a soft smile, “It’ll hopefully soften the blow a little bit.”

YN smiled at the man and nodded, “Thank you. Whisky, please.”

Mick got straight to work, placing the glass in front of her, dropping an ice cube into the glass and pouring her a more than generous shot. Just as she fumbled with her purse to pull out some bills to pass to Mick, he shook his head and held his hand out to stop it. She smiled in thanks and watched as he turned and walked away, going to serve the next customer who was standing a few feet away from her.

YN picked up her drink, and just as she was about to take a drink the door beside her opened. Her lips parted, her eyes watching as a group of what seemed to be fifteen or so men, all clad in heavy leather or dark denim walked into the bar.

Of course, YN knew about them. Anyone who lived here knew who they were, but it was the first time that she had seen them this up close. The most she had ever experienced with them was the low rumbling of their engines from a distance, or possibly them riding past her but that was only ever one or two. It was their jackets that often set them apart from the rest of the riders in the town, the very specific Clover’s Riders jacket that every member adorned and what seemed like all times.

The men were loud as they stepped in, most of them heading towards the bar whilst others went to some of the other members who were already seated in the bar. YN’s eyes never left the door until the last one had made his entrance, and she just couldn’t seem to draw them away.

He was younger than many of his counterparts, probably resting at an age near YN’s or possibly a few years or so older. He was clad in the same heavy denim that many of the others wore, but they seemed to sit on his body much easier. The curls of his hair were tousled in every direction it seemed, but YN found herself wondering as to what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

With a shake of her head, she turned back to her glass and lifted it to her lips. She took a large gulp of the liquid, allowing that to slip down her throat before she finished the rest of it. Mick was long gone from being anywhere near her, working at what seemed like double speed to keep up with the orders that the gang of men were giving him, and she felt as though that was probably her cue to leave. She would have to brainstorm other options for work, seeing as though this just hadn’t called through.

Sighing, YN pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and pushed up from the stool she was resting on. Just as she turned around to make a beeline for the door through the bodies that were crowding the room, she was stopped by a body in front of hers.

“Woah, woah, little darling where do you think you’re going?” It was one of the riders, standing in front of her with a grin on his features.

“Home,” she said with a shrug.

“So soon,” The man looked over his shoulder to some of his friends who were standing close by, “Me and my buddies here didn’t even get to say hello.”

“Right, okay, hello,” YN nodded to the man in front of her and those behind him, “Really have to get going.”

The man extended his arms so that she couldn’t carry move from her space in front of him, “Let us buy you a drink little darling, I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ve already had one, thank you, and it was very enjoyable,” YN offered them another small smile, “Now please move out of my way so that I can go home.”

“Hey, none of that,” The man shook his head, “Stay with us, I promise we’ll make it worth it.”

YN hummed, tilting her head from side to side lightly, “I’ll pass but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone else to make the night worth it.”

And with that, YN pushed past the man and beelined for the door. She half expected him to grab her, but from the hoots and hollers of his friends, he was too embarrassed to do anything else.

The bar that YN had worked out whilst she was completing her degree had taught her a thing or two about how to deal with rowdy men, and whilst the firm but clear approach worked in most cases, YN wasn’t afraid to resort to other means if necessary. It was all a respect thing, and more often than not if you deal back to them what they deal to you – the situation usually sorts itself.

YN had just rested her palm against the wood of the door when she heard someone call her name. She saw Mick standing there, leaning over the bar to catch her attention.

“Saw you deal with those guys,” He nodded his head over to the men whose attention had been taken by another woman in the bar, who seemed to accept their advances more than YN did, “When can you start?”

YN’s face broke out into a smile and took a delighted step towards Mick, “Whenever.”

“Right now?” He raised his eyebrows at her, motioning to the men who were calling his name for more drinks, “Have a feeling we’re going to be swamped tonight.”

YN nodded and immediately dropped her purse down behind the bar and rolled the sleeves of her cardigan up.

She turned to the men who were now staring at her with their mouths slightly agape, “What can I get you?”

It was a Thursday night and YN had been working at Clover’s for around a week at this point when Mick decided that she could handle a night on her own. After being thrown into what very much was the deep end on her first shift, there had been time the next day for Mick to show her the ropes properly and anything she would specifically need to know.

Mick said that he normally wouldn’t leave such a new person on their own so quickly, but he had an important family issue that he couldn’t get out of and that she had shown enough trust that he wasn’t worried. It was a Thursday, so it wasn’t going to be too busy but even so, those who were going to be there would be Riders, and they would protect their bar from anything.

It was nearing nine, and YN would probably say that they were at a quarter of their capacity, the majority of them being riders who had been there for the last few hours or so. YN was lucky she supposed. They never ordered anything more complicated than a beer, at most a whisky or a bourbon and this was their bar so there were never any arguments about paying for the drinks.

There was a lull in the orders, so YN decided to take it upon herself to dry some of the glasses she had washed in the previous lull. This job was not for the weak she would say that, but YN would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it. She loved people watching and mixed with the hum of the jukebox it was the perfect combination for her.

The door to the bar opened again about twenty minutes, and in walked that same man that caught her attention a week or so ago, on that first day she was here. He looked the same, apart from he was clad in a mixture of denim and leather this time instead of just denim, and a large bruise was sprouting from under his left eye. To YN, it was obvious that the cause was a punch, for there was nothing else that could cause a bruise such as that one. He walked into the room, ignored the hoots and hollers from some of the other men and took a seat right in the middle of the bar.

YN threw the towel she was holding over her shoulder and walked towards him, resting her hands on the edge of the bar, “What can I get ya?”

The man didn’t stray his eyes away from where they were planted firmly on the wood of the bar, “Beer, and a whisky.”

YN nodded, reaching over to pop the lid of the beer, “Do you want ice in the whisky?”

The man just hummed, so YN got straight to work making his drink for him. It was different to that of the other men in the bar — watching him. Whilst they were loud and rowdy and always had something to say to someone – he was silent. He just sat, with the company of his only himself and drank his drink.

Snapping YN out of her gaze (which had been on the man for a few beats too long) was a call of her name from just down the bar. She walked over to where it came from, a man called Taylor who YN had become quite acquainted with in the last few days or so.

Most of the men (not all, obviously) that she had become acquainted with during the last few weeks were lovely. They loved to have a quick natter with her whilst she made their drinks, some of them flirted with her but she didn’t care (it was part of the job) and nobody bothered her. If one or two of the men when they were drunk got a little handsy or started to say things which would be deemed inappropriate, the other lads would circle her and make sure she was okay. She felt safe, which she was quite surprised was the case.

“A piece of advice,” Taylor spoke over the bar as YN started opening the bottles of beer for him and his friends, “Harry over there always orders the same thing, and he’ll drink the whiskey last before he leaves.”

“Thank you,” YN nods with a small smile across her lips, unable to stop her eyes beating over to him for a second – Harry.

“He’s a quiet one,” Taylor continues speaking, grabbing a few bills out of his pocket to pay for the drinks, “But harmless, I promise. To be fair, you’d think the man who founded the club would have more to say.”

YN’s eyes widen, she had no idea that Harry was the one who founded the club. She hadn’t suspected it at all.

“He founded it?” She asked with a slight raise of her eyebrow. She wasn’t trying to pry, but there were things that she wanted to know, and Taylor already had that buzz that made her know that he would be willing to answer any questions she had.

“Yeah, it was him and a few others,” Taylor shrugged, attempting to pick up the three bottles of beer all in one go, “A few years ago now, and it only grew from there.”

YN nodded once more and watched as he walked back to his table. She put the bills that he had given her for the drinks into the register and put the tip she had been given into her apron.

There was something about that man that had caught her attention from that first day, and yet she couldn’t put her finger on it. Now, it made sense. The aura that he had when he walked into the room, as well as the way he sat and held himself – he had a strong presence in the group without even trying.

YN had more questions, but she knew it probably wasn’t the best to pry right now. Instead, she just got on with everything that she had to do. She served drinks and cleaned up after herself right up until close. YN hadn’t realised when Harry had left, but he had slipped out without a single person realising.

She hummed as she swept the floors, tried her hardest to count the cash right the first time and put it in the safe before continuing with her other closing jobs. The chairs were off the floor, as much of the stickiness in the room that YN could remove was gone and the doors were locked and checked.

Once she had stepped outside, and locked the door to the bar behind her, the late hour catching up with her very quickly – she realised at that point she wasn’t alone.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he was standing there, resting against his motorcycle with a cigarette dangling from between his lips. YN was confused but continued to lock the door and make sure that nobody could get inside. Then she turned, and that was when she saw Harry looking directly at her.

“Can I help you?” She muttered, fidgeting with the keys she was holding in her hand.

He inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, holding it for a second or so before he exhaled, “Heard you were asking questions.”

YN’s heart drops slightly, heat pulsating around her body, “Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

He ran his teeth over his bottom lip, placing the cigarette back in his mouth, “Can’t stop you from doing that, but any questions you have about me, you can ask me yourself.”

YN just pursed her lips and nodded, “Okay then… do you always stalk women when they’re leaving work?”

Harry didn’t seem shocked by her words, or react in any way to them at all, which was surprising to her. But, then again, she hadn’t seen much of a reaction out of this man this entire time she had known of him.

“Only the ones that have worked in my bar for a week.”

“Your bar?” YN widened her eyes, “Thought Mick owned it?”

Harry shook his head, “I do. Mick’s my employee, and so are you.”

“Do you not trust me or something? Think I’m walking away with pocketfuls of cash?”

“I would already know if you’d done that, and you wouldn’t be working here anymore,” YN just nodded, “But this side of a town can be sketchy at night, and you never know who could be lurking.”

YN just scoffed, turning to walk away from the man, “Thank you, but I can look after myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugged, climbing onto his bike, and kicking the stand-up. YN could hear the engine turning on, the loud rumble filling the empty street.

YN continued walking, expecting him to speed past her but he didn’t. The low rumble continued down the street, even when she turned – the sound turned too. It was frustrating and annoying. All YN wanted to do was to get home, have something to eat and get in bed. Instead, she was having to deal with what was becoming an annoying rider, who couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

This continued for around ten minutes, and with each second that passed YN was getting more and more annoyed. Just as she turned onto the edge of her street, the apartment she shared with her roommate Ashley coming into view in the distance, she decided that enough was enough.

She stopped and turned around on the pavement, Harry pulling in on his bike to stop just in front of her. YN sighed and placed her hand on her hips.

“Do we have a problem?”

Harry rested his hands on his bike still, but was facing her, “No problem.”

“Then why are you following me home?” A small chuckle escaped her lips, “You know those strange people you were talking about earlier; you do know you’re acting like one of them?”

“You’re one of us now,” He shrugs, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world – it certainly wasn’t for YN at all.

“That means you follow me home?” The confusion grows with every moment in YN, and yet Harry doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried.

“You didn’t want a ride,” He pulls his carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one up, “Had to make sure you got home safe.”

“Right,” YN just nods, “Well, I think I can manage on my own from here. And, if I’m all of a sudden one of you should I expect my jacket in the post? Or do you do collection?”

With a final scoff, she turned and walked away from the man. This time, when the engine started, YN didn’t turn to look at Harry and instead carried on to her front door. It was only then that she turned to peer over her shoulder, just in time to see Harry speed past her and into the night.

She had an incline that this job was going to be interesting, but she had no idea just how much.

It wasn’t necessarily a normal working pattern that YN had found herself in.

Sleeping for most of the day and being awake all night wasn’t necessarily the big girl working pattern that she had aspired to when she was younger, but for the time being she was enjoying it. It did mean that when Ashley returned from her nine-to-five working as a receptionist (YN couldn’t think of anything worse to be honest), YN was just getting ready to start her day.

YN was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a half-eaten sandwich clutched tightly in her hand. She wasn’t too hungry, but she knew that if she didn’t eat something before, she left for work she would regret it later on. The second that Ashley stepped through the door and threw her bag down on the floor, she threw YN a quizzical look.

“What?” YN asked, wiping the mayo that rested on the curve of her lip off with her thumb.

“Do you happen to know anything about the smoking-hot rider staring at the apartment from across the street?”

YN’s entire face dropped, “What?”

Ashley walked over and dropped down on the other side of the sofa, reaching out to steal one of YN’s chips from her plate. Ashley seemed slightly unfazed by the newfound stalker YN had acquired, and that stressed the girl out significantly.

“What do you mean?” YN pushed herself up, making her way over to the window where there he was. Resting against his bike, cigarette resting from his lips sat Harry, staring at the front door to the building with an unreadable expression on his face,

“He’s been there since this morning,” Ashley adds to the conversation causally, running a hand through her hair which she had just pulled out of its undo, “At first, I thought he was waiting for Sandy, you know, from 2.B but then I saw the jacket and realised he must be here for you.”

“He’s not here for me,” YN shook her head, slapping the curtains shut and walking back over to her friend, “He’s stalking me, I can’t believe you’re not more stressed about this.”

Ashley just shrugged, “Worse people to be stalked by, I suppose. He’s one of Clover’s, he’ll be harmless.”

“No, Ashley, he’s not just one of Clover’s,” YN sighed, running a hand over her face before scooting around the apartment to grab her belongings, “He is Clover.”

It was Ashley’s face that dropped this time, “What do you mean?”

“That’s Harry,” YN pulled each one of her pumps on her feet, “He founded the gang!”

“You’re kidding,” Ashley all but screams, “Jesus YN, I knew I was concerned about this job, but I think you’ve done pretty alright for yourself.”

YN just shook her head. She grabbed her jacket, and her bag and made her way over to the door.

“If I go missing, you know who’s responsible,” With that, YN turned away from her friend and rushed out of the door.

She took the stairs down from her apartment at double speed, almost tripping over her feet multiple times. She pulled her jacket on just as she got to the front door. Just before she was going to push it open, just stopped and hesitated for a second. One deep breath in and out was all it took to compose herself, and then she pushed the door open.

Harry spotted her immediately, throwing the cigarette he had in his hand a few metres away from his bike, where a collection was beginning to grow. YN made sure to check the left and the right of her before crossing the road, not quite fancying becoming roadkill this early in the day.

“You’re lucky my neighbours didn’t call the cops on you,” Is the first thing that slips from YN’s lips, before she realises how stupid that sounds.

For the first time since she met him, a small smile crosses Harry’s lips. She had amused him, and oh did she want to do it again.

“You know you can’t stay out here all day,” She follows with, “I’m going to the bar now anyway.”

“I got something for you,” Harry pushed himself up off the bike and that’s when she saw it.

A denim jacket, smaller than the others that she had seen but still carrying the ever-so-known Clover’s Riders logo on the back. That four-leaf clover was known all over town, and towns for miles in every direction and now it seemed YN had one of her own. It would open paths for her but also close them as well. She knew that the second she accepted that jacket, things would change all over again.

“I don’t even ride, Harry,” She sighed, shaking her head slightly, “I’ve never been on a bike in my life.”

He just shrugged once more, “There’s always time to change that.”

YN toyed up her options, and it took a lot less time than she had thought it would to swipe the jacket from his hands. She shrugged off the one she was wearing and slipped her arms inside the material. It was the perfect fit, exactly what she would have chosen for herself. Harry beamed another smile at her and swung his leg over his bike once more.

“C’mon,” He tilted his head at her, “I have something I want to show you.”

“I’ll be late for work,” YN shook her head, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from throwing her leg over the side of the bike and using Harry’s shoulder to help steady herself as she got on.

“You’ll be fine,” Harry spoke, and that’s when YN realised that whilst yes, she was probably going to be late for work, she was also on the back of the owner’s bike – so the trouble couldn’t be too grave, “Hold on tight.”

YN did as the man said, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist. The second that the engine started, and Harry kicked the stand-up they went flying down the road, and she realised in that exact moment why he said tight. YN’s body lurched forward into Harry’s, her cheek resting against the leather of his jacket, and her hands tightening around him.

Once the initial fear had worn off, and YN finally peered over the man’s shoulder – she would be lying if she said that it didn’t feel in a word freeing. The wind through her hair, the chill of the speed at which she was going laced with the feeling of Harry pressed so closely against her. Sure, she had been scared but now she knew that there wasn’t anything to be scared of. It wasn’t a scary thing, instead, it was something to be enjoyed.

YN’s lips curled upwards, a slight giggle leaving them as she noticed they went speeding through a red light. Many, and by many YN meant most, of the riders had a back pocket full of speeding tickets, and lights that they’ve jumped and yet none of them seemed to care. It was as though all of the law-abiding parts of their brains didn’t function when they were on bikes. On second thought, even when they weren’t on the bikes the law-abiding parts of their brain didn’t function.

Harry pulled over just as they joined the road which took them out of the city. They had completely passed Clover’s, and YN hadn’t the faintest clue of how late she was for work at this point, but it didn’t matter. It would take a lot for this smile to leave her face today. Once the bike came to a stop, YN used Harry’s shoulder to push up off of it.

Harry sits on the bike, but his eyes never leave the girl. The way she almost looked like a baby deer as she got her grounding once she was off the bike, the way her hair stuck out in every and all directions, and most importantly the beaming smile that never left her face. For the first time in a long time, there were no thoughts in YN’s head. There were no worries about growing up and getting a proper job, or stress about money – it was completely and utterly freeing. She supposed that was why there were so many of the riders and she supposed they were all chasing that feeling.

“You’ve got to teach me how to ride,” She sighed, the blissful smile never leaving her lips.

Harry just nodded, “Whenever you want.”

“Really?” Her face widened in excitement.

Harry shrugged, “You’ve gotta know how to ride if you’re going to be a rider.”

YN just nodded, and almost jumped back onto the bike. Harry didn’t say anything when she wrapped her arms back around his waist, not a single gap between their bodies but it just felt so comfortable. Harry kicked the stand down once more and sprang straight into action, turning slowly around on the road before speeding up the second they were on the straight back to the town.

