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harmonyrae · 4 months ago

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Ethical Dilemma

Synopsis: He needs a better grade on his Business Ethics paper and you're the only one who can give it to him. But it looks like a better grade isn't all he's after.

AN: I’ve been seeing a lot of Professor AUs with the boys, and then, all of a sudden, at 1:48 AM on a Thursday, I thought “What about them as students?” and IMMEDIATELY STARTED WRITING. Anyways, here’s Student!Sylus x Teachers Assistant!Reader - they're both college aged, btw. Let me know if you want one of these for all the boys!

Content Warnings: explicit language & sexual descriptions, Sylus talks you through it, Troublemaker!Sylus, Downbad!Sylus, Oral (f receiving), PiV, sex with protection (yay), semi-public (kinda, they big riskin it), smut with some plot, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.8k

When you received your teacher aide assignment for your final semester, you were stunned. No one else in your program was given a senior-level class to assist with. Tara got freshman English literature, Yvonne got freshman biology, and even Jeremiah got freshman world history. Why were you put with one of the strictest teachers at the university in a subject you weren’t interested in teaching?

“Maybe Business Ethics won’t be that bad. Maybe you’ll like it more than you expect.”

You stare at Tara across the lunch table. She winces and returns her focus to her salad. You poke your fries with your fork, too nervous to stomach even the simplest carbs.

“It’s a senior level class… I probably know half of them and I’m supposed to what? Grade their tests and exert authority over them when Trumbo isn’t there? What exactly am I supposed to learn that will help me with my elementary education degree?”

“Well, most college guys act like children.”

Simone laughs at her own joke. Her high pitched snickering makes you laugh, despite your frustration. You cover your face to hide your smile, she’s got a point.

“And I’m supposed to grade their papers using what knowledge?”

“I’m sure Professor Trumbo will give you an outline, if he even lets you grade them at all.”

Simone reaches over and takes your plate of fries away, setting it down in front of her and immediately diving in.

“I hear Trumbo never takes a teacher’s aide. Wonder why he picked you.”

You glare at Simone, you weren’t going to eat the fries anyways, but now you’re even more nervous than before. How are you supposed to face Trumbo in an hour?

“Whatever the reason, you’re an amazing choice. And if you don’t have much to do, you can use the time to work on your aftergrad applications.”

Now Tara is on the receiving end of your death glare.

“I told you I was considering grad school, not applying!”

Tara groans and taps your shoulder repeatedly.

“Oh come on, you know you want to! You’ll get a full ride, I just know it!”

You grab her hand and lean towards her until your noses touch.

“I’m considering it, no promises.”

Simone throws a fry at you.

“Now kith.”

You let go of Tara and throw the french fry back at Simone, ignoring her snickering.

You're sprinting down the hall to Trumbo’s lecture hall an hour later cursing yourself for deciding to walk instead of catching the campus bus. Your sneakers are stained with mud and your skirt is plastered to your legs from how much you’re sweating. It’s unusually warm for January…

You skid to a stop in front of the doors and let yourself pant for a few seconds. You hold your breath and open the doors to see the hall nearly filled with students. Great, a big class. Luckily Trumbo is not here yet so you have a moment to gather your thoughts and dry your brow before trudging to the front of the classroom.

You hear whispers from the students in their seats and try your best to ignore the urge to listen in. Are they talking about you? Do they know you’re the teacher's aide?

You try to be as quiet as possible as you set your things down at the designated desk at the front of the class. When you turn around you notice everyone’s eyes are locked on you. You slide into your seat and open your laptop, hoping they’ll ignore you if you ignore them.

The door at the back of the hall slams against the wall and everyone turns to watch Professor Trumbo, a lanky middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, march down the aisle to the front. He tosses his briefcase on the desk and taps the microphone at the podium. A loud squeak makes everyone wince. He leans an arm on the podium and clears his throat.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Business Ethics. You’re all seniors in your last semester at this university so I know your motivation is at an all time low. Fix that. This class is not going to be a cake-walk. You have 2 essays and 2 tests. If you fail 2 of the 4 you fail the class and have to take the class again in the fall. Yes, that’s correct, you will not be getting your diploma. Therefore, don’t be lazy and don’t be late. Young lady?”

The silence is deafening and you finally look up to see who is ignoring the professor, it turns out it’s you. Trumbo stares at you with a hand on his hip. He motions for you to come up on the platform and you quickly stumble out of your chair.

“Hello professor.”

He gives you a small smile and turns to face the class again.

“This is my teacher’s aide this semester. She’ll be grading all of your assignments and taking attendance everyday. If you choose to treat her like shit, I am giving her complete authority to treat your papers like toilet paper. Don’t be a bitch, simple. Now, here’s the roster, go ahead and take attendance for me.”

He leaves the roster on the podium and returns to his desk to start pulling papers out of his briefcase. You stare at him for a moment, almost unsure you heard him correctly. To avoid getting on his bad side, you step up to the podium and pull a pen out of your jacket pocket. You cringe at how fragile your voice sounds on the microphone, but you push through, calling out each name and checking off everyone present. Until you reach one name, shit… you forgot he was a business major… of course he’s in this class.

“Sylus Che?”

There’s a moment of silence and you look up, watching the students whisper to each other.

“Sylus Che?”

Is he really missing the first day of class?

Didn’t he get kicked out?

Oh my god, he’s in this class? He’s so cute…

You repeat his name, failing to ignore the whispers as your cheeks flush. Your pen hovers over the absent box.

“Present.”

His smooth voice cuts through the whispers and several students turn in their seats to search for the source. You spot a hand raised towards the back of the class and squint to get a better look. He stands and pushes the sleeves of his hoodie over his forearms before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Sorry I didn’t answer before, I was distracted by your beautiful eyes.”

A chorus of giggles erupts and your cheeks burn. You drop your gaze to the roster and can barely make the check by his name with how badly your hand is shaking. You hear Trumbo stand from his chair and look over to watch him approach the podium. He stands at the end of the platform, his hand resting on the corner of the podium.

“Sylus Che, if my memory is correct I had you in two of my other classes, yes?”

Sylus grins, his brows rise when he notices you looking at him again.

“That’s correct sir.”

“And, I believe, you passed those classes by the skin of your teeth? No?”

Now the class is giggling at Sylus’s misfortune instead of yours. You bite your lip to avoid smiling. Sylus’s grin doesn’t fade, but his ears do turn red, almost matching his eyes.

“Flirting with the teacher’s aide won’t improve your chances at passing. Now, sit down.”

Sylus obeys and you continue reading off the list of names. Once you’re done, you return to your desk and hide behind your Curriculum Development textbook to text Tara.

𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘊𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴…

Tara

𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵, 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 “𝘏𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘚𝘪𝘯” 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴? 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘚𝘠𝘓𝘜𝘚?

𝘠𝘌𝘚 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘚𝘠𝘓𝘜𝘚 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

Tara

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰?

𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 “𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴” 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵

Trumbo approaches you after class and hands you a folder.

Tara

𝙊𝙈𝙂😲

“I know you’re not a business major, that’s why I picked you.”

“W-wait, you wanted me specifically?”

He leans against your desk and crosses his arms.

“I’ve taught this class for nearly 20 years and everyone gives the same cookie-cutter answers. ‘Don’t be shady’, ‘don’t commit tax fraud’, ‘don’t fire someone without a real reason’ - I’m sick of it. I want someone who knows nothing to make these knuckleheads use common sense rather than textbook answers. I don’t want a ‘don’t do it’ I want a ‘here’s why.’”

You flip through the folder in your hands, it’s full of notes and outlines for papers and tests.

“You’re the top student in your major. You’ve been taught to deal with difficult students and essentially read people. Everyone I asked recommended you.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling, knowing you were recommended makes you feel less anxious in general.

“If you have any questions or aren’t sure on a grade, I will gladly look it over. But I want you to listen to your gut. Give the grade that feels right based on their answers and whether or not you think they’re bullshitting or really believe what they’re spewing.”

You nod and shove the folder into your bag.

“You can use this lecture hall for office hours, no one else uses it except for me.”

“Office hours?”

“Oh right, I won’t be the one meeting with students, that’ll be you. If they want to beg for a better grade, it won’t be with me.”

“I have to cover your office hours too? I… what about…”

“Did you inquire about why your Education Ethics class was rescheduled for you?”

You open your mouth to reply, but your lightbulb moment silences you.

“So I do everything but give the lectures?”

“Basically.”

Trumbo stands and tucks his briefcase under his arm. He smiles and hands you a post-it note.

“Here’s my number. Don’t hesitate to call me if you’re having trouble with someone.”

With that, he leaves. You stand at your desk for a while, staring at the note and wondering how you’re going to manage the workload. When you finally look up to finish packing your bag, you see someone leaning against the wall next to the exit. You don’t need to squint this time, Sylus’s tall frame is unmistakable.

Handling Trumbo’s class was much easier than you expected. Everyone was relatively polite and did what they were told. Only one student had failed the course so far. You were weeks away from graduation and already planning your annual beach trip with the girls.

“I’m so bored with the beaches around here… we only ever go to someplace we can drive to. Let’s go international this year! We’re graduating, that warrants a special trip!”

Tara wraps an arm around Simone and matches her pout.

“Yeah, let’s go big this year. It’ll be the last girls trip before we go to grad school and Simone is flying to Tokyo for her big girl tech job!”

You look at the girls over the screen of your laptop and roll your eyes.

“I’m still waiting on my acceptance letter. And unless one of you is paying for me, I can’t afford it. I’m saving for an apartment, remember.”

“Did you guys already order your cap and gown?”

Tara slaps Simone’s hand away from the last nacho and grabs it for herself.

“Yeah, I just hope Trumbo is pleased with my work and gives me a passing grade.”

“You’ve done a shit ton of work for him, he better give you a recommendation letter too!”

“Is there still anything left for you to do?”

“I’m grading the last paper.”

“Who’s in the danger zone? Anyone we know?”

Simone leans forward, wiggling her eyebrows with a smirk.

“There’s a handful, if they get a passing score on this paper they’ll be fine.”

“Is a certain snowy-haired sex god one of them?”

“Simone!”

Tara tries to scold her, but her smile gives her away.

“It would be unethical for me to reveal that information.”

“Bo-ring!”

You wait until they’re both out of sight to pull out Sylus’s paper from your folder. While you love the color red, especially those ruby red eyes, you hate the sight of how much red is on this paper. Sylus is about to fail Business Ethics and it’ll be your fault. Then again, he never came to you during office hours to plead his case. He’d flirted all semester, even leaving a little note at the end of his last paper trying to woo you. But none of that would help his grade now.

You gather your things and tuck Sylus’s paper in your bag. You have office hours and then you can post the final grades. Your walk to the business building is quiet, the cherry blossom trees had bloomed last week which meant the entire walkway was sprinkled with pink petals. You trudge down the hall to Trumbo’s lecture hall and sigh, it’s so quiet at this time of day with all classes wrapped up and teachers heading home.

You set up your desk and prepare for two hours of uninterrupted bliss. A few more papers need grading and your final essay for Child Development needs revising. You’re sipping your iced matcha and scrolling through your playlist, searching for the right vibe for this study session, when you hear a door open. When you look up you nearly spray your matcha all over your laptop.

Sylus saunters down the aisle towards you. How he made the most basic outfit look hot, you’ll never know. Ripped jeans, a loose t-shirt with the sleeve rolled up, dirty chucks - to look that effortless would take you hours. He approaches your desk and drops his backpack to the floor, he sits on the corner of the desk and props his foot up on his knee.

“C-can I help you Sylus?”

The corners of his mouth twitch and he rubs a hand over his face to reset the serious expression he’s trying to maintain.

“Yes, Miss, I was wondering if you’ve graded my paper yet?”

You look down at the folder in front of you, knowing his paper is on top. You clear your throat and rest your folded hands on top of the folder.

“Yes, I have.”

He leans forward, his hair swaying and falling over his forehead,

“So how am I looking?”

Hot. Delicious. Fuckable. All correct answers, but not something you can say. Not just because you’re too anxious, but because you’re about to tell this man he isn’t going to be graduating in a few weeks.

“Uhh… let me ask you a question.”

He leans back and nods.

“Do you have morals?”

He laughs, the boisterous sound echoing off the walls in the empty lecture hall.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you think your morals align with the ethics discussed in this class?”

He pauses for a moment, then sighs heavily.

“I failed, didn’t I?”

“Answer my question.”

His grimace turns into a grin as he gives you a once-over.

“I think the concepts presented in this class are narrow-minded and rather unrealistic.”

You open the folder and set his paper down in front of him before crossing your arms.

“That statement alone would have gotten you a better grade than this trash.”

Sylus looks down at his paper, his eyes slowly rise to glare at you.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to beg.”

“I’m not expecting anything, you had your chance to come to me sooner. You failed, plain and simple.”

“Hmm… narrow-minded and rather unrealistic… that seems to describe you too, sweetie.”

“You can insult me all you like, isn’t going to change your grade.”

“Oh, you’ve got it all wrong Miss. I’m not insulting you… I’m challenging you.”

You hesitate, your fingers twitching with anxiety.

“What do you mean by ‘challenge’?”

“The prompt was about negotiations, right?” You nod. “Well, I will prove that business deals should be personalized, negotiating is just another word for interrogating in my book.”

“So you plan on interrogating me?”

He stands and slowly walks around the desk to stand beside you.

“I told you, deals should be personalized. I don’t think interrogating you will help my case.”

You cross your arms and try to tuck your legs under the desk further.

“I’m curious what you think intimidating me will accomplish.”

“Wrong again, kitten.”

The nickname throws you off, you stare up at him, your eyes frantically searching for even a hint of sarcasm.

“W-what do you –”

He suddenly kneels and takes your hand, bringing it to his lips. He places a slow kiss to your knuckles before turning your hand slightly to kiss your palm. His breath tickles your skin and sends a shock of excitement straight to your core.

“I tried to be subtle, but it seems you need a more direct approach.”

He slowly starts to press open mouth kisses up your arm.

“I’ve had my eye on you all semester since the day you came into this classroom all sweaty and out of breath. Your cheeks flushed, lips parted as you gasped for air.”

He places his other hand on your knee and turns your chair to face him. He plays with the lace along the hem of your dress, letting his fingers tease your thigh.

“You’d sit here, nose in a textbook or trying to hide behind your laptop, but every time you’d look up I’d see you look for me. The way your teeth sunk into that pouty lip of yours when you caught my attention.”

He reaches up and brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. You’re frozen in place, your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your clit damn near vibrating with excitement. You try to squeeze your legs together, but Sylus presses his torso between them. He lifts your hand once more and kisses the tips of your fingers.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t care that much about the paper. Sure, I’d love to get the hell out of this school, but I think I could suffer through another semester if I could fuck you on this desk right now.”

He suddenly sucks your thumb into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the tip and circling before sucking. You let out a breathy moan and close your eyes to try and force yourself to calm down. Sylus releases your thumb with a lewd pop.

“No, please kitten, I want to see those gorgeous eyes.”

You open your eyes to see Sylus leaning forward, his nose trails along your jaw as his hands fall to your waist.

“Fuck the paper, kiss me.”

He looks up at you, his eyes full of desperation. At this moment, you can’t recall a single lecture about educational ethics and you don’t bother trying. You grab his face and pull him to you, his lips just as needy. His hands reach around and he pulls you to the edge of your seat.

“Get on the desk for me sweetie.”

You follow his instructions without hesitation, all rhyme and reason chucked out the window with your sanity. All you can think of, all you can feel, all you can sense is him - just him.

“That’s it, lean back for me.”

You lean back, letting Sylus lift your dress to reveal your panties. He grabs the back of your neck and brings you forward, crashing his mouth into yours. His other hand squeezes your hip and dips down to cup your clothed pussy. You shiver as he gasps into your mouth, his hand rubbing back and forth, only making you more feral.

“You naughty thing, this wet just from a little flirting?”

You throw your head back and firmly grip his t-shirt to keep from falling back.

“Shut up… ahh… as if you’re not hard right now…”

He chuckles as he licks the side of your neck.

“Oh I am… and I can’t wait to be so deep it’ll take you weeks to forget the shape of me.”

You moan loudly, your body shaking as he finally slips his hand down the front of your panties to touch you directly. His fingers trace your swollen clit and tease your entrance slowly. You press yourself against his palm and he groans into your neck. Your fingers clutch the back of his shirt. He takes a step back and pulls it over his head as you yank off your cardigan. He clumsily pulls your dress over your head and runs his hands through your hair, gently tugging to tilt your head back so he can kiss your neck again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…”

Your mind is blissfully empty, for the first time in years… You’re not thinking about papers or tests, student loans or grad school. You’re just letting your body take control. You let your hands slide down Sylus’s torso, every muscle shivering under your touch. A subtle click and zip, you don’t even realize you’re pushing his pants over his hips.

“So eager… you want it, kitten?”

You let him go and lay back on the desk. His eyes don’t know where to look. He leans over and presses kisses to your stomach while his hands shimmy your panties down your legs. Your back arches off the desk as he kisses you, every tender kiss sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. You sit up suddenly.

“Am I going too fast?”

You shake your head and tuck your fingers under the hem of your bra, yanking it over your head in one swift motion. His pupils dilate as he takes in your fully naked body.

“I want it, all of it, touch me please, fucking touch me…”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you flush against him. His bare skin against yours makes your head spin. You can feel his heart beating and all you can think is how badly you want him to touch you, to hold you, to consume you. He pushes your shoulders until you are on your back again. His tongue is eager to taste every inch of you, his lips drag along your neck, down to your collarbone, to the swell of your chest, closing around your nipples to suck and lick at the tender flesh. He continues down your stomach and over your hips, and then you whimper as he lifts your legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Yes, keep making those sweet sounds, you sound so good. Moan for me again angel.”

His tongue dips straight into your pussy making you groan and writhe. He continues to fuck you with his tongue, his nose rubbing against your clit until you feel like you’re about to explode. His hands grab your ass and lift you, pushing his tongue further inside. Your legs shake and you reach back to hold onto the edge of the desk, gripping something to try to stop your legs from snapping shut against his head.

“I want you to come for me, I need to taste you. Please I need it…”

His voice is so desperate, so raw, you don’t even have to think you just release. Your cries of pleasure are matched with his own, just hearing him moan has you seeing stars. You hear him sucking and slurping like your pussy is a damn water fountain and he’s never seen water before. You’re trembling and almost crying by the time he lifts his head from between your legs. He crawls over you and buries his face into your neck, smearing your release onto your collarbone.

“You taste divine… better than I imagined…”

You run your fingers through his hair, letting your legs finally relax and hang off the desk.

“You imagined what I’d taste like?”

He rises and rests his elbows at your side, his face flushed such a pretty shade of pink.

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I needed you, I still need you.”

“Sylus…”

His eyes drift from your lips to meet your gaze.

“Fuck me.”

His crimson eyes darken as lust takes over. He stands and you lift yourself up onto your elbows. You watch as he peels his boxes off, evidence of his own climax staining the fabric.

“Did you…”

“Cum from eating your pussy? I sure did.”

You sit up fully and loop an arm around his neck, his body collides with yours and you waste no time. His mouth slots over yours and you part your lips to invite him in. His tongue traces your lips and presses against your tongue until you’re delirious from the lack of oxygen. Your hand reaches down between your bodies to wrap around his cock. He tenses and you slowly stroke him until he’s gasping.

“I can’t wait anymore…”

He frees himself from your grasp to grab his wallet from his jeans. He retrieves a condom and tears it open with his teeth. You snatch it out of his hands and roll it on as he whispers your name. As soon as it’s on, he’s lifting you off the desk and lowering you onto his cock.

“SYL– oh… Sylus fuuuuck…”

You wrap your legs around him and cling to him, his face buried in your chest as he slowly stretches you out.

“Holy fuck, she’s so tight… breathe for me sweetie, you can do it.”

You throw your head back and moan loudly, the sound of your cries bouncing off the walls and turning you on even more. Your pussy pulses and you force yourself to take a deep breath, your belly expanding. He bites your nipple and you nearly cum again. He lowers you quickly, his teeth rolling your nipple distracting you enough to take the rest of his impressive cock.

“You’re taking me so well, she’s sucking me in now, you feel that?”

You nod frantically, the deep rumble of his laugh makes your stomach clench. You need more.

“You want me to move, angel? Is that what you want?”

You nod again, your nails digging into his back.

“Use your words, let me hear that beautiful voice. Please, angel, speak to me.”

“Yes yes Sylus… fuck me, move please I need you - I need you to move…”

The next thing you know, your back is hitting the desk and his cock is slowly pulled out. Just as you’re about to take a breath, he’s ramming himself back inside. You scream his name and grind your hips forward.

“Shit… do that again, grind on me, angel.”

You roll your hips and feel his cock twitch inside of you. Your walls flutter as you match his pace. The sounds of skin against skin, the lewd squelch of your leaking pussy and his guttural groans fade and all you can hear is your heartbeat. The tension you’ve felt for nearly the whole semester, finally reaching its peak.

“Sy, Sy, Sy! I’m going to… I’m…”

“I know, I know, me too… Let me feel you… come on, I have you.”

Your body trembles as you cum on his cock. A growl erupts from Sylus’s chest as he falls apart. You can only feel his cock twitching and his hips pulsing, you’re almost angry at the condom for keeping you from feeling him completely. And now, you can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like for him to fill you.

“I wish I felt that, I wish I felt you fill me… fuck…”

Sylus groans into your shoulder, his chest heaving as he tries to come down.

“There’s always next time, sweetie. If you want there to be a next time.”

You whine as he pulls out. He removes the condom and tosses it into the trash can next to your desk. You sit up and reach for your bra, clumsily pulling it on over your head.

“What are you doing? What if someone sees that?”

Sylus grabs some tissues from Trumbo’s desk and returns to you, gently spreading your legs to clean you up.

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

He turns to clean himself and you hop off the desk to grab your panties and dress off the floor.

“Okay Mr. Rhett Butler.”

“Oh, you got the reference.”

“I didn’t peg you for a movie buff.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You’re about to put your dress on when he stops you. He stands in front of you in his boxers, his hands settling at your waist. Your breath catches as he pulls you forward.

“I meant it, you know.”

“M-meant what?”

He leans down and places gentle kisses to the side of your neck.

“I don’t care about the paper. The only deal I want to make involves seeing you again.”

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙:

@trishiepo0

@not-so-quite-human

@kitsunetori

@babyx91

@libriomancer

@lilyadora

@crowskitten22

@letharue

@silverbrain

@alastor-simp

@drama-trauma

@0tterteeth

@mysticcollectionvoid

@godzillaglitter

@godoffuckedupcats

@m00nchildwrites

@plsdonttakemyname

@hauntedbysmut

@withering-dream

@lostwingz2236

@simpfortheseven

@freddy-2002-blog

@plsdonttakemyname

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misettemisette · 23 days ago

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Chapter 11 ➺ Not a cloud in sight

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 6K words TW: sexual content +18 PS: French writer, the players's pairings are based on rumors or invented. Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ The same struggle Chapter 10 ➺ A place for words

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“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated and buckled during takeoff.”

The plane accelerated, and Misa released a soft whine of pain. I was crushing her hand, my grip tightening in vain as I tried to focus on a magazine cover stored in the back of the seat in front of me. “Relax and simply enjoy your flight!” the title said provocatively. I was nowhere close to relaxed right now, Misa’s poor hand being the collateral damage of my fear of flying.

I had never been an air person, afraid of heights, of planes, and even of kites when I was young. My two feet always felt right on the spot, firmly on the ground or at least less than ten feet above it. I hated small, closed spaces too, so traveling in a plane was close to a nightmare. Flying with the team was always a stressful moment, especially takeoff and landing. I hadn’t found any tip to calm me, except closing my eyes and muttering some vain prayer to myself.

This time, I could at least get the comfort of my girlfriend. We never sat next to each other when traveling with the team. This was a first. A first experience I wasn’t sure Misa was truly enjoying now. Her fingers were turning white under my anxious grasp, and I couldn’t do anything else but hold my breath as the plane took off toward the sky at full speed.

“Respira, cariño. Estoy aquí,” I heard her soft voice in my ear.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to concentrate on the warm, large hand under mine. My grip loosened slightly. My palm was sweating and stuck to hers. Her fingertips attempted soothing motions on the back of my hand and succeeded at making me lose focus on the speed, the height, and the feeling of being trapped. Misa’s fingers were always distracting.

The plane stabilized, and the familiar “seatbelt is no longer required” sound rang out. My eyes flew open.

“Is it always like that, cariño?” Misa asked with a light chuckle.

I nodded, breathing deeply.

The young brunette pulled up the armrest and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. Her other hand found my chin, lifted it, and I could do nothing but dive into her brown eyes.

“I’m here. We’re going to be alright, I promise,” she said, and she leaned her face closer until her plump lips pressed lightly onto my cheek.

My eyes fluttered shut again, trying to let her cute kisses take me away from the plane. The feel of her lips ghosting all over my face sent shivers through my body, followed by the first itches of desire. Those damned lips! It was just too easy for Misa to work me up. The tiniest contact of her lips always made me want more, and I snuggled up to her, breathing in her sweet perfume. Her whole presence enveloped me and helped me relax a bit, finally.

“I bet it’s not obvious right now, but I’m really, really, really happy we’re going on holiday together, Mis’,” I murmured against her.

“Ah… I was precisely thinking I should have left you at the airport…” she joked.

“I don’t believe you, nasty girl..."

The young woman rested her head against the back of the seat.

“En verdad, I’m stressing out…”

“Oh, are you? About what?“ I asked, straightening up.

“Jenni and Codi are going to rib me day and night. Maybe even Ale will join them.“

“Why?”

She smiled shyly. “It’s been a while since they saw me with someone…”

“Oh…” I glanced down at my lap. “I hope… I mean, I hope you didn’t feel obligated to invite me after Jenni…”

“Shhhh, cállate Nicky. Don’t start with your nonsense! Of course I want you with me. Plus, you’re perfectly loca like us. You’ll blend in in no time!”

I laughed, reassured, until a turbulence sent the plane shaking madly, making me whine in terror as I buried myself back into the goalie’s arms.

***

The taxi parked in front of a large modern villa with the biggest bay windows I’d ever seen. The house was above one of the many beaches of Formentera island, framed by pine trees and colorful flowery bushes. The hard sun of noon was perfecting the chic summer decor.

We picked up our luggage and went to the front door. Misa rang the doorbell while I twisted my fingers nervously, intimidated. The prospect of meeting her closest friends was imminent.

"Están aquí, ya voy!" I heard from behind the door. I stepped aside, half hiding behind the goalie, as the door opened in front of us.

Jennifer Hermoso was one hell of a woman. No, it was more than that, it felt like a hurricane was about to sweep us both away when Jenni discovered us waiting by the front door. She flung herself at her friend, words of excitement buzzing all around.

After they parted, Jenni faced me, so tall and muscled she could have been really intimidating if it wasn’t for her large, warm smile.

"Nicky, por fin nos conocemos!" she said, pulling me into a friendly embrace.

Two other faces appeared in the doorway.

"Jenni, acaba de llegar, déjala respirar", said a blond sturdy woman who could be no one but the charismatic, famous Alexia Putellas.

The third one, Laia Codina, added, "La estás ahogando, Jenni."

But Misa interrupted the chatty women.

"Hey… chicas, hablad inglés porfi, Nicky entiende unas frases pero no habla correctamente español."

Misa’s friends nodded in agreement and we followed them inside the villa.

Three other women were waiting. After a quick presentation, I learnt that they were Olga, Kyra and Norma, the girlfriends of respectively Alexia, Laia and Jenni.

So it’s couple holidays, I thought, getting why Jenni insisted on me coming.

"Nicky!" Jenni led me to the kitchen bar. "So you snatched the heart of our bromista Misa!"

She pulled a bottle of tequila from the cupboard. The other women joined us and began fetching the different cocktail ingredients.

I drew a nervous smile. "Yeah, it’s me. What does bromista mean?"

"It means prankster!" Kyra exclaimed from across the kitchen.

Laia went on, "Chicas, do you realize Misa la malota has found a girl? How do you stand her, Nicky? Everybody here knows she’s disreputable."

With a little smile on her lips, Misa huffed and rolled her eyes as she aligned five glasses in front of the striker, who was pouring tequila into a big shaker.

"I’m keeping an eye on her", I said, looking proudly at the goalie leaning on the bar beside me, and I patted the top of her head.

The three friends simultaneously released a tenderized "Ohhhhh."

"She’s the good one for you, Misa", said Alexia.

"Yes, she hasn’t even argued with the fact that you’re a mean girl", Jenni pointed out.

