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riboism · 1 month ago

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prettiest virgin

》 pairing: dilf! j.yh x fem babysitter! reader

》 wc: 7.8k

》 plot: every night this summer, you fantasized about your boss, Mr. Jeong. babysitting his adorable daughter all summer had turned your small crush on the young, single dad into a lust-filled infatuation. after an awkward encounter that left you both humiliated, you did your best to keep your distance at his daughter’s birthday party. that is, until fate trapped you in a bathroom with him while the party carried on outside.

》 content: oh boy, let's see, age gap, aged up yunho, virgin reader, reader lowkey down bad and porn-obsessed, bathroom sex, mirror sex, panties stay on!! grinding, cowgirl stand and carry, yunho basically using you like a fleshlight, use of sir and good girl, filthy dirty talk, cum eating, cum facial, multiple orgasms, reader obsessed with his cum lol, thigh fucking, sucking his dick while he watches porn??? MONSTER CAWK YUNHO

》 playlist: prettiest virgin- agar agar, candy- doja cat, I fucking lust you- d'african, taste so good- sabrina claudio, less of you- omar apollo, real life- the marias

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this again, but here you were, laying in bed with a vibrator cupped to your clit, eyes glued to your phone screen as you tapped on the first video in the big dick category. It took a while for the vibrator to buzz you the right way, but once you found your sweet spot, your head sank lower into your pillow and you had to bite your lip to keep any sounds from slipping out of your mouth. This was the fifth night in a row that you jerked off, and honestly, you were exhausted; Tired of waking up late because of your little late-night endeavors, tired of feeling gross each time your wetness leaked out and stained your panties during the day, and most of all, tired of being a virgin.

The video you were watching had your favorite pornstar in it. The guy himself wasn’t at all your type, but his cock was pretty. And big. It’s weird to admit, but this is how you imagined Mr. Jeong’s cock looked like. You had been babysitting Mr. Jeong’s six-year-old daughter for the summer while school was out. She was an angel. Hana reminded you a lot of Bubbles from the PowerPuff Girls cartoon, with her sweet little voice and sensitive nature. You loved spending time with her.

Yes, throughout the summer, you had developed a crush on Hana’s Dad. How could you not? He was everything a man ought to be— tall, handsome, and kind. His being a good father was just a plus in your eyes. He worked from home, so you’d see him occasionally throughout the day. During his break, he’d come downstairs from his home office to color with Hana for a few minutes. During lunch, you’d sit with them on the patio, watching with heart eyes as he wiped ketchup off of her little mouth.

Lately, your infatuation has become all-consuming, and you resorted to buying a vibrator from Amazon to help ease your frustrations. And that’s when this little habit of yours began. It felt odd, at first. You didn’t want to be the type of person who watches porn every night for hours, imagining your boss doing all these things to you. It just sort of happened. And instead of easing your frustrations, it made them worse.

You hated being a virgin. Vibrators weren’t enough. You, for lack of a better term, needed to be dicked down. Preferably by Mr. Jeong, but that would only happen in your wildest dreams. It wasn’t like he made it easy for you. Yesterday for example, when you were preparing Hana’s PB&J, Mr. Jeong reached over your head to grab a mug from the cupboard above you. “Behind you,” he alerted, his fingers grazing over your waist as he pulled his coffee mug out. You stood frozen, the place where he touched you burning hot on your skin.

Every time he touches you, whether it’s the accidental brush of his fingers when he hands you your check or the deliberate weight of his hand on your shoulder as he thanks you at the end of the day, it only makes you crave him more and more.

The video you were watching had an obvious size kink going on. The male pornstar was huge, and he was able to pick up his petite partner and fuck into her with ease. Your thighs clenched thinking about Mr. Jeong picking you up like that and pumping you up and down his length, stuffing just the tip of his big cock into you because that’s all that could fit. Your core tightened, and your orgasm was imminent, until…

It died. Your vibrator died.

“Oh, fuck off!” You cursed, slamming your head back into your pillow. Stupid cheap fucking vibrator. Here’s to another night of being a lonely, twenty-something virgin, going to bed unsatisfied and unwanted. You sighed, exasperated.

Mr. Jeong was older. You didn’t know much about his wife. It was a sensitive topic for him. And Hana was too young to remember her final moments. He couldn’t possibly want anything to do with you, and instead, you filled your head with unrealistic fantasies to keep yourself up at night and made yourself cum to them. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you were around more boys your age.

Too tired to continue with your fingers, you shifted to your side and tried to make yourself comfortable. It was 4 in the morning now, which meant you’d only get about 3 hours tonight. Just great, you thought to yourself, waiting for the exhaustion to finally lull you to sleep.

—

You were rather sluggish today, struggling to keep your eyes open as you drove to Mr. Jeong’s house. The cold brew you picked up before heading over there wasn’t much help. Instead, it just made you even more tired. I need to stop jerking off before bed, you told yourself. Luckily, it was Friday, which meant you had enough time to catch up on the lost hours of sleep this weekend.

You sighed as you measured out the detergent to wash Hana’s favorite tutu, the warm and fuzzy smell of fabric softener reminding you of your blanket at home, making you want to sleep even more. Hana got upset this morning before you dropped her off to ballet practice when some syrup from her drive-thru pancakes dripped onto her tutu. To quiet her tantrum, you promised her you’d go back home to wash it so it's nice and clean for her to wear when she comes back, and that you’d also bring her second favorite tutu for practice— a purplish-blue one with pink glitter dusted around it. It didn’t feel right just washing one piece of clothing, so you decided to go upstairs and quickly grab the dirty clothes from Hana and Mr. Jeong’s hampers.

You yawned as you made your way up the stairs, stopping by Hana’s room first. Her room was, as always, a chaotic mess—Barbie dolls and crayons scattered across the floor in colorful disarray, old juice boxes, and snack bags left forgotten on the desk. No matter how many times you tried to teach her the importance of cleaning up after herself, the lesson never seemed to stick. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the clothes from her hamper and stuffed them into the laundry basket.

Leaving her room, you headed toward Mr. Jeong’s, but froze mid-step as a strange, muffled sound reached your ears from his office. At first, you assumed he was in a meeting, but as you drew closer, the noises grew more alarming—strained and uneven, almost as if he were in pain or… crying?

You gently set the laundry basket down on the floor, carefully tiptoeing toward the door. Pressing your ear against the cold, wooden surface, you strained to make sense of the muffled noises coming from inside. A sharp hiss followed by a low, frustrated “fuck” caught you off guard, making your breath hitch.

Startled, you raised a hand and knocked lightly on the door. “Mr. Jeong?” you called softly. No answer. Concern gnawed at you, and without thinking, you turned the knob. The door creaked as it inched open, the sound slicing through the stillness.

“Mr. Jeong, is everything—” you started, stepping inside.

Mr. Jeong swiveled in his chair, his face frozen in a mask of shock and embarrassment. The two of you stood locked in place as if time itself had come to a standstill. The only sounds in the room were the filthy, lewd moans of a woman coming from his computer. Your gaze dropped instinctively, trailing down his frame until your eyes caught on something in his lower half— his long slender fingers gripping tightly onto his erect cock.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp with panic as he scrambled to pull his pants up, hastily stuffing himself back into his waistband. His movements were frantic, his face flushed a deep crimson. “I-I thought you were at the ballet school!”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the heat rising so quickly you felt your face must be as red as his. “I-I was,” you stammered, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you tried to steady your voice. “But… Hana’s tutu got dirty, and I… I came back to grab another one…”

The porn video continued playing in the background, the sounds of the ridiculously wet blowjob making the awkwardness even more unbearable.

Mr. Jeong, finally snapping out of his daze, spun back to his computer and fumbled to exit the site, the click of the mouse unnervingly loud in the heavy silence. He turned back to you, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came. His expression was a mixture of shame and desperation, his face still a deep shade of red.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your voice breathless and shaky as you struggled to compose yourself. The urge to flee was overwhelming. “I-I should get back to Hana. So sorry again!”

Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and hurried out of the room, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process what had just happened.

—

You had worried earlier about how you’d make it through the day, feeling so drained and sluggish, but the shock from what happened had jolted you awake like a surge of electricity. Now, a different concern gnawed at you—whether you’d be able to sleep at all tonight. Embarrassment burned through you, and you were sure poor Mr. Jeong wanted to disappear off the face of the Earth after that moment.

Yet, despite yourself, your mind kept racing, replaying the image of his cock. It was so big. It was prettier than the pornstar’s you watch every night. It looked so firm in his hands, the tip flushed pink just like his cheeks. You wondered how it would feel between your legs. Would you even be able to take it? You had dildos in the past, but nothing more than the size of your palm.

“Cash or card?” Hana chirped, her cheerful voice snapping you out of the inappropriate thoughts swirling in your head about her dad.

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking down at her as she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor. The living room was a mess, scattered with the colorful pieces of her cashier playset. She pointed at the small plastic credit card in your hand, her expression expectant.

“Oh, uh… I guess card?” you replied, handing it over. You watched as she swiped it through the toy terminal, her little hand expertly mimicking the action.

“Boo beep!” she said with a grin, the sound effects spot-on, before handing you back the card along with a tiny plastic milk carton. “Here you go!”

You couldn’t help but smile, her playful innocence pulling you further from your earlier embarrassment. “Thanks, Hana. Can I have a bag, please?”

“That’s fifty cents extra.”

“Little haggler, aren’t you?” You teased.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs, pulling Hana’s attention away from the transaction. “Daddy!” she exclaimed joyfully, rushing toward Mr. Jeong and wrapping her tiny arms around his legs in a tight hug.

“Hey, peanut,” he greeted with a warm smile, scooping her up and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Daddy, I did a pirouette today at practice! Wanna see?”

As Hana spun around, tripping over her own feet a couple of times, you gathered your things and stuffed them into your bag. You kept your eyes down, moving toward the door with a quiet sigh of relief. For once, you were thankful it wasn’t payday; no need to linger any longer, no forced small talk with Mr. Jeong. He seemed just as relieved as he tried his best to avoid you altogether.

“See you next week, kiddo,” you said, ruffling Hana’s soft hair before heading for the door.

“Wait, Daddy! Can Y/N come to my birthday party tomorrow?”

Mr. Jeong’s smile faltered, replaced by an uncomfortable glance in your direction. “Oh, um, well… why don’t you ask her, sweetie?” he said, quickly deflecting the question back to you.

Hana ran up to you, pressing her small body into your legs and looking up at you with those wide, pleading eyes. “Y/N, can you please please please come to my birthday party? There’s gonna be ice cream cake!”

The urge to say no was strong. You could sense Mr. Jeong’s discomfort, and honestly, you were looking forward to a quiet weekend away from him. But her hopeful gaze, the way her lips stuck out in a small, almost irresistible pout… it was too much to deny.

“Oh, well… I think I have to go somewhere this weekend and…” you started, but then her lower lip began to tremble, and you hated seeing her upset.

You let out a soft sigh, the words slipping out despite yourself. “I, uh, I guess I can come for a little bit.”

“Yay!” Hana cheered, her excitement spilling over as she jumped up and down. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

You exchanged a quiet good night with Mr. Jeong, the awkwardness lingering between you both, before disappearing into the warm summer night. The air was heavy as you made your way to your car, but your mind was racing.

As you sat behind the wheel, you cursed yourself under your breath. You should’ve held your ground, should’ve said no when you had the chance. But now… now you are going to a party with Mr. Jeong. How were you supposed to handle that? How were you supposed to navigate a whole afternoon, trapped in the same space with him, when the last thing you wanted was to face him after walking in on him jerking off earlier?

You huffed as you put your keys in the ignition. This was going to be a long weekend.

—

The next day came quickly, too quickly, and you dreaded the whole affair as you pulled up on the driveway. You showed up about thirty minutes later than the time on the invitation, hoping to blend into the chaos without much fanfare. Sure enough, no one seemed to notice.

The house was buzzing with activity. Little kids, probably Hana’s classmates and friends from ballet, darted around like wild animals, screaming and leaving a trail of toys and crumbs in their wake. You weaved through the commotion, making your way to the table piled high with brightly wrapped presents.

You set down your gift; a doll set Hana had been dreaming about for weeks. Suddenly, you felt a small squeeze at your leg. Looking down, you saw Hana beaming up at you, her arms wrapped around you in a tight hug.

“You came!” she squealed, bouncing with excitement.

“Of course I did. Happy birthday!” you said, smiling as you ruffled her hair.

“Come meet my friends!” she insisted, grabbing your hand before you could protest.

Hana dragged you into the backyard, where her friends were splashing in the pool, their parents sitting nearby and watching them like hawks. Hana proudly introduced you to two of her closest friends—“important friends,” as she whispered with a serious nod that made you chuckle.

As you chatted with Hana’s friends, you felt a familiar pull in the corner of your eye. Mr. Jeong stood near the grill, just within your peripheral vision. The moment you glanced in his direction, your heart gave a sharp tug. He was watching you.

Your breath caught, but just before you could process it, you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the childlike conversation in front of you. As you nodded along, a thought crept in—was he still looking at you? The possibility made your skin prickle, a slow heat creeping up your neck, your pulse growing erratic. You fought the urge to glance his way again, but curiosity got the better of you. You glanced up again, a quick and casual move, but this time, he wasn’t looking anymore. He had already turned his attention to another parent, nodding along to whatever they were saying, sipping on his ice cold beer. Still, your skin tingled, like his gaze hadn’t fully left you.

The mix of the screaming children, the sun beating down on you, and the overwhelming energy of the party soon had you retreating. With a quick excuse, you headed for the shaded table, grabbing a Coca-Cola and savoring the brief moment of quiet.

You chugged the fizzy drink, the burn in your throat oddly satisfying as it momentarily cooled you off. As you set the half-empty can down, your ears caught snippets of a hushed conversation from the table next to you. Two women, likely mothers of Hana’s friends, were whispering, and one word made you tune in: Yunho.

“His wife passed away a few years ago, back when Hana was just learning to walk. Poor guy, raising her all on his own.”

“God, but he’s so cute, though,” the other one said, not bothering to lower her voice.

“I know, right? If I didn’t have Leo, I’d totally take him out for a spin.” They dissolved into giggles, clearly enjoying their little moment until their eyes flicked toward you.

You froze, caught mid-sip from your drink. The sudden attention made your cheeks warm as they realized you’d overheard them. One of the women quickly cleared her throat, trying to cover the awkwardness.

“So, which one’s yours?” she asked, her tone friendly, though her shoulders were tense—probably hoping you hadn’t heard the part where she casually considered sleeping with Mr. Jeong.

“Oh, none of them,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “I’m Hana’s babysitter.”

You took another sip of your soda, trying to ignore the way the two women were looking at you. It was obvious they had some kind of assumption about you and Mr. Jeong, and it made your skin prickle with discomfort.

“Oh, I didn’t know Mr. Jeong had a babysitter,” the long-haired woman said, glancing at her friend with a knowing look.

You shifted under their stares, suddenly feeling like you were being sized up. They both looked down at your exposed legs, your flowy skirt just barely covering your knees. You knew what they were thinking. Their curiosity wasn’t just innocent small talk. It felt more like they were trying to figure out if you were a threat. A young, single dad and his younger, pretty babysitter? Sounded like an overdone porn plot.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your fingers anxiously slipped against your soda can, sending the cold, fizzy liquid spilling down the front of your shirt.

“Oh, shit—” You gasped, stepping back as the sticky sweetness seeped into the fabric.

The two women let out little gasps, covering their mouths, but neither of them moved to help.

“Ugh,” you muttered, shaking your hands off. “Excuse me.”

Quickly, you turned and made your way inside, walking past clusters of parents and kids until you reached the staircase. Your face was burning with frustration. This whole weekend was just one embarrassment after another. Everything had felt weird since yesterday. Mr. Jeong had been acting strange, you’d been acting strange, and now you had people assuming things about you that weren’t even true.

You climbed the stairs, the noise of the party fading as you finally reached the bathroom. With a sigh, you pushed the door open and slipped inside, shutting the door behind you.

The cold air from the vent hit your damp shirt, making the fabric cling to your skin uncomfortably. Grimacing, you pulled it over your head and tossed it onto the sink. You turned on the faucet, grabbing a towel to try and clean it before the stickiness set in.

As you rubbed at the stain, you caught your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were still flushed, your hair slightly messy from the heat outside. You looked… flustered. Not just from the soda incident, but from everything. From him. From the way he was staring at you, from the way you’d been thinking about him all day, despite knowing you shouldn’t. It was no surprise that you couldn’t sleep the night before, your hands stuffed inside your panties all night, forcing yourself to cum over and over as you thought about Mr. Jeong pumping his big hard cock after a long day. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of categories he liked. MILF? Hentai? Gangbang? Did he have a favorite pornstar? You desperately wanted to know what he liked, how he liked it, his greatest desires. But what was the use? You were only driving yourself mad with these little fantasies.

You let out a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sink. Get it together.

Before you could pull yourself back to reality, you were startled by a sudden commotion outside of your door. And before you could even react, the door knob turned and the door creaked open.

Your heart jumped into your throat as Mr. Jeong stepped inside, his eyes focused on something behind him, mid-sentence. “I’ll be right there, just gotta take a leak—”

He stopped. Completely frozen.

His eyes landed on your bare skin, the lacy edge of your bra, the way the damp fabric of your shirt sat crumpled in the sink.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, as if snapping out of it, his eyes shot up to yours, and his face turned to that shade of red you’d seen before. “Shit” He spun around so fast he nearly slammed into the wall, and shut the door in front of him.

Your face burned with mortification. You grabbed your shirt, holding it up against your chest even though it was still wet. “What are you doing?” you whisper-yelled, trying to sound indignant, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted.

He ran a hand through his hair, his head still facing the door. “It wasn’t locked! And my friend is outside and—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll go.”

Silence lingered between you. You should’ve told him to hurry up and leave. Should’ve thrown something at him, and scolded him for barging in like that.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your pulse pounded in your ears as you watched the way his hands clenched at his sides, the way the muscle in the side of his jaw tensed. He was still standing there, motionless and breathing a little too hard, like he was trying really, really hard to control himself.

“…Are you gonna go?” you asked, your voice softer now.

Mr. Jeong hesitated, his hand lying still on the doorknob. He let out a shaky breath. “My friend is still out in the hall, maybe, I don’t know, I don’t want him to come in after me and see you. I’m just gonna give it another minute, just to be safe.” He whispered.

The bathroom felt impossibly small like the walls had closed in on you. The silence stretched, almost suffocating, broken only by the soft inhales through his nose and the distant chatter from the party downstairs. The faint drip of the faucet filled the space between you, but neither of you moved, let alone spoke.

It had only been a few seconds—maybe ten, maybe twenty—but it felt like minutes, like an eternity of you two just standing there, backs turned, bodies tense.

You both strained your ears, trying to pick up any signs of his friend lingering outside, but the house was too noisy, too alive with the sound of kids playing and parents chatting. There was no way to tell.

Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. His eyes lowered down to your body, just for a second, before he snapped his head forward again, almost too quickly, like he’d been caught looking.

His throat bobbed. “I think he might be gone,” he murmured. “I don’t hear anything.”

You nodded behind him, staying in place.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I’m really sorry,” he said, sounding defeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you replied, gripping your damp shirt tighter against your chest. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I should’ve locked the door.”

“Right. Um… thanks,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “I also meant about yesterday. I feel so embarrassed. I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable about working for me. Hana really likes you.”

The mention of yesterday sent a small twist through your stomach. You swallowed. “I’m sorry for that too. I shouldn’t have walked in on you like that.”

He let out a short, breathy chuckle. “I guess we’re both just bad at locking doors. Makes us even.”

A small, nervous laugh slipped out of you, easing some of the tension in the room.

“And you don’t have to be embarrassed. Everyone does it—it’s normal,” you said, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t entirely sure why. Maybe to ease his discomfort. Maybe to ease your own.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh yeah?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “You jerk off in front of your babysitter too?”

The teasing tone in his voice made your cheeks warm up. But it was the way he turned then, fully facing you, locking his deep brown eyes onto yours, that made the air shift; buzzing with something neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt.

His smirk faded as quickly as it had come as if he suddenly realized how inappropriate his words were. But he didn’t apologize this time. And more importantly—he didn’t leave.

Your stomach twisted into knots again, breath growing heavier, shallower. Fuck. He was so hot. His sharp jawline, so strong and well-defined, tensed ever so slightly. His broad shoulders, so effortlessly commanding, made you feel smaller in the best way. And those eyes—deep, warm brown, always soft when he looked at Hana—weren’t so soft now. They were sharp, locked onto you with an intensity that made your pulse race. Even the faint crinkles near his eyes, the ones that usually appeared when he smiled, seemed more pronounced at this moment, only adding to how devastatingly beautiful he was.

You should have said something. You should have slipped on your cola-stained t-shirt and left the bathroom. But instead, you stood there, heart hammering in your chest, letting the weight of his gaze consume you. You couldn’t leave him. Not yet.

And then, without a second thought, you let your damp t-shirt slip from your fingers, the fabric pooling at your feet.

Mr. Jeong's gaze dropped to your cleavage, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His initial serious expression made your heart flutter with uncertainty. Have you crossed a line? But then, his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and when his eyes met yours again, they held a spark that made your heart skip a beat. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mixture of sternness and intrigue.

“I just want to help…” you replied softly, stepping closer with careful slowness. Each step brought you nearer until you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. Your eyes locked onto his, filled with intent and a hint of mischief.

With a soft but bold touch, you reached out to cup his clothed cock, feeling its firmness beneath your palm. You applied a teasing pressure, grinding your hand against him. The sudden contact made him draw in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he absorbed the sensation. “You didn’t get to cum last time, did you?” you murmured, your voice a sultry whisper that broke the tense silence between you.

His eyes opened slowly, a mix of desire and astonishment etched on his features. The initial hesitation seemed to melt away, replaced by a hunger that mirrored your own. He bit his bottom lip, trying to stop a moan from escaping. You could feel him hardening in your hand, his pant seam threatening to burst open.

As if all his restraint had snapped, he pressed one hand against the back of your head, fingers burrowing into your hair, while the other slid just under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. He slammed his lips onto yours, finally giving in to the wild desire that had been simmering between you all day. Your lips moved messily while he grinded himself against your hand. “Fuck, you’re fucking crazy,” he said breathlessly into your lips, “And no, I didn’t, but I did think about creaming on your face before bed last night.”

You could already feel a wetness pooling between your legs, his words being the boost you so desperately needed to move forward. You kept kissing him hungrily while undoing his fly, his half-hard cock springing out in anticipation. You took him into your hand, your fingers barely meeting as you gripped around him, stroking him gently while he cursed into your mouth.

Mr. Jeong pulled away and spun you around in one swift move, pressing your body against his chest and trapping you in his embrace. Your hand remained obedient and eager, pumping his cock as his big hands roamed your body. One hand squeezed your breast, while the other slipped underneath your skirt. “Wore this skimpy little thing on purpose, didn’t you?” His words cascaded down your neck, “Little slut.”

You moaned softly as his fingers rubbed against your clothed clit, your sticky wet juices leaking through the fabric. Mr. Jeong gathered the front of your panties together and pulled with a force that made you gasp. The fabric wedged against your throbbing pussy, leaving you whimpering as you bucked your hips against the friction.

“Your so fucking wet, Y/N…” He teased, his lips pressed against your ears, sending a rush of butterflies in your stomach. “You liked what you saw yesterday, didn’t you? Couldn’t stop thinking about it, could you? Bet you came in on purpose, hmm? Heard what I was doing and wanted to help me cum?”

A deep, throaty moan escaped your lips. You loved the way he was talking to you, the way he reduced you to a horndog little pervert, and deep down, you knew it was true. You were addicted to the thrill of it all. “Yes, sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. “I wanna be your good girl, your slut. Wanna help you cum sir, please. Want your hot load on me. Please, sir, I need it.” Your words were an invitation, a desperate plea for the intense pleasure you’ve craved for so long, and you knew he couldn't resist.

Mr. Jeong shifted from behind you and you felt the warmth of his cock, a tantalizing tap against your cunt, which forced an excited yelp from your lips. His hand covered your mouth, a gentle yet firm reminder to keep quiet. “Don’t want anyone hearing us, do we baby?”

His cock was sandwiched between your sopping-wet folds and the tight fabric of your panties. The feeling was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but grind your hot, eager pussy over his length. Your back rested against his chest, and you could feel his heart pounding in sync with your racing pulse. The fabric of your panties provided delicious friction, and you moaned softly into his hand, the sound muffled but still carrying the weight of your satisfaction.

