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reidmotif · 8 months ago

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Between the Books

Summary: Reader is a librarian at the library Spencer frequents while he's finishing one of his degrees. They find themselves in a precarious situation when everyone's left and they're the last two people there.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), themes of exhibitionism, public sex.

Word Count: 3.9 k

Masterlist

Being observant came naturally to you, almost as if it was a reflex embedded into the core of your nervous system. You’d say “hello” to a new face and as if under command, your eyes would naturally drift to the small pieces of hair on that stranger’s coat.

Dog? Cat? Freakishly large gerbil?

Whatever it was, you couldn’t turn it off. And that’s why when Spencer Reid caught your eye, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to look away.

And with time, it seemed like his actions mirrored yours.

You’d taken interest in a position at a university library for the summer. The job seemed to be a welcome change of pace from the likes of hectic summer jobs you’d go for typically in the past, a position that would mostly consist of monitoring graduate-level students who were, thankfully, much calmer than their undergrad counterparts.

For the most part, you were right. Your days were filled with reading in an air-conditioned building, looking up titles of reference books for other students, and of course, the unexpected, yet welcomed, occurrence of Spencer Reid.

The longer you spent at the library, the more you came to learn more about him.

Well, as much as you could learn without actually speaking to the man.

You’d learned his name from the library card he’d brandish when it came time to check out materials. He’d frequent books about Jean-Paul Sarte, Camus, and Nietzsche, opting to stay in the same, well-lit corner by the window every time he visited. While he could come in at any part of the day, he seemed to prefer later hours, when the library would be mostly vacant. His outfits weren’t over-the-top with formality, but he clearly wasn’t in the business of dressing casually.

You found it attractive, honestly, how put-together he seemed.

His return-rate on books was freakishly fast, and at one point, you’d assumed he was checking out books to read a certain page or chapter for research, and would then put it back, until you found yourself properly watching him and realized, no, he actually was just reading that fast. He could finish texts that would take almost a year to cover by seasoned professors and scholars in mere hours.

How? You had no idea. Nevertheless, you desperately wanted to learn- to know him beyond the gazes of a library hall.

You’d decided to try your luck at speaking to the man, noticing the three books he’d chosen all seemed to have one incredibly common theme amongst their authorship.

“Existentialist?” You ask, trying to make your tone seem polite but still friendly.

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to, and takes a second, his gaze meeting yours. “Sorry, what?”

“Existentialist.” You repeat, motioning to the books you were checking out for him. “Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Kafka. Your books seem to share a commonality.”

He chuckles, realizing the meaning of your words and shakes his head. “No, no. Not an existentialist. I’d like to believe the world is better than what any of them make it out to be.”

You smile, and nod. “I’d hope so.” Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting slightly. “Why the interest then?” There’s genuine fascination in your tone, and he seems to absolutely thrive off that, his eyes lighting up as you continue the conversation.

“I’m completing my Masters in Philosophy.” He responds. “We’ve been doing an assignment on existentialism, hence the ridiculous amount of gloom and doom in my reading.”

There’s a pause, before he cracks a smile, and then asks you, “Romantic?”

You look at him in confusion. It’s your turn to not get the joke. “Sorry?”

“Are you a romantic?” He asks. When you retain that confused look on your face, he continues.

“You’re almost always reading some variation of a romance novel here. So far I’ve counted Austen, Bronte, and I think I saw a copy of Anna Karenina on the counter once.”

You feel a bit of heat rise to your face, realizing that in his own way, he’d been observing you as well. In a second, the tables were turned, and the lens you often used on others was abruptly focused on you instead.

“Well, Anna Karenina is hardly a romance, I’d argue.” You say, before nodding. “But, yeah. I guess I’d say I’m a fan of romance in novels.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “I’m not asking you if you’re a fan of romance in novels, I’m asking you if you’re a romantic.” He says, putting emphasis on the last word, as if that was supposed to provide some grand difference to the statement.

“Just as much as anyone else, right?” You respond, still a bit puzzled at his insistence on contrasting the syntax of his statement.

“I see.” He says, nodding, continuing to look at you, as if he was sizing you up. “I’ll have to pick up a copy of Anna Karenina sometime then. See if it’s as much of a love story as I remember.”