"She’s got what you need, I say you should marry her now", concluded Laia.

That made me laugh, the nonsense of her friends, but especially the goalkeeper’s exasperated pout.

"I knew it was going to be like this…", Misa sighed, resigned.

"Exprime las limas, porfa", Jenni handed Misa a few limes, a knife and a juicer, "We wouldn’t let you get away without checking Nicky’s alright, we know you, hermanita", she said before turning to me, "Nickita, swimming pool or city tour this afternoon?"

"Pool’s great", I answered, too tired from the flight to really enjoy a long walk in town.

I couldn’t suppress a yawn.

"You want to take a nap? There is no rush", Misa asked me while putting the freshly pressed lime juice into the shaker.

"I’m okay, Mis'", I replied, looking at her tenderly.

Laia and Alexia leant onto the bar and whispered to each other as they watched us mischievously.

"She’s so soft when she’s talking to her."

"Look at her sparkling eyes!"

"Lover Misa is back on board!"

"Basta, chicas!" Misa grumbled, "It’s getting annoying!"

Everybody laughed, especially Jenni. "Eres imposible! You’d be doing ten times worse if you were in our position!"

The goalie shrugged and smiled naughtily and Jenni went to hug her again. "Te heché de menos, mi vaca!" she said affectionately, sending Misa softening in her arms.

"Ay! Y yo!" the goalie replied, hugging back Jenni like crazy.

In the meantime, Laia and Kyra had precisely divided the shaken beverage between the waiting glasses, and they handed each woman a cocktail.

Jenni spoke again, lifting her glass, her voice filled with cheerfulness. "Salud chicas! To love, to friendship, and to fucking great holidays together!"

We joined her in a profusion of joyful exclamations.

***

I had taken a nap after all. We had dropped our stuff in our room and I had lied down on the bed, mostly to test its comfort, but sleep had taken me swiftly a few minutes later.

I woke up after what felt like hours. The bedroom was dark and quiet. Misa had pulled the curtains, but she was nowhere to be seen. I stretched, feeling better, although a bit dehydrated, and got out of bed. I checked my phone and figured out I had only slept around forty minutes. That left plenty of time to enjoy the day.

The goalie’s clothes were resting on the armchair, her trunk had been opened, and I deduced she had gone to the pool with the other girls. I opened my own trunk and rummaged through my stuff until I found my bikini. A funny thought crossed my mind as I undressed. Olga and I were the only non-footballers in the villa. Putting my bikini on, I wondered if I felt confident about that. Probably not. Self-confidence wasn’t something that really defined me, and that was partly why Misa impressed me so much. She had the strength of someone dealing with pressure on a daily basis, someone you could rely on. Of course, she could be a little grumpy, and hot-headed, but she was never mean or disrespectful.

She had been my sweet, unbearable, thoughtful friend from the start.

I wrapped myself in my beach towel and opened the door. Happy voices and water sounds echoed from the outside, confirming they were by the pool. Eager to join everybody, I climbed down the stairs and quickly crossed the living room.

I stepped outside. The sun dazzled my sleepy eyes. They took a moment to adjust as I scanned the place.

Jenni was sitting on a sun lounger at the farthest side of the pool, completely at ease being topless. Kyra, Olga, Norma, and Laia were swimming and chatting happily. Alexia was talking to a muscular, tanned girl lying on her belly and wearing nothing more than a light green swimsuit thong. Modest, I looked away and locked eyes with the Spanish striker.

"Hola Nicky!" Jenni called to me with a large smile. "Come sit with us!"

"Cari!" Misa had flipped herself onto her back, but it wasn’t any better for my sanity because she wasn’t wearing a top either. "Nicky! Venga!"

She opened her arms, signaling me to come closer. I walked toward her, smiling timidly as I approached my gorgeous girlfriend. I laid my towel next to the goalie, who pulled me close, draping her arm around my shoulders. She pressed a soft kiss on my temple and resumed her talk with Alexia.

I blinked, dazzled again. The sun was lower but still beating down. Misa’s arms kept me pressed against her hard, blazing body. She was relaying some funny story, speaking animatedly in Spanish while stroking my hair now and then. My hand had fallen on her abs and I wasn’t daring to move it. I wasn’t daring to move at all, afraid, once again, all of this might only be a dream. Could it really be me, lying next to my girlfriend, the beautiful goalkeeper of Real Madrid, spending holidays in a luxurious villa with her friends? It still felt amazing that she had chosen me, Nicky, a simple photographer, among all the girls she could have.

Misa and Alexia burst out laughing.

"We were remembering one time at camp when Jenni and I jump-scared Alexia so much she almost threw up!" the brunette explained to me.

"It was Jenni’s credit!" Laia called out from the pool. "You, Misa, were already dying of laughter before you even pranked her!"

Everybody laughed.

"Has Misa ever pranked you, Nicky?" Kyra asked me.

I straightened up, embarrassed to be glued to the half-naked goalie now that the other girls were looking at me.

"She did…" I admitted. "Although, one time, I pranked Misa when she wanted to prank me!"

"Guau! How did you do it?" Jenni asked. I had caught the girls’ attention.

Misa had sat up as well and was smiling shamefully as I told them the story.

"It was at the Ciudad Real Madrid. I was in my car, ready to go home. I saw Misa in my rearview mirror crouching and coming slowly from behind. I was sure she wanted to go to the side and pop up by the driver window, so I let her come closer and closer, watching her in the mirror from the corner of my eye. And when she was about to jump up, I honked!"

A burst of laughter rippled through our small group.

The goalie scratched her nose, tears of laughter in her eyes. "Dios mío! I thought I was dying of fright!"

"You fell on the floor like a panicked wild animal!" I chuckled, putting my hand on her cheek. "You should have seen your face! I almost felt bad for having pranked you so well!"

"Well done, Nicky!" Kyra said.

"Sí, enhorabuena, Nickita! You’re an official member of the pranking girls now!" Jenni congratulated me.

As everybody resumed their chatting and stopped focusing on us, Misa pulled me into a hug again.

"I told you, you fit perfectly among us, cariño…" she whispered in my ear. Her soft breast brushed my back gently as she settled me better against her. Something hot and swollen grew in my throat as happiness wrapped itself all around me. I closed my eyes. My fingers found her hand and I intertwined them with hers.

Yes, all of this truly felt like happiness. Simple. Pure. Happiness.

The bliss hadn’t left me.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying the pool, dining, and chatting all together. We went to bed at a relatively reasonable hour and what a joy it was to lie down at her side in the comfy bed, losing myself in her sweet perfume. The two of us chatted a little more until it was Misa’s turn to fall asleep without warning. I had grown used to her feeble snores and stayed a moment listening to her deep breathing before putting my earplugs on.

Because of my nap, I woke up early the next morning. Again, I spoiled some minutes looking at the sleeping young goalkeeper, curled on herself, her mind lost in the peaceful slumber of a dream. Was she dreaming of football? Or of a thick waffle loaded with chocolate? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I’d never want that serene expression to leave her face. I wouldn’t let anything hurt Misa. Nothing. She was too precious…

I got up without waking her. I met Kyra in the kitchen. The Australian woman hadn’t taken the Spanish habit of sleeping late yet, and I was happy to share breakfast with someone—Misa always fasting half the day.

The other girls woke up a few hours later. Some of them went to the exercise room of the villa and some went running along the shore. After quite a fight, Misa convinced me to join the running team.

“You go jog just a bit and wait for us on the beach! Exercising is important for your health, Nicky!” she said, dragging me outside the villa.

Dating an athlete, this was bound to happen! And here I was, wearing some of the goalie’s spare training clothes, jogging slowly along the shore before noon. It wasn’t long before I was totally distanced, the footballers shrinking to tiny moving dots on the horizon.

Out of breath after only a few minutes, I hated Misa for making me run. I stopped. If I wanted to build up a healthy routine, I needed to take things gradually. Besides, I couldn’t deny exercising felt good afterward, especially when I ended up walking on the sand, listening to the sound of the waves as my heartbeat gradually slowed down.

That was when my mom called.

“Hello Nicky! How are your vacations going, sweetie?”

“Hey Mom, vacations are great!”

“You are on a Spanish island, right? And you’re coming home at the end of the week?”

“In Formentera. Yes, until next Sunday. I’ll land home at 5:30 PM, can you fetch me at the airport?”

“Of course, baby! Tell me again the names of the friends you are with? Everyone’s from Real Madrid?”

“Er… Not everyone. I’m with Misa and her friends.”

I stopped along the shore, letting the sea’s embruns blow in my face.

“Oh, your other friend’s not here… Hmm… Hayley?”

We were getting dangerously close to the point.

“No, she’s not…” I said, staring at the horizon. The sea was almost completely still, giving birth to a single wave, which died a few feet away onto the sand.

“Oh, she’s not? Only Misa then?”

I exhaled.

“Yes… Mom, I’ve got to tell you something. First, I need you to understand that it’s good but it’s complicated.”

“Tell me, baby, you’re getting me worried!”

“Don’t, Mom, I’m alright, really. Okay… I’m not… Misa’s not… Misa’s my girlfriend…”

“Oh, but that’s good! From what you told me about Misa, she’s an intelligent, healthy woman! You scared me, I thought you had some problem!”

“Misa’s awesome but I do have a problem…” I paused. The sound of the waves continued to soothe me. “As their professional photographer, I’m not allowed to date Real Madrid players.”

Right away, I felt relieved. No more secrets with my own mother. She knew everything now.

“Oh Nicky… that’s… that’s a pity. So, how are you coping? And you’re getting a promotion, right?”

“Yes. That’s the deal. Everything’s great, Mom, my job, Misa, except I’m not supposed to have both.”

“Since when did Misa and you start dating each other? Is it serious with her?”

“I really hope it is. It’s been three months now.”

“Okay Baby, wait more. Love is important, but having an exciting, well-paid job is too. Only time will test your relationship and show if it’s going to last… Anyway, I’m glad you told me. I thought you were hiding something but I wanted you to be ready to speak up.”

“Thanks Mom, I’m really feeling better.”

“I’m happy you found someone, love. And I hope I will meet Misa one day.”

“Thanks! I really hope you will! I’ll send you photos of our holidays. It’s so beautiful here!”

“I can’t wait to see. Bye, my little girl. Take care of you and Misa. I love you.”

“Kiss dad for me, I love you too Mom.”

I hung up, breathed out again, and walked toward the little group of footballers who had come back from their run and were setting their towels on the sand a bit farther down the beach.

The bliss still hadn’t left me.

***

And it never left. Holidays weren’t just holidays.

We could hold hands as our little group wandered around the streets of Es Pujols. We could lock eyes or murmur something silly in each other’s ear without thinking about it looking suspicious. We could dance, pressed together in a tender make-out at the club, surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about Real Madrid or who was kissing its goalkeeper. We could cuddle whenever we wanted, provided we could tolerate the unceasing mockery from her infernal friends. In fact, those friends really made me feel comfortable, teasing me like I had always been one of them. And after a day or two, even Jenni’s amused gaze began to feel like a caring presence.

But the best part of it all was being with her, all day, all night, day after day. There were no goodbyes, no time apart, no in-between moments. Just moments with my girlfriend, living with my girlfriend, and enjoying every little bit of it, from the burned toasts she prepared for me in the morning to her loud snores forcing me to wear earplugs every night. It was like an endless day off in Madrid where we had a whole island to explore as a couple, surrounded by friends, with no other task than planning our next cruise or booking a local specialty restaurant we wanted to try.

Slowly, I got it. Here, we were free. Free to be lovers. And I realized being Misa’s girlfriend was like the waveless sea of Formentera, flowing peacefully.

***

“…and they found the guilty vein and burned it,” Misa finished, smiling mildly at my astonished expression.

I shifted my position on the stone bench, crossing my legs, the screeching of cicadas filling our last night on the island.

“And it healed your tachycardia?”

“Yes, I was healed and able to play football again!” she concluded with a small laugh, like going through awaken heart surgery at the age of thirteen was no bigger deal than buying bread.

I was gagging, impressed by her courage at such a young age and by the strength and determination it had given her since.

“Wow, I’m speechless. You already loved football back then.”

“Football is my passion for life. I can’t live without it. Like… you couldn’t live without chocolate chip cookies.”

I slapped her shoulder, chuckling. “You’re just bummed because you can’t eat my biscuits!”

“I swear you have a problem with sweet food, Nicky! Your cupboards are always full, stuffed with several boxes of the same biscuits. It looks like a shop!” Misa laughed, looking at me tenderly. “I’m telling you, you’re addicted to sugar. I should call you Azúcariño from now on.”

“You would not!” I giggled, moving a stray strand of hair from her face.

“I surely would, Azúcari.”

Misa pulled me into her arms, love in her eyes so visible I blushed, grateful for the darkness of that part of the garden. The brunette was already laying small kisses all over my face, making me laugh again, something in me purring deliciously at the feeling of being loved so much.

“You’re so sweet, Mis’,” I said, wrapping my arms around her broad, comforting shoulders. “You’re right, I’m addicted. To you. You’re my dark chocolate chunky cookie, strong and sweet.”

Misa and I looked fondly at each other for a moment, our shiny eyes reflecting the moonlight. My fingertips traced random shapes on her nape.

“I forgot to tell you…I’ve subscribed to a tattooing course! It comes with a kit and all the supplies to get started!” Misa announced with excitement.

“Wow! That’s great, baby!” I said, beaming with pride.

“Yeah, I’m so happy about it! Although… I’m stressing a bit about the drawing part,” she added, a little embarrassed.

“You should take drawing classes too, then! When I was in art school, my drawing level was so bad I gave up. But I’ve always wanted to learn. Maybe we could do it together?”

Misa’s eyes brightened before she pouted. “Qué buena idea! But… soy muy mala. I’m so bad at drawing…”

“I’m sure you can do it! You’ll improve no matter where you start. We’ll encourage each other!”

“You’re right. We’re going to do it!” she declared, swelling her chest with pride. “Te quiero, Azúcari…” she said, then softly pressed her lips on mine.

“I love you, Misa,” I responded with a smirk, before we lost ourselves in a long kiss.

As we deepened the kiss, music began to echo from afar and I tried to pull back, only to feel Misa’s strong hands holding me firmly in place.

“Más…” she whispered.

“Everything is ready!”

I jumped at the sound of Jenni’s voice nearby, followed by the rustling of leaves. The tall, lean silhouette of the striker appeared behind us.

“Hola, tortolitos! Stop your crap and join the party!”

“Party!” Misa sprang to her feet at once. “¡Vamos, Nicky, yeahhhh!” she shouted, running toward the house.

Jenni and I both rolled our eyes. “Misa…” we giggled in sync.

When we reached the pool, Misa was already dancing like a beast with Laia, Kyra, and Norma, their voices outshouting the music. Jenni was quick to join them, while I preferred to sit in a lounge chair beside Alexia and Olga, watching the dancing footballers with a motherly smile.

“They’re always so wild,” Alexia laughed.

“Yeah, they’re having so much fun,” I agreed, my eyes glued to Misa’s bouncing figure, more excited than ever.

“And you, Nicky, are you having a good holiday?” Olga asked.

I sighed in contentment. “Perfect.”

Alexia chuckled softly. “Good. I’m happy for you two. I hope you’ll find a way around the work problem,” she added a bit awkwardly.

My heart tightened. Of course Misa had told them about the clause. I was still searching for something to say when two large hands pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the dance floor.

“You have to dance to this one! it’s Formentera by Aitana! So on point!” Misa shouted, hopping in place as she pushed me into the middle of the dancing girls.

Soon, their energy swept me up, and we all sang in a chaos of off-key notes.

Porque desde que estás aquí Aquí cerca de mí Que tú eres mi baby Ese recuerdo de tenerte sin ropa…

We danced for hours, song after song. Time didn’t seem to exist as the party stretched into the night, cocktails and beers refilled as soon as they were emptied.

Time didn’t exist when Misa was putting on a show, dancing and singing badly just to make us laugh. Every passing minute made me fall even more for her silly, radiant personality. I was falling so deep as our bodies pressed together on the dance floor.

“Te quiero a ti… Let’s go upstairs. We’ll say we’re tired.” the brunette whispered, a burning glow in her almond eyes, and I shivered, realizing just how badly dancing and drinking with her had worked me up...

I pushed Misa against the bedroom mirror. Our room was a fair distance from the party, and we had closed all the doors we could. The air was warm and heavy with humidity inside the villa.

My fingers slipped under her T-shirt and rose along her spine to reach the hook of her bra. I pulled her clothes off, stepped back, and took in the half-naked figure of the goalkeeper. A smug smile spread across Misa’s face as my gaze grew heavier with desire. She grasped her shorts and slowly pushed them down to her ankles before stepping out of them. She dared to stay there a moment, in front of the mirror, her reflection showing me her bare body from every angle.

I reached out to her, pressing against her again.

“You’re fucking gorgeous…” I whispered against her lips.

I was already damp between my legs as Misa led me to the bed, lying on her back before swiftly pulling me over her. I chuckled at her eagerness, taking off my top as I straddled her.

“I was dying to do that for hours! You were so pretty on that bench…” she panted, working to undress me. But she froze when she pulled my panties down. “Uh, um, mierda… Nicky, you’re having your period…”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!” I moaned, jumping off her and heading to the bathroom. “Fucking shit! No!”

“Madre mía! Not on our last night together!” Misa groaned from the bedroom.

“That’s not fair!” I said. My underwear was completely ruined. “Er… I’m so sorry, Mis’. Can you fetch me a new pair of panties, please…?” I asked, embarrassed.

“Sí, claro. No te preocupes, Nicky, no pasa nada.”

She slipped an arm through the doorway, handing me a black boxer, and I began to change in a hurry.

“We could go in the shower…” Misa said through the door.

Coming back into the bedroom, I discovered her sitting at the edge of the bed, naked, looking at me expectantly. My core already screamed for her touch.

I stepped between her legs, looking down at her pleadingly.

“My period started strong. I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” I said, bending toward her lips and stopping just short. “Besides, I want you more than anything else tonight.”

The brunette’s hands fell on my nape and pulled me into a feverish kiss. My stomach swirled lightly, aching to take care of her as we crawled back onto the bed, careful not to break our passionate make-out.

As I settled myself properly over her, the goalie let out a small whimper and closed her eyes. Her fingers sank into my hair, deepening our kiss. I spread my legs slowly, opening hers wide at the same time. Misa released another whine and squirmed. The quickening rhythm of her breathing encouraged me to stay like this, edging her a bit more. I sent a finger tracing the shape of her abs and felt her hips bucking over nothing.

“Nicky… you want me to be as frustrated as you?” she whined as my palms brushed the insides of her thighs, going, but very slowly, toward her intimacy.

Her hips wiggled again, accompanied by a low moan.

“Just wet a little more for me, my love,” I teased, not really minding if she caught the play on words. The young woman pulled my lips against her neck and sighed. I took my time licking the soft skin there and ended by nipping her earlobe, sending a shiver along the goalkeeper’s spine.

“Nicky?” she sighed softly.

I stopped, looking at her pretty face. “Yes, baby?”

“I want you… with the strap we brought,” she said, a smug smile spreading across her features.

I moaned, her demand sending goosebumps all over my body, and rose at once to retrieve the precious item.

I opened the drawer, searching toward the back of it, my hand falling on a suggestive shape wrapped in silky black fabric. I swiftly pulled out a purple toy and a harness.

Misa stretched lasciviously as she watched me put on the harness, securing the toy in place before coming back onto the bed over her. Her hooded eyes kept looking up at me expectantly, yet her movements guided my body down, her hips directing mine until the end of the strap rubbed against her.

Our lips met again, our ragged breathing syncing with the way our hips moved in anticipation. I led the strap lower, lining it up with her entrance.

"Listo?" I murmured, making sure she still wanted it.

"Sí," she sighed, wrapping her arms around me, and I began to push very slowly.

The goalie whimpered, her grasp tightening around my shoulders. I kissed the corner of her mouth, pushing deeper. Misa’s lips parted in a loud cry, her back arching when my hips finally met hers. I waited for her to get used to the feel, our faces pressed together in a tender kiss, and then I slowly pulled out.

Her hands raked down my back, holding me closer as I pushed in again. I slightly quickened the pace and she whimpered louder, her hips moving in rhythm. As she arched more, her head fell back onto the pillow, her arms raised and her fingers digging into the fabric. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent and letting her hear just how turned on I was by making love to her like this.

I was far beyond the point of excitement, something hot and swollen growing inside me again, as my love for Misa overflowed around us, bonding us more deeply than the strap between our bodies.

Her shallow breaths brushed my face, escaping her lips with every thrust. I gazed at her, overwhelmed by the bliss written across her features, until a high-pitched moan slipped from my mouth. Misa opened her eyes, two dark pools reflecting my own need. She pulled me into a rough kiss and flipped us over.

I froze for a second, taking in Misa’s muscular thighs straddling me, the V-line stretching across her stomach and meeting on her pelvis, just above where the strap disappeared between her legs. I moaned, my core burning. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her small breasts, bouncing slowly with the gentle rocking of her hips, while she held herself against the headboard with her strong arms…

“Fuck!“ I blurted out.

The brunette whined. “Sí…” she sighed, “Fuck… me… cari…“

My hands fell on each side of her waist instantly and I resumed thrusting. As soon as I moved, her cries echoed again through the bedroom, higher pitched now, almost pleading. Combined with the way her fingers clenched the bed frame, I could tell she was very close.

When I started to pound faster, Misa stopped moving, arching desperately to chase her release. She went silent, her entire body swaying above me, clinging to the toy. Driven by her erratic breathing, I kept filling her, and then her thighs began to tremble.

"Dios mío!" she cried, her beautiful face twisted in an unbearable amount of pleasure. "More! Hostia!"

I was panting now, my legs felt shaky but I held on, trying to keep a steady rhythm, giving her everything I could. I held her waist firmly, then slipped a finger through her folds, my small caresses on her clit guiding her until she reached her orgasm.

A long cry broke from her lips, her brows knitting tight before her whole body relaxed in release as a final thrust pushed her over the edge. She moaned again and again, louder each time, her gorgeous body writhing with enjoyment until she collapsed onto me.

I wrapped my arms around her as her whimpers faded, softer now.

My embrace tightened desperately. "I love you so much," I whispered, my eyes burning at the sight of her falling appart with pleasure.

Misa freed herself from the toy and rolled onto her back. I took the harness off and crawled back to her face. My heart was drumming in my chest, worn out from effort and emotion. I kissed her cheek, my palms stroking her recovering body with all the tenderness I could offer.

The goalie turned back toward me, her breathing still shaky and her eyes shut tight as she nestled her face against my chest.

“Humm, love you Nicky,” she whispered, her lips slightly trembling. “You make me feel so good, and safe.”

I pressed her closer, not bearing the tiniest space between us, my heart bursting with overwhelming feelings. Misa’s words felt like a gift no one had ever given me. A tear fell from my eye before I even knew what was happening, landing softly on the woman resting in my arms.

She looked up at once, tender at first, then confused when she saw I was crying.

“It’s alright,” I smiled, my voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve never felt this way with anyone. You’re so special, Misa, and you make me feel special too.”

Misa’s fingers delicately wiped the tears off my face, her lips pressing gently on my collar bone.

“You’re going deeper than the strap…” she chuckled, her own eyes shining.

She sank back into our embrace, holding me tightly. I wouldn’t have moved an inch away from her anyway.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like this, but we had fallen asleep for a long time before our bodies finally parted.

When the light woke me up in the middle of the night, I realized we hadn’t pulled the curtains. The full moon was high and bright in the cloudless sky. Tomorrow, each of us would return to our families for the rest of the holidays. Misa and I would not see each other for weeks.

I went back to bed after closing the curtains, pressing my face between her shoulder blades. I started drifting back to sleep, her snores welcome tonight, knowing I was going to miss even that in a few days.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

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arabella0001 · 3 months ago

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❛say it when you're sober❜ (sasuke uchiha x reader)

✦ AU • slow burn • smut with plot ✦

✦ anime: naruto

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

synopsis: you don’t usually drink this much. don’t usually flirt. don’t usually end up pressed against a stranger at 3 a.m., skin hot and mind fuzzy. but naruto introduces you to two of his friends and somehow you go home with one of them. or maybe… he takes you. sasuke isn’t what you expected. he’s quiet. intense. and when the door shuts behind you—nothing about him feels accidental.

⚠️cn: alternate universe, smut with plot(bc i can't help myself), slow burn, strangers to lovers, original characters x naruto, alcohol intoxication, smoking, fluff, rough sex, oral, praising, light dom/sub.

When you get home, you walk ahead of him with your head down, eyes barely focused on your hands as they frantically fumble with the keys.

Once you reach the door, your hand trembles on the lock, emotions too intense to find the right position to open it. Sasuke softens his gaze behind you until he places his hand over yours, calming it—and opens the door with a soft click.

The gentleness doesn’t last long. He turns you around and gently pushes you back against the door, making you yelp. His breath tickles your ear as he glances at you from the corner of his eye, through dark strands of hair.

"Where’s your boldness from before? You left it at the club?"

You gulp, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You slip slightly out of his “prison” and try to change the subject, waving your hand around the room as you awkwardly excuse the mess. Sasuke just smirks, amused by your nervous rambling, sensing your panic and embarrassment.

You walk over to one of the kitchen cabinets with a countertop resting on it, stabilized by another unit, and turn toward Sasuke—only to find him already standing right in front of you.

"You always talk this much when you're nervous?"

He moves in with that quiet, intense energy of his, even though his steps are slow, until your back hits the counter.

"It's cute."

Damn it. You blushed too hard at this while your hands grip the edges of the coutertop.

"It’s me making you shy?"

"Aah, no—sorry. I’m not usually like this—"

You try to explain yourself with silly excuses—when in fact, you are like this. Sasuke places his hands on your thighs and lifts you smoothly onto the counter, shutting you up completely.

He asks, his hands gliding gently over your body, moving behind your knees, sending goosebumps across your skin.

"Can I touch you?"

You stammer.

"Y-yes."

Sasuke studies your face for a moment before letting his focus drift to your lips. He leans in slowly, watching you part your mouth, ready for him. He smirks.

He kisses you gently, his tongue lazily rolling over yours, making you even wetter—if that’s even possible.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting out of character, but he can't help it. He wants to tease you more. His hands graze every intimate area, and between each touch, he asks.

First, at your chest.

"Can I touch here?"

"Y-yes."

Then, lower.

"But here?"

Your voice sharpens, eyes half-lidded and a little annoyed.

"Yes!"

He dives back into your lips, kissing you harder now, demanding entry as the tension between you spikes. His big hands pull you closer, gripping your ass firmly.

When he hears that moan—the same one that flipped his world back at the club—he groans, then pulls away from your lips, his breath brushing over them.

His hand moves between your legs, spreading them slightly as he cups your pussy, feeling how wet you are even through your pants.

"You stayed like this?"

Your expression softens, innocence peeking through your shame—and that only makes it harder for Sasuke to resist the urge to fuck you right then and there. He feels like a horny teenager again.

His fingers start rubbing you over your pants, pressing harder—until he quickly pulls them down.

"W-wait."

He stops immediately. Your voice snaps him back to reality, his usual cool composure cracking for a second. Did I read that wrong?

Until he sees your face—just pure embarrassment.

"I don’t do… this… usually. Like, sleep—"

He gives a smile, close to a laugh, then crouches slightly to pull your pants all the way down. His hands stroke your trembling legs with firmer pressure, trying to calm you as you squeeze your thighs together again—like you want to close yourself off.

"Neither do I."

He looks up at you from below, and somehow, his gaze gives you a strange sense of control—until he stands and cups your chin gently.

"If you changed your mind, we stop. But if you want this, just tell me." He watches you closely, reading every micro-expression. "Or just nod."

And you nod. Yep, he got you right.

He kisses you again—this time softer, more comforting, like he's trying to settle your nerves before asking.

"Now, your room?"

He picks you up, your arms wrapping around his neck. You look at him with a scared but too fucking cute expression, pointing to the room on the right.

"Left."

Once you reach the bedroom, Sasuke sets you down gently, his hands resting on your thighs, then trailing slowly along your back as his mouth searches for yours.

You wonder—if he hadn’t made you drink that water earlier—maybe you’d be able to hold back your moans with every touch. But you didn’t know that your eagerness only made Sasuke harder.

He moves with you slowly until your legs touch the edge of the bed. He lowers you down—gentle at first—then pushes your chest down so your head hits the bed and pulls your legs to the edge, making you yelp.

You push up onto your elbows, eyes wide, as he kneels and spreads your legs further.

"S-Sasuke."