All YN knew was that she was going to savour the feeling of the wind in her hair.

It was another Saturday night, and it was packed in the bar.

YN was so thankful that she could stay behind the safety of the actual bar and not venture out into the rest of the room. The men had just come back from a ride, and they were all excited and loud and wanting nothing but drink upon drink upon drink. She had been there from earlier on in the day today, and when Mick showed up later in the evening, she hadn’t managed to utter a single word but hello to him since.

All she could think of was the fact that once the rush had died down, it would be her time to go home and rest. In what felt like a very long few months of working every day (at first YN hadn’t minded, but she was slowly getting more and more burnt out) it was finally time for her to have a day off. Mick had graciously said to her the other day that he could handle Sunday on his own, and those words felt like gold slipping from his lips. She didn’t have a single clue of what she was going to do with her day, all she knew was that it was going to be relaxing.

She just had to get through this night first.

At first, the night seemed fine. Everyone was in good spirits and there was nothing more than a few drunken disagreements that sorted themselves out. YN had taken that as the opportunity to make her way over to where Harry was sitting and replenish his beer while he was there. It was then that the door was thrown open, and the entire atmosphere in the room changed.

What had at first been a lovely evening had changed within the second, and it was all because of a man that she hadn’t recognised. He didn’t have a rider’s jacket on his back, and that should have been YN’s first clue that this man was going to be in trouble. This was a riders’ bar, and those jackets were almost like a rite of passage. Without one, people stuck out like a sore thumb.

It became even more obvious to YN when the man beelined straight over to where Harry was sitting. He didn’t sit and instead leant over Harry, so his focus was on him. YN stayed close, but she didn’t want to make it too obvious that she was listening. She wasn’t the only one either – she could see other riders peering over at them from where they were sitting.

“You said if I did it, I’d get my jacket,” Those were the first words that came out of the man’s mouth – not even a greeting of hello, “I did it. Where’s the fucking jacket?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a second or so. Instead, he lifted his recently replenished beer to his lips and took a swag. He was doing as he always did – taking his sweet darn time.

“I said I’d think about it,” Harry mumbles, shrugging slightly as he did, “I’ve thought about it… and no.”

The man smacks his hand down onto the bar top, the sound echoing throughout the room. It silenced everyone, and all eyes turned to the two men. YN’s eyes looked towards Mick with a panicked expression on them but he shook his head, hoping that would calm the girls down.

“That wasn’t the fucking deal,” The man spits, coming right up into Harry’s face but it didn’t seem to deter the man at all, “The deal was to drop the shipment, I get the fucking jacket.”

Harry finally turned to look at the man, his stern expression never wavering, “Do you think I want someone like you, someone that doesn’t listen wearing one of my jackets?”

The man didn’t like that response, and it seemed as though as quickly as YN could blink her eyes the man was grasping the lapels of Harry’s jacket and pulling him up from the stool. He was then pushed straight into the bar, a slight grunt leaving his lips as he did. There was the initial sound of beer stools scratching on the floor, and other Riders were reading to split the two men up but all it took was Harry lifting one of his hands and they all stopped in their places.

“I don’t want someone who’s that willing to fight one of his men wearing a jacket.”

That was all it took for the other man to make the first punch. His arm pulled backwards, and his fist hit Harry straight across the jaw. The skin immediately went red, but Harry didn’t look like a man who had just been hit straight across the jaw. The bar stayed silent, obviously waiting for whatever Harry’s retaliation was going to be.

What YN, and certainly a lot of others in the bar hadn’t expected was Harry to reach behind him, to where his empty beer bottle was sat and hit the man over the head with it. The man fell to the ground, his grip on Harry letting go instantly. Harry lifted his hand, wincing when he noticed that a shard of glass from the broken bottle had lodged itself in his skin.

He just sighed, rubbing his forehead with his uninjured hand, “Get him out of here.”

Three of the men who were watching closely immediately listened to him, walking over, and picking the man up. They carried him out of the bar and were back to their drinks in what seemed like minutes. It was as though nobody truly seemed to care as to what had just happened and were more excited to get back to their drinks truly as though nothing had happened.

YN watched as Harry threw back the glass of whisky that had sat on the bar waiting for him (courtesy of Mick). That seemed like something that YN would have to take note of. With that, he dropped a few bills on the counter and stormed out of the bar. YN watched this and immediately started to pull her apron off her body.

“Mick,” The older man hummed from the other side of the bar, “I’m going outside for a break. I’ll only be a minute.”

The older man just threw YN a look, obviously having spotted who had left the bar just before she wanted to, “Be careful.”

YN just laughed, throwing the latch open, “I’m always careful.”

The second she stepped outside; she was shocked to see that Harry’s bike was still there, but he wasn’t sitting on it. There was a slight chill in the night air, and YN looked from left to right to try and spot him, but he was still nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until YN made her way towards the alley that followed the side of the bar that she finally realised where he had gone.

It was dark, but not dark enough to miss the figure leaning against the wall with a cigarette hanging from his lips. YN wrapped her arms around herself, wanting to conceal at least some of the warmth from inside. As her shoes crunched on the path, Harry’s eyes turned to look at her. He was ready for it to be someone else, and it was almost as though when he noticed that it was her – his features seemed to relax.

“How’s your hand?” She asked, coming to a stop right in front of him.

He raised his palm towards her, “It’s been better.”

YN winced to herself slightly as she looked at his hand, seeing the shard of glass still sticking out of the skin. Whilst she didn’t have a first aid kit on her body at this exact moment, it was good that she knew where one was.

“Come with me,” She nodded, walking further down the alley to the bar’s back entrance.

YN didn’t even turn to make sure that he was following her, she just knew that he would be. She held the door open for him, and the one that opened to the office of the bar (where Mick spent most of his time during the day, sorting the books out) and pointed at the chair by the desk.

Whilst Harry sat down without a word to her, YN reached up to the shelf above them and brought the first aid kit down. Harry’s eyes watched her as she pulled tweezer, gauze, and some antiseptic to clean and dress his wound. It was all very silent, and still but caring.

“Can I?” She asked, checking sure it was okay to touch his hand.

Harry nodded, placing his hand in hers. To YN, she wasn’t sure if she was truly touch-starved that feeling of his hand in hers felt truly intimate. She got to work straight away, pulling the glass out with the tweezers ever so carefully before wiping the surface of the cut. Even though YN knew that it would have stung, Harry’s face didn’t show anything, only one raised an eyebrow slightly.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” She mumbles, face still full of concentration on making sure the wound is fully clean before she wraps it.

Harry just nodded, “You see wounds like these before?”

YN nodded, “I’ve worked in bars before – of course, I’ve seen wounds like these before.”

Harry just nods, allowing YN to move his hand at her ease to ensure that it is wrapped tightly and securely. He opened his mouth once she had finished, as though he was going to ask her something, but he closed it straight away. She wanted nothing more than to tell him that he could ask her anything that he wanted to, but she didn’t want to scare him away.

“You’re all set,” She offered him a small smile.

“Thank you,” The words sort of felt foreign, but very sincere coming from his lips, “I… you didn’t have to.”

YN just shrugged, “Wasn’t going to let you bleed out – would’ve been bad for business.”

Harry offered her a small smile at her attempt at a joke, “I’m sorry about what happened in there as well… usually we try to keep those sorts of things out of the bar.”

“Harry,” His name came out of her lips softly, hoping that would be the thing to tell him that it was okay. That she wasn’t angry at him, “I know… it doesn’t bother me – I promise.”

He just nods, “I knew that, you know.”

YN furrows her eyebrows, “What do you mean?”

“That first day,” He reached out to her, and did the last thing that she would ever expect – grabbed her hand, “The way you dealt with some of the lads… I knew you were different.”

“It was you…” The words slipped out of YN’s mouth before she could truly register them, “You saw me that day.”

It all made sense. YN had noticed Harry that very first day that she’d appeared at Clover, and whilst originally Mick had said no, he had changed his mind and said yes. To YN, it had looked and seemed that Mick was the one who had made that decision, and yet it made sense that it was Harry to be the one who changed Mick’s mind. Harry, if he had been sitting at his barstool would have been a metre or so away from that conversation – and he would have heard every word that had been said.

“I did,” Harry nods, claiming every thought that YN had to be true, “I saw you, the way you spoke to them, the way you stood your ground and god, YN, I was hooked.”

That was the first time that YN had heard Harry speak her name, and she was addicted. She wanted to hear it over, and over and over again. He noticed the slight shift in her and used his legs to roll the chair he was sitting on closer to where she was resting against the desk. Then he slipped his uninjured arm around her body and pulled her down to him. She straddled his knees, relishing the feeling of his body beneath hers.

“I…” Her words came out as a whisper, “I felt the same.”

Relief. That was the look on his face – it was a true relief.

“You did?”

“God, Harry,” YN giggles, shaking her head, “I tried not to, but I would be lying if I said that most of my thoughts haven’t been filled with you. Wanting to know more.”

“You can know anything,” His thumb slipped underneath the thin material of her shirt, a heat spreading across her entire body from that one single touch, “Ask me anything, everything – I’ll answer. Whatever you want to know?”

YN pondered that for a second. She could have asked him anything, and yet there was one thought which was present in her mind more than any of the others. An hour ago, this question would have been risky – she just wouldn’t have asked it. Yet, in the safety of this room – away from peering eyes, or anyone who could make assumptions as to what it meant – she wanted nothing more than to ask it.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Harry exhaled a breath, lifting his hand to rest against her cheek, “More than anything.”

YN nodded.

“Harry…” He hummed at the call of her name, “Kiss me.”

His thumb danced from her cheek, down to her lip. He ran it across the skin of her bottom lip, pushing down slightly so that her lips parted for him. The only sound in the room was YN’s heavy breathing, a response to the teasing that was on display right in front of her.

Then his face inched forward, and his lips were on hers. It didn’t take long for his tongue to slip past her parted lips, dancing with her own. This closeness to someone, the vulnerability – YN had missed it. She pushed her body forward towards Harry’s, slipping her hands in the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands, never mind the bandaged one which would have still caused him pain, rested upon her denim-clad arse. They found their home resting there, and YN wasn’t about to move them.

Harry pulled away from her lips, obviously needing oxygen as much as she did. But he wasted no time in dropping his attack down her neck, his teeth nipping the skin there. YN’s hands still rested in the curls at the nape of his neck, and heavy breaths parted from her lips.

“Harry,” She gasped as he started to suck at the sweet spot where her neck met her collarbone, “I need to get back to work.”

“No, you don’t,” He mumbled, and YN just rolled her eyes.

“I’ve deserted Mick,” She continues, “He might need help.”

“Mick’ll be fine,” He pulled his head up, resting on her chest as he peered up at her, “And anyway, I’m your boss.”

YN shook her head, “I need to go.”

Harry groaned but finally nodded, “Ride home with me?”

“Of course,” YN pecked Harry’s lips one last time pushed herself up from him and walked out of the room.

Harry’s eyes never left her the entire time.

“Harry, no, I’m going to tip over.”

When Harry had dropped YN at home last night, he had muttered the words that he would see her tomorrow. Before she could clarify that she wasn’t working, he had sped off on his motorcycle into the dark of the night. YN should have known, though, that Harry knew she wasn’t working. It became even more clear when Ashley shouted at her from the kitchen at around midday today, telling her that her Rider was waiting for her.

Instead of the annoyance that YN felt the first time, there was a skip in her step this time. She had taken some time that morning to make herself look that little bit more presentable and waited for him. After their kiss the previous night in the office, and the slight peck that he had given her when she had climbed off his bike yesterday.

When she had bounced over to him earlier, a smile beaming on his face she didn’t have a single care as to what she would be doing that day – all she knew was that she was going to enjoy it. Even when she climbed on the back of his bike and asked where they were going – the smile never left her face. He refused to tell her, though, saying that it was a surprise.

“Harry, I don’t want to,” YN shook her head, hands grasping tightly onto the handles of the bike, “I’m going to fall off, or I’m going to crash your bike.”

What Harry had planned for the girl was to teach her how to ride. Whilst at the start YN had wanted nothing more than to learn how to ride, now that she was sitting on Harry’s bike without him there – she was terrified. Harry was standing close to her, cigarette dangling from his lips and an amused expression on his face.

“You’re not going to fall,” Harry shakes his head, “I’m right here… and I promise I won’t let you crash.”

“You can say that Harry, but you can’t promise,” YN was sitting on the bike, with her feet resting on the ground and absolutely no attempt at all to move.

He threw his cigarette on the floor, moving over so that he could wrap his arms around her waist, his hands coming to rest upon hers on the handle. He turned the engine on, and even though it was YN’s hands on the handle, Harry was controlling it. They went very slow – they had to so that Harry could walk at the side of them.

“I’m going to let go,” Harry spoke after a minute or so, but YN shook her head.

“I’m not ready,” YN pushed her body into his slightly, “I’m going to crash.”

“There’s nothing for you to crash into,” Harry peels one of his hands off of hers, “I trust you… you’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t as though he was lying. Harry had driven them out to a deserted road just out of town. Close enough away that they’d be home at a normal time, but far enough away that there wasn’t any traffic which would interrupt them. There wasn’t anything but stone and grass around them, and whilst if YN came to a haphazard stop, it wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing ever – there wasn’t a lot of damage that she could do to Harry’s bike.

Harry let go of her other hand, and she was doing it. Granted, she didn’t go over 2mph, but she was still riding the bike on her own. She wasn’t comfortable enough to attempt to turn yet, so she just came to a slow stop a few metres further down from where Harry was. She kicked the stand down and climbed off the bike – turning towards Harry with a smile on her face.

“I did it!” She bounced over to Harry and wrapped her arms around his neck, his coming to rest around her waist.

“Never doubted you,” He leaned down to place a kiss on her lips, pulling her body flush against his. Before anything more could happen, the sound of crunching on the road, as well as the sound of a siren interrupted them.

YN’s heart started to beat rapidly at the sight of a police car inching towards them. Whilst YN had dealt with police before working in her previous bars, she hadn’t ever been out in the open with her and only one other person when talking to them. Knowing that Harry also ran a motorcycle gang added another level of worry to it.

Harry just pulled YN with him, going to rest against his bike. He looked completely unfazed, whilst YN truly was shitting in her boots slightly. The police car stopped right in front of them, and as the door swung open to the car, Harry lit up a cigarette and brought it up to his lips – again, making it aware that he was completely unfazed by what was happening.

“Styles,” The officer sighed, slamming his car door behind him shit as he walked towards the two of them, “You’re not an easy man to find.”

“Hmm,” Harry just hums, inhaling from his cigarette, “I had no idea you were even looking for me… I wouldn’t have just stood in the middle of the road if I knew.”

The officer chuckled, placing his hands on his hips, “We had reports last night that you attacked a man.”

Harry shook his head, “Couldn’t have been me.”

“It happened at your bar,” The officer took a step forward towards Harry, “Had reports that you hit him over the head with a beer bottle.”

Harry just chuckles, “Officer Thompson, I don’t have time for this he said she said bullshit. If you’ve got something to say to me, I think you should say it.”

The officer just hummed, “Where were you last night?”

“I was at the bar,” Harry nodded, “All night.”

YN started to panic from beside him, but she tried not to make it obvious. Harry must have complete and utter trust in his riders to not say anything to the police. It made sense now to YN as to why that man hadn’t been given a jacket. He had instigated the fight, and yet he had run straight to the police with it. He was a coward and a rat.

“Can anyone corroborate this?”

“I can,” YN was surprised at how strongly her voice came out, “I was there with him all night, I work there.”

The officer hums once more, his eyes dropping down to focus on Harry once more. YN realises that it’s then that the officer has spotted his bandaged hand. YN’s mind starts to spiral slightly, hoping that one of them will be able to come up with something quickly.

“What, uh,” The officer couldn’t hide the smile on his face, obviously thinking that he had found him out, “What happened to your hand, Styles?”

Harry opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so YN interrupts. She giggles slightly, knowing exactly what type of character was going to be believable for this officer. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I’m so sorry, officer, that was my fault,” YN took a small step towards the officer, but not far enough that she wasn’t in arms reach of Harry, “See, I’m real clumsy. And yesterday, I dropped a whole crate of beer and Harry heard the crash, and he helped me clean up – unfortunately, he cut his hand in the process.”

The officer’s eyes moved between Harry and YN. There was no way at that point for YN to try and guess what he was thinking – or what he was going to say. Then, when the officer’s face broke out into a smile just the same as YN’s, she knew she had convinced him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss, and I hope you have a good rest of your day,” Then the officer turned to Harry, and the smile on his face dropped, “I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Styles.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to it Officer Thompson.”

Harry rested against his bike the entire time, whilst YN had her arms crossed against her chest. They didn’t say another word to each other until they watched the car turn around and drive away from them. It was only then that YN turned to Harry, who was running a hand over his face. Sighing, YN walked over to him, grabbing his hands (but making sure to be careful of his injured hand).

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry shakes his head, pulling her hands up so that he can place a kiss on the back of them.

“I know,” YN nods, “But I wanted to.”

Harry rests his chin upon their connected hands, “I wanna take you somewhere.”

YN would be lying if she said that she hadn’t thought about where Harry lived once or twice because she had. He had been to her apartment a few times to pick her up, and whilst she hadn’t necessarily wanted to be that forward and ask him where he lived, there was a part of her which wondered about it.

It was a strange circumstance. Where does the leader of a gang live? Where does he rest his head at night? Where does make his coffee in the morning? Whilst YN wouldn’t necessarily admit it, she was an inquisitive person.

When Harry’s bike came to a stop outside of a garage, one that seemingly had an apartment attached to the top of it – it all made sense. Yes, the bar had to be doing well, with how many people were in it daily. But there had to be another way that Harry was making money, and it seemed as though this was it. She wondered if this had anything to do with the shipments that the other man had been speaking about.

