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enhaflixer · 1 month ago

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psh - BOUND & BEYOND - marriage law au! PART 1

A MARRIAGE LAW HARRY POTTER AU SUNSHINE X GRUMPY 2 LOVERS FIC!! PART 2

wizard diplomat grumpy!sunghoon x witch healer sunshine f!reader

warnings: sex lol, hes emotionally unavailable and it hurts, he also might be a bit mean but its okay.

Park Sunghoon had never lost a diplomatic negotiation until today.

As Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd built his career on careful strategy and perfect control. Foreign dignitaries feared his unflappable composure. Fellow department heads envied his meticulous preparation. Even the Minister himself sought Sunghoon's counsel on matters requiring delicate handling.

But against the Marriage Unity Act, all his diplomatic skills had proven worthless.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Park, but your final appeal has been denied," said Matilda Fairweather, the pinch-faced witch from the newly established Marriage Compliance Division. Her tone suggested she wasn't sorry at all. "The magical compatibility readings are among the highest we've recorded. The match stands."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, the only visible sign of his fury. "Magical compatibility has nothing to do with personal compatibility. You're binding strangers together based on theoretical readings."

Fairweather's thin smile didn't reach her eyes. "The law is quite clear, Mr. Park. Magical compatibility is the primary consideration. Personal preferences are secondary to the greater good of wizarding society."

"And forcing strangers to marry serves the greater good how, exactly?" His voice remained low and controlled, but the edge in it could have cut glass.

"By creating magically powerful unions capable of producing the next generation of witches and wizards," she replied, the rote answer suggesting she'd delivered it dozens of times already. "The population numbers don't lie, Mr. Park. Without intervention, we face magical extinction within three generations."

Sunghoon knew the statistics. He'd studied them extensively during his three appeals. But statistics didn't justify stripping away individual autonomy—especially not his.

"I understand tomorrow is the deadline for your compliance," Fairweather continued, consulting a file. "Your match has already submitted her paperwork accepting the union. The ceremony is scheduled for nine o'clock tomorrow morning, after which you'll have twenty-four hours to establish cohabitation."

"Twenty-four hours," Sunghoon repeated flatly. "The original directive specified thirty days."

"The timeline has been... adjusted," Fairweather said with bureaucratic indifference. "Experience has shown that prolonged separation after matching leads to decreased compliance rates. Twenty-four hours ensures the bonding process begins promptly."

Bonding process. As if they were magical creatures being bred in captivity rather than human beings with established lives and careers.

"And if my residence isn't suitable for immediate cohabitation?" he asked, though he knew his immaculate home with its three bedrooms and precise organization was more than adequate.

"Then the Ministry has prepared standard accommodations for newly matched couples," Fairweather replied, producing a pamphlet depicting a depressingly bland apartment building. "Though given your position, I imagine your residence will meet requirements."

The implied threat was clear: comply or be relegated to Ministry housing, where monitoring would be even more invasive.

"Fine," Sunghoon said, rising from his chair with fluid grace that belied his inner tension. "If there's nothing else, I have work to do."

"Just one more thing," Fairweather said, handing him another pamphlet. This one depicted a smiling couple surrounded by animated text about "Building Marital Compatibility" and "Fulfilling Union Requirements." "The complete timeline for compliance milestones. Shared sleeping quarters by three months, consummation by one year, conception efforts beginning by year two. All subject to regular Ministry verification."

Sunghoon took the pamphlet between two fingers as if it might contaminate him. "Ministry verification of consummation? You can't be serious."

"Detection charms," Fairweather clarified with clinical detachment. "Non-invasive but highly accurate. The Privacy in Marriage Act of 1753 prevents direct observation, but magic leaves traces, Mr. Park. The charms merely detect those traces."

The casual way she discussed monitoring intimate acts made Sunghoon's skin crawl. "How reassuring," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that seemed to pass entirely over Fairweather's head.

"Indeed. Many couples find the structure helpful in developing genuine bonds." She returned his file to a towering stack on her desk. "Nine o'clock tomorrow, Conference Room B. Your match has been notified. Do try to arrive on time."

Dismissed like a first-year clerk, Sunghoon exited the Marriage Compliance Office with his dignity intact but his future irrevocably altered. He'd known from the moment the Marriage Unity Act passed that he would likely be affected—single, magically powerful, and within the specified age range, he was an obvious candidate. But he'd believed his position and influence would secure him an exemption.

He'd been wrong.

Tomorrow, he would be legally bound to a virtual stranger. And not just any stranger, but the one person in wizarding Britain whose very existence seemed designed to disrupt everything he valued.

Y/N L/N. Pediatric Healer at St. Mungo's.

He'd encountered you exactly twice, and both meetings had left him with the unsettling feeling of having been caught in a hurricane of warmth and chaos. The first time had been at a Ministry function honoring medical innovation, where you'd received an award for your work with children suffering from unstable magic. Instead of the proper, reserved acceptance speech expected at such events, you'd told a story about a seven-year-old patient that had the entire room first laughing, then wiping away tears, and finally erupting into the kind of genuine applause rarely heard at Ministry functions.

Sunghoon had watched from the back of the room, increasingly uncomfortable with the emotional display. You'd broken every rule of formal Ministry presentations and somehow emerged triumphant, leaving the podium surrounded by people drawn to your genuine warmth like moths to a flame.

The second encounter had been at St. Mungo's, when he'd reluctantly accompanied the child of a visiting dignitary who'd been injured during an international portkey journey. You'd swept into the examination room in lime-green healer robes personalized with embroidered stars and moons, your whole being radiating such cheerful competence that the sobbing child had immediately quieted.

You'd barely acknowledged Sunghoon's presence, focused entirely on your small patient, kneeling to eye level and speaking in the kind of warm, engaging tone he associated with people who genuinely enjoyed children—a foreign concept to him. Your office, glimpsed through an open door, had been a riot of color and movement: animated drawings covered the walls, magical plants bloomed in every corner, and enchanted toys danced on any available surface.

Everything about you—from your bright laugh to your obvious comfort with disorder—represented the antithesis of Sunghoon's carefully structured existence. And now, by Ministry decree, you would be his wife.

The thought was so absurd that he might have laughed if he were the type of man who laughed at anything.

Conference Room B had been superficially transformed for its role as a wedding venue. Someone—presumably not the Ministry—had conjured garlands of flowers that draped the usually austere walls, and the harsh magical lighting had been softened to a warm glow. The effect was like putting a party hat on a troll: fundamentally incongruous but somehow endearing in its attempt.

Sunghoon arrived fifteen minutes early, as was his habit for all appointments. He was surprised to find the room already occupied—not by Ministry officials, but by you.

You stood by the window, adjusting a vase of wildflowers that certainly hadn't been provided by the Marriage Compliance Office. At the sound of the door, you turned, and your face bloomed into a smile so genuine it seemed to brighten the enchanted lighting.

"Good morning!" you greeted, as if this were a pleasant social gathering rather than a forced legal proceeding. "I hope you don't mind the flowers. I couldn't bear the thought of getting married in a room that looked like a place where people receive tax audits."

Your robes were a soft blue that complemented your complexion, with tiny embroidered stars at the cuffs and collar—similar to the ones you'd worn at the hospital, but more elegant. Your hair was styled simply but beautifully, and despite the circumstances, your eyes held a warmth that seemed to be your natural state rather than a cultivated expression.

Sunghoon, dressed in immaculate formal robes of deepest charcoal, felt suddenly severe in comparison. "This isn't a wedding," he said flatly. "It's a legal formality. Decorations just waste time."

Your smile dimmed slightly, but you rallied with visible determination. "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean it has to feel like signing a business merger in a dungeon, does it? It's still our wedding day, even if the circumstances are... unusual."

Our wedding day. The phrase made something in Sunghoon's chest constrict uncomfortably. This wasn't a wedding in any meaningful sense—it was a legal proceeding mandated by an overreaching government.

"I brought something for you," you said, reaching into a small bag to produce a boutonnière—a single blue flower with a sprig of greenery. "I know this isn't a traditional wedding, but I thought... well, it might make it feel a bit more special."

Sunghoon stared at the offering, momentarily at a loss. In his numerous appeals and countless mental preparations for this day, he had never once considered that you might approach the situation with such... sentimentality.

"No," he said simply, not bothering to soften his rejection.

Your hand, still extended with the boutonnière, faltered visibly. For the first time, uncertainty crept into your expression, the sunshine dimming behind gathering clouds.

"Oh," you said softly, withdrawing your hand. "Of course. I just thought..."

You didn't finish the sentence, but Sunghoon could read the disappointment in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your smile became something practiced rather than natural. It was remarkable, really, how transparent your emotions were—like watching weather patterns move across an open sky.

He moved to speak, “Uh, I just-“

The Ministry official arrived then, saving him from having to respond. You quickly tucked the boutonnière back into your bag, straightening your robes and visibly composing yourself.

"Good morning," said the official, a harried-looking witch with ink-stained fingers. "Y/N L/N and Park Sunghoon?" At your nods, she continued briskly, "I'm Cordelia Figg, Marriage Registration Office. I'll be conducting your binding ceremony today."

She set a stack of parchments on the table, glancing around at the flowers with mild surprise. "Oh. Someone's made an effort."

"That would be me," you said, your smile returning, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "I thought a few flowers might brighten things up."

"Very nice," Figg said, clearly indifferent. "Now, shall we begin? The Ministry has seventeen ceremonies scheduled today, and we're running behind already."

The ceremony was mercifully brief. Names confirmed, magical compatibility verified (with a begrudgingly impressed "Highest reading this week" from Figg), and binding vows recited—not traditional wedding vows of love and devotion, but Ministry-approved declarations of compliance with the Marriage Unity Act.

When it came time to sign the marriage certificate, you hesitated fractionally, your quill hovering above the parchment. Sunghoon, watching your profile, saw something like resignation pass across your face before you signed with a surprisingly elegant flourish.

He added his own signature beneath yours, the document glowing briefly as the magical binding took effect.

"Congratulations," Figg said with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a mandatory tax filing. "You are now legally bonded under the Marriage Unity Act." She handed each of you a copy of the certificate. "You have twenty-four hours to establish a shared residence and file your cohabitation notification. Failure to comply will result in immediate relocation to Ministry housing."

You tensed slightly at the timeline, though Sunghoon had expected it after yesterday's meeting.

"Additionally," Figg continued, consulting her notes, "your first compatibility assessment is scheduled in two weeks. A representative from the Marriage Compliance Office will visit your residence to verify appropriate cohabitation and evaluate initial bonding progress."

"Two weeks?" you asked, surprise evident in your voice. "I thought the first assessment wasn't until the one-month mark."

"The timeline has been adjusted," Figg replied, echoing Fairweather's words from yesterday. "Experience has shown that early intervention improves long-term compliance."

Sunghoon noted the tightening around your eyes—the first sign of genuine distress you'd shown. "What exactly are you looking for in this assessment?" he asked, his tone making it clear he expected a direct answer.

"Standard evaluation of living arrangements, observation of interaction patterns, basic questions about your developing relationship," Figg recited. "Nothing invasive at this stage. That comes later."

The casual acknowledgment of future invasions of privacy made your eyes widen slightly.

"Is that all?" Sunghoon asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Just one more matter," Figg said, producing two small velvet boxes. "The Ministry provides standard binding rings. You're required to wear them at all times as visual indicators of your matched status."

She opened the boxes to reveal two plain gold bands. Nothing distinctive, nothing personal—just visible symbols of Ministry control.

"The rings are enchanted to monitor basic health status between matched pairs," Figg explained, "and contain locator charms that activate in emergencies. They also warm slightly when in proximity to each other, encouraging regular contact."

"So they're tracking devices," Sunghoon said, making no move to take the box.

Figg's expression hardened slightly. "Health and safety measures, Mr. Park. Standard for all matched pairs."

You reached for your box with visible reluctance, opening it fully to examine the ring inside. "It looks like a normal wedding band," you observed quietly.

"That's the intention," Figg replied. "To all external appearances, matched pairs should resemble traditional marriages. Public confidence in the program depends on perceived normalcy."

Sunghoon couldn't quite suppress a derisive sound at that, earning a sharp look from the official. He took the remaining box with precise movements that conveyed his displeasure without requiring words.

"The rings must be placed on each other," Figg instructed. "Part of the binding magic."

This, Sunghoon hadn't anticipated. The exchange of rings implied a level of personal involvement he'd expected to avoid. From your hesitation, he suspected you felt the same discomfort, though likely for different reasons.

"I can go first," you offered after a moment, removing the larger ring from its box. Your hand trembled slightly as you held it, and Sunghoon was struck by the realization that despite your attempts at cheerfulness, you were just as unsettled by this forced union as he was.

He extended his left hand, and you carefully slid the ring onto his fourth finger. The metal was cool for a moment, then warmed against his skin as the magic activated. He felt a curious sensation—like a door opening somewhere in his mind, creating an awareness of your presence that hadn't existed before.

"Your turn," you said softly, offering your own hand.

Sunghoon took the smaller ring from its box, noting the delicacy of the band compared to his own. Your fingers were slim but strong—healer's hands, steady in crisis but gentle with the vulnerable. He slid the ring into place with efficient movement, careful to maintain a professional distance despite the intimate gesture.

You inhaled sharply as the ring settled, your eyes widening slightly. He wondered if you felt the same strange awareness that he did—like a compass suddenly oriented toward magnetic north.

"The binding is complete," Figg announced, gathering her papers. "You'll receive an owl with the exact time of your first assessment. Remember, cohabitation must be established within twenty-four hours."

And with that anticlimactic conclusion, you were married.

Figg departed with brisk efficiency, leaving you and Sunghoon alone in the flower-decorated conference room, newly minted spouses with nothing to say to each other.

You were the first to break the silence. "So... twenty-four hours," you said, your voice determinedly bright despite the strain evident around your eyes. "That's not much time to arrange a move."

"No," Sunghoon agreed shortly, already thinking through logistics. "Where do you live?"

"Diagon Alley," you replied. "Above the apothecary. It's small but convenient for hospital shifts."

He nodded once, decision made. "We'll use my place. It's bigger, has three bedrooms, good security. Bring what you need today, the rest can come later."

The practicality of his response seemed to steady you somewhat. "That makes sense. Though I should warn you, I have a cat, Nyx. She's part of the non-negotiable package."

A cat. Of course there would be a pet. Sunghoon's jaw tightened again. "Just keep it off the furniture."

"She's very well-behaved," you assured him, though your expression suggested the cat might have opinions on the matter. "Thank you for offering your home. I know this isn't... well, what either of us would have chosen."

The simple acknowledgment of their shared predicament was unexpected. Sunghoon had prepared for tears, for anger, for manipulative emotional displays—not for this straightforward acceptance coupled with determined grace.

"Neither of us has much choice," he said, his tone less harsh than before. "We might as well make it workable."

You studied him for a moment, head tilted slightly as if trying to read something in his guarded expression. "You're taking this remarkably well," you observed. "I've been fluctuating between panic and hysterical laughter since I got the letter."

The candid admission surprised a nearly imperceptible quirk of the lips from Sunghoon—not quite a smile, but the closest approximation he'd shown all day. "Years of dealing with difficult diplomats," he said by way of explanation. "I've handled worse than this."

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or offended by that comparison," you said, attempting a tentative smile. "Though I doubt your diplomatic training covered forced marriage."

"It did not," he confirmed, and if his tone held the faintest trace of dry humor, it was gone too quickly to be certain.

You glanced at the flowers you'd brought, now looking somewhat forlorn in the empty conference room. "I should clean these up before we go."

"Leave them," Sunghoon said, surprising himself slightly. "The next couple might need them more than we did."

Something in your expression brightened at this small consideration—disproportionately, in his view, to the minor gesture. "That's... surprisingly thoughtful."

Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably. He didn't do thoughtful. Practical, efficient, fair, but not thoughtful. "It's just efficient. Cleaning up would waste time we don't have."

"Right," you said, though your smile suggested you didn't entirely believe his explanation. "Efficient. Of course."

As you gathered your few belongings, Sunghoon found himself studying the ring now encircling his finger. The magic hummed just below his awareness, a constant reminder of the connection that had been forced upon him. When you moved toward the door, he felt a slight warmth from the metal—the proximity alert Figg had mentioned.

"Shall we?" you asked, pausing at the threshold.

Sunghoon nodded once, following you from the room. As the door closed behind them, he caught a final glimpse of the flowers brightening the sterile Ministry space—a small rebellion against institutional coldness that seemed to embody your approach to this entire situation.

It occurred to him, with unwelcome clarity, that navigating life with someone who met adversity with flowers and determined optimism would require reserves of patience he wasn't entirely sure he possessed.

This, he suspected, was going to be significantly more complicated than any international negotiation he'd ever handled.

Journal Entry: 14 March 2023

Day one of cohabitation with Y/N. Initial observations:

The woman is incapable of following basic organizational systems. I left a detailed orientation packet on her nightstand. Found it this morning with doodles in the margins. DOODLES. On a carefully prepared document.

Her belongings have already invaded common spaces. Colorful throw pillows appeared on my sofa. Books stacked at odd angles on the side table. Even the bathroom isn't safe. Potions bottles everywhere, none arranged by size or purpose.

The constant humming and talking to herself is worse than I anticipated. Also talks to the cat as if it understands English.

Speaking of the cat - it's staring at me. Constantly. Follows me from room to room. I've done nothing to encourage this behavior. Today it had the audacity to sit on my chair and stare until I gave it a treat. Not sure why I complied. Temporary lapse in judgment.

Sleep was difficult. The awareness of another person in the house is... distracting.

Y/N herself is less irritating than expected. She's handling the situation with surprising practicality, despite the excessive cheerfulness.

The Ministry assessment is in 13 days. Need to create the appearance of "bonding" without actually changing anything. Should be straightforward enough. Just need to ensure she doesn't rearrange anything else in the meantime.

Initial verdict: Not quite as bad as projected. Still completely unacceptable.

— S.

Three days into your cohabitation, and you'd already established that Park Sunghoon's morning routine was inflexible. He woke at exactly 5:30 AM, spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom, and left for the Ministry at 7:15 AM sharp. The presence of a new wife apparently didn't warrant any adjustments to his schedule.

Your own hours at St. Mungo's were far less predictable. As a pediatric healer, you worked rotating shifts across days, evenings, and occasional nights. This morning, you were due at the hospital by 8:00 AM, putting you on a collision course with Sunghoon's immovable morning ritual.

At 6:10 AM, you stood outside the bathroom door, shifting from foot to foot, your patience wearing thin.

"Sunghoon?" you called, knocking lightly. "I really need to get ready for work."

Silence. Either he couldn't hear you over the shower, or he was deliberately ignoring you.

You knocked again, louder this time. "Sunghoon, I have rounds at eight!"

The water shut off abruptly. A moment later, the door opened just enough to reveal Sunghoon's face, his hair still wet, eyes narrowed with obvious irritation.

"I'm not finished in here," he said flatly.

"I know that," you replied, trying to keep your voice even. "But unlike you, my schedule changes day to day, and I need to be at St. Mungo's by eight. Could you please finish up so I can get ready?"

Sunghoon stared at you for a long moment. "This disrupts my schedule."

"Yes, I'm aware," you said, your famous patience beginning to fray. "But unless you want me to show up for work in yesterday's robes with unbrushed teeth, we need to adjust."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. "Five minutes." The door closed before you could respond.

True to his word, exactly five minutes later he emerged fully dressed in impeccable Ministry robes, not a hair out of place. How he managed to transform from shower-damp to completely presentable so quickly remained a mystery.

"Thank you," you said, genuinely grateful despite his obvious annoyance. "I promise we can work out a better schedule."

Sunghoon stepped aside with a grunt that might have been acknowledgment. "Figure out a system for the bathroom. This isn't working."

"Tonight?" you asked, already closing the bathroom door.

He nodded once, already walking away.

The bathroom, like the rest of Sunghoon's home, was impeccably organized. Everything was precisely arranged, from the towels to the toiletries. Despite his hasty exit, there was no evidence he'd been there—no steam on the mirror, no water drops, not even a damp towel.

You couldn't help comparing it to your old bathroom, with its cheerful clutter of hair potions and colorful healing salves. You'd tried to contain your "mess" (as Sunghoon had bluntly called it) to your designated spaces, but the bathroom was necessarily shared.

As you showered, you wondered how long before Sunghoon lost his mind completely at having to share his perfectly ordered world with someone who considered "sort of organized" a major achievement.

Sunghoon returned from work that evening to find his kitchen transformed. Cabinet doors stood open, cookware rearranged, and something simmered on the stove, filling the air with rich aromas.

You stood at the counter, chopping vegetables with practiced precision. Music played softly from a wireless on the windowsill, and Nyx sat on a kitchen chair—flagrantly violating his "no pets on furniture" rule—watching with obvious interest.

"Hi," you said, looking up with a warm smile. "I thought I'd make dinner for both of us. Seemed silly to cook separately."

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, gaze lingering on the kitchen timer that had been moved from its designated spot. "I eat at seven. Sharp."

"Perfect timing then," you replied, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. "That's exactly when this will be ready. Nothing fancy, just stew."

Before he could respond, Nyx jumped down and wound herself around his ankles, nearly tripping him.

"Your cat is trying to kill me," he muttered, regaining his balance with a scowl.

You laughed, the sound bright in his usually silent home. "She's saying hello. Though with cats, the line between greeting and attempted murder is admittedly thin."

Nyx continued circling his legs, purring loudly despite the minimal acknowledgment from Sunghoon.

"I have work to finish," he said, carefully stepping around the cat. "Let me know when dinner's ready."

"Of course," you agreed, turning back to your cooking. "Oh, Sunghoon?"

He paused in the doorway, looking back with obvious impatience.

"About this morning," you continued. "I made a schedule of my shifts for the next two weeks. Maybe we could coordinate so we're not fighting over the bathroom?"

You pointed to a colorful chart on the refrigerator, held up by a magnet shaped like a frog. You'd detailed all your shifts and bathroom times with different colors.

Sunghoon stared at it longer than necessary, clearly caught off-guard. He'd expected complaints or demands, not a practical solution that actually respected his need for routine.

"Fine," he said finally, though his tone was notably less harsh. "I'll look it over."

Your smile brightened, as if he'd offered high praise instead of grudging acceptance. "Great! I know neither of us wanted this arrangement, but we might as well make it work, right?"

Sunghoon just grunted in response and retreated to his study, unable to formulate a proper reply to your persistent optimism.

Once safely behind his desk, he found himself staring blankly at his work, distracted by the unfamiliar sounds and smells filtering through the house. Even here in his private sanctuary, your presence seemed to permeate everything. The house felt different—warmer, more alive somehow.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on his finger, a constant reminder of your presence elsewhere in the home. The sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant, which was perhaps the most disturbing part of all.

Dinner proved surprisingly tolerable. The stew was excellent—rich and flavorful. Despite himself, Sunghoon finished his entire bowl, a fact that seemed to please you immensely.

"There's plenty more if you want seconds," you offered, your own bowl already empty.

"This is enough," Sunghoon replied, though he wouldn't have minded more. Taking seconds felt strangely like admitting defeat.

"So," you said after a moment, "how was your day?"

The question caught him off-guard. No one ever asked about his day. His evenings typically passed in complete silence, with no expectations of small talk or social niceties.

"Fine," he said finally. Then, after a brief internal debate: "The Bulgarians are being difficult about potion imports."

To his surprise, you didn't just nod politely and change the subject. "Is that the nightshade derivatives issue? I read about it last week."

Sunghoon looked up, reassessing you. "Yes. They've implemented restrictions that violate Section Seven of the International Trade Agreement."

"Because of the poisoning cases?" you asked, seeming genuinely interested. "We had a child on the ward who got sick from a poorly regulated Sleeping Draught from Eastern Europe. Really bad situation."

"Exactly why proper regulation matters," Sunghoon said, finding himself drawn into the conversation despite his intention to keep dinner brief. "Bulgaria's unilateral action undermines the existing framework without actually fixing the problem."

You nodded thoughtfully. "I can see both sides. As a healer, I want the strictest safety standards for potions. But I also understand why uniform international rules matter."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Sunghoon found himself explaining. "A coordinated approach gives both safety and consistency."

The conversation flowed with unexpected ease as you discussed the intersection of international policy and healing practices. Sunghoon was reluctantly impressed by your insights. This wasn't the mindless chatter he'd expected but an actual exchange he found... almost engaging.

He was so focused on explaining a particularly complex regulation that he didn't notice Nyx jump onto the table until she was approaching his plate with determined interest.

"Nyx!" you exclaimed, reaching for the cat. "No, we don't do that!"

Sunghoon had already moved his plate away from her investigative nose. "Your cat thinks rules don't apply to her."

"She's testing boundaries," you said, scooping her up and removing her from the table. "She does this with every new place. Sorry—I should have warned you she'd try to take over the dining area."

"Take over?" Sunghoon repeated, eyeing the cat with new understanding.

"She's checking if you'll enforce rules or if she can gradually claim the house as her domain," you explained with a smile. "Classic cat power move."

"So she's deliberately challenging my authority," Sunghoon said, a hint of grudging respect in his voice as he studied the cat's unrepentant face.

"Exactly," you laughed. "It's basically a hostile takeover attempt, just with more fur and purring."