He looks up at you with lust-darkened eyes, gently dragging a finger over your underwear, pressing harder—making your hips buck.

And before you can process anything, you feel his soft, wet lips on your clothed pussy. It feels so good, you swear you must be dreaming. You let out a whimper.

Sasuke loved that.

"Should I leave you like that?"

Your head lifts instantly, hair falling into your face. The look you give him says more than words ever could.

"D-don’t be mean."

He smirks—teasing you with words, not actions—as he pulls your soaked underwear down. Your arousal is already dripping between your thighs.

He didn’t think need could feel like this.

"Look at you." He spreads your folds, making it easier for him before adding. "Beautiful."

Your cheeks barely get the chance to blush from the compliment—something you’re not used to—before he’s already licking you. His tongue traces and moves from your hole to your clit before slurping up every drop of your arousal.

You fall back instantly, legs trembling worse than before, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"F-fuck!"

He holds your legs firmly so you stop squirming, his lips pressing harder onto your pussy, devouring every inch of you. Only his muffled groans ground you in reality.

You dare to look at him—what you see is obscene. Sasuke’s face buried in you, barely visible, suffocating himself while your thighs squeeze tight around his head. And he doesn’t care at all.

Too turned on to think, you reach down and sweep the hair from his face, as if tying it back in a loose ponytail with your hand. The second his eyes meet yours, intense and dominant—you feel like you might cum right there.

Seeing your expression, he pauses and pulls back slightly, his tongue running over his lips to taste you. Then his hands pull you forward, flipping you onto your stomach—making you gasp.

"W-what?"

Sasuke spreads your folds, and the way you clench around nothing makes you ache to have him inside you. But that’s not what he’s after yet. His lips begin kissing and licking again—between your asshole and your cunt —before returning to your clit.

You're overwhelmed. You've never had this much attention—everywhere. It makes you want to cry. And you do—the moment one of Sasuke’s fingers slides inside you, while his tongue moves in rapid circles on your clit.

"Oh my go—"

You’re panting, your hips pressing harder into his face.

"More, more, more—"

So he adds another finger, twisting them. He pulls away from your swollen pussy for a moment, his other hand slipping under your stomach to steady you, while his fingers begin thrusting—hard.

He hits your special spot again and again.

Tears fall down your face, your thoughts shattered by the pleasure.

"I love it so much, I love it so much—"

His fingers explore places you never knew could feel so good. It almost hurts—your walls squeezes his fingers so hard it’s like you never want him to leave.

"Let go. Now."

His lips return to your sensitive bud, one final lick—and you scream so loudly, you barely hear yourself. But your neighbors definitely did.

"Yes, yes, yes—"

You’ve never cum this fast or this hard before—wetting the bed, his face, your thighs, the sheets—everything.

"Yeah, that's it. Good girl."

You whimper, tears still running down your cheeks as he licks and cleans you up, slurping every drop.

When he’s done, your legs drop down limply, your breathing ragged as you lie on your stomach. Hair a mess—you barely see him take off his shirt.

His voice hoarse, cracking slightly as he says:

"Hope you know we’re not done here."

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steddieunderdogfics · 6 months ago

Text

I’m a lover, boy by gayjinkies

@gayjinkies

Rating: Explict

13,425 words, 3/3 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Eddie Munson has a dick piercing, what a tag to start off with, First Time Blow Jobs, Blowjobs, Doing it for the dare, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington speedruns his sexuality crisis, Himbo Steve Harrington, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, They’re both disasters folks, ”I’m not gay but I wanna blow you anyway” type disasters, Crack, This is dumb as hell I’m so serious, Smut, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, They’re idiots your honour, Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, but more like morons to lovers, a sprinkle of angst for flavour, Dacryphilia, like big time, Top Eddie Munson, Bottom Steve Harrington, Sub Steve Harrington, give the guy a break he’s just now figuring out what he’s into

Summary:

“Uh.” Harrington’s eyes are darting up to Eddie’s face and back down to his clasped hands, over and over. “So. I was — but it’s not like that, y’know? Because I’m — and I just wanted to —“ “Harrington,” Eddie interrupts, scowling. “Stop wasting my time. Spit it the fuck out.” Harrington glares at him, eyes narrowing. “Fine. Fine.” He pauses, biting his lip, before saying, “Are you gay?” Eddie’s blood runs cold. His brain stalls. “Uh. I don’t think I understand.” Harrington throws his head back in frustration, cursing under his breath at the sky. The movement ruffles his hair, strands curling around his ears as he looks upwards. When he looks back to Eddie, he says, very slowly, “I was hoping you were gay, Munson, so I could give you a blowjob and prove to myself that I’m good at it.” —— Or; the basketball team unanimously votes that Steve would be the worst at giving a blowjob. Steve wants to test the truth of that with the only guy he knows might be down to help - Eddie Munson.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @gayjinkies. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

#writer's spotlight #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #rated e #first time #smut #crack #no upside down au #smut with a happy ending

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arthurstinmug · 3 days ago

Text

Guns & Grace, Chapter 3

Summary: Arthur & Rebecca reflect on their passionate night on the banks of Flat Iron Lake. A/N: This is a short chapter (and not my favorite), but it will pick up. Right now, my goal is to post weekly but if I can, I will post sooner.

Content warning/tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ only, mature content, Arthur Morgan x Fem OC, themes of rape, themes of sex trafficking, violence, alcohol use, p in v sex, oral sex, edging, pregnancy, slow burn, fwb, smut, angst, eventual happy ending. Reader discretion advised. By reading this fanfic you are verifying you are over the age of 18.

previous chapter

Chapter 3: Quaker’s Cove

September 1898

The sound of a distant steamboat whistle woke Rebecca up from her slumber and she groaned to herself in annoyance. Who the hell chose this camp? The gang had settled in Quaker’s Cove some time ago as it wasn’t too far from Blackwater, getting them closer to their dream of going west. Plus, the fish were abundant here. The sounds of steamboats whistling up and down the San Luis River that emptied out in Flat Iron Lake was a regular occurrence that she still couldn’t get used to. Morning had come too soon for her as she had hardly gotten any sleep. How could she after last night?

The memory of last night quickly came to her as she rolled onto her back. She could still feel Arthur on her and hear him in her ear, the scent of him still on her. Her thighs pressed together tightly as she thought of him, still feeling sore from it all.

After Arthur walked her to her tent, she slipped in quietly so as not to disturb Tilly, thankful to see she was asleep. The last thing she needed at that moment was someone to ask her a bunch of questions she had no answers to. Quietly, she stripped down to her chemise and slipped into her bedroll to get some sleep, but her mind wouldn’t let her. She tossed and turned all night just thinking of him and reliving the whole thing.

I wouldn’t mind spending more nights like this, his words replayed in her head. What did he mean by that?

Her belly was a bundle of nerves, a mix of excitement and anxiousness stirring in her as she stared up at the tent’s canvas. She was dying to see him again, especially since things had been left unsaid.

Maybe it was just a roll in the hay. Don’t get too excited, Rebecca, she scolded herself.

She was already bracing herself for the worst. If it was just a fling, she had to accept it, and never let it happen again. Nothing gained, nothing lost.

The clatter of pans and crunching of boots on dirt interrupted her thoughts. Pearson’s chipper voice was nearby, singing. She groaned to herself knowing she had to get up to start chores. She glanced over at Tilly who was still sleeping like a log and wondered how anyone could sleep through the noise of the steamboats.

“I guess it’s time to get up,” she mumbled, rolling out of her bedroll to get dressed and start the day.

********

“G’morning, Miss Martin! It’s a fine morning,” Pearson called to her as she stepped out of her tent, tying the ribbons of her apron behind her back.

“Good morning, Mr. Pearson,” she responded politely, but not as cheery as her eyes scanned the camp for any signs of Arthur.

His horse is here, she noted.

She made a beeline for the pot of coffee to pour herself a cup. God knows she needed the caffeine. Pearson was already chatting her up and she listened and commented politely to him, watching the camp slowly come to life. Inside, however, she was anxiously waiting for Arthur.

“Mr. Morgan! How are you this morning?”

Rebecca practically froze when she heard Reverend Swanson call out to him in the distance. Her eyes lit up as she saw him approaching the campfire, her heart beating wildly in her chest trying to think of what she wanted to say. All that went up in smoke when she heard the next voice speak up.

“Arthur, good morning,” Dutch said as he began to yammer about something or other.

Damn it, Rebecca thought to herself, unable to tear her gaze away from them.

“What do you say if you and I go into town today? I wanted to look into a lead I have in town,” Dutch said to Arthur, already talking business so early in the morning.

“Sure. What’d ya have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you on the way and then see what we can find,” Dutch said, already walking to his horse. Arthur followed him without even glancing her way.

Rebecca stood there wide eyed as she stared at them, silently beckoning him to come back. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath, desperate to talk to him. And he was leaving camp?! Different emotions and questions stirred in her, disappointment being the strongest.

I guess that answers my question.

She was about to dump her coffee, the smell of it suddenly abhorrent, when Arthur looked her way as he mounted his horse. It was only for two seconds, his expression stern and stoic, but there was something in his eyes that gave her a glimmer of hope.

*********

The morning was tranquil and quite beautiful. It wasn’t too hot just yet and the birds were singing their morning song. But Arthur was too lost in thought to even care or notice. He was trying to stay focused as he listened to Dutch talk about his plan to possibly hit the bank in Blackwater.

Why did you have to be such a dick? Arthur scolded himself as he thought of Rebecca. The events of the night before replayed in his head and the look of hope in her pretty eyes this morning made him feel so guilty. He felt like such an asshole for being dismissive of her.

He needed to fix this. He didn’t want her to think he took advantage of her. He liked her, but his damn pride wouldn’t let him admit it.

I can let her go now and no one gets hurt.

Except he knew this would hurt her and the truth was he didn’t think he could stay away. Not after last night. Not after knowing what she felt like, soft and warm, her lips sweet like honey. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want more of her but Arthur didn’t do relationships. That was his one rule. This life didn’t allow room for that. He learned that a long time ago and he had accepted it. But damn it, did he want her.

He needed to make a decision and make things clear with her.

This isn’t going to work.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #smut fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #fwb #p in v sex #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x fem oc #red dead redemption fanfic #slow burn #angst #red dead fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #smut with plot #smut with a happy ending

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pyaargulzar · 3 months ago

Text

guidance (pt. 5)

summary: with both lovers being miles away, their yearning intensifies. maybe what arnav taught khushi can be put to use to help them both?~

themes: romance, mature, mutual yearning woohoo, self-exploration on khushi's end, smut heehee, "main jo karunga, kya tum woh kar paogi?"

a/n: please feel free to show love/drop your thoughts!! these last 2 parts made me feel so down, i was literally writing to my depression playlist LOL 🥹 would LOOOVE to know if you liked this read 🫶

The boardroom was a battlefield.

Arnav’s voice cut through the heated debate like a blade, his fingers steepled under his chin as he dismantled arguments with ruthless precision. The numbers on the screen were his ammunition—every decimal point, every projection—and he wielded them with the same cold focus that had built his empire. The air was thick with tension, the hum of the projector the only sound as his team waited for his next move.

“If we pivot now, we lose leverage in the Asian markets. The data doesn’t support this gamble.”

His CFO opened his mouth to protest, but a single glance from Arnav silenced him. The man’s jaw snapped shut, his fingers tightening around his pen. The room exhaled. Deal closed.

Yet as his team shuffled out, murmuring praises, Arnav’s gaze drifted to his phone—dark, silent.

They didn’t know that his sharpness today stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t spoken to his wife. Nor did they know that he had begun yearning for her more desperately after dreaming about bending her over his desk, his hands gripping her hips, her breathy moans filling the silence of his office.

Maybe it was something in the air—the sterile, impersonal scent of the hotel, the endless cycle of meetings with new clients, the way every interaction felt like a negotiation. Whatever it was, it left him on edge, his skin too tight, his thoughts too loud.

That night, as the shower steamed around him, water sluicing off his tense shoulders, he braced his palms against the tiles, head bowed. It had been years since he’d let himself ache like this. He felt like a teenager in heat, restless and desperate, wishing he could teleport home. No one else and nothing else would do—he needed Khushi.

Her absence wasn’t just an emotional void; it was a physical torment—the hollow in his chest, the way his fingers twitched for the warmth of her waist. He’d spent half his life believing love was transactional, something he’d never earn. Too harsh. Too broken. As if he was too difficult to be loved.

But Khushi…Khushi loved him like breathing. Without reason, without limits. Her love never felt like too much—it was just right. A fresh sunny day, a warm cup of coffee, a blooming garden.

And everything felt right again once he finally heard her voice.

His thumb swiped over his phone screen, pulling up the private memo he’d drafted earlier: Gulfstream G700 – expedite purchase.

A ridiculous indulgence. But one he could most definitely afford. The thought of Khushi waiting at airports, worrying—no. He’d burn the money if it meant she’d never look that scared again. A cost-benefit analysis could never fulfill nor justify this need.

Four whole days without Arnav had passed.

Khushi’s clock was still stuck, her heart heavy with his absence. She missed him in everything she did—the way he’d grumble into his coffee in the mornings, the warmth of his hand at the small of her back, the sound of his voice when he whispered her name in the dark. The house had quickly become a whirlwind of activity—baby shower plans, nursery decorations, endless discussions about names—but none of it filled the space he left behind.

Today, she was helping Paayal select clothes for the baby, her fingers lingering over impossibly tiny onesies, her heart swelling at the thought of something so small and fragile coming into their lives.

Arnav had asked her to stop by his office later to pick up some files Aman had prepared. During their brief FaceTime calls, her world finally slowed.

As she drove to the AR Design office, her mind wandered. She wanted to do so much—but what? Arnav had reassured her that her restlessness wasn’t a bad thing, but it didn’t make the confusion any easier.

The office buzzed with its usual energy, employees moving with purpose, the hum of printers and hushed conversations filling the air. Khushi lingered near Arnav’s empty desk, running a finger along the polished edge.

How would it feel to sit here? To run these halls again, this time with real purpose?

She cringed inwardly at the memory of her first chaotic days in the office—her unprofessionalism, the team’s resistance. But she had tried. She had learned. And now, standing here, she wondered what it would be like to be part of it all—the proposals, the projects, the thrill of building something.

Aman’s knock pulled her from her thoughts. “Ma’am?” He hovered in the doorway, holding a file. “The reports Sir requested are here.” He placed them on the desk.

“Aman-ji,” Khushi blurted, then hesitated. “How is it working here?”

Aman smiled, as if he understood exactly what she was asking. “I like it. There’s a lot to learn from Arnav Sir.” He nodded toward the desk. “There are some documents in the right drawer for you as well.”

Khushi hummed, pulling out the envelope with her name on it. But what caught her attention was the file labeled ‘AR Design Quarterly Results’.

As she flipped through the pages, something flickered in her chest. Columns of numbers, profit margins, KPI’s—this was the language of her husband’s world. The same world she’d dipped into blindly before:

Selling sweets to keep her family afloat.

Running a tiffin service after marriage, bartering with suppliers.

She’d done it all by instinct, never realizing she’d been building skills. Her father had been a businessman—of course this felt natural.

A realization bloomed in her chest, warm and certain. She didn’t need to overthink it anymore. Her usual gleeful smile returned as she gathered the files, her steps lighter on the way out. She couldn’t wait to tell Arnav. He had to be the first to hear.

The next day, Khushi found herself home alone, the house eerily quiet. Paayal and Aakash had slipped away on a whispered date, leaving her with nothing but her thoughts—and the growing, gnawing ache for Arnav.

His call usually came in the morning or afternoon, but today, there was nothing.

“I’ll call you late at night, your time,” he’d texted.

Now, as night fell, Khushi traced idle circles on her phone screen, the empty notification feed mirroring the hollowness in her chest. She wandered to his wardrobe, the cedar scent of his suits wrapping around her like phantom arms.

One by one, she touched the fabrics that had graced his skin—the charcoal suit he favored, the blue shirt he’d worn just before leaving. Pressing a sleeve to her face, she inhaled deeply, her knees nearly buckling at the fading traces of his cologne.

She surrendered to instinct, slipping into the black cotton shirt he slept in. The hem brushed her thighs as she crawled onto his side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow. Here, surrounded by his scent, the distance felt almost bearable.

The phone’s sudden vibration startled her awake at 1:00 AM. She fumbled for it, his shirt slipping off one shoulder as she answered.

Arnav’s face filled the screen as his eyes trailed her form. “Been wearing that all day?” His voice was rougher than usual.

Khushi shook her head, the movement making the neckline slide further. “Just since sunset.” Her fingers nervously plucked at the fabric. “I missed—”

The call ended abruptly.

Khushi’s stomach twisted—anxiety, frustration, a flicker of anger. The emotions were sharper in her sleepy haze.

Then, her phone buzzed.

“Sorry, call you back soon. Love you.” a text.

The tension in her chest eased. The next call came an hour later.

Khushi answered in the moonlight, curled in their bed, still wearing his shirt. The moment his face appeared, she beamed.

“You’re still wearing my clothes,” he noted, his voice darkening.

Her fingers plucked at the cotton as she hummed. “It smells like you.”

“Khushi,” he warned.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Hmm?”

His jaw clenched. “Do you know what you’re doing? I rushed back to the hotel as soon as I could because of you”

She could feel the shift—the tension thickening, his gaze turning predatory. Her breath hitched.

Then, the words he’d been holding back,“Will you be able to do what I’m about to do?”

That same challenge, months later—but now, she knew exactly what it meant.

Her lips parted. “Try me,” she whispered, never one to back down.

Arnav moved the camera, revealing his bare torso, the hotel sheets pooled low on his waist.

Khushi gasped.

His skin was gilded in the dim light, muscles taut as he deliberately dragged the sheets lower, exposing the defined V leading to his manhood. His hand palmed himself through his boxers.

Khushi’s breath stuttered, her thighs pressing together.

“Arnav—”

He smirked, freeing himself from the fabric. His cock sprang free, thick and already hard, pre-cum glistening at the tip.

Khushi’s mouth watered, her fingers digging into the sheets.

“Touch yourself with me,” he commanded, his thumb smearing the wetness over his flushed head.

The slick sound made her whimper.

Obedience.

The glow of the screen highlighted every tremble of her fingers as she obeyed, tracing the neckline of his shirt.

Arnav’s voice was rough, possessive. “Slow. I want to see you.”

Khushi set the phone against her pillow, angling it so he could see everything. The way his shirt rode up her thighs, the bare skin of her legs, the rise and fall of her chest with every shaky breath. Her skin burned under his gaze.

“Arnav…” His name was a whisper, a plea.

His hand stroked lazily, his eyes locked onto her. “Move your hands…lower.”

Khushi’s fingers drifted down, skimming the swell of her breast through the thin cotton, her nipple pebbling under the fabric.

A sharp inhale from Arnav.

“Like this?” she teased, her touch slipping further, dipping between her thighs.

His groan was visceral. “Take it off.”

With shaky hands, she obeyed. The camera shook as she lifted the shirt, moonlight spilling over her bare skin—her flushed breasts, the curve of her waist, the desperate clench of her thighs.

Arnav’s growl sent a shock of heat straight to her core.

“Fuuuck, Khushi—” His hand tightened around his cock, holding himself back from spilling just at the sight of her.

She whimpered, her fingers slipping beneath her panties, finding herself already soaked.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

She did—her wide eyes meeting his darkened gaze as she circled her clit, mimicking the rhythm he used on her.

Arnav threw his head back, his hips jerking.

“I wish you were here,” Khushi gasped, her back arching. “I wish you were touching me.”

“Where?”

Her free hand trailed up her body, tracing her tummy, then moving to her breast, pinching a nipple, just the way he liked. “Everywhere.”

Arnav cursed, his grip tightening. “Take them off. Now.”

She hooked her fingers into her panties, peeling them down her legs before spreading them, her heat on full display for him.

Completely bare. Completely his.

Khushi’s fingers dipped inside her, her moan high and desperate as she grinded down against herself.

“Arnav, I—I—”

“Tell me,” he growled.

“I’m empty—ahn—sooooo so empty without you.”

His rhythm stuttered, his cock leaking more pre against his stomach. “Fuck—”

She arched, her neck exposed, her breasts bouncing as she chased her release, his name a broken chant on her lips.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, his voice raw with need. “Now.”

And she completely shattered. A shrill cry, her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around her hand as pleasure ripped through her. She was riding her orgasm, two fingers curling to hit that spot Arnav showed her. She whimpered his name, “'m cumming Arnav.”

Through the haze, she heard his climax—his ragged groan forcing her to open her eyes to see him fall apart. His hips jerked into his hand, cum spilling over his fist as he moaned.

Watching him tipped her over, extending her release—her moan fractured into a gasp as she dragged her fingers out, slow and slick, her breath ragged as she studied them under the dim light.

Silence.

Then—

“Fuck this,” he panted. “I’m catching the next flight back.”

author's note: i've come to deliver on a promise teehee, i hope you liked part 5! heavily inspired by the ANON ask to tie in: main jo karunga, kya tum woh kar paogi?

lowkey want to integrate that into more intense scenes too (maybe? or a similar theme?)

#more smut coming up teehee?#smut with feelings #arnav and khushi #arnav singh raizada #YEARNING #khushi kumari gupta #ipkknd #ipkknd one shot #one shot #smut? maybe #ipkknd ff #smut with a happy ending #phonesex

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that-tmr-girl · 12 days ago

Text

One Day {Part 2}

You end up seeing Aris again sooner rather than later.

1,860 words

Blow job, oral, slight fingering, vaginal sex

When I first came up in the box I wanted to run, but I physically couldn't. For some reason, I could barely even walk. Even weirder, were all these bruises scattered on random parts of my body and even a handprint mark on my inner thigh.

When I first looked at the unconscious boy, it just came flooding back. Him. Just like he promised, he took away my ability to walk. He has held me while I cried. He has kissed me when nobody was looking. He has danced with me like everything was okay.

He loved me. He showed me love.

He promised that he would see me one day, and he’s here. He’s here, and he’s awake. He's here, and he's finally been let out of jail. He's here, and I’ve finally taken him to my hidden treehouse to talk to him.

“Why are we here?”

“Because of something important. Something maybe uncomfortable but true,”I started. “I know who you are. I know that you work for WICKED. I know that you're also the sweetest, funniest, most amazing person anyone could ever be lucky enough to meet. I know that you and I had so much love,”I explained, playing with my hands as I looked at his blank expression. “Do you remember anything? Do you know why you're actually here?”I whispered.

“How are you so sure of all this? How do you know that isn't all in your head?”

“Because of the way I came up,”I mumbled, staring intensely at the ground, “I couldn't actually walk and had marks all over me. We made love before I had to leave, and you actually made moving really difficult.”

“I told you I would do that to you,”He shrugged, giving me a smug grin.

“Aris, are you kidding me right now?”I asked in disbelief.

“What? I did tell you I would-”

“You're an absolute prick,”I insulted, throwing my arms around him and pulling him close. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,”He sighed, hugging me back. Wearing the biggest grin, I put myself on his lap as he pulled away and brushed my hair out of my face before kissing my forehead. “So, tell me more about the not being able to walk thing.”

“It's good to know you're still so humble,”I laughed.

“I know. I’m just great like that.”

“You get on my nerves,”I complained.

“But you love me anyway. You love me, and I absolutely adore you,”He whispered, pressing teasing kisses to my neck. Not standing for this any longer, I pushed his back to the ground as I straddled him. Landing on the blanket I had put down when I first found this place, he just grinned as he looked up at me. “If you wanted me to take your back out all you had to do was ask. At the same time though, you do look good when you're on top,”He flirted.

“You think so?”

“If what I’m looking at is real, I know so,”He whispered, putting one of his hands on each of my thighs. As he tried to move them up I pulled them away and pinned them to his sides.

“If you think I look good on top, then I’m not just going to stay on top. I’m going to completely dominate you.”

“Yay. I like the way that sounds.”

“You make being on top so hard when you sound that happy,”I complained.

“Hard you say?”He joked, winking at me. Rolling my eyes, I just put my chest against his as I kissed him. Kissing back, he deepened it as he put his hands on my ass and squeezed.

“Seriously?”I sighed.

“What? I really love the way that you look dressed, but I also want you to take your clothes off basically all the time. What's wrong with that?”

“You're so annoying,”I sighed, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down. “But I would do anything for you,”I quietly admitted, taking his boxers off too. Taking his already hard cock with precum in my hand, I started pumping him. Letting out small sounds, he balled his hands into fists as more of his liquids spilled from his tip and down the side. Hearing him get louder, I wrapped my lips around him. Almost the second he was inside my mouth he shot his seed down my throat. Swallowing everything, I pulled away to see him looking at me in a way I hadn't seen before.

“Please let me eat you out? Holy fuck, let me give you head?”

“Are you sure? I’m-”

“Yes. I swear I can make it worth it,”He promised.

“You can do anything you want to me,”I whispered in his ear. With that same happy grin he put me under him before quickly pulling my pants off, my underwear going with them. Spreading my legs, he almost instantly had his head buried inside of me. Flicking his tongue against my clit, he made my arch my back as I moaned his name. Thrusting a finger into me, he added his tongue at the same time. Circling my walls with his tongue and fingers, he made me louder as the knot in my stomach grew. Suddenly humming into me, he started licking sloppy stripes up my slit before just pressing his face against me. With another shaky moan, I completely broke.

Still, he wasn't done. He just kept licking and sucking me, lapping up all of my juices before actually pulling away.

“Better than I imagined,”He remarked, putting his fingers back inside of me. Rubbing shapes on my clit with his thumb, he started pumping as I whimpered. Balling my hands into fists, just as I was right there he pulled them out, individually sucking on each one.

“God damnit, I hate you,”I groaned at the empty feeling.

“No you don't,”He shrugged, taking his shirt off before pulling mine over my head. “No bra, huh?”He whispered near my ear before kissing down my neck, sucking on my collarbone before he started sucking on one of my nipples while his hands stayed on my lower stomach, making me squirm under him.

“I swear to god if you're not inside of me in two seconds I’m-”

Muffling my words, he pressed his lips to mine, keeping me under him as he kept teasing me.

“Please? Please? I can't wait any longer,”I begged as he pulled away.

“Anything for you,”He whispered near my ear as he straddled me. Lining himself up with my entrance, he nudged himself into me. Wincing, I put my hands on his back as I felt my breathing get heavy. Stopping, he pressed small kisses to my temple as I waited to adjust to him.

“You can-you can go now,”I got out as this wave of pleasure overcame me. Quickly pulling out, he then slammed back into me, making me let out a small scream before biting my lip to stifle my sounds. Digging my nails into his skin, I let out muffled sounds as he kept kissing my neck while still making sweet love to me. Arching my back, I wrapped my legs around his waist to force him deeper. Making sounds against me, he pressed his lips against mine as I was barely hanging on. Moaning into his mouth, I let my legs drop from his waist as I let go. Groaning, he pulled out, finishing on my stomach.

“You know I love you, right?”He asked through heavy breaths.

“Yes. I do,”I promised. Wearing a small smile, he pressed his lips on my forehead before grabbing an extra blanket and wiping my thighs off. Just as I thought he was done, he laid soft kisses on my skin. Not the kind with lust. Not the kind that said he wanted more. Just the kind of sweet kisses my body and mind would never get rid of.

“I just need you to know that. No matter what, I need you to remember how much you mean to me,”He whispered, caressing my hips as he kissed my lower stomach. “I need you to know that you're my everything. My reason to be here. My reason to wake up. My savior who reminds me what it means to have someone you will never let go of,”He whispered, his breath tickling my skin and sending shivers down my spine. “I need you to know how much I’ve always wanted to be yours and how I still can't believe I am sometimes,”He said, looking up at me as I tried not to squirm under him.

“Please?”I whispered.

“Anything for you,”He whispered back, kissing my clit before flicking his tongue against me. With my hands clutching the blanket, he noticed as he stopped for a moment. Gently grabbing my wrist, he put them on his head, letting me know that it was okay.

Lightly running my hands through his hair, I felt my legs shake as I grew closer. Grabbing my waist, he pulled me up to his mouth as he started plunging his tongue in and out of me. With my eyes going to the back of my head, I moaned his name until he quietly hummed inside of me. With the vibrations doing more for me than I could have predicted, I came in his mouth.

“Sweet, sweet girl. In more ways than one,”He praised, licking the rest of my cum from my skin. Pulling away, he carefully dressed me before doing the same for himself. Laying beside me, he ran his fingers up my back as I laid my head on his chest, cuddling up to him.

“So why didn't you tell me you remembered me?”I asked, breaking our comfortable silence.