You pressed your thighs together, squeezing his cock as you rode him, the sensation being too much for the both of you. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum too soon,” He panted, his head falling forward and burying into your shoulder.

You grew restless, your grinding becoming faster and wild, the sounds of your quiet and desperate begging like music to his ears. “Please, sir, cum in my panties, I’ll be so good,” You pleaded with tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. The thought of walking around in his cum-soaked panties gave you a thrill. You could feel your clit pulsing as you rutted against his shaft, the sheer bliss of it beyond anything you’d ever experienced. “I’m gonna cum, sir, please…oh, fuck, I’m cumming!” You cried out, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

As your orgasm subsided, his cock still pressed against your swollen clit. You felt a numbness, a euphoric high that left you floating, your wetness a warm, inviting contrast to his hot, throbbing length. Shivers ran down your spine, and you felt like you were hovering, your consciousness detached from your body.

Mr. Jeong lifted you in his strong arms, carrying you like fragile glass. He brought you to the bathroom mirror, and as he held you up, you couldn't help but be amazed at the sight of his length against your body. It was almost surreal, the difference in scale, and you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. He snaked a hand around your waist, pulling your panties to the side, exposing your wet, glistening cunt to the cool air. You shivered, feeling a rush of vulnerability. He slapped his cock against your wet cunt, grinning, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“What are you doing, sir?” you asked shyly, your voice soft and hesitant. You had never experienced this position before, and the sight of your legs spread wide and your cunt so open and exposed made you nervous. Mr. Jeong's hands grasped under your thighs, supporting your weight, and you could feel his strength and his muscles bulging as he held you up. “I wanna see this little pussy take my big cock,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Wanna watch it stretch and take me deep.”

You gulped, your heart racing in your chest. You had never taken something this big before, and Mr. Jeong was indeed impressive. The thought of being stretched, of accommodating to his size, both excited and intimidated you. You wanted to tell him about your virginity, but the words caught in your throat. You didn't want to turn him off, and so you remained silent, your mind racing with a mix of emotions.

Noticing your worried glance reflected in the mirror, Mr. Jeong's eyes narrowed, a hint of disappointment creasing his features. “What's wrong, baby? You wanna stop?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“No,” you said quietly before reaching down to grasp his cock. With a firm grip, you began to work him up and down, the weight of his hard length in your hands making your pussy twitch. You pushed his cock against your entrance, the head pressing against your tight, virgin opening. “Please, sir,” you begged, your voice pathetically dry. “I want your cock inside of me. I want to feel you stretching me, filling me up. Wanna be good for you.”

The thought of giving up your virginity to him was both scary and exhilarating. You wanted to be his, to belong to him in the most intimate way possible. You pumped him desperately, your core aching to have him stuffed deep inside you.

The head of his cock pressed against your tight opening, and you could feel the stretch, the burning sensation of being filled for the very first time. A sob escaped your lips as Mr. Jeong slowly lowered you over his cock, the mirror reflecting it all. You watched in awe as his hot, throbbing rod disappeared inside your body, the sight of it stretching you, filling you, almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted, his eyes wide with a mix of pleasure and awe. The sensation of being filled by his impressive size was intense, and you were intoxicated by a mixture of pain and bliss, the feeling making your mind numb. He was incredibly gentle at first, pushing just the tip of his cock into your walls, treating you with the utmost care. But as tension built within him, his eyes grew darker, a fierce lust taking over. With a sudden, primal urge, he began working you over his cock, pulling you up and down, your tight pussy gripping his length. You felt incredible to him, like a fleshlight come to life, and even he struggled to mask his moans as your body adjusted to his size.

The pain was fleeting, replaced by a deep, satisfying pleasure. “Oh god, sir” you whispered, your voice strained. “It feels so good. So full... Please, don't stop.” Your sweet pleas made his ears buzz, his stomach fluttering from just how sweetly you begged for more of him.

“God, you’re doing so good for me,” He praised, almost giddy with how effortlessly you fit him. His eyes never left the mirror, his thick bulge disappearing into your tight, wet pussy, a sight too mesmerizing to look away from. “Such a good girl…look so pretty on my cock” He huffed, “My little cumslut.”

His words sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you felt your pussy clench around him in response. You wanted him to keep talking dirty to you, to fill your ears with every filthy word and fantasy he had while pounding into you.

Mr. Jeong grew tired, and he placed you back on the ground, pushing your body down against the sink, the cold marble against your bare stomach sending a chill down your spine. He lifted your skirt, rubbing himself against your puffy pussy lips, the overstimulation driving you wild. You felt his cock, thick and hard, lining up with your hole, and you knew what was coming. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he pushed into you in one swift, powerful motion, filling you up completely. He stilled his hips, giving your pussy a chance to adjust to his size, to wrap itself around him, to pulsate and invite him deeper. You were stuffed, every inch of your pussy filled with his cock, his balls swinging and slapping against your raw skin with each thrust.

With each snap of his hips, you cursed under your breath, your fingers gripping tightly to the sink as if it were your only anchor in this storm. "S-so big!" you yelped, your voice filled with a mix of awe and fear. Your body was now completely at the mercy of Mr. Jeong, his powerful strokes sending waves of pleasure and pain through your sensitive pussy.

As he continued to thrust into you, he brought one hand up, pressing his fingers against your mouth, effectively silencing your moans. "Gotta do something about that mouth, baby," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers, still wet with your juices from before, found their way into your mouth, and you gladly accepted them, your lips closing around his digits. You moaned deeply, your tongue wrapping around his fingers, tasting yourself on them. You lost yourself in his touch, his hard cock massaging your gummy walls, his fingers probing and exploring your warm mouth, his lips licking and sucking your ear lobe as he whispered filth to you, bringing you to the brink of another orgasm.

As your eyes met your reflection in the mirror, you were struck by a sense of unfamiliarity. Your makeup was smudged and running, the black mascara staining your tears and streaking down your cheeks. Your hair was frizzy and chaotic, some sweat-drenched strands framing your face and sticking to your warm cheeks. Your lips looked wet and swollen as you gagged around Mr. Jeong’s long fingers, the saliva dripping down your chin. You loved it. You looked like a woman who had been pleasured beyond measure. There was an intoxicating power in seeing yourself like this, a power that made you feel alive and desirable. It reminded you of the pornstar Mr. Jeong was watching yesterday, her fucked-out expression now mirroring your own.

"Oh god, sir, it's too much!" you moaned, pulling his fingers out from your mouth. "I can't take it! I'm gonna cum again!"

“Fuck, me too,” He grunted as he pulled out of you, feeling the inevitable approach of his own release. Relief washed over you, your body weakening, your walls clenching and spasming around nothing. Mr. Jeong spun you around, placing a hand on the top of your head, pushing you to your knees just as your body swayed with the first waves of your climax.

As Mr. Jeong jerked himself off with his hand, his eyes never left your face, now a beautiful canvas covered in the ropes of his hot cum. Though still reeling from the intense orgasm he had just given you, you opened your mouth wide, obediently accepting his thick, white cum as it splashed over your tongue. The taste was both bitter and sour, but you loved it, a unique flavor that was all his.

You licked your lips, moaning softly as you savored his taste. You kissed his tender tip, running your tongue over his slit, relishing the feeling of his cum leaking out, warm and sticky.

With a playful smile, Mr. Jeong rubbed his tip against your lips, leaving a trail of cum as he did so. "Shit, baby, you look so pretty with my cum on your face," he said, his voice shaky with post-orgasmic delight. "My sweet little cumslut."

Taking him into your mouth once more, you swirled your tongue around his sensitive head, moaning from the taste and texture of his cum. You pulled off with a plopping sound, a satisfied smile on your face. "Taste so good, sir," you whispered, your voice filled with admiration and gratitude. "Thank you for letting me taste your cum.”

Mr. Jeong, clearly pleased with your gratitude, ran his fingers through your hair affectionately, gently tucking a strand behind your ear. Suddenly, there was a hard knock on the door, snapping you both out of your little daze.

“Yo, Yunho,” a voice called from the door. “Are you taking a shit? How much longer are you gonna be? Hana’s ready to cut the cake.”

Mr. Jeong flinched, his hands moving fast as he pulled his bottoms up, stuffing himself back inside like a guilty teenager caught red-handed. “Uh, just a minute! I’ll be right out!” he called back, voice strained.

The man sighed. “Alright, well, hurry up. The cake’s melting out here.”

You both snapped into action, scrambling to fix your clothes and smooth your hair. The rush of reality crashing back down made your heart pound even harder than before. Just as you were ready to bolt, Yunho suddenly froze, his expression shifting once he realized the mess he left on your face was still dripping down your cheeks.

Then, without a word, he grabbed a few squares of toilet paper and gently wiped the sticky white jelly from your flushed face. “Sorry,” he murmured, his fingers barely grazing your skin, his eyes burning with the same embarrassed, heated look from before.

Once you were clean, he lingered for a second too long, standing so close you could feel his breath on your lips. He parted his mouth as if to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Instead, his fingers anxiously tapped against his thigh, a nervous habit you had never noticed before.

“You should go first,” you said quickly, sensing the weight of the moment. “I’ll come down after.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, then he nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered, stuffing his shirt back into his waistband before slipping out the door with hurried, uneven steps.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and sank onto the toilet seat. The room still smelled faintly of him, and it felt unreal how fast the energy had shifted. Had he just been hit with regret? Was he now scrambling to shove this whole thing into a locked box in his mind? Now no longer in the heat of the moment, did he think what you two did was wrong? Were you going to get fired?

For the rest of the party, Mr. Jeong successfully avoided you. He busied himself slicing tiny squares of cake for the kids, nodding along to endless small talk with the other parents as if nothing had happened.

You took the hint, feeling a slight shame in your chest.

Slipping out early, you gave Hana a tight hug before heading back to your car. The second you settled into your seat, your phone buzzed in your pocket. With a sigh, you pulled it out, expecting something mundane.

But when you read the message, you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Jeong Yunho: See you Monday ;)

—

Your sleep schedule had indeed improved, and you found yourself no longer relying on toys to satisfy your desires. The structure and routine of your new life, with Hana and Mr. Jeong, had brought a sense of balance and fulfillment. You enjoyed the daily interactions with Hana, whether it was playing frisbee in the backyard or teaching her simple math in her room. Your bond with her grew stronger each day, and you found great joy in being a positive influence in her life.

However, it was the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays that held a special place in your heart. These were the days when you dropped Hana off at her ballet recitals, and while she was practicing her pliés and pirouettes, you would return to their home to tend to your other job.

Your knees were growing sore from scraping against the carpet under Yunho’s desktop table. Sounds of girls moaning emanated from his monitor. Though you were curious about what he was watching, you knew it was none of your business. Instead, you focused on the task at hand and wrapped your warm mouth over his throbbing cock, nestling yourself between his legs from under his desk. The width of his bulge filled your throat, and you gagged lightly, a sign of your complete submission to him.

Yunho, lost in the porno he was watching, seemed momentarily unaware of your presence. He was engrossed in the images on his screen, his eyes droopy and his breathing heavy. Your mouth bobbed up and down, your lips wrapping tightly around his shaft, and you could feel his excitement building. The sound of his moans mixed with the pornographic sounds on his computer made you clench around nothing, forcing you to slip your hand past your waistband.

As you continued to suck him, you could feel his hands running through your hair, gently guiding your movements. You massaged his warm balls with your free hand, feeling his cum bubbling up in his sack, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he released his load into your waiting mouth.

"That's it, baby," Yunho whispered, his voice soft yet dominant. “Keep that pretty mouth on me. So good…so, so good for me.”

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider leaving feedback if you enjoyed this x.

#yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunho fanfic #yunho scenarios #jeong yunho oneshot #yunho oneshot #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic

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gghostwriter · 7 months ago

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Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself.

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth.

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair.

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial.

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself.

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst.

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late.

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps.

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked.

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #Spotify

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husbandhoshi · 3 months ago

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title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible. notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. smut tags: oral (m!receiving), mirror shenanigans, unprotected sex, softdom!shua, mating press, idk. they're in love your honor. [read part 1 here!] (please)

You decide June looks good on Acros. Unlike in Cotria, now sure to be perspiring with tourists, the downtown here is comfortable, inviting, even. At home, you’d be shoulder-to-shoulder with three other people right now.

This is one of the things you like about this country: it seems to be intentionally idyllic. It’s becoming more clear to you that Joshua’s parents weren’t actually in need of anything from you other than a status boost. You suppose they’re learning the hard way what exactly that comes with.

Jeonghan’s car, or rather, the car Jeonghan happens to be in (he couldn’t drive his way out of a paper bag, try as he might), pulls up to the curb. He’s fresh off a stint of good press, meaning months of speeches, ribbon cutting, and run-ins with parliament and journalists and business moguls all vying for a bite of a future king. You’d add yourself to that list, but you know you’re at the back of the line—you practically live there now, but you’re not sure if things could have happened any other way.

You watch him step out of the van, never windblown even though he likely just got off a flight. Always with a smile, too, one tired but recognizable, so different from the plasticky ones he wears on TV.

The first thing he does when he gets out is throw his arms open for a bear hug. “Hey, cricket,” he says, voice wrought with jet-lag. “Missed you.”

“Glad you had time for one more stop,” you murmur, squeezed into the million-thread count of his shirt.

“I always have time for you,” he replies, which is decidedly untrue, but you don’t have it in you to say that. All you do lately is get into arguments, and you’re not looking to add your brother to your hit list.

(He hugs Jihoon, too, since you all practically grew up together. Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me? Jeonghan jokes. Jihoon’s reply: It’s my gun. It’s always my gun.)

The second thing he does is push the brim of your baseball cap down.

“The paps,” he warns, as if they were the boogeyman.

“If they can’t recognize us, they need to get better at their job.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Jeonghan, we’re all wearing matching hats.”

No, you are not kidding. Jeonghan, blue, you, red, and Jihoon, green, a la The Powerpuff Girls, which was a joke you made about six years ago and could not let go of.

“Whatever,” he laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be showing me around? This is your domain now.”

“Don’t get excited. I just got here.”

“What do you need to go shopping for, anyway?” he asks, now walking side-by-side with you.

“I ask that question every day,” Jihoon replies, glancing at Jeonghan as if to say Women, right?, save for the fact that the both of them have exactly zero game.

“Somi’s birthday!” you exclaim, two ticks too loudly. “Stuff, I dunno. Just trying to get used to this place.”

“This isn’t exactly Rodeo Drive, you know.”

That, Jeonghan is right about. You’re sure there must be a shopping district somewhere in Acros, but definitely not here. Here, the streets are lined with dense cherry plum trees, wine-stained and fragrant. They frame driftwood-paneled shop windows housing kitschy art galleries, mom-and-pop bakeries, and patioed bistros with striped awnings.

An elderly couple passes you. They smile and wave, visible even under the shade of their parasol, either blissfully unaware of your status or too wise to care.

“I know,” you waver. “Whatever. I'll just get Yunjin to find me something for the party.”

Your eye wanders to the jaunty facade of a music store. The sign flaunts handmade, cursive letters with a curly treble clef in the lacquer of old paint. In Cotria, the same sign would be neon, Hollywood-esque, vain.

“Party?”

“Let's go there,” you interrupt, hoping to run your big mouth over with some more talking. Of course Jeonghan wouldn’t be cool with any party, nonetheless the one Somi was planning on throwing, but, either by habit or wishful thinking, the news just tumbled right out of you.

“Party?” Jeonghan repeats. He trails close after you, hoping to grab the door before you can. Such is what he had been taught, after all, which came more naturally than navigating big-brotherhood. “Jihoon?”

Jihoon shrugs, and opens the door before the both of you get there. You’ve trained him well.

“It’s a small thing,” you tell him. “Close friends only.” It’s not technically a lie—small is relative, and it’s not your fault Somi has two hundred-some close friends.

Inside, you notice the shop is bigger than it looks from the outside. In the front, their nicest pianos: the glossy Yamahas, the baby grands. a lone drum set, on sale, the hi-hat sparkling under the LED lights. And finally, guitars hung from the wall like posters, some lime green and child-sized, others sanded down so the mahogany glows.

“You already know what I’m going to say,” Jeonghan says, the lilt of his voice verging on not-so-casual.

“Then don’t say it,” you reply flatly. “You went to those parties too, by the way.”

“Used to, but—” Jeonghan sighs because he’s beat, and he knows it.

You absentmindedly flip through a book of sheet music—Alfred's Essentials of Music Theory. behind it, 40 Taylor Swift Songs for Piano.

“You’ve been good, I hope?” you cut in. “Not too tired?”

“No,” Jeonghan says. “I've been great. You?”

You can’t read his expression. Old Jeonghan would tell you that he’s ready for a nap, that he hates sleeping on airplanes, that his hands still get sweaty when he gets in front of a crowd and the camera flash hurts his eyes. New Jeonghan never complains, either because of some drastic change in his character or because he feels like he can no longer complain to you. Both hurt your feelings in equal measures.

“I called, you know.”

“I was busy, cricket.” He holds up a copy of Complete Advanced Piano Solos and wrinkles his nose. He's hoping you’d laugh with him about it, but you’ve already moved on, now fixated on the shining columns of electric guitars. “I wanted to ask about, you know, all the new stuff going on.”

“You mean my arranged marriage?” The words feel stiff in your mouth.

The arranged marriage I'm doing for you? I split my heart open for you, and that’s the thanks I get?

You avoid Jihoon’s tentative glare to look at your noodled reflection in the polish of a red Fender. You think of Joshua, of a corny rendition of Here Comes The Sun and a pick between his teeth, cradling a guitar held by a linty, ten dollar strap.

Then you think of what he said on that piano bench—that somehow he could have prevented this. Actually, this might have been all your fault. One too many shots, and you ended up setting feminism back five centuries.

“Y-yeah.” You watch Jeonghan’s silhouette appear behind yours. “Has it been okay, at least?”

Okay is a complicated word to use. It’s hard to say, even for you.

It would certainly be TMI to tell Jeonghan that you’ve been kissing a lot more often. First it was under the flimsy guise of practice—We have to be ready for our dinner tomorrow, Joshua had said, to which you readily agreed. You couldn’t be the unwilling victim of another headline like KISS OR MISS! It would be terrible for your ego, even more so than your public image.

Yesterday, though, as you were winding down for bed, Joshua had come out of the shower, damp white tee and all. A sorry, unspeakable part of you willed you to posit—Hey, maybe we need a refresher? You couldn’t even get halfway through your sentence. Hell, his glasses even came off.

You really only liked each other past 9 PM—you still couldn’t quite manage to get through a conversation like normal people. At this point, you had a 50/50 split in terms of who would cast the first terrible stone of petty disagreement. The only thing we have going for us is a dubious physical attraction, seemed like way more of a mouthful than okay, though.

“Yeah, it’s been okay.” You look around. There's a decent amount of mediocre acoustic guitars on the back wall, more than enough to scratch the itch of someone too afraid to defile something more honorable. “Hey, don’t wait up for me. I think i might buy something.”

—

[august 10, 2:57 pm; a dress fitting.

In the ten-foot mirror of the boutique dressing room, you watch Yunjin yank the ties of your corset into a punishing knot. Your mother watches behind you, perched on the chaise.

“Regal and radiant,” she reads aloud, the shiny cover of a magazine between her hands. “Finally, some good news.”

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks.

“Ye–ow!” you wince. “Yeah. We went out to dinner yesterday.”

The dinner: an exhausting, stuffy affair at an Italian restaurant with two Michelin stars. You came in a nice dress, Joshua in slacks and his best button-up. Smile, wave, a kiss on the cheek. You fed him a spoonful of dessert, a stiff, too-sweet panna cotta. It was either raspberry or strawberry—you were too distracted to really notice. Instead, you’d been practicing the steps, the motions of a true love.

Should we hold hands over the table? Joshua had asked.

I don't think we have to. Your hand had curled over the napkin on your lap, as if the thought of his touch physically stung.

“This is a nice color,” your mother interrupts. She pinches the fabric of the skirt up at your waist, watching the way it bunches over your hips. “It's suitable.”

Suitable. Right. The dress for your engagement ball, suitable. Just like you, newly suited for the engagement.

You watch your image in the mirror. It’s taller, more regal, likely the product of Yunjin squeezing all the air out of you, Or worse, the penetrating gaze of your mother over the top of the tabloid.

You blink hard; you waver. ]

[august 20, 10:13 pm; a quiet return to acros after a day at the beach with somi and soonyoung.

The castle sleeps, warm under the soft glow of candlelight on marble. You pad through the halls, carefully, as to avoid waking the entire country with the thwacks of your still-wet sandals. Hopefully Joshua is sleeping. He'd certainly ask questions, either about if bikini tops really need all that padding or what the SPF of your sunscreen was.

You approach your room, where the lamplight from the cracked door oozes into the hallway. There's a determined rustling noise coming from the interior. Incriminating. Holding your breath, you cast a long glance into the thin slice of bedroom you can see from where you’re standing.

There sits Joshua, cross-legged on the bed. Between his legs, the guitar you bought him. It must have finally shipped. He’s tied the gift ribbon it came with to the guitar strap, a woven linen with an offensively bright jacquard pattern.

A hesitant A major chord, then G major, offkey. Hm, he hums aloud. Then you notice his phone propped on a pillow, a Youtube tutorial rumbling in the background. He tries the G major again. Better, he says, pumping a fist into the tired air.

God, what a dork, you think. But you don’t walk away.]

–

From the garden, the Acrosian moon renders the city blue, like ink from a spilled well.

It’s quiet out here, you notice. The forest spills into the sky, and the scent of roses lies heavy on your skin. You’re seated on the bench beneath the sculpted gazebo, a worthy centerpiece, and you revel in the coolness of the granite, the bated still of the air. You like this garden better than the one at home, although it’s entirely possible that you’ve been conditioned into hating all topiaries, no thanks to your parents.

It's only when you hear the quiet click of footsteps behind you that you realize you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been outside. You’re now able to tell them apart–these, Joshua’s, steady and purposeful, sound like they have a heartbeat.

You don’t turn around to greet him. “So you finally had enough, huh?” you ask instead, sliding to the left so he can sit beside you.

“How'd you know?” he chuckles.

“I'd like to think I know at least a little about you.”

“I appreciate it,” is his reply, surprisingly warm.

Just a few hours earlier, your parents had come to visit. They cooed and giggled and connived alongside Joshua’s parents before launching into a very long, very serious discussion about your engagement ball. You’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff, the small stuff being the color of the napkins, the members of the string quartet, the hors d'oeuvres. But then it got weird: the symbolism of the color of your nail polish, which journalists were allowed to watch you make out, when and how Jeonghan was supposed to announce his presence during all of this.

Then things got critical, which really sucked. No one was safe this time, not even Joshua. You lasted about an hour, Joshua about forty-five minutes more. You wonder what his breaking point was. Maybe it was his mother finally telling him off for having more than three buttons undone whenever he wore a dress shirt.

In the silence, you feel an inexplicable peace. Maybe this is the only time you can get along; underneath the same moon, the same stars, the divide doesn’t feel quite as wide. You let your mind clear, first, past the fog of Somi’s birthday bash, glittery and blinding in your mind’s eye, past Jeonghan’s tired shoulders in the music store, past all the magazine covers and photo ops. The heavy reality feels heavier in your stomach, but you’re no longer as scared, although resignation looks like acceptance when you whittle it close enough to the bone.

“Have you ever been in love before?”

Joshua’s voice is so low, it takes you by surprise. You look to your side and see his eyes, shaded by the long curl of his lashes, trained on the sky, his expression unreadable. There’s a piercing sincerity to it, one you haven’t seen before.

“No,” you reply, the answer coming to you faster than any regret ever could. “How could i?”

“So all the boyfriends before, just…?” he trails off. He's referencing the magazines, all the covers with full size photos of you and the model of the month holding hands by the riviera, sharing a martini, kissing outside a nightclub. There are too many to remember, but you’re surprised he’s aware of any at all.

“It was just stupid fun. I dunno. We hung out, had sex, whatever. It was never serious. I didn't tell them about anything at all; I was okay with them not really knowing me, at least, not as anything other than a party girl, the runaway princess, etcetera. We didn’t owe each other anything.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Sometimes,” you answer. “But it was fun. I don't regret it. I just never saw room for them in all of this.”

Joshua hums, low and deep.

“And you?” you ask, incredulous. “In love?”

“In university,” he says after a brief pause. “There was a girl. I think I loved her more than I had ever loved anything else before.”

“What? Who?” you interrupt. “Do I know her?”