He kicked the standout and gave YN the space the climb off before he did. He walked over to the shutter, unlocked the padlock, and threw it open. The apartment didn’t look too big, but the shop itself was huge. She had expected a car, maybe a few bikes – but she hadn’t expected rows upon rows of bikes lining the side of the walls. In the middle, YN could see the different stations where Harry and some of the other members worked.

“Are these all yours?” YN asked, her finger reaching out to run across the glossy black exterior of one of the bikes closest to her.

“Most of them,” Harry shrugged, dropping the shutter closed behind the two of them after pushing his bike inside, “Me and a few others, we buy them and restore them, make them better to sell on.”

“God, Harry,” YN turns to him, an expression of what could only be described as amazement on her features, “This is amazing.”

He just offered her a small smile, taking small steps towards her until he was close enough to wrap his arms around her middle. YN giggled slightly, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder as he pulled her closer to him.

“Pick one.”

The features on YN’s lips dropped again, “What?”

“Pick one,” Harry repeated, “A bike.”

“Yeah, I gathered that, Harry, I’m just confused as to why.”

He just shrugged, leaning back against the workbench near the two of them. YN turned around so that she was facing him, and Harry at once pressed his hands against her waist. It was funny to YN, to see the big, scary, gang member was so soft around her, and they hadn’t necessarily known each other very long.

“You said it yourself,” He shrugged, his hands pulling her between her body between his open legs, “If you’re gonna be a rider, you’ve got to ride. Seems like you need a bike to do that.”

“Yeah, but I’ll buy one,” YN spoke, as though it was the most obvious thing in the word, “When I have the cash for it.”

Harry shook his head, “No need, rather have you on one of these. Tested them myself, they’re all safe.”

YN just shook her head, propelling her body even further forward so that she could wrap her arms around Harry’s neck and press her lips against his. It was a clumsy kiss, with both of their teeth clashing and smiles upon their features but they did not care.

“Thank you,” She mumbled against his lips, pressing a flurry of chaste kisses to them afterwards.

Harry shook his head, “No need – pick one, baby.”

YN pushed her body up and started to walk up and down the rows of bikes until she spotted it. It was about halfway down the row, a bike with dark green glossy accents, looking nothing but sleek with the dark metal of the engine. It was the one that she wanted, and the second she was standing in front of it she knew it was hers. With that beaming smile across her features, YN turned and launched herself at Harry, wrapping her legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. His hands came to rest on the plump skin of her arse over her dark denim jeans. Even though YN suspected that she had caught him off guard, he didn’t show it on his face.

“How can I ever thank you?” She asked between a litter of kisses to his lips, a boyish smile crossing his features afterwards that YN wants nothing more than to bottle up and remember forever.

“That smile of yours is enough,” Harry nods at her, pressing another full kiss to her lips.

YN tilts her head to the side, turning to look at Harry with a slight smirk crossing her features. His eyebrows furrowed as though he already suspected she was coming up with something in her head.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Maybe…” YN starts, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, hesitating, “Maybe there’s another way I can thank you.”

Harry’s eyes widened, as though he was finally catching on to the thoughts swimming around in YN’s head.

“We don’t have to,” Harry shakes his head quickly. “I promise I’m not expecting anything from you.”

YN just shakes her head, leaning forward to place another kiss on his lips. Her hands tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I know you’re not,” YN offers him a smile, “I want to. I promise.”

Harry shook his head, a groan emitting from his lips as he tugged her even closer to him if that was possible. YN giggles at his obvious joy at her statement.

“God,” He rests his forehead against hers, “I know it’s wrong, but I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Harry turns, as though he’s going to walk out of the garage, but YN stops him. He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she just giggles once more.

“Want it here.”

“What?”

“Want it here, want you on the bench,” Harry groans once more, moving to drop her down upon the workbench that he had been rested upon earlier.

“Are you sure I haven’t dreamt you up?”

“Nope,” YN shakes her head, “I’m real.”

YN threads her fingers back through the curls at the nape of his neck, bringing his face back to hers. It doesn’t take long for their lips to connect once more. It wasn’t sweet or light. It was rough, as though both of them were finally able to do what they had both been thinking about.

Harry’s hands start to move down her body, resting on the hem of her jeans. She can feel his thumbs pressing down into the skin of her waist, and when it registers in her brain what he was trying to do YN pulls away, shaking her head.

“Not yet,” She lightly pushes his body to the side so that she can jump off the bench, “I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“You don’t have to,” YN’s hands rest on the lapels of his jacket, waiting for his nod before she pushes it off his shoulders.

“I want to.”

It takes just one swipe for Harry to pull his shirt over his head whilst YN’s hands come to rest upon his belt buckle. YN’s eyes widen at the sight of his exposed chest, as well as the tattoos that litter his sin. YN knew that Harry had tattoos; she had seen the ones on his arms multiple times, but it felt different to see the ones on his chest.

Her fingers work quickly to pull Harry’s belt buckle open, working on the button and zip of his jeans next. YN drops down to her knees, pushing Harry back slightly so that he’s resting against the workbench. Harry peers down at her, his chest heaving up and down in anticipation. Her hand rests upon the grey material of his boxers, palming his already semi-hard cock through the light material.

“You like teasing?”

YN shrugs lightly, “I have no clue what you mean.”

Harry laughs, watching her intently as her fingers loop into the band of his boxers, pulling them down to expose him to her. YN finds herself unable to pull her eyes away from his cock. She knew it had to be big from palming him through his boxers but seeing it before she made her mouth water and pressure to build in the pit of her stomach.

She placed a light kiss on his tip, which was already red and leaking from his obvious arousal. YN smiled, giving it a lick from the base to the tip before she used her hand to give it a few tugs. YN was confident in her moves, even though she had only done it a few times before in her life. She gained more confidence from the moans leaving Harry’s lips; they were deep and quiet, but she could hear them, and they caused her to squeeze her thighs together in hopes that it would give her some relief.

“YN… please,” It almost sounded as though he was pleading with her to do something, and YN almost moaned at the sound.

YN wraps her lips around the tip of Harry’s cock, beginning to bob her head up and down. One of her hands rested upon his thigh, whilst the other wrapped around the base of his cock, helping her with what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Her tongue lightly grazed his tip, earning a louder moan from Harry that egged her on further.

“Fuck… YN.”

Harry’s hands came to rest in her hair, helping her to move her head up and down his cock. It was a light tug that caused YN to moan around his cock, and she could feel Harry resisting from bucking his hips to meet her. Instead, she continued to bob her head, speeding up in hopes that it would help him recover from her teasing.

“YN gotta pull away,” Harry says after a minute or so, his grip on her hair tightening, “I’m gonna cum.”

YN doesn’t stop, however, instead, she keeps going until she hears him moan louder and start to cum down her throat. When she looks up at him, his head is thrown back, and his eyes are closed. She works her head up and down until he’s finished, only pulling away then. When she looks back up at him he has a look in his eyes that makes her assume that they aren’t done.

YN giggles as he puts his hands on her waist and pulls her up so she’s standing, immediately placing a kiss on her lips, seemingly not caring about the fact that his cum was on them. YN’s legs nearly gave out then and there, and she had to place her hands on his biceps to steady herself.

“Did that show my thanks?” She asked, tilting her head to the side innocently.

Harry wraps his arms around her thighs once more, picking her up effortlessly.

“Damn right, it did,” Harry starts to walk over to the door that she suspects goes into the house, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

It was quiet at Clover’s, a lull mid-afternoon on a Friday before everyone picked their spots for the night. YN had spent an hour or so cleaning and drying the glasses that had been used earlier in the day, making sure that they were to have enough for the night ahead.

The repeated motion of washing and drying gave her time to think, and more often than not, she found herself daydreaming about her morning, which she had spent in Harry’s bed, wrapped up in his arms. The two of them had been pretty inseparable before, but after he had gifted her the bike, it had seemingly gotten even worse, if that was possible. It had been weeks since that day, and YN could probably count on one hand the nights she had spent alone since then. Harry waited every night for her after work, and even when he couldn’t she would return to his house and wait for him there.

They hadn’t spoken about what they were necessarily, but that didn’t matter to YN. She didn’t need a label to know how she felt about Harry, and she assumed Harry felt about her also. For the first time in a long time YN was happy, and even though she was only a bartender and that useless history degree of hers wasn’t doing much – she wasn’t yearning for something else, for something better. YN truly felt as though it couldn’t get any better than it currently was.

The door to the bar pushed open, and whilst YN thought it was probably a rider coming in for a drink, she was shocked to see that it was Mick, obviously dropping in to start his shift. Thankfully, since YN had taken the day shift she didn’t have to stay until close tonight, meaning that she could spend more time in bed with Harry to end her week.

“Hey, YN,” She offered Mick a smile, “Just lemme drop my shit in the back and then you can go on break.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

Once he was back out, and she had passed over what she was doing to him, she made her way outside with the sandwich that Harry had made for her earlier. She was going to make her lunch, but Harry insisted that he make it for her. YN smiled at the memory of her sitting upon his kitchen counter, clad only in one of his t-shirts and a pair of pyjama shorts. They had laughed and joked and, at one point, had a break to dance around the kitchen to the song that was playing over the radio.

YN hadn’t had many relationships before, two at most she could think of, but they were never like this. They always felt transactional to YN. But with Harry, it truly felt as though they were two halves. There was a level of domesticity that YN loved more than anything with him, and every little task that they did together meant so much.

Once YN had eaten her sandwich, her thoughts filled with Harry and their morning. YN pulled her legs underneath her and began to read her book, knowing that she could get a chapter or so read before her break was over. It was a book about the Tudors she was reading, something that had been a passion of hers during her degree. It had been a while since she had read anything, but she supposed that the want came from her peace and happiness being restored.

She had just finished a chapter on Henry VIII’s Economic policy when she heard noise from the front of the bar. It was loud, and the voices that were speaking were quick, but it was muffled, so she couldn’t quite decipher what was being said. Putting her bookmark into place and closing the book, she pushed up from the chair and made her way towards the bar.

Mick was standing there, with three or four others in front of him. They looked panicked, and their words reflected that.

“Tell me again,” Mick placed his hands down on the counter, “I can’t tell a word you’re saying when you’re talking that quickly.”

“An accident, Mick,” It was Taylor who spoke, “There was an accident. We were riding along, and this truck came outta nowhere, sent him flying.”

YN moved towards them, her heart immediately starting to thump within her chest.

“Who?” Her words came out quickly, all of the men’s heads turning towards her, “Who went flying?”

“YN… I…” Taylor took a step towards her, his entire face dropping.

That was when she knew.

Her palms started to sweat, and her body felt heavy. There was a dizziness inside her head, and for one second she thought that she was going to fall to ground.

It was Harry.

“Where is he?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, the tears finally starting to collect within her waterline.

“YN…” Mick started.

“No, Mick,” She shook her head, “Where is he? Tell me where he is!”

Taylor took another step closer towards her, “I don’t know. The woman in the store across the street from where it happened phoned an ambulance, I left before they came. If I hazard a guess, they’ll be on their way to the hospital by now.”

YN nodded and before she knew it she was stalking her way outside and towards her bike. Ignoring the tears that were clouding her vision she climbed upon. Just as she was about to start it, a hand touched her elbow. It was Mick. She almost broke down crying there and then.

“Don’t,” Mick shook his head, “You can’t drive like that, darlin’. Let Taylor take you. Please.”

“He has to be okay,” YN shook her head, the sobs starting to wrack through her body.

Mick nodded, helping her off the bike, “He will be. But, if you wanna get there safely, in one piece let the boys take you.”

YN nods, walking over to Taylor’s bike and hopping on behind him. Mick gave her hand one last squeeze.

“Send him my love, okay?” Mick spoke and YN nodded, not trusting herself to be able to reply in that moment.

Taylor started the engine, and before she knew anything, they were hurtling down the street. This time, though, she wasn’t thinking about the wind in her hair.

#biker!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles series #harry styles historical fic

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elryuse · 2 days ago

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ANTHEM pt.3

MULTIPLE FEMALE IDOLS X MALE READER

TAGS : MULTIPLE FEMALE LOVE INTEREST, HAREM, KISSING

WORDS : 3,981 Words

This is Part 3 of The Anthem Series. For The Other Anthem Series, Please Kindly Check over Here.

Y/n stretched lazily in his bed, the cold morning air nipping at his exposed skin. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater struggling to keep up with the winter chill. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, turning his head slightly to find Wonyoung nestled close beside him, her face peaceful and serene. She was wearing her signature oversized black t-shirt, the fabric pooling around her delicate frame. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, catching the faint light streaming through the curtains.

She looks like a princess, Y/n thought, his heart softening as he watched her. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew they couldn’t stay like this forever. Carefully, he shifted the blanket that covered them both, lifting it slowly so as not to wake her.

But Wonyoung stirred almost immediately, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, her lips forming a pout before she even fully registered what was happening. “Why are you leaving me?” she complained, her voice thick with sleep but tinged with mock indignation.

Y/n chuckled softly, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Good morning to you too,” he said, earning a small groan from her as she swatted his hand away half-heartedly.

“Don’t mess up my hair,” she grumbled, though her pout softened into a smile. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, the hem of her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. Y/n’s eyes lingered a moment too long, and when Wonyoung caught him staring, her grin turned mischievous.

“What’s wrong, oppa? Never seen a girl wake up before?” she teased, propping herself up on one elbow. Her voice was light, playful, but there was something underneath it—something that made Y/n’s stomach tighten.

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “You should head back to your room. Yujin’s probably wondering where you are.”

Wonyoung shook her head, her expression stubborn. “No. I like it here. Your bed is warmer than mine.” She scooted closer to him, her body heat radiating against his side. “And you’re warmer too,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Wonyoung, you know we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she interrupted, tilting her head innocently. “It’s not like anyone will notice. Everyone’s still asleep.”

Yeji’s probably already awake, Y/n thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to argue with her, especially not when she was looking at him like that—her big doe eyes filled with a mix of innocence and something far more dangerous.

“Fine,” he conceded, leaning back against the pillows. “But only for a little while.”

Wonyoung smiled triumphantly, settling back down beside him. She tucked her head against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the rhythm of their breathing syncing naturally. But then Wonyoung shifted slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest through his thin t-shirt.

“Oppa,” she murmured after a while, her voice barely audible. “Do you ever think about… us?”

Y/n froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Us?” he repeated, his voice cautious.

Wonyoung pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression serious now. “Yeah. You know… how we spend so much time together. How I always end up in your bed. Don’t you think that means something?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Wonyoung leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “I think you like having me here,” she whispered, her breath sending shivers down his spine. “Maybe even more than you want to admit.”

Y/n swallowed hard, his mind racing. He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was just imagining things. But the truth was, he did like having her there. More than he should. And the way she was looking at him now, her eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Wonyoung…” he began, but she cut him off again, this time by pressing her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. His brain short-circuited, his hands moving instinctively to her waist as he kissed her back. It was brief, chaste even, but it left his heart pounding.

When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, but her smile was triumphant. “See?” she said, her voice smug. “You do like me.”

Y/n groaned, running a hand over his face. “This is such a bad idea,” he muttered, though he made no move to push her away.

Wonyoung giggled, her fingers trailing down his arm. “Since when have we ever had good ideas?” she countered, her tone light but her gaze intense. “Besides, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Not even Yujin.”

The mention of Yujin made Y/n’s stomach twist. He knew he was playing with fire, but the way Wonyoung was looking at him—like he was the only thing that mattered—made it impossible to care.

Before he could stop himself, he cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her again.

This time, there was nothing soft or tentative about it. Wonyoung responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Y/n’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Every rational thought fled his mind, replaced by the overwhelming need to touch her, to feel her, to lose himself in her.

Their kisses grew more desperate, more urgent, until Wonyoung finally pulled back, panting slightly. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen and glistening. “Oppa,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want you.”

The words sent a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling completely. He didn’t speak, didn’t trust himself to form coherent thoughts anymore. Instead, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hands roamed lower, exploring every inch of her soft, warm skin.

Wonyoung gasped, arching into his touch. “Y/n,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice breaking on his name. “Please…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him as his kisses trailed down her neck to the collar of her oversized shirt. Wonyoung let out a soft moan, her nails digging into his shoulders as he tugged the fabric aside, exposing more of her bare skin.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment. They froze, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Y/n?” Yujin’s voice called from the other side of the door, sounding way too cheerful for the situation. “Are you awake? We need to talk about practice today!”

Y/n swore under his breath, pulling away from Wonyoung reluctantly. “One second!” he called back, his voice strained.

Wonyoung bit her lip, trying to stifle a laugh as she sat up, fixing her shirt. “Well, that’s unfortunate timing,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n shot her a glare, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the flush staining his cheeks. “You need to hide,” he hissed, gesturing toward the closet.

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but complied, slipping out of bed and padding silently across the room. She paused at the closet door, glancing back at him with a smirk. “We’re not done, oppa,” she said softly before disappearing inside.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before opening the door. Yujin stood there, grinning broadly, completely oblivious to what she’d just interrupted.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, stepping past him into the room. “I brought coffee. Thought you might need it after last night.”

As she set the tray down on his desk, Y/n glanced nervously at the closet, wondering how long Wonyoung would be able to stay hidden—and what fresh chaos was waiting to unfold.

Yujin’s cheerful expression faltered as she stepped further into the room, her nose wrinkling slightly. She tilted her head, sniffing the air like a curious kitten. “Hmm… what’s that smell?” she mused, her voice light but carrying an edge of suspicion. Her gaze flicked around the room before landing on Y/n, who was standing stiffly by the door, trying to act natural.

“What smell?” Y/n asked, his voice a little too high-pitched. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms casually over his chest, though his heart was pounding. She couldn’t possibly know, he thought, even as beads of sweat threatened to form at his temples.