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Nobody is actually supposed to know anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's this whole plan to get out of the Maze. Apparently, after that it's all over. I just can't let anyone know who I am.”

“How the hell do you forget something like that?”

“Because,”He started, tracing hearts on my stomach as he held me. “I forget everything when I'm with you. You just have the effect that nobody else can. The effect where you are the only thing that could ever matter,”He whispered in my ear.

“You're so hard to be annoyed at,”I sighed, feeling my eyes grow heavy. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I kept myself as close as possible, burying my head in his chest as he put his hand under my shirt, trailing his fingers up and down my spine.

“You can go to sleep. I’m going to be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”I whispered, unable to pretend there wasn't a small part of me that thought this would have to end again. And I don't want us to end. Ever. I already have so little in my life. I can't lose my only reason to wake up in the morning.

“I promise, princess. I promise.”

#tmr #the maze runner #smut #tmr smut #aris jones #aris x reader #soft smut #smut and fluff #smut with plot #smut with a happy ending #aris maze runner #part 2/2

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mjkinkwiz · 4 months ago

Text

Moonwalk Through Time - Part 8

I look around and quickly realize I am in a dressing room. I make my way across the room and find a discarded newspaper on a nearby coffee table. After scanning the front page I gather that I am in Denmark, Copenhagen to be exact. My eyes scan the heading of the page and a smile touches my lips. It was August 29, 1997, Michael’s thirty-ninth birthday. This also meant that his History World Tour was almost over. I look up when the bathroom door opens and he walks out. I swallow as my eyes slowly rake over him.

“Oh…My…Fucking…God…” I whisper, my mouth hanging open as I see him wearing his famous History tour gold pants. At the sound of my soft voice, he looks up, a bright grin instantly lighting up his face.

“K-Kendra!” He breathes in surprise as he quickly crosses the room to get to me. I stand on my tiptoes, hugging his neck tightly as he wraps me up in his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers, burying his face into my neck.

I pull back, my hands lacing together behind his neck as I continue to stand on my tiptoes, and I gently tug him down into a slow, deep kiss. Michael hums and moans softly against my lips as we kiss, his hands sliding down my sides before moving down further to cup my ass. I whimper softly as he presses me closer and I feel his growing hardness against my thigh.

I gasp in surprise when he suddenly lifts me up into his arms. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my ankles locking behind him. My hands slide up to thread my fingers through his curls, which are still loose. I hum softly as we kiss hungrily, a low grunt escaping me when I feel my back hit the wall. My eyes flutter open when he pulls back, only to let out another sharp gasp of shock when he roughly tugs down the top of my dress, along with my bra, exposing my breasts.

My breath hitches, my mouth falling open and my head falling back against the wall when his warm, wet mouth wraps around one of my hard nipples. My grip tightens on his hair, holding him to my chest as he feasts of my breasts. My other hand reaches down to undo his pants, pulling his hard cock from its confines. I freeze, my eyes going wide and a sound of shock escaping me when Michael suddenly reaches down, ripping my panties off of me. I look down in shock at the ruined scrap of lace in his hand before I look back up at him, pouting.

“Hey! I liked those, ya know!” I whine, huffing as he simply smirks, stuffing the ruined fabric into his pocket.

“I’ll buy you some new ones. I wanted a souvenir for my birthday,” he retorts unapologetically, his smirk widening as I blush hotly.

Any further protest I might have made dies on my tongue immediately when he guides his tip to my entrance before he suddenly slams me down over his entire length, my eyes rolling back as I unleash a deep, guttural groan of pained pleasure as he stretches my walls.

“Fuck, Daddy!” I cry out, my chest heaving as my breathing increases, beyond turned on by his urgency.

I whimper when I feel his hand grip the back of my head, tugging it back by my hair. I moan as he dips his head, leaving soft, wet kisses over my neck and along my jawline. I whine as he drags his tongue firmly up the column of my neck before nipping at my chin, a dark chuckle leaving him as my walls flutter around him in response, just like he knew they would. It was clear that, by now, he had learned to read my body, knowing exactly what to do to reduce me to a quivering mess in his arms.

I wrap my arm around Michael’s shoulders, my other hand still threaded through his hair, clinging to him as he begins to fuck me, his hips thrusting hard, deep and fast, showing no signs of slowing down.

“Fuck! Mmm does it feel good like this, baby?” He whispers huskily in my ear before nipping at the sensitive spot beneath it as he continues to fuck me, my back riding up and down the wall with the force of his thrusts.

“Y-Yes, Daddy! Don’t- Unh!- Don’t s-stop, Daddy! P-Please don’t ever s-stop!” I plead through helpless, desperate moans of pleasure.

“I won’t, sweet girl. Not until you cum for me,” He growls as he grips my ass in his hands and begins to fuck me even harder, my breasts bouncing with his movements, causing my hard, sensitive nipples to rub against his clothed chest.

I moan at his words, my fingers tightening in his hair as I roughly tug him closer, crashing my lips over his. We kiss hungrily before I begin to suckle at his bottom lip suggestively. Michael growls, his cock twitching inside me when I nip at his lip lightly with my teeth.

“Are you close, baby? Do you need to cum for Daddy?” He coos softly, his eyes searching mine before he nuzzles my nose sweetly, my senses reeling at his gentle actions mixed with his frantic, almost violent thrusts into my dripping pussy. I let out a sob of pleasure as I nod quickly.

“Unnnh y-yes! P-Please, can I, Daddy?!” I beg through a long, loud moan, his balls slapping loudly against my thighs as he fucks me hard and fast. He growls in approval when I beg for permission, the sound reverberating in his chest.

“Mmm such a good girl, asking Daddy for permission,” he praises as he continues to nuzzle and kiss me sweetly, all the while fucking me relentlessly against the wall. “Yes, Little One. You can cum.”

“Unh th-thank you, Daddy!” I cry out in relief. My eyes roll back in my head as my pussy begins to pulse around Michael’s hard cock as it pistons inside me at a punishing speed. “O-Ohhhh! F-Fuck! D-DADDY!!” I scream his name as I cling to him, shattering in his arms as I cum hard, my juices quickly frothing into a messy cream on his shaft and slowly dripping to the floor.

“Mmm you’re welcome, sweet girl,” he replies, chuckling softly at the completely dazed look in my slightly unfocused eyes, my pupils blown wide from the immense pleasure of my intense orgasm.

I whimper when I feel his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of my ass. I grunt sharply with each snap of Michael’s hips as he chases his own pleasure. My head falls heavily back against the wall, a look of pain scrunching up my face, but all I feel is torturous pleasure as he fucks me through my orgasm, my pussy unbearably sensitive.

“D-Daddy, pleeeaaase!!” I beg through a broken sob before I lean forward, pressing my face into his neck, unable to do anything but hang on for dear life.

It was a wonder he hadn’t killed me yet. I knew that his experience with what was happening was entirely different from mine, as he went months or years without seeing me. However, I was a little scared of what would happen once I returned home. I had a feeling his stamina would be the death of me once he got hold of me permanently, knowing I wouldn’t disappear anymore.

“Sh-Shit, yes! Mmm fuuuuck! K-KENDRA!!” He snarls my name loudly as he suddenly slams his cock inside me hard, burying himself inside me to the hilt. I groan, reaching down to grip my abdomen, feeling his seed spreading inside my fertile womb.

Michael stumbles over to the couch and sits down, holding me as I straddle his lap. I whimper softly as his cock softens and slips from my welcoming heat. I lift my head, kissing him languidly as his hands smooth over my thighs. I press my forehead to his and grin coquettishly.

“Happy birthday, Daddy,” I whisper, nuzzling his nose sweetly, giggling softly when he grins.

“Without a doubt, the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” he teases, chuckling softly when I blush and let out another shy little giggle.

We both fix our clothes, and Michael smirks knowingly when I sit back down on the couch and squirm slightly, now forced to go commando since he had destroyed and stolen my panties.

“You’re so cute,” Michael replies simply, pecking my lips before he tugs me back onto his lap.

I look up when I hear soft laughter and I glare at him. However, the effect is diminished by the obvious freshly fucked look on my face, my curls a mess around my head. I can’t help but let my glare melt into a shy grin when he tugs me back up onto his lap and I curl up against his chest as I hold his hand on my lap, playing with his fingers.

“The tour is almost over, isn’t it?” I ask softly, still looking down at our hands.

“Yes, thank God! I hate touring and I miss Neverland. I can’t wait to be back home,” he replies with a sigh, not seeing the knowing smirk on my face. It was well known by Michael’s fans just how much he hated to tour after all.

I wished so badly that I could stay and watch Michael perform, especially in those fucking gold pants. Unfortunately, the powers that be had other plans. I sigh sadly and sit up, kissing him deeply.

“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper against his lips as I press my forehead to his.

“I love you more, Little One, always more,” he whispers, pulling me back into another passionate kiss until I disappear from his arms.

Moments later I reappear in what looks to be some random alley. I peek around the corner and quickly realize I must be in New York City. I look further down the sidewalk and I notice an extremely long line spilling out of the doors of a store and going down an entire block. I look up and smile when I see the Virgin Megastore sign.

It was evident that I was at the 2001 Invincible album signing event. I sigh sadly, knowing that this meant Michael had gone four years without seeing me.

I make my way down the sidewalk and stand at the back of the line. I probably looked like a crazy person, wearing a short sundress and sandals in New York City in November, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I stand there for hours, the line moving extremely slowly, and more fans had accumulated behind me, making the line even longer.

I breathe a sigh of relief as a couple hours later my section of the long line finally makes it inside the store. Thankfully, I wasn’t cold anymore at least. However, I was getting worried that I would be whisked away before I even had the chance to see Michael. Apparently, I need not worry. Whatever power was behind this, it must know what it’s doing. After almost four hours in line, there are only five people ahead of me.

I blush and look away awkwardly when security guards and other guys in Michael’s entourage notice me. I pretend not to notice their flirty winks and smiles, or how they would stare at me as they lean in and whisper to each other.

I bite my lip, trying to quell my jealousy when I see a girl in skin tight jeans and a pink crop top, a Playboy bunny belly button ring catching the light when she moves. I groan softly, remembering seeing her in the footage of this event. I didn’t think I could stomach watching that in person. However, my heart flutters in my chest when Michael simply gives her a polite smile, asking her name as he autographs her copy of Invincible. Not once does he ask about her belly button ring, or say anything even remotely flirtatious. I want to rip her eyes out when she asks for a hug, but I’m relieved when, instead of walking around the table like he did before, he simply stands, leans across the table and gives her a quick hug before sitting back down.

The girl is ushered away to make way for the next person in line. After a few more minutes I make it to the front of the line. I have to bite my tongue to hold back tears. As handsome as I had always thought him during this time, he looked even better now. He still looked the way he did in 1995. His natural curls were still cut short, much like the way he looked at the MTV VMA’s that year. He hadn’t had anymore work done since the Bad era. He looked rested, healthy and sober, like his more natural self. I bite my lip to hold back a grin as Michael holds a Sharpie in his hand, poised to autograph yet another copy of his album.

“Who can I make this out to?” He asks without looking up, clearly growing tired after doing this for hours.

“Um…Kendra, please,” I reply, biting my lip even harder as his head snaps up quickly at the sound of my voice and the mention of my name. A handsome smile spreads on his lips and I can’t help but return it, my eyes sparkling with mirth.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” Michael replies, winking at me. The guys around him look at him in surprise. They had never seen him flirt with a girl before, and to see him doing so openly was throwing them for a loop.

“Th-Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” I reply, blushing and grinning shyly, just as surprised as the people in his entourage that he was flirting with me in front of so many people. I hold back a giggle when his eyes flash at the way I address him.

Michael smirks, chuckling softly as he autographs the CD before sliding it across the table and giving it back to me. I give him another grin before I turn to walk away. I gasp softly and catch myself when one of the security guards, which had been provided by Sony, pushes me, apparently not satisfied with how fast I was moving.

In a flash, Michael is up and coming around the table, a stern frown on his face.

“Hey! You don’t need to push her! Don’t put your hands on my fans like that,” he says firmly. My eyes widen slightly and a shiver moves through me. I knew he had to be careful, bringing attention to me in public when I was still technically in the past, pretending like I was a fan like any other. However, he wasn’t acting as if I were just another fan. In fact, he looked ready to take the guard’s head off.

“I-I’m sorry, M-Mr. Jack-” the guard stutters, looking a bit scared. It wasn’t exactly a common occurrence to see Michael Jackson of all people looking livid. However, Michael holds up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he says, shaking his head, gesturing to me. My eyes widen slightly and I blush, embarrassed by all of this attention. I smile sheepishly when the guard turns to me.

“M-My apologies, ma’am. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” he says, looking embarrassed and awkward.

“O-Oh, that- that’s alright. No- No harm done,” I reply, still blushing hotly, wanting this to be over.

Michael winks at me when I look up at him, which only serves to make my blush brighten as I smile shyly. I sigh softly when he pulls me into a hug, under the guise of just ensuring that a fan was okay. I wished I could stay here in his arms, but I knew I couldn’t. He forces himself to let go of me and sits back down, unfortunately still having several fans waiting in line.

I walk away, just browsing in another section of the store. After a while I notice movement in my periphery but think nothing of it. I stop though when I hear someone clear their throat softly beside me. I turn my head, grinning softly when I see Michael standing there, smirking at me.

“Looking for anything in particular?” He asks, still keeping up with the ruse.

“N-Nope, just- just looking,” I reply, pressing my lips together to keep from giggling.

We continue to talk, pretending like we’ve never met, pretending as though he doesn’t know every intimate detail there is to know about me. I was grateful that the MTV cameras were gone by now. However, I can’t help but notice how Bill Bray, Michael’s head of security since he was a boy, keeps looking at me closely. I was oblivious to the fact that Michael had had to come clean about who I was, considering Bill had seen me more than once over the years, yet I always looked exactly the same. He had always assumed Michael was embellishing a wild story, or was just extremely protective of whatever truth surrounded his involvement with me. However, considering it had been seventeen years since Bill had seen me at the filming of the Pepsi commercial in 1984, he began to wonder if Michael had been telling the truth. It didn’t make any logical sense to him, but he couldn’t deny that I looked exactly the same, which should be, by all accounts, completely impossible.

Michael invites me back to his hotel and we are escorted towards the back of the store, where his car is waiting. We slip into the backseat before Bill closes the door. As we pull away, I gasp in surprise as I suddenly find myself in Michael’s arms as he captures my lips in a hungry kiss, his hands all over me, as though needing to prove to himself that I’m really there.

“You’re really here,” he whispers, tears in his eyes as he pulls back to cradle my face in his hands. I whimper softly, tears filling my own eyes at the sight of his.

“I’m here, Michael. I-I’m so sorry it took me so l-long,” I whisper, my heart aching. However, he just shakes his head, smiling through his tears as he presses his forehead to mine.

“Shh, don’t be sorry, sweet girl. I’m just so happy you’re here now. That’s all that matters,” he replies before he presses his lips to mine once more, this time kissing me slowly and deeply, taking the time to relish the feeling again after so long.

We soon arrive at the hotel and Michael gets out of the car. I thank him as he offers me his hand, helping me stand from the car. We’re led through the back and onto the elevator, taking it all the way up to the penthouse suite on the top floor. We step out of the elevator into the main sitting area of his suite. Before I even have the chance to look around I find myself pushed up against the wall with Michael’s lips devouring mine.

I stand on my tiptoes, my fingers buried in his hair as we kiss passionately. We leave a trail of clothes as we undress each other, blindly stumbling towards the bedroom. I gasp when he suddenly lifts me and playfully drops me onto the bed, giggling as I bounce slightly. I bite my lip as I move backwards up to the head of the bed as Michael slowly crawls towards me. I shiver, whimpering as I feel a throb of arousal between my thighs at the look of hunger in his dark eyes.

I lay back, peering up into his eyes as he moves over me. My chest rises and falls quickly as my breathing increases and I reach up, cupping his cheek. I gently pull him down into a deep, languid kiss as his body rests on top of mine. I sigh and moan softly at the feeling of his bare skin against mine. I let out a sound of surprise when I feel him reach for my hands before he pins them above my head. I moan, arching my back and pressing my breasts against his chest as we continue to kiss passionately. My eyes flutter open when he pulls back.

“Don’t. Move.” Michael says, his dark, heated eyes daring me to disobey.

I swallow nervously as he releases my wrists and gets up from the bed. However, I don’t move, keeping my arms splayed over my head obediently. I watch in curious confusion as he crosses the room, rummaging through his suitcase. My eyes widen when he turns and walks back over to the bed, two neckties in his hands.

“D-Daddy, what are y-” I start to ask, but he presses a finger to my lips to silence me as he moves to straddle my waist.

“Shh. You trust Daddy, don’t you, Little One?” He whispers, his eyes burning into mine. I whimper, nodding as I peer up at him.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” I reply immediately, without hesitation. My instant reply nearly makes him break his stern character, but he simply nods.

“That’s my good girl,” Michael coos softly as he strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

I bite my lip, squirming slightly in both apprehension and excitement as he uses the neckties to secure each of my wrists to the headboard. I look up at them as I tug slightly, testing their strength. I release a trembling breath as I find that I am effectively bound to the bed, and definitely wouldn’t be able to escape my bonds until Michael released me. This knowledge makes the throbbing between my legs grow stronger, my folds completely soaked with arousal.

Without saying a word, Michael suddenly grips my thighs and roughly spreads them wide open. My breasts heave as I pant for breath, my clit swelling with need and increasing the pleasurable ache I feel there. He leans in and begins to trail soft, wet kisses over my thighs. He moves even further, making me whine needfully as he teases my lips, kissing and licking every inch of my pussy except where I desperately need him most.

Finally, after several minutes of this torture, his thumbs gently spread my lips, my swollen clit peeking out from its hood. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to keep from squirming as he just sits there, staring.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, almost as if in awe. I can’t help but blush. No matter how many times I was with Michael, it never failed to leave me flustered whenever he looked at me the way he was right now.

Keeping me spread open to his gaze, he leans in and slowly drags his warm, wet tongue from my tight opening, all the way up my slit to catch my swollen clit. I gasp and throw my head back, moaning loudly in pleasured relief. He hums softly and wraps his lips around my clit as he pulls it into his mouth, sucking hungrily at the sensitive bundle of nerves to send pleasure rushing through my entire body.

“Fuuuck! Oh Daddy, y-yes!” I cry out as he continues to devour my pussy hungrily, like a man starved. My wrists tug instinctively at my bonds, wanting to bury my fingers in his hair. I whine softly when I am unable to free myself. I buck my hips when he chuckles at my feeble attempt to break free, the sound reverberating through my core.

“Behave, Little One,” Michael hums softly, but there is an edge of warning in his tone. Another shiver runs through me at the thought of what he might do to me as punishment.

“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whine in reply. I wrap my fingers around the ties as they continue to keep me bound to the headboard, gathering my self-control once more in an effort to keep still.

His hands move to grip the backs of my knees and I gasp in shock when he roughly pushes my legs up until my knees touch my shoulders. I blush as he holds me in place, putting every inch of me on display. I throw my head back as a loud cry of pleasure is ripped from my throat. My knuckles turn white from the tight grip I have on the ties. I turn my head, burying my face in my arm as it stretches above my head.

“Ohhh fuck, D-Daddy!” I groan deeply in pleasure as he devours my pussy. Michael growls, burrowing his face deeper into my wet folds. My eyes roll back in my head as constant, uncontrollable moans and whines of torturous pleasure fall freely from my parted lips.

He releases my clit before he suddenly lowers his head further and begins to suck hard at my tight entrance without warning. My wrist jerks against the bonds that are holding me down, my hand having instinctively tried to move down to grip his hair. I whine pathetically when I find myself still unable to break free.

My eyes suddenly go wide, a sharp gasp escaping me when I feel his tongue plunge inside me, thrusting in and out of me quickly. My back arches as I continue to grip the ties. My toes curl in pleasure as my clit begins to pulse, my walls clenching. I begin to pant quickly, my body beginning to tremble as a giant wave of pleasure wells up from deep inside me.

“Unh yes! D-Daddy! O-Ohh my God! DADDY!!” My moans steadily grow louder and higher in pitch until a long keen of pleasure tumbles from my lips. I fall over the edge, my pussy clenching as a warm wave of intense pleasure radiates from my clit. It runs through my veins, overwhelming my entire body with it. My pale skin flushes pink from my cheeks, all the way down my neck and chest, over the swell of my breasts.

My wrists are limp now as they remain bound by the neckties. I lie there, my chest heaving as I pant for breath, trying to recover from one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever felt.

I whimper softly when Michael moves up onto his knees. I breathe a sigh of relief when he gently lowers my sore legs, his large hands massaging them gently. After I regain feeling in them, he wraps my legs around his waist as he leans down, capturing my lips in a deep, hungry kiss. I whine softly against his lips as I try to move my arms again to wrap around his neck.

“D-Daddy, please,” I plead softly as I open my eyes, peering up at him.

“Please what, sweet girl?” Michael whispers as his hand comes up to stroke my cheek.

“Can- Can I touch you now, Daddy?” I ask, my voice still just a breathy whisper.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he coos softly. His eyes stay on mine as he reaches up to untie my left wrist, then my right.

I whimper as my arms drop heavily, splaying over my head, completely numb. I breathe a sigh of relief when he helps me wrap my arms around his neck before he leans down, kissing me deeply once more, his body resting on top of mine. I hum against his lips as I wrap my arm around his shoulders, my other hand coming up to thread through his short curls.

We kiss hungrily as I cling to him, moaning in pleasure as I feel his arms wrap around me, holding me up against his firm chest as he reaches down to guide his tip to my entrance. My eyes flutter open when he pulls back, staring intensely down at me as he slowly slides inside me, giving me every last inch of his cock.

“Oh Daddy!” I gasp, throwing my head back as he buries himself inside me to the hilt. My grip tightens on his shoulders and his hair as he begins to roll his hips, making love to me slowly.

“Does it feel good, Little One?” He whispers, his eyes still burning into my own as he makes love to me, giving me long, slow and sensual strokes. I moan loudly and nod as I continue to peer up at him through hooded eyes.

“Y-Yes, Daddy! Oh p-please, don’t s-stop!” I beg as he continues to pull deep moans from my lips as he takes me.

Michael growls as he leans down, capturing one of my hard nipples between his lips. He sucks at the pebbled flesh as he continues to roll his hips into me. I moan helplessly, unable to do anything but take it. I gasp, slamming my head back on my pillow and my eyes go wide as he suddenly gets up on his knees, and throws my legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck! Oh. My. God. Daddy!” I cry out, each word that escapes me being punctuated by a sudden sharp thrust of his cock, his tip hitting my cervix, causing pained pleasure to radiate through my core.

“Mmm that’s it, baby. Let Daddy make you feel good,” he grunts through gritted teeth as he continues to fuck me mercilessly.

“Unnnh! Oh God, y-yes!” I reply through a high-pitched whine, my nails biting into his shoulder and my fingers tightening in his hair as he continues to fuck me, my breasts bouncing with each punishing thrust he gives me. “Ohh yes, yes! D-Daddy, I- Oh Daddy, can I cum? P-Please, can I?!” I beg unashamedly. However, I let out a sob of frustration when he merely shakes his head.

“Not yet, Little One,” he whispers, his hands gliding over my thighs as they drape over his shoulders. He then carefully lowers my legs, only to turn us in one swift motion. “Be a good girl and ride Daddy’s cock first.”

My eyes are wide as I find myself suddenly straddling him. My eyes roll slightly and I groan at his words as I feel him so deep inside me. I splay my hands over his chest, his hands gripping my hips as I begin to roll my body over his.

“Mmm that’s s-so good, Daddy,” I whisper through a moan as I work his length inside me, feeling his long, thick shaft stroking every inch of my tight, slick walls perfectly.

I lean down, my eyes searching his as Michael peers up at me, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. My lashes flutter as I lean into his touch before I press my lips to his. I hum softly, kissing him languidly as I continue to roll my hips over him, my hard nipples grazing against his chest. I moan, feeling his hands smoothing down my back and over my ass.

I whimper softly when he grips my cheeks in his large hands. I gasp, going still and stiffening up with fear when I feel the tip of his middle finger teasingly rubbing over my tight virgin hole.

“D-Daddy, what are- what are you d-doing?” I whisper, my body still tense with fear.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet girl. I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he assures me softly as his fingertip continues to tease my ass. “Do you want me to stop, baby?” I whimper, forcing my body to relax. A trembling sigh falls from my lips and I close my eyes as the tip of his finger gently presses past the tight ring of muscles and I shake my head.

“N-No, Daddy. I-I’m o-okay,” I whisper before a soft, sweet moan is drawn from my lips.

“Good girl. Oh, you are such a good girl,” he praises softly, still stroking my cheeks with one hand as his other continues to tease me.

“Al-Always, Daddy,” I breathe softly. I let out another gasp, quickly followed by a long, guttural groan as Michael slowly slides the rest of his long middle finger inside me.

Unable to help myself, I begin to slide my pussy up and down his cock, effectively riding his finger inside the process as he fills me completely. I throw my head back as I ride him slowly, my long curls in disarray around my head and shoulders.

“That’s it, baby girl. Ride Daddy’s cock and fingers. Make yourself cum, sweet girl,” he moans softly as he continues to watch me take my pleasure.

I whine at his words as his hand moves from my cheek to my hip, helping me ride him faster as my movements pick up speed. My nails bite into the flesh of his chest as I bounce on his cock, my eyes nearly crossing from pleasure as he continues to finger my ass at the same time.

The pressure steadily builds higher and higher, growing more intense. Finally, I suddenly bear down on his cock and fingers, my walls clenching around him tightly as I cum, spilling my juices over his cock as I moan his name in pleasure.

“Fuuuck! Oh, yes! Yes! Daddy!!” I cry out as my skin flushes bright pink once again with the telltale sign of an intense orgasm.

“Good girl, Little One. Such a good girl,” Michael praises as he watches me come undone.

Exhausted, my body collapses onto his chest as I continue to straddle his waist. His arms immediately wrap around me, holding me down on top of him as he begins to thrust upwards, pumping his hard cock deep inside me. His movements soon become desperate and uneven as he chases his own release. After several more thrusts he finally goes still and stiff beneath me as he cums, filling my womb with more of his seed, my pussy dripping heavily with the evidence of our lovemaking, my name a strangled whisper on his lips.

I sigh softly when his cock softens and slips out of me, making more of his seed drip out of me. I rest my head on his chest as I continue to lie on top of him. My eyes close as Michael’s warm hands caress my back, his fingers gently combing through my long, messy curls. I close my eyes when I feel him press a gentle kiss to my forehead before I press my face into his neck.

After a while I pull back just enough to peer up at him, my hand coming up to stroke his cheek. Tears fill my eyes as I look over his handsome face, a soft smile touching my lips. Michael raises a brow, smirking softly before it fades to a frown when he notices the tears in my eyes.

“What is it, sweetheart? What’s the matter?” He whispers, his thumb brushing over my cheek as his eyes search mine. I smile softly and shake my head as I lean into his touch.

“Nothing at all, Daddy,” I assure him softly as my fingertips continue to explore his features almost reverently. “You just look so different now than you did before. You look healthier, happier.”

“I’m getting older,” he says with a chuckle, “but I’m as healthy as I’ve ever been. And I know I have you to thank for that. And of course I’m happy. Knowing that I have you? Knowing that you’re waiting for me and that the woman I’ve loved my whole life loves me just as much as I love her. How could I be anything but happy?” I blush and smile before I close my eyes, whimpering softly as he presses his lips to mine in a soft, sweet kiss.

We stay snuggled up together as we talk. I lie in his arms, wrapped up in a sheet, not thinking about the fact that I could be transported to God knows where or when at any given moment. Right now I was focused on our conversation.

Michael tells me all about his latest album and how it was massively successful, despite the fact that he refused to do a tour to promote it. I was glad that his relationship with Sony hadn’t seemed to sour like it had in my original time. Even more importantly, there was still absolutely no hint of allegations. Michael had not once touched drugs, never needing them as he had avoided the Pepsi catastrophe all those years ago.

His plastic surgery had been kept to a minimum and he only wore enough makeup to even out his skin tone. He looked and seemed better than he ever did before all of this happened, and I was beyond grateful to whatever force had brought us together. I just prayed that it would still be enough. The thought that I would return to 2009, only to find out that it had just been his time, and something else would happen to steal him from me, it was all too much to bear. However, I say nothing about my fears, not wanting him to be plagued with the same troubling thoughts.