“No.” Then, a quiet chuckle. “No one did. She was a civilian, a normal girl. She wanted to be a biologist, I think. it was either that, or a nurse. We snuck around a lot. Probably more than you did.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“I told her I'd marry her. I thought if I wanted it enough, it would happen. I'd go to my parents, profess my love, and all our rules would fall away somehow. Just like that.”

Suddenly, it feels like there is a gaping wound in your chest. Every new word seems to draw the bloody edges of your skin further apart.

“Well, they didn’t,” Joshua continues. “I broke her heart. and I learned that all of this would never go away. Not for love, not for anything.”

There is an impossible hollowness inside you. You imagine Joshua, twenty-one and bright-eyed at Cambridge, hiding beneath the arch of the cobblestone bridge, the long one behind the quad, to carve hearts into the limestone. There's a girl wrapped in his jacket, her laughter like bells. She draws him close, runs a delicate hand through his hair, a shorter cut, more sporty than it is now. The night is still just as kind, forgiving, as it is now, and the moon still round like a young pearl.

“And that’s why you’re…you know.” You pause. The words all feel stuck to the roof of your mouth. “You like the rules.”

“Because it would mean that it didn’t end in vain. That it wasn’t really my fault.”

“You don’t want to mess up again. I get it.”

“Yeah.”

You notice your arms are touching, that they have been touching. Somehow, you don’t want to move away.

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask.

“Not sure.” Joshua sighs, having fully abandoned the filter he normally speaks to you through. “I don't think we’re so different. I don't know. It feels good to tell someone.”

“Do you still love her?”

“No. I don't think I can.”

“I'm sorry,” you swallow, feeling the familiar lump in your throat.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s getting cold, the twilight breeze now coming in from the sea. A silence, now sticky, caustic, settles between the two of you. The thought of Joshua, hopelessly in love, a line you hadn’t even dared to cross, seems to wind itself deep into your neurons.

“No really,” you insist. “I'm sorry. I gave you a hard time—no, I've been giving you a hard time. I didn't know.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.”

“I know,” you say, a foolish conviction rising in your stomach. You almost feel silly, juvenile, for never really baring your heart like how he had. You’re not sure which was worse.

You turn to look at him, really look at him. He's framed by the haze of the violets, the gentle curtain of the willows.

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

“Yup,” you laugh. “Usually is. You probably get the worst of it, to be honest.”

“She’s not so bad.” He returns your gaze; it’s honest, unsearching. “According to the real me, by the way.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

There are no words left. In fact, nothing quite says more than the way you now sit together, hands close enough to touch, without quarrel, complaint, or a yearning to prove yourself to some invisible standard. Instead, you enjoy the quiet calm, the way it drapes itself across the garden, the city, the quick of your heart. Now that you think about it, it’s the first time you’ve been able to do this without feeling like you were putting on a show.

This time, you think it’s real when you lean against his shoulder, and he leans back, chasing your warmth.

And it certainly seems to stay real when your hands find each other. You realize he does it the same way every time—the gentle skim of his fingertips down your hand before your palms meet, gently, forthright.

And it’s here, in the uncertain glow of the summer moon, where you think you’re the closest to ever knowing just what Joshua had been talking about earlier.

His hand curls around your cheek, holding you, wanting to see you clearer still, and he kisses you. It's not the practiced motion of an ill-conceived love, nor a hungry, blind stumble in your unlit bedroom. No, this time, it's as if you are being drawn back, wonderfully, slowly. Joshua kisses you as if it's the first time, as if to undo all the other times.

And somehow, almost by magic, the fountain song and the phantom photographers, the parents and the press, the world and everything in it, finally draw quiet.

–

“So,” Jihoon says, reloading his pistol. “You ok? Don’t you hate the range?”

You push your earmuffs aside to hear him better. “What?”

“I said, don’t you hate the range?”

“Well,” you balk. Jihoon puts the gun down and leans against the booth, looking at you from behind the glare of his safety glasses. Behind him is the paper target of a man with five bullet holes through his head. “I think I've gotten used to it.”

This is all true—you did hate the range, but it’s where you can always count on finding Jihoon on a Sunday afternoon. Better people went to church, but Jihoon preferred to terrorize the poor center circle of a bullseye.

“Hm.” He picks up the pistol again, stares down its iron sights. “Somi need anything for her birthday?”

“She needs a new man,” you reply, and Jihoon laughs.

Bang. Bang.

“But, no, I'm getting her that vintage Cartier watch she’s been wanting forever. They were auctioning it off in Paris.”

“Right, since it’s time for her to get a new boyfriend,” Jihoon deadpans, although he can’t quite get it out before he chuckles. “What about Soonyoung?”

“They cannot get together. You’re just being messy.”

“Sure, I'm the messy one. Didn’t they sleep together?”

“That was, like, two years ago. Drunk.”

Bang. Then a click–the clip’s empty. “By the way—you decided if you’re going to Cotria this weekend? Jeonghan will be back again, you know.”

You pause, watching Jihoon reload the magazine, shiny bullet by bullet. You definitely know Jeonghan’s coming home—minus all the time you spend on Find My Friends, you were always acutely aware of when he was in town. The real question is if you wanted to see him again. Usually, you’d count down the days, make plans at all your favorite restaurants, buy a bottle of cheap wine to split over a shitty Godzilla movie. That was when you still talked.

The last time you saw him was when he visited you in Acros. After the music store, you milled around a couple shops, walked through an art gallery. (Remember when you got lost at the Prado? he had asked. You were staring at that painting with all the butts.

Kinda, you had replied noncommittally. All Jeonghan did lately was start his sentences with remember, like he wanted you to forget who he was now.)

“I dunno,” is what you land on. “I'm busy.”

“Well, Jeonghan asked me.” Jihoon takes down his old target and sets up a fresh one, another formless, black silhouette.

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.”

“Does Josh know?”

“He actually already helped with arrangements for you to go back,” Jihoon replies, palming the gun again. “He said only if you wanted to, though.”

The tightness in your chest seems to coil over itself once more. Joshua had asked you about Jeonghan over breakfast one morning, before handing you a coffee and a croissant to soften the blow. You had been talking a lot more lately, which, somehow, you didn’t mind. If he wasn’t making fun of you, he was actually a decent listener.

You watch Jihoon steady his arms.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

–

Like all of your great ideas, it began in the back of a car.

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never.

You’re getting ahead of yourself, though. It really started earlier tonight, at the charity event you attended with Joshua.

Lesser beings would blame the wine, a cheap chardonnay only fit for sorority girls on a Friday night. Naturally, you and Joshua were responsible for downing about half the bottle—a fun amount, you’d like to say, although you admit you were surprised at your date’s ability to hold his alcohol.

You, however, can peg the real culprit: a reasonably slutty dress, removed from the annals of Somi’s closet, back when she was less of a Paris Hilton and more of a Princess Diana.

The evidence: damning. As you were getting ready—Can you zip me up? you had asked Joshua, fiddling with the rollers in your hair, already a generous ten minutes late. Then the slow, lingering skim of his touch, molasses up the hollow of your spine. At dinner, a warm hand on your knee. You didn’t hang around much longer after that, but walking to the car was a wondrous excuse for the flat of his palm to find the small of your back, fondly, comfortably, as if you had known each other for years.

Since you had spoken in the garden, certainly you had acted like more of a couple. It came more naturally, likely due to the fact that you had no idea if you were actually a couple or not. You suppose it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Well—sort of.

Now, you’re just being obtuse. What you’re really trying to do is explain how your hand found its way down Joshua’s pants in the back of your limousine. And still, found is too generous of a word. But you digress.

The short version: you kissed Joshua. Jihoon parked the car out back, you had gotten tired of Joshua glancing at you through the side of his eyes, and you kissed him. Regrettably, this hasn’t gotten boring yet. You enjoy the way he searches for your touch, the part of his soft lips.

Sometime between the third and the tenth time your tongue found its way into Joshua’s mouth, Jihoon removed himself from the situation—he was always good at that part. Two wandering hands later, your palm skimmed over the front of Joshua’s slacks. No big deal, except he was half-hard and he moaned in your mouth like he was doing the ad-libs in a Cupcakke song.

“Whoops,” you had babbled. This whole night, you’d been searching for the brakes on the clown car winding through the horny fog of your horrible, vexed mind.

“Fuck, sorry,” Joshua replied just as quickly, the words seeming to slip back down his throat.

Then you had stared at each other and blinked, hard, as if that would erase the fact that, one, the prince of Acros had just cursed approximately half an centimeter from your face, and two, you’d now crossed a bridge that could not be uncrossed.

You could no longer lie to yourself about the fact that you are hopelessly attracted to Joshua. You don’t even know if you want to lie anymore. You still thought of the time you ran into him, birthday suit and all, all those weeks ago in the bathroom. And, yes, you had wondered how big he was, although you blame Somi for planting that evil idea in you.

Hence, with God as your witness (since Jihoon was no longer there), you had said, “I can help, you know. If you want.”

You didn’t expect Joshua to nod so quickly. Then again, you now know yourself to be a poor judge of most things, especially ones relating to whatever this is.

“Do you want to?” he had asked, eyes fogged over.

“Yes. really.” Then you stopped. “Is this your first—”

“No. Does it really seem like it?”

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later.

So, finally, here you are. Somewhere along the line, your shame had fallen to the wayside, and a new desire now rocks you.

“Could’ve just asked earlier,” you tease, thumbing the buckle of Joshua’s belt.

“Should’ve known you’re not one for subtlety,” he laughs softly, his eyes fixed on how you undo the clasp. It’s a silly comment, but all the blood still rushes to your cheeks at the idea of him wanting you not just now, but all night. “Next time.”

“Really now.” The button at his waistband proves difficult with your new nails, so you instead sit your hand on the tent in his pants, palm him over the fabric. “You’d let me do this in the washroom of a charity ball?”

Delightfully, you watch him squirm. He doesn’t fight you, instead, uses his hands to bring you closer so you can feel his voice on your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he replies.

“His highness,” you say before returning to the wretched button, “Fooling around at a formal event? Scandalous.”

“Says the walking scandal,” Joshua laughs again, nipping at your earlobe. Then a sigh, breathy and tortured, as you finally peel back his slacks.

“Isn’t this about the time where you be quiet and let me do my thing?”

“Is that an order?”

“Yeah, since you seem to like them so much.”

He opens his mouth to complain, but you’ve beaten him to the punch. Skin meets skin; you watch his eyes flutter shut, the slow fall of his shoulders as he exhales.

Fuck, you think to yourself. If that’s all it takes for him to get hard— you force the thought back to where it came from. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Already, you’re reveling in the lewd image before you: the nation’s darling prince, legs spread and slack-jawed in the back of a limo, dizzy at the thought of a pretty girl playing with his cock.

Your hand wraps around his length, pulls it out of his briefs. Feeling the weight, heavy and warm on your palm, makes your skin prickle. He is big, but even if he wasn’t, the way he gasps into your ear when you start pumping him is enough to satisfy.

You start slow, just to be a little mean. He's longer than you expected, you realize. A turn of the wrist at the base, a little more pressure, and you hear him groan, loudly, shamelessly, as he tips his head back.

“Feels good?” you ask, voice lower than a whisper. You know it does—you’re not inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, but something about turning the prince into putty makes the months of horrible foreplay worth it.

“Yeah,” he says, part sigh. “Really good.”

“Good.” Then you hold out your palm in front of his mouth. You tell yourself it’s a litmus test for his freak-o-meter, but there’s a part of you that wants to make this the best handjob of his short, unexciting life.

First, he looks at you, wide eyes unblinking. There's already a flush, pretty and pink, across his cheeks, the column of his neck. Then, it clicks. He spits into your hand, and you watch it trail down the plush curve of his lips, his chin, the ridge of his adam’s apple. The color spreads to his ears; his mouth twists shyly. Oh, he looks perfect, maybe even more than perfect like this.

As if drawn by a magnet, you kiss him, and your hand finds his cock again. The friction alone draws out a low whine from Joshua’s chest, enough for you to feel the sound on your own tongue. Emboldened, you pump faster, harder, loving the way his hips kick up to meet your touch.

Still, he gives no indication that he’s close. Something tells you he has more stamina than you think, which surprises you. Thirty minutes ago, you thought he was a virgin.

“Josh?” you murmur, your lips brushing over his. “Wanna taste you.”

He meets your gaze, expression unreadable. You think maybe you’re moving too fast, that you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, until you feel the shadow of his hand move, first on your waist, then up the back of your neck. He gathers your hair in one hand, easily, as if he’s done this many a time before, and you get the message.

You wet your lips, swollen at this point, and bow your head. You’re running on something crazier than adrenaline at this point—even seeing the bead of precum at his tip is making your jaw feel heavy.

The first taste, always thrilling, sends sparks to your cunt. You seal your lips around his cockhead, feeling its weight on your greedy tongue, and he pulls your hair just enough to make you moan.

“Were you thinking about doing this all night?” Joshua asks, voice deceptively innocent.

You can’t answer. You don’t want to. He tastes good, he even fucking smells good, and you want him bad. Instead, you take him to the base, feel him bump against your palate as you try not to gag. You can’t fit him all the way, so your hands make up the slack. He's even bigger fully hard, and already, you feel the ache in your cheeks, your temples.

“Fuck, you must have been.” A groan, low and slutty. “Doing so good for me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or if this is his version of dirty talk, but it’s working. His hand is gentle, restrained behind you, letting you lead. The worse part of you wonders what it would take for him to break, but that’s a project for another time.

Honestly, he doesn’t need to do much—again and again, you chase the feeling of his cock deep in your throat, enough to bruise. You don’t even care if you gag around him; when you do, he pulls your hair back, just enough to make your scalp prickle wonderfully, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you like it.

You feel heady with arousal. You start to wonder how he is in bed, if he’d hold your hair like that, run his mouth like he is now. He's vocal, more than anyone else you’ve been with, and every little noise goes straight to your core, makes your thighs squeeze together pathetically. By now, you’re sure you’ve ruined this set of panties.

“ ‘m close,” he says between breaths. “You don’t have to—”

Stupid, stupid boy, you think. You don’t think you’ve wanted to do anything more. So instead of answering, you look up at him, eyes big and watery, and you suck hard. with your tongue nestled underneath his cockhead, right by the vein, it’s almost too easy.

He groans, loud, satisfied, and you feel his release fill your mouth. Even after swallowing, it’s enough to run down your chin, get your makeup all smudged, and you like it. If you weren’t in trouble already, you are now.

“Ah, I made you a mess,” Joshua says, gravelly and intimate. With one hand, he takes the handkerchief out of his suit jacket and cradles your jaw with the other. “Hold still.”

“You,” you manage after clearing your throat. “You don’t have to sacrifice your pocket square.”

“Yes, I do,” he chuckles. He wipes the corners of your mouth, your aching chin, and it almost makes you cry. “You literally gave me head in the back of a car. The pocket square can go.”

He draws you up to his chest so you can rest your head on him. There’s a warm, melty feeling between your ribs, minus what you had just swallowed. Inexplicably, even as the horny fog clears from your brain, you still want to be close, closer than close and then closer still.

“Head? I don’t like hearing you use normal people slang.” You pout, and you feel his laugh radiate from beneath his skin. “Good head, at least?”

“Oh, please. Better than good,” he answers. “You’re perfect. perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you start. Then he shuts you up with his mouth over yours, and you forget to think about liking him, loving him, or marrying him—this, you think you can do.

—

“We’re in Barcelona!”

You’re greeted by a pocket sized Somi and Soonyoung as they grin at you from your phone screen. They look to be on the balcony of a hotel suite, both wearing their matching silk robes.

“Wow,” you reply. “And where was my invite?”

“We did invite you, bitch,” Somi says, pulling down her sunglasses to look at you. “You said you were busy.”

“Well, I mean…” you uncap a bottle of nail polish. “That's not untrue.”

“The ocean needs you,” Soonyoung whines, clutching his chest. “We need you.”

“I'm sorry! Josh and I have been doing engagement stuff.”

“Josh? Since when were you on a nickname basis?”

“Whatever,” you interrupt. “What are you guys gonna do today?”

“Beach,” Soonyoung responds brightly, with Somi’s Don’t let her change the subject! loud in the background.

To be honest, you don’t even know the answer to her question. It just sort of happened, which seems to be the new normal for you. You’re also trying to pull apart last night–the freak-o-meter test came back inconclusive, and, for some reason, Joshua fell asleep with his arm over your middle. (Actually, you can think of a few reasons why he did that, but you’re not really sure how to feel about any of them.)

“Ugh, I miss you guys.” You wipe at your pinkie toe, having smudged the polish beyond repair. “Drink a little extra sangria for me. And by little, I mean a lot.”

“You’re still coming to Somi’s birthday, right?” Soonyoung asks.

“Yes, of course she is,” Somi replies. “Unless you can’t. Which I totally understand.”

“I still can,” you lie. “It just has to be more low-key than usual.”

“No paparazzi,” Somi says. “And I'll tell everyone to keep you on the down low. Super duper down low.”

“No way.” Damn, you curse to yourself—you keep screwing up painting your big toe. “Seriously?”

“Anything for my queen,” she giggles. “Pitbull is also confirmed, by the way. Secret Pitbull now.”

“Good, because that’s the only reason I’m coming.”

“Boo, you whore.” Somi wrinkles her nose at you playfully. (Is she being serious? Soonyoung asks in the background.) “Also, I'm still waiting for my update on the whole prince thing. I've been very patient.”

“No updates. Nothing to report,” you insist. Frustratingly, your cheeks are hot, like you’re in secondary school all over again.

“You fucked him, huh?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Halfway. Maybe.”

The combined sound of Somi and Soonyoung’s gasps rips apart your phone speakers, and you draw in a big breath. I did it for the plot doesn’t quite seem like the right justification, not like it used to be. The plot never used to involve the M word, love, or any sort of feelings at all. Now things are more confusing than late-stage Grey’s Anatomy, but good luck explaining that over the phone.

“So you do like him,” Soonyoung says, saucer eyes sparkly on-screen.

“I don't know,” you answer. It’s true, you don’t. To you, like was flirting over text and french kissing. Paradoxically, you had told Joshua all of that, and he still decided to do whatever he did to you on the ledge of the fountain all those days ago. It felt like he ate the heart right out of your chest. Then you had to go and suck his dick, which never made anything less complicated.

“Oh please. Look at you,” Somi laughs. “Yeah, you do.”

Fuck. You’ve smudged all the polish off your big toe again.

–

Not much surprises you these days, but you can’t say you were expecting to see your riding boots to be the first thing you see when you arrive home in Cotria.

The second thing you see is Jeonghan, smiling at you in his big, stupid riding helmet, camo-printed because he bought it when he was 15 and his head never grew much bigger since.

“For old times sake?” He then holds your own helmet up by the straps, and whatever twinge of annoyance you had felt earlier makes way for something softer, more forgiving. “Everything's set up outside.”

It doesn’t take you much time to take him up on the offer. If anything, a long ride usually solves all your problems, and you definitely have problems that need solving.

You saddle up in the stables, wordlessly, moved by habit. It seems to be the same for Jeonghan, too. Even Peanut acts like it hasn’t been years since he’s seen him, and he noses at the box of sugar cubes like he always does. Then again, horses don’t hold grudges, at least, not like you do. Even Joshua seemed more optimistic about this encounter than you did.

“So you're back back,” you say, hooking your feet in the stirrups. “Or do you have more jet-setting to do?”

“Back back,” Jeonghan replies. “Missed home too much.”

He cocks his head towards the old riding trail, the one that loops the long way through the woods. The gesture is but a formality—it’s the only path you ever take. Still, you follow behind his horse, watching the beige swoosh of Peanut’s tail the same way you did when you were a little girl and things were far simpler than they are now.

Under the cornflower sky of a near-autumn, the forest seems endless. A flock of geese split the sky in two; a warm breeze haunts the canopy, scattering the afternoon light. The dirt under you is soft, peaty from the morning rain. The hoofbeats are silent today.

Jeonghan’s horse slows so that you ride side-by-side.

“Hey, cricket?”

“Yeah?”

“I…” Jeonghan clears his throat and pauses, quite unlike him. “I wanted to come out here to talk.”

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, I…” Another pause. “I know things haven’t felt normal between us. For me, at least.”

You almost drop the reins. A strange, floating feeling is set off in your body, like a flare.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was kinda hoping you would say that.”

“I'm sorry.” A hard swallow. “I haven't really been the best brother, have I?”

“Well, not…not really.” Quickly, frenetically, words bob up in the back of your mouth like you’re playing whack-a-mole. You had been waiting for this conversation to happen for so long, you realized you hadn’t planned much further than that. “It felt like you’d changed. A lot.”

The wind feels like ribbons around you. You sway back and forth on Astrid, as if on a boat.

“Was it the birthday party thing?” you ask. “I didn’t mean for it to…you know.”

“Actually, that was my fault.” Jeonghan smiles bitterly. “I shouldn't have let Mom and Dad run me over like that. You should’ve been there. It was never really the same without you.”

“Well, I should've come,” you admit. “So we both fucked up.”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But the rest—definitely my fault. I made myself busy because I felt like I had to.”

You’re growing to really hate that word. Jeonghan had to grow up, Joshua had to break up with his first love, you had to learn to pick up all the pieces of both of these things and try to fit them back into your life.

“You didn’t even look back.”

“I was scared, cricket. That if I kept looking back, I wouldn't be able to go forward. And I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I did. I think there was a happy middle somewhere, I just couldn’t find it.”

“Jeonghan, you’re not really making sense right now,” you say, flattened, and he laughs.

“I don't even know what I'm saying. I think I'm trying to say that I just want you to be happy. And that I'm sorry.”

You bite your lip, as if to distract yourself from the strange pressure in your throat. You think you want to cry, but you’re not sure.

“But are you happy?” you ask. “With the coronation and everything? Did you even want this?”

“I am, believe it or not. I know you don’t, but I'm not lying. Somewhere along the line, I started liking all of the talking, the traveling, the interviews. I like that I can help people. Some of it sucks, but not all of it.” He laughs, finally one that sounds like something you can remember. “Not everything you have to do is bad.”

“Jeonghan, I'm getting married because of you. Because of this,” you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “I don't know how to do this. Any of this, not like you, not like Mom, or anyone.”

This, in fact, does make Jeonghan stop. He stills and falls silent. At once, it seems the forest goes quiet too.

“Don’t get married, then.” You don’t respond, so he says it again. “You don’t have to go through with it. Not for my sake, at least.”

“What?”

“I've been thinking about it ever since it happened. I can talk to everyone. You’d rather not be with the guy, right?”

Your tongue freezes in your mouth. You thought you had an answer, but it refuses to come out.

“I have a duty to protect you, too. I’ll be fine with or without the press.”

“Jeonghan,” you say quietly. Many moons ago, you would have laughed at the word duty, but instead, your stomach turns over and over and over. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” is his simple answer. “I want to because I care about you. We can figure out the rest.”

Something in your bones feels heavy. You’d also been waiting to hear those words, but it didn’t feel as freeing as you thought it would. You think about Joshua, his books and his perfectly placed bookmarks, his dumb dad jokes, the way he reaches for your hand, fingertips before palm.

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course. The engagement ball is probably happening either way, but it’s no big deal. Bigger engagements have been called off in far worse circumstances.”

You’re having trouble believing him, but you have no other choice. Your life would certainly get a lot easier if everything were to just end. No more press releases, scripts, or awkward pictures. And no more worrying about if you could go out on the weekends or just how much of yourself to give up to make things work.

“There's no rush.” He turns to look at you with the same wild shine in his eyes that you’d grown to miss so much. “Truce?”

That, somehow, you’re much happier to hear. You thought you’d be angrier than this, feel the usual metal-red of your gut, but all that’s left is a sobering feeling of relief, of home. At last, things feel close to normal.

“Truce.”

So you ride and ride, but a decision doesn’t come to you as easily as you thought. The sunset breaks; the word duty clings to you, unshakable, unrelenting.

—

Somehow, you have gone full circle: at the end of a long day, you find yourself back at the piano, much like you did when you were seven, and the only thing you could do right was play Hot Cross Buns.

Joshua had bought an unreasonable amount of music books, half guitar for him, half piano for you. You’d forgotten just how much you had liked playing until that night, many nights ago, when you and he had first muddled through that duet.

Yesterday, you and your parents had tea at the waterfront before you had left the country. You were still undecided on the engagement; frustratingly, the needle hadn’t moved much in either direction since Jeonghan had raised his proposal to you.

Congratulations, your mother had told you, right over her cup of oolong.

For what?