Yujin wandered closer to him, her eyes narrowing playfully but with a hint of something sharper beneath the surface. She leaned in, sniffing dramatically near his shoulder. “It smells like… Wonyoung’s perfume. The one she always wears.” She straightened up, hands on her hips, and fixed him with a knowing look. “Strawberries and vanilla. Very distinctive.”

Y/n froze, his mind racing for an excuse. Think, think, think. Before he could respond, the closet door creaked ever so slightly, drawing Yujin’s attention. Her head snapped toward it, and she took a step forward. “Is someone in there?” she asked, her tone shifting from playful to accusatory.

“No!” Y/n said quickly, stepping between her and the closet. “I mean… probably just the wind or something. Old building, you know? Drafty.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Sweat was definitely forming now.

Yujin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she studied him. “Y/n-oppa,” she began, her voice sweet but laced with mischief, “are you hiding something from me?”

Before he could answer, the closet door burst open, and Wonyoung stepped out, her hair slightly disheveled but her expression defiant. “Yes, he is,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “And before you get all worked up, Yujin-unnie, it’s not what you think.”

Yujin’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she looked between Wonyoung and Y/n. “Excuse me? Not what I think?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You were in his closet, smelling like his bedsheets, and—”

“Enough!” Y/n interrupted, raising both hands to silence them. His voice carried a firmness that surprised even himself, and both girls stopped mid-sentence, staring at him. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Look, this isn’t helping anyone. We’re a team, right? So let’s not turn this into some dramatic scene.”

Wonyoung pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she glanced at Yujin. “She started it,” she muttered under her breath.

Yujin scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I started it? You’re the one who—”

“Stop,” Y/n said again, softer this time but no less commanding. He stepped between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen. I… I care about both of you. A lot. And if we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other. No secrets, no jealousy. Just… trust.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing. Then, Yujin let out a small huff, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she said, though her eyes still flashed with a hint of challenge. “But you owe me coffee after this.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but nodded. “And me too,” she added, smirking at Y/n. “Maybe even breakfast.”

Y/n let out a relieved laugh, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Deal,” he said, grinning despite himself. If only it could always be this easy, he thought, though he knew better than to hope for smooth sailing.

Later that afternoon, the group gathered in the practice room for another grueling session. Winter had been unusually quiet throughout the day, her sharp eyes watching Y/n with an intensity that made him uneasy. She sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone, but every so often, her gaze would flicker up to meet his, holding it for just a second too long before she looked away.

Karina clapped her hands, calling everyone to attention. “Alright, let’s run through the choreography one more time. Focus on the transitions—they’re still a bit messy.”

The music started, and Y/n threw himself into the routine, trying to ignore the way Winter’s eyes seemed to burn into his back. By the time they finished, his muscles were screaming in protest, and his shirt clung to his skin with sweat. He collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall as he caught his breath.

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt a presence beside him. He opened them to find Wonyoung crouching down, her face glowing with exertion but her smile bright. “Oppa,” she said, her voice soft, “will you come shopping with me later? I need to pick up some clothes for everyone, and I could use your opinion.”

Y/n hesitated, glancing around the room. Karina was deep in conversation with Chaewon, and Yujin was stretching nearby, her eyes darting toward them periodically. Winter was still watching him, her expression unreadable. “Sure,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Let me just clean up first.”

As he stood, he caught Yujin’s eye. She gave him a small nod, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. He could tell she wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t say anything. One problem at a time, he told himself.

An hour later, Y/n found himself in Wonyoung’s room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her bed as she rummaged through her closet. “So, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a vibrant pink dress that shimmered under the light.

“It’s… um, nice,” Y/n said, unsure of how else to respond. “Very… eye-catching.”

Wonyoung giggled, setting the dress aside and turning to face him. Her expression softened, her eyes locking onto his. “You’re really cute when you’re nervous,” she said, taking a step closer.

Before he could react, she was straddling him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his. Y/n’s brain short-circuited, his body instinctively responding as her tongue slipped into his mouth. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair as she deepened the kiss, her nails digging into his skin.

“W-Wonyoung,” he gasped when she broke away to trail kisses down his neck, her teeth grazing his collarbone. “We shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her hands moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it aside. His breath hitched as she ran her fingers over his chest, her touch sending sparks through his body. She leaned down, nipping at his skin before licking away the sting, her movements deliberate and slow.

“Wonyoung,” he moaned, his hands gripping her waist as she shifted above him. She smirked, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor before grabbing his hands and placing them on her bare skin. “Touch me,” she breathed, grinding against him.

He obeyed, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips before sliding up to cup her breasts. She let out a breathy sigh, arching into his touch as she rolled her hips against his growing hardness. “You’re mine right now,” she murmured, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she leaned down to claim his lips once more.

Her fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, yanking them down along with his boxers. She pulled back just enough to kick off her own shorts and panties, her eyes dark with hunger as she positioned herself above him. “Ready?” she teased, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Y/n nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as she lowered herself onto him, her tight warmth engulfing him completely. She let out a low moan, her nails raking down his chest as she began to move, her pace slow and deliberate at first, then increasingly frantic. Her head fell back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she rode him, her cries of pleasure echoing through the room.

“Faster,” she begged, her voice breaking as she gripped his shoulders for leverage. Y/n obliged, thrusting upward to meet her movements, their rhythm falling into sync as the heat between them built to a fever pitch. Wonyoung’s moans grew louder, more desperate, until she shuddered above him, her body tightening as waves of pleasure overtook her.

Y/n followed soon after, his release spilling inside her as she collapsed onto his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled together and soaked in sweat, the world outside forgotten.

“Well,” Wonyoung said after a while, her voice teasing as she propped herself up to look at him, “that was fun.”

Y/n blinked up at her, his mind still reeling. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Fun.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “You think we’re done?” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, sending shivers down his spine. “I’m just getting started.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Wonyoung shifted her weight, straddling him again. Her hands slid down his torso, nails lightly scratching his skin, and he hissed at the sensation. She laughed softly, her voice low and sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Y/n. I thought you had more stamina than this.”

His body tensed under her teasing, a mix of exhaustion and desire warring within him. But the way she looked at him—her dark eyes glinting with playful challenge—was enough to reignite the fire in his veins. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair, and pulled her closer until their lips were almost touching. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Wonyoung smirked, clearly enjoying the game. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” she purred before capturing his mouth in another deep kiss. Her hips rolled against his, and he groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist tightly. The heat between them was undeniable, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both natural and desperate.

Their second round was slower but no less intense, each touch and movement deliberate. Wonyoung’s moans were softer now, more intimate, as if she was savoring every moment. Y/n’s hands explored every inch of her, memorizing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet not enough. They clung to each other, chasing the high of their connection, unwilling to let go.

When they finally collapsed onto the bed, breathless and sweaty, Wonyoung let out a contented sigh. “Okay,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I underestimated you.”

Y/n chuckled, though it came out more like a groan. “Glad to hear it.”

They lay there for a while, catching their breath, until Wonyoung sat up, stretching languidly. “We should probably get dressed,” she said, glancing around the room. “Before someone else decides to barge in unannounced.”

Y/n nodded, reluctantly sitting up as well. They gathered their clothes, the air between them still charged with the remnants of what had just happened. As they dressed, Wonyoung shot him a mischievous grin. “Just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop teasing you.”

He raised an eyebrow, half amused, half wary. “Noted.”

By the time they emerged from her room, the rest of the group was bustling about, preparing for the day ahead. Karina was the first to notice them, her sharp eyes flickering between Y/n and Wonyoung as they approached. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it, instead offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Thanks for helping Wonyoung with… whatever it was you two were doing,” Winter chimed in, her tone light but her gaze piercing. She stepped closer to Y/n, her hand brushing against his cheek in a gesture that felt far too familiar. “You’re always so… accommodating.”

Y/n stiffened, acutely aware of Karina watching them. But before he could respond, Wonyoung cut in, her voice sweet but laced with subtle warning. “Isn’t he just? We’re lucky to have him.”

Winter smirked, clearly enjoying the tension she was creating. “Indeed.”

The conversation shifted to mundane topics after that, but the underlying unease lingered. Y/n felt Karina’s eyes on him throughout, her gaze soft yet tinged with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite place. When she finally approached him, her touch was tentative as she took his arm, her fingers gently caressing his bicep.

“Thank you, Y/n,” she said quietly, her voice filled with warmth. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. “For everything.”

Her words were simple, but the emotion behind them was anything but. Y/n’s heart ached with guilt and longing, but he forced himself to smile. “Of course. You don’t have to thank me.”

Karina hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but then she seemed to catch herself. She coughed lightly, stepping back and breaking the spell. “Right. Well, we should all get ready. There’s still a lot to do today.”

The others nodded, exchanging glances that hinted at things left unsaid. Winter lingered for a moment longer, her fingers trailing along Y/n’s jawline before she finally turned away. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder, her tone dripping with promise.

As the group dispersed, Y/n exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of their collective attention pressing down on him. He needed a moment to breathe, to clear his head. A shower sounded perfect—just the thing to wash away the sweat and tension clinging to his skin.

He made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as soon as the door closed behind him. The water was hot, almost scalding, but it felt good against his skin. He stood under the spray, letting it wash away the lingering echoes of the morning’s events.

But just as he began to relax, he heard it—a soft, melodic humming coming from outside the bathroom door. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned off the water, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. “Hello?” he called out, his voice hesitant.

The humming stopped, replaced by the sound of the doorknob turning. Before he could react, the door swung open, and Yujin stepped inside, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of him—dripping wet, bare-chested, and very much naked from the waist down aside from the hastily wrapped towel.

“Y/n?!” she squeaked, her face turning bright red as she immediately spun around, covering her eyes with her hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”

Y/n froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what had just happened. “Yujin, wait—”

But she was already backing out of the bathroom, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to escape. “I-I’ll just—uh—”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Y/n standing there, stunned and utterly exposed. He stared at the closed door, his heart pounding in his chest as the reality of the situation sank in. This was not how he expected his day to go.

From the other side of the door, he could hear Yujin’s muffled voice, though her words were too faint to make out. Y/n groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. What was he supposed to do now?

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until Y/n finally mustered the courage to call out, “Yujin?”

There was no response. He waited a few moments, then sighed. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was apologizing to—her or himself.

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y2kas13 · 1 day ago

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Can She Stay? (Paige B. x reader)

Paige b. x dads best friend's daughter!reader

Summary: Paige goes with her dad to his best friend's house meets his daughter and quickly becomes close.

cw: fluff, rizzler paige lol, spicy but no smut, reader isn't given a set race or weight just mentions of curly hair and being on the 'thicker side' but nothing too defining y/n used srry

a/n: (I wrote this months ago and never knew how to finish so I’m gonna post it how it is if you wnat a continuation I definitely will) I'm actually from and live in CT so I'm gonna use the name of a college from here for realism its not important tho so don't worry lol thank you for tuning in to my poll for those who interacted this is technically my 2nd fic on Tumblr but my other one sucked and flopped 😭 so hopefully this is better. I appreciate interaction!

Paige was a go-getter, constantly up and running ready to take on the day and do what needed to be done.

Needless to say, she didn't want to get out of bed and go with her dad to sit around and listen to old dad jokes for the next few hours.

She loves her dad, but after weeks of training and hard work, she wants to mindlessly scroll on her phone and eat some well-deserved junk food.

"Come on Paige it'll be fun I promise it'll be worth your while. watch you'll have so much fun you won't wanna leave! now come on Paige!" Hearing her dad have so much enthusiasm trumps her feelings of wanting to stay home. She changes out of her pajamas into black loose-fitting sweatpants and a white crop-top she puts her slides on and gets in her dad's car and falls asleep.

Feeling the car come to a stop makes her open her eyes and see that they are presumably at her dad's friend's house. She rubs her eyes and stretches to wake her up. She hops out of the car and walks up to the door after her dad.

Before her dad can even finish knocking a man who looks the same age as her dad opens the door. "Bob! there you are old timer hurry up the game is coming on." He ushers them in and both Paige and her dad hurry inside.

Paige takes in the living room while her dad and his friend playfully banter with each other. Before Paige can open her mouth to say anything she hears soft footsteps coming toward the living room which causes her to look up.

"Dad, what's all that noise?"

Paige sees probably one of the prettiest girls she's seen in a while. Beautiful curly hair held out of her face by a simple headband, she's wearing a simple blue crop top similar to her own and the smallest pair of black pajama shorts she's seen in forever.

The feeling of the girl's eyes also looking her up and down causes Paige to finally stop staring and look away. "Come here baby let me introduce you!" The pretty girl steps further into the living room to stand by both dads which causes Paige to follow without even thinking. The girls' dads introduce them to each other, "This is my daughter Paigey she plays basketball at UConn she's a little star." Bob says with obvious pride in his voice which causes Paige to slightly blush and look down waving him away playfully at the nickname. This elicits a small giggle out of the girl which makes Paige smile a little harder and look up at the girl seeing that she's already looking at Paige. "This is my baby she goes to Southern and she's the student council president at her school." Pride is also evident in his words, the baby name makes the girl turn away in slight embarrassment.

The TV in the living room starts playing a loud sound alerting the dads that the game they were awaiting is finally starting so they offer that the girls should go hang out together in the girl's room. They head towards the girl's room.

"So baby huh?" Paige says with a small smirk on her lips, the name used making her laugh.

"Oh whatever Paigey," The girl rolls her eyes playfully and sits on her bed, "I have a real name you know." Paige looks around the room taking in the aesthetically pleasing room with light grey walls dark hardwood floors and posters of all her favorite shows and artists on her wall.

Paige sits down at the small dark wooded vanity now looking at the girl perched on the bed, "Care to share then princess?" the nickname princess causes the girl to spring up and look at the blonde girl at her vanity

She shares her name with Paige to which Paige compliments.

“So student council president huh? You’re a smart girl aren’t you.” Paige says with a smirk but there’s no condensation or malice in it.

The curly haired girl nods making her curls bounce and flop in her face slightly. “Yep school has always been my thing I’ve been best at.”

Paige gets up from her vanity and walk over to the bed. She looks the curly haired girl in the eyes and moves some of the hair that fell in her face. “Maybe you should come by my school and see me do what I’m best at.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wcbb x reader #kk arnold #caitlin clark #kate martin #wbb

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lovieku · 2 days ago

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i don’t even know what to say. you’ve left a yapper speechless. with Real Tears in her eyes. i feel so much adoration for you and i’m soso grateful for your words, the time that went into composing such a heartfelt review, and just your support. i actually will fall on my knees and beg you to kiss me PLEASE MISSIE 😭😭🩷

something about your ocs (at least from what i've been able to read so far) is that you really capture the essence of their innocence and youth. it makes me nostalgic and so protective of them 🥺 esp this oc and how the fic ended. bc even if jk didn't want to rob her of her youth, he did. and god, does it hurt.

this DID it for me… had my ass pulling a tom holland, i got the engagement ring here baby plz!

i have always been insecure of the way i capture most of my ocs… i think i can’t help but unconsciously make them “weaker” just bc they’re the victims of so many more painful and deeper emotions. it’s something i like but i also fear it can maybe come across as a stereotypical depiction of women? idk. but your comment really made it better. i’m happy you liked her 🩷 and Sawrry you could feel her hurt hehe

like i said, it takes a real special person to pull off this sort of trope, but i expected no less from you. bc wow... amazing. i don't read a lot of age gap fics bc if im being frank... it's a pretty taboo topic in our society, yet this happens everyday to real people, right? i think it's one thing to judge it based on what it is and then having the opportunity to build a world with characters and feelings around it. what an experience. thank you as always lovie!!

i’m 🥹🥹 so lovingly overwhelmed with this. it’s suchhhh a huge honor. to be seen as a special person?!???? by you!!!!?? and wow this is like the biggest compliment i’ve ever received. i love reading about age gaps, and writing it has been a challenge but it still remains one of my favorite tropes. and you’re totally right about what you’re saying. i haven’t found myself supportive of it in situations that saw my closed ones involved, but writing and reading about it truly puts things into another perspective sometimes. these stories still deserve to be told ❣️

thank You, prettiest soul 🩷 always thankful <3

OLDER ⋆ 정국

you’ve tried, but you can’t help yourself from crushing on your best friend’s dad. hot, buff, tatted up and successful, mr. jeon is the starring actor in all of your wettest dreams. and as you wake up from one while sleeping over at his house after his daughter’s birthday party, you don’t expect all of them to suddenly come true. but they do.

pairing: dilf!jk x inexperienced!fem reader

genre: smut, dilf au, best friend’s father

warnings: lower case intended, porn with some lots of plot, age gap (21 n 38), dom!jk, sub!reader, voyeurism, messy blow job, fingering, oral (f receiving), bit of tit play (small chested reader yayyy), two (2) spanks, unprotected sex, cum eating, dirty talk, a bit of degradation, but also praise, pet names, some angst hehe, she falls first he falls harder??? but miscommunication sadly, forbidden love

ratings: 18+ / mdi

word count: 18.2k

a/n: i kinda hate this it doesnt make sense anymore to me but when i realized i was already 12k words in so 😃 here you are! its also so hard to write smut for me because i get carried away but then it becomes too overwhelming Help. anyways. im back hey!!!!

────୨ৎ────

in the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. there’s something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. you bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.

but amid them, one stands out. it’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face, when you fixate on the image of the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.

it’s been a few months since that day— since areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.

you had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.

kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing areum with panic in your eyes, you tried to steady both her and yourself. in between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. her words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck, her body trembling.

it took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. divorce was imminent.

your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. you felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your friend still hiding in your chest.

even as her sobs echoed in your ears, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. mr. jeon is single.

you felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening them around areum harder to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.

since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at areum’s house. you’ve been doing your best to be the friend she needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness.

you’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of friends on lazy evenings. anything to keep her mind off the pain.

but each visit is an opportunity. a fleeting chance to see him. to study how he moves around the house with that quiet intensity of his, a presence able to fill every room like a calm, steady current.

you’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. the way his eyes soften when he looks at areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.

you wish you could help him too. in other ways. ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.

you can’t avoid it, though. you’ve witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.

you feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?

you know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.