We talk and make love for hours before I suddenly gasp, my eyes growing sad as I peer up at him helplessly. I can do nothing to stop it though, feeling myself being pulled away. I kiss him deeply before I pull back, my eyes going wide just before I disappear, only just realizing I was being whisked away to another place and time, which could be anywhere, surrounded by anyone…and I’m wearing nothing but a sheet.

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kabr0ztrousers · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!! I absolutely love your writings!!

I have an idea for a fic if you’d be interested/willing?

I was wondering if you’d be willing to do a Male Naga x Female Naga reader breeding smut fic?

Where the reader is coming into season and she’s very fussy about the male she wants and after rejecting some young males a really large dark scale colour male with scars from territorial fights/battles/hunts and maybe a missing eye? (Maybe he’s also older than her 👀) Shows interest in her and starts trying to court her (by bringing things that the reader shows interest in or needs like books or flowers or crystals and he hunts for her)

And after a few weeks of this courting (the male is very patient and gentlemanly with the reader) the reader decides that she likes this male and they breed (smut would be nice but I totally understand if it’s hard to write or you don’t feel comfortable! Fluff is good as well)

And maybe a little bit on how the reader might move a bit slower or her tail is wider due to the eggs in her before she lays them? And then how the male becomes more territorial/possessive of the reader/the eggs/the readers territory (maybe the male hisses/lunges at literally everything that comes too close to what’s his)

But please if you don’t feel comfortable writing this or if it’s too long or anything feel free to ignore this!!!

I hope you have a lovely day and keep up all the good work! But don’t forget to take breaks and take care of yourself!!

Kabr0z Writes episode 121: Battle-scarred

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Kabr0z Writes is on Ao3!

CWs: age gap; impregnation;

A/N: Back to requests! There's a lot in the queue, and more requests coming in, so if you have an idea, please please please get it in sooner rather than later!

####################################

You opened your book and lit a stick of incense, breathing in the citrus-scented smoke. You'd chased the last one off with a simple lightning charm, smoke and mirrors really, but more than enough to put the frighteners on a pair of youngsters who didn't understand how far out of their league they were trying to court. Yes, it was that time of the year, but you weren't in a hurry to lay a brood, and you certainly weren't going to mate with the first bright-scaled Naga who came along. You're a Hermetic of significant skill and talent, mistress of force projection, capable of bending the fabric of the world to your whim.

Not a cheap whore.

A crystal lit up in the corner of your vision. The proximity triggers. Another kid getting too close to your wards. You sighed and tapped your eyelids, casting your sight to the hidden gate of your tower where the ward had tripped. That's when you saw him.

Big, covered in deep emerald scales that spoke of age and experience. What wasn't scale was scars, criss-crossed and jagged, one particularly vicious one raking over his blinded right eye. He was carrying something. He set it down by the gate, turned, and left.

Weird.

You focused a second, co-locating the parcel to you, then allowing it to slip through the gaps in reality, materialising fully on your lap. A crystal, of not insignificant size. You'll definitely find a use for this. For now though, it goes on the shelf, and you go back to your book.

The next day, he was back. This time, he left a parcel of smoked meat. The day after it was a parcel of scrolls, after that a verbena's book of shadows. You have no idea how he got hold of one of those.

A week passed, every day he'd leave a gift, an offering of greater or lesser value, but always delivered with reverence. One day the familiar chime warned you of an intruder on your grounds, your gift-giver. You touched a glyph and dispelled the glamour on the gate, letting it swing open for him. He paused, then stepped in under your watchful eye.

You guided him through your garden, towards the base of your tower where you met him at last, face to scaled face.

He looked at you, head tilted down to meet your gaze, saying nothing.

"So, we finally meet" you spoke first. It broke the mystique a little, but you weren't just going to stand there and have a staring contest

"We do" He sounded like he looked, broad, deep, and old

You paused a moment before speaking again "You left gifts. Why?"

He regarded you, blinking slowly, gathering himself "I had heard stories. They say a goddess lives here"

You blushed a little. A goddess? That's a new one on you. You'd heard witch, demon, you'd burned the tongue out of the last man to call you a snake, but you'd never been called a goddess.

"Are you her, the one who accepted my gifts?

You smiled, "I am. Now what would you do, having met your goddess?"

He took your hands in his. His large, calloused fingers closing around yours as he stared into you

"Worship"

He lifted you up with his heavily muscled arms, carrying you to a grassy clearing and laying you down.

You watched him as he slowly disrobed you, carefully pulling off the fine silks and setting them reverently aside. His skin against yours made you feel dizzy, your breath shallowing as the cool air caressed you. His clothes were a lot easier to get him out of: a simple tunic and a brown linen kilt to cover his lower quarters, the long snakish tail protruding from the bottom. It all went together with buckles, a few deft clips and he was as nude as you.

He was panting. Your breath was shallow and fast. You ran your hands over his scarred body, feeling the lines of battles hard-won scribed across his torso, following them with your gaze. A finger pushed your jaw upwards, closing your mouth and bringing your gaze to his. Your hand reached down, feeling the thick cock that was slipping from his lower abdomen, feeling yourself grow warmer, anticipating him. You rolled him over, taking your place on top of the wide serpent-man whom you had chosen. Your slit pressed against his length for a moment, before accepting it.

Your hips rolled over him, your body working as his hands still crept over your form. You couldn't help but gasp as he hit the best parts in you, making you squirm and moan. He held your waist, guiding you over him, lifting his hips to help you grind him against your back walls, hissing with delight as his tapered tip tickled your cervix. You felt him swelling within you, holding you down to him as you brushed his chest with your fingertips. You felt warmth start to flow from him as he gasped, filling you with seed. Your body responded, squeezing and pulsing, drawing him into you as you wrapped your tails around one another, holding chest to chest, kissing deeply as he fertilised you.

You relaxed into him, feeling him as you wound back down in one another's arms, listening to the rhythm of his heart before you looked back up at him

"So... Tea?"

################################

This one was tricky to get right, and I'm still not the happiest, just needed to get something out!

Thus perfect must stop being the enemy of good, and we get another published episode for the series.

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tojbnuy · 7 months ago

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boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know why but he feels this weird jealousy everytime he sees you meet your friends and greet them all with a big hug. you never did that with him. you relationship was still fairly new to the both of you, but you kissed you fucked you even held hands sometimes when walking around. but, what toji was now realizing, was that he wanted a hug. well, he wanted a hug from You. not a casual little hug, a hug. holding each other. he didn’t know how to broach the subject without sounding needy and like the complete opposite of how he usually acts. he had never cared about this kinda stuff with other people, he’d never experienced it growing up and he thought he could live without it. until you. until you showed him that wanting to be held was normal. he’d been thinking about it for a while until one night, as the two of you got ready for bed it simply slipped out.

‘how come you don’t hug me?’

immediately you stopped plaiting your hair and turned to him with a shocked look.

‘what?’

‘how come you don’t hug me? like when you see your friends or you say bye you hug them. you don’t hug me.’

as soon as he said it he felt stupid. a grown man like him, older than you and he was sat here asking for a fucking hug. what if you turned the question around and said ‘well you don’t hug me’ what would he say? that i’ve never done that before sorry i don’t know how? his thoughts came to a stop when he felt a small hand grab his own larger one.

‘i- toji im so sorry. i’m sorry i didn’t think that was something you wanted.’

fuck now he’s made you feel bad.

‘nah doll you don’t have to say sorry, its nothing let’s just go to bed’

‘no toji please. let’s talk about it.’

you lifted the blanket and made your way over to his side of the bed so you could sit face to face. everything about you was so soft, so kind. such a complete contrast to himself. he was panicking, he didn’t do stuff like this, never talked about stuff like this.

‘honestly toji, i really just thought you weren’t a touchy person. i’m sorry for just assuming especially considering everything you’ve been through,’

‘no please doll. i wasn’t trying to blame you for anything. i just’

his palms were actually sweating, but your face. god your darling sweet face, looking at him like he hung up the stars in sky. like every word out of his mouth meant the world to you. you would wait for him to get the words out no matter how long he took.

‘i don’t know to be honest. you’re right i’m not a touchy person i’ve never really hugged anyone. but i want that. with you. and im sorry, i should be the one to initiate it i just didn’t really know how doll.’ his voice was so quiet, just a rough whisper.

he looked up to stare into your glassy eyes when you leaned in and kissed him. a small whisper of a kiss.

‘can i hug you?’ you said with your lips pressed against his.

he knew you knew he would prefer not to dwell on it.

and then he wrapped his arms around your back so tightly like he was showing the universe just how bad he needed you. he pulled you into his lap and let his cheek fall to your shoulder. he felt your arms wrap around his neck and you fingers stroking the hairs at his nape.

neither of you spoke, you simply sat and held each other and made a silent promise to maintain the closeness from today onwards.

‘thank you for telling me toji. you big baby.’

‘yeah that’s enough. time for bed.’

your giggle was music to his ears.

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misettemisette · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 10 ➺ A place for words

Starting over In Madrid

Summary: After moving to Madrid as Real Madrid's new photographer, Nicky can’t seem to take her eyes off the pretty face Misa Rodríguez. But how will she handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her contract strictly forbids dating players? WC: 5,5K words TW: none PS: French writer Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➺ Hell Clásico Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and Peaks Chapter 6 ➺ Paris est magique Chapter 7 ➺ In the Haze Chapter 8 ➺ Confusion and directions Chapter 9 ➺ The same struggle

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

I snapped a picture of a group of elder people sitting together on a bench and chatting with energy. Misa had gone on international break. It was a hot, bright day in the Spanish capital, and I was walking Angela through the fancy neighborhood of Palacio.

“This is so great, Angie!" I cheered. “Ana said I’ll be directing the photo and filming team. She’s going to hire two assistants and she want me to work with the set designer team! She said I really got the Real Madrid identity. It’s my ability to think of the club’s visual communication globally that really made me stand out.“

“Of course you stood out!“, Angela winked as we stepped onto the Calle de Baillen bridge.

I stopped again to photograph the streets below. Unfortunately, they were deserted. Predictable. It was four o’clock, mid-July, the perfect time for an afternoon nap.

“Did I mention that my pay will be better too?” I added with excitement as we resumed our walk.

“Only a dozen times!“ Angela teased.

“Er, sorry! It’s just, I have never been that excited about work. I feel I’ll never get tired of it! It’s fun and creative, and I really get along with everybody!“ I exclaimed but my smile disappeared a second later.

“But you don’t know what to do about Misa…” Angela went straight to the point.

“Yeah…” I sighed “I can’t quit! But I don’t want Misa to be unhappy!”

We reached the other side of the bridge.

“Do you think she’s feeling that bad?” My friend asked.

“I don’t know. I won’t lie to you, it’s hard for me as well. Every day at work, I feel like a child trying not to get caught. When we go out, we’re always double-checking our surroundings and we prefer not to get too close. In the end, the only quality time we have together is at home. But that’s okey, I mean, that’s not the problem…“

Angela grabbed my arm gently and led me to a small, shady square. “Come on, let’s sit. What is the problem Nicky?“ She sensed I needed to talk.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to tell her I love her when I have nothing serious to offer her? Working at Real Madrid, Misa and I will never be real girlfriends!“

Angela put her hand on my thigh. “You know, that is exactly what I feared when you told me about your feelings. Hooking up is one thing, but falling in love is another… I feared it would make you sad not be allowed to be with her, and it’s happening…“ She sighed too and continued. “I thought a lot about what to tell you if we ended up talking about it. I know you, Nicky. I know how impatient and stressed out you can be. So, here is my advise: be patient, don’t rush. Enjoy your time together even if it’s in secret. If your relationship lasts, I think you’ll both know in a few months what to do.” Angela patted me.

I sighed again, tired about the complexity of the situation. “What if I don’t have time? I’m pretty sure Léa, our new goalkeeper, has a crush on Misa.“

Angela giggled lightly “You are already jealous and protective, that girl really has you falling deep! Did you tell Misa about Léa?”

I blushed. “I did… and she said it was nothing… and that she wanted… me” I melted at the memory of her brown gaze, so tender, when she had said those words.

“That’s so cute of her! Relax Nicky! Misa’s feeling good with you! Although, I think you should talk to her openly. She did her part by saying that, now it’s up to you. You have more to lose than she does, so she probably needs to be reassured that you really want to be with her.”

“I really want to be with her…“ I repeated, my eyes prickling. "This is so unfair! We’re not doing anything wrong!”

“I know, Sweetie. Talk to her. Be honest about what you want.“

Unsure of myself, I’d always been bad at doing the taking. But my friend had made a point, Misa was in much more uncertainty than I was. My heart tightened at the thought of the young goalie silently waiting for me to express my feelings, dreading week after week I would finally chose my job over her…

“You’re right, Angie. I’ll make it up to her.”

***

When Angela went home the next day, I felt sad and lonely but fueled by a new determination. I was not going to leave fate decide whether or not I’d succeed in telling Misa my feelings anymore. No, I was going to plan our reunion day with care and I was going to make it happen.

Back in the Cuidad, I had less work, and, I had to admit, less fun without Misa and Hayley. Both of them were away with their national teams, and I would have became bored without my besties if planning my love declaration didn’t take all my time and energy. Day and night, my love-sick brain kept going back to Misa. I wanted us to be somewhere quiet yet lively, somewhere beautiful.

To find the perfect place, I had the idea to contact Sofie’s friend, Carmen. We met a few days later. Swen took us on a tour of the fancy galleries in the center of Madrid and we ended up in one of Carmen’s cutest spot: a hidden rooftop bar in the La Latina neighborhood. Large sofas and fabric screens divided the vast terrace into comfy, trendy spaces. Cocktails were delicious, and they even played a few songs I knew Misa liked. I had no trouble imagining a romantic evening here with the pretty brunette.

My mind raced on its own. First, we would meet in a park to enjoy the weather and do some nature photography. Then we could grab a coffee, where I would tell her I wanted to take her to a surprise place. She would be curious as hell, drowning me with questions all the way there. I was sure she would fall for the place at first sight. After that, sharing a Piña Colada or a strawberry Mojito, I would confess that I’d fallen in love with her.

That was perfect!

***

“Hello Misa!“

“Hola, cariño!“

Hearing her voice on the phone was warmer than the hot summer wind of Madrid. I rolled over in bed, instinctively searching for her hard, reassuring body, and grasped a pillow instead. God, how much I missed her!

The footballer and I had texted a lot, telling each other about our day or just sharing sweet words. I had watched both of Spain’s matches on TV, Misa spending them on the bench as she had foreseen. Fortunately, the team won both games, which lifted her spirits. She told me about the nonsense she got up to with her close friends Jenni, Alexia and Laia in the locker room. On another evening, it was about a really pushing training session she had handled well, the next day, she sent me a cute video of her dancing in front of the mirror. Each message overflowed with her unique mix of passion and humor, and I started acting cheesy, watching our selfies together before sleeping every night.

Tonight was the first time we called during the international break. The goalkeeper wasn’t in a room by herself. She had managed to escape an evening watching a TV show with Alexia and Laia slipping outside to have some privacy.

“Cómo estás?“ The goalie asked joyfully.

“Estoy bien. He visto a la amiga de Sofie la semana pasada! See, I’m learning Spanish!“ I giggled.

“Pero bueno, mi Nicky! Qué hiciste con ella?“

“What did we do? Hum, estábamos… en la ciudad…y… No sé, I’m sorry. I think I need private lessons with a qualified teacher.”

“Jaja, I’m already your football teacher, I can’t be your Spanish teacher as well!“ Misa laughed.

I squeezed the pillow tighter. “I want no other teacher than you.”

“Vale, I’ll—“ But her voice was drowned by a sudden burst of noise.

People were shouting and laughing wildly, their voices mixing with the sound of erratic footsteps on gravel. I straightened in bed at once.

“Misa?!“ I called out, panicking she might be in trouble.

“Hola, hola!“ a new, energetic female voice rang out. “Es Nicky, vale?“

I answered awkwardly, “Er… who—?“

“Don’t worry, chica, it’s Jenni. You know, I’m Misa’s friend!“

I exhaled, relieved but also a bit puzzled. I hadn’t known Misa had told her friends about me.

“Joder Jenni! Dame mi móvil! No es divertido!“ I heard Misa’s voice in the background. “Déjame!“

“Sujetadla bien! Solo tardo un minuto!” Jenni shout at someone. Then she said back to the phone, “So, Nicky, I’m glad to finally talk to you. Misa wouldn’t let us, so we had to find a way.”

Her soft tone contrasted with the angry voices still echoing in the background.

“Misa, No eres la única malota!“ “Ni la más fuerte!“ “Por cierto, tenéis que ser tres para sujetarme!“

“Er, okay… and why did you want to talk to me.“ I asked Jenni, feeling more and more confusing to me.

“Relax Chica! No pasa nada! First of all, thanks for putting up with Misa. Not many people has the patience and dedication she requires.“ Jenni said.

I chuckled lightly, sensing there was no harm in talking to her.

“And secondly, you have to come on holidays with us in August! I’ve been pushing Misa to invite you for days but she’s too shy to ask you herself.“

“Oh!“ I bite my lip, this was all too cute to handle.

“You don’t need to answer now, Nicky. Just let Misa know when you’ve made up your mind! I’m giving the phone back to her. Hasta pronto, niña!“

A new wave of indistinct noises crackled through the phone until the rasping breath of the goalie filled my ear.

“I…will…kill…them…for…this!“ Misa panted.

I couldn’t stop myself from bursting into laughter, imagining the young brunette crimson with shame, sulking dramatically.

“Pfff, even you are making fun of me now…“

“I’m not making fun of you!“ I said, letting myself fall back onto the bed. “But I would pay to see your face right now! You must be so cute! Fuck, I miss you!“ I blurted out. Instantly, my cheeks grew hot.

“Ay! I… miss you too“. She said, her tone softening.

I stared at the ceiling for a second, smiling stupidly while I tired to gather my thoughts.

“The answer’s yes, Mis’. If the invite still stands…?” I added, closing my eyes and waiting for her reaction.

“Are you serious?!“ The goalie exclaimed.

“Pretty serious, your friends seem fun and wild! Annnnnd I think I’d like to go on vacation with you.“ My face burned even hotter.

“Guau, I’m so happy!“ Misa replied. “We’re going to Formentera! The villa we’ll rent is so nice! I’ll send you pictures!“

I grabbed my pillow and fiddled with a corner, a broad smile not leaving my face.

“Please do! But I need to check if the flights are affordable. Traveling in summer can be pretty expensive.“

“You’re kidding, Nicky. You’re not going to pay anything, I’m inviting you!“

I bit my lip again. Misa really was one of the generous ones. “No, Misa, I can’t accept.“

“No way you’re paying. Don’t insist“

“I must Mis’, I would feel like I’m taking advantage of you…“

“Vale…” Misa exhaled heavily into the phone, and I thought I’d won, but then she quickly continued. “Can you accept… for me? To forgive me for not having invited you myself…”

“Oh“ I paused. Misa was a proud person. She wasn’t always keen to apology and she hated feeling like she had messed up. So, I knew how much it was costing her to say that. “Okay Honey, you win“ I surrendered.“ But in return, I’m taking you out the day you get back.“

“Deal. I’m landing at 3 PM, I just need to make a quick stop at home, and then I’m your woman.“

I crushed my pillow, grinning. How satisfying it was to hear Misa Rodríguez saying she was mine.

“Then, the rendezvous is at Parque del Retiro at 5’.

“Awesome!»

***

A few days later, A bright, beating sun soaked the alleys of the Parque del Retiro. The air was suffocating. July in Madrid was no joke and I was sweating like a beast in my tank top and short. The strap of my camera dug into my bare shoulder as I walked down the wide path, the shade of the trees making the heat just about bearable. I stopped in a smaller shadowy path, wiped the sweat from my forehead, gulped some water, and sent Misa my precise location.

Standing in my cooler spot, I spent the next few minutes peering impatiently down the alley. My feet were literally itching and my heart was drumming in my chest at the prospect of being reunited with Misa. Meeting her outside meant a lot. I had chosen the most famous park of Madrid as a symbol. Many lovers met here to share romantic moments in front of the lake. I hoped Misa would understand how much I wished we were a regular couple.

As soon as it appeared, I recognized the tall, sturdy silhouette from afar. Her walk was unmistakable. She stepped into a patch of sun, and I spotted her smiling face. She waved, did a small hop, and started to run toward me. My eyes stayed locked on her as she came closer and closer, until we flung ourselves into each other’s arms.

Her scent filled my lungs. The feel of our bodies pressed together was the best in the world. Her breathing mixed with the sound of the wind blowing gently through the leaves. We pulled apart, and locked eyes, no words needed. Misa’s gaze dropped to my mouth, hesitant, while I wasn’t — I crashed my lips against hers. My heart danced. My brain slowed down. Our passionate kissing went on and on.

Then Misa start to cover my mouth with little kisses, making me giggle like a teenager. Her kisses moved to my cheeks and then down to my neck.

“You smell like my shampoo” was the first thing she said.

Misa rolled her eyes and bowed theatrically in front of me. “Good afternoon, Lady Nicky,” she said, failing hilariously at a chic English accent, the rolled r in “afternoon” sounding very Spanish.

“You may rise Gentlewoman!” I responded. She looked up to me playfully and I shyly added. “I may have bought your shampoo while you were away…”

Misa looked touched, her mouth forming the pout I loved.

“You missed me that much?”

“Maybe” I blushed, embarrassed. “Come on, we have a nature photography course waiting!” I said, changing the subject and leading my giggling Misa to a more flourishing part of the park.

I spotted a nice lawn where a few birds were pecking at the remains of a cake.

“This is perfect. We’ll go quietly so we don’t scare them away.” I took out my camera, and slipped the strap over the brunette’s head. “I’ve already done the presets: shutter speed is medium because there’s plenty of lights, though it’s getting cloudy…” I glanced at the sky. The blue was barely visible behind a sheer layer of white clouds.

“Maybe heat will drop.” Misa said hopefully, frowning as she looked up at the dazzling white sky. Then she glanced back to the camera in her hands. “So, do I need to change the presets?”

“If there’s less light, you have to …?” I tested her photography knowledge.

“Lower the speed? No… increase the speed… !” She said, glancing at me unsurely.

Misa was focusing for once, and it made my heart melt.

“Yes, increase the speed, because if the shutter speed is too slow, your photo is going to be…?

“Blurry?” Her brows were half-frowned, half-raised as she watched me expectantly to see if she was right.

“Well done, María Isabel!”

“Yes!” Misa did a little victory jig. “I’ll try to take a photo of that pigeon over there.”

She advanced and crouched carefully. I watched her put the camera in front of her face, concentrating as she turned the lens to zoom in. The pigeon was still searching the grass for crumbs when a crow landed smoothly, making the other birds fly away. The sound of the shutter kept clicking restlessly.

Misa came back to me, looking at the camera screen eagerly. “Mira Nicky! look!“

I glanced at a nice shot of the flying crow, its wings spread wide and its beak open. She scrolled back, showing me the other photos.

“Well done Misa, this is good! The exposure is a bit strong, you should should close down the aperture, but good job on the focus, the crow’s sharp!”

“Gracias, Nicky!” she beamed, gratitude in her eyes mixing with something mischievous. “I’d like more color. Can you correct the presets for me, cari?”

Her ducky, demanding expression had me giving in at once. I took back the camera, focusing a moment on the screen to make the changes.

“Okay, I think you’ll like it better now…” I went to hand the camera back to Misa but the goalkeeper had disappeared.

“Misa?” I called, glancing around to see where she’d gone. “Misa it’s not funny! Where are you, what’s going on ?”

I stepped onto the grass. More people were scattered across the nearby lawns, making it harder to spot the missing goalie. I called her again, confused and wondering what new madness she was up to.

“¡Bu!” The goalie sprang at me from behind a large tree, making me nearly die of fright, and making her die of laughter.

“Fucking hell, Mis!” I shouted at her, clutching my camera as the goalie laughed out loud.

Still chuckling, Misa tried to take me in her arms, but I shoved her away, embarrassed to have been pranked so easily. She tried again and succeeded in wrapping me up in her arms. I struggled to break free, wrestling against her firm grip, trying to make her fall, but her strong feet stayed planted firmly on the ground.

After a moment of fighting, I decided she deserved a low blow. I put my camera safely back in its bag and then started to tickle her along her ribs. I reveled in my girlfriend’s surprised scream, and she instantly tried to back away. I took the chance to slam into her hard, the element of surprise allowing me to knock her off balance. We both landed on the grass, giggling madly.

Misa let me take her in my arms as I pulled her against me. I pecked her cheek. My lips grazed her skin, soft, warm, its smell intoxicating. The goalie clearly wasn’t complaining about being cuddled. At some point, she pulled out her phone and took a selfie of us, after which she exhaled deeply and closed her eyes.

How perfect this moment was. My arms were wrapped around her, my nose buried in her hair, the shade of the tree keeping us safe from the lowering hot sun. Everybody was chilling around us. Children played happily at some game a bit farther away. Even the birds were adding their melodious voice as a contribution to the lovely atmosphere.

“Nicky?“ Misa’s anxious voice pulled me out of my daydreaming. “Isn’t that your boss, Ana, over there?“

My heart leapt.

In the middle of the path, only a few feet from us, was Ana with her family: a tall bearded guy and a small blond boy on a kid’s bike.

I froze in fear. If Ana turned her head, I would be done for. We couldn’t even pretend to be friends enjoying a nice summer afternoon. Our intertwined bodies left little doubt about our relationship status.

“Cari, what should we do?“ Misa asked feebly. Obviously, she wasn’t daring to move an inch either.

The path curved slightly, where it would become almost impossible for Ana not to see us. I had to think of something, and quick!

“Roll over, and pretend to nap on the grass.“ I muttered as the family got closer.

Misa lifted herself off me and lay on her belly. An expert eye could tell it was her but, I would bet she could be recognized from afar.

I straightened up slowly, Ana still hadn’t looked at me. I took my courage in both hands and walked straight toward her.

“Hello Ana, I see we’re all enjoying this warm day at the park!“

Ana’s surprised face confirmed she hadn’t noticed us cuddling a moment before.

“Hola Nicky. Indeed! Here’s my husband Pedro and my son Mateo.”

“Nice to meet you.“ I greeted them as they both waved to me. “I’m practicing a bit, the colors are lovely today.“ I added, lifting my camera awkwardly.

“You’re right to do so…“ Ana replied, apparently wondering why I shared so much about my current activities. I had to end that strange conversation quickly.

“Yep, I’m going to the lake. Have a nice day!“

“We’re going to the lake too, Mateo loves it. Go ahead, we’ll follow you.“

Fuck! Just my luck!

“Er, sorry I was thinking of the small one at the south of the park.“ I tried, praying hard they wouldn’t change their mind and come with me.

“El gran lago, Mama! El gran lago!“ Mateo chimed in.

“Si, vamos al gran lago, mi niño. Sorry Nicky, we’ll leave you there. Good day to you.“

“No problem, good day Ana. Bye“

And they went ahead, when I headed in the opposite direction.

As soon as I had turned a corner, I stopped, and sighed with relief. My heart was pounding like crazy. How close it had been again! The whole situation had been pretty awkward, leaving me shaking like a leaf.

A leaf that was caught by strong hands a minute later.

“They’re gone toward the main path. There is no danger left, Cari.“

I faced her, still trembling. If the danger was gone, why was she looking at me so anxiously? Was she afraid I would dismiss her for almost getting me fired? A strong gust of wind made her hair dance around her head and I moved the strands away from her face. That is not going to happen Mis’. In one hour, two at the most, you’ll know how you make me feel, I thought, wanting nothing more than to make the glint of worry leave her eyes.

A loud rumble of thunder erupted from the sky and big raindrops began to fall suddenly.

“Ay no! Mierda!” The goalie exclaimed.

“Fuck!“ I peered at the sky, which had turned an ominous dark gray.

More rain began to fall and Misa took my arm. “Come on, I know a place where we can shelter!“

Drops were pouring hard now. We were running along with the masses of people hurrying through the alleys. We reached a crossroad and Misa turned left. Then, she took a narrow deserted path. Even the denser vegetation wasn’t enough to shield us from the pounding rain.

“Alli!” she shouted as we reached a new crossroad. Her hand grasped back mine firmly, and she led me toward a really tiny kiosk. We rushed inside the small but protected space.

Drenched to the bones, we shivered in spite of the still-relative heat. We stayed there a moment, watching the unceasing pounding rain turn the dusty earth pathways into pools of mud. My romantic plan was falling apart too. We could stay inside the bar… the décor was less cute, but we would at least enjoy a good cocktail together, provided we got dry first…

“Madre mía! We’re at the park on the only stormy day in Madrid!”