“I think you’ll find it’s absolutely not.” You reply, smiling. “I believe we have a copy of it here, as a matter of fact, if you’re actually interested.” There’s a hint of skepticism in your tone, wondering why he seemed to be taking so much regard to your conversation.

“Of course I’m actually interested. You seem passionate about the subject.” He counters, grinning.

“I mean- yeah, I am! It’s a pretty misinterpreted book, I think.” You say. There’s a slight moment of silence, before you find yourself saying your next few words. “I’m also surprised you’re interested. I’m not always sure if it’s up everyone’s lane. Lots of people can’t get through it.”

“I’m sure the least I can do is try.” He says, shrugging.

You check out the last of his books, placing them in his outstretched hands. “Honestly, I’m even more surprised you noticed. You seem pretty into it in your corner over there.” You say, half-jokingly, but with a hint of seriousness mixed into it.

He gives a softer smile, almost boyish, as he replies.

“You’re pretty hard not to notice.”

He keeps the smile on his face, giving you a slight nod of his head, before leaving you to deal with the sudden heat that had risen to your cheeks as a result of his words. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond to his quick wit in the moment, your heartbeat still racing long after he’d left.

Over that summer, the two of you get continually closer. To your absolute delight, he does end up reading Anna Karenina and better yet, he agrees with you. You immediately take an even stronger liking to him than before. Thus starts your tradition of recommending books to each other, the two of you discussing them when he’d come to the library, almost like a secret, private book club that only you two were privy to.

You come to learn more about him. His doctorates, his job. The secret of his inhumanely fast reading was revealed to you later down the road, when he explained the abilities of an unconscious mind.. or something. While you wanted to give your undivided attention to him, there was an unspoken part of you that couldn’t help but find it ridiculously attractive when he explained things to you. He never seemed to notice that enduring part of your psyche, and you were grateful for that.

Overall though, he made quite the friend. He shared your love of literature, and could be a wonderful listener at times. Your previous days of solitude in the library were long forgotten, and you found yourself looking forward to his daily visits, ready to share your thoughts on some book he’d last asked you to read.

You find that his visits become less and less about the actual establishment, and more and more about you, especially when he opts to visit you at the front desk first, as opposed to over at his usual spot by the window. Somedays, he makes it obvious, not even bothering to peruse the selection of books he was previously accustomed to, and merely opts to talk to you the entire time, right up to the point where you’re locking the doors of the library and heading to your own place for the night.

There’s a part of you that wonders why he hasn’t asked you out. You wonder why you hadn’t asked him out. It only seems natural, given how much time the two of you were spending- a date seemed like an obvious byproduct of the lingering gazes you’d catch him throw at you, the absolute joy that would bubble in your chest everytime the two of you shared an afternoon.

You shrug it off. All in good time, right?

It’s another night at the library, and you found yourself a bit frustrated. You’d asked your manager if there was any way she could take on the later shift of the day, increasingly tired with the hours of the job and simply needing a break from it all. She refused, and tonight, that refusal seemed to be on the forefront of your mind.

“I just- I don’t get it, Spencer. I know she can take on this shift.” You say, wheeling around a cart of books to be reshelved, talking openly since the library was empty at this point in the day, all patrons packed up and soundly at home– while you were stuck here.

He stayed, of course, following you around diligently as you completed the task, listening to every word.

“I get that this is the worst shift to have, but come on. I’m a good employee, you know? I feel like I deserve a break here and there.” You come to a stop, picking up a stack of books with a huffy sigh. “But no. I’m the one who has to go home late. I’m the one who’s on closing every single night. I’m sick of it.”

He nods sympathetically, and you continue to grovel, deeply appreciative that he was allowing you to vent to him like this. You stand on the provided step-stool on the ground, allowing you to have the height necessary to shelve some books that belonged further up than normal.

“Like, is it really that hard?” You grumble, your face turned away from Spencer as you find each book’s proper place. “God forbid she sleeps at a later time than normal- or I don’t know, hires someone else.” The last book is reshelved, and you turn around, about to dismount the stool. “And another thing-”

In the midst of your rant, you find yourself distracted, missing the step on the stool that would’ve allowed a safe dismount, and you quickly realize you’re falling off, letting out a small yelp before a stronger force keeps you upright- a force that happened to be Spencer’s arms catching you.