“any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” he always asks, his gaze jumping between areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.

after your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. is your dick on the menu? perhaps?

and the man can cook. exceptionally well. he moves around the kitchen with an effortless grace, every movement purposeful, every dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.

while you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should, mesmerized by the way he chops vegetables or stirs a pot, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at.

fuck. is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? with every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.

you want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. you tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.

there’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.

you feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.

even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins, a dark and forbidden feeling tumbling in your stomach.

you’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. you found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.

his eyes hazily followed your movements, his voice low and slightly slurred, “are you leaving already?”

hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.

he was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt falling sweetly on his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.

you shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “huh… yes. didn’t wanna be a bother.”

he chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “oh, you’re not. i wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”

his words hung in the air, with sincerity and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. you simply laughed along, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.

to this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “care for a drink? you’re 21 now, right?”

you only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. the proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.

you were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. you took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. he smiled.

it was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of mr. jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.

his words tumbled out in a quiet, almost confessional tone. he spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with areum; 23 when they decided to marry.

his voice soft, but tinged with a sadness you hadn’t heard before, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.

then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. that he had you all figured out.

“when i look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “i feel like i get a bit of that youth back. you’re so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. i’m glad she has you. glad we have you.”

as he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. you were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

that night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. it was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.

even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.

still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. it has awakened something in you, something stronger and far more dangerous than anything you’ve felt before.

you want to be there for him. help him through the doubts and regrets. be the youth he missed. take the weight off his shoulders. let him use you on that couch.

that feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek mercedes parked outside.

he honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. the sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.

it has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.

you’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.

the wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone.

the realization hits hard, and suddenly, the reality around you narrows. your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real.

you can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. and the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when areum nudges your shoulder.

you don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt.

you blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “dad asked you a question.”

your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. you’ve been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. the irony is almost too much.

your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “sorry, mr. jeon. i— um. i was distracted.”

he simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. his focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “it’s okay. i always tell you, just jeongguk is fine. i was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”

“oh. i—it went well! i guess i’m just tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. you just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.

“well, you can’t be!” it’s areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “you need to help me set up for tonight. then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. i’m so excited!”

right. the reason why you could finally see mr. jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s areum’s birthday.

the day feels significant in so many ways. you’re excited to witness your best friend turn a year older even after the hardships she’s been faced with. honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. and you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there’s going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. you’d say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of areum’s happiness.

but mostly, you feel guilty. because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.

you crave for the smallest moments. the brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. the way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.

even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. like you’ve been chosen. blessed by whatever god to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.

it should be enough. it really should. but you’re a sinner. you’re greedy, wanting more. always more.

that buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day. the hours are packed with frantic energy, as you and areum run around in anxious over-organization, only for her own panic to rub off on you, making your movements quick and precise, as if every step has to be executed flawlessly.

and with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. mr. jeon. his presence is overwhelming, even when he’s not around.

he helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. but then he disappears into his studio, retreating into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.

yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. his upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture.

you straighten your back, slow your steps, each action more deliberate, because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.

getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. you love these moments with her. shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.

but even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. it’s astonishing how easily areum has access to everything she wants. the power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy.

for her, money isn’t just something that buys things. it’s a silent force that shapes her world. she doesn’t have to worry about how much something costs or wonder if she’ll ever have enough. it’s as simple as snapping her fingers.

it must be nice to have that kind of life. to have someone like him in your corner, with wealth that seems to fall into place as easily as leaves from a tree. you don’t resent her for it, not really. but it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach.

where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.

when you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.

you’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, their soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. the setup looks like something out of a dream, and it pulls a small, unbidden smile to your face.

the quiet peace is interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.

you turn, following the noise, and there he is— jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard.

as he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. he’s uncharacteristically deliberate as he still lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.

you’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. the corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape, the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.

but now, under his gaze, you feel exposed, like he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. his eyes linger longer than usual, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.

you’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.

still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.

when his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and the smile that curves his lips is warm, but you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.

his voice is smoother than you’ve ever heard it, as if literal honey, sweet and rich, is dripping out from his pillowy lips, “what a beauty. you look very pretty.”

you weren’t expecting that. it steals the breath from your lungs. it’s not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses.

it’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.

at this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities, each small sip burning your throat and making you grimace at the sensation. but you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. or maybe, mr. jeon is the inebriated one.

you don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “thanks.”

he hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. you let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. he resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.

the muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. make small conversation about areum’s birthday. comment on his look, too. oh, you have a lot to say about it.

you can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. his hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks purposeful, perfectly intentional. his slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.

your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you, and the counter.

surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. the rich sound fills the air as he pours the red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.

he doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”

the way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, more confident. especially with the question thrown your way. teasing, almost belittling. you can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.

the question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “mh… you could say so.”

of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. mr. jeon is no boy— he’s a man. the kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. the kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, his wealth, his looks that stop you in your tracks.

but he’s in front of you. and he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.

it’s him you want to impress. you want to affect him the way he affects you, with effortless intensity. you want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.

you’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. he brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma.

there’s something so practiced, so sensual in the way he handles the glass, the liquid dancing with delicate precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. you can’t look away.

when he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. the moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

his smile is soft, but there’s something unsettling in its honesty, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

he mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”

the implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his adam’s apple bobbing with it. the whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

a thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. your mind spins with the unspoken tension, but he seems entirely comfortable with it. the only sound filling the space is the quiet hum of the house.

he places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.

his voice is inviting, even more than usual, “you want some?”

”is that wine?” you instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.

he hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully.

you briefly glance at the glass, “i’ve never had it.”

”try it, then.”

with a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. as it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you.

the gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. at least to your deranged fantasies.

there’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. you look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, his expression unreadable but heavy with implication.

without a word, you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around the stem. you bring it to your lips, your mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.

the wine hits your tongue— bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. you gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. your face scrunches involuntarily, a clear sign of distaste. the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.

he watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. when you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.

his tone laced with amusement, he asks, “like it?”

you shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.

his chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. swirling the wine gently, he muses, “i heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”

you groan lightly, slumping your shoulders, “ugh, i know.”

the endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. i’ll be around.”

just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. pretty face?

what just happened? you’re not sure, but you’ve definitely stepped into something dangerous, something you can’t quite shake.

it’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. the energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in.

it all contrasts sharply with the weight still hanging in your chest from your earlier encounter with mr. jeon. your eyes keep darting toward the house, toward where you know he is, even though the logical part of you tells you to stop.

you stand at the entrance to the garden for a moment, taking in the scene. the subtle smell of flowers mixes with the faint scent of food, and your best friend bounces around the space, radiant in her dress. you’re genuinely happy for her, honored to share this moment.

and with your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. your mind is elsewhere.

it’s only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. mainstream music plays in the background, and it inevitably involves everybody, as some classic party games become the main entertainment.

long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other never have i ever questions.

you can’t help the way you all still feel like teenagers deep down, and how you get foolishly excited whenever the topic gets hot, and hints at anything that is sex related.

childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.

“never have i ever been fingered.”

areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.

as expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. the few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.

sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip from your punch. you can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.

it’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. you pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. something you can relate to.

but of course, god is not on your side. the questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.

you can only sink further in your chair as everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen, refilling their cups.

beside you, areum buzzes with energy as every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.

never have i ever given head.

never have i ever been ate out.

never have i ever rode someone.

it’s undeniable, the way your skin heats up. with how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination.

you feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always mr. jeon.

if only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard.

you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.

jeongguk is hidden in the shadows, the darkness of the house swallowing him whole, with every light turned off. maybe that’s why neither you nor areum notice him.

you don’t see him. you don’t feel him. you’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.

jeongguk traces your every move with his intense gaze. he studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

if you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately— the way the attention in the circle shifts toward you.

the glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. but then, in the eyes of a few, jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment.

it’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the way they exchange fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your unease and interpret it as something lesser. something they can pick apart.

his jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. it makes his hands twitch by his side. he stays rooted in place.

eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. it’s written on your face. or maybe, he got so used to studying you. it comes easy to him. knowing you,) follows.

it makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, the way the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.

“never have i ever… had sex.”

you feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. the rim hovers near your lips as you avoid every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.

a murmur ripples through the circle. you can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. it’s only later that you realize no one else drank. the question had been crafted specifically for you, a silent test.

lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “woah, i was getting worried for a second there, ___.”

you barely have time to react before areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “what’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”

“nothing, but—”

you’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. you cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, “i only took a small sip, though.”

the group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. you feel it— everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. so, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.

you clear your throat, straighten your back against your chair, your tone evasive, “i technically am not a virgin, but…”

the expectation drips from every person around you, their wide orbs trained on you, and for some reason you continue, gulping audibly before providing them with an explanation they don’t deserve, “when we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— god, this is embarrassing.”

“c’mon, tell us!”

you sigh, pressing forward with the humiliating truth, “he came, like, two seconds after. so, i felt nothing.”

the laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. you can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.

yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “that’s so sad, babe. we need to find you a real man.”

a strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within, and you quickly learn how the buzz spreading to your body after taking part in sharing one of your experiences awakens you significantly.

you don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “oh, i’ve been waiting for one in particular.”

you quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. their curiosity flares again, eyes wide with excitement as they beg for more details. who is it? tell us!

their voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.

but just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.

jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

the intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, the air thick between you as time seems to slow.

he’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, the muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. there’s a quiet frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. but it’s more than that. there’s something stirred by your confession.

your inexperience. your innocence. the untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.

the truth is, he’s known for a long time. longer than he’d like to admit, really. but he’s never let himself feel it fully until now.

it wasn’t something that hit him all at once. no, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. he’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. you’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.

but he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with areum, how his heartbeat would quicken up when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.

he’d been good at keeping it under bay. but you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest. your fleeting glances, your breath hitching whenever he was near, your clothes putting you on display for him. it all made it harder.

even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.

and earlier, in the kitchen. he’s used to being in control, but the way you responded to his presence, to the compliment he gave you, had moved something deep inside him.

maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. how you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.

hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.

it’s like it all clicks into place for him. and for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.

jeongguk wants you.

he knows it’s wrong. so wrong. he’s never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.

it’s dangerous, the way these thoughts take hold of him now. maybe it’s the way you’ve changed lately, stepping into womanhood but still holding onto that wide-eyed innocence. or maybe it’s him. maybe he’s the one who’s changed, his resistance crumbling little by little.

he feels disgusting. selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.

but there’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just areum’s friend. that boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. he’s old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.

your eyes widen with terror, meeting jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. he wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate. it fills him with uncertainty, an unfamiliar feeling, one he rarely contends with.

the moment is abruptly interrupted when one of areum’s friends, an older guy she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.

you struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.

but it’s hard, you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “is it me?”

the people around you laugh, the sound light and carefree, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes— jeongguk notices.

and he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. his jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.

he can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

the sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.

jeongguk steps out, his presence commanding, and your expression drops. areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. his eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.

still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher. it’s firm, heavy with a warning.

“areum,” he calls, his voice calm but edged, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

she’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.

but the voices of your friends rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing.

you sigh, and when you return to your slumped position on your chair, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.

jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. you hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind.

all you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.

you bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. it sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else.

you wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled.

but instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.

when areum returns, she’s slightly slumped over, her energy deflated. behind her, mr. jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.

areum’s voice is low as she announces, “the party’s over, guys.”

the subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends try to protest, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. they then gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it.

once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.

jeongguk barely looks at you. his focus is elsewhere. on the mess, on areum, on anything but you.

as you bend down to gather some empty cups, you steal a look at him again. he’s helping clean up too, though his motions are deliberate and slow.

it’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.

until areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. she mumbles, blinking heavily. "’m so sleepy."

jeongguk raises an eyebrow, glancing at the still-messy garden, some leftover cups and plates scattered across the tables, and the chairs strewn about from the night's festivities.

he teases lightly, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "oh, really? you’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"

for a moment, the weight of his words hangs in the air. you and areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. the pause is brief, but it’s enough for tension to rise in your chest.

but then, jeongguk’s lips curl into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“just kidding,” he chuckles, his tone warm now, the joke clear. “go sleep, c’mon. it’s past your bedtime.”

areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. she mumbles into his chest, “i’m not a kid anymore, dad. i don’t have a bedtime.”

he chuckles with a lightness that was foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, his voice low and tender as he whispers, “whatever you say. happy birthday, reumie.”

it’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate, but the intimacy of it, the quiet affection between father and daughter, makes your heart clench.

you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from mr. jeon. he’s always been the composed, collected man in the background of areum’s life, but here, he’s just a father, brimming with love for his daughter.

you almost feel like an intruder witnessing such a private exchange, but you can’t pull your eyes away. every detail — his hand softly resting on her back, the delicate warmth in his eyes, the way his voice softened — it all paints a picture of a side of him you’ve rarely seen.

you want to be part of it, too. want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. that fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.

he doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. you’d gladly find a house in his brain, and you’d pay rent and everything.

when areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “you coming with me?”

you hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. you speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “i’ll be there in a minute. i wanna help clean up first.”

she just shrugs, already too tired to argue, and heads inside. jeongguk’s eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.

his lips part as if he wants to say something. maybe to insist that you shouldn’t stay, or that you should go inside too. but the words never come. instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.

now, it’s just the two of you.

the quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. the subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.

you’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting back to mr. jeon. to the protective edge in his tone earlier, to the way he’s been looking at you tonight.

but then, in your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.

before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.

“oops. careful, little one,” it’s jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

your face flushes immediately, the heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.

“it’s okay,” he instantly replies, his tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.

silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. you both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. his thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.

finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "thanks for making my daughter happy today. i really appreciate that. i appreciate you."

the words catch you off guard, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his voice, deeper, almost too revealing.

your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “oh. i—”

his voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “go sleep now. i’ll finish here.”

you want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — his dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.

there’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “if you need anything, you know where to find me. yeah?”

you swallow hard, nodding slowly. his gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. you stammer, “right. yes. i—i’ll… goodnight.”

“goodnight.”

it’s not exactly a good night for you. in a sense, maybe it is. you always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. but right now, it feels more than a little awkward.

worst timing ever. you’re lying next to areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.

at first, it’s soft, almost serene. you see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. the sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.

a weight presses down on your exposed thigh. the sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.

jeongguk’s hand. his left one. on the fourth finger, a gold ring.

when you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. his hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips.

but the softness of the look he gives you is replaced by something more dangerous, more daring. he bites his lip, and you see it.

a double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. your breath catches in your throat. you don’t just see it there.

on his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.

you remember them from old pictures areum showed you once. jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.

it must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.

his hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.

"you wanna take another bath?" his voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. he’s leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin.

your throat feels dry, your pulse quickens, and before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. his breath fans over your face, and suddenly, the sea behind you isn’t the only thing that feels like it's burning.

"come on. just you and me."

before you can even think to answer, your surroundings shift. the beach, once hazy and peaceful, morphs into something more private.

you’re no longer in the open air, but sitting at the border of his pool, both your feet grazing the warm water.

jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. when he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.

but he doesn’t look down just yet. he keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.

jeongguk leans closer to your ear, his lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “let me make you feel good.”

it’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first.

on your right, areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. you'll tease her about it in the morning.

but if the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt.

you have to get away from your best friend. need to get away from your brain, if possible. wash it all with a glass of cold water.

you make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin.

your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.

at first, you only hear it. faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.

you blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.

but as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. it’s not just your mind playing evil games, anymore.

it’s shushed moans, and eager whines. and they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined mr. jeon would sound like. in that situation.

having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.

your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.

you feel delirious. the small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.

nonetheless, he loves it. his mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.

he cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.

the sight of mr. jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. it takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.

you need to be there with him. you need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. his groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.

you’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.

you’re paralysed. in the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.

with the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.

you can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. when he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.

if you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.

“___? what are you doing up?” his voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.

still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “i— water. i wanted— there’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”

mr. jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. you follow hastily, careful not to trip.

there’s plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. he takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.

you take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.

when you put the still full glass down, he smirks. you see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “nightmare?”

the depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. you’re a mess just from the blurred sight of him. you shake your head, “more like… a weird dream.”

he smiles fondly, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.

he won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.

you’re in front of him, eyes full with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.

he’s a gone man.

his eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. but the outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.

you’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. just thin, loose pants covering his length.

you gulp, clenching around nothing. you feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.

he looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, “i’m sorry for… what you probably saw. should’ve closed the door.”

apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. as he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.

your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.

his face is stoic, staring at you intensely. he doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. but you feel him. if the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. he keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.

then, he speaks, his voice steady, “what are you doing.”

you’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you melt under it.

your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “wanna help you.”

he doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “you already did enough.”

your hand is still on his dick, unmoving. no one dares break the moment, though. if anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.

you get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “what were you thinking of? i’ll be that for you.”

immediately, his hand flies over yours. he doesn’t move it, just holds it still. the look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “stop this.”

the electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.

you don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.

“___. get up.” there’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.

you see it in his eyes. sense it in the tension of his muscles. he’s holding back. but you don’t want him to resist you.

“please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.

he groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.

“fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”

“you don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, “i want you.”

jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.

he wishes he could stop you. knows he should. but he can’t. he can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.

the way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.

mr. jeon is long. and thick. he’s veiny, and perfectly shaved. it looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.

he doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.

his voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. don’t do it.”

any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him.

his breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.

he curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a god, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.

the reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. the yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.

he’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. he’s tired of fighting it.

jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce.

it’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.

you inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.

you tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.

he almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.

when you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.

you don’t want this moment to end. you don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. you’re on your knees for him to finally see you.

jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

his voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. it’s soft, just like his voice, “come up here, angel.”

you want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. but you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. when the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.

with a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. but you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.

his hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.

if he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.

he lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. he wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.

when he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.

his words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “if i kiss you now, i won’t be able to control myself anymore.”

your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “please, kiss me.”

you barely manage to get the words out before jeongguk is all over you. he devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.

his fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.

your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. you feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.

he does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. it’s a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.

when he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.

the chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.

you quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. you only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.

but it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. the sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.

he makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.

“you had your fun, baby. now, you’re going to listen to me. hm?”

this time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. you’re hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.

but it’s not enough, and jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”use your words.”

”yes, mr. jeon.”

the way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.

your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. you need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”you’re such a bad girl. aren’t you?”

jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the chocked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.

but it only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”calling me that only because it gets you off. doesn’t it? you’re not so innocent after all, princess.”

he quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. but he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.

unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.

the access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “i’ll give you what you want. but you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”

you’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny yes. you’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?

the man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. and his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. you’re positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.

though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. you really want to be good for him. don’t want to disappoint him.

that’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. from the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.

you instantly wrap yourself around his thick fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.

with your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.

the sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “that’s right. suck on them like you would my cock.”

you hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. you think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.

the noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.

with his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.

the surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.

you feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.

the curse that follows is instant, “fuck. no panties?”

you’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.

tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.

he scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “it’s like you knew this would happen. you dirty, naughty girl. always giving me those eyes.”

it’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. you need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he softly strokes the spot he hit.

the hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.

he finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.

you inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

you feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “you think i wouldn’t notice? you know how hard my cock gets everytime i see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? you’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”

then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.

you scream in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours.

he whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “shh, princess. good baby, you’re doing perfect.”

the contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. you’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.

you shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “can’t— can’t do this.”

“you can baby, c’mon. you wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” his tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.

you nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.

“say it.”

“wanna be good— your good girl.”

he hums, “that’s right. i need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”

you choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you.

you throw your head backwards in search for more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “yes! want your dick.”

“i know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.

he’s ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.

you feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. one moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.

mr. jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. his large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.

the moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.

“shit. you’re so impatient, sugar. dripping around my fingers. wanna taste your sweet juice, can i?” it’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.

he purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.

your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “turn around, sweets.”

you do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to.

but you soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.

you don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. but finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.

especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. and i’m left to clean it up.”

you swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.

he only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. the hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, “i’ve thought about licking it up, you know? but then i always stopped myself, because i knew i’d get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”

you gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.

he finds your mouth with a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous.

he looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. he takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.

he presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “i knew you’d crumble soon. you little minx. going after your best friend’s dad. so naughty.”

your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.

the shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.

jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out.

he flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you.

he’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.

you think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.

his own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.

you feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift up your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boobs, fondling them with care.

the deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.

it’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.

your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.

he pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.

when he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.

on the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it, when seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back.

next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.

his forehead is on yours when he breaks the kiss, his breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “did so good, pretty. came so hard all over me.”

your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.

you feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “wan’ you to fuck me.”

the hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.

“that what you want, baby?” your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels down to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.

he slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you off the counter effortlessly, and you squeeze your hold tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced.

the new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.

when he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. you’re sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.

your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides.

your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center.

but the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulder, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.

he smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.

your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his v line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole.

he teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. you arch your back, groaning.

“am i the real man you’ve been waiting for? you wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” his sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.

at your eagerness, he wastes no time. aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. the stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him.

he knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. but he’s the one that needs to be silenced.

the moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. his sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark.

you hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search for any kind of grounding you can find.

it’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.

he reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “shh, baby. i got you. let me make you feel good.”

the whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.

at this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be.

you’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.

it’s definitely real. jeongguk is fucking you. almost. not yet.

with the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “fuck me, please.”

one final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits.

he teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs.

but you can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. you buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.

he’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly hold you up as he begins fucking into you. with each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.

the two of you soon find out it’s impossible to be quiet. your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.

his own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.

your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t build to survive this kind of pleasure. it’s almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.

your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “that’s how you need to be fucked. that’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”

“mhm, fuck, yes!” it’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. you feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.

his palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “fuck. love your tits. fit just right in my hand. you were made for me, princess.”

your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.

“i’m not gonna last long, baby. this pussy’s too tight. trappin’ me inside it,” jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.

you wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “it’s yours, jeongguk. f—fucking yours. forever. ah— fuck.”

he hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “that’s it. my pussy to fuck, angel. mine to play with, mine to fill up.”

your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy.

the possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick.

he talks you through your abrupt orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.

he’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “fuck. aren’t you a naughty one, doll. you really want me to cum inside you? you want it, huh? i bet you do.”

your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts all into fucking your sensitive cunt.

he smirks wickedly, “you’d look so pretty. all stuffed. want me to fill up this tight pussy? want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”

you think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions.

he looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, his eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.

when he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin.

you gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you.

you both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.

he hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling not to fall.

but you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “now, you gonna clean this up for me. open your pretty mouth, baby.”

you don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he asks from you.

you engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.

he makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “mh, good girl. get them neat.”

when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange.

with a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “gonna clean you up, too.”

you gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. you only feel yourself becoming even wetter, if possible.

leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.

he moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “you did amazing, doll. made me cum so hard.”

you hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.

the warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. you prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.

you don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.

your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed—tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. and for a second, your heart clenches with dread. is he leaving?

but then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.

relief washes over you.

he handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. his fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.

you squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. his hands never leave you, securing you to him.

you settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.

for a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. it feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him.

his deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. his chin rests on the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.

you press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. like you’ve always known this is where you should be.

your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. you feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.

but when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. his face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. he’s not relaxed like he was just moments ago. his gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought.

yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.

but his mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so.

you seek warmth, care. nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. love.

he once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. but now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.

he wants to give in. he wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. give you love.

but he can’t do that to you. can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.

he knows what comes next. love turns into suffering. it’s inevitable.

and could he survive seeing the look on areum’s face if she ever finds out? how would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? about how he truly wants to act upon his feelings?

the thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.

but why doesn’t he feel disgusted? why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? there’s only bliss. the sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.

he wishes he could be immature, for once. wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. that he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.

maybe then, you’d feel right in his arms, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.

“jeongguk? are you okay?”

your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. his eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.

he tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “huh? yeah. i’m okay.”

of course, you don’t believe him. an ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down.

you don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the illusion a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

you offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “you… you seem worried.”

“i’m not, baby. i’m just thinking.”

“about?”

“stuff.” his voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.

the distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.

your eyes jump all over his, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “you can tell me, you know. you can talk to me.”

one simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. it makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. that maybe, this can go well.

“i know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frames your cheeks sweetly. “let’s get you to bed now, hm?”

before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. you clutch onto him.

you feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “your bed?”

it breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone firm as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “no, baby. you gotta go back to areum’s room.”

“but— but… i wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.

he looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “we can’t, dove. you know we can’t.”

his words feel like a punch to the gut, and your voice hesitates. “we can’t?”

the silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. there’s no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.

at areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. he’s careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “go wash up. i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“no…”

“c’mon, sweetheart. don’t make this harder.”

you frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. his gaze is steady, resolute.

you want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated, but you still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “okay… can you kiss me?”

your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a shy smile making its way on your lips.

when he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.

you’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.

you go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “goodnight, ___.”

jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. you’re not even sure if you can define it as a smile.

it’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. he’s completely disconnected from you.

he retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. the door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.

you stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. the spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. the warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing.

you try to breathe, but the air feels sharp, your throat tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. it’s useless, though.

your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. you can’t go back. you can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.

you’d been so afraid this would happen. how could you have been so foolish? even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. a part of you always knew.

and yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. that you could be enough.

you’d have done anything to prove it to him. to show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. you still would. you’d give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. if he’d only look at you the way you want him to.

the full weight of your reality sinks in. in the end, none of it was truly real.

a sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. the sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. this house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the lie you let yourself fall into.

and you? you feel tainted, too.

#this is what i’ve always dreamed of baby #never too much I NEED MORE #thank u Always!#t💌y #📂.fic: older

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wonderjanga · 1 day ago

Text

Ho is u Dracula?

There is a running theory among many heroes that Marvel is a vampire. There are multiple reasons, but here are just some.

Marvel: *sitting on the ground and letting Mary do his makeup*

Flash: “Hey, Cap- whoa.” *stares like a solid 50 seconds because Mary’s makeup skills are really not that good*

Marvel: “Hey.” *sees his staring* “Is something wrong?”

Flash: “Dude, what is going on with your face?”

Marvel: “Mary is doing my make up.”

Flash: *thinks it’s cute they’re doing daddy-daughter stuff* “She clearly isn’t doing a good job at it- look!” *zooms away to grab a mirror and comes back*

Marvel: *doesn’t have a reflection* “Uh… Flash? I can’t see myself.”

Flash: “Wha? What do you mean?” *crouches down next to him and turns the mirror, so both of them can be seen in it*

Marvel: *still no reflection*

Flash: “That’s so freaky…” *literally has his hand on Marvel’s face and looking at the mirror and seeing his hand touch air*

Marvel is made of magic. He can appear to humans and living things as the Cap. They can even touch him and stuff, but he’s not visible to nonliving things which includes mirrors because they’re inanimate objects. Fun fact: zombies only see a hazy version of him because they’re undead.

Marvel: *minding his business, standing in the sun*

Robin!Tim: *hiding behind him because he wants a shield from the sun* “Captain?”

Marvel: “Yeah?”

Robin!Tim: “Why don’t you have a shadow?”

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Robin!Tim: “I mean, you don’t have a shadow. I’m standing right behind you, and you’re blocking the sun for me, yet I’m not in your shadow. There’s actually no shadow in sight.”

Marvel: “Oh uh… I don’t know to be honest.”

Robin!Tim: “How do you just not know?”

Marvel: “I mean, I just don’t know. It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.”

Marvel: *fighting a villain and tries to lean over to take a nice chunk out of their neck with his teeth*

Villain: “Oh my GOD?!?!?” *ducks away at the last second*

Batman: *watching this with a mini Batdrone* “Hmm…” *rubs chin*

Flash: *walks into one of the rec room rooms*

GL and Marvel: *greets him with Hal running after Marvel with some garlic while the Captain runs away*

Marvel: “Please!”

GL: “Never! We’re gonna get over this fear of garlic now!

Billy had a nightmare about garlic and… yeah. Hal decided to take things into his own hands when he saw the Captain flinch at a vegetable? A spice? What is garlic? Anyways, Barry joined in because why not?

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics

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cybrasigilism · 8 hours ago

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a dae ho x reader x thanos, where they both are trying to do outlandish stuff to get the readers attention on them and not the other. they're both so goofy at times

This Means War (Kang Dae-ho/Thanos X F! Reader)

warning: no smut! | not proofread | lowercase intended | OOC (bc daeho and thanos don’t really interact in the series) | love triangle(?) | this is my interpretation of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions on the characters differ from your own

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

A/N: this may be the most entertaining fic i’ve written yet! thank you so much for the brilliant request, i’ve tried my best to make it an enjoyable read for you all! this is a mixed POV story so apologies for the confusion as it reads, i wanted to try something different but if this was too much of a confusing read i likely won’t do this style of fic very often. AND ik its short, i’m so sorry, but this is only the beginning of this story (if you guys like it)

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

dae-ho was sure he’d never seen someone quite so captivating in all his life. the moment you grabbed his attention from across the room at the very beginning of the games, he knew he had to get to know you. whether it was the way your face managed to light up the dark atmosphere of the common area, or the way you carried yourself in a calm, collected, self assured manner amongst all the uncertainty; he fell head over heels effective immediately.

unfortunately for dae-ho, he wasn’t the only one who seemed to have noticed you. thanos had clocked you the minute people started filing out from their bunks, and he felt things right then that he hadn’t felt for anyone before. he was totally drawn to you, it was almost as if he knew he had to stake his claim on you sooner rather than later, lest someone make their move first. he would be damned if he lost his chance with the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid his eyes on to some random.

as for you, you were spending more of your time focusing on your current situation rather than scouring the location for potential suitors. you didn’t notice any familiar faces, to be honest you were kind of relieved at that. you would have been embarrassed to see a colleague or a friend there, knowing full well the predicament that you must have been in to even consider joining these sketchy games. you maintained a level head up to the point where you were all led to this photo center like cattle, taking photos for whatever reason before entering the first game. just as you were joining a line to take your photo, you heard someone call out your number out of nowhere.

“sẽnorita!” the same voice called out once again this time followed quickly by a whistle, causing you to turn your head and see this purple-haired guy with a crowd of people surrounding him. “i’ve got room for one more here, c’mon!” he beckoned for you to join the cramped circle. you felt your face contort into a concerned expression before simply turning away and joining a line far away from whatever that was. you could still feel that guy look at you for a quick moment, but when you glanced in his direction, he was long gone.

—

this first game, Red Light Green Light, was not anything like what you or anybody else were expecting. when the rules stated that players who moved would be eliminated, you didn’t conclude that that meant they would be assassinated. poker face be damned, you could feel your body vibrate every time that creepy doll turned her head back round to face the players, eyes scanning for even the slightest bit of movement. the next time you were all allowed to move forward, this tall, dark haired guy moved in front of you almost deliberately. when you all froze again you noticed he had his hand extended out to you behind his back, with his mouth covered you could hear him whisper “just stay close to me, okay?” you waited before that damned dolls head was turned around again before you grabbed his hand and the two of you took off.

once you both crossed the finish line, you looked up at your mystery saviour. “thank you for doing that..” you said, voice noticeably shaken from all the death you witnessed, and were still witnessing. he looked down at you and smiled. “of course, anything for you.” that last part warmed your heart, it was nice to know you had already found someone you could rely on in these trying new circumstances of yours. you let your gaze shift off subconsciously and noticed that purple headed guy from earlier, staring daggers at the man who had just essentially saved your life.

—

after the surviving players returned to the common area, cast their vote, and split off back to their beds, thanos made a b-line for dae-ho, looming over his bed to which dae-ho quickly took notice.

“that was some lame shit you pulled.” dae-ho had never been so perplexed at another person in his life. “what’re you talking about?” he asked, earning a laugh from the quirky stranger. thanos kneeled down, making eye contact with dae-ho now. “you know damn well, 388,” he started, spitting out dae-ho’s number as though it were a dirty word. “swooping in, acting like the hero for that chick.” dae-ho looked unamused, trying to be unassuming about the whole ordeal. “i don’t know what you think this is, i was just trying to keep somebody alive-“

“i didn’t ask what you were trying to do, did i?” thanos interrupted, getting closer to dae-ho now. “just know this. she’s mine. so i wouldn’t waste my time if i were you.” dae-ho held back a laugh, before looking his newfound opponent up and down. “that’s funny, the feeling didn’t seem mutual when she gave you the cold shoulder during photos.” thanos scoffed, turning away in an attempt to keep his cool. “whatever man, she’s just playing hard to get.” his voice trailed off at the end, when he clocked you sitting in your own bunk, knees to your chest.

“yeah, i don’t think that’s true.” dae-ho stated, getting up out of his bed, and patting thanos on the back. “i get that you’re probably used to having girls fall over themselves for you, so it’s definitely shocking when someone like that doesn’t give you a second look.” dae-ho’s slight smugness about the whole ordeal left thanos speechless, watching with seething rage as dae-ho made his was over to where you were sat. he knew that the games weren’t the only thing he wanted to win over now. he knew he was certainly not going to let dae-ho captivate your heart so easily, and he knew that he was definitely not going down without a fight.

dae-ho knew something too: he now knew he had to keep you safe from thanos because something inside told him that if that maniac was capable of inadvertently killing random people in order to advance in the first game, there was no telling the lengths he would go to gain your attention. he made a vow to himself to never let you out of his sight while you were in your current situation. over his dead body would he let someone like thanos prevail.

the two of them both made a nemesis that day, each one swearing that they could get to you before the other did. they now knew it was about more than just the games.

they now knew that this meant war.

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

apologies again for the length, or lack there of, of the fic! if anything i want to make this multiple parts but i understand if the format of this particular fanfiction is too confusing, and again i am sorry for that! just wanted to experiment :)

as always, advice and constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing are appreciated and requested!

have a splendid day/night lovelies 😙

tags: @gongyoosgf @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

#squid game #squid game 2 #fanfiction #squid game x reader #x reader fanfiction #player 230 #player 388 #thanos x reader #choi su bong #kang dae ho #dae ho x reader #imagine

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still.

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.”

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast.

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made.

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry.

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part.

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat.

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes.

He’s not leaving you.

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart.

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you.

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand.

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.”

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#genuinely one of the loveliest reviews I've ever recieved 💞💞#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #smoke eater feedback

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ohmykinks · 1 day ago

Text

I LIKE THE WAY YOU

KISS ME...

I LIKE THE WAY YOU

UH-...