To your surprise, the corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched slightly. "Tell your cat that I don't negotiate with terrorists, regardless of how fluffy they are."

"I'll relay the message," you replied with mock seriousness, "but fair warning—she's been known to leave hairball 'presents' for those who resist her rule."

This time, Sunghoon's almost-smile was more visible. Something about your willingness to joke about the situation without mocking his need for order was strangely disarming.

The rest of dinner passed in conversation focused mainly on the upcoming Ministry assessment. You both agreed on minimal compliance—showing just enough "bonding" to satisfy the bureaucrats without crossing Sunghoon's carefully drawn boundaries.

"I should probably put a few more of my things in the living room," you suggested as you gathered the dishes. "Nothing overwhelming, just enough to show we're sharing space."

"Makes sense, although you already have," Sunghoon agreed, rising to help with cleanup—a small but notable departure from his usual habits. "They'll look for signs we're actually living together, not just occupying the same house."

"Maybe a couple of photos? One of my healing journals on the coffee table?"

"Fine," he said, the word less clipped than usual. The excellent meal had perhaps mellowed his typical resistance, or maybe he simply recognized that some concessions were necessary to keep the Ministry off their backs.

After dinner, you retreated to your room, leaving Sunghoon to his evening reading. The house settled into quiet, punctuated only by your occasional movements upstairs and Nyx's determined patrols of the hallways.

The morning that changed everything came on your fifth day together.

Despite your carefully coordinated bathroom schedule, an emergency at the hospital had disrupted everything. Called in at three AM, you hadn't returned until nearly dawn, forgetting that 5:15 was exactly when Sunghoon would be waking up.

You were halfway through your shower when the bathroom door opened.

Sunghoon, still half-asleep, was two steps into the room before registering the running water and steam.

"Shit—sorry," he said, suddenly alert. "Didn't know you were back."

"Emergency case," you called over the water. "Completely lost track of time!"

"I'll come back—" Sunghoon began, when his retreat was interrupted by Nyx darting between his legs, nearly knocking him off balance.

What happened next unfolded too quickly to prevent. Sunghoon stumbled against the sink, knocking your bottle of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion to the floor. It shattered, immediately releasing both its contents and its powerful enchantment.

The bathroom instantly filled with fragrant mist smelling of honeysuckle and vanilla. The moisture-enhancing charm transformed the already steamy bathroom into a tropical greenhouse.

"What the—" you gasped, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel.

"Goddamn magical beauty products," Sunghoon muttered, already looking for something to clean up the mess.

You stepped forward to help when your foot hit a slick patch. With a startled yelp, you lost your balance as the towel began to slip.

Sunghoon moved with surprising speed and grace, catching you firmly by the arms before you could fall. The towel stayed in place, though precariously low.

For a breathless moment, you found yourself held securely in his grip, your face inches from his. Through the enchanted mist, you saw his eyes darken as he registered your proximity. Water droplets clung to your skin, and you became acutely aware of how little separated you—just a damp towel and his rapidly dampening clothes.

"Thanks," you said softly, suddenly very aware of how strong his hands felt.

Sunghoon seemed to realize he was still holding you. Rather than jerking away awkwardly, he released you with controlled deliberation, his hands sliding down your arms before dropping to his sides.

"I should let you finish," he said, his voice lower than usual. "We can deal with this mess later."

He left with surprising composure despite his now damp clothes and the way his normally perfect hair had started to curl against his forehead.

When you emerged thirty minutes later, the house was quiet. On the kitchen counter, you found a note in Sunghoon's precise handwriting:

Early meeting at the Ministry today. Back this evening. —S

Beneath it lay a small velvet pouch containing a vial of Madame Mimosa's Magnificent Moisture Potion—the exact product that had shattered.

He'd replaced your broken cosmetic. Such a small gesture, yet as you held the vial, you felt a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with moisture potions.

Somewhere beneath that grumpy exterior, Sunghoon had not only noticed what you used but gone out of his way to replace it without being asked.

Maybe there was hope for this arrangement after all.

That evening, Sunghoon returned to find dinner waiting—a peace offering of sorts for the morning's disruption. He entered the kitchen cautiously, as if expecting another magical mishap.

"I promise there are no moisture potions involved in tonight's dinner," you said with a smile that acknowledged the morning's awkwardness without dwelling on it.

"Good to know," Sunghoon replied, and if his voice sounded less irritated than usual, you chose not to comment.

"Thank you for replacing my potion," you said as you served the food. "You really didn't have to do that."

Sunghoon focused intently on arranging his napkin, clearly uncomfortable with gratitude. "It was my fault it broke."

"Still, it was thoughtful," you persisted, unwilling to let the kindness go unacknowledged.

Sunghoon just shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. "I updated the bathroom schedule to include emergency shifts," he said, obviously changing the subject. "There's a buffer period built in now."

"Perfect," you replied, allowing him the redirect. "I've also moved my potions to a safer spot. Though I can't promise Nyx won't continue her reign of terror."

As if summoned, the cat appeared in the doorway, yellow eyes fixed on Sunghoon with unusual interest.

"Your cat is staring at me again," he said, eyeing Nyx warily. "It's unnerving."

"She's decided you're interesting," you said with a smile. "I've never seen her take to anyone so quickly."

"I haven't done anything to encourage her," Sunghoon muttered, though he didn't object when Nyx jumped onto the empty chair beside him and settled in to watch the meal.

"Some people just have that effect on animals," you suggested, hiding a smile as you noticed how Sunghoon had shifted to accommodate the cat's presence.

"No, she's definitely plotting something," he replied, though without real heat. "She knows I don't like her on the furniture, so she does it more often. She's probably enjoying my irritation."

"That's... actually spot-on cat psychology," you admitted, impressed despite yourself.

Neither of you mentioned the morning's encounter directly, but something had shifted between you. As you cleared the dishes together—a small routine that had developed without discussion—you found yourself wondering if Sunghoon was as aware of you now as you suddenly were of him.

Because in that moment in the steamy bathroom, you'd noticed things about your Ministry-assigned husband you'd been ignoring: the strength in his hands, the heat of his skin through damp fabric, the way his eyes had darkened when they met yours.

Physical attraction. Exactly the complication neither of you needed.

But as you watched him methodically drying dishes, his movements controlled yet oddly graceful, you wondered if he'd noticed something too—something that had sent him to the Ministry for the day, something that had prompted him to replace your broken potion with such uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

The Ministry ring warmed slightly on your finger, as it always did when you were near him. But for the first time, you wondered if the enchantment was merely enhancing something that might have developed naturally, given time and proximity.

A dangerous thought, and one you quickly dismissed. This wasn't a love match but a Ministry arrangement. Developing feelings for a man who clearly valued order and emotional distance above all else would only make an already challenging situation unbearable.

Still, as you bid Sunghoon goodnight and headed upstairs, you couldn't quite forget the look in his eyes through the enchanted mist, or the careful strength of his hands as they steadied you.

Some boundaries, it seemed, were proving more difficult to maintain than others.

Journal Entry: 18 March 2023

This morning's bathroom incident requires documentation before I forget the details.

Thanks to Y/N's emergency shift and that damn cat, we had a collision in the bathroom. A bottle broke, releasing some kind of moisture enchantment that turned the bathroom into a steam room. She slipped, I caught her, and for a moment things got...complicated.

She was wearing only a towel. Her skin was wet. I could smell honeysuckle everywhere. And for a few seconds, I couldn't think straight.

Basic attraction. Nothing more. Just biology responding to an objectively attractive woman in close proximity. Doesn't mean anything.

Replaced her broken potion on the way to work. Simple courtesy since I knocked it over. She's reading too much into it, calling it "thoughtful." It was just fixing a mistake.

I need to be more careful about maintaining distance. Too easy to slip into casual intimacy in a shared living space. The proximity is...distracting.

— S.

The notes began on your seventh day of cohabitation.

The first appeared on the kitchen counter:

Second cabinet from the left has tea. Purple tin is good for early shifts. —S

More notes followed, appearing with increasing frequency throughout the house:

Book on Eastern European healing techniques is on the third shelf. Might help with your case. —S

Chair by the east window has the best light for reading. —S

Each note was brief and practical, yet together they revealed something unexpected: Sunghoon was paying attention to the minute details of your habits, preferences, and needs.

"Your husband keeps leaving me instructions," you told Nyx as you discovered yet another note, this one attached to a vial of headache potion after a difficult shift. "As if I can't possibly function without his guidance."

Nyx, curled on your pillow, regarded you with knowing yellow eyes.

"Okay, fine," you conceded. "The headache potion is actually thoughtful."

The strangest part was that Sunghoon never mentioned the notes. Not when you used the recommended tea, not when you sat in the supposedly optimal reading chair. He merely inclined his head slightly when he noticed, acknowledging without actually having to talk about it.

It was as if the notes allowed him to be attentive without the discomfort of direct personal interaction—a buffer that let him care from a safe distance.

"The Ministry assessment is in three days," Sunghoon announced over dinner. "We need to discuss strategy."

"I've been leaving some of my things in the common areas," you offered. "Signs of shared space, like we talked about."

"Good," Sunghoon said. "That covers the basics. But they'll be looking for signs we're comfortable with each other."

"So we need to act like we don't hate each other," you summarized. "That shouldn't be too difficult. I don't actually hate you, despite your militant organization of spice jars."

Something that might have been amusement flickered in Sunghoon's eyes. "The spice system makes perfect sense. And I don't..." He paused, as if the words were difficult to form. "I don't mind having you here. As much as I thought I would."

Coming from Sunghoon, this was practically a declaration of fond attachment.

"For the assessment, we'll need to look comfortable with physical proximity," he continued. "They watch for casual contact."

"Casual contact?" you repeated, feeling inexplicably nervous. Since the bathroom incident, you'd both been careful to maintain personal space. The thought of deliberately breaching that boundary sent an unexpected flutter through your stomach.

"Hand touches. Sitting close. Basic couple things." His tone was matter-of-fact, but you noticed how his fingers tightened slightly around his water glass.

"Right," you agreed, trying to match his casual tone despite the warmth creeping up your neck. "Just normal married-people stuff."

An awkward silence fell, broken only when Nyx jumped onto the table and began examining Sunghoon's water glass.

"Your cat is still testing me," Sunghoon observed, making no move to remove her.

"She likes you," you said.

"Cats like people who ignore them," Sunghoon replied, though he unconsciously extended a finger to scratch behind Nyx's ear. "Perverse creatures."

"Is that why you leave notes instead of talking to me directly?" The question escaped before you could reconsider it.

Sunghoon looked up sharply. "The notes are practical. They avoid unnecessary conversation."

"They're about which chair gets the best light and which tea I might like," you pointed out gently. "Not exactly essential information."

"Writing is more direct."

"And less personal," you added. "You don't have to look at me or deal with my response if you just leave a note."

"The notes keep things simple," he said, his expression closing off. "The Ministry wants us to live together. They don't require us to be best friends."

The coldness in his voice stung more than it should have. After all, this was a Ministry arrangement, not a love match.

Still, when you climbed into bed that night, you were surprised to find a new note on your pillow:

Found an error in that healing text you're reading. Page 394 has wrong moonflower dosages for children under seven. I made a correction in the margin. —S

Below his usual initial was an additional line:

Your input on the Bulgarian negotiations was helpful. They accepted our proposal.

You stared at the note, reading and re-reading the second part. It wasn't exactly effusive praise, but coming from Sunghoon, it was practically a standing ovation.

In a note, of course—heaven forbid he mention it in person—but still.

As you placed the note on your bedside table, you noticed something else: your wand, which you'd left on the dresser as usual, had been moved to the bedside table exactly as Sunghoon had suggested in his earlier note.

You'd moved it without even thinking about it, automatically following his "more efficient" arrangement.

The realization made you smile despite your lingering hurt from dinner. Perhaps, in your own way, you were both adjusting to each other—his brief notes, your gradual adoption of his systems. Not a traditional foundation for a relationship, certainly, but a form of communication nonetheless.

With the Ministry assessment rapidly approaching, you supposed any form of connection, however peculiar, was better than none at all.

"We should adjust how we sit," Sunghoon announced the following evening as you both stood awkwardly in the living room, attempting to "practice" looking like a comfortable couple.

"What's wrong with how we sit?" you asked, looking at the sofa and chairs that had been in their precise positions since you moved in.

"We sit too far apart," he said bluntly. "You're always in the armchair, I'm at the opposite end of the sofa. Real couples sit closer."

You glanced between your preferred chair and Sunghoon's usual spot at the far end of the sofa. He wasn't wrong—you'd naturally established territories as far from each other as the room allowed.

"So we should sit closer together when they visit?" you suggested.

"We should practice now, so it looks natural," Sunghoon said, moving toward the sofa with visible reluctance. "Forced closeness will look just as suspicious as sitting across the room."

You fought back a smile at his serious approach to what was essentially "pretending to like each other." It was so very Sunghoon to treat casual affection as something that needed rehearsal.

"Alright then," you said, settling onto the sofa at what you judged to be a friendly but not intimate distance. "Like this?"

Sunghoon studied the space between you with a frown. "Still too formal." Before you could respond, he shifted closer, not quite touching but near enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

"Couples who are getting comfortable with each other sit about this far apart," he said. His tone was practical, but you noticed how carefully he was holding himself, as if afraid to relax into the sofa cushions.

"You've really researched this, haven't you?" you asked, unable to keep the amusement from your voice.

"I looked into what Ministry inspectors look for," Sunghoon said defensively. "I don't want to fail over something as simple as sitting arrangements."

"Of course," you murmured, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The scent of his cologne—something clean and subtle that you'd begun to associate with his presence—seemed more noticeable at this distance.

"We should practice casual touch too," Sunghoon continued, though you noticed the slight tension in his jaw. "Hand touches. Arms brushing. Normal couple things."

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. "That makes sense. Should we, um, go for it?"

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with what appeared to be forced casualness, Sunghoon extended his hand, palm up, between you.

"Hand holding is pretty basic," he said, his voice lower than usual. "Nothing complicated."

You placed your hand in his, expecting a brief, perfunctory touch. Instead, his fingers closed around yours with a gentle pressure, his palm warm and surprisingly soft against your skin.

"This is the kind of thing they'll expect to see," he explained, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. "Just casual touch."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the way your pulse had quickened. "Casual."

You couldn't help but notice how neatly your hand fit in his, how the simple contact somehow felt both ordinary and intimate at once. Sunghoon's thumb moved slightly, a small brush against the side of your hand that might have been unconscious but sent a surprising tingle up your arm.

"How long do we need to practice this particular touch?" you asked, attempting humor to mask your unexpected reaction.

Sunghoon looked up, and for the first time you noticed the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. "A few seconds is enough for a casual touch," he said. "Any longer means something else."

"And what might that be?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, softer and more genuine than you'd intended.

Something shifted in Sunghoon's expression—a momentary crack in his carefully maintained armor. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, the movement so quick you almost missed it.

Before he could answer, the front door wards chimed with an unfamiliar pattern.

Sunghoon dropped your hand and stood in one fluid motion, suddenly all business. "Ministry officials."

"But the assessment isn't until tomorrow," you said, rising as well.

"They do surprise visits," Sunghoon replied, straightening his already immaculate robes. "To catch couples off guard."

The wards chimed again, more insistently.

"Do we look okay?" you asked, smoothing your own robes nervously.

Sunghoon's eyes swept over you briefly. "You look fine. Just try to seem comfortable with me."

"That makes two of us," you murmured, earning a brief, startled glance from him before he moved to answer the door.

You settled back onto the sofa, trying to appear relaxed rather than like someone who had just been practicing hand-holding with her reluctant husband.

You heard the door open, Sunghoon's polite greeting, then he returned to the living room with a short witch with iron-gray hair. A clipboard hovered beside her with a self-writing quill poised above it.

"Mrs. Park," the witch said, her eyes sharp behind square spectacles. "I'm Inspector Howell from the Marriage Compliance Office. This is a standard preliminary assessment visit."

You rose, offering your hand with what you hoped looked like genuine welcome. "It's nice to meet you, Inspector. We were expecting you tomorrow."

"That's the official assessment," Howell replied, shaking your hand briefly. "This is a preliminary observation to establish baseline interaction patterns."

"I see," you said, though you didn't really. The Ministry's procedures seemed designed to maximize discomfort. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. This will be brief." Howell's gaze swept the living room, taking in the signs of cohabitation—your books on the side table, the colorful throw on the armchair, Sunghoon's journals now mingled with yours.

"You've established shared living space," she noted approvingly. "And you use the common areas together rather than separately."

"We were discussing some international trade regulations," Sunghoon said, moving to stand beside you—not touching, but close enough to signal connection. "Y/N's experience with imported potions has been valuable."

You glanced at him in surprise. It wasn't exactly what you'd been discussing, but it wasn't entirely false—you had spent several dinner conversations on that topic.

"Professional collaboration is a positive sign," Howell said, making a note. "The Ministry encourages pairs to find connections beyond mere cohabitation."

"We're finding we have more in common than we expected," you offered, unconsciously leaning slightly toward Sunghoon.

Howell observed you both with clinical assessment. "Your physical comfort indicators are minimal," she observed, making another note. "Body language suggests formality rather than developing intimacy."

Without thinking, you reached out and touched Sunghoon's arm—a light, casual contact that might look natural between a developing couple.

"We're still getting used to each other," you explained, your fingers resting on his sleeve. "But it's getting easier."

To your shock, Sunghoon's hand came up to cover yours, his touch warm and sure. The gesture was so unexpected you almost pulled away, but the gentle pressure of his fingers kept yours in place.

"We're making progress," he agreed, his voice perfectly steady despite the unexpected touch he'd initiated.

Something flickered in his eyes as he looked down at you—a brief, unguarded moment when the mask slipped and you glimpsed something that looked remarkably like genuine attraction before his diplomatic expression returned.

Howell watched this exchange with sharp eyes, her quill making rapid notes. After a moment, she gave a curt nod. "Acceptable for preliminary stages. You'll need to demonstrate further development at your official assessment."

"We understand," Sunghoon said smoothly, though his hand lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

"Good. Your official assessment remains scheduled for tomorrow at two o'clock." Howell consulted her clipboard one final time. "Be prepared for a more comprehensive evaluation."

With that, she departed as abruptly as she'd arrived, leaving you and Sunghoon in a suddenly charged silence.

"Well," you said, your skin still tingling where his fingers had pressed against yours. "That was unexpected."

"The Ministry likes surprise inspections," Sunghoon replied, moving away to put more distance between you. "It prevents couples from rehearsing."

You nodded, trying not to feel hurt by how quickly he'd reestablished space after the inspector left. "Quick thinking with the hand thing. Very convincing."

Sunghoon glanced at you, something flashing in his eyes that was gone too quickly to identify. "It was the logical response to her comment about formality."

"Right," you agreed, forcing a smile. "Logical."

An awkward silence fell, broken when Nyx sauntered into the room. With impeccable timing, she assessed the tension and promptly jumped onto Sunghoon's favorite chair.

"Your cat has the worst sense of boundaries I've ever seen," Sunghoon observed, though there was no real bite to his words.

"She's just letting you know who's really in charge here," you said, grateful for the tension breaker.

The corner of Sunghoon's mouth twitched upward. "Then she should be conducting our Ministry assessment. She'd have everyone properly trained in no time."

Your laugh filled the room, genuine and relieved. "She'd have the inspector bringing her treats within minutes."

Sunghoon's almost-smile lingered for a moment before he turned toward his study. "I need to finish some work. We should practice again tomorrow before the official assessment."

"Looking forward to it," you replied, surprised to realize you meant it. Despite the awkwardness, there had been something undeniably... intriguing about those moments of closeness.

Sunghoon paused at the doorway, his expression unreadable. "You did well today. Quick thinking."

Coming from him, it was high praise. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at the rare compliment. "We make a decent team when we try."

He nodded once—not quite agreement, but not denial either—before disappearing into his study.

Later that evening, you found a new note on your pillow:

Would like your thoughts on the childhood magical stabilization research for our Eastern European initiative. Your perspective would be valuable. —S

Below, in a less formal postscript:

You have good instincts for dealing with Ministry officials. The arm touch was effective.

You smiled, running your fingers over his neat handwriting. A professional consultation request and what might actually be a genuine compliment, all in one note. For Sunghoon, this was unprecedented.

As you settled into bed, Nyx claiming her usual spot by your pillow, you found yourself thinking about the moment Sunghoon's hand had covered yours—not the practiced touch during your rehearsal, but the instinctive way he'd reached for you during the inspection. There had been something natural in that gesture, something that felt less like performance and more like genuine connection.

And that brief, unguarded look in his eyes...

You pushed the thought away. This was a Ministry arrangement, not a romance. Developing feelings for a man who kept himself behind such carefully constructed walls would only lead to disappointment.

Still, as you drifted toward sleep, you couldn't help remembering the warmth of his palm against yours, the surprising gentleness of his touch, and the fleeting moment when his eyes had revealed something his words never would.

Journal Entry: 21 March 2023

We had a surprise Ministry inspection today. Howell called us out for looking "formal" with each other. Like we're supposed to be madly in love after two weeks of forced cohabitation.

Need to fix this before tomorrow's real assessment. Y/N has good instincts for this stuff - grabbed my arm at the perfect moment when Howell was watching. I covered her hand without thinking about it. Worked well - the inspector bought it.

The hand-holding practice earlier was... distracting. Shouldn't have been. It's just holding hands, for Merlin's sake. I've touched plenty of women before without losing focus. Something about Y/N's hand in mine made it hard to think straight. Probably just the stress of the situation.

Y/N keeps using the chair by the east window I mentioned in my note. She moved her wand to the bedside table too. At least one of us is listening to reasonable suggestions.

The cat has claimed my reading chair. Again. I don't have the energy to fight a territorial war with a cat while dealing with Ministry inspections. Pick your battles, as they say.

11 days until the three-month assessment with the sleeping arrangements check. We'll deal with that when we have to. One crisis at a time.

— S.

P.S. Her laugh makes the room feel different. Less empty somehow. Just an observation.

"Don't you think we're approaching this all wrong?" you asked, setting down your teacup.

It was the morning before your official Ministry assessment, and tension filled the living room. You'd spent three days awkwardly "practicing proximity" with mixed results.

"Wrong how?" Sunghoon looked up from the notes he was reviewing.

"This—" you gestured between you "—all this practicing and measuring. It feels forced. The inspector already noticed we seem too formal."

"We need more practice," Sunghoon said, though he sounded less convinced than usual.

"I don't think we can rehearse our way into looking comfortable with each other," you said. "That's not how this works."

"What do you suggest, then?" His tone held a challenge, but his eyes showed genuine curiosity.

"I think we need to actually get comfortable with each other," you said. "Not just pretend. Real couples don't measure the space between them or time how long they hold hands. They have inside jokes, nicknames, shared habits."

Sunghoon's expression suggested you'd proposed something outlandish. "Nicknames."

"Yes, nicknames! Or at least using first names consistently. You still introduce me as 'Y/N L/N' to colleagues, like I'm a stranger rather than your wife."

"It's your name," he pointed out, frowning.

"Think of it diplomatically," you countered. "What creates stronger alliances - formal state dinners or casual meetings where leaders use first names and make personal connections?"

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered this. "The informal connections last longer," he admitted reluctantly.

"Exactly! We need to stop treating this like a performance and build some real connection."

Sunghoon studied you for a long moment. "Fine," he said finally. "What do you suggest beyond... nicknames?"

"For starters, you could actually look at me when we talk, instead of staring at the wall like you're afraid eye contact might kill you."

To your surprise, Sunghoon immediately shifted in his seat, turning to face you directly. His dark eyes met yours with unexpected intensity.

"Like this?" he asked, and there was something almost vulnerable in the question.

"Yes," you said softly, momentarily caught off-guard by the full force of his attention. "That's much better."

Nyx chose that moment to jump between you, settling possessively in Sunghoon's lap. For once, he didn't stiffen or push her away, his hands automatically adjusting to accommodate her.

"Your cat has no concept of personal space," he observed, though his fingers found the spot behind her ears that made her purr.

"She's shameless,your complaining holds no value to her," you agreed, watching with hidden delight as the cat nestled comfortably against him. "But she gets what she wants."

"Something you have in common," Sunghoon said, and you could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Tell me something about yourself that's not in your Ministry file," you said, seizing the moment. "Something personal."

Sunghoon was quiet so long you thought he might refuse. "I like autumn best," he said finally. "The colors, the crispness. It's... predictable but beautiful."

"And you?" he asked, the question awkward but clearly deliberate.

"Spring," you answered with a smile. "New beginnings, surprises, flowers appearing in unexpected places."

"Our preferences match our personalities," Sunghoon observed, surprising you with the insight.

He hesitated, then added: "My family moved constantly when I was young. My father's diplomatic postings."

"That must have been hard," you said gently. "Always being the new kid."

"I learned to adapt," he said with a shrug that didn't quite hide the old hurt. "New places, new rules."

"But lonely?" you suggested.

Something flashed in his eyes—vulnerability quickly hidden. "I got used to being on my own," he said simply, which wasn't a denial.

Then later, you came downstairs to find a note on the counter:

Early meeting about Bulgaria. Back by 1:00 for assessment prep. —S

Below, in less formal handwriting:

This morning's conversation was good. We should do that more.