You’ve risen to the occasion. You’ve grown up.

To you, this was not a compliment. You didn’t know what it was. You had twisted the ring on your finger, back and forth, a habit you picked up after all the time you spent wearing it. You wondered if somewhere, you had become exactly like Jeonghan, molded and spun into someone unrecognizable. Maybe that was why Joshua finally seemed to like you.

Have you practiced for your first dance? your father asked, and you no longer had time to worry about the state of your personality—you had other fires to put out.

Really, that’s why you’re at the piano today. You thought you could play the damn tune and somehow remember all the ballroom dancing lessons you had taken when you were younger. Unsurprisingly, it hasn’t worked yet.

There’s a knock at the doorframe. “Come in,” you say, already knowing that it’s Joshua. No one else does that; Jihoon barges in and just starts talking, and you can hear Joshua’s parents from a mile away because of all the jewelry they have on.

“Just wanted to see what you were up to,” Joshua says. He leans against the frame of the piano, already dressed down for the night.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just magically hoping that I remember how to ballroom dance.”

“Well, first things first, you can’t dance sitting down.” He chuckles, and you pull your lips tight.

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine.

“You really don’t remember?” He gives you one of those looks, one that you’re quite used to now, with the judgmental wrinkle of the brow. “Didn’t you take lessons?”

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he says, grinning something foolish. “You don’t look a day over fifty.” Then he offers you his hand, which you take, and he easily pulls you from the bench.

“Flattered,” you say, unable to push down the corners of your smile. “You gonna teach this senior citizen a few moves?”

“Perhaps, as my good deed for the day.” He holds your hand, still firmly in his, and slides it up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Left hand here,” he tells you.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Not yet,” Joshua laughs. “The ballroom hold ring a bell?” His other hand finds your free one, and you interlace fingers simply, easily. Then, the warmth of a hand between your shoulder blades, one that draws you to his chest.

“I think the only dancing I know how to do is half drunk in the dark. Can’t exactly throw it back on you in front of God and country.”

Joshua grins, a big one, and you, traitorously, feel your cheeks get prickly.

“I wouldn't want God looking at you like that,” he teases.

“And country’s already seen it all.”

“They should consider themselves very lucky, then.” His eyes meet yours, lit by the scattered light of the chandelier. “It's my turn to ask you to let me lead.”

“Fine,” you pout, noticing that familiar warmth in your stomach.

Joshua begins to count your steps off (one, two, three—ow, that’s my foot! —sorry!). He’s patient with you, more patient than you think you deserve. His hand seems to slot perfectly into the curve of your back; his gaze settles onto you in a way that makes your chest feel heavy, molten.

“For someone who goes out so much, you have a terrible sense of rhythm,” Joshua says, teasing.

“Hey,” you object. “Maybe I just have a bad teacher.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

“Well, I'm not about to blame Britney Spears.”

Joshua laughs, and the sound is so close to you, you can feel it on your skin.

“I still think it’s the student’s fault.”

“Me?!” Perfectly timed, your sock-clad feet collide (yours, striped and fuzzy, his, plain white). “Impossible.”

“Too distracting,” he murmurs, and you notice how unfairly pretty his eyes are. “You bump into me, criticize me, you look at me like that…”

You feel dizzy. You don’t know what Joshua’s doing to you, but it’s mean. Your face is warm, and normally you’d blame it all on the alcohol but you haven’t had any. Worst of all, the soft part of you, the lizard-brained, impulsive part, can’t stop thinking about his lips and how they would feel on yours.

It’s a thought you don’t let linger, much like all of the other half-thoughts you have, and you kiss him, as if it was a reprieve from the terrible, horrible way he’s making you feel. (It isn’t.)

“You talk too much,” you tell Joshua, right against his lips. “Not enough teaching.”

“I'm putting you in remediation.”

“Devastating.”

“And giving you homework.”

“Whatever shall I do?”

Joshua answers that question for you. He kisses you, once, twice, still not enough, and, somehow, things feel more simple than they ever had before.

—

Jihoon’s eyes are dark, dagger-sharp in the rearview mirror.

“We’re coming up,” he says. “A few minutes out.”

“I know,” you answer. Yunjin was successful, almost too successful, in her task of finding you an appropriately revealing dress for a newly engaged twenty-something at the party of the year. The filmy silk stretches around your thighs; the cowl neck flirts with the neckline of the bikini top you have on underneath.

You look good, probably better than how you’ve looked in months. And yet, for some reason, you don’t feel good, at least, not how you’d thought you’d feel on the way to the only event you’d been looking forward to this year.

Somi’s gift rattles in your lap. It’s covered in this loud, hot pink wrapping paper unbecoming of something you had spent years tracking down on the antiques circuit. Normally, you’d have a laugh with Jihoon about it, maybe take some selfies in the car, but instead, you find yourself spinning your ring around your finger like you always seem to do these days.

You think of Jeonghan, of Joshua. Of course, what you do or don’t do on your best friend’s birthday is none of their business (although, very inconveniently, Jeonghan did have some event this weekend, and Joshua was traveling). But still, you think of the boldface headlines, the whispering gossip forums, the washed-out image of you in your little dress on the cover of a cheap magazine. This wasn’t exactly a tame party, and things weren’t just about you anymore, not like they used to be.

Marking your arrival isn’t the GPS nor Jihoon, rather, it’s the firefly buzz of the cameras outside your limo as it’s forced to come to a stop. You squint, trying to see past the tint of your windows, and see Somi, radiant in her birthday tiara, as she pushes through the crowd. Behind her is the villa she rented, illuminated by pink and gold strobe lights.

You crack open the car door and are met with a stifling deluge of camera flashes. Music pulses through the air, enough to feel beneath your heels.

“Who's my favorite princess?” Somi exclaims, throwing her arms open. “You made it! you look hot.”

“Not as hot as the birthday girl,” you reply, and you let her squeeze the air out of you in a wonderful, bone-crushing hug. “What's with all the cameras?”

“Professional photographers. Just wanted something to remember the night by, because we are blacking out.” She giggles, already tipsy. “Come, come, we’re doing shots inside.”

“Without me?”

“We’ll catch you up.”

Somi drags you by the hand through the sea of people, and you watch the cameras follow as they always do. She leads you up the stairs, underneath the towering balloon display, and into the foyer, already darkened, lit only by a disco ball chandelier and the neon backlights.

You spot Soonyoung by a champagne tower that seems twice his size, as promised. He's in a leather jacket, no shirt under, and you watch his eyes light up as they meet yours.

“A shot for her highness,” he shouts over the music.

“I thought this was champagne.”

“Tequila's close enough.” He laughs, eyes upturned, bright like gemstones.

The first shot goes down easy. It always does. So does the second, unsurprisingly. Around the third is when Somi tells you that the strippers are coming in an hour. (—Strippers?! —Not everyone has a fiancé, you know.)

And, just like that, you’re back to the beginning. It’s hard to think over the ridiculously good Kesha mix the DJ is playing, but, terribly, you think you’re starting to understand what Jeonghan was talking about. You’re still not sure how you feel about duty, responsibility, sacrifice, those heavy words that feel impossibly heavier in your mouth, but all you know is that, as much fun as you’re having now, it comes at a fair price.

Somi told you nothing, no compromising pictures, no drama, would reach the press, but, as hard as she may try, you feel like enough people have laid eyes on you already that someone was bound to hear something. If not now, then definitely in a few hours when everyone’s on at least two and a half substances, and all bets are off.

Briefly, you recall your appearance at the derby, the memory like a shard of glass. You had stood guileless next to Joshua, tripping over your words because you hadn’t cared enough to read the damn briefing, and he had covered it up with a dad joke or two. Coming up with those abominations must have been hard enough for someone whose first book was the Oxford Dictionary, but you don’t even think God and all his angels could cover up this. More than that, the thought of everyone having to try anyway makes your gut twist.

Someone tells you to smile for a selfie. You recognize her, but you don’t remember her name (Amelia or Alicia, one of Somi’s friend of a friends. On second glance, there are definitely more than 200 people here). Let's dance! another voice shouts in your ear.

Your head hurts. You hate the idea that Jeonghan might be a little right, but you hate even more that you’re starting to agree with him. Maybe you need another shot.

“Your gift,” you say, fighting over the chorus of Your Love Is My Drug. “Somi!”

“Oh my god, you did not!” she squeals. She clasps her hands over yours, wrapped around the box, and draws them to her. “Let me take it to the table. I’ll meet you by the pool—oh, oh, there’s a hot dog stand out there too!”

“Actually,” you start. You’re not that drunk, not yet, but now you think you can feel the ground start to sway under you. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch to say that in half an hour, after a little time at the bar, you’d probably be spending the night, no question. “I think I have to run.”

“Aw, really?” Somi tilts her head and squints, as if trying to read your mind.

“I am so sorry,” you tell her, as sincerely as one can over a pop song from the 2000s. “Swear I'll make it up to you.”

“Life stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It's ok,” she says. “Really really. Go home, figure your shit out, and we can have our own party.”

She holds your joined hands to her heart. Whatever look you gave her, she believed. That, or she knows you better than you think.

So you leave. The car ride home is silent. Jihoon doesn’t ask questions, and you can still hear the sound of the music ringing in your ears, on and on and on.

—

You think the worst thing you’ve ever woken up to was the Crazy Frog ringtone of one of the guys you had slept with during university.

The second worst has got to be five voice memos and three consecutive missed Facetime calls from Somi, which is the first thing you see upon opening your eyes.

“Oh fuck,” you murmur, still coming to. Your bed is empty, but you see Joshua's suitcase in the corner of the room. He must have come home early this morning, while you were still sleeping.

You crack open your text messages.

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY.

–someone must have gotten paid off for last night’s pictures…i had no idea i swear

Then a voice memo. Then another voice memo. then a PopCrave Twitter screenshot: YOU CAN TAKE THE PRINCESS OUT OF THE PARTY–OR CAN YOU? followed by the worst, most incriminating photo of you and Soonyoung, arms linked, throwing back a shot.

“No, no, no, no.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the stone-cold drop of your heart to your feet. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Shit. You have to find Joshua and make it right.

Somehow, you thought it wouldn’t matter, that you didn’t care what did or didn’t get out as long as you were able to have a good time—you desperately search for that same feeling, knowing that it’s long, long gone. You don’t even think you truly ever believed that.

You race down the palace hallways, ones that feel far more familiar than the rigid bastions they were when you first got here, but it’s Joshua who finds you before you find him. Or rather, it’s his voice you hear, trickling out from behind the library door.

Suddenly, you’re five again, and you’re spying on Jeonghan talking to your parents. You peek through the crack of the doorframe. As Somi would say, nightmare blunt rotation: there stands Joshua, surrounded by both sets of parents, and no one looks happy.

“We knew it,” another voice says—your mother. “We’re sorry, but we said this would happen.”

“It’s no matter. There’s nothing left to do but call the engagement off.”

The room goes quiet. You notice your hands are shaking. Your face feels numb.

“You’re right. I don't think anyone’s getting what they want out of this, anyway.”

“We’ll cancel the ball. There’s no way around it. Likely a relief, right, Joshua?”

The moment seems to squirm, suspended in time. This is what you were waiting for, right? Your parents were right—no one wanted this anyway. You certainly didn’t, and now you get your get out of jail free card. On top of that, you get to hear what you’d been expecting all along—that Joshua never liked you, that this was fun and all, but he’s ready to stop playing pretend.

“I…I disagree.” You freeze. “She's my fiancée. I made a commitment to her, and I'm not going to walk away.”

“Joshua, my dear, this arrangement was never going to work. You can be honest.”

This is the part where Joshua nods, does his perfectly symmetric smile, and agrees. This is what he does, what he’s been doing since forever. The story always ends the same way. That was the point.

Instead: “I am being honest. Since when was it illegal to go to your best friend’s birthday party? I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. She’s not who they, or you, think she is.” Through the door-gap, you watch the pursed, resolute draw of Joshua’s lips. “You didn’t even invite her here to talk about her own engagement. You never once gave her a chance.”

A stunned silence falls over the room.

“I’m sorry, but this is how I feel. I won't let you take another girl I love from me. Not again.”

Your hand flies over your mouth, and something twists deep in you, like you’re drowning from the inside out. You can’t, won’t, believe what you just heard. That somehow, beyond all the fighting, the quiet nights, the snide remarks and the fake smiles, that Joshua loved you? Loved? Enough to say all that to the people that ruled his life with an iron fist? None of this made sense, but nothing’s made sense since you got here.

The room erupts into noise, peals of voices all colliding into each other, and you do what you do best—you leave.

—

No one talks about that morning. You don’t even think anyone knows you were there—part of you wishes that you actually weren’t, so you didn’t have all this on your mind. (Joshua, later that day: I got you something from Seoul. From his suitcase, a bottle of soju. Just kidding. Then a jade bracelet, so vibrant it looked like the ocean.) No one talked about Somi, and no one talked about the party.

In fact, everyone had just rolled on as usual, all the way to the end of the week, the day of your engagement ball. Even you did. The word love felt so big, so burdensome, when Joshua had said it to his parents, but you didn't mind it on you.

The lingering touches, late night talks, tea made the way you like—nothing really had changed much since shit hit the fan, but now you knew that was the label. You guess that when you told Joshua you had never been in love before, you were really telling the truth. Either that, or he was just saying whatever the hell he needed to stop your engagement from imploding.

Still, you found yourself still reaching for him. There was an unfamiliar comfort about his nearness. You woke up this morning cradled to his side, and, for once, it wasn’t a scene you wanted to erase.

Now, your hairstylist hoses your blowout down with hairspray. You’d spent the better part of this morning sitting in different chairs, hair, makeup, nails. A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop: Joshua’s mother would waltz in and tell you, Surprise! You’re a single woman again, just as you should be.

It never happens. You’re wrapped in various mists and creams and powders, all the while fielding all the same questions about the ball (—Excited for tonight? Yeah, of course. —How does it feel being the surprise couple of the year? Surprising.)

It’s not until Yunjin comes in, wheeling in your giant, sparkly engagement gown, all Italian lace and satin brocade, that things feel real.

The dress itself is beautiful, a pale champagne number, gathered at the waist with a smattering of crystals down the train. Earlier, when you’d first tried it on, it looked like a costume fit for the girl playing wife. It was another smothering thing that hung on you, just like everything else in your life.

Today, you watch your form tall in the mirror. You meet her eyes, her uncertain mouth. It’s you, for sure, but there’s a stillness about you that you can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe Joshua’s demeanor was contagious.

Yunjin laces your bodice up, careful eyelet by eyelet—“You’re nervous, huh?”

“Is it really that obvious?”

She laughs. “Breathe. You’re not getting married. Not yet, at least.”

“Yunjin, isn’t it weird that no one has talked to me about Somi’s birthday? Everyone on the planet saw the leaks.”

“Maybe they finally learned to stop giving a shit. You looked hot, you had a good time, end of story. It’s not like anyone died.”

True. She grabs your shoulders and looks at you through the reflection of the mirror.

“Smile. Enjoy yourself. You look so, so beautiful.” You take a deep, soaking breath. You think about Joshua and all the sharp edges of his voice when he said he loved you. You had argued with him a lot, and you had never heard him like that. “You want this, right?”

Well, when she puts it like that? Yeah, you do. You think you really do.

—

The Great Hall is unrecognizable when you stand before it; the pink and white zinnias have been replaced by bouquets of calla lily and eucalyptus, the arched ceilings, once cold and imposing, now are bathed in the buttery, warm glow of candlelight. And the too-big space, usually empty, is now filled with partygoers, radiant in their best dress.

You stand at the top of the grand staircase. A thrill, anxious and skittering, runs up your bones. You’re reminded of your last big public showing at the derby, of the sea of microphones and the eye of the camera and the crowd, all staring you down.

You run through the cruel motions. First, a curtesy, so slow you think the audience can see you tremble. Then you take the first step down the stairs, and you watch them turn to you like the tanned halo-faces of sunflowers.

There, in the center of the crowd stands Joshua, unwavering. He's wearing a deep blue tuxedo, unfairly flattering (though, the lone curl of hair falling into his eyes is strong competition). Meeting his gaze, you watch the corners of his mouth fold up in a way that reminds you to breathe. In, out. You’ve got this.

Every step, you feel like you’re learning to walk for the first time, like you've lost your sea legs. Amongst the guests, you spot Jeonghan, next to him Jihoon. Then back to Joshua, like your eyes can’t stay away. He shoots you a covert thumbs up—you’d expect nothing less from the corniest man on Earth—but, nonetheless, it makes the long walk to the center of the room feel much shorter, despite the torture devices on your feet (Louboutins, not broken in).

One, two steps, and you’re face to face with your fiancé. Your heart is still racing, thrumming against the cage of your bodice like it's trying to escape. You’re sure the whole congregation could hear it if not for the quartet that’s come to life, now playing the opening notes of Blue Danube.

Yes, that’s right, you tell yourself. You still have to dance in front of the whole fucking country.

Before you crash out and make this a national emergency, you feel the warmth of Joshua’s touch. Fingertips before palm, always the same, he finds your hand, like he manages to do every single time.

“I’ve got you,” he says, low enough for only you to hear. And for the first time, you believe him.

—

Really, you could have gotten away with saying nothing. It would be much easier, to be honest.

The ball had gone off without a hitch so far. The music was good, the food even better, and your parents were somehow silenced, instead opting to dance among the crowd like they were young again. Still, you can’t seem to put your mind at ease. With everything that had happened this week, Jeonghan’s offer only seemed to weigh heavier, more urgently upon you. And of course, there was the matter of Joshua choosing to opt into your engagement, against all odds.

You realize you had gotten quite good at running away from things—your family, your responsibilities, the media, even Joshua—not knowing how to bear the weight of an impossible duty. Actually, you thought it was a royal failing until you had seen Joshua in the library that morning, jaw set, unbending.

“Hey, Josh?” you ask, with a few bats of the eyelashes to soften the blow.

He tilts his head in that way he does, and his gaze softens. Damn you, you think. Trying to distract me with those horrible, pretty eyes.

“Can we talk about Sunday?”

“What about Sunday?” He still looks confused, and you know the look well enough at this point to know he’s not faking it.

“Um…Sunday morning. After the party,” you say slowly, as if giving yourself time to back out, just in case. “I heard you talking with our parents.”

In an instant, his expression changes, and his eyebrows roll into their usual furrow. You feel his hand falter behind your shoulder blades.

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, realizing all you do is apologize. “It was supposed to be a small thing, no cameras, I barely even stayed—.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Joshua interrupts. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I-I know,” you fib. The thing about pretending is that you’ve both become so good at it that you have trouble believing him. “It’s just that I also heard what…what you said.”

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper.

“I said a lot of things that morning.”

You press your lips thin, feeling what you’re about to say ball up on your tongue. Easily, you could change the subject; you didn’t have to know anything, really, you could stay silent and let the world work around you, just as you had been taught. But you watch the soft twist of Joshua’s gaze, how he studies your expression, and you know you can’t go back to how things used to be.

“You said you…” You take a hard swallow. All the blood in your body only wants to exist in the apples of your cheeks, away from your brain where you need it most. “You loved me.”

At once, the world spins off-axis. You feel the anxious flutter of Joshua’s heart under your palm, and your own stomach flips in its cage. The L word coming out of your mouth seems ten-thousand times more ridiculous than anything he could say, probably because you can’t remember the last time you actually said it and it came out all wrong.

He must feel the same way. For once, he can’t meet your eyes. His mouth opens and then closes, as if hoping to delete what you had just said. Maybe you would just keep dancing, beat by beat, and this would all go away.

Silly girl, you think, traitorously. Pick a damn side. Either he likes you or he doesn’t. The problem is that, somehow, both options hurt your feelings.

“I mean, I totally get it if you just said it to keep up the act,” you cut in. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.”

“The act?”

“Well, yeah,” you reply. “Isn’t that what this is? Haven’t we just been lying to everyone? To ourselves?”

Joshua’s hand at your waist stiffens before he draws you closer to him. You expect him to roll his eyes, do one of those exaggerated sighs that he does when you’re being difficult.

Instead he leans in, close enough for you to feel his voice against your skin.

“Do you think I was lying back there? Or now?”

Your heart lurches.

“I—no, but.” You pause. Every single coherent thought you’ve ever had scatters to the wind. “Well.”

“Because I’m not,” Joshua says, this time, more softly. “Not about this. Or us.”

“But how? Why?” You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your chest swell in a way it never has before. “You’re perfect, and I'm…I’m me.”

“That’s why,” he answers, simply. “You’re smart, funny, honest—sometimes too honest, even. You reminded me there was a better version of me that I had left behind. One that wasn’t perfect, but was happy.”

He holds you in his gaze the same way he did in the garden, carved by moonlight. An impossible warmth fills your skin; at once, it feels like, in your vision, there is only him, like you're in a cartoon.

“At the same time, I understand if—” Joshua starts.

“I feel the same,” you blurt out. “I…I don’t know what this is, and I don’t think I ever really did, but I want to try.”

You watch the surprise write itself all over his doe eyes, his unfairly rounded cheeks. From by the hors d'oeuvres, nosy Jeonghan peeks over the shoulder of another guest, already familiar with your lack of volume control. You watch him grin something stupid, triumphant.

“You’re uptight, judgmental, and you make the worst jokes. But I…I think I might be falling for you too.”

Saying it is like getting peeled back, terrible layer by layer, like you wrapped a hand around your heart and ripped it out your chest. And yet you’re glowing, newly-bitten with something that feels like freedom.

“I thought you said I was perfect,” Joshua says, the pink of his lips already unraveling into a smile. This one, you think, finally reaches his eyes.

“Shush, you—” And amongst a chorus of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! (which would be, quite frankly, humiliating in any other scenario), you finally give in to your adoring public, and kiss.

—

The walk back to your bedroom is a blur. All you remember are hands—hands on the small of your back, hands riding up the length of your thigh, hands in your hair, pulling at your roots. You remember hands, and the taste of Joshua’s mouth.

It’s a walk you are not proud of, one that you’re glad happened in the dark, with all the guests gone home.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” Joshua says, pressed to the hollow of your neck as you fumble with the handle of the door to your room. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.”

Then his lips on yours, before you finally remember how to open a door.

“Fuck, Josh,” you breathe between kisses, stumbling backwards until your back hits the vanity. “Need you, need you so bad.”

He bites your lip, lets you sigh into his mouth.

“Dress, off,” you tell him, and you lean forward on the table. Obediently, Joshua gets to work. His touch feels fiery, electric on your skin.

In the mirror, you’re able to see the damage: your lipstick, smudged beyond repair, your blown-out pupils under your heavy lashes. There’s a hickey on your collarbone.

“Now you have me wishing you'd wear one of those party dresses,” Joshua murmurs, still working at the lacing at your waist. “Far easier to take off.”

“Really. The same ones that got me in big trouble with you lot?"

"For what it's worth," he replies, before kissing the back of your neck, then the ticklish space under your ear to make you laugh. "I always liked you in those. Even before we met."

"No way." He’s finished with the lacing; your dress falls to your feet in a glorious heap of silk and lace, leaving you in your slip. Another kiss to your jaw, your cheek. "You hated them."

"I almost bought a copy of Insider, the one with the cover of you in the black dress with the long sleeves."

"Shut up," you laugh again, somewhere in between kisses. He’s talking about Soonyoung's New Year’s Eve party, a few years back. You were getting out the back of a cab, alcohol-flushed and on a phone call with God knows who. "I still have it, you know. I could wear it for you one of these days."

"Don't tempt me." Joshua kneels, bending down to undo your heels. You feel him press his lips to the back of your knee, your thigh. “Friday. Dinner?”

“Done.”

Then he stands back to full height and leans into you, just so you can feel him. Like clockwork, your skin prickles wonderfully even just thinking about blowing him in the back of the limo, that night he had held you down on his cock.

Joshua must see how you squeeze your legs together. He pushes your slip up over the curve of your ass; you feel the rough of his hands over your skin, over the flimsy lace you have on for underwear. Then, before you can say a word, he pulls the waistband back, meanly, enough to tug on the hood of your clit, and lets it snap back against your skin.

“Oh, fuck,” you keen. You had no idea you were so sensitive, but Joshua’s foreplay game was way better than you thought. “Please, Shua.”

“Oh? So you like when I'm a little mean?”

You watch your face in the mirror flush pink, your bitten lips fall open in surprise. He pulls tight on your panties again, loving how your eyes squeeze shut.

“Maybe.” You pause, humiliated. Fuck it, the cat’s already out of the bag. “Yeah.”