“It’s really bad luck…” I responded, feeling down. I watched Misa’s sturdy silhouette outlined against the rainy horizon. My mood brightened. Nothing could really go wrong as long as I was with her.

Feeling playful again, I slowly approached the brunette from behind, and nudged her waist with a scream to scare the hell out of her.

“Ahhh! No, Nicky!” Misa fled from my outstretched, tickle-ready hands. I pursued her inside the minuscule kiosk, tears of laughter in my eyes at the sight of her panicked expression. “Noooo! Déjame!”

“You seem cold! I just want to warm you!” I joked as I ran after her. I didn’t know Misa was so ticklish and it was really fun to finally have a way to be physically threatening to her.

Eventually, she climbed onto the low wall circling the kiosk, arms outstretched in front of her to protect herself from my assaults. “Nicky! Cari! No! Porfi!” she begged with a panicked laugh.

“Okay! I think you’re warm enough! I’ll stop,” I giggled. “You can climb down, I won’t tickle you”.

Misa looked at me doubtfully.

I held out my hands to show her my good intentions and to help her go down “Sweetie, I promise you I won’t”

A strong gust of wind swept the tiny space, and the goalie shivered again. Finally, she trusted my offered hands to help her down. Yet, she was on her guard when she landed in front of me.

The rain was still falling madly all around us. The inclined wind had soaked half the shelter, and we were staying in the only dry space left. The storm wasn’t slowing down, and the prospect of going to the trendy rooftop bar felt impossible.

Misa’s hands were in mine, soft and relaxed now that she’d understood I wasn’t going to trick her. My fingers gently brushed hers. My glance came back to her face, framed by her long wet and wavy hair, her smirk brightening the moody weather. I took in her soft look, her eyelashes and brows where a few drops had clung, the ones pounding on the roof a tuneless, soothing music.

I felt aligned with everything.

It wasn’t going to happen as I expected, but I didn’t care. A few things hadn’t happened as planned since I came to Madrid, and I wasn’t complaining about them. Therefore, I was contemplating the beautiful person in front of me, the one who had unexpectedly come into my life, when my lips parted to speak the words.

“I love you.”

My heart clung to her brown eyes opening wide, her brows going up with a smile of surprise.

She shut her eyes and I felt the grip of her hands tighten as she exhaled. The goalie led her face closer and opened her eyes again, the gold ring on her nose glinted as she cocked her head to the side, the corners of her mouth twitching when she said:

“I love you too”.

My heart skipped a beat, or two or three, her big dark eyes losing themselves in mine, shiner than usual.

“Te quiero!” she repeated in her own tongue, and her hand fell on the nape of my neck, pulling me into the softest kiss we had shared yet. My eyes prickled as I clung to her lips, savoring the taste of her mouth, the smell of her breath, of her sweet and floral perfume melting into the musky scent of the rain. The feel of her body striving to hold me closer made me feel so desperately in love with her that it took me a moment to realize I was tugging hard at her wet T-shirt, as if I were afraid Misa and her love for me would vanish if I ever let her go.

The goalie’s lips left mine to kissed my forehead as she hugged me gently and I melted in her cute embraced, overwhelmed.

“I want to be with you,” I said my hands pressing her muscular back. “For real”.

Our bodies parted as we stared at each other, and I felt cold without her warmth against me. The goalie’s grin had reappeared but faded away just as quickly.

“Mi too, Cari, but I don’t want you to quit your job for me. It makes you so happy…”

“I’m happy with you” I replied at once but I felt we needed to talk more now that we were at it. “Look, I can’t quit right now, but I won’t loose you for a stupid work contract!”

Misa’s nose twitched again.

“Yeah I know.” She said, and she went to sit on the low wall behind her, her head falling down. “Nicky, I need to tell you something… Because of clubs rivalries, I’ve been kind of forced to hide my previous relationships. When you arrived at the Ciudad and we started hanging out, I thought: Increíble! I may have found somebody I can openly be with! But then, you told me about the clause… and it was like I was bound to go through it all over again.” The pretty brunette lifted her head, guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been weird, I’m just tired of it sometimes.”

I crouched in front of her to take her in my arms. “Misa, baby, I’m sorry…” It broke my heart to see that strong woman so vulnerable all of sudden. I wasn’t responsible, but I truly hated putting her in that position. “I’m so sorry! You have to give me time. I mean, given the circumstances, we can’t rush things…”

The goalkeeper bit her lips and sighed again, worry flashing across her pretty face.

“I’m not in a rush. I get you, Nicky” she answered before rising up to peer at the pouring water. The paths all around us had become rivers of mud.

Misa turned back to me, her face sad. “But what happens next? Do you really know what it takes to be with a professional athlete? Right now, our schedules match; we can spend free time together, we travel together. But if you quit, our schedules won’t align anymore. I’ll be away almost once a week, all my weekends taken by matches, several weeks out of town for international breaks and competitions, plus the regular work and training obligations you already know…” The young woman took my hands back in hers and asked, “Do you really think you could be happy in a relationship like that?”

The pounding rain was finally easing as Misa’s chest rose and fell, surrendering our relationship’s future to me. A perplexed expression drew across her features when she saw me smile mildly.

“You’re worth it,“ I replied without a doubt. “I can’t promise you it will work but I’ll be more than happy to try.” The goalie’s smile was back. She blinked several times.

“Te quiero Misa and nothing can compete against that” I stated.

Misa hugged me tight again. Her strong arms wrapped around me protectively, possessively, and she led her lips from my column to the my ear.

“Let’s go home now, Cari” She whispered.

Dripping from the roof, the rain was falling back at full force, wrapping the kiosk in a veil of water. We glanced at the sunken alleys of the park, and hand in hand, we jumped through the curtain of heavy drops, leaving the shelter where we had just laid out our hearts for the first time.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

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enhaflixer · 5 months ago

Text

psh - king of tears.

Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon | Queen of Tears AU FULL FIC

📌 summary: your marriage to park sunghoon was supposed to be a fairytale—until it wasn’t. now it’s cold stares across the dinner table, separate bedrooms in a mansion too big for the both of you, and divorce papers waiting to be signed. you were ready to walk away. he let you. so why does he look at you like he’s the one who lost everything?

word count: 20K genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order) content warnings (explicit, minors dni!): a marriage falling apart but neither of you can let go, divorce papers as a weapon but neither of you sign them first, staring at an empty side of the bed and pretending it doesn’t hurt, pregnancy, watching him struggle alone but being too proud to help, , high society pressure, and pretending everything is fine when it’s not, angst-heavy sex (sex while crying, sex while angry, sex while pretending it doesn’t mean anything) "we’re supposed to be over, so why are you still fucking me like you love me?" breathless, mentions of a miscarriage, desperate sunghoon (bc when he breaks, he breaks) sunghoon is sick, weak, exhausted—but still strong enough to pin you down "i don’t love you anymore." // "then stop moaning my name.", luxury penthouse sex but it’s tragic, a hand around your throat but it’s not just about control—it’s about possession, he fucks you like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to, aftercare that isn’t really aftercare bc he still won’t say he loves you,

The room is filled with laughter, delicate clinks of fine china and crystal flutes, and the low hum of a jazz quartet playing something elegant and forgettable in the background. The city’s elite have gathered here tonight—not just business moguls, but socialites, investors, and politicians, all dressed in designer labels, all engaged in carefully curated conversations.

The air is thick with power and wealth, a reminder of the world you and Sunghoon exist in. A world where appearances matter more than emotions, where a marriage is not just about love, but about status, about alliances.

You’re used to this now—the expectations, the smiles, the weight of scrutiny disguised as admiration. You’ve mastered the art of being Park Sunghoon’s wife.

Sunghoon stands beside you, dressed in a sleek black suit, looking every bit the composed, untouchable CEO that people admire and envy in equal measure. His features are as sharp as ever, but there’s something distant in his gaze, something almost clinical in the way his hand rests lightly against the small of your back.

To an outsider, it’s a gesture of affection. A claim. A reminder that you belong to each other.

To you, it’s just for show.

"Smile."

His voice is low, quiet enough that no one else hears. It’s not a request. It’s a command.

Your lips curl into something effortless, something practiced. It’s not real, but it doesn’t need to be.

"Ah, our favorite couple has arrived," a familiar voice calls from across the room.

Turning toward the source, you’re met with the warm but calculating gaze of Chairman Park, Sunghoon’s father. His mother stands beside him, dressed immaculately as always, a refined smile on her lips.

"We were wondering when you two would make your grand entrance," she says smoothly, reaching out to take your hands in hers.

Her grip is light, delicate. Deceptive.

"You look beautiful, dear," she adds, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You already know she’s assessing. Cataloging. Comparing you to the polished, obedient daughter-in-law she expected you to be.

Sunghoon’s father, however, has other interests.

"You’re glowing tonight," Chairman Park remarks, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges. "It must be a sign that we’ll be hearing good news soon."

You barely have time to process his words before another voice chimes in—one of Sunghoon’s aunts, a woman who has made it her life’s mission to interrogate you at every family gathering.

"Yes, yes!" she gushes, already leaning in as if she’s about to hear a confession. "It’s been what? three years since the wedding? We were just saying the other day how we still haven’t heard any news!"

There it is. The question that always comes, in one form or another.

The polite, well-mannered, socially acceptable way of asking: Why haven’t you given him a child yet?

You see it before you hear it—the way Sunghoon’s fingers tighten around his champagne flute, the subtle twitch in his jaw. But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course, he doesn’t.

So you do what you always do. You smile. You deflect. You play your part.

"Work keeps us busy," you say smoothly, taking a slow sip of champagne. "There’s still so much we want to accomplish first."

The aunt clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "Ah, but what’s all this success without a family to share it with?"

You feel it then—the weight of your in-laws’ eyes on you, the expectation pressing against your ribs like an iron cage.

Sunghoon’s mother hums, a soft, carefully measured sound. "Children bring a different kind of happiness," she says, voice light but laced with meaning. "Of course, it’s ultimately your decision… but I do hope you aren’t waiting too long."

Another aunt leans in, faux sympathy dripping from her tone. "There aren’t any problems, are there?"

It’s a dagger cloaked in silk. The insinuation. The unspoken judgment.

You don’t have to look at Sunghoon to know he’s bristling beside you. You can feel the tension in his silence.

Still, he says nothing.

The moment stretches, uncomfortable and suffocating. And then—

A soft laugh. Controlled. Collected.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he finally speaks.

"We appreciate your concern," he says, voice smooth as glass. "But when we have something to share, you’ll be the first to know."

There’s nothing in his tone that suggests anger, but the way his mother’s lips press together ever so slightly tells you she’s caught the warning beneath his words.

The conversation shifts, flowing into another topic, but you no longer hear it. You’re still holding your champagne flute, fingers gripping the stem a little too tightly.

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

The meal is extravagant, an elaborate showcase of wealth and refinement. Each course is served with meticulous precision, arriving in waves of delicate flavors and carefully plated masterpieces. Crystal glasses remain full, refilled before they ever have the chance to empty, while waitstaff glide through the room with the kind of quiet efficiency that only comes from years of training. Around you, conversation flows as smoothly as the wine, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from tables where people have had just enough to drink to let their guard down.

The atmosphere is lively, engaging. A room filled with the kind of people who measure success in numbers and influence rather than in anything tangible like love or happiness.

You and Sunghoon don’t speak.

It isn’t new.

It’s been months—maybe even longer—since you’ve had a real conversation. These events used to be something you faced together, an exhausting but necessary part of maintaining appearances in your world. There was a time when he would lean in close, whisper something wry against the shell of your ear just to make you laugh, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the table as a silent reminder that, no matter how long the evening stretched, you would leave together.

Now, his presence beside you feels like nothing more than habit. The weight of expectation.

To everyone else, you are still Park Sunghoon’s wife—flawless and poised, an extension of his success, the perfect image of a woman who belongs at his side. But to each other, you are barely anything at all.

You watch as he listens intently to the conversation at hand, nodding along as one of his board members drones on about upcoming market trends. His features remain unreadable, his fingers steady as he lifts his glass to his lips, sipping at his wine without a second thought. His ability to be present yet completely unreachable is something you once admired about him. Now, it’s something that drives you insane.

At some point during the meal, while the conversation has drifted toward a discussion on recent company acquisitions, a new voice cuts through the air.

"You remember Soojin, don’t you?"

It’s not a question so much as a strategic opening, delivered with the practiced ease of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

You shift slightly, already knowing where this is going before you even turn your head. Sunghoon’s mother is smiling, her expression warm and pleasant in the way that only someone raised in high society can master. It is a look that has fooled many, but not you. You’ve spent too many years in her presence to mistake it for anything but a well-placed maneuver.

Her gaze flickers toward a table across the room, drawing your attention to the woman seated there. Soojin.

She is beautiful in the way that women in your world are expected to be—polished, refined, her makeup flawless, her hair styled to perfection. The kind of woman who commands attention without even trying.

The kind of woman Sunghoon’s mother would have preferred as her daughter-in-law.

"Her father’s company just finalized a deal with ours," she continues, lifting her glass to her lips. "It’s an impressive partnership."

You say nothing.

She doesn’t need you to.

"She’s always been such a sweet girl," she adds, her smile never faltering. "Smart. Beautiful. And her family is so well-connected."

The words are light, conversational, but the weight of them is suffocating.

She doesn’t say it outright, but the message is clear.

You are not the only option.

There are women who would make the perfect Mrs. Park—women who would be better suited for the role, who would know how to uphold the family name, who would understand the responsibilities that come with being married to someone like Sunghoon.

Women who would not have made the mistakes you did.

Your grip tightens around your fork.

You keep your expression neutral, refusing to react. You won’t give her the satisfaction. You won’t let her see that the words sting in a way they shouldn’t, that they burrow beneath your skin, scraping against wounds that never quite healed.

"I’m aware," Sunghoon says, finally setting his wine glass down with deliberate ease.

Two words. Nothing more.

His mother studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles again, as if the moment never happened.

The conversation moves forward.

You exhale slowly, setting your glass down, your fingers still curled around the delicate stem. No reassurance. No defense. No effort to correct what was just implied.

I’m aware.

A bitter taste lingers on your tongue, but you swallow it down, lifting your chin slightly as you redirect your attention to the meal in front of you.

You already know how this night will end. The same way it always does. With silence.

The moment you step inside the penthouse, the carefully constructed facade of the evening begins to crumble. The sterile glow of the overhead lights does little to ease the weight pressing against your chest, the silence between you and Sunghoon thick with something sharp, something unsaid.

You hear the quiet rustle of fabric as he shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of a chair before undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His movements are methodical, controlled, as if he’s following a script that no longer holds any meaning.

You should keep walking. You should disappear into the bathroom, wash the night off your skin, lock yourself behind a door like you have so many nights before. But instead, you linger, fingers still curled around the strap of your bag, your gaze tracing the familiar lines of his back, the tension in his shoulders.

"You didn’t say anything."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge buried beneath the exhaustion.

Sunghoon doesn’t turn. "About what?"

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "About what?" you repeat, laughter bubbling up, bitter and humorless. "About your mother. About your aunts. About all of them sitting there, questioning me like I’m some failed investment."

A pause.

Then, finally, he glances over his shoulder. "What did you want me to say?"

The way he says it—steady, detached, devoid of any real curiosity—makes your stomach twist.

"Anything," you say, because that’s the truth of it. You just wanted something.

His lips press together briefly before he turns back toward the dresser, rolling up his sleeves. "It wouldn’t have changed anything."

And there it is.

That unbearable indifference.

The quiet, unshaken finality of a man who has already made peace with his own silence.

It shouldn’t feel like a slap to the face, but it does.

"You never fight for anything," you whisper, voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside.

He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel it—the way his gaze trails over your bare skin, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back.

It only takes a step. One step forward, and everything snaps.

His hands are on you before you can think—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. His mouth crashes against yours, rough, unyielding, a kiss that isn’t sweet or tender, but desperate, punishing. You gasp against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he presses you back against the dresser.

"You always do this," he mutters against your lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp. "Come to me when you need to forget."

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart with ease. He’s impatient, reckless, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your panties, dragging them down before you can protest. A sharp inhale leaves your lips as he presses two fingers against your clit, circling slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

"Already wet," he muses, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. His tone is mocking, but his voice is hoarse, strained. "That desperate for me?"

You bite down on your lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your body betrays you, hips rolling against his hand, chasing the friction that he’s refusing to give.

Sunghoon chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just something bitter, something dark.

Without warning, he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate pace. Your breath hitches, nails digging into his shoulders as he curls his fingers, stroking the spot that makes your knees tremble.

"You can pretend all you want," he murmurs against your throat, his lips trailing down, teeth scraping against your skin. "But your body knows who it belongs to."

His free hand moves to your chest, fingers tweaking your nipple, rolling it between his fingers before his mouth replaces them, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. You arch into him, a whimper slipping past your lips, your thighs tightening around his wrist.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea or a warning—you’re not sure.

He pulls away, his fingers slipping from you, leaving you empty and aching. Before you can protest, he turns you around, pressing your front against the cool surface of the dresser, his body crowding you from behind. His hands roam your body, over the swell of your ass, down to your thighs, spreading them apart as he presses the hard length of his cock against your heat.

You exhale sharply as he grips your hips, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick before pressing forward. The stretch is sharp, deep, and you gasp, gripping the edge of the dresser as he sinks into you, inch by inch, filling you completely.

"Fuck," he groans, his fingers tightening against your hips, like he’s barely holding himself together.

He gives you a second—just one—before he pulls back and thrusts into you again, setting a brutal, relentless pace. Each movement is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin against skin mixing with the soft, breathy moans slipping past your lips.

The dresser rattles beneath you, your body rocking with each thrust, and you can do nothing but take it, the pleasure sharp and consuming. Sunghoon grips your hair, pulling your head back as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

"Let them keep talking," he mutters, voice ragged, punctuated by the snap of his hips.

Your breath catches, your walls clenching around him at his words.

Sunghoon lets out a low groan, his thrusts growing deeper, sharper, his fingers moving back to your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles. The tension coils tighter, your body burning, unraveling beneath him.

"Cum," he murmurs, his voice softer now, breathless.

And you do—pleasure washing over you in waves, your thighs shaking, your moan muffled as he presses a hand against your mouth, keeping you from making too much noise.

He follows soon after, his grip tightening, his cock pulsing inside you as he groans low against your shoulder, spilling into you with a shudder.

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then, just as expected, he pulls away.

Rolls onto his back.

Says nothing.

You stare at the reflection of yourself in the dresser mirror—flushed skin, swollen lips, empty eyes. You should leave. You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you slip beneath the covers, curling away from him, pressing your knuckles against your mouth to keep yourself from shaking.

Because tonight, at least, you don’t want to feel alone.

The morning is quiet.

You wake up to an empty bed, the sheets beside you already cold. The absence of warmth shouldn’t bother you—it hasn’t in months—but today, it does. The ache in your body from the night before lingers, a dull, throbbing reminder of something you wish you could forget.

For a moment, you stay still, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of light and shadow that spill through the curtains. The penthouse is bathed in soft gold from the rising sun, a warmth that contrasts the cold emptiness beside you.

There was a time when mornings like these meant something. When you’d wake up tangled in Sunghoon’s limbs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. When the weight of his body against yours felt grounding instead of suffocating.

Now, there’s nothing but space.

You take a slow breath, blinking against the dryness in your eyes before finally sitting up. The silence is deafening, the type that only exists in places too large for two people who no longer belong to each other.

When you step out of bed, your legs feel unsteady, soreness creeping up your spine. You ignore it. You move toward the bathroom, turning on the sink, splashing cold water on your face as if it’ll rinse away the heaviness in your chest. It doesn’t.

Your reflection stares back at you, eyes slightly swollen, lips faintly bruised from the way he kissed you last night. You press your fingers against them, swallowing down the memory of his touch, of the way his hands had held you so tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away.

But he didn’t.

He never could.

By the time you make your way downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. The sight of Sunghoon sitting at the dining table shouldn’t make your stomach tighten the way it does. He looks like he always does—effortlessly composed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand while his other scrolls through his phone.

Like nothing happened.

Like last night was just another night.

The illusion of normalcy almost makes you hesitate. Almost.

Instead, you step forward, setting the folder down on the glass surface of the table with a deliberate thud. The sound cuts through the silence, drawing Sunghoon’s attention as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react, just studies you for a moment before his gaze drifts downward to the document between you.

Divorce Agreement.

His fingers pause against the rim of his coffee cup.

"Where were you?," you say, your voice steady, carefully controlled.

"Work," he replies, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

You cross your arms, exhaling through your nose. "You knew this was coming." Your voice is measured, even, despite the tightness in your throat.

Sunghoon finally sets his mug down with a soft clink, his expression unreadable. "I did."

"Then sign them."

A long silence stretches between you. You hold your ground, standing tall, watching as he leans back slightly in his chair, his fingers idly tapping against the surface of the table. He doesn’t look at the papers, just at you.

"You really want this?"

The words are simple. Too simple.

You hate the way they make your stomach twist. Hate the way your throat tightens because this shouldn’t be hard. This shouldn’t be something that makes your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"Yes."

His lips press together briefly before he exhales through his nose. Without another word, he pulls the folder toward him, flipping it open, skimming the terms with the same impassive ease he applies to every contract he reviews at work.

For a second, your breath catches.

You almost expect him to argue, to fight, to say something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

Not when he turns the page. Not when his eyes flicker across the fine print. Not when he reaches for the pen beside him.

And then—

He stops.

His fingers hover over the paper, the tip of the pen barely touching the page. Then, instead of signing, he clicks the pen shut and sets it down.

The air in the room shifts. Your stomach twists.

"Not tonight." His voice is smooth, final.

You blink. "What?"

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression completely unreadable. "I’ll think about it."

Something in your chest tightens, frustration curling in your throat. "Think about what?" You gesture to the papers between you. "This isn’t something that needs consideration, Sunghoon. This is happening. It’s already over."

His gaze darkens slightly, but his face remains composed. "Then why are you still here?"

Your breath catches.

Because you haven’t left yet. Because some part of you still needs this conversation. Because some part of you is waiting for him to say something that changes everything.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. His fingers drum against the glass once, twice, before he reaches for his whiskey glass instead, taking a slow sip. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but then he just shakes his head.

"You’ll have them back tomorrow."

But you already know—he won’t sign.

Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Maybe not ever.

Park Enterprises runs on three things: money, power, and the ability to avoid Park Sunghoon and his soon-to-be-ex-wife in the same room at all costs.

This isn’t an official company policy, but if you asked anyone—from the executives to the janitorial staff—they’d all agree: keeping their two highest-ranking officials away from each other is the best way to ensure the company doesn’t collapse in on itself.

This is why, over the past few months, a silent, unofficial, yet highly efficient system has developed.

It begins every morning.

6:45 AM: Sunghoon arrives, coffee in hand, barely glancing at the receptionist before disappearing into his office. If he sighs immediately upon entering? Bad day. If he slams his office door? Get the emergency evacuation plan ready. 7:15 AM: You arrive, headphones in, already on a call, looking like you’re mentally preparing for battle. If you greet anyone? Good day. If you walk straight to your office without making eye contact? Avoid, avoid, avoid. 7:30 AM: Your PA, Nishimura Riki, updates the "Safe Zones" list. Any floor occupied by both you and Sunghoon is immediately deemed a no-go area.

By 9 AM, the "Daily Avoidance Protocol" is in full effect.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 Sunghoon spotted near the finance department. Legal team, take the back elevators. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TAKE THE MAIN LOBBY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Executive Team] 🛑 Your boss is stomping through the 18th floor like a woman on a mission. She just told an intern to "never, ever look that stressed in front of her again" and I don’t think she was joking.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Sunoo] i heard ur boss threw his pen at the wall this morning lol wtf did u do to him

[Sunoo]: nothing yet but im about to stir the pot for fun.

[Riki]: bet.

And then, of course, there’s lunch.

There used to be a time—back when things were different, when things were better—when you and Sunghoon would eat together. Now?

Now, entire lunch routes are planned out in advance to make sure the two of you never end up in the same restaurant, let alone the same hallway.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Riki] Depressed male boss is heading toward the rooftop restaurant. tell ur people to evacuate the 10th floor cafe IMMEDIATELY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 ABORT. ABORT. DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ. I REPEAT, DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ.

By 3 PM, most employees think they’ve made it through the day safely. Until they check the meeting schedule. And realize. There’s a joint executive-legal meeting scheduled at 4:30 PM. Which means.

They have to be in the same room.

The boardroom at Park Enterprises is a high-stakes battlefield.

The executives and legal team are already seated, carefully keeping their faces neutral, their eyes trained on the reports in front of them. No one dares to speak. Everyone is pretending to be busy, flipping through documents they’ve already memorized just to avoid being caught in the crossfire of what is about to happen.

At one end of the table, Sunoo twirls his pen lazily between his fingers, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Across from him, Riki updates the betting pool on his phone, typing at lightning speed while shooting occasional glances toward the door.

It’s only a matter of time before the two storm fronts collide.

The first arrival is you.

You stride in with effortless confidence, shoulders squared, back straight, file in hand. Your heels click sharply against the polished floors, announcing your presence before you even reach your seat.

You don’t acknowledge Sunghoon’s presence.

Your team watches as you settle into your chair, flipping open your folder with a level of precision that makes it very, very clear you are not in the mood for incompetence today.

Riki immediately clocks the stiffness in your posture. He subtly pulls out his phone under the table, fingers flying over the screen.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] boss lady is MAD mad. don’t make eye contact, stay low, survive.

Barely thirty seconds later, Sunghoon walks in.

He doesn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhales sharply as he takes his seat, flipping open his laptop with measured ease, his expression unreadable. The sound of his pen clicking open is the only thing that breaks the silence.

he just sighed. that’s a bad sign. let’s all start praying now.

For the first ten minutes, everything is fine.

Reports are reviewed, revenue projections are discussed, and for a fleeting moment, there’s the illusion of normalcy. You make your points with cool efficiency, and Sunghoon listens without interruption.

"The merger contract," one of the executives finally says, carefully glancing between the two of you like he’s about to light a match in a room full of gasoline.

You don’t hesitate. You already know where this is going.

"The terms still require legal review," you state, flipping to the necessary section in your file. "The current liability clauses remain too vague for approval."

Sunghoon doesn’t even look up from his laptop. "The legal team has had two weeks to finalize those clauses."

Your brows lift slightly. "And yet, they’re still a problem. Imagine that."

The temperature in the room drops.

Sunoo, who had been casually taking notes, suddenly stops writing. His eyes flicker between you and Sunghoon, realization dawning.

Riki, seated to your right, visibly winces. His grip on his pen tightens before it slips from his fingers and rolls off the table.

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "You’re delaying a time-sensitive deal over minor details."

Your lips curl, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the edges. "Minor details? You mean, like, the ones that could potentially cost us millions in damages?"

His jaw tightens. "There’s a deadline for a reason."

"And there’s a reason you need my approval before proceeding," you counter, tone perfectly composed. "Which, let me remind you, you don’t have yet."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Sunoo leans back in his chair, murmuring to Riki under his breath. "They’re fighting in full sentences today."

Riki nods slowly, still typing. "This is worse than last week’s passive-aggressive email exchange."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, sitting back in his chair. His fingers drum once—just once—against the table before he speaks again.

"Fine," he says smoothly, but his tone is sharp. "Take another day. No more than that."

You hum thoughtfully, feigning consideration as you flip another page in your file. "I’ll let you know if that’s feasible."

Sunoo, who is now openly grinning, tilts his phone toward Riki.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] the CEO looks like he wants to kill someone but is trying to stay professional. ten bucks says he slams his laptop shut first.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] LMFAO he just clenched his jaw so hard I think he cracked a tooth.

Your heels click against the polished floor as you walk further in the penthouse, but you don’t call out for him. You don’t need to. You already know where he is.

The scent of whiskey lingers in the air—subtle, but unmistakable. Your eyes land on Park Sunghoon, sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room, his posture relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the cushions, his other hand resting near the glass of amber liquid on the coffee table. His tie is loose, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up as if he’s been here for a while, waiting.

But that isn’t what catches your attention.

The divorce papers sit between you on the glass surface.

Untouched.

Your throat tightens as something bitter and exhausted coils low in your stomach. You set your bag down near the door with more force than necessary, the sound sharp against the silence. You’re tired—of the fights, of the push and pull, of this thing between you that refuses to die no matter how much you try to smother it.