As you made your tea, you noticed a small vase containing three perfect autumn leaves, their colors brilliantly red and gold, sitting on the table.

No note, no explanation. You touched one leaf gently, knowing Sunghoon had placed them there as a reference to your conversation.

From a man who communicated primarily through efficiency and structure, the gesture felt like something significant—a wordless acknowledgment that perhaps he was beginning to see you as more than just an inconvenient Ministry assignment.

The warmth that spread through your chest at the thought was dangerous, but increasingly difficult to ignore.

The official Ministry assessment arrived with all the subtlety of a rampaging hippogriff.

At precisely two o'clock, your fireplace flared green, and not one but three Ministry officials stepped through. Inspector Howell led the group, accompanied by a thin wizard with a monocle and a young witch whose Quick-Quotes Quill was already scratching away before she'd fully emerged from the flames.

"Mr. and Mrs. Park," Howell announced, brushing soot from her severe gray robes. "As scheduled, we're here for your first formal compatibility assessment."

Sunghoon, who'd been pacing the living room for the past half hour, immediately straightened his already immaculate robes. "Inspector. We've been expecting you."

"Indeed." Howell's sharp eyes took in the room, cataloging the small changes you'd made since her preliminary visit. More of your books mingled with Sunghoon's on the shelves. One of your cardigans was draped over the back of a chair. A half-finished game of wizard's chess sat on the side table.

"This is Examiner Finch," she indicated the monocled wizard, "and Record-Keeper Wilby." The young witch nodded, her quill still moving frantically.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," you offered, gesturing to the seating area where you and Sunghoon had spent the previous evening rehearsing.

"This won't be a comfortable assessment, Mrs. Park," Examiner Finch said, his monocle glinting. "The preliminary evaluation indicated minimal physical compatibility indicators. Today's assessment must provide evidence of progress."

Your stomach tightened. "Progress? It's only been two weeks—"

"Precisely the period when compatible matches typically demonstrate initial bonding behaviors," Finch interrupted. "The Marriage Unity Act is quite clear on expected timelines."

Sunghoon moved closer to you, his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. The touch was so unexpected that you nearly jumped, but his steady pressure kept you in place.

"We understand the Ministry's expectations," he said, his voice even but with an edge of steel. "However, we believe in a measured approach to relationship development."

"Measured approaches rarely produce the magical bonding necessary for the program's success," Howell said, making a note on her clipboard. "We'll need to evaluate your physical compatibility more thoroughly today."

The assessment began with standard questions about living arrangements, daily routines, and shared activities. You described your coordinated bathroom schedule, joint dinners, and professional collaborations, carefully emphasizing the aspects of your lives that had genuinely begun to intertwine.

Throughout, Sunghoon kept his hand on your back or lightly touching your arm. Each contact sent a small shiver through you that had nothing to do with the Ministry's intimidating presence.

"Your living space shows adequate integration," Howell finally concluded. "However, we must now evaluate personal knowledge and physical comfort."

She nodded to Finch, who withdrew a small silver sphere from his pocket. "This is a Veridian Orb," he explained. "It measures truth and concordance between matched pairs."

He placed the orb on the coffee table, where it hovered slightly above the surface, pulsing with a soft blue light.

"You will be asked a series of questions about your partner," Finch continued. "The orb will measure your knowledge of each other and the authenticity of your responses."

Sunghoon's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he gave a curt nod. "Proceed."

The questions started innocuously enough. Favorite colors, preferred foods, daily routines. Thanks to your conversation the previous evening and Sunghoon's surprisingly attentive note-taking habits, you both answered with reasonable accuracy. The orb maintained its calm blue pulse.

Then the questions grew more personal.

"Mr. Park," Howell said, "describe Mrs. Park's reaction when she's particularly pleased about something."

Sunghoon hesitated only briefly. "She smiles first with her eyes before her lips follow. When she's genuinely happy, she makes a small sound—not quite a laugh—just before she speaks."

The orb pulsed slightly brighter. You stared at Sunghoon, startled that he'd noticed such a detail.

"Mrs. Park," Finch continued, "where does Mr. Park touch when he's feeling tense?"

Heat crawled up your neck. "He... adjusts his left cuff. Three times, always three precise movements."

Sunghoon's eyes flickered to you, a flash of surprise crossing his usually composed features. The orb glowed slightly warmer.

The questions continued, each more intrusive than the last. How does your partner sleep? What physical gestures do they find comforting? Have you noticed changes in their behavior when you're in close proximity?

With each answer, the tension in the room grew thicker. You found yourself hyperaware of Sunghoon beside you, the warmth of his thigh an inch from yours, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his fingers occasionally brushed yours when you both reached to adjust positions.

"The knowledge indicators are adequate," Howell finally announced. "However, physical comfort remains underdeveloped."

"What exactly are you expecting?" Sunghoon asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. "We've been married for two weeks."

"The most successful matches demonstrate natural physical affinity by this stage," Finch replied, adjusting his monocle. "Simple gestures of affection without hesitation or overthinking."

"I believe a practical demonstration is in order," Howell said, making another note. "Please show us how you typically interact when alone."

You froze. Beside you, Sunghoon went so still he might have been petrified.

"That's hardly appropriate," he said after a moment, his voice low.

"Mr. Park," Howell replied coldly, "nothing you do in your own home with your spouse is inappropriate. Unless, of course, there is no genuine interaction occurring, which would indicate non-compliance with the Marriage Unity Act's core requirements."

The threat hung in the air. Behind her, Record-Keeper Wilby's quill scratched ominously.

Sunghoon turned toward you, his expression unreadable. "May I?" he asked quietly, his voice pitched for your ears alone.

You nodded, heart hammering against your ribs. You'd expected perhaps a brief touch, maybe an arm around your shoulders.

Instead, Sunghoon's hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. The touch was so unexpectedly gentle that your breath caught.

"They're watching for authenticity," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Follow my lead."

Before you could respond, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, but neither was it the clinical peck you might have expected. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure light but lingering. His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair with a sureness that suggested this wasn't the first time he'd done this.

You found yourself responding without conscious thought, your hand coming up to rest against his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart beat a rapid rhythm that belied his composed exterior.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, pupils expanded to nearly swallow the brown. For a moment—just a moment—his careful mask slipped, revealing something raw and wanting beneath before he reconstructed his composed expression.

The orb on the table had changed from blue to a warm, pulsing gold.

"Well," Howell said, a note of surprise in her voice. "That's significantly more progress than your preliminary assessment indicated."

Finch cleared his throat, a faint color in his typically pallid cheeks. "Yes, quite. Physical compatibility appears to be developing appropriately."

Sunghoon's hand had returned to the small of your back, but there was a new tension in his touch. "Is there anything else, Inspector?" he asked, his voice remarkably steady.

"Just one more matter," Howell replied, consulting her clipboard. "Three-month milestone requirements. As you know, shared sleeping quarters will be required by that date. Our assessment then will include verification of appropriate accommodation arrangements."

"We're aware," Sunghoon said tersely.

"And the mandatory bonding retreat," Finch added. "All couples we see fit, in the program must attend the Ministry's three-day compatibility enhancement retreat at the three-month mark."

This was new information. You glanced at Sunghoon, whose jaw had tightened again.

"Compatibility enhancement retreat?" you repeated.

"A specialized program designed to accelerate the bonding process," Howell explained. "Under the supervision of marriage integration specialists, couples participate in therapeutic exercises to build natural physical and emotional connections."

Sunghoon's fingers pressed more firmly against your back. "And is this 'retreat' optional?"

"It's a mandatory component of the three-month compliance verification," Howell replied. "All couples we pick participate, no exceptions. You'll receive detailed information by owl next week."

The assessment concluded shortly after. As the green flames of the Floo died down behind the departing Ministry officials, an awkward silence fell over the living room.

Sunghoon had already moved away from you, putting his usual careful distance between you. His expression was closed, unreadable.

"So," you said finally, your voice not quite steady. "That was..."

"Intrusive," Sunghoon finished, his tone clipped. "But we passed. That's what matters."

You touched your lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of his. "About the... demonstration. I know that was just for show, but—"

"It was necessary," he interrupted, not meeting your eyes. "The orb measures genuine reactions. A clinical touch wouldn't have registered correctly."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twist of disappointment in your chest. "Smart thinking."

Sunghoon glanced at you briefly, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away. "I apologize if I overstepped."

"You didn't," you assured him quickly. "It was... convincing."

A heavy silence fell. The Veridian Orb still sat on the coffee table, its glow now faded to a dull bronze.

"This three-month retreat," you said finally. "That sounds..."

"Problematic," Sunghoon supplied, running a hand through his usually immaculate hair, mussing it slightly. "We'll deal with it when we have to."

He moved toward his study, clearly eager to escape the lingering tension between you. At the doorway, he paused, his back to you.

"You did well today," he said, his voice lower than usual. "The observation about my cuff adjustments... I didn't realize anyone had noticed that."

Before you could respond, he disappeared into his sanctuary, leaving you alone with the rapidly cooling orb and the persistent memory of his lips against yours.

You sank onto the sofa, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been for show, of course—a calculated move to pass the assessment. But there had been something in his eyes after, something unguarded and real that contradicted his dismissive words.

And now there was this "retreat" looming in the future. Three days of "therapeutic exercises" to build "natural physical connections." The very thought sent a flutter of both anxiety and something else—something you weren't quite ready to name—through your stomach.

Nyx jumped onto your lap, kneading your thighs with her paws as if sensing your turmoil.

"What am I getting myself into, Nyx?" you murmured, stroking her soft fur. "This was supposed to be simple. A paper marriage, minimum compliance, keeping our distance."

But nothing felt simple anymore. Not with the memory of Sunghoon's gentle hands and warm lips still so vivid. Not with the knowledge that he'd noticed tiny details about you that even you hadn't been aware of. Not with the Ministry pushing for even more intimacy in the coming months.

And certainly not with the realization that despite all your best intentions, you were beginning to want more than the careful distance Sunghoon insisted on maintaining.

As the afternoon light faded, you remained on the sofa, absentmindedly stroking Nyx while your thoughts circled around one unsettling truth: the Ministry might have forced you into this marriage, but they couldn't force the flutter in your chest when Sunghoon touched you. That had happened entirely on its own.

And judging by the way his heart had raced beneath your palm, you might not be the only one fighting an unwanted attraction.

The official Ministry assessment had gone better than expected. You'd passed, but something more significant had happened—something that changed everything between you and Sunghoon.

The following morning found Sunghoon in the back corner of the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a cup of tea while three of his oldest friends bickered over the last piece of treacle tart.

"It's mine by right of discovery," Jay insisted, his Ministry Legal Department badge slightly askew on robes that perpetually looked one charm away from respectability. "I saw it first."

"You've had two already," Jake countered, his Auror reflexes allowing him to snatch the plate before Jay could reach it. "Besides, Heeseung needs the sugar more than you do. Look at those eye bags—those magical bridge supports must be brutal."

Heeseung, who indeed looked exhausted from his latest Magical Construction project, just grinned and took advantage of their distraction to steal the tart for himself. "While you two were arguing, I was acting. Very Slytherin of me, wouldn't you say?"

Sunghoon watched this familiar chaos with the resigned expression of someone who'd endured it since their first year at Hogwarts. Fifteen years of friendship hadn't changed their dynamic—Jay still talked annoyingly, Jake still played peacekeeper while causing half the trouble, and Heeseung still quietly got his way while the others weren't looking.

"If you're done with the dessert theatrics," Sunghoon said, checking his watch, "I have fifteen minutes before I need to get back."

Jay rolled his eyes dramatically. "Still counting minutes, I see. Some things never change." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "So, you finally cracked and asked for our help. Must be desperate."

"I didn't crack," Sunghoon replied, his tone defensive. "I just thought you might have some useful input."

"The great Park Sunghoon needs our advice on women that hate him," Jake grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"She doesn't hate him," Heeseung corrected, always the more tactful one. "She suggested nicknames, which means she's trying to make things work. That's encouraging."

Sunghoon's eyebrows rose slightly. "How did you know about the nicknames?"

"You literally started this conversation with 'Y/N suggested nicknames might help with the Ministry assessment,'" Jay reminded him. "We're not mind readers, you prat."

"So you want to know what to call her?" Jake asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't tell me the great Park Sunghoon is going to start saying 'sweetie' and 'darling' like a normal husband."

Sunghoon's expression suggested he'd rather drink bubotuber pus. "I just need to know what's standard. For the assessments."

The three friends exchanged a look Sunghoon had seen countless times—a silent "he's hopeless" communication that dated back to their Hogwarts days.

"What do you call your wife?" Heeseung asked Jay, steering the conversation toward actual help.

"Baby, mostly," Jay replied, grinning. "Or jagiya when I'm showing off my Korean."

"I use sweetheart with mine," Jake offered. "Sometimes baby when we're fucking and i’m really—"

"Just the name is fine," Sunghoon cut in before Jake could elaborate. Seven years of sharing a dormitory had taught him exactly where Jake's stories tended to go.

"I use 'angel' most of the time," Heeseung said, smiling fondly. "Sometimes 'doll' because of her collection. She can tell my mood by which one I use."

Sunghoon absorbed this information with a slight frown. The idea of using such terms still felt foreign.

"You don't have to force it," Heeseung added kindly, noticing his discomfort. "Maybe start with something simple. Her name, but said differently than you'd say a colleague's name."

"What's wrong with just using her name?" Sunghoon asked.

Jay snorted into his butterbeer. "Merlin's beard, Sunghoon. She's not a Ministry report you're filing."

"The assessment's over," Sunghoon said, redirecting the conversation. "What else am I missing?"

"Touch her," Jake said bluntly.

Sunghoon nearly choked on his tea. "What?"

"Not like that," Jake laughed. "Small things. Hand on her back when you walk together. Fingers brushing when you pass things. The little touches couples do without thinking."

"We've practiced appropriate proximity—"

"Practiced?" Jay interrupted, eyebrows shooting up. "Tell me you didn't schedule 'touching practice' like some kind of—"

Sunghoon's silence was damning.

"Bloody hell," Jay threw his hands up. "You can't schedule normal behavior. No wonder she suggested you try actually getting comfortable instead of pretending."

"She's right," Jake nodded approvingly. "Smart woman."

"How exactly am I supposed to develop 'comfort' on demand?" Sunghoon asked, frustration evident in his voice.

His three friends exchanged looks ranging from disbelief to pity.

"The same way you became friends with us," Jay said finally. "You spend time together. You pay attention to what she likes. You talk about things that aren't work."

"I pay attention," Sunghoon said defensively. "I know which tea she prefers after night shifts, which chair she likes to read in—"

"Do you tell her these things," Heeseung asked gently, "or just notice them?"

"I leave notes when relevant."

The collective groan from his friends turned heads at nearby tables.

"Notes," Jake repeated. "You leave your wife notes about her tea preferences."

"It's efficient."

"But not personal," Heeseung pointed out. "When's the last time you complimented her?"

The question caught Sunghoon off-guard. "What?"

"You know," Jake said slowly, "told her something nice about her. That she looks pretty. That she's smart. That you like her laugh. Anything."

Sunghoon frowned slightly. "I mentioned her bathroom schedule was well-designed."

Jay dropped his head to the table with a thunk. "We're all doomed."

"I also told her that her insights on Bulgarian potion regulations were useful," Sunghoon added, feeling oddly defensive.

"That's... something, at least," Heeseung conceded. "Professional respect is a start. But maybe try something more personal?"

"Like what?"

"Tell her she looks nice," Jake suggested. "Or that you like being around her. Small things."

Sunghoon considered this. There were, in fact, several qualities he'd noticed in you that deserved acknowledgment. Your persistent optimism despite difficult circumstances. The focused competence you showed when discussing healing cases. The way your entire face lit up when you laughed.

"I'll think about it," he said finally, checking his watch. "I need to go."

"Think fast," Jay advised, stealing the last bite of Heeseung's tart. "Connection isn't something you can plan like a diplomatic negotiation. Sometimes you just have to let yourself feel things."

"And Sunghoon," Heeseung added as they stood to leave, "we're giving you a hard time, but we're on your side. It's a terrible situation, but she sounds decent. Maybe it won't be as bad as you feared."

"Maybe," Sunghoon admitted, a rare moment of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Thanks for the advice," Sunghoon replied, his tone dry but not entirely ungrateful.

Back at the Ministry, Sunghoon found himself replaying his friends' advice while finalizing the Bulgarian trade agreement. Their suggestions, while buried in unnecessary teasing, weren't entirely without merit.

After sending the final draft to the Bulgarian liaison, he made a detour to the Ministry atrium's small conservatory. After checking no one was watching, he carefully selected three perfect lilac flowers from a charmed flower grove that cycled through seasons.

They weren't a traditional gift, but they were a reference to your conversation—a silent acknowledgment that he had listened and remembered what you'd shared.

As he arranged the lilacs in a small vase on the kitchen table that evening, Sunghoon admitted to himself that he actually wanted to see your reaction when you discovered them. Not just for the assessment. Not just for show.

A troubling realization, indeed.

Two days after the Ministry assessment, you noticed subtle but unmistakable changes in Sunghoon's behavior.

It began at breakfast. You'd come downstairs to find him already seated at the table, the Prophet open before him, a cup of tea steaming at his elbow. Nothing unusual there. But when you entered the kitchen, he looked up immediately—not the brief, perfunctory glance you were accustomed to, but an actual pause in his reading, his eyes meeting yours directly.

"Good morning," he said, his tone lacking its usual clipped efficiency.

"Morning," you replied, slightly thrown by the attention. "Sleep well?"

"Adequately," he answered, watching as you moved to prepare your tea. Then, with visible deliberation: "And you... angel?"

The endearment came out so awkwardly that you nearly dropped your mug. It sounded foreign in his mouth, as if he were attempting to speak a language he'd only read about in books. You turned slowly to find him looking faintly uncomfortable, a hint of color high on his cheekbones.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, certain you must have misheard.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, his discomfort visibly increasing. "I was attempting a term of... affection," he said stiffly. "If it's unwelcome, I won't repeat it."

The realization that Park Sunghoon was genuinely trying to use a pet name—and doing it so badly—created a warm bubble of amusement in your chest.

"It's not unwelcome," you assured him, hiding your smile by turning back to your tea preparation. "Just unexpected."

"Noted," he said, his usual crispness returning as he retreated behind his newspaper.

You thought that might be the end of it—a single awkward attempt never to be repeated. But that afternoon, as you sat in the living room reviewing patient files, Sunghoon surprised you again.

He entered from his study, a stack of parchment in hand, and paused by your chair. "I've been reviewing the childhood magical stabilization protocol you mentioned," he said. "Your approach is quite innovative... baby."

The endearment was even more stilted than the first, tacked onto the end of his sentence like an awkward afterthought. This time, you couldn't suppress your laugh.

Sunghoon's expression closed immediately. "You find it amusing."

"No—well, yes," you admitted, your smile softening the words. "But not in a bad way. It's just... very clearly not something you're comfortable with."

"Comfort develops with practice," he said defensively. "All skills require initial periods of inadequacy."

Understanding dawned. "Are you... practicing endearments on me?"

The color on his cheekbones deepened slightly. "The Ministry assessment demonstrated our need for increased displays of familiarity," he said, not quite meeting your eyes. "Verbal indicators of affection are standard components of marital communication."

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. It was so very Sunghoon to approach pet names as a skill to be mastered through deliberate practice.

"You don't have to force yourself," you told him gently. "The assessment went fine."

"It was adequate," he corrected, "but future evaluations will require deeper evidence of bonding. Advance preparation is practical."

Before you could respond, Nyx darted into the room, weaving between Sunghoon's legs with her typical disregard for personal space. To your surprise, rather than stiffening or stepping away, Sunghoon merely looked down at the cat with a slight frown.

"Your tactical timing remains impeccable," he told Nyx, who meowed back as if responding to the observation.

You watched in fascination as Sunghoon lowered himself to the sofa, still holding his parchments, and allowed Nyx to jump onto the cushion beside him without protest.

"She's really taken to you," you observed, pleased by the unexpected truce between your cat and your reluctant husband.

"She's persistent," Sunghoon replied, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "I've determined that resistance requires more energy than accommodation."

"A diplomatic solution," you said, smiling. "Very on-brand for you."

Something that might have been the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Effective negotiation often requires strategic concessions."

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence as you both returned to your work, the only sounds the occasional rustle of parchment and Nyx's rumbling purr. It wasn't until you rose to make a fresh cup of tea that Sunghoon spoke again.

"Would you like me to prepare that... sweetheart?"

The third endearment was no less awkward than the previous two, but something about his determined persistence was oddly endearing.

"Thank you, but I've got it," you replied, fighting another smile. "You know, Sunghoon, you really don't have to keep doing this."

He looked up, his expression serious. "Is it objectionable?"

"No," you assured him. "Just unnecessary. And clearly uncomfortable for you."

"Discomfort is temporary," he said with characteristic stubbornness. "Adaptation requires consistent effort."

You studied him for a moment, a new understanding dawning. This wasn't just about Ministry assessments. In his own way, Sunghoon was genuinely trying to build something more comfortable between you—following the advice you'd given him about creating real connection rather than rehearsed proximity.

"Well, if you're determined to practice," you said lightly, "maybe focus on one or two that feel less unnatural to you. And perhaps use it when it actually fits the moment, not just randomly inserted into conversation."

Sunghoon considered this suggestion with the same gravity he might give an international treaty amendment. "A logical approach," he conceded. "Which would you recommend?"

The question caught you off guard. "It's not really about what I recommend," you explained. "It's about what feels natural to you when you look at me."

He studied you then, his dark eyes surprisingly intense. The scrutiny might have been uncomfortable if not for the genuine consideration behind it. After a moment, he nodded once, as if coming to a decision.

"Angel," he said simply. No sentence wrapped around it, no awkward placement—just the word itself, spoken with unexpected softness, “or Baby, I’m more determined to conquer that one.”

Something fluttered in your chest at the simple declaration. "Those ones definitely sound more natural," you managed, your voice not quite steady.

Sunghoon nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Angel," he repeated, testing the word. "Yes, that seems most appropriate."

The moment hung between you, charged with something neither of you was quite ready to name. Then Nyx broke the tension by standing abruptly, stretching, and deliberately knocking one of Sunghoon's parchments to the floor.

"Your cat requires remedial boundary training," Sunghoon observed, though there was a hint of something almost like humor in his voice.

And just like that, the unusual intensity dissolved, replaced by the comfortable routine of your shared domestic life. But something had shifted, however slightly. Sunghoon didn't use any more endearments that day, but his eyes lingered on you more often, and there was a new thoughtfulness in his expression when he caught you watching him.

That evening, as you prepared for bed, you found a note on your pillow:

Your suggestion regarding term selection was efficient. Implementation will continue at appropriate intervals. —S

Below, in what appeared to be a hastily added postscript:

Thank you for your patience with the process, angel.

You smiled, running your fingers over the carefully written endearment. It was such a small thing—a simple word that countless couples exchanged without thought. But from Sunghoon, with his carefully maintained walls and precise distance, it felt like a tiny miracle.

All you knew, in that moment, was that Park Sunghoon was trying—in his methodical, occasionally awkward way—to build something real with you. And for now, that was enough to fall asleep with a smile on your face and hope warming your chest.

You woke to the sound of Sunghoon's voice drifting up from downstairs. Curious about who he might be speaking to so early, you wrapped yourself in a robe and padded quietly toward the stairs.

What you heard made you pause, hand frozen on the banister.

"No, absolutely not there," Sunghoon was saying, his tone exasperated but lacking its usual edge. "That is designated working space, not a cat leisure area."

A plaintive meow followed.

"Your objection is noted but overruled," Sunghoon continued, as if having a perfectly normal conversation with your cat. "Previous concessions regarding the armchair do not constitute blanket permission for desk occupation."

Another meow, this one somehow sounding argumentative.

"Fine," Sunghoon sighed. "You may observe from the corner of the desk, provided you maintain a minimum six-inch clearance from active documents. Those are the terms."

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh, hardly believing what you were hearing. Cautiously, you descended a few more steps until you could see into the living room, where Sunghoon sat at his writing desk with Nyx perched on the corner, exactly six inches from his paperwork, looking smugly satisfied.

"Your negotiation skills are improving," Sunghoon informed the cat, who began to purr loudly in response. "Though I maintain that emotional manipulation through sustained eye contact is a questionable tactic."

The sight of a stern, proper Sunghoon having a serious diplomatic negotiation with your cat was so unexpectedly charming that you couldn't help the small sound of delight that escaped you.

Sunghoon's head jerked up, genuine surprise crossing his features when he saw you on the stairs. For a moment, he looked almost embarrassed at being caught in such an unguarded moment.

"Good morning," you said, descending the rest of the stairs. "I see Nyx is expanding her territory again."

"We've reached a compromise," Sunghoon replied, recovering his composure with impressive speed. "Though I suspect her compliance will be temporary at best."

"She's very strategic," you agreed, moving into the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Always looking for weaknesses in the defense."

You heard Sunghoon's chair scrape back, followed by his measured footsteps as he joined you in the kitchen. When you turned from the stove, he was standing closer than expected, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"You have an early shift today," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Until four," you confirmed. "Barring emergencies."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his face. "I had hoped we might discuss the Eastern European educational initiative this afternoon. Your research on childhood magical stabilization has direct applications."