Joshua’s hands are warm, so warm, when they peel the fabric down your trembling thighs.

“Legs apart, darling,” he tells you, mouth pressed to your shoulder. “So you like to boss me around the castle, but now you want me to tell you what to do? Is that so?”

Before you can answer, you feel a finger along the seam of your cunt. You can’t see Joshua’s face in the mirror, but you can sure see yours, and you hate how even the smallest of touches has you drooling. Then a touch to your swollen clit, just rough enough to draw a gasp from you.

“I-it’s different,” you protest. Two fingers now, both rolling your clit under them. A whimper tumbles out of your chest, and your hips seem to be moving on their own accord. “Didn’t know you had…experience.”

“Still not sure what made you think otherwise.” A quiet chuckle, then the slow, agonizing push of one of his fingers inside you. “Fuck, you love that, huh? Soaking my hand.”

“Yeah…” The vanity table suddenly feels too crowded to support the weight of your body, especially like this, as Joshua continues to work your clit with his other digit. Feeling your body surge again with heat, you push aside your makeup bag, all your stupid little bottles, so you can prop yourself up on your arms.

Another finger, and your legs are shaking. Quickly, he seems to have figured out how to hit your g-spot every time, every pump of his hand knocking into you just the way you like.

“I think it was how annoying you were that did you in,” you finally answer, trying your best to put up a fair fight. “Kinda detracts from your sex appeal.”

“Annoying?” Joshua asks, right up against the shell of your ear. Like this, you can see him in the mirror, and it almost sends you over. The dark hair in his face, the insatiable look in his eyes. Then a third finger, and your eyes roll back. “Am I annoying you? Doesn’t really seem like it.”

Your body answers for you. You feel yourself tighten around his fingers, fuck, you’re so close, you feel your head start to spin. You watch your reflection shake her head, glassy-eyed and dumb.

He laughs cruelly. His free hand reaches up to find your tits, and, over the slip, he grabs one, rough like he’s a meaner man, like he’s slutting you out.

At once, you feel the lightning heat of your release. You cry out, airy and high-pitched, and feel your body rock against Joshua’s as he pins you between himself and the vanity.

“There you go,” he murmurs. His hand slows, letting you ride out your high, before he pulls out. “Wanted to do this ever since I kissed you that night.”

“Which night?” you ask, catching your breath. A kiss to your shoulder blade, the nape of your neck.

“The night you taught me to kiss. Or rather, tried to.”

Ah, yes. The night you told him what Shark Tale was, and the night you made out for so long, you felt it on your lips in the morning. Dumb fucking Joshua, stupid and in love. The affection that surges through your body makes you mad.

“You needed lessons.”

“Not really, don’t you think?”

“Bed. You’re talking too much,” you insist, turning around to see him. “Also, you’re wearing too much.”

“Back to arguing with me, I see. Can’t stay away.” Joshua’s shit-eating grin prompts you to yank his tie impatiently, shutting him up. It comes off easily, just as his belt and the waistband of his slacks. (You weren’t about to let them best you a second time).

“Maybe ‘cause you find a way to be difficult about everything.” You wrinkle your nose, and Joshua’s grin only grows wider. “Don’t make me give you another order,” you warn, fully aware that since you guys got here, it’d been him doing the orders.

You pull your slip over your head, now only in your bra, and lay back in the bed. You think of all the sleepless nights, then the ones spent talking, the ones in his arms. To think they would all culminate to this, to you now watching Joshua undo button by button with a desire unlike any other you’ve felt—it would almost be unbelievable if you weren’t doing it right now.

Like a striptease, you watch his chest peek out between the linen of his shirt. He's wearing a necklace today, one that settles meanly between his pecs. As he moves lower, you can’t help but notice the outline of his cock in his briefs, the spot of precum on the fabric.

Traitorously, you feel your mouth water. The shirt comes off, and your lungs fill with another shaky breath.

You know you’re both letting your freak flag fly (one of you more surprising than the other) but it’s in this moment, caught in the lamplight, that you realize how much things have really changed. Still, you’re not able to tell Joshua that this is the first time you’re sleeping with someone you might be in the L word with, but you think he sees it too, or at least, reads the look on your face.

You feel the dip of the bed underneath as he joins you.

“Are you ok? That wasn’t too much, right?”

“No, it was…it was good. really good,” you admit, feeling your face heat up again. “I just…I dunno. I like you a lot, that’s all.”

“Hm?”

“I—” you stutter, and your mouth freezes up again. “I said I like you a lot.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear you say it twice.” He sees the dismay on your face and smiles. “Hm…I like you an adequate amount. On a good day.”

Against your will, you crack the fattest smile you think your body is capable of. “You are the worst. The absolute worst, and I still want you to fuck me.”

Upon hearing this, Joshua does not waste time. That he does—it isn’t long before he has your knees hiked to your chest, cock between your pussy lips.

“Say you want it,” he whispers. You feel the cold kiss of his chain on your chest, the slick rock of his length between your legs. He's so hard, so big, your cunt already aches at the thought of it.

“Want it.” Your voice comes out small, breathy. You would fight back, but you’re realizing you quite like this side of him. “Please.”

When the head of his cock presses into you, there is no hiding. Already, you moan, sweet and loud, feeling the familiar pressure in your gut.

“K-keep going,” you babble. Fuck, he barely fit in your mouth and now he’s stuffing your cunt. You wrench your eyes shut, listening to him talk you through it (—Look at you taking me so well. Feels good, huh? You’re so beautiful. Honestly, it’s a miracle Joshua’s ex never had a royal baby with how much they must have fucked.)

Your second orgasm comes quickly, not long after Joshua bottoms out. He groans right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and it’s the best noise you think you’ve heard in your life.

The third comes slowly, more intensely. With your knees to your chest, you think you can feel Joshua all the way in your stomach. Every stroke fucks the sound out of you, his cockhead right up against your sweet spot as he fills you again and again. Sometime between orgasm two and three, he’s pulled your tits out from your bra, left marks across your chest.

“Want you to touch yourself,” he tells you, voice low.

Mindlessly, you listen. One hand finds your nipple, the other your clit, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling.

“F-feels good, Shua.” He enters you again, all the way, and the pleasure is white-hot. “O-oh, fuck,” you warble.

“You’re so good at listening to me, you should do it all the time,” he murmurs. “There you go. Take it, take it, just like that. This must be what I have to do to get you to be nice, hm?”

All you can do is stare up at him, positively fucked dumb, and take it, just as he told you to. One, two strokes, and you feel yourself get impossibly tight; “Fill me, need it, need it,” you whine, delirious. Everything from the look in his eyes, the flushed sweat over his brow, his collarbones to the way his expression responds with every word you say, makes you wonder why you wasted time fucking anyone else.

When he comes, he bites your shoulder, hard, and it’s what you need to follow soon after. You feel so fucking full, so satisfied, you think you could die happy here.

Joshua flops down on the bed next to you, boneless. You think he’s about to say something akin to that you should have put a towel down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls your body to him, lets you feel the warmth of his skin play against yours.

He’s murmuring wonderful things to you, which you would gladly reciprocate if words weren’t coming to you one letter a minute. It’s not your fault though—you need to recover physically, emotionally, spiritually after getting the soul fucked out of you.

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response.

“I’m serious.”

“Together?” you offer weakly.

“Fair chance we won’t just be showering then.”

“Oh nooo.”

That’s all Joshua needs to whisk you to the bathroom, where, indeed, he seems to be right yet again.

—

The spring morning washes over Acros like a second skin. The birdsong rouses you; through the curtains comes sunlight from the garden, spackled on the wall as if spots on a doe.

It’s been almost a year since your parents had told you that you were marrying Joshua Hong, prince of Acros. Six months since he had told you he had loved you. Two months since you and Jeonghan had pulled off your first joint production at the youth theater (a roaring success). One month since you were fully, fully moved in, Astrid and Jihoon included.

After your engagement ball, you and Joshua had agreed to take it slow, as slow as two people who had very publicly announced their wedding could. But still, somehow your parents, both sets, could tolerate the two of you wanting to do things the right way. Perhaps they were still shocked things worked out as well as they did.

“Morning,” you call out. The bed beside you is cold. “Josh?”

You’re surprised he’s up. Last night, he went out with you, Somi, and Soonyoung. Somehow, he had drunk enough to get up and solo karaoke a Whitney Houston song, although you’re suspecting the alcohol was just a cover for his true intentions.

Then you look out the window. You spot Joshua, seated on the bench overlooking the garden. This time of year, the roses are in full bloom, their bright heads reaching for the sky in brilliant red and gold.

When you go to join him outside, he’s no longer at the bench. You actually don’t know where the fuck he went, but it’s no matter. Here, you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season, the rolling green of the country you’re now calling home.

It was also here where you had your first real conversation with Joshua without fighting, funnily enough. Now, you’d say the both of you were more agreeable, but that’d be a lie—somehow, you think you actually enjoy bickering with him, but that’s a conversation for another day.

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat.

“Now, what are you—” you say, spinning around. It was too damn early for games, but Joshua had no shortage of bad ideas.

It’s then that you see Joshua behind you, on one knee. His smile tells you everything you have to know, and every thought in your mind freezes in an instant.

“When I first saw you, I knew I would marry you,” he starts. That's a joke he’s probably been saving for months now, but instead of rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh, like you’re a broken soundboard. “No, really.”

You stand there, immovable. Of course you had to be in your pajamas (his shirt and boxers, really), no makeup, hair untouched. And yet, you can’t imagine anything more perfect.

“You drive me crazy,” Joshua continues. “In every way possible. I can't imagine life without your laugh, or your thinking face, or how you always need to have an answer for everything.”

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful.

Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.”

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

#mine #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #seventeen smut #joshua smut

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 month ago

Note

“Fix your attitude or I’ll do it for you” Joe to wifey 🤪🥵

Joe was really trying to be patient, but all in all it was wearing thin since you had been difficult with him all day and he couldn't figure out why.

It started this morning when you woke up and he asked you what you wanted for breakfast because he had enough time to fix it before he left.

He had told you the day before that he was going to be gone the majority of the day and that's when your mood had turned sour. You get it, he had things to do that he was responsible for, but you kept thinking to yourself that there was no reason why it was the off season and you felt like you had to make an official appointment to be able to spend time with your husband.

But what you didn’t know was that Joe was actually getting things for the nursery and the twins' playroom and planned to stash it at Ja'Marr's house so that he could surprise you. He had been trying to carve out time to do it, but seeing as it was the middle of the season when you told him you were pregnant made it harder.

But because of his absence, he sent you to get your hair and nails done. He also flew Erin and Alisha to Cincinnati at the same time and he asked them to take you out for the rest of the day so that he could keep you occupied.

When he finally got back, he walked in the house and saw you sitting on the floor in the living room as your back was leaning on the couch flipping through channels on the TV.

Joe sat down next to you and leaned over to kiss your cheek as he started to play with your hair.

“Hey baby doll.”

“Hi.” You quietly replied, but Joe brushed it off and thought nothing else of it.

“Why are you on the floor? Is your back hurting again? I can get your pillow for you.”

“It's fine. Leaning on the back of the couch is helping.”

“Your hair looks pretty. I like the color.”

“Thanks.” You told him as you finally settled on watching Powerpuff Girls.

It was quiet for a few minutes before Joe grabbed your hand and caught your attention once more.

“Is something wrong?” Joe asked and you literally let out a huff.

“What makes you think that, Joseph?”

“Whoa. You saying my name makes me think that. First name basis? Seriously?”

“You have been gone ALL DAY.” You whined as you crossed your arms to look at him.

“I… so have you?” Joe replied with a confused expression on his face and you instantly rolled your eyes.

“So, do I have to schedule an appointment to spend time with my husband during his off season? Because OBVIOUSLY I DO.”

“First of all, fix your attitude or I’ll do it for you.” He told you and you let out another huff.

“I was doing something so that I could surprise you, but I didn’t expect for this to be your reaction. I literally flew in Erin and Alisha because I knew that this was going to take me all day because you haven't seen them in forever and I got met with an attitude from my wife when I came home.”

“I…” You started to say, but Joe cut you off.

“I'm not done. I was getting things ready for the twins’ nursery, playroom, and getting things for you too to help make the rest of this pregnancy as comfortable as possible. All you had to do was send me a text saying that you missed me and I would have come back. Simple as that.”

“You can never just let me be dramatic for one day!? I'm pregnant!”

“You being too dramatic is actually the problem whether you're pregnant or not and you know better. No, you don't have to schedule an appointment to see me but you might need to start if this attitude doesn't go away. But I get it that you missed me and were frustrated. Now are we done?”

“Yes! Now can you fix my attitude for me? I think I still have it.” You asked as you smiled at him and batted your eyelashes and all he did was shake his head at you as he came to a realization.

“I… you did this because you wanted me to dick you down, didn't you? You weren't even mad to begin with.” He asked while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner! I got to see my best friends, get my hair and nails done, and chill all day. I LOVE when you get all mad at me. Your voice gets deeper and whew. I want you to put me through the mattress.” You told him as you kissed him multiple times and moved yourself to sit on his lap.

“What am I going to do with you?” Joe asked before he busted out laughing.

“Nothing because you love me. Now take your clothes off.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x reader #joe shiesty #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow angst #joe burrow concept

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ramp-it-up · 11 months ago

Text

II Most Wanted Pt.I: And I don't know what you're doin' tonight…

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: The feeling and flashbacks you get when you saw your high school boyfriend Jake Syverson at your 20 year reunion was quite the unexpected twist in your orderly life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, body image issues, flashbacks, horny teenagers doing horny things (over 18 tho) heavy petting, fingering, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of breakups, teenage mean girl behavior, the Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, mentions of drug abuse and difficult childhoods, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Explicit description of sex acts. Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the first installment of II Most Wanted. This is also my first fic in nearly half a year. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

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

-------

June 2024

The visceral reactions started as soon as you entered the parking lot. There it was, Sy’s 1978 white Ford Bronco. Not thinking, you pulled into the space right in front of it, wanting to look inside. You almost lost it when you saw the old charm hanging from the rear view mirror. You couldn’t believe he still had that.

Especially with everything that happened since you put it there.

April 2004

“I claim this ancient truck as my throne!”

You were lit and in love, parked with Sy at the lookout. You were also silly and giggly from smoke and hormones.

“Mmmmm, careful Buttercup.”

Your boyfriend growled in your ear, making you shiver against him. His attempt at menace was thwarted by the smile you felt against your neck, where he was busy marking you up, a sure sign later for everyone to know who you belonged to.

Sy was known for making bloody the face of those who expressed hate for his beloved Betty Bronco. But you had him whipped.

“It’s a classic, but I’ll let that slide...”

He wished that you would let him slide, but you were adamant that you weren’t ready to be a parent. He was adamant that that didn’t have to be the outcome, but beneath the red blooded country boy was a gentleman. Sy would never do anything you didn’t want to, not that it stopped him from trying to convince you to admit that you in fact, wanted it as much as he did.

He wasn’t wrong.

You sighed as you placed the Powerpuff Girl necklace you got from Hot Topic on Sy’s rearview as you sat on his lap, giving him a treat. He had you in his grip by the hips and he was subtly moving you against his boner. The attraction between you two was heady, and he almost got what he wanted plenty of times. But you were a romantic and wanted it to be special. You promised him prom night, and Sy couldn’t wait.

“..Driving me crazy, Baby. You can put anything on my rear view as long as you let me get your rear view in the back seat….”

You giggled.

“You’re so corny, Sy.”

You whispered as you turned your head and kissed him over your shoulder.

“Hmmmm. And you’re so sweet.”

Sy’s sea blue eyes gazed at you as he licked his lips.

He was crazy for you. And you were for him. You felt it. And you just knew you’d be together forever. You grinned as you climbed over him into the back seat. Didn’t hurt to fool around a little, even if you weren’t gonna give him the p that night.

——————

You shook out of the memory as a warm June breeze whipped your short skirt around your thighs. You pulled on the yellow and white designer dress as you contemplated driving back to your hotel and changing. This dress was not a good idea. The triumphant feeling of serving looks when you appraised yourself in the mirror was replaced with anxiety. The dress was too short and you were not the same size you were in high school. Thighs you considered pretty and thick in the mirror just an hour ago seemed massive and you tugged at the deep plunge of the neckline without a bra.

You sighed as you tried to center yourself. You told yourself that you were growing out of negative self talk, especially in the last seven years since your divorce. You were reminded of your promise to never care about the, male gaze again. It just wasn’t worth it.

But you hadn’t been under Jacob Syverson’s gaze in 20 years.

——

Sy posted up at the bar, blue eyes taking in the scene of his former classmates reuniting. He downed his two fingers of Maker’s Mark and asked for another. His heart rate was up as he scanned the room, eyes going back to the door again and again. He was waiting for you. No use in denying it to himself. He wanted to see you again, and more. It was his one objective. An objective he was unsure of attaining.

He was more nervous about being in a hotel ballroom tonight than in Afghanistan.

Christ, he felt like that 17 year old kid again who first laid eyes on you.

——-

August, 2003

Sy knew what he wanted the moment he saw your face.

You stopped the world when you first stepped into his British Literature class the first day of senior year. He was seated and talking with his best friend and wide receiver, Jeremy Atkins, when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He let the conversation about which route they should run at the scrimmage that afternoon slip as his eyes lighted on your face. You were anxious, but trying not to let it show. Those eyes held fire, and your lips…

…well your lips besides being everything he dreamt of, he just knew the words that came out of your lips would light someone up as well. He could tell you had spirit by the way you carried yourself.

Your hair was wild and shoulder length, bangs swept aside for vision, and you couldn’t hide that body under your baggy clothes. He lasered in on the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath your graphic tee, and power that the strip of skin between your shirt and your baggy jeans was not lost on him. He was a 17 year old male, after all.

Sy shifted in his seat as he leaned back and grinned to himself when you scanned the room, glaring at anyone who looked askance. He tapped his pencil on the desk to try to get your attention but you just ignored him as the group of seatless students surrounding you dwindled. You were left alone under the scrutiny of soulless cretins, otherwise known as teenagers.

You gave each one brazen enough to stare at you a side eye, but you stopped when you finally noticed Sy smirking at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to choke on a chuckle.

Becca Ferguson, Sy’s girlfriend, kicked him in the leg after noticing that not only Sy, but Jeremy were openly staring at you. Shit, he’d forgotten about her. He caught the way her eyes cut over to you, and he knew what came next. He tried to distract her with a flip of the shelf of his blown out curls and a smile, something that had worked many times before.

But you were a threat to Becca now; she had to do something about you.

You raised your head high as you walked to the seat that Mrs.Beatty pointed out. You passed down the aisle between Sy and Becca, who scrunched up her face as if she smelled something bad. Sy got a whiff of you and you smelled divine, like that Sweet Pea bath gel stuff that he played off sniffing when he went to the mall with Becca.

His head turned.

Becca glared at him and he turned toward the front of the room, where the teacher had started to pass out the syllabus.

—--

June 2024

Just like lunch on the first day of school at Central High all those years ago, Carla and Tiffani engulfed you and took you under their wings when you walked into the Marriott, the venue for your reunion. They crowed over you; your hair, your dress, your glow. You forgot any anxiety that you were feeling about how you looked. These were your best friends. Your Bubbles and Blossom.

These women filled the gaping place in your heart torn open from attending 10 different schools from K-12, following your mother’s loves and whims when she didn’t take her meds, or when she self-medicated. They were your soul sisters. And you still kept in touch even though distance separated you.

Carla had that grin on her face while Tiffani expressed her excitement that you were in town.

“Girl! I am so glad that you made it!”

Tiffani was the gentle one.

“Yeah, I owe Tiff a c-note, because I was sure you’d chicken out.”

Carla laughed at you while you scowled at her.

Tiffani tskd at her bestie, and took your arm while Carla took the other and they ushered you through the doors of the ballroom.

“Well, she has a new job in town and everything, she had to come.”

“Yeah, she had to come to town, but coming tonight is a wholeeee different story.”

You laughed.

“I don’t have the job yet, Tiff. Interview is Monday. And why wouldn’t I come tonight?”

The familiar banter was back, as if 20 years was no matter at all between you and your girls.

You heard someone clear their throat behind you and Carla peered over her shoulder and then smirked at you. She jerked her head back.

“Because of that.”

You looked over your shoulder, smiling right before your stomach dropped.

There was Jake Syverson, all grown up, and staring at you as if all this time hadn’t happened.

—-

Sy saw you enter the ballroom and he almost wanted to run away. Being in country on a dangerous mission was nothing compared to the thought of actually facing you again.

At least he was trained for war.

Love was another thing entirely.

He took a deep breath as he focused on you. You had always been beautiful, but now, as a grown woman, you were absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was sleek and your face was perfectly beat with makeup that accentuated your natural beauty. You were glowing and that smile was…everything.

As he leaned on the bar and scanned the rest of your body in that dress, he took another drink. Sy indeed felt 18 again, because his body was reacting as if he were a randy teenager. Your body was everything he remembered, and more. More of everything he remembered loving and lusting over 20 years ago.

“Damn.”

He said it out loud and the bartender replied.

“Agreed, Brother.”

Sy looked at the young man admiring you who couldn’t be over 25, and threw down some money.

“Watch it, kid.”

That little bit of jealousy fueled Sy’s bravado, and he found the courage to step to you.

—--

You froze like a deer in headlights.

Over the years, you imagined seeing him again, in all different kinds of scenario, and you thought you could handle it, but the reality of the situation just about knocked you on your ass. Time stopped as you stared at him.

Sy was more handsome with age, if that was possible. His eyes, his shoulders, his hair! His gorgeous curls were short and a shock of hair was growing from his chin. Your body reacted as your traitorous brain instantly thought of how his beard would feel on certain parts of your body. He looked good in a suit, but he was massive. You had on heels, but Sy seemed bigger than you remembered. He wasn’t the lithe high school quarterback you remembered.

You unconsciously walked closer.

He was taller.

But he was also huge: bigger muscles, thicker limbs; his body seemed more powerful all the way around.

Heaven help you.

And the way he was looking at you as if he still owned you, as if all everything that happened hadn’t happened. As if all these years…

Your arms went out to Carla and Tiff beside you for some support, but they were gone, and you stumbled a bit. Sy grabbed your arm quickly as you laughed to play it off.

“Hey Buttercup. You good?”

Goodness, his voice!

How could that damn drawl be deeper and sexier than you remembered? And his touch on your skin felt familiar, yet strange, like a touch from a dream. What was happening to you?

“I need a drink.”

Sy was silent for a bit as you got your drink and had a sip. The way you licked your lips made him want to fall to his knees and beg.

—--

May 2004

“Please, please, please Buttercup. Just let me put the tip in. I promise I won’t move. It wouldn’t really be doing it…”

Sy was whispering in your ear and you were mute, waiting to hear more as your pussy pulsed in your jeans, the grind against his crotch delicious torture.

“I dream about it, Buttercup. I feel you, Baby. So fucking wet for me. I just know that it would feel so, so so good. I’d slip right in.”

It was midnight on your 18th birthday and you were in the Bronco, letting Sy feel you up under your panties for the first time. Your head was thrown back and your eyes rolled at how good it felt. You didn’t know how you would hold out. But it was just three weeks until Prom.

You were sat on his lap and he had one hand down your jeans and one up your shirt.

He pistoned his hips up, causing your back to arch against his chest. You could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.. Sy’s voice lowered to a whisper.

“‘M Gonna taste my fingers, Buttercup. Watch.”

You opened your eyes as Sy pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. You whined when he closed his eyes and moaned. You throbbed. It had never been like this before.

“You are so delicious… Need more…”

Sy pushed his hand back down into your pants to get you to do that arch again. It sent him feral to see that for some reason.

His fingers found the source and circled it, causing your body to tense up and your fingers to grab his arms.

“Oh my god! Sy!”

You’d come close to this feeling before just grinding with him on the back seat, but this was incomparable.

Your fingernails sunk into his forearms, creating marks for sure. This fueled him even more as he continued his ministrations at your core. He toyed beneath your bra and your mouth opened to seek oxygen as the feeling in your belly continued to tune you to a fever pitch.

“Yes…. Baby….. fuck… You gonna cum on my lap?”

“Hunnnh, hunnh, hunnnh!”

“You’re so fucking hot… I’m about to jizz in my pants… cum for me, Baby…”

Sy grinded against your bottom, and you stiffened while the world’s most wonderful feeling washed over you. You cried out as Sy pinched your nipple and you came, feeling as if the Bronco was caught up in the Wizard of Oz Twister. The world was certainly now in color when you could open your eyes.