Sum: You tough boy gets to whinye for you

Warnings : ; MINOR WRITING (Anti's DNI) ; pussydrunk ; Unprotected! ; breeding ; male moans ; cowgirl ; reverse cowgirl ; oral (F receiving) ; degradation (M receiving) ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; praise (M receiving)

A/n: YOOOOOOO WHINYE BOYS LETS GOOOO; i dont know how tf whinye is written, and remember, im a minor, soooooo if you dont like this information, you can simple ignore or block my blog! :)

(This has not been reviewed btw 😭

Gojo:

“Slow down! P-please!~” — Gojo panted loudly, arching his back like a cat, you barely sat on Satoru and you could already feel his cock pulsing inside you

“First, admit you were wrong when you said my pussy was too small to handle your so so so huge cock” — Said with a sly smile on your face, making fun of how Saturu's expression contorted with each thrust

“N-no! A-ah fuck, fuck, fuck!” — He rolled his eyes, whimpering softly, with the feeling of your pussy swallowing every inch of his cock with every up and down movement you made on it

“Dont stop squeezing those pretty walls on me~ O-oh please...” — He held your hips not trying to seek some kind of dominance, he just wanted to feel you closer to him

“Arent you a fucking whore Satoru? Are you my dirty dirty little bitch huh?” — You said, looking into his eyes, what always made him shiver when you were on top, you kept riding him, with each penetration he let out a loud whimper

“Im a dirty whore... The biggest bitch this world have ever seen!” — His body was so soft that with every movement you made, he had little spasms

“I'm sorry! I-I was completely wrong, I'm the one who can't handle your pussy babe!- it's so warm inside that it even makes me want to-” — He could only focus on the pleasure you gave him, and when he least expected it, without even feeling anything, he spurted the hot liquids inside your tight cunt with a loud moan

“F-fuck 'toru!” — You felt his semen dripping from your entrance, it was thick and in a large quantity, you fell on Satoru, while the sound of his orgasm remained loud

Geto:

Geto wasn't much of a noisy person, he spent most of his time breathing heavily while the two of you make out, but there was one thing that made him let his voice out, and that was your delicious hips

Geto was sitting on the couch, while you did the rest of the work holding his cock, that was already hard, playing slowly with the head

"Put it in already!" — he demanded putting his head back, leaning on the couch, while letting out a little of precum, forming a line between his thumb and the head of his cock

"Be quiet, you're not the one in charge here, Suguru" — You answered him, dry as the desert, but being direct as a line, adjusting your entrance on his member, closing your eyes and giving a sigh

Suguru gasped, squeezing the fabric of the couch, curling his eyebrows to the point that they almost touched, pressing his eyes

Your pussy slid so wet in suguru, you gave a shaky moan - "Holy shit" — You cursed under your breath, adjusting to his size

You started moving, starting slowly, holding Suguru's knees, bouncing at a slow pace

"O-oh fuuuuuuck!~ just like that babe... Nice and sloooow" — Suguru spoke softly, like a whisper, still with his eyes closed, opening them briefly, running his hands over your back, then on your hips, and closing them again

You bit your lower lips, staring at Suguru's face, watching as his expression twitched as you were on top of him

Suguru moved his hips hitting the entrance of your pussy with a hint of violence

"my balls are almost entering this pretty cunt, oh my god~ so tight inside its driving me crazy"

"F-faster babe... Please go faster, bounce on my cock like you mean it" — He said without thinking twice, going towards your clit with his thumb, rubbing sloppy circles, leaving hot kisses on the back of your neck

"arent you a greedy one Suguru?" — You said with some difficulty, a bead of sweat running down your forehead, and a brat smile forming on your face from ear to ear after teasing Suguru, who whimpered in response

"dont tell me youre going to cum..." — You teased him again, giving a nasal chuckle right after, seeing Suguru expression as you curled your hips to face him, nails sinking into Suguru's thighs

"Just shut up and do your stupid job! Ugh~.. " — Suguru answers briefly, your gaze always made him shiver down his spine, his face certainly red, you could feel his legs trembling and his back arching

"I think your job is to do the things I would do if you were fucking me rn, right 'Sugu?

Your bounces increased, slamming your ass on Suguru's balls, the skin-on-skin noises throughout the room

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! M'gonna cum! M'gonna cum inside, i want to paint your walls white with my seed, please? Please please please please" — He moaned loudly, begging to have his long-awaited release, taking your hips and pressing on his body, spurting all his hot liquid inside your pussy

"N-now... Can you ride me while looking in my eyes?... Please?..."

Choso:

"B-babe... Its so so warm inside yooooou~..." — He said quietly, running his thumb through your slit while putting his tongue inside your entrance - "I could eat you out everyday..."

You grabbed his black hair, running your fingers over every wick, looking at him with a satisfied face

"That's okay 'Cho... Just enjoy it for now" — Closing your eyes, moving your hips in circles slowly

Choso got more excited by every second, he held your waist, pressing your body against his face, not caring about his breathing, with his nose rubbing your clit lightly

He moaned softly, noises of you being licked and sucked echoed through the room

"F-fuck... Mmmm~" — He penetrated his tongue in and out, at first it started slowly and then he started to move faster

" Mmm 'chooo~ It feels so good!" — You rode on his tongue, moving your hips as you rested your hands on his chest, he held your pair of thighs with both hands to the point of leaving marks

He just closed his eyes and nodded his head to everything you said, moving his hands all over your body, squeezing your breasts, your ass, your thighs, penetrating two fingers, curling it to reach your sweet spot, sucking your clit as if it were the last meal of his life

"Cum on my tongue... A-ah! Please?.." — he begged with a muffled tone; every movement that he was making made you felt a vibration echo in your insides and beat directly into your soul, and his tongue eating you made your deepest fantasies appear in your imagination

"Almost there 'cho... Just a little bit more" — You spoke breathlessly, with a red face; your forehead drooping a few drops until you wiped it with the back of your hand and then closed your eyes

Choso got carried away, pausing for half a second and going with his thumb towards your clit, rubbing faster circles on it, making your toes curl

"cum on my tongue! P-please cum!~" — Choso said nervously, feeling your orgasm approaching fast, his expression writhed more and more

"mhmmm...- oh my fucking lord~ A-ah!~" — He felt your orgasm coming out, licking without wasting a single drop, rolling his eyes as he tasted the sweet taste of your liquids

Sukuna:

"Are ya sure mortal? Are ya sure you can handle it?" — Sukuna said with some suspicion, afraid that you would pass out on his cock just like last time

"I'm totally sure! I can even make you moan if I want to"

"Dont make me laugh, but if you think so..." — He said, taking his cock out already erect, you gasped in response even tho it wasn't the first and not even the last time you saw it, but the size always surprises you

"What are ya waiting for?" — Sukuna pulled you by the arms, sitting on his throne, putting you on his lap

You put your panties to the side, positioning yourself over Sukuna's head, his cock was big and thick, and barely fit inside, but you were confident to be able to put it all in

You slid over his cock, stopping halfway through, holding his shoulders, taking a long sigh, adjusting to the size, and then going down the rest that was out, hitting against his balls, the pink tip of his cock hit the right spot of your insides

"Ngh..." — He complained quietly, looking at the shape that formed in the belly of your small body

Sukuna's tongue kissed his teeth, making a loud noise as he felt you moving up and down like you're in an elevator

His precum made it seem as if his cock was sticking against your gelatinous walls

"Fuck 'Kuna~ Mhmmm~" — You moaned in pleasure, while Sukuna bit his lips, looking down, holding your ass and squeezing hard with his veiny hands

"Shit..." — He spoke softly, closing his eyes tightly, while putting his head back

You wiggled your hips in sloppy circles as your tits swayed up and down, the nipples visibly apparent covered by your shirt, Sukuna captured your pairs of tits, kissing them over your shirt, massaging them that seemed so so so lonely

"Mmhmm~..." — he hummed, leaving a dark stain on the fabric as he pulls your breast out of his mouth with a loud "pop!"

You smiled from ear to ear when you saw that you were pleasuring Sukuna, you held his thighs for support, rolling your eyes sensually while speeding your movements

"M-mortal... Ugh! Mortal! Cum for me!" — He corrected himself when he gives a small moan as he called you

You smiled at him, and then bit your lower lip, bouncing on Sukuna and rolling your hips, watching his reaction

"A-ah... Mmm~" - He moaned softly, putting his hands on your hips, forcing you to go faster as he felt your walls tighten on him

You felt a liquid flow inside you, as fast as the flow of a waterfall

"M'gonna cum!~ A-aaah!~" - He gasped to see that you came before him, your liquids coming out and soaking Sukuna's lap while you didn't stop moving, moaning already hoarsely, felling his cock pulsing inside you

When he finally came inside you, pressing you into his lap, throwing his hot semen all the way to your uterus

"T-that was insaaaanee~"

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk x reader #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jujutsu geto #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto smut #sukuna

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meazalykov · 2 days ago

Text

play for the crowd

lauren james x english!influencer!reader : social media + fic

summary: a fake relationship never ends well.. or does it?

warnings: angst, very long chapter

for @pinkyqily + @jackiesunshines

“welcome back to ‘call her daddy,’ babes,” alex starts with her signature grin, leaning closer to the mic.

“today, we’ve got the it-girl of england sitting across from me. she’s hilarious, she’s fashionable, she’s friends with basically everyone worth knowing—please give it up for y/n!!”

you laugh softly, adjusting your seating in the red fancy chair.

“oh, stop it. you’re hyping me up too much.”

“listen, i only speak the truth on this podcast,” alex replies dramatically, hands gesturing like she’s addressing an audience of thousands.

“so, let’s just jump right in. your fashion—people are obsessed. i mean, half the girls listening are probably taking notes on your outfit right now as we speak.”

you smile, settling into your seat.

“i feel like my style is a bit all over the place, to be honest. one day i’ll be in baggy streetwear, the next i’m in a full-on luxury brand look, then i’m in some scandi-inspired minimalism, and before you know it, i’m frolicking in a meadow in a cottagecore dress. i just wear whatever’s cute.”

“so, you’re telling me your closet must look insane.” alex leans forward, clearly intrigued.

“oh, it’s a disaster,” you admit with a laugh.

“you know when people say, ‘if you can’t see it, you won’t wear it’? yeah, my clothes are in piles. i try to organize, but then i get new stuff, and it’s chaos all over again.”

“and yet you always look put together. how does that even work?”

“magic,” you joke, adjusting your oversized blazer.

“or maybe just panic dressing.”

alex grins.

“fair enough. okay, now—this is a call her daddy episode where i am the nosey host, so we have to get into your social life. you’ve got so many famous friends. who’s in your circle? who’s in the inner circle?”

you raise an eyebrow.

“you’re really trying to get the tea, huh?”

“always,” alex says without hesitation.

“give us something.”

you smirk.

“well, i’ve got a mix of people, you know? like, models, footballers, actors... it’s a weird little melting pot. i vibe with people who are chill and don’t take life too seriously.”

“what about jude bellingham?” alex’s grin widens, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“you’ve been seen with him quite a bit. are we finally getting confirmation here?”

your laugh is immediate, and you shake your head as you roll your eyes playfully.

“oh my god, no no no absolutely not. jude is not my type at all.”

alex gasps theatrically.

“wait, hold on. you’re telling me jude bellingham, literal dreamboat that maybe has a million edits of himself, is not your type? do you know how many women would kill for that chance?”

“i’m sure they would,” you reply, still laughing.

“but, yeah, jude and i are just friends. strictly platonic. in fact, he’s hilarious.”

alex’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion.

“so, what is your type, then?”

you pause for a moment, knowing the question is loaded. you take a breath, then grin.

“well, just know that i don’t swing jude’s way.”

alex’s face lights up.

“ohhh, so you’re into women?” her excitement is palpable.

“yeah,” you say, nodding firmly.

“i mean, people have speculated for years, so… there you go. confirmed. i like women.”

“iconic,” alex replies, clapping her hands.

“this is huge!!!! so, do you have a partner? because i feel like everyone’s going to be dying to know now.”

a weight sinks in your chest, but you plaster on a smile. you hate lying, but this is part of the game.

“i do,” you say carefully, keeping your voice light.

“but i’m not spilling anything just yet.”

“oh, come on,” alex pleads.

“not even a little hint?”

you shake your head, laughing softly.

“nope. but trust me, everyone will know who she is eventually.”

alex groans in mock defeat, throwing her head back.

“you’re killing me, y/n. absolutely killing me.”

“i gotta keep some mystery, alex,” you tease.

“otherwise, what’s the fun?”

y/n.l/n

{tagged: yourbsf}

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y/n.l/n hello 2025

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y/nl/nluvr5 SO CUTE

yourbsf ily

ashley_lawrence10 pretty! 🤩

wosofan2719 why are all of the chelsea girls in her likes?? 🫣

user6282 I thought I was the only one who peeped

random12938 after her podcast with alex on friday, I am convinced y/n's girlfriend is known to the public already. you might be onto something since she is already close with english footballers

madelineargy 😍

~view all 2,039 comments~

you’re sitting cross-legged on your plush beige couch, the soft hum of a charli xcx playlist filling the quiet of your london apartment.

a steaming mug of tea sits on the coffee table, untouched, as you absently scroll through your phone. your eyes flick to the clock—just past noon. you’re waiting on lauren to send over the ticket details for tonight’s chelsea vs. arsenal match, the anticipated london derby.

your stomach twists slightly at the thought. not because of the game—you actually enjoy football. it’s the situation you’ve been thrown into that makes you uneasy.

a fake relationship. a pr stunt. your team’s bright idea to boost both your profiles. it’s not like you haven’t heard the horror stories: influencer friends venting about staged dates, awkward photoshoots, and scripted chemistry with people they couldn’t stand and hated.

you swore you’d never do something so fake, yet here you are.

your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts. it’s a message from lauren.

lauren: hey, just sent your name to the list—tickets will be at will call under 'guest of lj.' fancy title, right?

you smile faintly, typing back.

you: wow, i feel so important.

you joke. a reply comes almost instantly.

lauren: absolutely. “fake girlfriend to chelsea star.” major clout.

you laugh under your breath, appreciating her humor despite the absurdity of the situation.

you: i can’t lie.. this is all so ridiculous. have you done this kind of thing before?

lauren: nope. first time for me too. i feel like i should apologize in advance if i make this awkward.

you: i was just about to say the same to you. we’ll both be awkward… it’ll balance out.

lauren’s next text takes a second longer to come through.

lauren: for what it’s worth, i know this isn’t ideal. but i promise i’m not a complete nightmare in person like the media can paint me out to be.

you pause, rereading her message. there’s something about her tone—genuine, almost reassuring. however, you frown at the last part of her message. you have seen the tweets and post that have villainized her about certain situations that have happened between her and other players. you don’t play football, but you understand how intense things can be.

lauren’s genuine personality makes you think that this won’t be as terrible as you’ve been building it up to be.

you: well, if you’re not a nightmare, i guess i can survive one football match. or how ever many as i will need to go to for us. as long as i don’t get smacked with a football in front of your everyone or something.

lauren: if you do, we’ll just blame it on the opposing team.

you laugh again softly, shaking your head. her dry wit feels disarming, and you find yourself a little more curious about meeting her in person. maybe, just maybe, lauren will surprise you.

the cool london air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, pulling your brown puffer coat tighter around yourself. the excitement hums through the blue and red crowds gathered outside the chelsea stadium.

you glance up at the familiar facade, the blue and white banners waving proudly in the breeze. you’ve been here before, more times than you can count, but tonight feels… different.

you make your way through the gates, clutching the ticket lauren organized for you. your name’s on the guest list, which feels oddly official, even though you know it’s all just for show. navigating the stadium is second nature by now—you’ve been here for england matches, screaming alongside the fans, but you’ve never been here for chelsea.

the thought feels strange, almost disloyal, considering most of your friends are manchester (city and united) fans through and through.

their reactions flash through your mind, the way they nearly lost it when you casually mentioned you were going on a "date" with a chelsea player.

"you’re joking, right? chelsea? you can’t be serious," one had said, barely hiding their disbelief.

"wait, who is it?" another pressed, practically bouncing in their seat.

"don’t tell me it’s lucy bronze—no, wait, she just transferred here so i don’t think it's her."

you’d shrugged them off, offering nothing but a sly smile. “you’ll find out soon enough,” you’d teased, leaving them to spiral into speculation. you didn’t have the heart—or the nerve—to explain the truth yet.

not until you’d met lauren in person, not until you knew how this whole fake relationship would pan out.

as you approach the friends and family section, a subtle wave of nervousness rolls over you. this is it—the start of whatever chaotic media circus your teams have orchestrated. you take a deep breath, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on your coat, and step inside.

you wonder if people will question your presence in that section, why you were here by yourself with none of your friends to accompany you. however, you decide to take the next 90 minutes to collect your thoughts while lauren plays her match.

taking your seat, directly where you can see the middle of the pitch, the noise of the crowd fills your ears as you settle. your focus is razor-sharp. your eyes stay locked on lauren as she moves across the pitch with ease, weaving through arsenal's defense like it’s second nature.

the game already started three minutes ago.. and she’s good…really good. you knew that already, of course, seeing her play live is something else entirely.

you shift in your seat, trying to keep your expression neutral. the plan is simple: be here, watch the match, and appear supportive. it’s harder than you thought to ignore the weight of the cameras that occasionally pan away from the game and land on you instead.

you know what the headlines will say. you can already picture the tweets that are posting on twitter as your eye move along lauren’s body.

the speculation is what you’re here for. you tap your fingers against the armrest of your seat, trying to drown out the chatter in your head. this is all part of the plan, you remind yourself.

still, the questions buzzing online are ones you’re not ready to answer. not yet. this isn’t even real after all.

your eyes dart back to lauren. she’s on the ball again, making a sharp run from a sharp pass from lucy that sets up a near-perfect chance. the crowd erupts, and you find yourself caught between genuine admiration for her skill and the uncomfortable reality of why you’re here. with the cameras on you, though, you know better than to let anything too much slip.

you lean forward slightly, keeping your attention locked on lauren, as though she’s the only thing that matters in the moment.

the game ends with a 2-1 win for chelsea. you stand awkwardly by the fruit stand in the lounge room area, pretending to be invested in the arrangement of grapes and orange slices. the truth is, you feel out of place.

this isn’t your scene, and it shows. the other friends and family members seem at ease, chatting and laughing like they belong here. you, however, can’t shake the anxiety in your chest. of course, people recognize you—this is england, after all. your face is plastered on magazine covers and social media feeds. here, in this context, you feel more exposed than ever.

you shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing at the clock on the wall. lauren’s team has just wrapped up their post-match debrief, and any minute now, she’ll walk in. the thought doesn’t help your nerves; if anything, it makes them worse.

you haven’t even met her in person before, yet the entire world will soon think that she’s your girlfriend. the absurdity of it all threatens to make you laugh, but the knot in your stomach keeps you grounded.

you’re about to reach for a piece of pineapple when you feel a light touch on your shoulder. the sensation startles you, and you turn around quickly, almost dropping the toothpick you’re holding.