"You haven’t signed them." Your voice is level, controlled, giving away nothing. But inside, your pulse is unsteady, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his whiskey, taking a slow sip, his movements measured, deliberate. When he sets the glass back down, the faint clink against the glass table feels deafening in the quiet room. His gaze lifts to yours, dark and unreadable, his expression betraying nothing.

"No."

The single word lands between you like a gunshot.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails pressing into your palms as frustration flares up in your chest. "Sunghoon—"

"Say it."

His voice is quiet, but the weight of it cuts through the space between you with an edge sharper than steel.

You frown slightly, tilting your head in question. "Say what?"

His eyes remain steady on yours, holding you there, unrelenting. There’s no coldness in them, not like there usually is, but something deeper, heavier, more dangerous.

"Say you don’t love me anymore."

The air in the room thickens, growing heavy with something suffocating, unbearable.

It should be easy.

You should be able to say it, to lie through your teeth and tear the last fraying thread between you. You’ve spent months trying to unlove him, convincing yourself that walking away is the only choice left.

But the way he’s looking at you now—the way his fingers ghost over the edge of the divorce papers but never actually touch them—it makes something sink deep in your chest, twisting into something that feels like regret.

Your jaw tightens, shoulders drawing stiff, as you inhale slowly through your nose. "Don’t do this," you murmur, voice quieter now.

Sunghoon leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, the corner of his mouth curling into something resembling a smirk, but there’s no amusement behind it. "Do what?"

Your pulse hammers against your ribs as anger rises in your throat, sharp and bitter. "Pretend to care when you never did."

Something snaps.

Fast. Brutal.

Before you can react, you’re on the couch, pinned beneath him, Sunghoon’s hand wrapped around your throat.

Your breath catches as your back presses into the cushions, your pulse stuttering beneath his fingers. The grip isn’t tight—not enough to hurt—but just enough to hold you there, to remind you exactly who he is.

His face is close, too close, his breath warm against your lips, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in every muscle. His gaze flickers between your eyes, searching, burning, filled with something dark and raw.

"You think I never cared?" His voice is low, rough, dangerous in a way that sends heat curling through your stomach.

Your body tenses, then melts, as his other hand trails up your thigh, fingers barely skimming your skin, teasing, not touching where you need him to.

"You think I don’t want you?" His breath is uneven now, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat before loosening again. His thumb brushes along the side of your neck, slow, deliberate. His body is pressed against yours, solid and warm, every inch of him so close, too close, not close enough.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, nails pressing lightly into his skin, grounding yourself, grounding him. Your breath is shaky when you speak, barely above a whisper. "I think you don’t know how to want me without ruining me."

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

For a second—just a second—he looks wrecked.

Then, his grip tightens.

Your breath stutters, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as heat pools low in your stomach. His lips brush against your ear, his voice lower now, rough, a quiet warning.

"Tell me to stop."

You should.

Sunghoon waits, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his fingers tightening around your waist, his grip flexing against your throat just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"You won’t, will you?" His tone is almost amused, but there’s something darker underneath, something that sounds almost like relief.

You shake your head.

And then his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is deep, hungry, filled with everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer like he wants to memorize the shape of you all over again.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, his body pressing you further into the couch, his knee parting your thighs. His hands slide under your dress, rough palms trailing against your skin, teasing, making you ache.

"Still wet for me," he mutters, voice dark, breathless. His fingers slip beneath your panties, dragging over your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, just to prove his point.

You whimper against his mouth, thighs trembling as he strokes you, not giving you what you need, just teasing, just pushing you closer to the edge.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea, a warning.

He smirks against your skin, lips pressing against your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin before sinking two fingers into you, curling just right.

"You hate me, remember?" His voice is taunting, wicked.

Your back arches, hips rocking against his fingers, chasing more, chasing him.

Your breath comes out in shuddering gasps as you whisper the only thing you can manage. "I hate you."

Sunghoon lets out a breathless, bitter laugh.

"Liar."

"That’s not how we do things at Park Enterprises, Mrs. Park," Sunghoon muses.

He leans back in his office chair, fingers tapping against the polished surface of the table. The way he says it is deliberate, lazy, like he’s testing you.

The meeting room is as usual, closer to World War 3 (total destruction edition) than a collaborative good-vibes-only space.

You still, fingers curling slightly against the stack of legal briefs in front of you. The flicker of heat that rushes through you isn’t fondness—it’s pure irritation.

"Don’t call me that." Your tone is measured, sharp.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch, but there’s no humor in his smirk. "Habit."

Your gaze hardens, your nails pressing into the contract as you slam it down in front of him.

"Then break it."

The entire room freezes.

Sunoo, seated two chairs down, makes a sound that might be a laugh but immediately covers it with a cough. Across from him, Riki subtly slides his phone out to update the betting pool on how long this fight is going to last.

The tension only thickens when Sunghoon reaches for the contract, flipping through the pages like he isn’t remotely affected. His expression is smooth, almost bored, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens just slightly.

"You seem invested in this," he muses, signing his name on the margin like he’s humoring you. "Why? Worried about my financial well-being?"

You exhale slowly, forcing down the irritation curling in your chest. "No. I just don’t like being dragged into your reckless decisions when you know I’ll have to clean up your mess later."

Sunghoon’s eyes flick up to yours. There’s something there, something sharp, dark, something that makes your stomach twist.

"You always do," he murmurs. "Clean up after me."

You refuse to react, refuse to let him see that he’s getting under your skin. Instead, you push back your chair, standing with a level of poise that takes effort.

"I don’t work for you, Sunghoon," you remind him, voice cold. "I work for the company."

His lips press together, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell you you’re wrong.

Because you aren’t.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Riki] he just flexed his fingers like he wanted to throw the pen LMFAO ur boss literally just called him reckless in front of the entire room. this is peak entertainment.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] ceo looks ready to commit murder. we might need security.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] he just sighed through his nose. we are in DANGER.

The morning sun spills into Park Enterprises, painting streaks of gold across the marble floors of the top executive offices. Everything looks pristine, polished—exactly the way Sunghoon keeps it. But today, something is off.

You push open the heavy glass door to his office without knocking, a thick stack of contracts tucked under your arm. Your heels click against the floor with precise, deliberate steps, each one punctuating the tension lingering between you.

Without hesitation, you slam the folder onto his desk.

“You’re going to sign this,” you declare, arms crossing over your chest, voice clipped, firm.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away.

You expect the usual pushback—some sarcastic remark, a knowing smirk, the casual dismissal of your concerns—but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stays where he is, leaning against the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to suggest exhaustion. His fingers press lightly against the smooth wood surface behind him, as if steadying himself.

He looks off.

Not tired—Sunghoon is always tired. But off.

You narrow your eyes. “What, no argument?”

He blinks at you, slowly, like it takes more effort than it should. His grip on the desk tightens briefly before he exhales, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Sunghoon finally reacts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—small, forced. “Worried about me now?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t want you dying in my office.”

He chuckles, but the sound is weak, quieter than usual. He straightens up, shifts his weight slightly, but the way he moves is wrong—like he’s trying too hard to make it look effortless.

"If I did," he murmurs, "I’d haunt you."

Normally, that would be enough to pull an eye roll out of you. Maybe even a snarky remark. But something about the way he says it makes your stomach tighten.

You watch him carefully. The way his fingers flex against the desk. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his smirk falters at the edges.

Sunghoon has always carried himself with control—measured, deliberate, never showing a single crack in the façade. But right now, standing in front of you, he looks off balance.

The last time he looked like this, the last time he held himself together just a little too well, something had been wrong then too.

Something you didn’t realize until it was too late.

The memory presses at the edges of your thoughts, but you push it down.

“Maybe you should sit down before you do something stupid,” you mutter.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he does exactly that. He sinks into his chair, rolling his shoulders, letting out a slow breath before picking up the contract.

“Relax,” he says, flipping through the pages. “I’ll sign your stupid paperwork. No need to get sentimental.”

Your jaw tightens, irritation curling at the edges of your concern. “I’m not being sentimental. I just don’t want to deal with the PR disaster when you inevitably collapse.”

Sunghoon lets out a quiet huff of laughter, but the way his fingers drift to his temple, pressing lightly, does not go unnoticed. He rubs at the tension there, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he shakes his head, pushing through whatever is bothering him.

“I’m fine.”

You don’t believe him. But you don’t push. Because the last time you did, you lost.

It had been late.

Past midnight. The city outside your bedroom window was still awake, alive with light and movement, but inside, the world had gone silent.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing into your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. You weren’t crying. You had already done that. There was nothing left inside you except emptiness.

Sunghoon lay beside you.

Awake. Motionless. Silent.

His back was turned to you.

And the worst part, the part that haunted you even now, wasn’t that he hadn’t said anything.

It was that when you had reached for his hand, he had let you hold it.

But he hadn’t held yours back.

The memory lingers even as you push it away.

You watch Sunghoon as he picks up the contract, flipping through the pages with minimal interest. His fingers tighten slightly when he turns each page, like he’s holding back something.

Pain. Fatigue. Something worse.

"You look like shit," you say finally, leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

Sunghoon hums, barely glancing up. “Charming as always.”

"You should get checked out."

He snorts, shaking his head. “If I wanted medical advice, I wouldn’t take it from my ex-wife.”

"Not ex yet."

And for some reason, as you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that you just missed something important.

The Park family never asks for favors.

Not officially, at least.

It’s always subtle, always wrapped in polite smiles and casual requests, laced with just enough manipulation to make refusal feel impossible.

Which is why you’re seated in the Park family’s private lounge, sipping tea that’s gone cold, listening to Sunghoon’s mother and his uncle discuss the delicate legal situation that has suddenly become your responsibility.

“It’s just a small thing,” his mother insists, waving a dismissive hand as though corporate fraud allegations against one of their subsidiary partners are a minor inconvenience rather than a full-blown lawsuit waiting to happen.

You keep your expression neutral, fingers laced neatly over your knee. “It’s not a small thing,” you correct evenly. “You’re looking at a serious case of financial misrepresentation, and if this isn’t handled properly, it could affect all of Park Enterprises. This isn’t something I can just sweep under the rug.”

His uncle chuckles like you’ve just told a particularly amusing joke. “Oh, we know that, dear. That’s why we’re bringing it to you.”

Dear.

You resist the urge to tense, keeping your posture composed.

Because this is what you’ve become to them.

Not a daughter-in-law. Not family.

A lawyer first, a liability second.

“You’ve always been so good at handling these sorts of things,” his mother adds, smiling that elegant, carefully practiced smile that never quite reaches her eyes. “And with your position at the company, it only makes sense for you to oversee it personally.”

Of course. Personally.

They won’t trust this kind of thing to an outsider. But they also won’t officially involve you, because that would mean compensation, responsibility, accountability.

Instead, they’ll let you handle it just enough to clean up their mess. They’ll let you do the work, bear the stress, and take the fall if things go wrong.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon won’t say a word.

You glance to your left, where he’s seated quietly, fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his coffee cup. He hasn’t spoken once since this conversation began.

Not to defend you. Not to refuse. Not to say anything at all.

Just… silent.

Your fingers tighten around the folder in your lap.

“I’ll review the case,” you say finally, voice clipped, controlled. “But I won’t guarantee anything.”

His mother beams, reaching forward to squeeze your hand like you’ve just agreed to Sunday brunch, not to clean up yet another one of their family’s legal disasters.

“I knew we could count on you,” she says sweetly.

Sunghoon still says nothing.

Not when his mother praises you.

Not when his uncle jokes about how lucky Sunghoon is to have married such a “resourceful” woman.

Not when the conversation finally ends, and they rise from their seats, leaving you with a stack of documents, a heavier workload, and a headache that has nothing to do with legal strategy.

It isn’t until you’re alone with him in the car, on the drive back home, that you finally let your frustration boil over.

“So that’s how this works now?” Your voice is flat, gaze fixed on the city lights outside the window. “Your family gets into trouble, and I’m the free labor you offer up to fix it?”

Sunghoon exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. “It’s not like that.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell feels like it.”

His fingers flex against the steering wheel. “You’re the best lawyer they know,” he says after a beat, like that somehow makes it better. Like that somehow makes this okay.

You turn to look at him, eyes narrowing. “And that’s all I am, isn’t it?”

He went back after dropping you off.

His mother had barely glanced up from her tea. “She’s always been so difficult,” she sighed, setting the cup down with a delicate clink. “It would be easier if she simply cooperated without arguing every little point.”

Sunghoon’s jaw had clenched at that.

His uncle had smirked, shaking his head. “Women like her are sharp, but they forget that they’re meant to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

The room had gone silent.

His uncle blinked, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

Sunghoon had leaned forward slightly, voice measured but laced with something dangerous. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

His mother frowned slightly, but the warning in his expression kept her from speaking.

His uncle, however, wasn’t as quick to read the room. “She’s my niece-in-law, I can—”

“She’s not yours anything,” Sunghoon cut in, tone sharp. “And the next time you speak about her like that, you won’t like how I respond.”

His uncle had scoffed, muttering something under his breath about being too soft on a woman who clearly didn’t respect her place, but the discussion didn’t go any further.

Because Sunghoon had stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, gaze level.

“You wanted her help?” he had said coldly. “You’ll take what she’s willing to give. And if she decides she’s done dealing with your bullshit, you won’t push her. Understood?”

The first sign that something is wrong comes in the form of silence.

For the past few days, Sunghoon has been more irritable than usual. Not outright angry, not obviously upset, just… distant. He works longer hours, avoids unnecessary conversations, and brushes off every single instance you or his team ask if he’s okay. It’s nothing new—he’s always had a habit of overworking himself into exhaustion, pushing himself too hard, acting invincible even when he’s clearly not.

You’re used to it.

But today, something feels different.

Maybe it’s the way he barely acknowledged you in the morning meeting, his focus wavering during discussions where he’s usually sharp. Maybe it’s the way his grip tightened just slightly around his pen, like he needed to steady himself. Maybe it’s the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something, but chose not to.

Or maybe it’s the way his entire office is empty when you pass by hours later, and his assistant, Sunoo, is nowhere to be found.

You stop in your tracks.

"Where is he?"

Riki looks up from his phone, startled by your sudden appearance at the executive floor. “Uh—meeting with finance, I think?”

You frown. “No, that ended an hour ago.”

Riki hesitates. He knows better than to lie to you. “He wasn’t looking too good earlier.”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been pushing himself too hard. You knew this would happen.

You spin on your heel, already moving before you can second-guess yourself.

When you find him, he’s exactly where you feared he’d be.

Collapsed on the floor of his office.

Sunghoon is slumped against the base of his desk, one hand still loosely gripping his chair, as if he had tried to stop himself from falling. His usually sharp, polished composure is completely gone—his dress shirt is slightly undone, his face pale, sweat beading along his brow. His breathing is shallow, his eyes half-lidded like he’s barely clinging to consciousness.

The sight of him like this—weak, vulnerable, not in control—makes something in your chest tighten painfully.

"Sunghoon," you breathe out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands hover over him for a second, uncertain, before you press against his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

His head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to you, but it’s unfocused.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like he’s barely holding onto himself.

Your heart pounds in your ears. “Shut up.” You tilt his chin up, searching his face, trying to assess just how bad this is. He’s too pale, too warm, and his breathing is far from steady.

"I’m fine," he murmurs, trying to push himself up, but his body betrays him. His limbs shake, his strength is gone, and before he can fall again, you catch him.

That’s when panic sinks in.

You barely register the way your arms tighten around him as you yell for help, your voice sharp, commanding. Within moments, Riki and Sunoo are rushing in, Sunoo already pulling out his phone to call an ambulance.

"Sunghoon, stay awake," you demand, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Do you hear me? Stay awake.”

His lips curve slightly. Even now, he’s trying to smile.

“Bossy,” he mutters.

Your throat tightens. “Shut up and breathe.”

The hospital smells like antiseptic and exhaustion.

The waiting room is too bright, too cold, too suffocating. The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, mixing with the distant beeping of heart monitors and the low murmur of voices at the nurse’s station. You sit motionless, staring at the tiled floor, your arms crossed so tightly that your nails press crescents into your palms.

It’s been hours since they rushed Sunghoon in.

Riki and Sunoo are still here, but neither of them speaks. They hover nearby, their presence a quiet weight in the room, but they know better than to say anything. Everyone knows better than to say anything.

Finally, footsteps approach. A doctor stops in front of you, flipping through a clipboard. “Are you here for Park Sunghoon?”

Your breath catches. You rise immediately, ignoring the stiffness in your limbs. “Yes.”

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor says, voice calm and professional. “We ran some tests, but given his symptoms, this isn’t just exhaustion. He’s been dealing with this for a while, hasn’t he?”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been hiding this.

The doctor’s gaze softens slightly. “Are you his wife?”

The word cuts through you like a blade.

You swallow. Legally, yes. Emotionally? You don’t know anymore.

“Yes,” you say, the word tasting strange on your tongue.

The doctor nods. “Then I need to speak with you privately.”

The hospital room is suffocating.

It smells sterile, like antiseptic and something cold, something lifeless. The overhead lights cast a dim glow over everything—too bright, too harsh, too unforgiving. The heart monitor beside the bed beeps in slow, steady intervals, but Sunghoon’s breathing is anything but steady.

He looks wrecked.

His skin is too pale, washed out under the fluorescent glow. His lips are dry, colorless. There’s sweat clinging to his hairline, dampening the strands against his forehead. His fingers tremble where they rest against the blanket, curling slightly like even the fabric is too much to hold onto.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the exhaustion weighing down his body and the fever burning beneath his skin, he still looks at you with something sharp, something unyielding, when you demand the truth.

“How long have you known?”

Your voice is stretched too thin, raw from exhaustion and something deeper, something you don’t want to name.

Sunghoon exhales, closing his eyes for a second like it physically pains him to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quiet, hoarse from fatigue.

“Six months.”

The words sink into you like stones.

Your hands tighten around the metal bedrail, your grip so tight your knuckles go white. Your chest constricts, something ugly twisting inside of you, something that makes your stomach curl in on itself.

“Six fucking months?”

Sunghoon drags a trembling hand down his face, but even that looks like it takes too much effort. His body is failing him, but his voice is still there, still cutting, when he lets out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Would it have changed anything?”

Your breath catches, something sharp and painful ripping through your chest.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, something hollow and unfamiliar.

“Yes.”

Sunghoon finally looks at you, but there’s something haunted in his gaze. A long, unbearable silence stretches between you before his jaw tightens, his voice lowering, turning quiet, cutting like a blade against your skin.

“Did it change anything when I tried to hold you after we lost them?”

The air leaves your lungs.

You freeze, your entire body locking up, the grip you have on the bedrail so tight it screeches beneath your fingertips.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, but there’s no fight in his face, no anger, no bitterness.

Just exhaustion.

And pain.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You never tried.”

His breath catches.

“I did,” he murmurs, voice raw.

Your throat tightens.

“No, you didn’t.” You take a step forward, your pulse hammering, hands shaking. “You shut down. You let me—” Your breath hitches, your voice unsteady. “You let me go through it alone.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He just looks away.

And that’s somehow worse.

“You acted like it never happened,” you whisper, the words barely holding themselves together. “Like they never happened.”

Sunghoon’s chest rises sharply, his fingers twitching, his breathing growing uneven again. His entire body stiffens, but he doesn’t push back.

And then, voice hoarse, shaking, wrecked,

“You think I didn’t care?”

Your hands curl into fists, but before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening—

Sunghoon moves too fast.

He tries to stand up, tries to close the space between you, but his body betrays him.

His IV yanks painfully, the needle shifting against his arm, and the wires attached to the monitor tangle around his wrist, pulling tighter when he moves. His breath stutters in pain, his fingers weakly gripping the sheets, but he doesn’t stop.

“Sunghoon,” you snap, eyes widening in alarm. “Sit the fuck down.”

But he doesn’t listen. He tries again to push himself up, stumbling slightly, and this time, his knees give out.

You barely catch him in time.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, gripping his arms as his entire weight collapses against you. His body burns under your touch, too warm, feverish, his breathing erratic. His head nearly falls against your shoulder, his body too weak to hold itself up.

His fingers clutch at the fabric of your blazer, something weak, something desperate.

And then—voice wrecked, hoarse, shaking—

“I named them.”

Your entire world tilts.

You go still.

Sunghoon doesn’t move, his forehead nearly pressed against your collarbone, his breath warm and shaky against your skin. His grip tightens, even as his body trembles.

“What?” Your voice barely makes it out, caught somewhere between disbelief and something worse.

“Every night while you were asleep next to me, I whispered their names silently. I prayed for them.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. His legs shake beneath him, his chest heaving, his entire body drained. He’s burning up, sweat sticking to his temple, his breath shallow.

You grab him by the arms, shaking him slightly. “Say their names.”

Sunghoon winces, he shakes his head ‘no’ his face twisting like the words are physically painful to say. He exhales sharply, breath ragged.

“Say their names, Sunghoon.”

His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his whole body trembling under your touch. For a moment, he just stares at you, like saying it out loud will finally break him.

Then, barely above a whisper, like it’s being torn from him—

“Eunha and June.”

Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his entire body slumping like he just let go of something he’s been carrying for years.

“I used to imagine who they’d look like more,” he whispers, his voice so thin, so hollow. “If Eunha would have had your eyes. If June would have had my smile.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“I wondered if they would have fought like us,” he exhales shakily, his fingers flexing around the fabric of your sleeve. “If they would have been close. If they would have had your fire. If I would have been able to protect them.”

His next breath is ragged, breaking.

“They were my girls.”

Your stomach twists.

His voice isn’t just sad. It’s grief-stricken. It’s empty.

“Mine,” he murmurs. His fingers twitch at his sides, the life draining from his voice as his chest rises and falls too quickly. “Mine and yours and no one else’s.”

A sob breaks past your lips, full and desperate and wrecked.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you pull him in.

Sunghoon immediately folds into you, his arms wrapping around your waist weakly, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck.

He’s burning up, feverish, barely staying upright.

Your hands press into his back, feeling the too-thin frame of him, the exhaustion pulling at his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

Neither of you speak.

For the first time in years, there is nothing left to say.

You wake up feeling… off.

Your neck aches, your back is stiff, and there’s a strange, rhythmic beeping that’s far too loud for this early in the morning.

It takes a second to register where you are.

The hospital.

Sunghoon.

The entire night before crashes into you all at once. The fight. His fever. The names. The fact that you never left.

Your stomach tightens. You should have left. You should have walked out the second he fell asleep. That was the plan.

And yet, somehow—you didn’t.

Before you can sit up, the door swings open.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

You jump, blinking blearily as Sunoo steps inside, two cups of coffee in hand, his eyes scanning the room with just a little too much interest.

He doesn’t immediately say something annoying, which means he’s definitely about to.

You shift in your chair, sitting up straighter, clearing your throat. “Morning.”

Sunoo doesn’t move, just looks at you. Then at Sunghoon, still asleep in the bed. Then back at you.

Finally—he lets out a small hum. “You stayed.”

It’s not judgmental. It’s not even teasing, really—just surprised. But for some reason, it makes you feel weirdly defensive.

“He had a fever,” you mutter, shifting under his gaze. “It was high. I didn’t think he should be alone.”

Sunoo nods. “Right.”

You hate how knowing he sounds.

Before you can scowl at him, Sunghoon groans, shifting slightly in the bed. His brow furrows, his body tensing for a brief moment before his eyes crack open.

And you know the exact moment he registers Sunoo’s presence—because instead of groaning in pain like a normal sick person, he exhales sharply, eyes barely open but already full of irritation.

“The fuck are you doing here?” His voice is rough, hoarse from sleep, but still so unmistakably Sunghoon that it’s almost impressive.

Sunoo lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as he grabs his own coffee. “Ah, there he is. Same old personality, even after nearly dying.”

Sunghoon barely cracks an eye open before exhaling sharply, pressing his head back against the pillow. “Go away.”

Sunoo, wisely, does not go away.

Instead, he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “I mean, technically, I work here. It’s my job to check on the CEO.” His gaze flickers toward you. “But wow. Look at this. The dedicated wife, staying by his side all night. It’s like something out of a drama.”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Sunoo—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, setting Sunghoon’s coffee on the bedside table. “I won’t tell the office too much. But, you know… people talk. Betting pools exist.”

Sunghoon slowly turns his head toward Sunoo.

And in the flattest, most deadpan voice imaginable, he says—

“You’re fired.”

Sunoo chokes on his coffee. “What?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “Pack your shit.”

“You wouldn’t survive a week without me,” Sunoo mutters, taking another sip.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, like he’s physically holding himself back from committing a crime.

You watch this exchange, unimpressed. “Are you two done?”

Sunoo gestures at Sunghoon. “Tell him. He’s the one being dramatic.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flick open again. “You barged in here at eight in the morning.”

“Nine,” Sunoo corrects. “And technically, I knocked.”

Neither of you remembers a knock.

Sunghoon takes a long, deep breath. “I still feel like shit. And the very first thing I see when I wake up is you. Running your mouth.”

Sunoo hums. “Okay, grumpy.”

Sunghoon glares.

Sunoo clears his throat, wisely changing the subject. “Anyway. You have the day off, obviously, but I have your morning reports whenever you’re—”

“I don’t care.”

Sunoo nods slowly. “Right. Well. I also have—”

“I still don’t care.”

Sunoo pauses. “…Okay, then.”

For the first time, he seems to sense that he’s overstayed his welcome. He takes a slow step toward the door, glancing between the two of you.

Then, mildly—“Try not to murder each other before lunch.”

And with that, he’s gone..

Sunghoon exhales sharply as he sinks into the passenger seat, eyes shut, head tilted back against the headrest. His body is still weak, and you know the car ride is taking more out of him than he’d ever admit. He doesn’t complain, though—he never does.

You keep your eyes on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles pressing just a little too hard against the leather. The silence stretches between you, filling the space inside the car, thick but not suffocating. Just there.

It’s not hostile. Not like before. But it’s not comfortable either.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The city blurs past in streaks of yellow streetlights and neon reflections, casting flickering shadows across Sunghoon’s face. His breathing is slow, controlled, like he’s trying not to let the exhaustion show.

But you see it.

You see the way his fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, how his jaw tenses every time you hit the smallest bump in the road. You see the way his chest rises and falls, slower than usual, deeper like he’s trying to regulate himself.

And then, finally—his voice breaks the silence.

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

It’s not sharp, not a challenge. Just… a test.

You inhale, eyes flickering toward him briefly before returning to the road. “I know.”

A pause. Then, quieter this time, a little more uncertain—“You don’t have to stay in the same house anymore.”

Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your stomach twisting in a way you don’t like.

“I know,” you say again, but this time, it sounds different. Less sure. Less like something you actually believe.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. His expression remains unreadable, his voice careful.

“Then why are you still here?”

The traffic light ahead flicks to red. The car slows, the tires rolling to a smooth stop, but inside, everything still feels like it’s moving too fast.

You could answer honestly. You could tell him that you don’t know how to walk away from him yet, that you don’t know what the hell you’re still holding onto but you’re holding onto it anyway.

Instead, you let out a slow breath and shift slightly in your seat. “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

Sunghoon huffs, gaze drifting back toward the windshield. “I’d last at least two.”

The corners of your lips twitch, but you press them together before the expression fully forms.

“Wanna bet?”

The breath he lets out is something close to a laugh—short, barely there, but real.

“Not really,” he mutters, exhaling through his nose.

Neither of you say anything after that.

But the silence that follows doesn’t feel as heavy as before.

The house is dimly lit, the soft glow from the hallway casting long shadows across the walls. The familiar scent of wood and clean linen lingers in the air, settling around you like something almost comforting, almost safe.

Sunghoon moves carefully, slower than he normally would, his fingers brushing against the wall for balance as he toes off his shoes. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t sway, but you see the way his body holds tension—too stiff, too controlled, like he’s bracing himself.

You don’t say anything.

Not until he lowers himself onto the couch, exhaling as if just the act of standing had drained him.

“You should sit down,” you say after a moment, arms crossing over your chest.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head. “You just watched me sit down.”

You roll your eyes, stepping into the kitchen without another word. He’s impossible. He always has been. The worst part is, you let yourself care anyway.

You fill a glass with water and bring it back to the living room, setting it down in front of him before dropping into the armchair across from the couch.

Sunghoon glances at the glass, then up at you.

“You’re not gonna make me drink it, are you?” His voice is hoarse, rough from exhaustion.

“I will if you keep being difficult.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally—finally—grabbing the glass. He takes a slow sip, sets it back down, and leans back into the cushions.

The silence that follows is heavy, but not the kind that threatens to break.

For a few minutes, neither of you speak. The tension sits between you, waiting, stretching until you finally say—

“You need to take time off.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrows slightly, eyes still closed.