"Tomorrow?" you suggested. "I'm free all day."

Sunghoon nodded, though the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth suggested genuine disappointment at the delay. "Tomorrow then."

As you prepared your tea, you were acutely aware of him watching you, his usual morning efficiency temporarily suspended.

"Is something wrong?" you asked finally.

"No," he said, then, with visible effort: "I simply find your presence... agreeable, My angel."

The endearment came more naturally now, less practiced but still careful. Combined with the unexpected compliment, it created a flutter of warmth in your chest.

"That's... thank you," you managed, oddly flustered by his direct gaze.

Sunghoon nodded once, as if confirming something to himself, then returned to his desk and a quietly smug Nyx, who had inched closer to his papers in his absence.

You finished your preparations for work, your mind replaying that quiet "angel" and the unusual intensity in Sunghoon's eyes. Something was shifting between you—something neither of you had anticipated when the Ministry had forced you together.

Your shift at St. Mungo's had run longer than expected. A seven-year-old with a case of magical hiccups that turned everything she touched temporarily invisible had required careful handling, especially when she'd accidentally made her little brother's left ear disappear. By the time you restored visibility to all affected body parts and calmed the panicking parents, you were running nearly an hour late.

You hurried through the hospital corridors, expecting to find an empty house and probably one of Sunghoon's notes about dinner being in the warming drawer. Instead, as you pushed through the doors into the reception area, you stopped short. Sunghoon himself stood near the welcome desk, his immaculate posture unmistakable even from behind. He appeared to be studying a display of educational pamphlets about magical childhood ailments with surprising interest.

"Sunghoon?" you called, still not quite believing he was actually there.

He turned, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—his expression softened with what looked remarkably like relief before his usual composed mask returned.

"Your shift ran late," he said, though his tone lacked its usual edge of criticism.

"Invisible ear emergency," you explained, still caught off guard by his unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd meet you directly," he said, moving toward you. "I was in the area anyway."

You knew this was almost certainly untrue—Sunghoon's schedule was planned with such precision that spontaneous neighborhood visits were virtually nonexistent. But the fact that he'd chosen to wait for you rather than return home alone created a warm flutter in your chest.

"That was thoughtful," you said, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

A hint of color appeared high on his cheekbones. "It wasn't a problem," he replied, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "I thought we might try that new restaurant near Gringotts. Unless you're too tired, angel."

The endearment still sounded slightly practiced, but not as awkward as his previous attempts. Progress, it seemed.

"Dinner sounds lovely," you said, smiling. "Just let me grab my things."

As you collected your bag from the staff room, you couldn't help but marvel at this unexpected development. Sunghoon waiting at the hospital? Suggesting dinner out? Using endearments without Ministry officials watching? It was as if the carefully constructed walls between you were developing hairline cracks.

When you returned to the reception area, you found Sunghoon in conversation with Healer Matthews, one of the senior pediatric specialists. To your surprise, he didn't look uncomfortable or impatient—his usual response to unexpected social interaction. Instead, he appeared to be listening with genuine interest as Matthews gestured animatedly.

"—revolutionary approach, really," Matthews was saying. "The integration of emotional stabilization techniques with magical dampening is precisely what these cases need. Y/N's research could change our entire treatment protocol."

"She mentioned her work with the unstable core case," Sunghoon replied, his tone carrying a note of what sounded remarkably like pride. "The international applications are significant."

"Oh, absolutely! We're already documenting the methodology for the international healing journal. Your wife is quite the innovator." Matthews beamed at you as you approached. "Ah, speak of the devil! I was just telling your husband about the Mira case. Brilliant work, truly."

"Thank you," you said, slightly flustered both by the praise and by hearing Sunghoon referred to as your "husband" in a context unrelated to Ministry requirements.

"You two make quite the powerhouse couple," Matthews continued cheerfully, oblivious to your discomfort. "International magical cooperation and pediatric healing innovation under one roof! How long have you been married?"

"Three weeks," Sunghoon answered smoothly, surprising you with his hand coming to rest lightly at the small of your back. "Though it feels like we've known each other much longer."

You nearly choked at this uncharacteristic display of charm. Sunghoon was many things, but "smooth" had never been one of them.

"Newlyweds!" Matthews exclaimed delightedly. "Though you'd never know it from how in sync you two are. Young love is so refreshing to see these days."

You felt Sunghoon's hand tense slightly against your back but his expression remained pleasantly neutral. "If you'll excuse us," he said politely, "I've made dinner reservations."

"Of course, of course! Don't let me keep you lovebirds," Matthews winked. "Enjoy your evening!"

As you walked away, Sunghoon's hand remained at your back, guiding you through the evening crowd in the hospital lobby. The warmth of his palm through your robes created a distracting tingle up your spine.

"That was... unexpected," you said once you were outside. "You were very convincing."

"Practice makes perfect," Sunghoon replied, though his hand didn't withdraw from your back. "It seemed important to be consistent even outside the assessments."

"Right," you agreed, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment. "For consistency."

Sunghoon glanced down at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "The restaurant is just ahead, baby."

The second endearment caught you off guard, especially without any Ministry officials present to necessitate it. This one sounded less rehearsed than his previous attempts, almost natural despite the slight hesitation before it.

"I'm not used to hearing you call me that," you admitted as you approached the restaurant, a cozy establishment with warm golden lights visible through the windows.

"Do you mind it?" Sunghoon asked, a hint of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Not at all," you assured him quickly. "Just... different. Nice different."

Something that might have been relief relaxed his expression. "Good to know," he said simply.

The maître d' welcomed you, leading you to a quiet corner table partially screened by a decorative trellis covered in tiny fairy lights. It was, you couldn't help noticing, a notably romantic setting.

"This is lovely," you commented as Sunghoon held your chair—another unexpected courtesy.

"The Bulgarian ambassador recommended it," he replied, taking his own seat. "Apparently their seafood is exceptional."

Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you perused the menu. Sunghoon, typically so reserved about personal matters, spoke of his day at the Ministry with unexpected detail, describing the frustrating negotiations with a hint of dry humor you'd rarely witnessed. You shared stories from your hospital shift, including the invisible ear incident, which actually earned a small quirk of the lips that was the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him.

When your hands accidentally brushed while reaching for the bread basket, Sunghoon didn't withdraw immediately as he might have done before. Instead, his fingers lingered briefly against yours, the contact brief but deliberate.

"You still haven't told me why you really came to the hospital," you said as your main courses arrived. "I know you didn't just happen to be in the area."

Sunghoon's fork paused halfway to his mouth, his expression shifting to something almost uncomfortable. "You caught me," he admitted after a moment. "I wasn't in the neighborhood."

"So why come wait for me?"

He set his fork down carefully, as if buying time to formulate his response. "I didn't particularly want to go back to an empty house," he said finally, the admission clearly difficult for him. "It's... quieter when you're not there."

"You missed me," you said, unable to keep the smile from your voice.

He frowned slightly. "I wouldn't go that far," he said, though the color in his cheeks suggested otherwise. "I've just gotten used to having you around."

"You missed me," you repeated, still smiling. "It's okay to admit it, Sunghoon. I'd miss you too if you were gone all day."

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something warmer. "You would?"

"Of course," you said simply. "We've gotten used to each other."

"We have," he agreed, his gaze dropping to his plate. "More than I expected, honestly."

The meal continued in this vein—moments of surprising warmth interspersed with Sunghoon's more familiar reserve. Yet something had undeniably shifted between you. His eyes found yours more frequently, lingering longer than necessary. His hand occasionally brushed yours when passing the salt or reaching for his wine glass, each touch seeming less accidental than the last.

By the time dessert arrived—a shared plate of tiny pastries filled with various magical creams that changed flavor with each bite—you found yourself genuinely enjoying not just the excellent food but Sunghoon's company as well.

"I found something for you today," he said as you sampled a pastry that tasted first of chocolate, then unexpectedly shifted to lemon. "It's at home."

"For me?" you asked, surprised. Sunghoon wasn't exactly the gift-giving type.

"It's nothing big," he said quickly, seeming almost embarrassed. "Just something I thought you might like."

Curiosity piqued, you finished dessert with perhaps more haste than the exquisite pastries deserved. Sunghoon paid the bill with characteristic efficiency, then surprised you by offering his arm as you left the restaurant.

"It might rain," he observed, glancing at the darkening sky as you walked toward the apparition point. "The forecast mentioned thunderstorms overnight."

"I've always liked storms," you commented, acutely aware of his arm beneath your hand. "They're so dramatic and unpredictable."

"You would like chaos," Sunghoon replied, though there was no criticism in his tone. "You and your disorganized filing system."

You laughed softly. "And you prefer everything orderly and planned. We're quite the opposite pair, aren't we?"

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he suggested, surprising you. "Different perspectives, working together."

Before you could respond to this unexpectedly thoughtful observation, you reached the apparition point. Sunghoon's arm tightened slightly around yours as he prepared to apparate you both home.

"Ready, angel?" he asked, the endearment now sounding almost natural on his lips.

The journey was brief, and moments later you found yourselves in the front garden of your shared home. The air felt heavy with approaching rain, the scent of ozone sharp in the twilight. Sunghoon's hand remained at your elbow as he guided you up the garden path, his touch light but steady.

Inside, the house felt different somehow—warmer, more inviting than the functional living space it had been when you first arrived. Your books now mingled with his on the shelves, your colorful throw blanket draped across one end of the sofa, Nyx's toys scattered across the rug. Somewhere along the way, it had become a home rather than just a house.

"Tea?" Sunghoon offered, removing his cloak.

"Please," you agreed, curious about his mentioned "something" but not wanting to seem too eager.

As Sunghoon moved to the kitchen, you wandered into the living room, drawn to a small vase on the side table that hadn't been there this morning. Inside were three perfect lilac flowers arranged with characteristic precision.

"Oh," you breathed, touching one petal gently. The texture was perfect, the colors vibrant despite being separated from their roots.

"They're from the Ministry conservatory," Sunghoon's voice came from behind you. "The groves there cycle through all four seasons weekly. These are from its spring phase."

You turned to find him watching you, his expression uncharacteristically uncertain. "They're beautiful," you said softly. "Is this what you meant?"

He nodded once, his posture almost stiff. "You mentioned liking spring. I thought... well, I thought you might like them."

The gesture touched you deeply. Not because the flowers themselves were particularly valuable or rare, but because they represented something precious—proof that Sunghoon had truly listened to you, remembered details of your conversation, and gone out of his way to bring you something personally meaningful.

"Thank you," you said, stepping closer to him. "I love them."

Something in his expression shifted, softened. "I'm glad."

"No one's ever given me autumn leaves before," you said, smiling up at him. "It's very thoughtful."

"It's nothing," he said, though he looked pleased at your reaction.

Standing on tiptoe, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—a gesture that would have been unthinkable just days ago. Sunghoon went very still, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected contact. For a moment, you feared you'd crossed some invisible line, pushed too far too fast.

But then his hand came up to your waist, steadying you as you settled back on your heels. Instead of stepping away as you expected, he remained close, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Y/N," he said softly, your name almost a question.

In answer, you reached up, touching his cheek gently. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the slight stubble of late evening rough against your palm. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, suspended in a moment of unspoken possibility.

Then, with a deliberateness that made your heart race, Sunghoon lowered his head and kissed you.

It wasn't the brief, almost clinical kiss he'd given you during the Ministry assessment. This was different—tentative at first, as if he was testing unfamiliar waters, but growing more certain as you responded. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, the pressure gentle but unmistakably real.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, feeling the surprising strength beneath his always-perfect robes. His own hands settled at your waist, holding you steady but not pulling you closer. Always so careful, even now.

When you finally broke apart, Sunghoon looked slightly dazed, his usual composure temporarily shaken. A strand of his always-perfect hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look younger, less severe.

"That was..." he began, then seemed at a loss for words—a rare occurrence for someone usually so precise in his speech.

"Unexpected?" you supplied, your own voice not entirely steady.

"But not unwelcome," he added quickly, his hands still resting lightly at your waist.

"Definitely not unwelcome," you agreed, smiling up at him.

For a moment, you simply looked at each other, something new and fragile hovering between you. Then, with a sureness that took your breath away, Sunghoon kissed you again.

This time, there was nothing tentative about it. His arms drew you closer, one hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, disrupting its perfect arrangement in a way that felt quietly rebellious.

The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths mingling. Sunghoon made a soft sound in the back of his throat—something between a sigh and a groan—that sent a shiver down your spine. Who knew that proper, composed Park Sunghoon could kiss like this?

You found yourself pressed against the bookshelf, the spines of ancient tomes digging into your back, but you hardly noticed. All that existed was Sunghoon—his mouth hot against yours, his hands now bolder in their exploration, the surprising heat of him through layers of formal robes.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Sunghoon looked thoroughly disheveled. His hair stood up where your fingers had mussed it, his usually pale cheeks flushed, his perfect robes slightly askew. The sight of him so undone—because of you—created a flutter of something dangerously close to pride in your chest.

"I..." he began, then cleared his throat. "That was not what I had planned for this evening."

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "Do you always plan your evenings in such detail?"

"Usually," he admitted, a hint of something almost like humor in his eyes. "Though I'm finding that some deviations from schedule can be... acceptable."

"Just acceptable?" you teased, straightening his collar where your hands had disturbed it.

His expression softened, becoming almost vulnerable. "More than acceptable, baby."

The endearment, spoken in this context, created a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of your kiss. This was not a practiced performance for Ministry officials—this was something real, however unexpected.

"The tea must be getting cold," you said finally, though you made no move to step away from him.

"I believe you're right," Sunghoon agreed, though he seemed equally reluctant to break the moment. With visible effort, he stepped back, his hands lingering at your waist before finally falling away. "We should probably..."

"Yes," you agreed, though neither of you moved toward the kitchen.

A distant rumble of thunder broke the moment, reminding you of the approaching storm. As if on cue, Nyx appeared, winding her way between your legs with her usual disregard for personal space.

"Your cat has impeccable timing," Sunghoon observed, his composure gradually returning despite his still-mussed hair.

"She does have a talent for interruption," you agreed, bending to scoop her up. "Though she seems to approve of you."

"A dubious honor," Sunghoon replied dryly, though his hand came up to scratch behind Nyx's ears, earning a loud purr of appreciation.The tension of the moment eased, replaced by a new kind of comfort as you both moved to the kitchen for tea. Outside, the storm drew closer, occasional flashes of lightning now visible through the windows, followed by increasingly loud rumbles of thunder.

As you finished your tea, a comfortable silence fell between you, broken only by the sound of rain beginning to patter against the windows and Nyx's contented purring from her spot on the kitchen chair.

"It's getting late," Sunghoon said finally, his eyes meeting yours with lingering warmth. "You mentioned an early shift tomorrow."

"Six-thirty," you confirmed with a sigh. "The joys of pediatric emergency rotation."

Something that might have been disappointment flickered across his features, but he nodded. "You should get some rest."

As you both stood to clear the tea things, your fingers brushed again, the brief contact now charged with new meaning after your shared kisses. Sunghoon's hand caught yours, holding it gently for a moment.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," you said softly. "And for the flowers. It was... nice."

"It was," he agreed, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something more, but then simply nodded. "Sleep well, angel."

The endearment, now perfectly natural on his lips, created a warm flutter in your chest. "Goodnight, Sunghoon," you replied, reluctantly withdrawing your hand.

You both moved toward the stairs, the approaching storm casting dramatic shadows through the windows. At the landing where the hallway branched toward your separate bedrooms, you paused, suddenly reluctant to part.

Sunghoon hesitated as well, his usual decisive movements temporarily suspended. Then, with deliberate care, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—gentle, brief, but unmistakably genuine.

"Goodnight," he said quietly, drawing back.

"Goodnight," you echoed, your voice not quite steady.

You turned toward your bedroom, feeling his eyes on you until you closed your door. Inside, you leaned against it for a moment, touching your lips where his had been, trying to process everything that had happened.

From casual dinner to heated kisses against a bookshelf to this new, tentative tenderness—it was a lot to absorb in one evening. As you prepared for bed, you could hear Sunghoon moving about in his own room across the hall, the familiar sounds somehow comforting despite the growing storm outside.

You slipped under your covers, Nyx jumping up to claim her usual spot at the foot of your bed. The approaching storm had intensified, lightning now flashing more frequently, thunder following in quicker succession. You'd always enjoyed storms, finding something soothing in their wild energy, and tonight the dramatic weather seemed to match the tumult of your thoughts.

Sleep came more easily than you expected, the day's events and emotional revelations having left you pleasantly exhausted. You couldn't know that in just a few hours, the storm raging outside would wake you both, creating an opportunity for the final barriers between you to fall completely.

PART 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair

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likeumeanit9497 · 4 months ago

Text

bet | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: when y/n loses a bet to chris and is forced to go to a party, she realizes that she can be a lot more fun than she thought she could be.

warnings: SMUT; unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); choking; dirty talk; overstimulation; LOTS of plot; mentions of alcohol; 18+

notes: okay soooo...this is long. guys i try SO HARD to make my one shots shorter but I CAN'T DO IT IM SORRY I JUST LOVE CREATING A PLOT LINE TOO MUCH!!! so i 100% get it if u don't want to read all 6,857 words of this BUT i will say the smut in this is excellent. if u do choose to read this i hope u enjoy but i love ALL of u so much <333

“So after the kid shot me with the SRT I legit only had like 20 health,” Chris’s conversation was very much one-sided as you tried to keep your focus on the study material in front of you. “I didn’t have any slurp juice or bandages, so I definitely thought I was fucked because the kid was running towards me.” You began chewing on your bottom lip as you flipped through flashcards; Chris’s voice growing much too loud for the campus library. In your periphery, you could see that Chris was no longer writing notes and instead had abandoned his pencil to begin moving his hands animatedly as he continued his story. “Oh! And I was also almost out of mats. I was trying to build but he kept shooting at me so I was running out of material quick.” You sighed softly, searching through your business law textbook to find a concept that was sure to be on the test on Monday. The same test that Chris would also be taking, though he was proving to be completely disinterested in preparing himself for it as he continued to drone on about his recent Fortnite win.

“Chris,” You began, finally turning to face him. “I’m sure it’s all very impressive, but we have a pretty big midterm on Monday, remember? That’s the whole reason we’re here.” You shoot him a smile to hopefully soften your words, but thought to yourself that if you had known he was going to be so distracting, you never would have agreed to study with him. Chris blinked at you, a cocky smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He leaned back in the library chair and rested his hands against his stomach. You didn’t know Chris very well, as typically you only really spoke to each other in class, so you couldn’t really gauge his reaction to your words. You watched him for a moment, analyzing the way that his glittery-blue eyes flicked down to your lips and back up again. “But business law is so boring.” He finally replied, humour laced in his voice.

You chuckled, splitting your flashcards in half and handing a stack of them to him. “I know, trust me. But you have to study or else you’ll be fucked Monday morning.” You replied, and with a sigh he took your offered flashcards and straightened up in his chair. “Fine,” He huffed, “But I can’t stay very late, I’ve got a party to go to.” He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily as he spoke, and you stayed silent as you fought the urge to roll your eyes. Finally, you both began flipping through your respective flashcards in silence, the only distraction being the occasional brush of Chris’s arm against yours. You finally felt yourself fall into the satisfying feeling of being laser focused on the material in front of you, when Chris’s voice once again broke the silence.

“Speaking of parties, how come I never see you at any of them?” He asked, dropping his half of the flashcards onto the work table and reaching for his phone. Sighing, you barely flicked your eyes up in acknowledgement before giving him a curt response. “Not my scene.” You replied simply, hoping that answer was enough. “I don’t know if I believe that.” He replied, his voice filled with humour once again. “Hmm?” You rested your head in your hand as you continued haphazardly reading the cards. He stayed silent for a moment, and you could feel his eyes burning into you as he searched for a response. “I mean, I’ve seen plenty of your friends out.” You shrugged. “They’re more fun than I am.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” His words were finally enough to make you drop your own flashcards and turn to face him. “Chris, it’s a Friday night and I’m sitting in the library — where I plan on staying until I’m practically forced out at closing time — doing my very best to study for a midterm that I’ve been prepared to write for about two weeks. I spend so much time in this exact chair that I wouldn’t be surprised to show up one day and see a plaque with my name on it. This is my idea of fun. So how exactly do you think otherwise?” Chris smiled at you, his eyes glimmering with humorous appreciation. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these things, Y/n.” He shrugged, his voice a low, taunting whisper. You scoffed, shocked by his presumption that he knows you more than he really does.

“In fact,” He began again, making you close your eyes out of sheer frustration. “I think I can prove it.” You turned to face him once again, shockingly intrigued by his statement. Raising one eyebrow, you encourage him to continue. “Let’s make a bet.” You tilted your head, unable to hide your curiosity. “A bet.” You repeated. He nodded his head and leaned back in his chair. “We quiz each other with what’s on these flashcards. If you win, I’ll leave the library so you can study in peace, but if I win, you come to the party with me tonight.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in his proposition. The thought of going to a party on any weekend made you uneasy, but on the Friday before a major midterm it sounded disastrous. “And what if I say I don’t want to be a part of this bet at all?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest. Chris smirked and shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll have to put up with me. As a matter of fact, I bet I could stay a little later, too. I have plenty of stories to share with you.” You groaned out loud as he sent you a quick wink. “I hate parties!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation.

“What? Don’t think you can answer more questions right than me?” He asked, his teasing voice laced with humour. But his words brought you to the realization that he was right, of course you wouldn’t have to go to the party. There was no way that Chris would be able to get more of the flashcard questions that you wrote correct. So, after a few more moments of contemplation, you shrugged your shoulders and straightened up in your chair. “Fuck it, I’m in.” A smile grew on Chris’s face as he took your hand and shook it; sealing the deal.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Yes! Let’s fucking go!” Your face dropped as you watched Chris jump from his seat, fists pumping the air as he circled your work table, soaking in his win. Once he reached you, he grabbed your shoulders and shook them lightly, pulling you from your shocked disassociation. “How the fuck did that just happen?” You asked, your voice weak as you looked at the tally score you had made on a scrap piece of paper. At the start of your little competition, you had actually been pleasantly surprised to see Chris answering the first few questions right. But, as you got closer and closer to the end, and with that, your scores eventually becoming tied, you suddenly became nervous. When you got your last question wrong, you felt your stomach drop, knowing that in order for you not to lose the bet Chris would have to get his last one wrong as well. But, to your horror, his answer was perfectly correct.

“I bet you underestimated me, huh?” Chris taunted as he began packing up his backpack. Shaking your head, you pulled your exasperated body up, collecting your own study supplies. “I guess I did.” You replied sheepishly, and without even looking you could feel Chris lean towards you. “You should never underestimate me.” He whispered, causing shivers to crawl down your spine. Then, his mood suddenly shifted back to his previous giddiness as he slung his backpack onto one shoulder. “So, text me your address. I’ll pick you up around 9:00 and we’ll walk to the party together, sound good?” Chris’s voice was so sickly sweet, riddled with excitement at the expense of both your shattered ego and distaste for your sudden plans. With a huff, you begin walking with him towards the library exit. “Sounds great.” You replied, your words filled with sarcasm and resentment.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Just a second!” You called, your voice shrill and panicked, as you scrambled around your apartment trying to do up your black corset while running to answer the door. Groaning, you momentarily give up on the corset and use one hand to hold it together in the back while you opened the front door. “Sorry, I just need another minute to get this damn top on.” You muttered in frustration, skipping over any greeting with Chris standing at the door. You turned around immediately, leaving the door open for him to enter as you walked into your bedroom and stood in front of you mirror.

Chris chuckled as he stepped into your apartment and followed you into your bedroom. “Having some trouble there?” He teased, nudging his chin to your undone top. You huffed as he leaned against your bedroom doorframe, crossing his arms as he took great pleasure in watching you struggle with your top.

“This thing is fucking impossible to put on!” You exclaimed, contorting your body into unflattering positions in an attempt to see what you were doing as you worked at clipping up one of the many clasps. Your eyes fell to your clock, noticing that it was exactly 9:00. “I’m sorry Chris, are we gonna be late?” You asked as you continued to struggle with your top.

“It’s a party, Y/n,” Chris began, pushing himself off from the doorframe and walking towards you. “We can’t be ‘late’.” Without asking for permission, Chris mindlessly walked up behind you to begin helping with your fussy corset. You stilled as you felt his cold knuckles brush against your spine as his fingers expertly maneuvered the stubborn clips into place. “Thank you.” You managed to whisper, even though your mouth had suddenly grown bone dry.

Once he fastened the last clip, Chris took a moment to step back and check over his work. Nodding in approval, you watched him through the mirror as his eyes drifted along your entire outfit. “Damn. I didn’t think you even owned anything like this.” He laughed, locking eyes with you in the mirror. You took a moment of your own to look at the lacy black corset and black mini skirt covering your body, and mirrored his laugh.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been dragged to a party, you know.” Chris made a cheeky face at you through the mirror. “Dragged is a crazy word. I prefer to think of it as you finally allowing yourself to spend your Friday night like a normal 21 year old college student.” You turned away from the mirror and rolled your eyes, reaching for your purse on the bed to make sure you had everything in it that you might need tonight. Chris chuckled as you began stuffing your purse with your lip combo and perfume of the night, and suddenly you felt the heat of his body behind you as he stepped closer to you. “You know, we can blow off this party if you really don’t want to go.”