“i didn’t know you could be so shy, y/n,” lauren says, her tone teasing but warm. she’s standing there, freshly showered, her hair damp and swept back. the post-match attitude has faded, leaving her looking relaxed, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she takes you in.

you smile nervously, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your blazer.

“well, i’m usually not,” you reply, your voice quieter than you intended.

“but this is… a little out of my comfort zone.”

lauren’s brows raise slightly, and she steps closer, her presence somehow steadying.

“really? you, out of your comfort zone? that’s hard to believe.”

you glance down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“it’s different when it’s not my crowd. football people, you know? i’m more used to influencer events or fashion shows, not… this.”

lauren chuckles softly.

“well, for what it’s worth, you look like you fit right in. maybe too well. people are already whispering about you.”

“great,” you mutter, trying to keep the sarcasm light but unable to mask your discomfort.

“exactly what i wanted.”

she tilts her head, studying you for a moment.

“it’ll die down eventually,” she says, her tone more serious now.

“but i get it. it’s weird, isn’t it? pretending like this? its going to be worse once we have to tell the media.”

you let out a small laugh, more out of relief that she said it than anything else.

“weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you admit.

“i mean, we haven’t even met before today, and now the world will think that we’re madly in love. it’s ridiculous.”

lauren nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“yeah, it is. but hey, we’re in this together, right?.”

you meet her gaze. she’s genuine, at least, and that’s something. “you’re right,” you say softly, your smile more genuine now.

“i guess we’ll figure it out.”

she grins, and the moment feels strangely natural despite the layers of pretense surrounding it. then she gestures toward the lounge area where the other players’ families are gathered.

“come on. let’s get you out of the corner. they’re going to think i’m a terrible girlfriend if i leave you standing here alone.”

you laugh, following her lead, the tension still present but slightly eased by her presence. it’s strange, walking beside her, knowing that the world will see something entirely different from what you feel inside.

for now, you push that thought aside and focus on surviving the night.

lj10

{tagged: y/n.l/n}

liked by y/n.l/n, lucybronze, and 131,216 others

lj10 recent

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random28383 IS THAT WHO I THINK IT ISSS??????

y/nl8vr MY BABY ON THE THIRD SLIDE

chelseafcwfan7 I KNEW IT WAS LAUREN THAT WAS DATING Y/N

❤️ *liked by author*

y/n.l/n 😘😘

user91010 oh that's not..

meazalykov ??

user91010 @/meazalykov i did not expect lauren and y/n no shade..

meazalykov well too bad..

lucybronze hard launch era

catarina_macario 😍😍

~view all 10,378 comments~

the days throughout the next few weeks blur together in a haze of carefully curated social media posts and staged interactions. every picture, every story, every comment feels like a chess move, calculated for the public eye.

by now, the world has accepted the narrative—lauren james and y/n l/n, england’s newest power couple.

behind the scenes, it’s a different story entirely. you and lauren barely talk, only exchanging the occasional text when coordinating your next “public moment.” it’s efficient, professional even, but cold.

you can’t help but feel the growing weight of the disconnect between the facade you show the world and the reality of your relationship. or lack thereof.

yet, something about lauren lingers in your mind. she’s kind in the brief moments you’ve interacted—genuine, with a subtle humor that catches you off guard. you’ve noticed how her quiet demeanor shifts when she’s irritated, her sharp gaze and tense shoulders mirroring your own tells when you’re frustrated.

it’s a trait that feels too familiar, like looking into a mirror.

sitting on your couch late one evening, your phone in hand, you scroll mindlessly through instagram. you pause looking at the instagram story you posted with lauren, staring at the image, at the way lauren’s hand rests casually on your back in the mirror picture. you’d both laughed during that shoot. the memory stirs something in your chest—a quiet ache you can’t quite place.

she’s fascinating in a way you didn’t expect. it’s not just her talent on the pitch or her rising fame; it’s the little things. the way her smile softens when she’s genuinely amused. the thoughtful pauses she takes before she speaks. the way she seems to carry a quiet confidence, even in the chaos of the public’s attention.

you shake your head, exhaling sharply. this is ridiculous, you tell yourself. the truth is, you want to know her… the real her, not the polished version you’ve pieced together through brief interactions and online impressions.

you open your messages, your thumb hovering over her name. for a moment, you consider texting her something—anything—to start a conversation. however, the thought of overstepping, of complicating an already convoluted situation, keeps you frozen.

with a sigh, you lock your phone and toss it onto the couch beside you.

whatever this is, whatever it could be, will have to wait. for now, you’ll stick to the plan, no matter how much your thoughts keep drifting back to lauren.

y/n.l/n

{tagged: lj10}

liked by lj10, lucybronze, and 211,746 others

y/n.l/n good evening

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❤️ *liked by author*

lj10 good evening 😍😍

lucybronze its 11:09am..

y/n.l/n again, good evening lucy bronze

lucybronze good evening ig 😒

catarina_macario 🤩

random2728 lj and y/n having a private but not secret relationship 🥰

user72929 LOVE

random2728 there's something off about this..

random10989 wym?

leahwilliamsonn 😍

~view all 4,290 comments~

the bar is calming, music thrumming in the background as laughter and chatter fill the air. the dim lighting casts a warm glow over the group, everyone mingling and sipping on their drinks.

you’re perched on a stool near the bar, glancing occasionally at lauren, who’s leaning against the counter, chatting easily with one of her teammates, millie. she looks relaxed, her posture casual, but there’s something about the way her eyes flick to you every so often that has your stomach in knots.

“another drink?” her voice cuts through the noise, her tone light but carrying just enough warmth to catch your attention.

you look up at her, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

“are you trying to get me drunk, lauren?”

she smirks, handing you the glass.

“maybe. or maybe i just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”

you take a sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol mixed with something sweeter—the way she’s looking at you.

“thanks,” you murmur.

“but i can return the favor. what are you drinking?”

“water,” she says simply, holding up her glass.

“staying hydrated.”

you tilt your head, studying her.

“water? not even one drink? you’re playing it too safe.”

she shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes.

“someone has to keep an eye on you.”

you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“oh, so now you’re my babysitter?”

“if that’s what you need,” she fires back smoothly, her grin widening.

there’s a moment, a charged pause, where the noise of the bar seems to fade into the background. lauren’s gaze lingers on you, and you feel your cheeks heat under the intensity of it.

you lean in slightly, emboldened by the drinks and the energy between you.

“careful,” you tease, your voice dropping just enough to match the tension.

“someone might think you actually care.”

“and what if i do?” she counters, her tone light but her eyes unreadable.

you blink, caught off guard. the banter feels easy, natural, but there’s something underneath it that feels heavier—real. you search her face for a clue, but she keeps her expression steady, a flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.

“then i’d say you’re doing a great job convincing everyone here,” you say finally, trying to match her confidence, even as your heart races.

her lips curve into a smirk.

“convincing you, too?”

your breath catches, and for a split second, you don’t know what to say. she watches you, her expression calm but undeniably smug, as though she knows exactly the effect she’s having on you.

“maybe,” you admit, keeping your voice steady despite the way your pulse thunders in your ears.

she chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, and it leaves you feeling both flustered and unmoored. then, as if sensing the moment tipping into something too real, she pulls back slightly, raising her glass of water in a mock toast.

“to good acting,” she says, her voice light but her eyes holding yours a beat too long.

you clink your glass against hers, your stomach twisting as you try to discern whether she’s teasing or deflecting.

as the night wears on, you can’t shake the way her words, her gaze, her presence—all of it—lingers in the back of your mind. was it an act? or was there something more beneath the surface? you don’t know, and the uncertainty gets at you in a way you didn’t expect.

your drink—something sweet and forgettable—sits untouched in front of you, the condensation pooling around the glass on the counter. the room feels alive as you watch your surroundings again, as lauren’s teammates and your friends fill the dance floor, laughing, swaying to the music, completely at ease.

you, however, feel like a misplaced puzzle piece.

you’re here for a purpose, after all—not to let loose, but to be seen. you and lauren were both instructed to attend, to sit in proximity long enough for someone to notice, snap a photo, and post it online. the public needed to see the happy “couple” out and about, living their seemingly charmed lives.

that was the plan. it always is. however, something about tonight feels off.. or maybe it’s you that feels off.

your eyes drift to lauren, who’s sitting a few stools away at this point, talking to sjoeke. lauren’s body language is relaxed, her posture casual, and she exudes that effortless charm you’ve come to associate with her. her laugh carries over the music, soft but genuine, and it’s disarming.

you’ve seen her in a dozen different settings by now—on the pitch, in interviews, even in those staged photoshoots your teams made you do together—but she always carries the same quiet confidence.

“why do i care so much about her flirting earlier?” the thought hits you suddenly, and you blink, startled by your own realization. you know you shouldn’t care. it’s not like there’s anything real between you two. this is business, nothing more.

you’re about to take a sip of your drink when movement catches your eye. a brunette woman, her steps uneven and her smile a little too wide, weaves her way through the crowd and makes a beeline for lauren.

she stops next to her, leaning on the counter for balance before sliding onto the stool beside her.

at first, you think nothing of it. people approach lauren all the time; it comes with the territory of her being a footballer.. then you notice the way the woman leans in, her body language screaming flirtation.

even over the music, you catch snippets of her words.

“i’ve been watching you all night,” the brunette says, her voice slurred but still clear enough to make your chest tighten.

you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the condensation trailing down your glass. but your attention snaps back when you hear lauren laugh—a soft, polite chuckle that quickly morphs into something warmer. she’s flirting back.

it’s subtle, nothing overt, but it’s enough to make your stomach churn.

you grip the edge of your stool, willing yourself to stay calm. this doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. this isn’t real. lauren is a footballer—a brilliant, talented, and undeniably attractive one. of course people are drawn to her. of course she’s going to flirt back.

you remind yourself that you’re just the one her pr team picked for this charade. nothing more.

the tightness in your chest refuses to go away. watching lauren lean in closer to the brunette, her smile softening, feels like a punch to the gut and worse, it makes you question things you don’t want to question.

like why you even care in the first place.

the noise of the bar feels suffocating, and before you know it, you’re sliding off the stool and heading toward the bathroom. the music dulls as you push through the door, and the quieter space is a welcome reprieve.

then, your eyes land on zion and amber.

your two friends are tucked into a corner of the bathroom, lost in their own world. amber’s hands are tangled in zion’s hair, and zion’s lips are pressed firmly against amber’s. they don’t even notice you until the door clicks shut behind you.

zion pulls back first, her face flushed. “y/n?” she asks, stepping forward.

“you okay?”

you hesitate, the weight of the night pressing heavily on your chest. you don’t want to talk about it, but the lump in your throat makes it clear that you need to.

“not really,” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended.

amber straightens, exchanging a quick glance with zion before walking over to you.

“what’s going on?” she asks, concern evident in her tone.

just like that, everything comes pouring out. the fake relationship, the constant public scrutiny, the pressure to perform for an audience you didn’t ask for. you tell them about the brunette at the bar, how lauren flirted back, and how much it hurt even though it shouldn’t have. when you’re done, you feel a little lighter, but the knot in your chest remains.

zion crosses her arms, her brow furrowed in thought.

“y/n,” she says carefully, “are you… catching feelings for lauren?”

the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. your first instinct is to deny it, to brush it off as ridiculous. but the truth gnaws at you, undeniable and unrelenting. you don’t say anything, which is answer enough.

amber steps closer, placing a hand on your arm. “look,” she says gently, “you need to figure this out. either you tell her how you feel and end this whole fake thing, or you set some serious boundaries before you get hurt.”

you nod slowly, the reality of her words settling over you like a weight. “yeah,” you murmur.

“you’re right.”

as you stand there, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, the question lingers in your mind.

how did i even let this happen?

the days pass in a haze of avoidance and overthinking.

you bury yourself in work, content for tiktok, and anything else that keeps you busy enough to ignore the fluttering in your chest every time you think of lauren. it’s not hard to avoid her; after all, your only real interactions have been the orchestrated ones... lunches, coffee dates, the occasional walk in the park, all designed to feed the narrative.

without the need for those, you manage to keep your distance.

your phone buzzes occasionally with texts from lauren. nothing accusatory or probing, just polite questions about when your next outing is or casual jokes about how your pr teams must be getting impatient about when the next outing will be.

each message makes your stomach twist, the guilt poking at you. she doesn’t deserve to be avoided, but you can’t bring yourself to face her right now.

the bathroom conversation at the bar replays in your head on a loop. amber’s words, “set boundaries or tell her how you feel,” echo louder with each passing day. it feels like you’ve done neither, stuck somewhere in limbo, unsure of what to do.

all you know is that seeing lauren flirt with someone else hurt more than it should have. and now, it’s painfully clear why.

you caught feelings.

the realization had hit you like a train that night, leaving you panicked. you’ve spent years building walls around yourself, keeping relationships at arm’s length, unwilling to let anyone in after your last heartbreak. yet here you are, feelings growing for someone who isn’t even truly yours.

lauren’s face lingers in your mind far more often than you’d like. the chelsea player’s quiet humor, her thoughtfulness, the way her smile lights up when she’s genuinely happy.. it’s all etched into your brain, no matter how much you try to push it away.

the worst part? you know this is going nowhere. fake relationships don’t magically become real, and even if they did, there’s no guarantee lauren feels the same.

you sit on your couch, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. the notifications pile up—comments on your latest post, messages from friends, an email from your team about your next public appearance.

you can’t bring yourself to focus on any of it. all you can think about is how scared you are that you’ve made a mistake, one that’s far too late to undo.

hours later.. around midnight.. you’re curled up on your couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs as you dig into a bowl of rice and chicken. the dim glow of the tv lights up the room, the suspenseful soundtrack of squid game filling the air.

it’s the perfect distraction, engrossing enough to keep your thoughts at bay, even if just for a little while.

then, a faint knock interrupts the quiet. at first, you assume it’s coming from the show, but when it happens again, you freeze. your eyes flick to the door. you weren’t expecting anyone, and frankly, you’ve been avoiding everyone for the last few days.

the knocking persists, steady and deliberate, until you reluctantly pause the show and get up.

your heart races as you peek through the peephole. the sight of lauren standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, sends your mind spiraling.

what is she doing here? how did she get my address?

you open the door slowly, your confusion evident.

“lauren?” you ask, your voice wary.

“what are you doing here? how did you even know where i live?”

she offers a small smile, almost sheepish.

“hey. i asked madeline. hope that’s okay.”

you step aside, letting her in despite your confusion at why she would go so far to ask your mutual friend what your address was. lauren looks around, her eyes landing on the paused screen of squid game.

“season two?” she asks, nodding toward the tv.

“is it any good? haven’t had the chance to watch it yet because of training.”

“so far, yeah,” you reply, your tone cautious.

“like the first season. but… why are you here?”

she turns to face you, her expression soft but serious.

“i came to talk to you. you’ve been avoiding everyone.. me included.. and it’s not like you. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you try to brush it off, waving a hand dismissively.

“i’m fine. just needed some space, that’s all.”

lauren doesn’t budge. she crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly.

“come on, y/n. i know something’s wrong. you can’t just disappear like that and expect no one to notice.”

you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.

“what does it matter? you probably have a real date to get to or something.”

she frowns, her brows knitting together.

“what are you talking about? i don’t have a real date. why would you say that?”

your heart pounds in your chest, but you push forward, your voice tinged with frustration.

“do you have a real partner, lauren? someone you’re seeing while we’re doing this… this fake thing?”

lauren’s confusion deepens.

“what? no. where is this even coming from?”

the tension boils over, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“because it’s driving me insane, lauren! this whole fake relationship thing.. it’s messing with my head. i can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s not just for the cameras or the public or whatever. i caught feelings, okay? within these few months of pretending to be your girlfriend, i somehow…. god, i don’t even know. i like you and i know that’s not part of the plan, so if this makes things too complicated, we can stop. i get it.”

the room goes quiet, your words hanging heavily in the air. lauren’s eyes widen, and for a moment, you brace yourself for rejection. but then her expression shifts… softening into something that looks like relief.

“wait,” she says, stepping closer.

“are you serious?”

you nod, your heart in your throat.

“yeah. and if that’s too much, just say the word, and we can call this off. i’ll tell the pr team about the situation myself.”

lauren shakes her head quickly. “no, no. you’re not calling anything off.” her voice is steady, her gaze locked onto yours.

“if we’re going to stop the fake relationship, it’s only because we’re starting a real one.”

your brows knit together, confusion washing over you.

“what are you saying?”

she takes a breath, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile.

“i’m saying that i’ve caught feelings too. you’re kind, funny, and beautiful.. completely yourself no matter the situation. you’re the kind of person who i love spending my time with, even for something as ridiculous as a fake relationship, this has been the best part of my year.”

you stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up.

“you… like me?”

“yeah,” she says, her smile widening.

“i like you, y/n. for real, nothing fake.”

the tension in your chest finally loosens, replaced by something warm and overwhelming.

“so, what do we do now?”

lauren grins, her expression brighter than you’ve ever seen it.

“first, i’m calling the pr team and telling them we’re done with this fake stuff. after that, we’ll figure it out. together.”

you let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over you.

“okay. yeah. let’s do that.”

she glances at the tv, her grin turning playful.

“before that, can we watch the rest of this? i’ve been meaning to start season two.”