Sy held you, watching your beautiful face as you pouted and came back to earth. When you did, your smile was worth all the gold in the world to him. He kissed your temple and slipped his hand out of your pants, sucking your juices off of them again.

You were about to jump him, but Sy interrupted your thought.

“Now that you’ve got a preview of Prom night, let’s get you home, Buttercup. Gotta get your beauty sleep for the festivities later on tonight.”

—-

Sy cleared his throat after staring at you silently for a solid three minutes. The way you licked your lips clean and focused on him was some powerful magic.

“So. How have you been, Sy? How is the family?”

You tried to keep any bitterness out of your voice. The fact that Becca Spurgeon ruined your prom (and your relationship with Sy) by announcing that she was pregnant with Sy’s baby after she was crowned Prom Queen and he Prom King was something you’d tried to get over for 20 years.

Sy straightened up and looked over your shoulder. You glanced in that direction to see Carla and Tiffani hovering protectively.

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

——

If you like it, hit Reblog!

Next part here.

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tarotbydelilah444 · 1 year ago

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pac: describing the type of baddie you are

pile one • 🎀

𐙚 first and foremost, you are absolutely and drop-dead gorgeous. You have unique features, or you could be from a different country, specifically Africa, or Europe (the UK… maybe). Some of you could be of mixed heritage, or you have a beautiful accent that people absolutely adore.

𐙚 you have a great and toned physique to match that face card of yours. Some of you could be or could have been an athlete, or you spend a lot of time working out and maintaining your figure to stay snatched to the gods.

𐙚 some of you could be an influencer or you are very popular in your community. Many people are inspired by you, yet there are some people that are envious and see you as competition. You could attract a lot of evil eye and jealously from haters and people that want to imitate and obtain what you’ve been able to achieve (followers, beauty, and/or success), but aren’t successful, so they stay watching and big mad at you. Muahhh… no access 💋.

𐙚 you are a natural seducer and a flirt. You have this sultriness and confidence that many people respect and find attractive. You have the ability to lure people in with your beauty and charm to get what you want, then become detached and cold when you get what you desire, which is why many people are stuck on you, even when you have disappeared from their lives.

𐙚 it’s hard to impress you and you lose interest pretty fast, if you aren’t constantly stimulated. It’s gives… okay, so what’s next? People tend to have to put in a lot of effort to get your attention and maintain it, or you are very quick to ghost and find something new and more exciting.

𐙚 finally, you are a forced to be reckoned with. You are someone that is well-respected and level headed for the most part, but you are just as quick to go 0-100 real quick, if someone disrespects or slight you in anyway and will not give two f*cks afterwards then continue to protect your peace, like nothing ever happened.

channeled song

pile two • 💗

𐙚 you are hardworking and an overachiever. You are someone that goes after their dreams and doesn’t stop until they reach their goals. You tend to be successful in whatever you choose to go after because you always stay focus on the end goal, without getting distracted. Even when things seem uncertain or challenges arise, you have an unwavering faith to keep going until you get what you desire.

𐙚 you are a very intelligent and articulate individual, and always open and ready to learn something new, whether if your learning something new through someone else, or learning and teaching yourself. For some, you could be bilingual or trilingual, so you could be fluent Italian, French, and/ or Arabic.

𐙚 for some, you are a wonderful and creative writer, or you are very good with words. You also have a beautiful voice.

𐙚 your resilience is very admirable. You have the ability to overcome any challenges and obstacles that may come in your path and come up with a solution how to solve any problem that your may encounter. For some, you could want to pursue a career in the medical field, and your resilient and determined spirit will benefit you in the end, so keep up the good work.

𐙚 you are very mysterious and likely an introverted person. You are perfectly okay with being alone and in your own space. This could be because you might be a little shy and insecure. Your vibe/energy favors Bubbles 🫧 from the PowerPuff Girls, or you have a shy cute nerdy vibe to you, yet underneath that reserved exterior, you are an absolute sweet heart, kind, and loving to those who know you which makes you extremely likable and appealing to others. You have a special way of making people feel invited, heard, and seen with your sweet and caring demeanor. You likely wear your heart on your sleeve and often rely on your heart and emotions to guide you, but you need to be better at not always leading with your feelings and emotions and try learning when to be logical and emotional. I think you don’t know how much you are loved by others. You are being encouraged to step out of your shell and allow yourself to show up and make your mark on the world. You are encouraged to speak up more and put yourself out there. The world is your oyster.

channeled song

pile 3 • 💅🏾

𐙚 this is my rich b*tch energy pile. Your energy /vibe reminds me of the rapper, Saweetie. You are very extroverted and have a very contagious and lively personality that lights up a room and immediately draws people to you. You are very funny and are always cracking jokes, you don’t take yourself or life too seriously and you always have a smile on your face. You are extremely outgoing and pretty much the life of the party.

𐙚 for some, you are a socialite or very influential and well-known in the world or in your line of work. You are always open to meeting and befriending people any chance you get. Some of you could be an entrepreneur, or you have aspirations to create something of your own. You are independent and self-sufficient, you don’t rely on no one to provide for you. You are very passionate and driven when it comes to your goals, dreams, and desires and wont stop until you get everything you want and deserve. Literally self-made and meant to be a boss.

𐙚 you are very outspoken and intelligent. You are not afraid to speak your mind and stand up for yourself and others, if necessary. People tend to underestimate you and what you are capable of because they think you are just a stereotypical “pretty girl” yet, little do they know that you have beauty and brains and you aren’t afraid to show what you know.

𐙚 bougie queens 👑 you prefer the more finer and refined things in life. You look and smell rich and expensive. For some you are actually wealthy and privileged. You take especially good care of yourself any chance that you get. Not the type of woman to accept any thing less than what you deserve because you know and understand your worth and value, then you add tax. You are poised, well-mannered, confident, and unattainable to those that instantly fall head over heels for you.

𐙚 you likely attract a lot of unnecessary hate from people, specifically people that are jealous of yo. You could have people that have tried to do black magic (hexes, curses, evil eye) or send negativity your way to throw you off course and to see fall from grace, but they always fail and their attempts backfire in the worse way. The divine and your spiritual team do not play about you and will be quick to slide, if anyone dares to harm you. People may mess with you a lot because you come off very peaceful and you have a youthful spirit or appearance, so they perceive you as gullible and an easy target. Your presence and essence also intimidates lots of triggered and unhealed people as well.

channeled song

#tarot #pac reading #astrology #pick a card tarot #channeled message #tarotbydelilah444 #channeled messages #tarotblr #channeled song #spirituality #Spotify

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astrodice · 4 months ago

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PAC: Accept, Embrace, Let go

In this PAC we will look into what you need to accept, embrace and let go. Pick one of powerpuff girls using your intuition.

🌷 take what resonates and leave what doesn't. excuse my grammar/spelling mistakes if there's any.

Pile 1

For people who pick this pile, you need to accept that learning new skill or mastering skill you already have takes time. The process of learning is not linear, there will be mistakes and failures, but it doesn't mean that you're unable to do it. Take your time and move steady.

What you should embrace is following 'traditional' rules. If you're struggling with something it's better to seek mentorship. Maybe establishing some of routine will benefit you.

And what you need to let go is not appreciating yourself and all the work you've done. Perhaps you can't see the progress you make, so you start blaming yourself for not doing enough. But you're making progress, it's just hard for you to see it. Some of you set unrealistic goals for yourself and then fail to reach them.

(also, if you're trying to get into modelling this pile is definitely for you. I got model, style and diet as key words for this pile)

Pile 2

You have to accept that some things/people are not meant to stay in your life forever, and some of them might even be harmful. Everything that makes you feel exhausted mentally and physically will not make you happy, it will only turn you into someone better, someone who can't find balance in life and can't deal with their emotions.

Therefore, you should embrace change. Listen to your intuition, because you might have been ignoring it lately. Maybe you're trying to rationalise everything when you really should follow you heart. Embrace going with the flow and don't try to push yourself into doing something that makes you feel off.

Let go of self-limitations and resistance to change. You have to be open to new opportunities and trying new things. There is also a highlight on the way your mental health affects you physical health, so please take care of yourself.

(maybe diy projects, writing and walking in forest could be beneficial for you)

Pile 3

I feel like this pile is for people who are into manifesting. Accept that you're actually powerful enough to manifest thing in your reality. Don't count yourself and don't look for "how to manifest", "manifestation methods", etc. You don't need people telling you how to manifest.

Embrace being patient. You will see the result of your manifestation, you just have to wait and try not to second guess yourself or your skills.

You need to let go of disappointment that you didn't get your results. If your manifestations do not come true its only because you give up in them.

(this pile is especially true for people who are trying to manifest money or career opportunities)

#tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a card #pac reading #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture

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gingerteafairy · 1 month ago

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𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

𝟯. 𝗴𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿

You get into a dangerous game to win Dave's forgiveness. You'd do it all over again if you needed to.

tags n warnings: dave lizewski x fem!reader, fluff, hyperfeminine!reader, language, suggestive, violence, dangerous challenges. word count: 6.7k masterlist part one part two

yaaay this is the final chapter. i really enjoyed writing this one, like omg +20k words send heeeelp. thank you to @ikkyfics and @marchsfreakshow you guys are amazing xoxo

After a complicated weekend spent devising plans over the phone, you and your friends had finally settled on one that seemed... acceptable. Well, not entirely, considering the way you looked—far from the radiant expressions of your friends, who seemed ready to take on the world, even on a Monday.

"Ready for battle, girls?" Erika asked, striking an exaggerated superhero pose, fists clenched, chest puffed out.

"Yes, Buttercup!" Katie responded with a playful smirk, executing an overly dramatic bow, arms sweeping to the side while she kept her head lowered.

"But seriously... we're actually going to school like this?" You frowned, placing a hand on your hip and tugging at your Powerpuff Girls costume. "Because, I mean… this is kind of embarrassing."

"We're not going to school. We're going to war," Erika countered, folding her arms with unwavering confidence, shoulders squared. "And you, Blossom, are our fearless leader."

"You're not chickening out now, are you?" Katie arched an eyebrow, her expression teasing but challenging. She crossed her arms, waiting for your answer. "You really wanna give up on Dave?"

"No." Your voice was firm, your jaw tightening as you clenched your fists. Taking a determined step forward, you braced yourself for whatever lay ahead.

"Then let's go, Powerpuff Girls. Time to shine!" Erika declared, swinging open the car door with dramatic flair, making a grand gesture for you and Katie to step out.

As you entered the school, the stares caught you off guard. Some students gawked in shock, others were visibly amused, while a few had expressions too difficult to read. On a glimpse, you saw someone sending your video at the parties. Everyone saw it, you were sure. But you kept your head high, your stance unwavering. The trio made their way to the girls' bathroom, ensuring it was empty before gathering around.

"Alright, here's the plan," Erika said, pulling a folded piece of paper from her bag, her voice low but firm. "Step one: we go to class like normal. Dave's probably going to avoid us, so don't say anything to make things worse."

"Understood, Buttercup," Katie chirped, clapping her hands together. You gave a determined nod in response.

"Step two: in the middle of class, I—Buttercup—will get up and ask to go to the bathroom." Erika gestured with her hands as she spoke, her movements sharp and precise. "I'll find Jeremy, ask to talk to his dad, and get the key. When that happens, Bubbles will ask to be excused."

"Professor, I have horrible cramps!" Katie whined in a pitiful voice, placing a hand on your stomach and hunching over slightly for dramatic effect.

"Then, our Blossom will say she needs to help her poor, suffering friend," Erika concluded the first part of the plan, folding the paper neatly before slipping it back into her bag. "Phase two is trickier, but I’ve already talked to a few people about it."

"What people?" You raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Not important right now," Erika dismissed the question quickly, waving it off. "Katie will suggest that everyone from class should head to the theater club for a meeting. And once the teacher is there… boom! Our Buttercup will work her magic."

"I don’t know, Erika," you murmured, scrunching your nose as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "What if I mess it up?"

"You won’t," Erika stated with unwavering certainty, running a hand through her hair as the school bell rang, cutting the conversation short. "Now, let’s go. We’ve got classes to attend."

"I still don’t know how you managed to come up with all this," you said, shaking your head as you glanced at the plan again.

"I had help," Erika replied with a cryptic smirk, eyes glinting with mischief.

When you entered the classroom, as expected, Dave couldn’t even look at you. His gaze darted away the moment you passed by him, as if even acknowledging your presence was too much to bear. Every small movement of his felt like a dagger to your heart. But you didn’t let it show. You kept your posture straight, head held high, pushing forward with the plan as if nothing was wrong.

When the teacher walked in, his sharp eyes immediately landed on the three of you, scanning your outfits with an authoritative glare.

"Young ladies. Are we celebrating Halloween today?" he asked, his tone strict, making your stomach tighten with anxiety. The tension in the air spiked.

"It’s for the school’s video project, sir," Katie answered quickly, raising her hand with a convincingly bright smile. "We were rehearsing and didn’t have time to change."

"Ah, I see," he said with a simple shrug, seemingly uninterested as he turned to the board.

Your eyes flickered toward Dave—and to your surprise, he was already looking at you. A sharp pang of hope shot through your chest, your heartbeat quickening. But before you could react, he looked away, his fingers tightening around his pen as he hunched over his notebook, his expression unreadable.

You bit your lip, forcing back the sting of tears that threatened to surface. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the clock. Three hours until the plan was set into motion. You needed to concentrate on the lesson.

But you couldn’t.

Your gaze kept drifting back to Dave, as if drawn by some invisible force. And with every glance, memories flooded in, relentless and overwhelming. Squirrels, baseball bats, cereal, white shirts, moonlight, glasses… even the ridiculous green of his costume. Everything reminded you of him. Every small, insignificant thing now carried a weight you never realized before.

Dave was still looking at you from across the room. Your eyes met again. He inhaled deeply, blinking, pressing his lips together in that familiar way he always did when he was anxious. Since when had you started noticing these things? When did every tiny habit of his become so significant?

Or maybe, deep down, in the very core of your being, you had always known you loved him.

Since when had you started paying attention to the way he adjusted his glasses during group projects? Noticing which sneakers he wore during gym class? Realizing how awkward he looked during philosophy debates, always standing off to the side when the arguments got heated?

A slow, aching pain spread through your chest.

What if things had been different?

What if you had met Dave before this stupid bet? What if you had talked to him more that day he borrowed your pencil? What if you had helped him with that damn literature assignment when he had no idea what to say about The Scarlet Letter? What if you had joined the school newspaper with him?

What if…?

But all of it was pointless. None of it would change reality. Two hours and thirty minutes remained until the plan was set in motion.

You raised your hand, and Erika and Katie’s eyes immediately locked onto yours—wide, alarmed, questioning.

"Professor, I need to go to the bathroom," you announced, your voice louder than intended, unintentionally drawing the entire class’s attention—including Dave’s. Your face flushed with heat, but you held your ground, keeping your gaze steady.

"Sure, go ahead," the teacher muttered, barely glancing at you before returning to his notes.

"I’ll go with her," Erika interjected swiftly, rising to her feet alongside you. "It’s, uh… that feminine issue, sir. Always good to have a friend for support."

"Yeah, professor… really bad cramps," you added, exaggerating your tone as you pressed a hand to your stomach, feigning discomfort.

"Fine, whatever," the teacher grumbled, rolling his eyes and waving a dismissive hand.

"I’m going too," Katie chimed in, pushing back her chair. The teacher merely nodded, barely paying attention anymore.

The three of you hurried toward the restroom. The moment the door shut behind you, Katie was the first to break the silence.

"Have you lost your mind? What happened to the plan?" she blurted out, her expression a mix of exasperation and concern.

"Plan B. I couldn’t wait," you admitted, stepping up to the sink and staring at your reflection. Your face looked distant, almost unrecognizable, but there was no turning back now.

"Erika, can you reach Jeremy?" you asked, adrenaline surging through your veins as you fidgeted anxiously with your fingers.

"Already calling him," Erika responded, pressing her phone to her ear while her sharp eyes scanned the restroom, ever watchful.

"Katie, did you get the package?" you inquired, your breath coming fast as you fought to steady yourself.

"Actually, the guy just texted me—he’s at the front entrance, been there for five minutes," Katie informed you, glancing at her screen with a relieved smile.

"Perfect. We have everything we need," you declared, taking a deep breath as your heart pounded against your ribs. "Let’s do this."

The three of you clasped hands, raising them in the air—a silent pact of strength and determination. Erika and Katie exited first, slipping into their designated positions. You lingered for a moment, staring at yourself in the mirror.

It was now or never.

Straightening your bow and adjusting your costume, you inhaled deeply before stepping out of the restroom and heading toward the theater room.

"Attention, senior class A. Attention."Erika’s voice rang through the school’s PA system, her tone firm and commanding. Every head in the room turned."There will be a mandatory meeting in the theater room. Attendance is crucial. This will directly impact your final grade."

The door burst open, and Katie stormed in, carrying a massive box in her arms. She placed it in front of you with a determined thud. Instinctively, you began adjusting the table on the stage, but your mind was a whirlwind. You couldn’t focus.

"They're coming!" Erika shouted, yanking the curtain aside before retreating backstage with you.

Students started filing in, taking their seats. Peeking through the curtain, you spotted Dave arriving with his friends, choosing a seat farther back—almost as if he wanted to be as far away from everything as possible. But your gaze never left him. Your eyes locked onto his every move, and each subtle gesture of his felt like a sledgehammer to your chest.

"Oh my God, I’m so nervous," you mumbled, pulling the curtain shut and turning to your friends. Your entire body was trembling with anxiety.

"Breathe with me. One, two…" Katie encouraged, fanning cool air toward you in an attempt to calm your nerves.

"It’s going to work," Erika assured, grasping your hand and grounding you with a reassuring squeeze. "Remember, if you feel like throwing up, just ring the little bell."

"Okay," you whispered, your palms slick with cold sweat.

Erika flashed one last comforting smile before pulling the curtains open, allowing Katie to step forward, microphone in hand. The moment had arrived, and your heart was on the verge of bursting.

"Good morning, world!" Erika declared with infectious enthusiasm, her voice ringing through the auditorium.

"Good morning, Bubbles!" The crowd of students roared in response, clapping and cheering as if they were at a concert.

"Today is a very special day for all of us," Erika continued, grinning mischievously. "And I’d like to introduce the person behind this brilliant idea. Let’s hear it for… Blossom!"

Your breath hitched as a wave of heat rushed to your head. Panic threatened to overtake you, but you forced a smile and stepped onto the stage. You tried to exude confidence, walking as steadily as possible, but every muscle in your body was stiff with nerves.

You waved at the audience, their applause deafening. Struggling to tune out the overwhelming rush of anxiety, you made your way toward Katie, who pulled you into a tight embrace before you sank into the chair at the stage’s center.The clapping still echoed through the room, but your body felt frozen in place.

"I’m leaving," you overheard Dave mutter under his breath, shifting in his seat.

"Sit down and shut up," Marty snapped, gripping Dave’s arm and yanking him back into place with a warning glare. Dave averted his eyes, glancing at Todd instead—who looked just as tense as he did.

"Better stay put," Todd murmured, his voice barely audible as he turned his attention back to the stage.

"Our little Blossom seems a bit quiet today," Erika observed, tilting the microphone toward you, fueling the already thick tension.

"No!" the crowd shouted back in unison, clearly engaged in the act.

"That’s because… drumroll, please…" she teased, drawing out the suspense as a deep rumbling sound filled the stage. Your heart pounded in sync with the rhythmic thundering of the drums, the vibrations shaking you from the inside out. "She’s about to attempt to break Joey Chestnut’s world record by eating 77 hot dogs in 10 minutes!"

A wave of reactions swept through the crowd—shouts, laughter, gasps, even a few people squeezing their eyes shut in secondhand anxiety.

But amidst the chaos, your focus remained fixed on Dave.He was completely still, his mouth slightly open, his wide eyes locked onto you as if trying to decipher every single one of your movements.

"If she can't do it, she'll ring this little bell, and we'll move on to another challenge, okay?" Erika continued, keeping the energy high.

"Yes!" the audience roared in unison, their claps still echoing in your ears.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the growing discomfort. Grabbing the first hot dog, you took a quick bite without thinking. Strangely, the taste was good—better than you'd expected. It had been a while since you'd truly enjoyed food, and for a brief second, you lost yourself in the moment.

Then came the second, then the third. A cup of water was swiftly placed in front of you, and you gulped it down, the icy liquid helping it all go down.

By the sixth hot dog, though, the struggle began. Your stomach was fighting back, twisting in protest. But you couldn’t stop now.

"This competition is getting insane! And we’re only three minutes in!" Katie shouted, hyping up the crowd even more. She moved closer to you, her eyes laced with concern. "Babe, if you’re not okay, just stop, alright?"

You blinked rapidly, your stomach flipping, but you swallowed hard and answered with forced determination. "No."

You reached for the seventh hot dog, chewing with increasing difficulty. Your stomach felt tight, and the once-lively crowd had gone silent, watching your every move. Each bite stretched into eternity. Finally, when you managed to swallow it down, the entire room erupted into applause.

"Dude, this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen," one of the guys near Todd muttered, pulling out his camera to record.

"Yeah," Todd replied, laughing awkwardly—but his eyes were locked on Dave, who looked like he was literally feeling your pain. "Dude, are you okay?"

Dave didn’t answer. He just stared, his jaw clenched, his entire body tense with discomfort.

You grabbed the eighth hot dog, but as soon as you took a bite, a violent wave of nausea surged through you. Your stomach had reached its limit. Without hesitation, you rang the bell, unable to take another bite.

"Our pretty Blossom deserves a round of applause, everyone!" Katie exclaimed, and the audience stood up, clapping enthusiastically.

You smiled, lifting a hand to your stomach and taking the microphone. "These applause go to Dave Lizewski, who can eat 14 hot dogs without even complaining. I want to be like him when i grow up, guys!" You declared, handing the microphone back to Katie.

"Hell yeah! That's right!" Todd shouted, getting to his feet and clapping for Dave. The crowd followed suit, and Dave shrank back in his seat, clearly embarrassed. His hands gripped the edge of the chair, and his shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself invisible.

"Our next challenge is called 'Say as many facts as you can in under a minute'," Katie announced, cutting through the applause. The energy in the room was at a fever pitch, but you could feel the weight of every eye on you.

Erika stepped forward, stopwatch in hand, her face a mix of excitement and nervous tension. You stood still on the stage, your mind racing as you tried to focus. Every second seemed to stretch, and the audience, full of anticipation, began to blur in the background. Only the sound of your heartbeat remained.

"One, two, three..." Erika said slowly, her finger hovering over the stopwatch, building palpable tension in the air. She paused dramatically before announcing, "Go!"

You didn't have a moment to think. The words started tumbling out in a rush, almost like your body had switched to autopilot, desperately trying to meet the challenge. "Blood vessels could circle the Earth twice; owls have three eyelids per eye; cows can't go down stairs; giraffes have no vocal cords; and all the hot dogs Americans eat in one year, if lined up, would form a 'bridge' twice the distance between Earth and the Moon; the record for eating cockroaches is 36; there are more cars than people in Los Angeles; a violin gets better with time, and..."

You stopped to catch your breath, but there was hardly any time. The clock was ticking, and the room had fallen completely silent, every eye fixed on you, waiting to see how far you'd go. "A person can fall in love in a fifth of a second."

The audience held their breath for a split second before erupting into a storm of clapping and cheering. "And time’s up!" Erika called, stopping the timer.

The roar of the crowd seemed to fill the entire room, but amidst it all, it was Dave’s gaze that disarmed you. He was still there, seated, his face blank, offering nothing that suggested a genuine reaction to what you had just done. His eyes, normally so bright, seemed distant—like he was physically present but mentally miles away. The contrast between the electrifying energy of the crowd and the coldness in his stare was like a silent punch to the gut. Your heart was still pounding, but the feeling of invisibility under his gaze made the adrenaline rush drain away almost immediately.

"Excuse me, Erika," you grabbed the microphone, your hands slightly trembling, as you walked to the front of the stage. The entire audience seemed to be holding their breath, the silence heavy in the air. It felt like everyone knew something big was about to be revealed.

"I know everyone here saw my video from Spike’s party..." you started, and the sound of your own voice made your legs shake even more. The microphone flickered briefly, and for a split second, it felt like the world had frozen. But then, suddenly, Dave leaned forward. That simple movement was the push you needed to keep going. He was watching, and that gave you the courage to press on.