You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered shut at his warm whispers in your ear. His mouth lingered just inches from your ear as he waited for a response, but confusion washed over your body like lava. After what could have possibly been too long of an unbearable silence, you broke it by laughing dryly. “Yeah yeah, but I lost the bet…remember?” While you tried to keep your voice steady, you winced at how weak your words came out. Chris laughed softly, his breath warming your skin deliciously. “Ah yes, the bet.” He replied, his voice much lower than it had been before. You shivered as you felt his thumb trail softly down your bare arm. “We better get going then.”

You took a deep breath before turning around to face him. Looking up at him through your false eyelashes, you took a moment to examine his curious expression. His eyes looked soft as they glimmered in the dim lighting of your bedroom, but there was a barely distinguishable tension in his jaw — as though he was clenching his teeth in discomfort or strain — as he stared down at you. “Okay.” You finally replied, your voice a hoarse whisper.

You suddenly felt chilled as Chris’s body moved away from yours, and were completely shocked by the wave of disappointment that crashed through your system. As Chris helped you slip on your black jacket and you both walked out of your apartment and towards the party, you couldn’t help but ask yourself: what would have happened if you took the option not to go to the party?

It was a short walk to the house party, but by the time you and Chris walked up to the front door, you were beginning to grow squirrelly with nerves. It had been a long time since you had gone to a party, and you were sure that you had never been at this particular house before. As if he was reading your mind, Chris nudged your shoulder softly. “Hey, it’ll be fun,” You turned to look at him, giving him a weak smile. He leaned in closer to your ear, as if he was preparing to tell you a secret. “This is actually my place, so you’re already tight with the host.” You looked at him, slightly shocked that the party was at his home yet he chose to meet you at your place first, but it did calm your nerves slightly.

That changed as soon as Chris opened the front door. Immediately, you were met by a throng of unfamiliar people scattered throughout the house, loud music blaring, and scattered beer bottles and solo cups along the floor. After shooting you a reassuring look, Chris led you up the stairs to the main part of his home; filled with even more people and even more mess. A handful of people walked up to Chris in greeting, and you felt like an invader of the party; even though Chris made sure to introduce you to everyone he was talking to.

Just when you were about to ask Chris to show you where the washroom was — in which you planned to spend the rest of this horrifying night in hiding — you heard your name get called over the incessant chatter. Turning your head in the direction of the living room, you noticed three of your best friends on the couch, smiling and waving their hands in your direction. “You bitch! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming out?”

You felt the weight of humiliation and awkwardness lift off of you, and you shot them a warm smile before turning to Chris. Noticing your friends, he tilted his head in their direction and smiled kindly down at you. “Go ahead, I’ll find you later.” With a childish giggle, you squeezed his arm as a gentle sign of appreciation before quickly scampering off to your friends on the couch.

𓆩♡𓆪

After giving your friends a detailed explanation of how you ended up at the party — and after drinking more than your fair share of beer — you had melted into a state of bliss that was nearly unrecognizable to you. Never before had you truly enjoyed yourself at a party, yet at that very moment, it felt as though you were morphing into a completely different person; one much more confident and certainly more relaxed.That definitely had to do with the liquor burning through your veins, and maybe even the fact that a certain pair of blue eyes had been planted on you the whole night.

Laughing at something one of your friends’ said, your eyes traveled across the room and locked onto Chris’s from his place in the kitchen. You watched as a smirk pulled at the corner of his pink lips before he curled two fingers in the air; subtly calling you over. “I’ll be back in a bit.” You said to your friends before pulling your body — heavy from the alcohol — off of the couch and walking over to Chris at the kitchen counter.

He watched you, his head tilted ever so slightly as if he was studying you, as you approached him. You realized in that moment just how warm your cheeks felt as you finally reached him, standing just inches from his leaning frame. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks like you’re having a bit of fun over there.” He said, his voice laced with amusement. You made an attempt at rolling your eyes. “Alcohol can make anything fun.” You replied, feeling too stubborn to admit that your night was going much better than you had expected. Chris straightened up and turned to the counter where he grabbed a bottle of tequila and began filling up two shot glasses. “Well in that case, I think you should take a shot with me.”

You smiled and stayed silent as you watched him pour the liquid into the small glasses. You couldn’t help but admire his side profile as his long eyelashes framed his slightly reddened eyes, and his teeth bit down on his lower lip in concentration. Even with your blurred vision, you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles along the soft slope of his nose, and appreciated the soft flush of baby pink — no doubt a gift granted to you by his consumption of alcohol — along his cheeks.

You snapped out of it once he turned back to face you, holding out a shot — noticeably less full than the one in his other hand — for you to grab. You obliged, and held it up in a cheers with him before you both tilted your heads back, wincing at the familiar burn as the tequila slid down your throat. “Lime.” You cried out, your voice hoarse from the liquor, and rather quickly Chris grabbed a pre-cut lime wedge out of a bowl and brought it to your lips. You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around the slice; sucking the sour juice from it while looking up at Chris with a scrunched up face as you ignored the strange flutter in your stomach — a flutter that was most definitely not from the alcohol.

You pulled your eyes away from Chris as you plucked the lime out of your mouth. Hearing him chuckle, you looked back up at him. “Another?” He asked, holding up the bottle of Casa Migos. Regrettably, you nodded your head. “But do you have any salt?” You asked, to which Chris responded by immediately reaching over into a cabinet to his right. As he searched through the cabinet, your eyes fell onto his exposed neck typically hidden by his messy curls — his skin slightly glistening.

As he turned back to face you, a shaker of salt in his hand, you felt your mood suddenly shift into one filled with desire. Forcing a smile onto your face, you managed a small thank you. Noticing your change in mood, Chris’s eyes seemed to scan across your features for a moment in silence. “Lick the back of your hand.” He ordered, his voice low and slightly deeper than before. Instinctually, you brought your hand up to your mouth. But just as you were about to run your hand against your tongue, you were suddenly overcome with an urge — and with it, a wave of uncharacteristic confidence.

“Actually, can I do something?” You asked, looking up at Chris through your eyelashes. Your eyes fixed on his neck, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “Sure.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. As the word left his mouth, you took the salt shaker from his hand and sprinkled some into your own open palm. “Fill the shot glasses.” You told him, and he immediately obliged. Looking back up at his face — his gorgeous features laced with confusion — you took one deep breath before moving closer to him, your bodies now so close that with each breath your chest brushed against his. His eyes were filled with shock at your sudden proximity, but he stayed perfectly still as he waited to see what you were going to do.

Slowly, so slowly, you brought your mouth to his neck before running your tongue along his creamy skin. As you did, a short gasp fell from his lips and you felt his body stiffen against you. Sticking to efficiency, you quickly pulled your tongue away before lacing your free hand through his curls; using your grip to tilt his head so that you could sprinkle the grains of salt against his wet skin. Pulling back, you caught a glimpse of Chris’s face — cheeks even more flushed and his eyes momentarily shut in bliss — before he looked down at you with uncertainty.

Untangling your hand from his hair, you reached for your shot on the counter and held it up. “Cheers.” You whispered, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Chris blinked a few times before picking up his own shot and clinking it against yours. His eyes stayed glued to yours as you both took your shots, and before the tequila had a chance to hit you with its after shock, you wrapped your lips around the patch of salt along his neck. Even in the loud room, you could swear you heard a soft moan fall from Chris lips, and you felt his pulse quicken against your mouth as you took your time licking away every grain of salt.

It wasn’t long before all of the salt had melted against your tongue, but still you continued to gently nibble and suck the delicate skin on his neck. As you did, Chris sucked in a sharp breath before gripping onto your ass tightly and pulling you against him. You released your own soft moan at the feeling of his large hand digging into your plush skin, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Jesus, Y/n.” Chris groaned. Against your front, you began to feel a fast-growing bulge press against you. Your mouth travelled tantalizingly slow against his skin, until you reached his ear. Grabbing his earlobe between your teeth and gently tugging on the soft skin, you whispered. “You should never underestimate me, either.”

At that, you heard an impressed chuckle. You pulled away from his skin and looked up at him, just inches from his soft lips. So close that you could feel his warm breath against your face, you began to feel intoxicated — not by the tequila, but by him. His hand stayed firmly planted on your ass, the tips of his fingers just barely whispering against your burning heat. The two of you seemed to find yourselves in some sort of stare down — neither of you moving closer to or away from the other — trying to gauge what the other wanted.

Finally, your eyes dropped to his glistening lips, and as if they had a magnetic pull you felt yourself inch closer and closer to them. Noticing this, Chris began pulling forward too, until you could feel his desire burning against your skin. Just as your lips brushed against his, you gasped for air before panting out: “Bedroom.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Chris grabbed onto your hand and began leading you to a set of stairs descending into the basement. You could hear your own pulse over the music as it began growing more distant when you both reached the bottom of the stairs. Once you reached a locked door, Chris began pounding against it urgently. “Get the fuck out of my room!” He called through the door, and as you heard the sound of panicked shuffling on the other side he turned to face you; his eyes exuding pure desire as he ran his thumb pad against your lower lip.

You jumped as the door suddenly burst open and watched as two undone people slipped past you both; actively avoiding eye contact. As soon as they passed you, Chris grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into the dimly lit room. Without even a moment to adjust to your surroundings, you gasped as Chris slammed you against the closed door and engulfed your open mouth with his own. You moaned at the feeling of his lips moulding to yours, bringing with them a relief to the tension that had been building between you all night.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, and you welcomed it with a gasp. You relished in the feeling of his tongue completely and utterly dominating not just your mouth, but your whole body, as you felt yourself weaken in between the wooden door and his towering frame. Your head began to spin at the unfamiliar yet intoxicating taste of his lips, just as you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

His eyes drilled into yours for a moment, as though he was checking to make sure you were okay with what he was about to do. When you knit your brows together and began sucking on your bottom lip — desperate for his touch — he shot you a cocky smirk before drawing his attention to what was in his direct line of sight. His hands slid from your waist down to your thighs, where he began massaging them slowly while simultaneously dropping wet kisses against your burning skin.

Reacting to this, you inadvertently spread your legs further apart. As you did, you felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he continued running his tongue against your inner thighs. While continuing to drive you crazy with his mouth, he brought his hands up to the zipper of your skirt. As he fiddled with with the metal, he spoke against your skin. “You want this?” A soft moan fell from your lips, eliciting a chuckle from his. “I need to hear you say it, baby.” He urged, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly. “Y-yes.” You finally managed to reply, gasping for air as you did. At your response, Chris gently nibbled at the sensitive skin on your thigh, just below the end of your skirt, as he began sliding the black material down your legs. “Good girl.” He praised just as he let the skirt drop to your ankles.

Now with just your sheer panties between his warm mouth and the place you needed it the most, you began squirming as he took a moment to admire your barely-covered heat. He brought his hands up from their place on your thighs to the soft wisp of hair along your bikini line. You shivered in pleasure from his touch so close to where you were aching for him, and watched as his eyes seemed to grow enlivened by his view. “Didn’t expect you to be wearing something like this under that skirt.” He uttered, his voice thick with desire as he toyed with the sheer material. “What did I say about underestimating me?” You replied through your breathlessness.

With that, Chris looked up at you through his thick eyelashes, a smirk cemented into his face, before hooking his thumbs onto either side of your sheer thong and dragging it excruciatingly slow down your legs; until you were suddenly completely bare in front of him. As your pussy radiated desire just inches from his face, his smirk was replaced by one of agony; as if he was suddenly desperate to bury himself into its warmth. He grabbed both of your thighs, firmly pulling them further apart, before he ran his tongue slowly along your dripping slit; his eyes drilling into you as he did. You watched as a pool of your slippery arousal gathered on his tongue, and only once he swallowed your juices did his eyes flutter closed; officially losing himself.

You cried out as soon as his warm mouth wrapped around your pulsing clit, creating an infrangible suction that caused your hips to involuntarily buck into him. Chris moaned against your bundle of nerves, sheer enjoyment plastered to his softened expression, as you laced your thin fingers through his curly hair. “Jesus.” You moaned out incoherently, unable to form a genuine thought as Chris’s tongue worked you through shock waves of pleasure. He groaned against your pussy in response, his face completely buried in between your wet folds.

You gasped as you felt his finger begin to circle your hole, teasing your entrance as it begged him for more. Noticing your flexing walls and dripping arousal, Chris slipped two hooked fingers into your spongey cunt; pumping them into you with vigour as his mouth continued to work against your throbbing clit. The room filled with the wet sounds of Chris’s fingers plunging into you, and you felt that familiar tension in your lower stomach begin to grow nearly unbearable. Your grip on his hair tightened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding your slick heat against his eager mouth.

“F-fuck C-Chris, I — FUCK!” You struggled to speak as you began to lose control of your body, writhing under his hold on you as though you were trying to run from your impending orgasm. In response, Chris’s fingers began to pump into you even quicker, drawing a long moan from your lips. “It’s okay baby,” He reassured you against your clit, his voice an octave lower than usual, “Make a mess all over me.” Your back arched against the door, his encouraging words drawing you closer to your orgasm. Chris used his free hand to grab your thigh, lifting it off the ground and resting it on his shoulder; granting him access to pump his thick fingers even deeper into you.

As he pounded his fingers into your g-spot relentlessly, your body momentarily stilled as you were hit with white-hot pleasure. “Fuck!” You cried out as the waves began crashing into you, causing your body to now begin to convulse uncontrollably. Your nails dug into his scalp as you struggled to stay upright throughout your earth-shattering orgasm. Once he felt your walls begin to pulse around his fingers, he quickly slid them out; allowing you to ride through your high as his mouth began ardently drinking up your warm juices.

As soon as he noticed your moans begin to calm down, he lifted you off of your shaky legs and carried you to the bed. As he walked, he effortlessly undid the many clips on the back of your corset; freeing your full tits and wrapping his wet, swollen lips around one. As he swirled his tongue around your pebbled nipple, he gently laid you down along the edge of his large bed. With a pop he pulled his mouth off of your tit before heedlessly unbuckling his pants and slipping them down his legs, before doing the same with his boxers. You watched in awe as his cock sprung free, feeling that insatiable need grow even stronger deep inside of you.

“Need to feel that soaked fucking pussy wrapped around my cock so fucking bad.” Chris murmured, collecting the fast-growing arousal from your slit on his fingers before using the slippery fluid to stroke his member a few times. Leaning down, he drew your lips to his in a desperate and sloppy kiss, and as he did you felt the girth of his tip pressing incessantly against your dripping entrance. Groaning in anticipation, you writhed under his grip and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Unable to hold back, Chris released a guttural moan against your cheek as he suddenly slammed every inch of himself into you. You cried out in pleasure as his cock pumped into you hard and fast without giving you a moment to adjust to his size. His incessant groans and sharp breathing let you know how good your pussy felt as it enveloped his swollen shaft. “C-Chris y-you’re hu-uge!” You managed to cry out, your eyes bulging from your head as you felt your walls stretch to accommodate his size.

At that, Chris lifted his head from your cheek and dropped his eyes to watch your swollen pussy as his cock continued to pound into it. He brought a hand to your lower stomach, pressing down so that you could see the bulge that his cock was imprinting into it. With an arrogant smile on his lips, he looked back up to your fucked-out face. “You’re takin’ it so good, baby.” His words made your head spin, and you released a loud moan as you gripped onto his arms. Chris looked back down at where your pussy was swallowing his cock, and you watched his jaw go slack as he seemed to relish in the magnificent pleasure that the sight brought him.

“This pussy was fuckin’ made for me.” He groaned out, his voice low as though he was speaking to himself rather than you. Still, his obsession drew another wave of pleasure through your body, and you desperately wanted to see what he was seeing. With shaky limbs, you managed to lift your shoulders up, resting the weight of your upper body on your elbows. You gasped as you watched Chris’s thick cock disappear inside of you again and again; pulling ribbons of your arousal out on each thrust and spreading them along your inner thighs and his lower stomach.

Chris’s eyes lifted up to yours, where they stayed as he continued to pound into you. Suddenly, he brought a veiny hand to your throat; gently squeezing the sides as he bit on his lower lip. “You see how fuckin’ pretty your pussy looks milking my cock?” You let your eyes drop back to the place where your bodies met, entranced by the sight of your bright pink lips wrapping around his length. “If I died inside of you right now, I would die a happy fucking man.” He leaned forward and melted his soft lips to yours, kissing you so deeply that your head spun.

Chris’s pace began to slow; becoming much sloppier. Deep grunts fell from his lips as he dropped his forehead onto your collarbone where he placed wet, open mouthed kisses as he plunged up into your g-spot. “Fuuuuck.” He hissed, his breath warm against your clammy skin as he seemed to get caught up in how good he was feeling. “Chris.” You breathed, your brain turning to mush as you felt every inch of his cock slip through your walls at this new, excruciatingly slow, pace.

Suddenly, his movements completely stilled as he leaned over you and grabbed a pillow from the top of his bed. He straightened himself up on top of you, grabbing your waist and lifting it effortlessly as he slid the pillow under your lower back. Confused, you look up at him with knitted brows; your chest rising and falling. Noticing your un-asked question, Chris spoke. “I’m gonna cum in a minute,” He said, slowly beginning to slide in and out of you again. “And when I do, I wanna feel your pussy convulsing around me.”

With that, Chris pressed one hand firmly onto your lower stomach while using two fingers to spread apart the protective hood above your clit. With his other hand, he brought his thumb to your exposed clit and began rubbing it gently; relishing in the way your body flexed erotically each time he did. Your moans slipped past your lips in helpless squeaks, feeling overstimulated by Chris’s direct contact with your bundle of nerves in unison with the added pressure in your gut caused by his hand pressing against it. “G-god!” You cried out, grabbing onto both of Chris’s wrists as he continued working your clit and fucking you senseless; unsure of whether you were trying to pull his hands away or keep them exactly where they were.

Chris’s eyes stayed glued to your swollen clit, but his breathing grew more and more ragged as he quickly approached his orgasm. You could feel his cock swelling inside of you as he struggled to hold himself back. “Fuck,” He growled, his cheeks even more flushed than before, “Cum for me baby, please.” His voice broke at the end of his sentence, a clear sign that he was on the edge of losing control. You felt your own walls begin to crash down, sending you closer and closer to what was sure to be an earth-shattering orgasm. “P-please — a-almost there.” You whined, your back arching off of the bed as you began to feel as though you were being lit on fire.

Chris dropped his forehead onto your chest, being sure to keep his movements the same as he released soft moans against your skin. “Come on sweetheart.” He grunted as he thrusted up into you, running dangerously low on will-power, “Let me feel you cum for me.” The gritty desperation in his voice was enough to finally push you over the edge. As soon as he felt that first intense pulse reverberate through your walls, he finally allowed himself to lose all control. His hips began pounding into you incessantly as your legs tightened around his waist. Deep, brutish moans fell from his lips on each thrust as his thumb continued to rub against your clit.

“Jesus fuck!” You cried out, feeling the pressure that had been building in your stomach release as you squirted against Chris’s pelvis. As you did, Chris’s thrusts suddenly stilled, and while his thumb toyed with your clit, he released a guttural moan before you felt his warm fluid spill into your quivering pussy. His swollen cock pulsed in between your walls, and you moaned in unison with him as he began to rock himself in and out of you slowly; using your tight pussy to milk himself dry.

Once both you and him came back down to earth, Chris collapsed into your chest; laying there for a moment as you both struggled to catch your breath. Your hands fell onto Chris’s curly hair, which you ran your fingers through slowly as he drew small circles on your hip bone; both of you helping the other get back to their sober minds.

After a short while, Chris planted an affectionate kiss to your chest before lifting himself up. He pulled out of you slowly, his glazed eyes watching as his cum dripped out of you. You watched as he reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded t-shirt. After shooting you a charming smile, he gently grabbed your right thigh, spreading it slightly before using the soft material of the t-shirt to delicately wipe away the mess he had made of you. “You sore?” He asked, his voice gentle as he gazed up at you. You nodded, looking up at him with a smile as you leaned back on your elbows. “Nothing I can’t handle.” You added, sticking your tongue out cheekily.

“I am gonna need your help with the corset again before we head back upstairs, though.” You sighed, gesturing to the discarded pile of lace and buckles on the floor. Chris’s eyes followed to where you pointed. “Or…” He began, tugging at the edge of his comforter, “We could just stay down here?” Your eyes drifted up to his face, and you were met with a sheepish, tired smile. Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you crawled to the top of the bed and curled under the warm blanket. “Thank God.” You muttered, earning another smile from Chris before he followed you into the sheets.

He pulled you into his arms, and you closed your eyes at the comforting feeling of the warmth emanating from his naked body. Exhaustion began to immediately overtake you, and you felt yourself grow heavy in his arms. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back up?” You asked, worried that he might just feel obligated to be there with you, “You’re gonna miss out on all the fun.” Your voice was now thick with sleep. Chris chuckled, squeezing you gently in his arms. “All the fun is right here. I told you, Y/n, my sixth sense never fails me.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets

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lazysoulwriter · 10 days ago

Text

the love we hide. - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, honey. thank you for sending.

----

You always knew dating Pedro Pascal wouldn’t be easy. Not because he made it difficult — if anything, he made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. It was the world around him, the world that didn't stop spinning faster and louder with every new movie, every new award, every new headline with his name in bold letters.

From the start, he had asked for your privacy. "I just... want this to stay ours for as long as we can," he'd whispered one night, arms wrapped tightly around you, voice heavy with something that felt like fear. And you agreed. Happily. Proudly. You understood.

But lately... it had started to hurt.

The more his fame grew, the more invisible you felt. He walked red carpets with stunning co-stars, smiled in interviews when asked about his love life ("I'm married to my work," he'd joke), and your phone buzzed with articles, photos, videos of him living a life you weren’t allowed to share publicly.

And no matter how much you told yourself you were strong enough, you started pulling away. Little by little.

Skipping dates under the excuse of being tired. Replying to his texts hours later. Letting your hand fall from his when no one was watching. Convincing yourself it would hurt less this way. That he wouldn't even notice.

Of course, Pedro noticed. Pedro always noticed you. Every blink, every breath, every tremor in your voice. You were his favorite story to read.

It all came crashing down on a quiet Tuesday night. You were supposed to have dinner at his place — just the two of you, homemade pasta, a bottle of wine. Your favorite kind of night.

But you canceled, blaming a headache. And when you didn't answer his third call, he showed up at your apartment, heart pounding, palms sweating.

You opened the door, still in your pajamas, surprised and guilty at the same time.

"Pedro—what are you doing here?"

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, eyes scanning you, searching for something. "Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.

You swallowed hard. "Doing what?"

He laughed, but there was no joy in it. Only hurt. "You think I don't see it? You think I don't feel you slipping away from me?"

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you blinked them away. "It's better this way," you whispered. "For who?" he demanded. "For you!" you snapped, voice cracking. "You're becoming Pedro Pascal. You deserve someone who can stand next to you, someone who belongs in your world. Not someone you have to hide."

Silence. Heavy. Devastating.

Pedro stepped closer, closing the space between you with careful, deliberate steps. His hands framed your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even realize had started to fall.

"You think I’m hiding you because I'm ashamed?" he asked, voice breaking. "You think I don’t want the whole damn world to know you're mine?"

You shook your head helplessly, but he wasn’t finished.

"I was trying to protect us," he whispered. "Protect you. From the cameras, from the gossip, from people who don't know anything about how beautiful and strong and perfect you are."

You let out a broken sob, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he'd never let go. Like he couldn't.

"I notice everything about you," he said into your hair. "Every smile you force. Every time you don't call me 'love' like you used to. Every night I sleep in an empty bed because you're trying to convince yourself I’m better off without you."

You clung to him, sobbing now, your heart cracking wide open. "I'm sorry," you choked out.

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids. "Don't be sorry," he whispered. "Just stay. Stay with me."

You nodded against his chest, breathing him in like he was the only air you needed. "I love you," you said, and his body trembled with the weight of it.

"I love you," he echoed. "So much. So much that I can't—"

He pulled back slightly, enough to reach into his jacket pocket.

Your breath caught when you saw the small velvet box.

Pedro smiled through the tears shining in his eyes. "I was going to wait," he said. "I had a whole plan. Paris. Fireworks. The whole cheesy thing."

You laughed wetly, heart hammering against your ribs.

"But I don't want to wait," he said, voice steady. "I don't want to hide. I don't want to spend another second making you feel like you're not everything I've ever dreamed of."

He opened the box. Inside, a delicate, breathtaking ring sparkled under your living room light.

"Marry me," he said simply. "Let’s tell the whole world you're mine."

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth.

"Yes," you whispered, before throwing your arms around him. "Yes, Pedro. A thousand times yes."

He kissed you like it was the first time, the last time, and everything in between. When you pulled apart, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling that soft, boyish smile that had made you fall in love with him in the first place.

"Tomorrow," he said, "I'm posting about you. About us. About my fiancée."

You laughed, giddy and overwhelmed and so, so in love. "Are you sure?" you teased. "Might ruin your mysterious reputation."

He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're worth ruining everything for."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it. With your whole heart.

----

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ssweetreveries · 1 month ago

Text

no longer | j.jh

🎧 slow down . chase atlantic

✩ jaehyun x reader

⋆ 18+ mdni!