“I already did,” he mutters.

You scoff. “No, you were hospitalized. That’s not ‘time off,’ that’s your body shutting down because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He doesn’t react at first, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly against his knee.

“I can manage,” he says, and this time, there’s an edge there.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice sharper now. “That’s exactly the problem, Sunghoon. You think you can manage. You think you can push through it, that it’s just something you can ignore and work around. But you can’t.”

His jaw tightens.

You exhale through your nose, hands pressing together. “The doctors literally told you what happens if you don’t take care of yourself. You might get better quickly, but if you push too hard, it’s going to get worse even faster. You don’t have the luxury of acting like this is a minor thing.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly, dragging a hand through his hair before resting his forearm against his knee. His voice is quieter when he finally speaks.

“…I know my limits.”

The words hit something raw inside you, something that has been aching for too long.

“No, you obviously don’t,” you snap, and this time, you don’t bother holding back. “You never do. You push and push until you hit a wall, and then you act surprised when your body gives out.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tighten against his knee. “I don’t need you to—”

“To what?” you interrupt, eyes burning. “To remind you? To be here because someone has to make sure you actually listen to the doctor’s advice?”

His breath catches slightly, and you hate how sickly he looks under the dim light. You hate how tired his shoulders are, how his fingers are trembling slightly against his knee, how his skin is still too pale, too warm from the fever that hasn’t fully faded yet. But most of all, you hate that he won’t just let himself rest.

You inhale, voice calmer now, but still firm. “They told you that you can’t just ‘push through’ this, Sunghoon. You’re not invincible. The whole reason you ended up in the hospital is because you ignored the symptoms for months.”

Sunghoon drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t need you to remind me of what I already know.”

“Then act like you know it.”

Sunghoon leans back against the couch, his body tense, hands resting on his thighs. His gaze flickers toward the ceiling, expression unreadable.

You watch him, watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with each slow breath, the way his throat bobs slightly when he swallows.

“Are you staying in my room?”

The words are soft. Careful. Testing.

Your fingers tighten slightly against your knee. You should say no.

You should get up, go to your own room, create distance before this turns into something neither of you know how to handle.

“Just until you’re better.”

A lie. And Sunghoon knows it too. But neither of you say anything about it.

The room is still dark when you stir awake, the faintest trace of early morning filtering through the curtains. The air is cool, the kind of stillness that comes right before dawn, when everything feels softer—quieter.

You shift slightly under the blankets, your body slow to wake, your mind still caught in the haze of sleep.

And that’s when you feel it.

The warmth. The weight. The quiet, steady presence behind you.

Sunghoon.

Your breath catches, your body freezing for a moment as reality sets in. His arm—heavy, warm, familiar—draped loosely around your waist.

Not tight. Not pulling. Just there.

Your mind races, but your body remembers.

For a second—just a second—you don’t move.

Sunghoon’s breathing is even, deep and slow. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady, the faint warmth of his breath skimming the back of your neck.

Your stomach twists.

It’s been years since you’ve woken up like this—since you’ve felt his presence this close, this natural. And for a fleeting, dangerous moment, you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your shirt, like he’s still dreaming.

Then, suddenly—he shifts.

His body stirs, his breath hitching slightly, and you realize he’s waking up.

Panic flickers up your spine, but you keep still, barely breathing, waiting—waiting to see if he’ll pull away first.

But he doesn’t.

Sunghoon exhales softly, his fingers twitching again before his hand tightens ever so slightly around your waist.

Not intentional. Not forceful. Just… like he doesn’t want to let go yet.

Your throat tightens. It lasts a second. Maybe two.

His body tenses slightly. His fingers flex. His breath catches.

He’s awake now.

Neither of you move. Neither of you breathe too loudly.

And then, carefully—too carefully—he pulls away.

His arm lifts from your waist, the warmth of him retreating as he shifts slightly onto his back. You hear him exhale quietly, controlled.

You wait, counting the seconds, waiting for him to say something, for him to make a joke, for him to act like this didn’t just happen.

But he doesn’t. He just stays there, quiet.

And after a moment, you let out a breath of your own and shift to sit up, pulling the blanket back just enough to swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you turn to look at each other.

It’s like it never happened. And that’s the problem.

Because it did.

And for the rest of the morning, you can still feel the lingering warmth where his arm had been.

You knew this was going to happen.

You knew the moment you caught a glimpse of his laptop open on the coffee table this morning, saw the unread emails stacking up, the subtle tension in his shoulders as he read through them like he wasn’t supposed to be working in the first place.

You ignored it. You let it go, for a while. But now?

Now, it’s ten at night, and Sunghoon is still sitting on the damn couch, his laptop open, fingers typing slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not as exhausted as he actually is.

You don’t let it go this time.

“You’re working.”

It’s not a question.

Sunghoon doesn’t look up. His gaze stays fixed on the screen, his fingers still tapping against the keyboard.

“It’s just an email.” His voice is calm. Too calm.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway, your eyes sharp.

“Didn’t we already have this argument?”

Sunghoon sighs through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. “And yet, here we are.”

You hate how steady he sounds, how he knows exactly how to say things just to piss you off.

Your arms tighten across your chest. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Then don’t start it,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

Your patience snaps.

You step forward, standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the laptop. “Sunghoon.”

His fingers pause over the keys. His gaze lifts to yours. And the air changes.

It happens too fast, that shift in the atmosphere. The frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer stubbornness—blending into something else.

Something tense.

His eyes flicker over your face, your mouth, your throat. His voice is lower when he speaks this time. Slower. More deliberate.

“You keep saying you’re not going to argue with me.”

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Your stomach twists—not in anger, not in frustration, but in something darker, something hotter, something that you don’t want to name.

Your eyes narrow slightly, your voice sharp when you say—“Because you don’t fucking listen.”

Sunghoon tilts his head, his expression unreadable. His gaze dips, lingering on your lips for half a second too long.

Your breath comes in shorter now.

And then—slowly, carefully—he shuts his laptop. The sound of it clicking shut feels too loud in the quiet.

He leans back against the couch, arms resting on the cushions, his legs spreading just slightly, just enough to make the space between you feel smaller.

“Go on, then.”

Your pulse hammers.

Sunghoon watches you, his gaze steady, his body too relaxed, too effortless—like he’s waiting for something.

Like he wants to see what you’ll do next.

You inhale sharply, trying not to notice the way his sweatpants ride low on his hips, the way his shirt is loose enough to show a sliver of his collarbone, the way he looks completely unaffected when you’re burning.

You hate him.

You hate how good he is at this.

You take a step forward, planting your hands on the armrest, leaning in, forcing his attention back to your face.

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” you murmur, “then I will.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, his jaw flexing slightly.

The tension between you pulls tighter.

He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t blink. He just sits there, waiting.

You don’t know if it’s waiting for the fight, or waiting for something else. You don’t know which one you want more.

For a second—just a second—your eyes flicker to his mouth. And you swear—you swear—his do the same.

Before either of you can do something you can’t take back—

Your phone buzzes from across the room. The moment shatters.

You inhale sharply, stepping back, hands dropping from the armrest. Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his breath just slightly uneven now, but he doesn’t say anything.

You turn away first. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking.

You don’t look at him when you grab your phone off the counter, checking the notification even though you didn’t read a single word of it.

The moment is over. But neither of you breathe the same after that.

You hadn't planned for this.

You hadn't planned on seeing Sunghoon in the hallway, hadn't planned on him looking at you like that—like he was about to ruin you, like he needed to.

But the moment he stepped into your space, the moment his breath ghosted over your skin, you felt the air shift. It was thick, weighted with something that neither of you had the energy to resist anymore.

"Tell me you don’t want this." His voice is low, quiet but firm, laced with something deeper than just lust—something closer to desperation.

Instead of answering, your fingers twist into the front of his shirt and you pull him in.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his restraint snapping the second your mouth meets his. He moves fast—too fast, like he's been starving for this, like he's afraid it'll slip through his fingers if he hesitates. His hands are on your waist, then your back, gripping at you like he's trying to memorize every inch.

The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, filled with teeth and tongues and frustration. Months of pent-up tension, of silent longing, of unsaid words spill into every movement. He presses you into the wall, hips flush against yours, and you feel it—how hard he is, how much he's holding back, how badly he wants this.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he mutters against your lips, his breath ragged.

"Then do something about it."

He groans, low and wrecked, before lifting you effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs as he carries you through the house. He doesn’t stop kissing you—not when he stumbles slightly into a wall, not when he nearly knocks over a lamp.

You barely make it to the couch before he’s pushing you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with something too raw to name.

His hands move fast—too fast—pulling at your clothes, impatient, frantic. His fingers tremble slightly as he drags your shirt over your head, his lips instantly finding the newly exposed skin, teeth grazing, biting, soothing with his tongue.

"Fuck—" he exhales, hands gripping at your hips, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for a second. Like he's catching his breath. Like this is overwhelming him.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

"Sunghoon."

His eyes flicker to yours, something wrecked flashing across his face before he swallows hard, his fingers tightening on your skin.

"Say it again."

His lips ghost over your collarbone, his breath unsteady. You shudder.

"Sunghoon."

That’s all it takes. Then—his mouth is on you, his hands everywhere, his body pressing against yours like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin.

He whispers your name over and over, between gasps and curses, between kisses that feel too much like confessions.

And when he finally pushes inside you, his forehead drops to yours, his breath heavy, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I missed you. You were my life, you were my life."

It’s not just sex. It never was. It’s him finally admitting what neither of you have said out loud. And you don't stop him.

Because you missed him too.

The air is warm, thick with the scent of sweat and skin and something distinctly Sunghoon. His body is still pressed against yours, not with the desperation of before but with something softer, something that lingers.

Your fingers trace absentminded patterns over his back, your body still humming from him, from this, from everything.

His hand is still resting against your hip, fingers brushing against your skin, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s making sure it doesn’t disappear.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, exhaling slowly. You could stay like this. You could let yourself be comfortable in this silence, in the warmth of his body, in the knowledge that—for once—you both stopped fighting.

But then, he shifts slightly, pressing his forehead against your shoulder before mumbling, “We should slow down.”

Your brows pull together slightly.

Did you hear that right? You open your eyes, tilting your head to glance down at him.

"What?"

Sunghoon exhales, leaning up on one elbow, his free hand still resting on your waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin.

"I mean, we don’t have to rush this," he says, voice quieter now, more careful. His eyes flicker over your face, something unreadable in them. "I don’t want to fuck this up again."

Your breath catches slightly.

He doesn’t want this to be just about sex. He doesn’t want to let himself have you only to lose you again. He wants to be careful with you.

But you nod anyway, pretending that the way your chest tightens isn’t real. "Okay."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Mhm."

Then, slowly, you shift, straddling his waist, your fingers resting lightly on his chest.

Sunghoon stills immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice cautious, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your thighs.

Sunghoon’s head falls back against the couch, his jaw clenching. He wants to argue, you can tell, but the second you grind down again, all he manages is a sharp inhale, his fingers digging into your skin.

You smirk, tilting your head.

"I thought you wanted to take things slow."

His breath shudders. His grip on you tightens. Then he laughs—low, rough, almost amazed.

"You’re a fucking menace."

You barely have time to grin before he’s flipping you over, pressing you down into the cushions, his body caging you in.

"Slow?" he repeats, voice dropping, his lips hovering over your throat.

You try to keep up the act, but your breathing is already uneven, your body reacting to him before you can think.

"Isn’t that what you wanted?" you whisper, deliberately tilting your chin up in challenge.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his lips barely ghosting over yours.

"I changed my mind."

You barely have time to react before his hands slide down your thighs, gripping, tugging, parting you for him again.

Your breath catches.

"Sunghoon–"

"No." He shakes his head, his mouth pressing against your jaw as he smirks. "No more talking."

His fingers move lower, teasing, pressing just enough to make you gasp. And that’s when you remember—he’s still recovering. Your hand shoots out, pressing against his chest.

"Wait."

Sunghoon stills, his brow furrowing slightly, his breathing uneven.

"You’re sick," you murmur, your lips brushing against his jaw. "Let me work for it instead."

His entire body tenses.

Your hands trail down his stomach, your fingers ghosting over the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You—" he tries, but his voice is hoarse now, breathless, wrecked.

You hum, tilting your head. "What?"

His jaw flexes.

Then, without another word, he lets himself fall back against the couch. His breath comes out shaky, his head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut.

"Then work for it."

It’s been a month since then and Sunghoon has finally fully returned to work.

He’s doing much better now. His energy is back, his balance has improved, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he actually looks like himself again.

You’re not sure what you expected when he came back. Maybe for things to go back to the way they were before, full of sharp remarks and tension that could snap a room in half. Or maybe for things to be awkward, unspoken things lingering between you in ways that made your employees suffer secondhand stress.

But instead? No one knows what the hell is happening anymore.

Because while you and Sunghoon aren’t exactly different, something has… shifted.

The first sign of something weird happening was the lack of fighting.

A month ago, meetings with both of you in the same room meant employees visibly sweating, taking deep breaths beforehand, and updating their wills in secret.

Now?

Now, Sunghoon pulls out a chair for you before sitting down. Now, you ask his opinion instead of shutting it down immediately. Now, he actually listens when you talk.

People are concerned.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat] 👥 Sunoo, Riki, Jungwon, Misc. Employees

🐧 Sunoo: guys. wtf is going on.🐥 Jungwon: ??? 🐧 Sunoo: i just saw boss lady n ceo actually agree on something in a meeting. no insults. no glaring. NO ONE DIED.🐱 Riki: LIAR.🐧 Sunoo: i have receipts.

(Sunoo sends a screenshot of the meeting notes. The section labeled 'Conflict Resolution' is EMPTY. Unedited. No bloodshed.)

🐥 Jungwon: I mean. That’s… good? Right? 🐱 Riki: NO IT’S NOT GOOD. THIS IS LIKE WATCHING PARENTS WHO USED TO HATE EACH OTHER BE WEIRDLY FLIRTY. I’M TRAUMATIZED. 🐧 Sunoo: EXACTLY.

📲 [Legal Team Group Chat] 👥 You, Your Team

⚖️ Paralegal #1: So uh. Boss.⚖️ Paralegal #2: What the hell is going on with you and CEO Park?⚖️ Paralegal #3: Did we miss a memo? Is this a prank? Are you sedated?

You roll your eyes, already regretting checking your messages.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: What are you talking about?

⚖️ Paralegal #2: You didn’t threaten to resign after he questioned your contract amendments today. You just. Smiled??⚖️ Paralegal #3: YOU AGREED WITH HIM ON SOMETHING. WE ALL SAW IT.⚖️ Paralegal #1: YOU LAUGHED AT SOMETHING HE SAID.⚖️ Paralegal #2: YOU LAUGHED, BOSS. AT HIS JOKE.⚖️ Paralegal #3: Do we need to call HR? Blink if you’re in danger.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: Go do your jobs.

It happens after a late meeting. You and Sunghoon are the last ones leaving, walking toward the elevators. Everyone else is pretending to be busy, but they’re totally watching.

The elevator doors slide open. You step inside first, then turn slightly—instinctively holding out your hand. Sunghoon takes it.

Casually. Like it’s normal. Like you always do this. And then—he laces your fingers together.

The doors slide shut.

Riki visibly short-circuits.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat]

🐱 Riki: GUYS I JUST SAW THEM HOLD HANDS. IN THE ELEVATOR. IN PUBLIC. I NEED TO LIE DOWN. 🐧 Sunoo: Riki. Riki are you there. 🐥 Jungwon: Someone sedate him before he starts screaming. 🐧 Sunoo: THAT’S IT I’M STARTING A BETTING POOL. HOW LONG BEFORE THEY GET MARRIED (AGAIN). 🐱 Riki: I CAN’T BREATHE.

The company gala had been suffocating. Hours of pretending, of schmoozing, of wearing polite smiles while the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze burned against your skin the entire night. He hadn’t touched you once. Not in front of the board members, not during the champagne toast, not even when his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you a drink.

But he was watching.

And now, in the backseat of his car, that restraint is gone.

The moment the driver pulls away from the curb, Sunghoon’s hand is on your thigh, gripping—hard. His palm is warm against the skin exposed by the slit of your dress, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back, like he’s trying to decide how far he’ll let himself go.

He doesn’t speak.

You don’t either.

Because you both know where this is going.

The city blurs past the windows, streetlights flickering across his sharp jawline, his loosened tie, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he exhales.

And then—his hand slides higher.

Your breath catches.

"You knew exactly what you were doing tonight." His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s a sharp edge to it, something dark and controlled.

You shift slightly, not moving away, letting his fingers graze the crease of your inner thigh. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Sunghoon exhales a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

His hand tightens.

"You wanted me like this, didn’t you?" His fingers ghost over your clothed core, pressing just enough to make your legs twitch. "Parading around all night in this dress, pretending you weren’t soaking through your panties while you smiled at those executives."

Your stomach flips.

You don’t respond.

Sunghoon doesn’t need you to.

Because the moment you shift your legs slightly wider—silent permission—he knows.

And that’s when he loses it.

The car jerks to a sudden stop.

The driver turns slightly. “We’re at the—”

"We won’t be long," Sunghoon interrupts smoothly, his fingers already curling around your wrist.

Then, he yanks you into his lap.

You gasp at the sudden movement, hands bracing against his chest, but he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. His mouth is on yours before you can speak, rough and claiming, all tongue and teeth.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, his hands gripping your ass as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your clothed core.

"Say it."

You bite your lip, pretending to consider, just to piss him off. "Make me."

Sunghoon growls, his fingers twisting into your hair as he yanks your head back, exposing your throat. His mouth is on you immediately, biting, sucking, marking.

"My wife thinks she’s a fucking tease." His lips drag against your pulse, his voice dark, edged with something dangerous. "That’s cute."

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching your dress up to your hips. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, he doesn’t bother taking them off. He just pulls, fabric tearing effortlessly in his grip.

"Sunghoon—"

"Shut up."

His hand moves between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds. He groans, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for half a second, like he’s barely holding himself together.

"You’re fucking soaked." His fingers circle your clit, slow, teasing, deliberate. "You really get off on being treated like a brat, don’t you?"

Your breath stutters. You hate how much his words affect you.

But Sunghoon notices.

He always does.

His free hand slides up your back, gripping the back of your neck before wrapping around your throat. He squeezes—not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his fingers.

"Answer me."

You swallow, the pressure of his grip making your head spin.

"I—" Your voice catches when he presses down on your clit at the same time, two fingers slipping inside you. Your body jolts at the stretch, at the pressure, at the way he fills you without hesitation.

"That’s what I thought," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear. "Always such a fucking mess for me."

His fingers work you open too fast, too rough, curling against the spot that makes you see stars. Your hips roll against his hand, chasing it, and Sunghoon laughs—low and wrecked.

"That desperate already?"

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing you down against the leather seat.

Your head spins.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you open, dragging his cock through your slick folds before he presses against your entrance.

"You want it?" His voice is strained, his jaw tight.

"Yes—"

But he doesn’t give you time to beg.

Because in the next second—he’s inside you, all at once, filling you to the hilt.

Your back arches off the seat, a choked sound escaping your throat.

Sunghoon groans, his head dropping forward, his grip bruising where he holds your hips down. "Fuck—look at you. Taking my cock so fucking well."

You barely have time to breathe before he starts moving.

No easing into it. No gentleness.

Just rough, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.

"You feel that?" His hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. "This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? My wife acting like a whore all night just so I could fuck her stupid in the back of a car”

You moan, the humiliation making your skin burn in the best way.

"That’s right," he grits out, snapping his hips harder, his other hand gripping your thigh, pushing it higher. "Let me hear you."

The car rocks with the force of it, every thrust sending pleasure shooting through your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body shaking, your release already close, already—

"Come on, baby," he murmurs, his breath ragged, his forehead pressing against yours. "Come on my cock. Be a good fucking girl for me."

And you do.

You shatter beneath him, your body tensing, your thighs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you.

Sunghoon follows right after, his rhythm stuttering before he buries himself deep, his groan breaking into something almost desperate. His fingers flex against your throat before finally, finally, he lets go.

The car is silent except for your uneven breaths.

Sunghoon leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead, softer now, his breathing still shaky. His fingers trail down your side, slow, absentminded, like he’s grounding himself.

The only sound in the car is the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing, the occasional rustling of fabric as Sunghoon shifts slightly against you. The intensity of what just happened lingers between you, crackling in the air like an aftershock, leaving both of you too warm, too tangled, too unwilling to move just yet.

He’s still inside you, still pressed close, his body a solid weight over yours, grounding, steadying. Neither of you speak, and for a while, you simply let the quiet settle, let your fingers drift absently over his back, tracing slow, lazy shapes.His forehead is against yours, his breath deep and uneven, warm against your lips.

Eventually, he exhales, the sound low, almost satisfied, before tilting his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. His hand shifts from where it had been gripping your thigh, his touch gentler now, a stark contrast to how he had held you earlier—fierce, possessive, unwilling to let you go. Now, his fingers just rest against your skin, smoothing over the curve of your waist, the warmth of his palm familiar.

"You okay?" His voice is rough from exertion, still heavy with something raw and unspoken.

You hum, nodding slightly, your cheek brushing against his. You can’t quite find the words yet—your body still feels like it’s floating, caught between exhaustion and bliss.

Sunghoon shifts just slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze sweeps over your face, studying you carefully, before his lips curve into a small, amused smile.

"I’ll take that as a yes." His fingers trace slow circles against your hip, his touch absentminded but deliberate, like he doesn’t quite want to stop touching you yet.

You blink up at him, still dazed, your limbs pleasantly heavy, your skin oversensitive in the best way. His words barely register before he shifts, withdrawing from you slowly. A quiet whimper catches in your throat at the loss, your body instinctively tightening around nothing.

Sunghoon notices.

His gaze darkens again, his jaw flexing slightly before he exhales through his nose, visibly restraining himself. He tilts his head, one brow raising ever so slightly, smug in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice low, watching as his release slowly drips out of you, glistening on your inner thighs.His fingers trace your swollen entrance, dragging along the slick mess he’s made, spreading it just to watch you squirm.

"So messy," he muses, voice teasing but full of something heavier, more possessive.

Heat spreads across your cheeks, embarrassment creeping in at how wrecked you must look, your thighs still trembling, your breath uneven. You turn your head slightly, muttering under your breath, "Shut up."

Sunghoon chuckles, clearly too pleased with himself. His fingers move to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

"Don’t do that," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, lower, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You frown slightly, not quite understanding. "Do what?"

His thumb presses just slightly harder, a silent reprimand, a reminder that he’s still in control.

"Act shy now," he says, watching you too closely, too knowingly. His smirk is slow, deliberate, confident in a way that makes your stomach flip. "You just let me fuck you stupid in the back of my car."

Your cheeks burn hotter, mortification creeping in. You scoff, shoving at his chest halfheartedly, but he doesn’t budge."I hate you."

His laughter is soft, low, a rumble against your skin as he presses another kiss—this time to your jaw, then lower, trailing lazily toward your throat.

"No, you love me."

You take a deep breath “I do.”

He looks surprised, shocked almost, “You– you do?”

You nod. “I do, ” you look at him expectantly, “You love me?”

He laughs deep and loud, a real laugh, grabs your face in his hands forcing you closer, “Baby, when did I ever stop?”

Before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock on the window.

You freeze.

Sunghoon sighs, clearly unfazed, barely even reacting before he reaches over to roll down the window slightly.

Outside, the driver stands with an expression so perfectly neutral it’s almost comedic, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

"Mr. Park," he says, his tone entirely professional, unaffected. "Should I… call another car for you two?"

You bury your face in Sunghoon’s shoulder, mortified.

Sunghoon, as expected, looks completely unbothered.

"No need," he replies smoothly, his fingers absently stroking your thigh as if nothing had just happened. "We’ll be heading home in a bit."

The driver nods curtly, not even blinking. "I’ll be outside."

And then, just like that, he walks away.

You groan, still refusing to lift your head. "I can never face him again."

Sunghoon laughs softly, his hand sliding up to rub slow, soothing circles against your back.

"You’ll live, you love me." he murmurs, his voice warm, teasing, but laced with something softer. His fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head up just slightly. His lips brush against yours, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

"Let me clean you up."

You blink up at him, your chest tightening for reasons entirely unrelated to sex.

"You don’t have to—"

His hand tightens in your hair, not to hurt, just to keep you still. He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off before you can finish the thought.

"I want to," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours again, softer this time. "I take care of what’s mine. Of what I love."

Something invisible but heavy lodges itself in your throat.

Because he means it. Because this isn’t just sex, or routine, or an easy way to pass the time. This is him showing you, in the quietest way possible, that he loves you.

And when he kisses you again, when he reaches for a tissue to carefully clean the mess between your thighs, when he murmurs something under his breath about how ‘his wife shouldn’t be walking around with his cum dripping down her legs’

You don’t ever want to lose this again.

EPILOGUE

It starts the same way it did last time.

The nausea creeps in slowly—subtle at first, nothing out of the ordinary. You assume it’s from overworking yourself, the stress of handling legal negotiations, or maybe even just the exhaustion of being married to a man who refuses to listen when you tell him to take breaks.

Sunghoon notices before you do.

At first, it’s little things—the way you lean against the counter a little longer in the mornings, the way your appetite fluctuates, the way you pause mid-sentence with a sudden grimace, like something doesn’t sit right in your stomach. He watches you closer than usual, his sharp eyes following you whenever you touch your lower abdomen absentmindedly, whenever you shake your head at food that you normally love.

And then, one morning, you feel it.

The moment you stand up from bed, a wave of nausea crashes into you so violently that you barely make it to the bathroom in time.

You hear him before you see him—footsteps, the rustling of sheets, the quiet, urgent sound of his voice calling your name as he reaches for you.

"Hey—what’s wrong?" Sunghoon is kneeling beside you in seconds, his hand warm and steady against your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you try to catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair gently, not rushing you, not asking anything else yet.

You grip the edge of the sink, exhaling shakily, your heartbeat too loud, your pulse erratic.

Because this feels familiar. Too familiar. And that’s when you know. Sunghoon stills when you don’t answer right away.

"Baby." His voice is softer now, careful. "Look at me."

Something unreadable flickers across his face—shock, realization, something dangerously close to hope.

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Because he knows, too.

And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the bathroom floor minutes later, staring at the test clutched in your hands, the two pink lines undeniable.

Sunghoon sits beside you, his knee brushing against yours, his breathing measured but uneven. He doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t take it from your hands.

Instead, he just looks at you.

"Are we...?" His voice is barely above a whisper, raw in a way you rarely hear.

Your fingers tighten around the test, your throat thick with emotion. You nod, swallowing hard before murmuring, "Yeah."

Sunghoon exhales, slow and unsteady, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His head tilts forward slightly, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before he lifts them back to you. His gaze is so full of something it knocks the air from your lungs.

"How do you feel?" he asks quietly.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, part relief, part disbelief. "Like I might throw up again."

A short chuckle escapes him—not out of amusement, but out of something else, something lighter.

Then, slowly, he reaches for you.

His hands slide over your cheeks, fingertips pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real, like he’s trying to ground himself in this moment. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, his breath fanning against your lips as he leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close enough that you can feel the slight tremble in his touch.

The positive test sits between you both, abandoned on the bathroom counter, but neither of you look at it anymore. You don’t need to.

Because all you can focus on is him—the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how.

And then, finally, he does.

"I won’t fail you this time."

His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but it hits you harder than anything else.

Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulders. His eyes are so unbearably soft when they meet yours, but there’s something else there, too—something raw, something desperate.

"I won’t lose you. I won’t lose them," he murmurs, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you fully against him, like he can shield you from anything and everything that might try to take this from him again.

A lump forms in your throat, because this is what he’s been carrying.

This is what he never let himself say out loud.

"You never failed me, Sunghoon," you whisper, your fingers moving to cup his face, "We lost them together."

Sunghoon swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

"I should have held you. I should have been better. I should have—" His breath stumbles, and for the first time, you see it—the way his control wavers, the way the guilt still lingers, thick and unbearable.

"Hey." You press a hand against his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You don’t have to do this alone anymore."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmurs, his grip tightening around you.

"You do." You don’t hesitate. "And we’re going to do this right this time."

His breath shudders. And then—he kisses you.

It’s not like before. It’s not desperate, or punishing, or laced with frustration. It’s slow, deep, lingering. It’s an apology, a vow, a promise.

When he pulls away, his lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching, waiting for something.

"Stay," he whispers. "Stay with me. Stay here. Always."

You smile, pressing your forehead against his.

"I already did."

fin.

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