"I’m gonna explain how everything happened," you continued, your breath coming faster now, but a renewed sense of determination building within you. "Started when my friends and I were playing a dumb game, you know the one—hear me out," you chuckled, trying to ease the tension. "Now it sounds so stupid saying it out loud."

The crowd laughed too, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of compassion or if, somehow, everyone had experienced something similar. Their laughter was a little reassuring, but you took another step forward, your thoughts racing as you tried to organize what came next.

"I said my choice was Dave," you confessed, and a heavy silence fell over the auditorium. With every word, the weight of your revelation seemed to deepen, but something inside you told you to keep going. "It wouldn’t be complicated; I already thought he was cute. That’s when we made a bet that I’d make him fall for me."

The silence now was almost deafening. A wave of murmurs spread, and you could feel the buzz of reactions in the air, but you didn’t back down. Not anymore.

"But it went wrong," you laughed, lowering your head in momentary embarrassment, but then lifting it again with unexpected strength. Your eyes searched for Dave in the crowd, feeling the impact of each second that passed. "Remember that fact I mentioned about how a human can fall in love in a fifth of a second? I think I felt that the first time I talked to you, Dave. And that’s when I knew. I lost the damn bet. Because I fell in love with you, Dave Lizewski."

The audience erupted into applause, some cheering, but the loudest sound was Erika’s voice, as she grabbed the microphone with excitement. "Wooohooo!" she shouted, her enthusiasm almost like a release for the tension you had built. She hugged Katie, and you, a mix of nervousness and happiness, just laughed, trying to process the moment.

"I LOVE YOU, DAVE LIZEWSKI!" you shouted into the microphone, emotion flooding every word. You didn’t know what else to say, you just needed him to know. But the instant the microphone hit the floor, you looked to the audience. The cheers and clapping were still echoing, but a cold wave of realization ran down your spine. Dave was no longer there. He had stood up and was walking out of the auditorium.

The shock was instantaneous, but Erika didn’t waste a moment. "Go!" she yelled, her voice full of urgency and encouragement. The pressure was too much to resist, and without thinking twice, you ran for the door, your feet pounding as you made your way across the room. He was already in the hallway, far ahead, but not so far that you couldn’t catch up.

"Dave, wait!" you called out, the urgency in your voice quickening your pace, but he was already heading toward the parking lot, walking firmly. Your heart raced as you closed the gap, catching up to him, breathless. "Finally… I made it."

"What the fuck was that?" Dave exploded, turning toward you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sharpness in his voice. He was still angry.

"I did it for you, Dave!" You shot back, your own voice full of raw emotion, a storm of feelings overtaking your body.

"You shouldn't have done that! It was crazy! You could've thrown up, and you would’ve embarrassed yourself!"

"I’d do it all over again for you," you shouted, your voice cracking as your hands clenched into fists. "I don’t care about popularity or what anyone says about me, Dave."

"But I didn’t ask for any of this," he snapped, stepping closer.

"If I hadn’t taken action, who would’ve, Dave?" you cried, your voice breaking.

"I would’ve," he responded sharply. Before you could catch your breath, your thoughts were swept away by the kiss that Dave pressed on you. He pulled you to him with such intensity that you barely had time to adjust. His lips found yours in a deep, urgent kiss, the warmth and relief flooding your body.

You melted into him, running your fingers through his curls, the touch you had longed for. It was what you needed to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. When you finally pulled away, you were smiling, the moment shining brighter, everything feeling perfect… until suddenly.

Boom. The vomit hit without warning. You couldn't stop it, and in an instant, you were spraying hot dog everywhere—including all over Dave’s clothes.

“Fuck! Damn hot dog!" you cursed, still trying to control what seemed like an endless wave of nausea. You hunched over, feeling mortified but unable to stop.

"Jesus Christ," Dave muttered, stepping closer and holding your hair back as you continued to puke. "Shit. What… why’d you do that?"

You coughed, trying to compose yourself, standing up and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "I… I did it…," you took a deep breath, the shame consuming you. "I did it so you’d forgive me."

"But I already forgave you," he replied, grabbing a bottle from his bag so you could rinse your mouth. But as you went to use it, the water spilled all over his face.

"Then why didn’t you say anything?" you asked, your eyes wide with disbelief. The anger was still there, but now there was confusion mixed in.

Dave wiped his face with his shirt, his eyes meeting yours. "I was going to tell you when class was over," he explained, throwing his hands up as if the situation was more absurd than it already was. "But you’re always in such a rush, you want everything done your way. Couldn’t you wait a few more hours? Why did you have to eat seven hot dogs in front of everyone? People were recording! What was the point of that?"

You stood there, breathless from the mix of emotions, but then, suddenly, you started laughing. You caught yourself, and before you knew it, Dave was laughing too, as if your laughter was contagious.

"Why are you laughing?" you asked, laughing even harder, not sure if it was relief, anger, or pure surprise.

"I don’t know, why are you laughing?" Dave shot back, laughing louder now.

"This is all just… ridiculous," you said, shaking your head, now feeling much calmer. The laughter between the two of you had broken the tension, and things felt lighter. "Come on, let’s get out of here."

"Okay, but what about class?" he asked, still grinning, though there was a touch of seriousness in his voice.

"This all happened, and you’re worried about class, dude?" Todd exclaimed from behind you, and you realized you weren’t alone anymore. Marty, Erika, and Katie were all standing there, watching the little show unfold.

"I just don’t know trig," Dave muttered under his breath, confessing his "crime" with a nervous smile.

"You said you were good at math, Lizewski," you raised an eyebrow, challenging him with a look. He gave you a shy smile, trying to avoid your gaze.

"Oopsie," he joked, making everyone around you groan, but the fun in the air was undeniable.

"Had to be Dave Lizewski messing up our plan, huh babe?" Marty asked Erika, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Babe?" Everyone gasped in unison, their eyes wide as they stared at the two of them holding hands.

"That was my backup for the plan," she grinned proudly, ruffling Marty’s hair.

"Man, when you told me to keep quiet earlier…" Dave frowned, and Marty nodded sagely. "No way."

"Smooth as a ninja," Marty whispered, striking a combat stance with exaggerated seriousness.

"But hold on, Dave. Did you lie about not knowing math?" You brought up the issue amidst the chaos.

"You made a bet with me, we’re square," he shot back, shrugging nonchalantly. "Oh, and just so you know, I want half of the wager that was applied to me. Historical reparations."

"You're impossible, Dave Lizewski," you muttered, but the anger didn’t last long. Laughter bubbled up inside you once again. "You can have whatever you want, Dave... I don't even know how to say no to you."

Before you could say another word, Dave caught you completely off guard. In one swift move, he lifted you off the ground with ease and carried you toward his car. "Dave!" you squealed, half laughing, half protesting as he effortlessly whisked you away.

"Unlock the car," he commanded with an unexpected authority, gently placing you back on your feet as he stopped in front of the car.

"Think you can boss me around?" you shot back, hands on your hips, trying to appear defiant but secretly amused.

"I do," he replied, his mischievous grin widening as he closed the space between you and planted a quick kiss on your lips.

"Dave! I threw up!" you groaned, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck as you instinctively covered your mouth.

"Then just come to my place and brush your teeth there," he replied smoothly, winking provocatively at you. You couldn't help but laugh, despite the lingering awkwardness.

"Where did I get myself into?" you muttered aloud, sliding into the car with a lazy laugh, still trying to shake off the chaotic whirlwind of emotions from the night.

Dave gave you the exact directions to his house, and before long, you arrived. The house was eerily quiet, with no one else around at that early hour, which made everything feel even more intimate. You followed him inside, and he handed you an extra toothbrush he'd grabbed from the storage closet.

"Hey, I need a shower," you beamed, finishing brushing your teeth. Your eyes drifted toward Dave's bedroom door.

"I do too," he responded, his mischievous smile unmistakable. He tossed you a towel. "I just don’t have any women's shampoo."

“How can you not notice i was calling you to take a bath with me?” you spat, giggling at Dave’s surprised reaction. “No, i won’t ask again. Just give me the damn towel.” you laughed, taking the towel from him, feeling a sense of ease settling in the air. "Do you have a shirt I can borrow? I'm stuck in this ridiculous costume."

"I actually liked the costume..." he smirked, his grin widening at the teasing glint in his eyes. You rolled your eyes, grabbing one of Dave’s shirts from the drawer. “What? Cosplays are the dorks' paradise.”

"You’re impossible," you laughed, heading for the bathroom. Things felt lighter now. The day had been surreal, but somehow, it seemed like everything was finally falling into place.

And god, that was the best shower of your life. The hot water poured over your skin like a comforting hug, washing away all the tension of the day. Each drop seemed to melt away any lingering doubts or fears, leaving only a gentle warmth in your chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the steam envelop you, almost as if you were floating in a dream.

After quickly washing, you grabbed the first piece of clothing you found—a shirt of Dave’s. The fabric was soft, a bit too big, and fell over your body like a makeshift dress, reaching the middle of your thighs. His scent still lingered there, a mix of fresh soap and something purely Dave. With bare feet, you walked down the hallway toward his room, finding Dave already lying on the bed, changed into his own clothes, his hands resting on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. He shifted his gaze to you, his eyes tracing the outline of your body in his shirt.

"Wow... you look…" he inhaled deeply, turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand to admire you. "Perfect." That was the word you’d wanted to hear from Dave, a sly smile tugging at your lips as you finally heard it.

"And you just changed clothes?" You raised an eyebrow, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"No, I used my dad’s bathroom to take a shower," he replied, sitting up to get a better look at you.

"I see," you murmured, clicking your tongue and giving your head a small shake, feeling that warm, easy connection between you both grow even stronger.

Without saying another word, you lay down next to him, turning on your side to face him. He did the same, adjusting his body so that your faces were close enough to feel each other's breath. The closeness felt strange, but in a good way, an unexpected intimacy. You could feel each other's breath, a soft exhale that seemed to fill the space between you."This is weird," Dave whispered, a small, mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"I was about to say that," you replied, your mouth opening in surprise, a soft warmth creeping up your cheeks. "But you know what's even weirder?"

"What?" Dave asked, his eyes shining with curiosity as he leaned in a little closer.

"Marty and Erika being together," you said, not able to hide your surprise. He immediately nodded, rolling his eyes, as if it had been obvious the whole time.

"I don't even know how long they've been dating," you continued, trying to process the situation. "Do you think she set up the bet so we'd end up together?"

"No doubt," Dave said, letting out a short laugh. "By now, they've probably got three kids and a house in Hawaii, and we don't even know." He said it with a sideways smile, and you felt a wave of relief at hearing his voice so light. Oh, how you missed that Dave Lizewski humor. It was something that made everything feel more bearable, even the chaos of the situation.

"And their dog probably has some nerdy name," you added, continuing the absurd narrative. "Like Spock or something like this."

"Your sociocultural collection is growing, darling," he responded, pretending to be concerned. "Be careful, soon you'll turn into a nerd." He tapped your forehead with his finger in a playful gesture, as if daring you to follow the path of knowledge.

"Is that so?" You sat up on the bed, getting on your knees, and with a quick motion, grabbed his glasses off his face and put them on yourself, making an exaggerated and playful expression. "Like this?"

"My God, don’t do that to me. I have a heart and hormones, you know," he grunted, getting on his knees and tickling you, forcing you to fall back on the bed, laughing uncontrollably.

"Dave!" You screamed, wriggling around on the bed.

"No, my love. You’re going to take your punishment quietly," he laughed, his hands continuing to torment you as your laughter grew louder.

"What did you just call me?" You gasped in between your laughs, and Dave stopped, suddenly flustered, a blush creeping up his neck.

"My love..." he repeated, smiling sheepishly.

You sat up again, placing his glasses on the bedside table before gently cupping his face, your fingers softly tracing his cheek. You couldn’t stop smiling. "You can keep calling me that, my love," you said with a grin, feeling your own face flush, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment—rather, a warmth from happiness.

"Alright, princess, love, sweetheart, honey, beautiful," he teased, making you laugh even harder.

"I like that," you giggled softly, adjusting your legs so they fit between his, your body now close to his, the space between you almost non-existent. Your eyes drifted over his face—the shape of his jaw, the way his messy hair fell over his forehead, the features you knew so well, but somehow seemed even more striking now. You chewed your inner cheek for a moment, unsure, before asking:

"Hey, Dave… If you forgave me, why didn’t you talk to me earlier? I wouldn’t have had to do all that."

He sighed, looking away for a brief second before turning back to meet your gaze. "I was angry," he admitted, clicking his tongue. "The anger faded by your second hot dog, but... I kinda wanted to see you embarrass yourself. Historical repair."

The playful tone of his voice made you roll your eyes, but a smile slowly formed on your lips. With a gentle push, you placed your hand on his chest, giving him a light shove. He just laughed, holding your hand against his chest, and without warning, he pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. Your heart skipped a beat, and you repeated the gesture on his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips.

"Feel my heart," he suddenly said, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest, his own hand covering yours.

The beat was strong, steady, like a pulsing drum behind his muscular chest. "Wow, what a big heart," you laughed, and he chuckled along, his eyes shining with amusement. You bit your lip, suddenly anxious, daring to ask.

“Now feel mine…” you muttered, taking his hand and guiding it to your chest.

Dave took a deep breath, his throat moving in a dry swallow. His fingers trembled slightly as they touched your skin over the thin fabric of his shirt. Hesitantly, he pressed a little harder, as if he wanted to feel better, cupping the soft weight of your breast. The air around you seemed heavier, denser, loaded with something unspoken.

“It’s very… strong,” he murmured, his voice a little hoarse. His eyes rose to yours before he moved his hand, sliding it to your waist and squeezing it lightly, like an involuntary instinct. You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through your body.

"I liked what you did today on stage," he added, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"What? Eating hot dogs and throwing up?" you teased, trying to lighten the tension building between you both.

Dave's laugh echoed softly, and his hand on your waist tightened slightly with the movement. "No," he denied, pulling you closer, his voice now barely a hoarse whisper. "Saying you love me."

His lips hovered over yours for a moment before sealing in a delicate kiss. A shiver ran down your spine as you reciprocated, holding his face gently in your hands. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the whirlwind of emotions, but this kiss felt different from the others. More intense, more meaningful. The sound of their lips meeting was almost a melody, and you lost yourself completely in it. Dave’s fingers slid over your skin, a careful, reverent touch.

When he pulled away, your eyes sought his, finding an intense glow there—a reflection of what you felt yourself. You lifted a finger, slowly tracing the outline of his lower lip, playing with the texture, the softness.

“You know you can touch it with your mouth too, right?” He teased, a lazy smile appearing.

“I’m just seeing your mouth. Stop being a horny nerd,” you laughed, your fingers now sliding along the line of his jaw.

“I wear glasses, I can only see in Braille,” he murmured, and before you could respond, he leaned in for another kiss. This time, more rhythmic, laced with silly giggles that mixed with the sound of the kisses. And so it continued. Kissing once, twice, three times. And each time you stopped, another need to feel each other's lips arose.

Hours later, your eyes had adjusted to the soft light of the room. You reached across the mattress, looking for Dave, but only found crumpled sheets. As you sat up, your eyes caught the clothes scattered on the floor, and a silly smile played on your lips as you remembered the last few hours.

The door opened quietly, revealing Dave in shorts and a T-shirt, holding a glass of water. "I didn't think you'd be up now," he beamed, a playful smile dancing across his face as he handed the glass to you. "I think I arrived just in time to rescue you."

"Thanks, my hero," you teased, drinking the water quickly, feeling how your body craved every drop to recover.

Dave settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as your bodies shifted into a comfortable spooning position. From the window, you could see the sunset painting the sky in vibrant tones—orange, pink, purple—everything blended together like a living canvas.

"It's beautiful," you murmured, taking in every detail.

He squeezed you a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. "Yeah... it's beautiful," he repeated quietly, tilting his head slightly to better see the golden reflection the sun cast over the two of you.

You turned to face him, captivated by the way the light danced in his hair and reflected in his deep blue eyes. He smiled, and with a gentle movement, he shifted you under his body, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear with tender affection. He was certain that you didn’t need any light to shine, kissing your forehead before simply watching you, as if he wanted to memorize every detail. The light slowly faded, making way for the night. But somehow, Dave still glowed. And that’s when you whispered, almost like an involuntary prayer:

“Dave, you’re my radiant beam in the night.”

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alilixx · 8 months ago

Text

James Wilson x Fem!Cardiologist Reader

Heartbeats and Invisible Connections

Nothing to say so i hope you will like it! Btw i just rewatch The devil wears Prada and i love smmm MIRANDA??? I mean, i will write on her soon (i will never abandon House md, everything for my girls!

Warning: Mature, NSFW, Some Dark!Wilson, death, House being House.

Pairing: James Wilson x Fem!Cardiologist Reader

Laughter could be heard in the hospital room, just like every day. The young boy in front of you was in tears from laughing so hard at the TV, and you were just as amused as he was. After all, you were watching The Powerpuff Girls! You knew it was his favorite cartoon, so you watched every new episode with him. Even though Cuddy wasn't too thrilled about it, you spent at least two hours a day with the young patient. Blake was a five-year-old child suffering from an incurable heart condition. A malformation took up too much space, hindering the development of his lungs. The chance of survival after surgery was minimal, so you couldn't offer it.

Blake had been entrusted to you two years ago, when his mother passed away from pancreatic cancer. His father, a very busy businessman, gradually stopped coming to visit. At first, he would come occasionally, but soon he no longer found the time to visit his own son, citing a busy schedule. You tried to understand, but deep down, you couldn't accept this prolonged absence. How could someone leave their child to face such a serious illness without parental support?

You then promised yourself that you would never let Blake feel abandoned. You became more than a doctor to him; you were his guardian, his pillar, the only constant in his turbulent life. The first few months were difficult. How do you explain to a three-year-old that his father was abandoning him? It was almost impossible. Blake often cried, asking why his father no longer came. Your heart broke every time, but you found the words to comfort him, inventing stories about heroes and adventures to give him hope and joy.

Over time, you established a routine. You came by every morning to gently wake him up, often with a special breakfast you brought from home. You shared these simple but precious moments before starting the long days of tests and treatments. Blake loved The Powerpuff Girls, and you quickly adopted the habit of watching the episodes with him. It was a comforting ritual, a bubble of happiness in an often dark daily life.

With every operation, every scan, every MRI, you were there. You held his hand, reassured him, promised him that everything would be okay. Even though you knew the chances were slim, you always kept hope. Blake had become like a little brother to you. You admired his courage, his ability to smile despite everything. His resilience gave you the strength to carry on, even when the weight of reality seemed too heavy to bear.

The other doctors and nurses respected your dedication, though some whispered that you were getting too emotionally involved. But how could you not? How could you remain detached when a child depended on you for everything, when he called for a hug in the middle of the night after a nightmare, when he proudly showed you his drawings and asked for your opinion? Blake needed you, and you were ready to do anything for him.

One morning, as you were preparing Blake for yet another round of tests, you found yourself thinking about the future. What would become of Blake if... No, you couldn't think that way. You shook yourself mentally and focused on the present. Today, he would watch a new episode of The Powerpuff Girls, and you would be there by his side to share his laughter and tears. You owed him that much.

Every day was a battle, but also a victory, no matter how small. And you would continue to fight for Blake because he deserved it, because he was more than just a patient—he was a part of you.

Of course, he cost you a snack every day because the young boy had a sweet tooth. Several chocolate bars, whether caramel, coconut, or other flavors, you knew he would eat them. You ate together to keep him company; eating alone as a child in the hospital wasn't easy.

Months passed, and you noticed that Blake seemed more tired than usual. He had started to complain about unusual pains, and you noted a worrying pallor on his face. Your medical instinct pushed you to look deeper, to understand what was wrong. After a series of initial tests, you still couldn't determine the exact cause of his symptoms. One night, as Blake slept peacefully after an exhausting day, you found yourself in your office, immersed in his medical files.

It was then that you decided to consult James Wilson, the head of oncology at the hospital. You knew his reputation and expertise because you had risen through the ranks together, and you knew he would be the best person to help you understand what was happening to Blake. You occasionally saw him during department head meetings at the hospital.

The next morning, after preparing Blake for his routine tests, you headed to Wilson's office. As you knocked on the door, you felt both anxious and determined. Wilson looked up from his papers and greeted you with a warm smile.

"Good morning, Dr. [Y/N]. What can I do for you?" he asked, gesturing for you to sit.

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson. I need your expertise. One of my patients, Blake, is exhibiting some troubling symptoms, and I can't identify the exact cause. I'm afraid it might be something serious."

Wilson nodded, his expression becoming more serious. "Alright, tell me more about his symptoms and show me his files."

You spent the next thirty minutes detailing Blake's condition, his medical history, and the results of recent tests. Wilson listened attentively, asking pertinent questions and taking down important notes.

"I'll need to examine Blake myself and perhaps order a few additional tests," he said finally. "What you're describing could be several things, but I want to be sure before drawing any conclusions."

You nodded, grateful for his help. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson. I just want to make sure we're doing everything we can for him."

Later in the day, Wilson joined Blake in his room. With your reassuring presence by his side, Blake showed courage and cooperated during the additional examinations. The following days were filled with tests and anxious waiting.

Finally, the results came in. The diagnosis was devastating: Blake had developed heart cancer, a rare but possible complication of his pre-existing heart condition. The news hit you like a punch, but you knew you had to stay strong for Blake.

You turned to Wilson, feeling the weight of this news. "What do we do now?" you asked, determined not to give up.

"We're going to fight," he replied calmly. "I'll work with you and the team to develop a treatment plan. Blake is an incredibly brave little boy, and he deserves all our efforts."

You simply nodded before returning to his room, holding his hand while you sat beside his bed. He slept peacefully, and you rested your head on his arm. The past few days had been complicated due to the stress. Cuddy had quickly stopped by after hearing the news from Wilson. She looked at you through the window before leaving a few minutes later.

The following days were even harder. Should you tell him? Explain that he would die sooner? Leave him in denial? These choices were impossible to make, but your routine didn't change. He shouldn't know until you made a decision.

Unfortunately, today was a night shift for you. You returned to your office, lingering over Blake's adoption file, but decided to leave to avoid sinking even further. Hours passed, and you could finally take your break, which you obviously spent with Blake. Without realizing it, a single tear fell down your cheek. Just one. But in that tear lay all the pain contained for days.

This tear was wiped away by the only man who could understand your suffering. James.

"Cry, Dr. [Y/N]. Now that I’m here with you, you’re free to reveal your sadness," he said softly, his comforting hand resting on your shoulder.

Those words, full of compassion and understanding, broke down the last barriers you had built to contain your pain. You finally let out the tears you had been holding back for so long. James stayed by your side, offering his silent but powerful support. You shared a moment of raw humanity, where the roles of doctors faded away, giving way to those of human beings facing suffering and uncertainty.

After a long while, you pulled yourself together, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, James. I needed that."

"We're all in this fight together," he replied with a comforting smile. "And we will do everything for Blake."

Your next destination was Cuddy's office. You took a moment before opening the door, and when you opened and closed it behind you, your words came out in a rush.

"I'm giving up on Blake's adoption file."

She looked up from her computer and simply nodded. She knew the file wouldn't be accepted; she just wanted you to make that decision yourself. You had worked with her for about ten years, so yes, she knew how you operated. After that, interactions with Cuddy became less frequent. It wasn't her fault, but her office reminded you too much of the premature death that Blake was going to face.

You saw James often enough to discuss Blake's case. Sometimes, he even joined you for lunch. You found this rather pleasant. James had a unique way of making Blake smile, even in the most difficult moments. His anecdotes, subtle humor, and reassuring presence provided a certain comfort that you couldn't deny.

One day, after sharing a meal with Blake and James, you found yourself feeling a bit lighter, almost optimistic. The bond developing between you and James was a valuable support. You spent hours discussing treatment options, analyzing test results, and exploring every possibility to give Blake a chance to pull through.

Despite the grim diagnosis, every little progress, every smile from Blake, and every moment shared with James gave you the strength to continue.

One evening, as you were finishing your rounds, James joined you in the hallway. "I wanted to thank you," he said, his eyes filled with sincerity. "For everything you do for Blake, and for allowing someone like me to be a part of this fight."

You smiled, touched by his words but still mindful of his reputation as a flirt. "I should be the one thanking you. Your presence makes a huge difference, not only for Blake but also for me."

He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart beat a little faster. "You don't have to carry all of this alone. We're a team, remember."

Months passed, and despite all the efforts by you, James, and the medical team, Blake's condition continued to deteriorate. Each day, you saw his smile become a bit more fragile, his voice a bit weaker, but his will to live remained astonishingly strong. The relationship between you and James grew stronger, and he became one of the most important people to you during this dark period. You spent more and more time together, sharing the sorrows and the rare moments of joy.