⋆ word count! 2.4k

oneshot, nonidol!jaehyun, afab!reader, roommate!jaehyun, dom!jaehyun, sub!reader, unprotected sex, brief breast play, dirty talk, fingering, lots of kissing, creampie, jaehyun’s a bit possessive, use of pet names (baby), porn w/ little plot…

synopsis . your boyfriend did you dirty and upon learning it your roommate can no longer hold back his desires for you.

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!!

author note: finally got to writing this! tbh, idk how i feel about it.. hopefully you like it!

i apologize if there is any mistakes, this isn’t proof read and english isn’t my first language. enjoy!! ><

Jaehyun's head shoots up from the kitchen when he hears the door of the apartment slam shut. You left about an hour ago, telling him you were going to a party and probably not coming home for the night. So what were you doing here?

"(Y/N?)" he calls out, as he walks towards the door.

You just give him a hum in answer as you take off your heels.

When Jaehyun comes to face with you, he feels his heart skip a beat at the sight of you in that dress. His dark eyes quickly fleeting over your features, forcing himself to look away from your curves as he reminds himself of your boyfriend. He can't help but feel a flicker of anger at the thought of him. Your boyfriend was clearly a douche, Jaehyun knows he could do so much better. He clears his throat before speaking up. "You're back early?"

"You look.. good by the way," he says, his voice dropping lower, "really good."

You feel your cheek heat up at his comment, but it's quickly replaced with frustration as you remember the reason you're back.

You were supposed to meet with your boyfriend at the party, with plans of getting laid by the end of the night. You really needed that after surviving the stressful week of finals. Seems your boyfriend also did, since you found him some room, balls deep in a random girl you don't even know the name of.

Honestly, you weren't even sad, you only dated the guy for a few months. You were mostly angry at his audacity. He practically begged you to be with him and you had to convince yourself that he was cute, just for him to pull shit like this.

"Yeah, well, the night didn't go as planned, okay?" you say, tone harsher than you intended it to be.

Jaehyun raises a brow, a bit confused. "Why? Sum' happened?"

You let out an exasperated sigh as you drop your other heel to the ground, "Let's just say I didn't expect to be single by the end of the night."

Jaehyun opens his mouth, but you offer him the explanation before he can ask. "Caught him cheating."

Jaehyun's brow furrow in anger, "Fuck, I'm sorry." He says, but he's not really sorry, that guy didn't deserve you anyways.

You wave him off and shake your head as you make your way into your shared apartment. "It doesn't matter, wasn't like I was in love with him anyways, just pissed." You rant to him, always having been comfortable with your roommate.

"Pissed?" he asks, "Not even sad?"

You shrug as you grab yourself a glass of water, "Mmh, pissed. Was expecting to at least get some dick tonight. Guess it's better like this though, fucker can't even please a woman properly."

Jaehyun's eyes darken briefly at your words. He doesn't answer, lost into his thoughts about the many ways how he could please you. And he would—but no matter how many hints he seemed to drop over the years, you never seemed to catch them, and if you did, you didn't acknowledge them.

You set the glass down on the counter, the silence getting loud. Were you too blunt? You lift your head to meet his eyes, only to find him already looking back at you, eyes dark. "Jae?"

He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus on the conversation at hand, "So you wanted to get fucked, that didn't happen, and now you're mad." He states.

When he puts it like that... "Yeah, basically." You reply.

Jaehyun swallows dryly. Fuck it, he thinks. "D'you still wanna get fucked?" he says, his deep voice thick with an emotion you can't name.

He asks it so casually, you almost choke on your own spit. I mean, there's no way your hot roommate of two years was really suggesting that, right? "What- what do you mean by that..?"

"I'm asking you," he starts, "Do you want to get fucked tonight, or not." His hands twitch at his sides, itching to touch you. The way you're looking at him—with those same eyes he'd fallen for years ago—it's making it all to hard to control himself.

"I- uh," you're too flustered by his sudden straightforwardness to say anything. Jaehyun was always a gentleman, always kind and respectful the two whole years you've been living together. Hearing something of the such coming out of his mouth, it does more to you than you'd like to admit.

This whole time, you forced yourself to bury any feelings you might feel for him. He was hot, too hot for you, and way out of your league. Or so you thought. Not to forget the fact that he was your roommate.. Yeah, you didn't want to make things awkward, but the way he was looking at you right now...

He takes a step closer to you, never breaking eye contact. "Two years," he starts.

"Two years of pretending you don't affect me the way you do. Two years of holding myself back from doing something I'd regret. Two whole years of loving you while you keep going back to those shitty guys, Y/N."

When he's finally done, his jaw tenses, fighting the urge to pull you against his chest.

You're left speechless, his words too much to take in all at once.

He takes another step closer, body almost pressing against yours as he leans in near your ear. His breath comes out ragged against your neck as he whispers, "Tell me to stop, or I won't be able to."

Your breath hitches, and you don't answer. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to see where this would go. "Don't.." you whisper back.

Those whispered words seem to shatter whatever restraint he had left. His hands coming to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, closing the distance between you.

"Say it again," his grip on your waist tightens as he speaks, his body tense against yours with years of pent-up longing.

"Don't stop.." You whisper more clearly this time.

When he pulls back slightly to look at your face, his dark eyes are filled with emotion—desire, jealousy, and something more?

The feeling of your body pressed against his after countless nights dreaming about this, it's too much.

"Fuck.." he rasps, voice breaking slightly as he lets his head fall against your shoulder.

His hands roam over your back, taking in your curves through the fabric of your dress.

"Not one day goes by I don't think of having you." he confesses, "Not one fucking day."

His eyes are burning with intensity as they flick between your eyes and lips. The way you're looking up at him.. it's driving him wild.

"Gonna make up for all that time now," he murmurs, hovering just above your lips. "Can I?"

You nod frantically, desperate to feel his lips on yours.

His lips crash down on yours in a searing kiss, pouring his years of longing into it. You kiss him back, loving the way his lips move against yours.

Jaehyun pulls back briefly, his breath warm on your lips, "I don't think I'll be able to stop now," he whispers.

You answer by pressing your lips against his once more. He kisses you back—this time deeper, hungrier. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip before tangling with yours in a messy kiss.

His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against the hardness of his arousal.

When you finally break apart, he presses his forehead against yours, "You're mine," he whispers. "Starting tonight"

His mouth crashes down on yours and without warning he lifts you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively coming to wrap around his waist as he carries you towards his bedroom.

The soft press of your lips against his make his breath hitch. For a moment he just savours the sweetness of it—the way your mouth molds perfectly to his, like you were made to fit together. One of his hands come up to cradle your face as he carries you, thumb brushing your cheekbone as he depends the kiss slowly.

His fingers tangle gently in your hair, tilting your head just enough to take the kiss deeper. His tongue slides against yours in a slow, sensual dance, savouring every taste, every sigh you give him. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is a bit uneven, dark eyes hooded with desire.

His foot kicks his bedroom door open, and he wastes no time dropping you on the bed. The second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you again—lips pressing against yours in a kiss that leaves you breathless.

His hands works to rid of your clothes, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “I need this off,” he rasps out, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

You lift up a bit, allowing him to remove the article.

His touch is desperate—hot palms skimming up your bare thighs, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you against him. The hard length of his arousal pressing against your core through the thin fabric separating you.

“Gonna ruin anyone else for you” he promises lowly, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Make sure you never forget this night.”

“I won’t” you assure him, voice coming out weaker than intended.

His hands slide up your sides, calloused fingers tracing the soft skin of your stomach before moving higher—finally, finally—cupping your breasts with a small groan as his thumbs brush over your already hardened nipples.

His mouth follows his hands, mouth sealing around one perked nipple, licking and sucking hard enough to make you arch off the bed. His free hand slides down your legs, fingers pressing against your clothed heat.

He lets out a shaky breath, “Already wet for me.” he comments, voice thick with satisfaction.

His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, yanking them down your legs with a single rough pull. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you before him—spread out beneath him, completely at his mercy.

“Perfect,” he whispers, stripping off his own shirt in one swift motion, his toned torso on full display. “Fucking perfect.”

He climbs back over you, his lips finding yours again in a deep, filthy kiss as his hand slides between your thighs, fingers teasing your slick folds.

“Gonna make you feel good,” he promises against your mouth, two fingers sliding inside your tight walls without warning, curling just right.

His thumb circles your clit as his fingers pump in and out, his dark eyes locked onto yours—watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Say your mine” he whispers, voice tinged with something you can’t exactly pinpoint, “Even if it’s just for tonight, say you’re mine”

A choked moan escapes you as your voice comes out whiny, “Y-yours,”

“Fuck—” his voice is wrecked, his cock throbbing painfully against his pants as he continues pumping you full of his fingers.

His fingers press deeper inside you, thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles. His lips crash down on yours, swallowing your whimpers as he drinks in every shudder, every twitch of your body beneath him.

His hips grind down against your thigh, letting you feel just how hard he is for you.

He spreads your legs wider apart, settling himself between them with a groan. His fingers withdraw, glistening with your arousal, and he gives your pussy a light tap before bringing them up to his lips with a satisfied smirk.

“Taste fucking perfect,” he growls, licking them clean before freeing himself, gripping his cock and giving it a slow, tortuous stroke.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up until you’re on your knees. Any self restraint he had left is gone, one hand coming up to grip the back of your neck, pressing your face in the mattress as his other guides his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna fuck you so deep,” he starts. “You’ll feel me for days.”

And then he’s pushing in—one brutal, unforgiving thrust—burying himself to the hilt in one go and you have to hold back a scream at the sheer size of his length. A ragged groan tears from his throat as your tight heat envelope him, tight walls fluttering around him like you were made just for him.

“Fuck—” his hips snap forwards, setting a punishing pace from the start. “So—” Another hard thrust. One of his hands coming to tangle in your hair, “Fucking—” His grip on your hair tightens, “Perfect.”

His free hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing rough circles as he fucks into you with single-minded intensity.

“Come on my cock,” he groans, “Let me feel you squeeze me as you come undone—”

His thrusts grow erratic, his own breathing ragged as he chases his own release—but he won’t let himself go until you do. Not after waiting for so long to have you.

“That’s it—” He chokes out, feeling your walls start to flutter around him. “Come for me, baby”

And you do, coming with a muffled scream in the pillows, knuckles turning white from how tight you’re gripping the sheets.

The sight of you unravelling beneath him—your body trembling, your fingers clawing at the sheets—sends a surge of raw, possessive pride through him. His grip tightens on your hips, holding you still as he fucks you through it, his thrusts unrelenting even as you shudder around him.

His fingers dig in the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wider as he drives into you, harder, deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of your bodies joining fill the room, mixing with your breathless whimpers and his ragged groans.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as his lips find the shell of your ear.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, “Can I, baby—?” his voice cracks as his hips start to stutter, his control slipping.

You whine and nod against the pillows, and that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to reach his peak.

With a final, punishing thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he spills into you, his body shuttering with the force of it.

He collapses over you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he struggles to catch his breath. His fingers trace lazy patterns over your hip, his voice rough but satisfied.

“Mine…” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the sweat-slick skin of your back.

412 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 11 months ago

Text

Bedtime Stories Pt 2 | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes.

Warnings: Swearing. A tiny smidge of angst but mainly fluff. Redemption for Daniel.

Female reader with various faceclaims (pics found on pinterest). Takes place in 2023. For the purpose of this, Daniel has been with AlphaTauri the whole time.

Main Masterlist

prev.

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28•05•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by redbullracing, YourUserName and others

danielricciardo monaco, always a delight. P11. so close to the points but racing through your streets feels like being on a podium

4,337 comments

landonorris and whose attention are we trying to grab with that sexy last pic 👀

→ danielricciardo only yours, mate

→ User1 don’t act like you’re not dying inside because y/n liked this

→ User2 relax, they never unfollowed each other 🙄

maxverstappen1 you’ll get them next time, mate

→ danielricciardo fancy giving me a tow?

→ maxverstappen1 never

→ User3 i love their friendship so much

User4 um, did anyone see that y/n liked and then unliked this post

→ User5 omg yes! sis was caught stalking and we love her for it

→ User6 i too would thirst over my ex if he looked like that

kellypiquet we were watching the whole time

liked by danielricciardo

→ User7 what a weird comment to make?

→ User8 who’s we, kelly?

→ User9 what does this mean?

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04•06•2023

Tweet 1

User10 @ kikiki babe did you hit your head? is that why you were in the ER? they broke up

User11 @ kikiki maybe ask them to do a head scan whilst you're there 'cause ain't no way you saw here there

→ User12 literally. like why would she even be in spain right now?

Tweet 2

User11 i think we might have to apologise to @ kikiki

→ User10 can we really trust the wag page though? They did report that Lando was having a secret love child the other week..?

Tweet 3

User13 asking the real questions because she's not even hinted that she’s been writing so it’s not like she’s on a book tour or anything?

→ User14 some people are saying she could be on vacation but please, why would mother choose a holiday destination during a time that she knows is a GP?

User15 guys, guys, I think our sacrifice circle worked

→ User16 please, please, 🕯️🕯️

User 17 how poetic would it be though if they got back together during the spanish GP when they broke up at the spanish GP a year ago

User18 shouldn’t you know these answers, and that she was in spain, if you're her so-called updates page

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22•08•2023

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName some big news approaching

6,349 comments

kellypiquet i can’t wait, my beautiful girl

→ YourUserName thank you for being my #1 support

→ kellypiquet thank you for letting me help plan

→ User1 what does this mean?

→ User2 miss piquet stop being so cryptic on socials

maxverstappen1 i’m very excited

→ YourUserName did kelly force you to write that because i could feel the excitement oozing through the screen

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to say something worse

→ YourUserName i hope she leaves you

→ kellypiquet behave, you two!

→ User3 i live for max and y/n terrorising each other, even without danny ric being around to encourage it

bloomsburypublishing we look forward to the end result

User4 i’m sorry but is this a soft launch?

User5 who is that in the last slide, miss y/n?

→ User6 the inspiration behind a new romance we hope

User7 don’t be shy. tag him

User8 soft launches have recently become my least favourite thing

charles_leclerc are you perhaps writing my next plane read

→ YourUserName depends how long the flight is

→ User9 confirmation of a new book ya’ll!! everyone say thank you charles

User10 i like to be edged by her books, not by her hiding her man

User11 don't try and distract us with news of a new book, we wanna know who the feet belong to!

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01•09•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstapen1, yukitsunoda0511 and others

danielricciardo ciao a tutti. lovely sightseeing in beautiful Italy

6,445 comments

User12 you’re telling me that i’m currently in the same country as THE daniel ricciardo?

kellypiquet i’m still trying to recover from that hike

→ User13 kelly and max went on a double date with daniel and the new girl?!

→ User14 omg please be y/n. i can’t imagine kelly agreeing to it otherwise

User15 i know he's trying to distract us with his beauty but we see the last slide, daniel. we see it

pierregasly so you’re telling me that you were in milan and didn’t bother to come and see me? that’s it. i'm ending our friendship

→ danielricciardo i’m sorry, mate. i was doing more important things

→ pierregasly clearly ;)

User16 someone check on y/n, please

→ User17 babe is clearly having the time of her life in italy (yes, i'm delusional)

User18 does nobody find it odd that he’s posting a soft launch not long after y/n posted a soft launch

→ User19 i know! it’s only been three weeks since hers and he’s posting one

→ User20 i can’t decide whether they’re soft launching each other or he’s trying to make her jealous by flaunting a new relationship as well

→ User21 it HAS to be each other or i will die

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15•10•2023

lando.jpg just posted

liked by YourUserName, danielricciardo and others

lando.jpg so i attended this event… and no, it’s not mine before you all freak out

8,223 comments

charles_leclerc it was a beautiful day ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so thankful to have been a part of such wonderful memories

kellypiquet the most beautiful bride i have ever seen

maxverstappen1 this was a nicer caption than i expected from you

→ danielricciardo agreed

→ landonorris i take offence to that

User1 guys do we think kelly and max got married? they’ve both commented on this?

→ User2 yes but so did charles and alex so…

→ User3 plus, i know kelly is stunning but do we really think she would call herself the most beautiful bride in 3rd person?

georgerussell63 i’m surprised you remember much after the state you were in

→ landonorris excuse you but most of that was just pure happiness

hulkhulkenberg an amazing day

estebanocon so happy to have been a part of this

alex_albon how’s the hangover, mate

→ landonorris i didn’t drink that much!

→ georgerussell63 tell that to the bouquet that you puked on

→ landonorris i caught it so it was mine anyway

carlossainz55 beautiful photos. she’ll love those

→ User4 who’s she?!

lewishamilton🤍🩵

fernandoalo_official congratulations to the happy couple

User5 the entire grid are commenting on this post, clearly having been in attendance. who IS IT?

pierregasly c’était une belle mariée

liked by YourUserName

User6 guys, y/n’s name on socials just changed from y/l/n to ricciardo

liked by danielricciardo

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03•04•2024

YourUserName just posted with danielricciardo

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1 and others

YourUserName my husband helped with this project. baby ric coming aug 2024

9,550 comments

kellypiquet you will be the most beautiful mother. i’m so honoured to be part of this with you 💕

→ YourUserName stop you’re going to make me cry. you’ll be the most perfect godmother

→ kellypiquet i still think you should've married me instead

maxverstappen1 i call godfather

→ landonorris no you don’t get to call godfather! you already got to be a groomsman

→ maxverstappen1 yeah because who helped get them back together

→ YourUserName kelly

→ danielricciardo me

→ YourUserName no, babe

danielricciardo and before you all ask, no I haven’t stopped crying since she told me

→ kellypiquet me too, dan, me too

maxverstappen1 on a serious note, i am very happy for the two of you. y/n will be a wonderful mother, and daniel, he’ll be there also

charles_leclerc i am so excited. alex keeps telling me to stop buying baby things for you guys but i just don’t listen

→ YourUserName well at least you can safely say that uncle charl bought little mcqueen’s love

→ User7 uncle charl!!!!

lewishamilton congratulations, you two. y/n looks amazing

fernandoalo_official how lovely 💚

User8 omg it WAS their wedding lando attended!!!!!

hulkhulkenberg baby ricciardo!!

pierregasly congratulations. i can’t wait to be uncle GASSLYYYYYY

alex_albon welcome baby ricciardo

→ lilymhe it’s not an alien, alex. you don’t have to greet it so formally

redbullracing we’re all so excited for the upcoming grid baby. working on a racer stroller right this minute

→ mclaren you stole our gift idea!

→ redbullracing you stole our driver!

carlossainz55 congratulations y/n and daniel 😄

mercedesamgf1 what wonderful news 🍼

landonorris i’m just so glad i can go back to calling you mum and dad without daniel wanting to drive his car into the barrier

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Please don’t hate me for this! I did say from the beginning that Part 2s would be redemption.

I’ve had this planned and written since before Part 1 was published so when half of you then asked for her to get with another driver/move on, I was like noooooo I’ve already planned their baby 😂

As always. Requests welcome. If you have requested, I promise I’m not ignoring it, it’s been added to my queue

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @dullypully @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @leclercsluvs @hannannannannannah @lifeless-firefly @sinofwriting @exotic-iris13 @imperfect-paragon @dan3avocado @barcelonaloverf1life @avillagesperson @hard4ndsoft @justzluv @laneyspaulding19 @danielshoe @chocolatefanunknown @redcrescentmoons

Sorry if I missed anyone!

2K notes · View notes

ariestrxsh · 7 months ago

Text

sub!virgin!matt x neighor!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, innocence corruption, masturbation, use of toys, getting caught, handjob (kinda), voyeurism/exhibitionism, religious kink, sexualization of religious imagery, slow burn, mommy kink (sorry lol)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: after getting to know and hanging out with the innocent, virgin christian boy who recently moved in next door, he starts exploring his sexuality with you, and the two of you start falling in love with each other

dont read this if you're religious - it will offend you.

dividers by @/anitalenia

also, disclaimer: don't spy on people and watch them without their permission. 😭 this is just fantasy.

Me & U

chapters: | 1 | 2 |

"Your mom wasn't mad that you were smoking, was she?" Matt timidly asked you through the phone later on that day as he was rifling through kitchen appliances and finding a place to store them.

"No, I'm an adult. She doesn't care what I do. She was calling me in for lunch," you snorted, tugging at a loose thread on your blanket while you laid on your bed, still in your fairy dress and laying down with your feet kicking behind you.

Matt was thankful your mom wasn't upset with you, but he was annoyed that your first kiss with him was interrupted by something as menial as lunch.

"Well, what did you eat?" Matt wondered, trying to find a way to ask you to hang out again. "Just a sandwich and some macaroni," you told him. "W-what kind of sandwich?" Matt stammered, beating around the bush.

"Did you really call me to hear me talk about a turkey sandwich?" You chuckled. "I mean, I wanted to hear about your sandwich and to see if you wanted to hang out again," Matt shyly replied, biting his nails.

"Depends. What did you have in mind?" You inquired, teasing him and knowing you were going to say yes regardless of what he suggested the two of you do.

"We could go buy paint for my room. You could help me pick out a color," Matt said, hoping you'd say yes. "I'd love that. I'll be over soon. I just need to shower and get out of these clothes," you replied, smiling at how cute Matt sounded through the phone.

He couldn't help but picture you slipping out of your fairy dress.

"O-okay. Cool, I-I'll see you soon," Matt tripped over his words as you two hung up the phone. You put on a black tank top and a pair of jean shorts after your hasty shower, and you hurried over, eager to see Matt again.

You knocked on his door and patiently waited for him to answer. He was in a solid black t-shirt and jeans, and he was wearing a silver chain around his neck with a cross on it. "Ready to go?" You asked him, looking him up and down. "Yeah, let's go," Matt said, smiling at you and pulling his front door closed behind him.

On the ride to go pick out paint, Matt kept stealing glances at you at stoplights and stop signs, wondering if it would be the right time to try and re-do your first kiss, but every time he thought about leaning in, it felt too forced.

You could feel this, the way he was desperately looking for a chance to press his lips against yours, but you knew the perfect time would come again, and you didn't want to rush it.

You liked making him wait, but this didn't mean you weren't going to relentlessly tease him.

"Are you dying to hear how hard I came with my new toy?" You smirked over at Matt who looked back over at you wide-eyed. "Y-you already used it?" Matt studdered. "No. But I figured you were wondering if I had," you teased him. He blushed and grinned.

"I actually wanted to wait until I could use it in front of you," you admitted, your voice dripping with lust as you peered over at him and raised an eyebrow. "W-what?" He struggled to get out.

It was far too much fun to watch him blush and fidget. You couldn't get enough of his flushed, pink cheeks, his puppy dog eyes, and the desperate expression that would subtly make itself known everytime you'd tease him. And you knew just what to do and say to elicit these kinds of responses from him.

Once you guys stumbled upon a local store that sold paint, the two of you wandered over to the earth tones. "Now, really take your time making this decision. This is going to be the color of the paint in your room. You're going to have to see it every day," you told Matt when you saw all the different options they had.

Matt was scanning through different swatches of all the cool-toned paints when one caught his attention. "I like this one," he told you, pointing at the dark green shade on the page. "I love that color," you responded, taking the swatch from him and looking on the wall for the matching paint. "I think I found it," you told him, smiling and picking up a bucket.

Matt grabbed a second bucket of paint, a few paint brushes, some plastic covering, and the two of you paid for it all and left the store. "I'm so excited," Matt told you, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

The two of you rode home in a comfortable silence, and you helped Matt carry the paint up the stairs to his room. You two decided to go your separate ways for the night to go eat dinner and get ready for bed, so you'd be well-rested for the next day.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon line, illuminating the summer evening as Matt walked you to your doorstep. "I had fun with you today," Matt told you, his eyes fixed on yours. "I did, too," you replied.

"Maybe tomorrow you could paint it with me. You know, unless you have other plans," Matt shrugged, trying to hide how disappointed he would be if you did. "You know, I'm sorry. I'm busy tomorrow. I'm helping the hot neighbor boy paint his room," you jokingly replied.

He chuckled at your response, and then he pulled you into a long hug. You smiled against his chest, savoring how it felt to hold him, and when you went to pull away, you glanced up at him lovingly.

The two of you felt that familiar magnetic pull, and he leaned down until his lips were gently locked onto yours. His kiss was soft and tender, like his personality, and you both felt that spark that you'd always heard people talk about but hadn't experienced up until this point.

He reached up and cradled your face, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your cheek. Your tongue gently swirled around against his, and for how inexperienced he was, he was an incredible kisser. He moaned against your lip before the two of you slowly pulled away.

You were both even more smitten than before. Matt blushed, and you let out a soft giggle. "I'll see you tomorrow," you whispered as you slipped into your front door.

Matt stayed put on your porch for a few minutes, buzzing from the intimate moment he'd just shared with you, and he slowly made his way back to his house, tucking his erection into his waistband that he got from kissing you.

Later that night, after eating a delicious dinner, taking a steamy shower, and brushing your teeth, you switched out your lamp and got into your warm bed. A few seconds after you climbed into your bed to finish off your day, Matt's light came on across the way.

You watched again as he stepped out of his bathroom in just a towel, running his fingers through his wet hair. He looked so hot. You held your breath as the fabric around his waist hit the floor.

You'd imagined Matt naked at least a dozen times since you'd met him, and you were finally seeing it in person. And although you weren't getting a close-up view, you could see his hard member standing at attention. And it was big.

You didn't believe in God, but you did thank whoever was out there listening as you watched Matt climb onto his bed, lay on top of his blanket, and begin to stroke himself.

You hoped he was thinking about you, and he was. He was replaying the moment you two had kissed.

You continued peering in through his window, admiring the way he tenderly ran his thumb over the tip, causing him to throw his head back. He kept his movements slow and drawn out at first, teasing himself.

You couldn't hear the sounds he was making, but you couldn't stop imagining his needy little whimpers. You intently focused on the way he fisted his gorgeous cock, guiding his hand up and down his shaft and his strokes becoming faster, rougher, and more urgent.

You spied on him for several minutes, unable to shift your gaze away from the glorious sight of the cute neighbor boy all alone in his room, tugging on his dick. Your pussy began throbbing and drooling without you even touching it as you kept your eyes locked on Matt and what he was doing to himself.

He started to squirm around beneath his own touch, bucking his hips up, and you watched in awe as several spurts of cum shot out of his tip and painted his stomach and chest.

His hand that was gliding up and down his length slowed to a stop, and he took the towel he'd just used after his shower to wipe himself off. Even the way he cleaned up the mess he made was incredibly sexy.

He put on a pair of pajama pants once he was finished and knelt down by the foot of his bed to pray. The show he put on for you was so hot and naughty that you almost wondered if you should start praying for forgiveness.

Before you could follow that thought too deeply or do anything about the wetness that had pooled between your legs, you found yourself drifting off to sleep while more images of Matt flooded your mind.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The next morning at about 5 a.m., you groggily rubbed your eyes and let out a yawn. You checked your phone for the time, and when you realized how early it was, you rolled over onto your other side and shut your eyes, hoping to be able to fall back asleep.

When all your efforts failed, you decided to go up to your treehouse, bringing a thin blanket with you for a morning marijuana and masturbation session - the two things that always helped you fall asleep.

You admired the way the sunrise lit up the view from your secret hideaway while you exhaled weed smoke, watching the way it danced and dissipated against the scenery before you. A tranquil state came over you, and you felt all light and airy after a few hits.

Being cautious not to burn yourself with the lit end of your joint, you shimmied out of your underwear and your pajama shorts and spread open your legs. You took your new suction vibrator, turned it on, and gasped as you lowered the buzzing toy onto your clit. It was unlike any vibrator you'd owned before, and it immediately had you moaning and shuddering at the sensation.

"Oh, Matt.." you softly whined over and over while you remembered the night before and the way you'd witnessed him make a mess all over himself. You took another puff from your joint. You were so enthralled by the stimulation and so lost in the way you were needily whining the neighbor boy's name, you didn't realize the man of your fantasies had followed you up to your treehouse and was watching you the same way you'd watched him.

He was already crawling in through the entrance before he realized he was intruding on an intimate moment you were having with yourself. He thought about clearing his throat or forcing out a cough to make his presence known, maybe even turning around and leaving before he could embarrass you, but he held his breath, and all he could do was stay put and admire how pretty and wet your pink pussy was.

It was the first time he'd ever seen anything like it in person, and he couldn't get enough. He grew incredibly hard as he studied the way your eyes were slammed shut and the needy and pleasured expression that overcame your face while you held your lit joint up to your parted lips. "Oh, Matt.." you whimpered again after exhaling the smoke, your legs beginning to quiver.

To Matt's horror, you opened your eyes, and while you were shocked that he was watching you, you didn't stop. "I-I'm so sorry. I woke up and looked out my window, and I saw you going to your treehouse. I thought you could use some company. I had no idea you were-" Matt started defending himself, but you cut him off.

"Shh. Please don't go. It feels so good to have you watching me," you whined with the vibrator still resting on your clit. "You're moaning my name an awful lot.." Matt murmured with his eyes fixated on the treasure between your thighs. You took another hit and slowly nodded at him.

"You like watching, don't you, naughty boy?" You managed to get out between your satisfied mewls. "I do, mommy," Matt whispered back, palming himself through the thin flannel fabric he had on. The way it sounded when Matt called you mommy sent waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. You couldn't take it anymore.

The way he peered down at your pussy with his puppy dog eyes, whimpering alongside you while you were playing with it was too good, and your whole body violently shook as you let out a few more needy moans.

"Holy shit," you and Matt both said in unison as your cum slowly leaked out of your pussy. "Did you just swear?" You asked wide-eyed and sneering at the innocent boy, turning off your toy. He threw his hand over his mouth, giving you a deer in the headlights look. "I-I didn't mean to," he stumbled over his words.

"Naughty, naughty boy," you seductively responded, putting out the joint and shaking your head. You noticed the wet spot on the front of Matt's flannel pajamas. "Did you finish just from watching me?" Your lips curled into a malicious grin. "I mean. I rubbed it a little through my pants, but yeah," Matt said in an embarrassed tone, looking down like he was ashamed.

"Come here, pretty boy," you gestured towards him. You pulled him close and pulled the thin blanket over the both of you. You guys looked into each other's eyes and shared another kiss, each of your lips touching and creating a circuit through which an electric feeling ran through your bodies.

You loved kissing Matt, and he loved kissing you. It was unlike any feeling either of you had felt before. You pulled him in even closer, and the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms in your treehouse as the sun came up.

A couple hours later, you woke up on the hard floor of your treehouse next to the cute neighbor boy who was softly snoring next to you. You didn't want to wake him because he was sleeping so soundly, but all it took was a subtle movement from you, and he began to stir.

"Morning," he softly groaned as he opened his eyes and stretched his arms out overhead. "I had fun with you earlier," you whispered to him, biting your lip. He smiled at you, his cheeks turning pink. "I did, too."

He couldn't get the image of you touching yourself out of his head. All he could think about was your pretty pink flower between your legs and the sound of his name escaping your soft lips.

Like he was most mornings when he first woke up, he was incredibly hard, and he subtly tucked his erection into his waistband, hoping you wouldn't notice, but you did.

"How about we both go change and get ready for the day? Then we can go get coffee? I'll buy," you asked Matt, gently running your fingers across his chest. "Yeah, sure," he whispered. The two of you went your separate ways for a bit, sharing another kiss before you did.

When you got back to your house, you showered, washed your face, and climbed into a pair of washed-out jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt that you wouldn't mind getting paint on. You grabbed a granola bar and an apple on your way out, skipping over to the neighbor boy's house.

Before you could even knock on his door, Matt was turning the knob and stepping out onto his porch. "Hey, long time no see," you told him, eyeing him up and down. He was wearing a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and your opened your eyes wide when you realized you could see the faint outline of his cock through the cotton fabric.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Matt asked, teasing you. "You wore these on purpose, didn't you? You little temptress," you responded, nibbling on your lip. "I don't know what you're talking about," Matt casually responded, playing dumb and smirking to himself.

"Why'd you wear something so revealing then, hmm?" You wondered. "Why are you looking, perv?" Matt chuckled, getting into his orange truck.

The two of you started off down the road towards the nearest coffee shop, and as Matt drove, a naughty idea crossed your mind. You peered over at him, running your fingers along the inside of his thigh as he blew through a stop sign due to you distracting him.

He subtly gasped as you grazed his cock that was beginning to harden. It was the first time he'd ever been touched by anyone but himself. "W-what if God's watching?" Matt nervously questioned. "Then God's a little freak," you whispered back, sneering at him.

"You can't say that about God," Matt gasped, peering over at you. "But I just did," you said, poking the inside of your teeth with your tongue. "Please.. do it again," he sweetly whined. "You like that?" You asked, gently squeezing it, eliciting a whimper from the cute boy beside you. He bit his lip and shook his head yes.

"You better keep your eyes on the road, baby," you whispered, gently caressing it with your nails through the grey cotton that was beginning to strain. Before you knew it, the reactions you were getting from Matt as you teased his sensitive dick were getting to you. You felt your panties become all wet and sticky as Matt softly moaned beside you, using all his strength to pay attention to the road.

He approached a red light and gripped the steering wheel for dear life before letting out a loud groan. "Naughty boy. Like when mommy plays with you?" You asked seductively, moving your hand back and forth faster. "Oh, yes, mommy," he cried out.

He couldn't stop what was about to happen next. It was the first time anyone besides himself had ever given him that incredible release, and he let out a desperate mewl as he coated the inside of his pant leg with his cum.

"Wow. That was fast," you teased him. He looked over at you breathlessly with his glazed over blue eyes. "I tried to hold back as much as I could. I'm sorry," Matt responded quietly in a shameful tone, looking down at the mess he'd made in his sweats. "I know you did, baby. You did so good for me," you whispered, cradling his face and looking at him sympathetically.

The light switched to green, and he continued driving, embarrassed by how quickly he'd finished. "Well, I guess we're going through the drive thru," Matt stated, still blushing at the obvious wet spot.

He ordered the two of you coffee from the driver's side, for you, a frozen caramel drink and for himself, a black coffee, and you paid for it like you said you would. Matt thanked you for the coffee as well as the over-the-pants handjob you'd given him, and the two you made your way back to Matt's to get started on painting his room.

When you arrived back, you and Matt slipped into his house and up the stairs without alerting his dad, for which Matt was extremely grateful, so he wouldn't have to come up with an excuse as to why there was a questionable damp spot on the front of his sweats.

"I have to change my underwear for the second time today because of you. So scram," Matt told you, gesturing for you leave the room while he changed. "Oh, relax. I've already seen it," you shrugged and rolled your eyes.

"What?" Matt asked, widening his gaze in your direction. "Oh. Um," you innocently smiled at him. "What do you mean by that?" He asked. "I have a confession to make," you mumbled. Matt stayed quiet, but he looked at you intently, waiting for your admission.

You glanced across the way at your bedroom window. "So, my room is right there, and I can kind of see everything you do from the comfort of my bed," you pointed at the spot you watched him from last night, smirking and recalling how good he looked while getting off.

"You've been spying on me?" Matt asked accusingly, narrowing his blue eyes at you. "Not spying! I just happened to look up, and you dropped your towel," you said defensively.

"Oh, no. Did you see anything else?" Matt nibbled on his lip and shot you a nervous expression. "I might have watched you jerk off," you snickered. "I can't believe you watched me!" Matt exclaimed, feeling violated.

"And you're telling me that this morning when you walked in on me in my treehouse that you wouldn't have watched me until I finished if I didn't know you could see me?" You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. "Ugh. Fine. I guess I get it," Matt voice became softer as he realized his hypocrisy.

"Plus, I thought it was really hot," you said in a lustful voice while your gaze was fixed on his pink lips. "I'm still changing in the bathroom," Matt smiled at you, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the other room, loudly locking the door behind him.

When he came back out, he was in some old jeans that already had some paint on them. The two of you started opening up the cans and setting down plastic and newspapers to keep the paint off the floor. Matt knew he was going to love the color the second he dipped the brush in the dark green liquid and began stirring it around.

"Oh my god. It's gonna look so good!" You told Matt after you painted a stripe on the white wall. "I already love it. Especially because we're painting it together," he looked over at you and grinned. You continued coating the wall in the first layer of dark green while you and Matt talked.

"So, did you write in your diary about me last night?" You teased him. "Shut up," he scoffed at you. "That's no way to talk to a lady," you said, taking your brush and slapping paint onto his arm. He gasped and pulled back.

"Oh, there's nothing lady-like about you," Matt replied, taking his paint brush and touching your face with it. You looked at him in disbelief. "You're right. You're more of a lady than me," you said, sticking your hand in the paint and slapping Matt on the ass, leaving a dark green handprint on his back pocket.

The two of you started laughing until your cheeks hurt and your stomachs started aching. Matt pulled you into another kiss, and you smiled against his soft lips as the two of you explored the inside of each other's mouths, leaving one another with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Before the two of you could get too carried away, Matt broke off the kiss, and you got back to painting until you'd covered every wall in an even coat of dark green. You guys looked at each other, proud of the work you'd done together.

"You know, I don't usually fall for people this easy, but I really like you," you admitted to Matt once the two of you had finished and were sitting on his plastic-covered floor. "I don't usually fall for weed-smoking peeping toms, but I like you, too," Matt teased you.

part three posted 💖

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hintsofhoney · 10 months ago

Text

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously.

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?”

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him.

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand.

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair.

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent.

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side.

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong.

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —”

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her.

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt.

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?”

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her.

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist.

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does.

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time.

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.”

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.”

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest.

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers.

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.”

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true.

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him.

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside.

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out.

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress.

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there.

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.”

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.”

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it.

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

#alpha dean winchester #dean winchester smut

1K notes · View notes

writtenbythemoonandstars · 1 month ago

Text

The festival

Content Warning: This scene contains depictions of gun violence, a mass shooting, medical trauma, injury descriptions, character death, and emotional distress. Read with care!

In the midst of the tragic mass shooting, ER doctor Robby fights to save lives—unaware that the love of his life is among the wounded.

1.2k words

To say Robby thought he'd ever find himself sleeping under a hot pink duvet in a room that smells like vanilla and strawberries he'd probably run a head CT for possible trauma. But here he is trying to pull the owner of said sheets back into bed as she giggles. Wearing nothing but the shirt he's missing.

"Do you really have to go?" He asks, pushing his face into her hair, kissing across towards her chin.

"Yes." She replies. "And you have to go save lives." Turning and kissing his lips. "I'll see you later? For Pittfest?"

"Ah… I forgot to tell you." Robby sighs, looking apologetic as he sits up a little causing the duvet to reveal his bare chest. "Jake is taking some new girl he met at school." He kisses the pout off her lips. "Why don't you just stay home? I'll be off by seven. We can get take out… a bath…" His hands running slowly up and down her arm. She looks tempted to say yes but then sighs and shakes her head.

"I can't. I'm working it." It's her first big gig. Years of building a big enough social media rapport to get a deal for an event as big as Pittfest. "But call me whenever you have a few seconds." She smiles. One last kiss before she gets up to get dressed.

When he knows Nick Bradley is braindead he calls but it goes to voicemail. A text follows, "Sorry. My partner flaked." with a sad face emoji following. "call later!" and a heart.

When they lose the little girl who'd drowned trying to save her sister he gets another voicemail. No text follows this time.

But an hour later, "so sorry babe, it's chaotic out here. I'll call you in 15." She never does.

After he talks to Heather and she all but tells him he could have been a father years ago he sends her a text to call when she has a chance.

This day… He's so glad it's almost over.

Until it's not.

He feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him when there's news of a shooter at the festival.

He calls. No answer. He calls again. Nothing.

Robby forces himself to work. He has to. Slapping yellow, pink, red… black bracelets on countless victims.

But none of them her.

It feels like a lull in the ER which can only mean the worst in this situation when a truck pulls in to the ambulance bay. It's Jake. And Leah. "Jake." His voice loud. Sharp. He's quick to be by Jake's side.

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad-" His voice cuts off with a sob. "I've been putting pressure on it the whole time. She was talking just a minute ago-"

"That's good." He nods. Robby and a few other doctors help them out and into the ER. He tries to ask Jake if he'd seen his girl but then he's swept up in trying to save Leah and make sure Jake gets checked out.

It's Jack Abbott that's out in the ambulance bay waiting for more people when he spots a woman walking-- limping-- with her hand pressed tightly to her shirt. Maybe if she wasn't covered in blood maybe he would have recognized who it was sooner. "You shot?" He rushes up. She walking so that's a good sign for now. Yellow bracelet.

The woman nods. Jack gently removes her hand, it's just barely grazed though will need stitches. "Come on. I got you. You're safe."

Robby is too busy giving CPR to Leah he doesn’t see the love of his life covered in her own blood walking right past him. Though she seems to out of it to notice he's right there either.

Jack helps her into a chair. "I- Is Mic- Dr. R-Robby here?" He looks up at Jack. And that's when he recognizes her. His eyes widen.

"I'll get him as soon as I'm done." Jack nods once.

The only reply he gets is a distant look over his shoulder.

"You're safe now." His words firm. He knows she probably can't even hear him but he knows this kind of trauma.

"I saw him." Her voice haunting. Something he'll never forget. "He was as close as you are to me. His gun-" She chokes on her words. Jack finishes her stitches quickly. "I saw so many people-" Tears mixing with the blood on her face.

Jack is not equipped for the emotional kind of procedures he knows only Robby can provide for her. A gentle hand on her shoulder and a sad smile before he's rushing out of the room.

Dana giving him a look, begging for his help. Leah's gone…

"Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl-" Giving his colleague and old friend the morbid speech that finally gets him to stop. "Trauma 2." His voice right in Robby's ear, cutting off the guilt filling his body. "She's okay?"

"Define okay?" Jack tilts his head. "Just a graze to the shoulder. Already stitched up."

"I'll talk to Jake." Dana supplies for him.

That's all Robby needs before he's running down the hall. Shucking his PPE and gloves off.

There's mascara running down her cheeks. The light blue glitter he'd watched her meticulously spread across her eyelids mixed with the blood all over. Her blood.

She's sobbing as soon as she sees him. Her face tightly against his chest as the relief floods the room. She's alive. Robby tilts her face up towards him. Carefully rubbing the tears, makeup, and blood across her face. "I love you." He whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Which only brings more tears down her face. "I was so scared." She whimpers. "He- he was right in front of me." She shakes her head. "His gun it-" Robby tugs her face back to his chest. His hug fierce.

"Let me clean you up?" He gets a nod in response.

Despite the chaos and more victims along with the residents and med students that need his help he needs this moment with her. A washcloth is wiped carefully across her cheeks. Revealing the bare pretty face he knows. The one that shouldn't be covered in blood.

"Is Jake okay?" Even in her worst state she always caring about everyone else first. A kiss is pressed to her forehead. "Yeah, baby, he's okay."

"And the girl?" A shake of his head and the sad look on his face quiets her.

"When everything happened I- I tried to find him but I-" Robby shakes his head. "In that situation you do what you have to and you survived. That's all that matters."

She nods. Sniffling.

"I've still gotta help-" As much as it pains him to leave her alone now he has to finish his job. "I understand," waving him off and he'll never understand what he did to deserve her. "Go up to the family room. I'll come find you after."

"Could I borrow your phone? So I can call my mom?" She asks before he leaves.

He nods, pulling it out. "Not sure if it'll have much service but you can try. You may have better luck with the landline." He frowns. Wishing there was more he could do.

His hands are back on her face. Gently holding around the back of her neck. Pushing her hair back. "I love you." Because Robby just has to say it again.

"I love you." The whispered response comes.

---

Hey! It seemed like a lot of people liked the last story I wrote for Robby on here so I pumped out another. This is also unedited...

And like my last work I used she/ her pronouns and 3rd person pov but I used no names and less physical descriptions so you could imagine yourself if you wanted to.

I do have another work nearly finished that is much lighter than these last two that I can post soon as well. Hope you enjoy!

#dr. robby x reader #micheal robinavitch #micheal robinavitch x reader #dana evans #the pitt #the pitt max #jack abbott #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x you #dr robby

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rubyvhs · 4 months ago

Text

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them).

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree.

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way.

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI.

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean.

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer."

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way.

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends.

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times.

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever.

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one.

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes.

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers.

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you."

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth.

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever.

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw.

"We— Dean, can't here—"

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing.

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right."

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?"

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance.

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waywardxrhea · 8 months ago

Text

Seeing Other People - Matt Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader (descriptor of hair being long enough to run hands through and comb)

Your insecurities from the past come back to haunt you as you grapple with the paranoia that creeps into your mind when Matt suddenly starts ducking out on dates.

word count: 7,247

content: hurt/comfort, angst, anxiety, insecurity, panic attacks, language, mention of guns.

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

now playing: Seeing Other People by Francis Karel and Maddie Zahm

"i've been seeing other people, all my ex's undertones / assuming i'll catch you in a lie, afraid to read what's on your phone / 'cause when i was seeing other people, i'm not the only one that they took home / now i don't trust so easily, even when i know you're not cheating / i'm the one who's seeing other people in you"

You had finished with your hair and makeup for your date with Matt half an hour ago and were patiently waiting for his call. He would always call to tell you he was on his way to whisk you away from your apartment for the evening, which was something you appreciated rather than being caught half ready. It had been a long week. You were looking forward to getting to relax into conversation with Matt and eventually into his strong arms by the end of the night. Matt had usually ended your dates either in his bedroom or on the couch cuddling, and those times were ones you cherished with your whole being. You would never take them for granted. The moments of intimacy were ones you looked forward to more than anything and were something you were desperately craving after the hellish week you’d had at work.

Getting lost in your thoughts of cuddling Matt, you nearly didn’t hear your phone ringing quietly beside you on the couch. When it finally registered in your ears, you fumbled to pick it up before it hung itself up, answering with a quick, “Matt! Hey!”

“Hey sweetheart,” came Matt’s voice which you noted sounded a bit more gruff than usual. You heard a rustling in the background of the call as he continued with, “I, uh… I hate to tell you this but I have to cancel tonight’s date. I’m really sorry. Something came up with work that really needs my attention. Can we rain check?”

“Oh,” you said, feeling your body deflate into the couch cushion. Shaking away your suddenly spiking anxiety, you forced a chipperness into your voice as you told him, “That’s fine! I hope everything is okay. If I can help in any way just let me know, yeah?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you, a sense of relief evident in his tone.

There was a heavy thud on the other side of the line and your eyebrows furrowed together as you asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just dropped my briefcase, that’s all,” Matt told you. “Client seemed really anxious to speak with us as soon as possible, so I’m more clumsy than usual getting ready to head out.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll let you go then,” you said, in a quieter tone than you intended. “I love you. Talk later?”

“Talk later. I love you too,” he replied.

Matt hung up shortly after and tossed his phone onto his leather couch as he dashed up the stairs. He had suited up in his Daredevil suit in record time while he was on the phone with you. While he hated to cancel another date on you, there was a growing drug gang that he needed to stop before they took over the city. From the rumors he had heard, they were serious business and weren’t afraid to kill for territory. Having killers on his streets was the last thing he wanted. If the streets weren’t safe, then you weren't safe and your safety was not something he was willing to risk.

The crisp air of the city hit Matt as he bolted out of the rooftop access door. He tried to shove down his feelings of guilt surrounding canceling the date as he focused on the sounds of the city around him, trying to find one voice in particular. The voice he had overheard on his way to pick up lunch for himself, Foggy, and Karen the day before. He found it after a few moments, but before he could take off toward where the meeting was taking place, he hesitated. The hesitation was caused by hearing the soft sound of your crying in your apartment a couple blocks down. The sound tugged on Matt’s heartstrings and by instinct his body began gravitating toward your place to provide you comfort, but the sound of a cocking gun tore his ears away from your cries. Within an instant, Matt was on the move, vaulting across rooftops and traversing metal fire escapes to get to the meeting spot. He was racing to get there before the shot rang and a life was taken.

Back in your apartment, the mental turmoil you were experiencing was like a hurricane blowing through your mind with no end in sight. Your hands shook and your heart pounded in your ears as your breathing became shallow and tears blurred your vision. Old memories bombarded your mind, and you were sent back to a headspace that you never wanted to experience again. But, despite your best efforts, you have been… Over the last month or so your mind had slipped into old habits and you had begun to doubt your place in Matt’s life. Canceled plans led to harsh memories that you have tried to leave in your past. But, as you had started to feel more distance growing between yourself and Matt, you couldn’t help but have flashes of memories you thought you had shoved into the ‘forgotten’ box in your mind.

Without your permission, your emotions began to take over and you couldn’t escape the flurry of old memories intruding into your previously peaceful headspace. It was a dizzying feeling as you were bombarded with the memories of harshly spoken words and insults thrown in your direction. No matter how hard you tried to push the memories back they kept coming and soon you felt like you were thrown into the midst of an emotional storm that was pelting you from all sides. Tears began to freefall and test the integrity of your makeup, and you did your best to simply stay afloat as you attempted to find the eye of the storm within your mind. It took longer than you would have liked to admit, but after a few minutes of being bumped around by your painful past, you finally were able to center yourself and take the deep, calming breaths that would slow your heart rate.

As your body began to escape the unnecessary fight or flight mode the phone call with Matt had sent you into, you tried to rationalize his words now that your anxiety had had its turn at ravaging your body. You told yourself that the gruffness in his voice was likely from annoyance with the last minute client call. That the rustling in the background was simply him changing out of his jeans and henley and into a suit to meet with the client. That he truly had dropped his briefcase in his rush to make it to the meeting. There was no reason for you to think that he was with someone else when he called you. It was just fear and anxiety trying to make you self-sabotage. Again.

Taking one more deep breath, you stood up on shaking legs and made your way to the bathroom to remove your makeup. When you looked up at yourself you cringed when you saw how bloodshot your eyes had become from your crying. There were trails nearly barren of makeup that the tears left behind, but much to your surprise your eye makeup had held true to its promise of being waterproof. Your hair on the other hand was a different story. You had a bad habit of running your hands through it when you were stressed, so naturally after a breakdown like that it looked like a rat’s nest… Not wanting to look at yourself in that state any longer, you rid yourself of the makeup and combed through your hair so it wouldn’t be a tangled mess anymore.