Blake continued to laugh at his favorite Powerpuff Girls, devouring the chocolate bars you brought him each day. James often joined your small meals, bringing with him a comforting presence and a quiet strength that helped you hold on.

Despite all attempts at treatment, Blake's heart cancer was too advanced. The discussions with James grew more serious, more somber, as options dwindled. You had tried to protect Blake from the gravity of his situation, but he wasn't fooled. One day, as you were watching an episode of his favorite cartoon, he took your hand and asked in a soft but determined voice:

"Am I going to die, Y/N?"

The shock of his words left you speechless for a moment. You exchanged a glance with James, who stood silently beside you. Finally, you took a deep breath and answered with heartfelt sincerity:

"We are doing everything we can to keep you healthy, Blake. But yes, your illness is very serious."

Blake nodded, seeming to accept this reality with a surprising maturity for his age. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you're both here."

The following weeks were marked by a melancholic tenderness. You did everything possible to make Blake's last days as happy and comfortable as possible. Laughter was mingled with tears, each moment becoming precious and fleeting.

Then, one morning, as you arrived at the hospital, you felt a heaviness in the air. Entering Blake's room, you found James already there, sitting by the bed, holding Blake's hand. The little boy was sleeping peacefully, an unusual serenity on his face.

"He's gone," James murmured, tears in his eyes. "He fell asleep without pain."

You felt overwhelmed by a wave of sadness, but also relief. Blake no longer had to suffer. You sat on the other side of the bed, taking his small, cold hand in yours. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks.

"We did everything we could," James said softly. "And he knew he was loved until the end."

These words brought some comfort. Blake had been surrounded by the love and dedication of those who cared most for him. You spent a long time by his side, with James, mourning the loss of the brave little boy but also celebrating the life he had, no matter how short.

The days that followed were filled with mourning and memories. James’s presence beside you was invaluable, and together, you found the strength to say goodbye to Blake and to move forward, despite the pain.

Blake had been more than just a patient. And even though he was no longer here, his memory would continue to live on in you, constantly reminding you why you became a cardiologist, though your mental health did not improve despite your attempts at positivity.

After all this, you barely left the hospital. You hardly slept anymore. Running on energy drinks and coffee, your heart grew increasingly fragile. You no longer took much care of yourself, doing just enough to survive and continue your work. The loss of Blake, whom you considered your little brother, was a gaping wound. Although you knew it was better for him, you couldn’t accept the truth. Years of fighting for this, only for him to ultimately succumb to cancer, made you feel nauseous.

One evening, as you were changing in the locker room, you heard footsteps approaching. James approached you gently, causing you to flinch slightly. You were still lost in your thoughts, pondering a solution that had eluded you, a miracle that had never come.

"Y/N," he began softly, his voice full of compassion. "It's not your fault. Life is sometimes unfair, but he's better off where he is. It's hard, and I understand, but take care of yourself as Blake would have wanted. I'm not telling you to live the life he should have had, but not to destroy yourself in an 'honor' to him."

His words, though well-intentioned, hit you like a slap. "Don’t tell me how I should feel!" you retorted sharply, anger and pain mingling in your voice. But seeing the sadness and understanding in James’s eyes, you realized you had reacted too abruptly. "I’m sorry, James. I know you’re trying to help."

James shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. "You don’t have to apologize. I know how hard it is. But you can’t keep going like this; you’re going to destroy yourself."

What you didn’t know was that Cuddy was behind it all. She was deeply concerned for you. Unable to bear seeing her head of service fall apart, she had asked James to look out for you, even if it meant spending more time at your place or inviting you to stay at his.

In the following days, James increased his presence. He regularly came to see you, encouraging you to talk about how you were feeling. One evening, after a particularly grueling day, he invited you to dinner at his place. You accepted, too exhausted to refuse.

At James’s home, the atmosphere was soothing. The simplicity of his apartment and the warmth of his welcome all helped you feel a bit better. You spent the evening talking, not about work or Blake, but about everything and nothing—childhood memories, dreams, passions.

"You know," James said at one point, setting down his coffee cup, "Cuddy asked me to look out for you. She’s worried about you, just like I am. You’re important to us, to the hospital. But more than that, you’re important to yourself. Blake wouldn’t want to see you destroy yourself like this."

These words touched you deeply. The harsh reality of your situation, combined with the immense fatigue you felt, began to crumble under the warmth of James’s compassion and support.

"I know it’s hard to hear this now," he continued, "but you need time to heal. And you don’t have to do it alone."

Tears began to silently stream down your cheeks. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to feel the pain, without pushing it away, without hardening yourself. James approached and gently embraced you, letting you cry against him.

"I'm here," he murmured. "We’re here for you."

In the following days, you began to accept James’s help. He would join you for long walks after work, make sure you ate properly and got some rest. You knew the road to healing would be long, but with James by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope begin to emerge.

Seeing that you were improving, Cuddy called you into her office one day. "I’m proud of you," she said simply. "And I know Blake would be too."

You smiled, feeling a newfound strength within you. "Thank you, Cuddy. For everything."

One of the long evenings at James's place, you sat side by side on the couch. Exhausted from the emotions and work, you couldn’t help but let your head fall onto James's shoulder. "What movie do you want to watch?" he asked, not realizing that you had already dozed off. He looked at you tenderly before taking your hand and gently stroking it. James was aware that the role of a cardiologist was demanding; you often worked with children for diagnoses, and he knew it was exhausting and that you slept little.

Gently, he slipped one hand behind your back and the other under your knees. Carefully standing up, he cradled your light body in his arms and carried you to his bedroom, where he laid you down on the bed with great care. You had already fallen deeply asleep and were unaware of the situation. James tenderly stroked your cheek, once again gazing at your face.

"Rest well, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You’ve given so much for Blake. Let me take care of you now."

He adjusted the blanket over you, ensuring you were snug and warm. Then he quietly withdrew, making sure not to make any noise. As he closed the door, he cast a final glance to ensure you were sleeping peacefully.

James settled on the couch with a book, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought about you, your strength and pain, and how much he wanted to help you through this tough time. Hours passed, and eventually, exhausted himself, he fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up in a room you didn't immediately recognize. The events of the previous evening slowly came back to you. You remembered being at James’s place, having fallen asleep on the couch… and now you were in his bed. A feeling of warmth and security enveloped you.

Hearing your movements, James got up and came to join you. "Good morning," he said with a gentle smile. "I hope you slept well."

You nodded, touched by his care. "Thank you, James. For everything."

“There’s no need to thank me. You need rest, and I’m here to help,” he said sincerely. “Now, let’s have a nice breakfast. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

You sat down at the table, noticing pancakes and fruits you loved. The sight of the carefully prepared food comforted you, and you began to eat with appetite. What you didn’t know was that Wilson had added nicotine to your drink. His goal? To make your brain associate the pleasure and dependence on nicotine with his own presence, creating a subtle and gradual addiction to him.

You took a sip of your drink, savoring its taste. Quickly, a sense of relaxation washed over you, soothing your tense nerves. You felt strangely good, almost euphoric. The food, the coffee, the reassuring presence of James… everything seemed perfect.

“These pancakes are delicious,” you said with a smile. “Did you really take the time to make all this?”

James nodded, his gaze full of tenderness. “I wanted you to start the day on a positive note. You deserve to feel good, Y/N.”

You continued eating, feeling better and better with each bite and sip. The nicotine was working its magic, reinforcing the positive association with James. You felt closer to him, more dependent on his comforting presence.

James, discreetly observing your reactions, saw that his plan was working. He knew you were vulnerable, and he wanted to be the one to support you, the one you would need. He wanted you, just for himself.

As the days went by, a routine settled in. James often prepared meals for you, inviting you to share these moments of respite and comfort. Every meal you had together seemed to give you renewed energy and strength. What you didn’t know was that James continued to add nicotine to your drinks, subtly increasing your dependency.

“There’s no need to thank me. You need rest, and I’m here to help,” he said sincerely. “Now, let’s have a nice breakfast. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

“These pancakes are delicious,” you said with a smile. “Did you really take the time to make all this?”

James nodded, his gaze full of tenderness. “I wanted you to start the day on a positive note. You deserve to feel good, Y/N.”

Sitting at the table, you took a sip of your drink, immediately feeling a sense of well-being wash over you. James watched you discreetly, satisfied to see that his plan was working. You felt better, calmer, and most importantly, you felt dependent on these shared moments with him.

Days turned into weeks, and your dependence on James became increasingly evident. He had become your anchor, your refuge. You could no longer imagine going a day without seeing him, without feeling the sense of well-being he provided. The nicotine had done its job, but it was James's love and attention that had truly made you addicted.

Seeing that his plan was working perfectly, James decided to reinforce your dependence even further. One evening, after a particularly pleasant dinner, he suggested that you stay at his place for the night. You accepted without hesitation, feeling safe with him. While you slept, he discreetly installed surveillance apps on your phone and computer, allowing him to track your movements and communications.

The next morning, you woke up feeling refreshed, completely unaware of the ongoing manipulations. James greeted you with a smile as you emerged from sleep. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," you replied with a smile. "I feel much better."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, handing you a cup of coffee. "Let's start the day on a positive note."

With James by your side, you began to slowly rebuild your life, unaware of the subtle manipulation that had facilitated this dependence. To you, James had become indispensable, the pillar you could always count on, and you had no idea of the shadow of his plan that loomed over your relationship.

Months had passed since Blake's loss, and your relationship with James Wilson had evolved remarkably, even if it was partly due to manipulation.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day at the hospital, you found yourself at James's place once again. You had developed a sort of ritual: after work, you would go to his home for dinner, conversation, and much-needed respite during this tumultuous period of your life. That night, the atmosphere was especially soothing. The dim light in the living room, the whisper of the wind through the open windows, and the comforting warmth of James's home created an ambiance conducive to deeper confessions.

As you sat on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, the conversation drifted to more personal topics. You found yourself sharing stories and thoughts that you had never dared to confide in anyone else.

"You know, James, I don't think I could have gone through all this without you," you said softly, looking at your glass as if searching for answers. "You've become an essential part of my life, and I can't imagine moving forward without you."

James looked at you with a tenderness you had never truly noticed before. "Y/N, you are incredibly strong. But even the strongest among us need support. And I am so glad I can be here for you."

He set down his glass and took your hand in his, a comforting gesture that sent a wave of warmth through your body. "We've been through so much together, and I believe it has brought us closer in ways neither of us could have predicted."

The silence that followed was charged with emotion. You turned slightly toward him, searching in his eyes for confirmation of what you were feeling. And in his eyes, you saw the same spark, the same depth of feeling that burned within you.

"James…" you began, but words failed you. He seemed to understand, as he gently leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

"Y/N, I think what we have goes beyond friendship or mere professional support. I've grown attached to you in a way I never thought possible."

His words resonated within you, and before you could respond, he leaned even closer and delicately pressed his lips to yours. It was a tender kiss, filled with all the unspoken emotions, all the shared moments, all the mingled pain and comfort.

The kiss lingered, your hands naturally finding their way into each other’s hair, and for the first time in a long while, you felt whole. When you finally separated, your breaths were staggered, but your eyes shone with the same emotion.

“I love you, Y/N,” James murmured, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I love you too, James,” you replied without hesitation, feeling a certainty you had never felt before.

You spent the evening talking about your feelings, your fears, and your hopes for the future. You fell asleep in each other's arms, finally finding peace in each other's presence.

The days that followed were marked by a new dynamic between you. At the hospital, you continued to work as professionals, but the exchanged glances, shared smiles, and subtle touches spoke of a blossoming love. The support you had always shared became even stronger, solidified by the intimate relationship you now had.

James continued to keep a close watch on you, ensuring that you were taking care of yourself. And you, although you were still unaware of some of his past manipulations, felt increasingly grounded in this new life. Meals together, evenings spent talking and watching movies, and shared nights became precious moments where you finally felt loved and understood.

However, it was impossible to completely avoid Gregory House’s sharp gaze. Nothing escaped the doctor renowned for his keen insight, and he had quickly noticed the changes in the relationship between you and James.

One afternoon, while you were in the break room, House hobbled in with his characteristic cane, a curious and mocking glint in his eyes. He settled heavily onto the couch across from you, fixing you with an enigmatic smile.

“So, Y/N, I’ve heard that Wilson has become your knight in shining armor,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You blushed slightly, but you didn’t let House intimidate you. “Yes, you could say that,” you replied calmly.

House nodded, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Interesting. But tell me, do you really know everything about your valiant knight? Because, you know, Wilson has always had a knack for hiding his little manipulations.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of concern. “What are you trying to say, House?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Oh, nothing specific. Just an observation. Be careful, that’s all. Wilson has a dark side, and sometimes he thinks his actions are justified by noble intentions.”

Before you could respond, James entered the room, a defiant expression on his face. “House, maybe you could find someone else to annoy,” he said tersely, positioning himself protectively between you and House.

House raised his hands in surrender, but his sneaky smile didn’t fade. “Alright, alright. I’m leaving. But remember, secrets have a way of surfacing.”

He left the room, leaving you with a sense of unease. James turned to you, his eyes softened with concern. “Don’t let him get to you, Y/N. House likes to sow doubt. We know how we feel about each other, and that’s all that matters.”

You nodded, trying to shake off the doubts sown by House. “You’re right, James. We know what we have.”

Weeks passed, and although House never missed an opportunity to make a pointed comment or cryptic remark, your relationship with James continued to grow stronger. You found comfort in each other, and despite the shadows of the past and James's subtle manipulations, you felt increasingly rooted in this new life.

The moments you shared had become anchors in your daily routine. Whether it was having lunch together, sharing laughter during quiet moments, or finding solace in each other's arms after exhausting days, every instant deepened the bond between you.

And so, despite House’s warnings and the shadows of the past, you found a new reason to live and smile every day. It was quite common for you to dream of James, Blake, and yourself as a family. You promised yourself to nurture your relationship with James for Blake, for the family that should have been.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The sun was barely rising, its first rays filtering through the curtains in James's bedroom. You opened your eyes, feeling the comforting warmth of James's body against yours. He was still asleep, his face relaxed and free from worries and House. You took a moment to watch him, letting a sense of happiness wash over you.

You got up gently so as not to wake him, slipping into one of his oversized t-shirts, and headed to the kitchen. Preparing breakfast had become a sort of ritual. You set water to boil for coffee and began making pancakes, a specialty you had perfected for James. Adding fresh fruit and maple syrup was your way of starting the day on a positive note.

James arrived shortly afterward, drawn by the delicious aromas filling the kitchen. He came up to you, kissed your cheek softly, and murmured a sleepy "good morning."

"Good morning to you," you replied with a smile. "Breakfast is almost ready."

You sat down at the table, enjoying the pancakes and discussing plans for the day. The subject of Blake rarely came up in your conversations, to avoid a constant reminder of the promise you had made to cherish this relationship.

After breakfast, you both got ready to head to the hospital. The drive to Princeton-Plainsboro had become a well-practiced routine, and even though the trip was short, it was filled with discussions and exchanged smiles. At the hospital, you parted ways to join your respective departments, but not without a final quick kiss and a knowing look.

The morning was as busy as ever. Between consultations, diagnostics, and meetings, you threw yourself into your work with the same passion that had driven you since the beginning of your career.

At lunchtime, you met up with James in the cafeteria. House made his usual appearance, throwing out some sarcastic remarks that made everyone smile. Despite his sharp attitude, there was an unspoken respect and camaraderie in his interactions.

“So, lovebirds, how’s the couple life?” House asked, a smirk on his face.

James responded with a similarly playful smile. “Better than your social life, House.”

Exchanges with House had become an integral part of your daily routine, a kind of game to which you had now grown accustomed. After lunch, you returned to your department, your mind still partly occupied by James’s reassuring presence.

The afternoon flew by, marked by consultations and surgeries. But whenever you had a moment of respite, you couldn’t help but think about the promise you had made for Blake.

By the end of the day, exhausted but happy, you met James at the hospital exit. You went home together, discussing the events of the day and sharing your thoughts. Once home, the evening ritual began: a simple yet delicious dinner prepared together, followed by a few hours of relaxation in front of a movie or a series.

That evening, as you sat side by side on the couch, you snuggled up against him, feeling his arm close around your shoulders. The day had been long and tiring, but it ended on a note of tenderness and intimacy.

“You know, James, sometimes I think about what Blake would have wanted for us,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the TV screen.

James tightened his embrace a little, his soft voice responding to your murmur. “He would have wanted us to be happy, Y/N. And I believe he’s watching over us, wherever he is.”

The following weeks were marked by camaraderie and teasing between you and James. Your relationship evolved gently, blending tenderness and playfulness, turning each day into a shared adventure. Beyond the consultations and emergencies, there were these stolen moments where you teased each other, making daily life at the hospital much brighter.

Each morning, your drives to the hospital were filled with little jokes and lively discussions. James particularly enjoyed teasing you about your music choices, and you retaliated by commenting on his sometimes overly bold ties. These light-hearted exchanges allowed you to start the day with a smile.

At the hospital, you found moments to reconnect, whether it was for a quick coffee between consultations or to share an impromptu lunch in a quiet corner of the cafeteria. The exchanged glances, knowing smiles, and discreet yet meaningful touches all reinforced your connection.

House, of course, never missed an opportunity to tease you both gently. One day, while you were having lunch together, he approached with a sly smile on his face.

“So, you two, still playing cat and mouse?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“We prefer to call it chemistry,” you replied with a wink at James.

House raised an eyebrow, amused. “Chemistry, huh? Just be careful not to blow anything up like like Wilson and cheating.”

The following weeks were filled with camaraderie and playful teasing between you and James. Your relationship evolved slowly, mixing tenderness and playfulness, turning each day into a shared adventure. Beyond consultations and emergencies, there were these stolen moments where you teased each other, making daily life at the hospital much brighter.

Each morning, your drives to the hospital were punctuated with little jokes and lively discussions. James particularly enjoyed teasing you about your music choices, and you retaliated by commenting on his sometimes overly bold ties. These light-hearted exchanges allowed you to start the day with a smile.

At the hospital, you found moments to reconnect, whether for a quick coffee between consultations or to share an impromptu lunch in a quiet corner of the cafeteria. The exchanged glances, knowing smiles, and discreet yet meaningful touches all reinforced your connection.

One day, you decided to play a bit more daringly. Having discovered that James had a weakness for chocolate, you prepared a little surprise. You had found some special chocolates infused with aphrodisiac ingredients, and you were curious to see how he would react.

You waited for the right moment, choosing a day when you both had some free time. After lunch, you invited him to stop by your office for a sweet little break.

"I have a surprise for you," you announced, pulling a box of chocolates from your drawer.

James raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A surprise, huh? I like surprises."

You handed him a chocolate with a mischievous smile. "Try this and tell me what you think."

He took the chocolate, looking curious, and put it in his mouth. From the first bite, you saw his expression change slightly, a glimmer of surprise passing through his eyes.

"It's… interesting," he said as he finished the chocolate. "There's something different about it."

You just smiled, holding back your little secret. A few minutes later, you noticed a subtle change in his behavior. His eyes grew darker, his posture more assured.

"Y/N," he said in a deeper voice, moving closer to you. "What did you give me?"

You laughed softly, taking a small step back. "Just a bit of chocolate. Why? Didn't you like it?"

He stared at you intensely, a half-smile on his lips. "Oh, I loved it. But I think you knew exactly what you were doing."

Before you could respond, he pulled you by the waist and drew you close. His burning gaze never left yours, and you felt your heart race. The weeks of teasing and flirting had led to this moment.

"James, we're in the hospital," you whispered, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"I know," he replied, his voice husky. "But I can't wait any longer."

He kissed you with a new intensity, his hands exploring your back with a possessiveness that made you shiver. You let yourself sink into him, your own desires taking over. The door to his office closed behind you, isolating your little world from the rest of the hospital.

James lifted you and placed you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours. Papers and pens fell to the floor, forgotten. His hands slipped under your blouse, and you felt a shiver of pleasure course through your body.

"You've driven me crazy, Y/N," he murmured against your skin. "And now, you'll face the consequences."

He kissed you briefly, and you wanted more. You opened your mouth, and your tongues met. You felt his hands grip your hips and shift your body on the desk, pulling you closer to him. His tongue explored your mouth as if he, too, enjoyed the blend. He pulled away slightly and looked down at your outfit, which revealed your hardened nipples, due to the passionate kiss and the moisture that had dampened your clothing.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes out before lifting you off the desk, your legs wrapping around his torso. He kisses you again, much more fiercely, as if you were his prey. His tongue battles to dominate yours, and you give in, wanting him to take control. He presses you against the office door and takes the opportunity to ensure it’s locked. He kisses you as if you had always done this and as if it were your last kiss. You moan against his lips as his hand moves between your thighs, massaging them before sliding into your pants and removing your clothing until your panties fall to the floor. You try to close your legs, the cool air hitting your core, while his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck as if he’s devouring every part of you.

His kisses are wet, and you hear him moan before pressing his body against yours, you feel his erection.

"Are you sure ?" He says before completely losing control and he rubs his covered erection against your exposed pussy "mmh", you moan being the only noise you can make to respond and nod at him. He pulls down his pants and boxers at the same time. The shy one, you would have stopped him. He pulls the bottom of your t-shirt up to your chest and his cock brushes against yours making you moan his name.

"Moan my name again. Otherwise I wouldn't give you what you want" and he rubs his cock again between your thighs, his fingers place one of your locks of hair behind your ear, then go down all the way down your body to your clitoris.

“Wet, just for me” and he presses his fingers against my skin a little more before stroking my clit with his thumb. Long ones caresses, giving me pleasure but increasing my impatience. You feel his whole hand between your thighs, his fingers continuing to caress you relentlessly.

“James, please” you moan.

“Fuck” he removes his fingers and thrusts into you, making you moan in surprise and pleasure. The door is locked, and House music prevents everyone from hearing you. He pulls out of you only to come in again, harder, you moan and bury your head in the crook of his neck, clinging to his t-shirt.

“Y/N, I want to feel your hands on me” he moaned before helping you take off his t-shirt and swinging it behind him. He still carries you, he pulls you away from the door and suddenly slams me on top of him, entering me again. The pain in my back and the lust flowing through your veins makes all your sensations stronger. He speeds up his movements and your nails dig into his shoulders. He goes faster and nibbles your skin, in your neck, your chest, anywhere your skin is exposed.

“James, I-I’m going to-” you’re cut off by another moan that leaves your mouth. He understands what you are trying to tell him and growls "Go on princess, I'm waiting for that", you feel your body reach its climax and he gives one last thrust, harder than all the others while his hands massage your thighs.

You sigh in pleasure and release all the tension your body was holding and cum. He doesn't stop moving back and forth and waits for you to finish. You seek his mouth and kiss it, he moans into yours and still doesn't stop, you feel him cum inside you and he parts into your lips to blow.

“Y/N, are you-” he moans again, the sound leaving his mouth and the music turning you on, you grind my hips against his and he moans louder and louder. You have control.

“Y/N – don’t stop” you continue to move your hips and with each movement you sigh in pleasure. You feel him finish completely and he catches his breath heavily his head still in your neck. He slowly pulls out of you and gently places me back on the desk. He quickly puts his boxers back on before putting your panties back on. You get off the desk and put your clothes back on correctly. He stares at you through his loving eyes and smiles viciously before saying "we'll do this again whenever you want but no need for an aphrodisiac" and he winks at me with a kiss on the forehead.

The tension of the past intimacy transforms into a soft and tender atmosphere. You stay embraced for a moment, savoring the warmth of your bodies and the deep connection you’ve just shared. James shifts slightly, looking at you with infinite tenderness.

"How are you feeling?" he asks softly, caressing your cheek.

"I feel… good," you reply with a smile, your eyes shining with happiness.

You spend a few more minutes talking softly, your laughter and murmurs blending with the gentle light of the office. But the reality of the hospital eventually catches up with you. James stands up first, helping you to sit up and tidy your clothes.

"We should get back to work," he says with a smile, but his eyes reveal a desire to prolong the moment.

You quickly rearrange yourselves, trying to regain a professional appearance. Once outside the office, you share one last knowing glance before returning to your respective tasks. The day continues, but the excitement and warmth of your intimacy remain with you, giving you renewed energy, knowing that he was going to get his revenge.

#fanfiction #dr house #doctor house #house md #housemd #rsl #robert sean leonard #james wilson #dr james wilson #dr james wilson x reader #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you

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