As you did this though, you realized that the clothes you had put on for your date were suddenly obnoxious and irritating, causing your heart rate to spike with more anxiety with every move you made. So you quickly took them off and threw on a comfortable and ridiculously soft t-shirt and pajama pants in their wake. Your irritated senses were soothed once you were rid of all the nuisances and you made your way into the kitchen to make yourself a quick and comforting dish for dinner.

With your food balanced carefully on the armrest of the couch while you settled in, you decided to binge British baking shows in order to keep your mind off of things. The soothing accents and descriptions of baked goods would be a welcome distraction. You avoided thinking about the steady ache in your heart caused by the growing number of canceled dates, the descriptions of recipes and the monotonous routines falling like a warm blanket over your mind. They would also help in your attempt to fend off the old memories threatening to take hold of your thoughts once more. While it wasn’t the perfect solution to your problems, it was the best one you had. And, for now, it would have to do.

A week later you waited with bated breath, your heart pounding against your ribs, as the minutes ticked by before Matt would pick you up for your rain-check date. There was less effort put into your hair and makeup for the outing, your anxiety telling you the effort would be for naught, but you still deemed yourself presentable enough to feign confidence being next to someone as attractive as Matt. A sense of relief washed over you when you heard a gentle knock on your door. You let out a deep sigh, a smile painting your lips, as you made your way to the door.

When you opened the door, your heart skipped a beat like it always did when you saw Matt’s charming smile. He stood patiently in the hallway, waiting to take you on your date. “Hey, sweetheart,” Matt said before pulling you in for a kiss.

“Hey yourself,” you told him when he pulled away a few moments later. “How was work?”

“It was good. Got through the toughest part of the paperwork for the latest client,” he told you as you took your keys out of your purse to lock the door behind you. You wrapped your hand around his bicep and began leading him down the hall, the steady tapping of his cane a soothing and familiar rhythm as you walked. “We’re hoping that we could get the opposition to go in with a deal so it doesn’t have to go to court, but it’s looking like this is more complicated than we anticipated. The client is really worried about having to make an appearance, so it’s taking a lot of convincing from Karen to not just drop the case altogether.”

“Oh, that sounds tough, I’m sorry,” you told him as you hit the button to summon the elevator. Matt shrugged in response. It was simply something that came with the job and they were dealing.

“How was work for you?” Matt asked as the two of you stepped into the elevator.

“It was fine. Nothing too crazy,” you replied. “I wish people in this city were a bit kinder, but…”

“Are you okay?” Matt asked quietly, the elevator coming to a stop at the bottom floor.

“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing. Really. I just need to get tougher skin, that’s all,” you told him quickly, trying to brush away his concern. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Some customers just felt entitled to scream at you and come up with…colorful insults to hurl your way in response to you just doing your job. Matt had bigger fish to fry than that. He was under a lot of stress with this case, it sounded like, and you didn’t want your problems to needlessly occupy his mind.

“Where did you wanna go for dinner?” you asked as the two of you pushed through the front door. The usual sounds of the city bounced around you. Honking cars, scattered conversations, the usual hustle and bustle of good ‘ol New York. It was noisy, but it was home.

“I chose last time, did you have anything in mind?” Matt asked after a few moments of silence. He wondered why you were brushing off his attempts at conversation. He could tell that the question had caused a pang of anxiety to rise in you and he could smell the salt of tears building behind your eyes, but still you pushed the subject away. Why? You were usually fairly vocal about how work was, but lately you had started to close yourself off. It made Matt start to wonder what had set you off… Maybe your supervisor left or something like that. He would try and get to the bottom of that later.

His mind was dragged back into the conversation as you timidly said, “I don’t really have a preference, it’s whatever you wanna do.” You cleared your throat and asked, “What about that scratch made pizza place you mentioned wanting to try? I looked into it and they make their dough and sauce in house every day. They seem to get as many locally sourced meats as possible, too. I think they may actually get some of it from Foggy’s family.”

“That sounds great, lead the way,” Matt replied with a brief laugh. He felt the air shift around you as you nodded and pulled out your phone with your free hand, followed shortly by the quiet electronic voice of the GPS guiding you to your destination.

Matt couldn’t help the small smile that made its way onto his lips as he followed you to the restaurant. The two of you had been together for a while now, his enhanced senses still not something you were aware of, yet you took everything that they affected into consideration. When Matt had mentioned off handedly that the cotton in your sheets felt scratchy on his skin, you had switched to silk and satin ones instead. When you noticed that your lotions and perfumes were too strong for him and gave him headaches, you took to using more toned down and natural scents. You started making meals with organic and fresh ingredients and going to restaurants that did the same because he mentioned one time that processed foods didn’t agree with him. During your time together you had done everything you could to make sure Matt was comfortable even without really knowing why. A warm smile tugged on his lips as he reminisced on how grateful he truly was to you.

Matt had attempted to do the same for you in any way that he could without revealing too much about his abilities. He would swing by a small florist stand and get you flowers when he knew you were having a bad day. He would surprise you with the lunch you had been telling your coworkers you had been craving. He would offer you massages when he could practically feel the tension in your muscles after work. The one thing he couldn’t do was ask why you had been crying so much lately in the safety of your own apartment, tucked away from him and everyone else in the world. He wanted to offer you solace and a place to be vulnerable, but you had never been open in that aspect of your emotions. Well, that and the fact that most of the time when he heard your cries he was in his Daredevil suit and couldn’t just waltz right into your apartment to offer you the comfort you needed. The love you deserved.

When the pair of you neared the pizza place, Matt deeply inhaled the scent of all the fresh ingredients and he sent a smile your way as he told you, “Great choice, sweetheart.”

“Oh, thanks!” you stuttered out, a light blush dusting your cheeks in response to his praise.

The pizza was as amazing as you had expected. The ingredients were all fresh and proved to be the winning combination they were advertised to be. Between bites of pizza, the two of you opted to play a game where you people watched and described passersby to Matt and asked what he thought their story was. As usual, you were floored when Matt would tell you what he thought with a small smirk teasing his lips. When they would walk by, he’d be right on the money. You couldn’t help the school-girl-like laugh that escaped your lips at his latest feat as you asked, “How do you do that?”

“Thanks, in part, to you,” Matt told you with a fond smile on his lips. While that was in fact a little white lie, Matt never missed an opportunity to compliment you and your people skills. “You’re very good at describing people and their mannerisms. It helps me decide if they’re a tourist, a local, a business person, or whatever else.”

“Okay, let’s go again, there’s this man-” you started to say but cut yourself off when you saw Matt’s eyebrows furrow behind his red lenses and he began fishing around in his coat pockets for something. “Everything all right?” you asked timidly, your hands dropping down into your lap to mess with the hem of your shirt.

“Just getting a call,” he told you off handedly as he finally found the flip phone in a pocket and answered it with a quick, “Yeah?” Matt’s eyes closed and you saw the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth together in response to whatever was being said to him on the other line. “Yeah. Give me twenty minutes-” A frustrated sigh heaved from his chest and Matt ran a hand over the stubble growing on his chin before he relented, saying, “Fine. Ten minutes, then I’ll be there,” before hanging up.

You were thankful that he wasn’t able to see the disappointed look on your face. When he hung up the phone mere moments later, you probably looked like a wounded puppy. You forced down the steadily growing feeling of heartbreak as you attempted to casually ask, “You gotta get going?”

Matt sported a painful expression on his face, his unseeing gaze concentrated somewhere on your upper chest while he closed his eyes yet again as he nodded. He got up from his seat and fished his wallet out from his pocket, feeling around for the properly folded bills to pay for the meal and dessert if you wanted. Placing the bills on the table and a kiss on your temple, Matt apologized before unfolding his cane and practically sprinting out of the pizzeria.

The call was from one of Mahoney’s men who was deep undercover in the drug gang he had been trying to take down, and if the intel was right, Matt would be able to take down the growing syndicate that night if he hurried. They were growing more and more brazen as time went on, and even with the threat of Daredevil, the man in charge was committed to getting what he wanted. If that meant killing, then so be it. So, he needed to be stopped. Matt’s senses became laser focused on monitoring where he knew their hideout was. He turned into an unoccupied alleyway before tossing his cane away and vaulting himself onto fire escapes. He needed to get to his suit before he could take down the head of the operation.

Once he was out of sight, a deep sigh left your chest along with a quiet sob that you couldn’t hold back. Not wanting more tears to break free, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on literally anything else besides the growing pain in your chest. You tried to breathe as normally as you could, but it was hard as you felt your throat getting tighter with emotion by the second. Your head snapped to attention as a woman to your left asked, “Can I interest you in some dessert, angiolo?”

“Oh, I-” you started to say as you looked into the small Italian woman’s warm eyes, your voice trembling against your will in the process.

“I’ll get you dessert,” she said with finality, giving you a pat on the back and heading off toward the kitchen. You were left slightly bewildered in her wake, the shock of the strange encounter pulling you out of your heartbreak for a few moments.

The truth of the matter was that she had watched as Matt left in a haste and saw your reaction - how your shoulders hunched inward and you looked smaller as your leg began to anxiously bounce. She returned a few minutes later with a small to-go box filled with cannolis and you thanked her graciously as you handed her the money Matt had given you to pay for the meal. She gave you a warm smile, taking the money graciously, then you headed out of the restaurant.

As you walked back to your apartment, the weight of everything began to rest heavily on your shoulders again. You wanted nothing more than to curl up on your couch with a cup of soothing tea and ignore the world for a while. You buried your emotions as best you could as you headed to the nearest bodega that sold your favorite tea. While searching the aisles, your body went into auto-pilot mode as you made your selection. Your mind pestered you with something that had been bothering you since Matt got that phone call at the restaurant. The phone he answered wasn’t his usual cell phone. His normal phone was a touchscreen one that called out the name of whoever was calling him. This one was a flip phone that didn’t seem to have any of his accommodations. You had seen him put his other phone in his pocket before you left the apartment, so you knew he had that one on him, so why-

“Hey!” came Karen’s chipper voice after she called out your name in greeting.

You tried to subtly wipe away the tears that had begun leaking out of your eyes before forcing a smile onto your face as you turned toward the blonde and said, “Hey! What are you doing here?”

A look you couldn’t quite gauge flitted across Karen’s features before she huffed out a quiet laugh and said, “Oh, you know me, just working late at the office. We ran out of coffee this morning, and I am in desperate need, so I just came here to grab some.” When she said this, you finally noticed the tub of ground coffee she had in her arms as she added, “I’ll have to grab some from the coffee shop for Matt in the morning, but for now this’ll do for me.”

“O-of course,” you said with a small nod. Matt couldn’t stand the taste of pre-ground coffee from the bodega, preferring the freshly ground stuff from the local coffee shops. It was something you had noted early on in your relationship and made sure to get for him weekly to bring to the office. He was always so busy between cases, so it was the least you could do to supply him with the much needed caffeine. But as you stared at the container in Karen’s hands, you felt a pang of guilt hit you as you remembered that you forgot to grab him any this week.

Karen’s soft voice once again broke you out of your head as she asked, “Hey, I uh… I could use the company, do you want to head over to the office with me for a bit? We haven’t hung out in a while.” She motioned toward the box in your hand as she finished with, “We have plenty of hot water to make your tea with, and I think there’s still some honey from when we closed Mrs. Cabrera’s case.”

“Oh, sure,” you found yourself saying before you could fully process it. The people pleaser in you didn’t want to say no, so you paid for your goods and followed her to the offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page while you tried not to drown in the sea of anxiety that was engulfing you.

On the way there, you nodded at the right places and gave a few affirmatives as Karen talked to you about their latest cases, but you couldn’t help your mind from wandering back to worrying. When the two of you arrived in the office, you let your body take control to begin steeping the tea while Karen began preparing the pot for her coffee. Who had Matt been on the phone with? They were certainly pressuring him to be on time to whatever meeting they were having. Whoever it was obviously was important to him, or maybe you were vastly overestimating your value in his life. Maybe-

“Everything okay?”

That was the first thing you heard Karen ask when your mind finally remembered that you weren’t alone. Pushing down the feeling of embarrassment at being caught lost in your own thoughts, you quickly nodded and forced a smile onto your lips as you said, “Yeah! Of course!” You placed the little box from the restaurant down on the counter and opened it as you asked, “How do you feel about cannolis? There are a lot more in here than I thought and I’ll never be able to eat all of them!”

“Oh, sure…” Karen said slowly, her eyebrows furrowing together as she pondered why you’d changed the subject so quickly.

After savoring the taste of the dessert, you offered Karen another fake smile before asking, “So, these last few cases have been keeping the three of you pretty busy huh? Matt’s been exhausted lately. He told me he’s been getting home pretty late every night after meeting with clients.”

While Karen responded with something about a new client not wanting to go to court and that’s why she was there so late, your mind began wandering again. Was it a client who had called Matt at dinner? He left in such a hurry… You didn’t think that he would answer a client in the way he did though. And there was still the thing about the phone… Did Karen know about who he might be-

Your name being called out again cut through your racing thoughts and you jumped at the sudden intrusion, causing hot tea to spill onto the hand holding the cup. “Shit!” you whispered urgently as you began flicking your hand around to rid yourself of the burning liquid quickly before more of it scalded your skin.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Karen said, her hand covering her mouth for a moment in shock before she began frantically looking around for something to help you with.

“No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry. I should really get going. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I’m sorry,” you told her quickly while holding back more tears. “Keep the cannolis. They should still be good in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I can see if there’s any aloe or something,” she told you as she dug through her purse.

“Don’t worry about me,” you told her before quickly turning toward the office door and heading out, offering a courteous goodnight before your departure. You just needed to be alone. You could deal with the burn when you got to your apartment, but right now you didn’t need to be in Karen’s company. You were self aware enough to know that just one more thing would’ve set you off into a total mental breakdown…

The next morning after getting Matt some fresh coffee from a local shop near the firm, Karen made her way into the office. “Morning Karen!” Foggy greeted her as she started putting her things down on her desk.

“Morning, Fog! Have a good night?” she asked.

“I did! Marci and I had some pizza then zonked out in front of the TV for a while.. It was great!” he replied, the smile on his face cluing to Karen that what he recounted wasn’t all that had happened, but she kept her smirk to herself as she told him that she was happy he had a good night.

She dropped the bag of coffee by the coffee maker before heading over to Matt’s office. She knocked on the doorframe to get his attention. “Hey. I got you some coffee from the shop down the street. You look like you need it.”

Matt rubbed his temples and nodded, telling her, “Long night. Worked with Mahoney’s guy to take down that drug gang I’ve been after. Didn’t get back to the apartment until around three…” As Matt followed Karen to the coffee station, a familiar floral scent hit his nose which prompted him to ask, “Was she here last night?”

Karen asked your name in a question and got the affirmative, so she told him, “Yeah. She seemed upset when I ran into her at the bodega getting coffee, so I invited her back here to talk. She seemed super distracted, though. When I called her name to get her attention, she spilled her tea and burned her hand. Then she bolted.”

Upon hearing this, Matt sighed and ran a hand over the lower half of his face which prompted Karen to ask, “What did you do?” Right as she did though, a memory hit her and she gasped quietly before saying, “You had a date planned last night… You two were on a date when you had to go take care of that drug gang, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Matt admitted quietly, guilt laced in his voice and seeping into his mind.

“Oh, Matt…” she whispered sympathetically. She took a sip of her coffee before telling him, “You know…every time I asked her how she was or tried to offer help, she deflected pretty quickly. She was also super distracted and zoned out a lot. I know that look, Matt. There’s something that’s eating her alive and she’s suffering in silence. She’s not accepting help from her friends.” She placed her cup down on the counter and crossed her arms as she said pointedly, “I think you need to talk to her, Matt.”

“Karen, I-” Matt tried but was interrupted.

“Talk to her,” Karen said with a finality in her tone as a quiet knock sounded through the office, indicating that their first client of the day had arrived.

By the time midday had rolled around, Matt had called you and got your voicemail since you were at work. He opted to go ahead and leave the voicemail, telling you, “Hey sweetheart. Karen told me what happened last night. I realized that there’s something we’ve been needing to talk about. I’ll be over at around seven tonight. See you then.”

By the time you had gotten the opportunity to check your voicemail, you were already back at your apartment after work. A quick glance at your clock told you it was nearly a quarter till seven. When you heard the words there’s something we’ve been needing to talk about from Matt, your heart dropped. Fear and panic began to fill your whole body, gripping your throat in a tight vice.

This was it. This was surely the end of the most wonderful relationship you’d had in years. All because you were too afraid to talk about your feelings. You had overcorrected because of your insecurities from the past and that ran Matt off. Because you were too afraid to accept help from others and he got tired of it. Because he found someone else who was willing to be open and honest with him about everything. Because he found someone better than you. More secure in themself. Less anxious. Someone without a past that haunted them like yours did…

You barely made it to the couch in your living area before collapsing as you were consumed with your brutal thoughts of insecurity and anticipatory grief about the end of you and Matt. The room felt like it was spinning and closing in on you simultaneously. You were left clutching your knees to your chest as you tried to hold onto some semblance of self. You were failing miserably. Shallow gasps of air were all you could manage through your tightening throat. Your heart pounded in your ears. Tears flowed down your cheeks. All encompassing doom clouded the edges of your mind. This was it.

Matt was so exhausted after a long day at the firm, following his even longer night out as Daredevil, that he felt like his enhanced senses were drowning him. Everything was too overwhelming, too distracting, too much. So, he concentrated inward and focused on his own heartbeat to drown out everything else bombarding his senses. He also focused on the flowers in his hand that he had bought for you. The bouquet of roses reminded him of your shampoo, subtle and floral. It put a small smile on his lips as he made his way to your apartment.

Getting lost in concentrating on the smell of the roses and the steady beat of his own heart, Matt didn’t even tune into your apartment until he was right outside of it about to raise his hand to knock. And that’s when he sensed it. Your rapid heart rate and breathing. Fear. Panic. And you were on the other side of a locked door.

Knowing that there was a roof access door nearby and no one else in the hallway, Matt dropped his cane as well as the roses and bolted toward it, desperate to get to you. The chill of the night hit him as he navigated the familiar rooftop and then down to the fire escape outside of your window. Luckily you had left your window unlocked, so Matt threw it open and crawled through before making his way over to your shaking form on the couch.

You were alone in the apartment and there weren't any unfamiliar smells in the space, so he knew there was no immediate danger that set you off. He wrapped you in his arms and rubbed your back as he mumbled, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you choked out as you burrowed into his chest.

“Sorry for what?” Matt asked before kissing your temple.

“For not being enough,” you replied, your voice breaking as a fresh batch of tears rolled down your flushed cheeks. Before Matt could even respond to that, you found yourself rambling, telling him, “I thought that if I didn’t bother you with all the shit in my head, then maybe I wouldn’t run you off… I thought that the more of me you saw, the less of me you’d like. But… I still managed to mess everything up… Like I always do…” You huffed out a humorless laugh before saying, “I get it if there’s someone else. I wouldn’t wanna be with me, either…”

Matt felt his heart shatter as the words fell out of you in a grief-filled torrent. Tears began to sting the backs of his eyes. He knew he couldn’t lose himself in his guilt for making you feel this way, though, so he focused back on you. “Hey, hey, just breathe. Breathe with me, sweetheart,” Matt mumbled as he pulled you closer.

Matt ran his hand up and down your back and told you to breathe in and out with the soothing strokes. You tried, but with the amount of anxiety still filling your body and clutching at your throat, it felt like an impossible task. Matt didn’t give up though, and on top of the slow and soothing patterns he ran up and down your back, he began to mumble sweet nothings into your ear that reassured you that you were safe. That you were with him. That everything would be okay. These reassurances weren’t just for you though. They were for him as he too tried to calm down his own racing mind.

After a few minutes, Matt finally got your heart rate and breathing back down to a normal enough pace. When he was sure you were calmed down enough to talk, he tentatively asked, “What makes you think there’s someone else? I promise there’s only you, sweetheart. I’ve never had a partner as kind and caring and accommodating as you. I would be a fool to mess that up.”

“It’s just…” you whispered, a quiet sob tumbling off your lips before you took a deep and shaky breath. “The canceled dates. The bolting in the middle of the one last night. The mysterious flip phone you used yesterday. The background noise on the call last week. Telling me you’ve been getting home in the ungodly hours of the night.” You swallowed hard before pushing through by confessing, “My last relationship… It ended because he was cheating. When I first got suspicious though he made me feel like the bad guy for bringing it up. The things he said were extremely harsh and I guess… I guess my mind never got past that. Now I stuff down all of my own emotions to make sure others are happy and not bothered by my feelings. And over the last month, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been doing some of the same things he did, and… Gosh, I should shut up. I'm really sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget I said anything. I’m sorry…”

More tears began falling from your eyes and you attempted to get up from the couch. You desperately needed to put some separation between you and Matt. You felt like you were just digging a hole you couldn’t get out of. But instead of letting you hide away from him again, his strong arms pulled you impossibly closer and kept you right where you were. “Don’t apologize. Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “He sounds like a controlling prick and I’m sorry that such a caring person ever had to deal with that… You don’t deserve to feel like you can’t talk about your feelings. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

“It’s not you, it’s just…trauma,” you told him as your exhausted body relaxed into his embrace. With your senses finally easing after being stretched so thin, you were able to make some sense of the current situation. Looking over at the door to the hallway, you furrowed your eyebrows together as you asked, “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you get into my apartment?” You hadn’t found the time to get a spare key made to give to him, and you knew that you had locked it on your way in, so how…? You felt Matt’s muscles tense and in response your heart sped up as your anxiety started to settle back in.

In his rush to get to you to provide you with the comfort you needed, Matt didn’t even think about how he would explain how he got into the apartment. After his conversation with Karen that morning, he had thought long and hard about the possibility of telling you the truth about what he did at night, but he didn’t think the conversation would lead here. It seemed like there was no way to avoid it now…

There was a long moment of silence before Matt gave into the inevitable and asked, “Do you want to know the real reason why I stay out so late and have been so exhausted lately? Why I’ve had to cancel dates?”

Confusion filled your mind when he asked the questions. Why was Matt asking that in response to your wondering how he got into your apartment? Surely your apartment manager had nothing to do with- You stopped your spiraling thoughts before they could get out of control and nodded, telling him, “I do.”

Another long pause filled the air before Matt said in a barely audible whisper, “I’m Daredevil…” Your breath hitched in your throat for a moment before you laughed quietly and threw your arms around him in a tight embrace. Matt froze for a second before returning your hug as he asked, “You’re not… I don’t know… Mad? Shocked? Upset? Wanting to run away?”

“I’m just happy you aren’t cheating on me,” you told him, a genuine laugh falling from your lips before you could stop it. You pulled away and kissed his cheek before you said, “No wonder Daredevil’s seemed to take an interest in me getting home safe when I’m out late.”

“Oh, so you noticed, huh?” Matt asked with a quiet chuckle leaving his lips.

“Especially after that group of assholes tried to touch me when I was heading home after Laura’s birthday party,” you noted, a small smile pulling the corners of your lips up.

“Yeah, I may have gone a bit overboard with that one,” he said sheepishly. He cleared his throat and told you, “There was this drug gang that was starting to gain ground over the last few weeks. That’s why I’ve been skipping out on dates here lately. I wanted to keep you and the rest of Hell’s Kitchen safe.”

“Did you deal with them?” you asked.

“Last night, yeah,” he replied. “That was Mahoney’s UC calling me on my emergency burner that Foggy has aptly called my ‘Devil Signal,’” he said, ending his statement with a chuckle and shake of his head.

“So, Foggy knows?”

“And Karen,” he said. “You took it a lot better than they did.”

“Well, that’s because it doesn’t change anything between us,” you told him. “Clearly, I’ve been dealing with your Daredevil schedule since we started dating. The only reason it was bothering me lately was because of my own insecurity. It hasn’t caused any problems, so why would it change anything now?”

“God, I love you,” Matt whispered before pulling you into a gentle kiss.

“I love you too,” you told him as you rested your forehead on his.

You were quiet for a few moments, letting the peace of the moment soothe your swirling mind, before you pulled away and said cautiously, “I do have a question though… Considering what you do as Daredevil, are you really…?”

“Blind? Yes,” he told you. “My other senses are enhanced, though, so I’m able to navigate the world easily. I’m able to hear what other people can’t. That’s how I get to stuff before the cops do.” He rubbed your back as he admitted quietly, “I could hear you having a panic attack in here, so I… I came in through the window.”

“You could…? How?” you asked, feeling your heart jump into your throat.

“Your heart rate just sped up when I told you that,” he told you with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m able to hear people’s heart and respiratory rate. I can also smell cortisol levels and adrenaline. All of that was off the charts when I got here so I broke in so I could comfort you,” he said, his smile evident in his voice as he finished the sentence.

“Oh… This is going to be a learning curve,” you breathed, suddenly feeling very aware of everything your body was doing at the moment.

“And I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Matt told you before pulling you in for another tender kiss. “Promise me you’ll tell me about whatever’s on your mind from now on?”

“Promise,” you agreed, and Matt could tell by the steady beat of your heart that you were telling the truth.

a/n: this was basically a way for me to process some personal shit (excuse the lore lmao) because writing is my way of dealing with things!

special thanks to @sunflowersandsapphires for helping me process my thoughts and make my ideas into a story as well as to @a-leg-without-fear @dorothleah and @shouldbestudying41 for beta reading and providing edits! i love you all!

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock angst #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil angst #daredevil hurt/comfort

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