“You alright?” He asks with heavy concern, trying to look into your eyes or your legs, attempting to discern for signs where you might’ve hurt yourself on your descent.

It takes a second for you to process that you are insanely close to Spencer. His features are almost enhanced by the low-lighting of the dark library, his eyes entirely dilated as he stares at you, his lips soft and perfect– and those cheekbones, god. You could practically cut yourself on them.

You quickly return to your senses, trying to go back to a more suitable position that wouldn’t leave you so absolutely tongue tied. “No, no. I’m fine, honestly.” You step back, wiggling your leg a little. “See? Entirely fine.”

He smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I just get worried. I’m a doctor, you know.” He says, a teasing quality in his tone as he steps closer.

“Not an actual doctor.” You say, rolling your eyes fondly.

“Come on.” He says, letting his hand drift over back to your arm, which had taken most of the shock of falling onto him. “Humor me.”

There’s that grin again, and you can’t help but relent.

And so you humor him like he asked, letting his fingertips trail over the skin to properly check for any injuries, the action much more sensual than it should’ve been for a friend checking up on another friend.

“You know.” He murmurs, his voice a bit lower than before. “I don’t actually think this is the worst shift to take on.”

Your throat is dry, a physical reaction being drawn out of you as he touches you, and there’s a conscious reminder you actually have to respond to his words.

“Oh? Why is that?” You force out.

“It’s so quiet.” He mumbles out, immediately, his fingertips now tracing down to your waist, as the two of you made eye contact. “Nobody’s even in here at this point.”

You swallow, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

“I like the quiet.” He says, continuing on. The previously feather-like touch on your waist becomes more grasping than anything else. “There’s just so much more you can get done when it’s quiet.”

You nod and half heartedly mumble. “Mhm.” You’re far more focused on your growing proximity than his actual words, the act rendering you entirely breathless until he’s standing face to face with you, your breaths mingling due to the closeness.

“I can feel your heart beating.” He mumbles. “So fast. Do I make you nervous?”

You lick your lips and nod out of instinct, before squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head. “No, no. It’s just the closeness. I’m not used to it.” You whisper, eyes opening– and his gaze is as intense as ever.

One of his hands goes to cup your face. “Unless you tell me otherwise, I’m going to kiss you now.”

You don’t move a single muscle.

And then all of a sudden, he’s everywhere. He’s pulling you closer, absolutely devouring you like he’s been starved for your touch all along. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you respond in approval, humming with a deep content against his lips, your hands going to wrap around his neck, pulling your bodies flush together. You don’t want space– not now, or ever again.

“Fuck. Wanted this for so long.” He mumbles, as soon as he breaks off the kiss, finding the pulse point on your neck, and going at it with his lips, causing you to quietly moan out in pleasure. You’d never heard him curse before, and the act only served to add to the steadily growing throb in between your legs.

He pushes you even more insistently up against the counter attached to the bookshelves, your weight slightly more supported by the wood, as opposed to his body like before.

“You’re so pretty.” He breathes out in between his assault on your neck, his mouth finding every inch of your nape, and marking it as his own. It’s almost like he’s hellbent on mapping out every plane of skin there, committing every spot that makes you whine or let out his name to memory.

You’re breathing so heavily, and you think it can’t possibly get any better than this, but he proves you wrong when he abruptly gets to his knees, your eyes widening.

“Need to taste you. Please.”

He’s begging, like, on-his-knees, doe-eyes, broken voice- begging to eat you out.

And how could you ever say no, what, with those pretty eyes of his, and that expression on his face that made you practically weak with need?

“Yes.” You whisper out, and in record time, he’s undoing your jeans and underwear in one clean swoop, not even bothering to fully remove the material before his tongue is all over your cunt, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the past few minutes. You’re half surprised he didn’t just rip your clothing off, given the enthusiasm he was showing at this moment.

You’re suddenly incredibly aware of where you are- your place of work, a fucking library, and Spencer Reid was buried in your thighs like a man parched, lapping up wherever he possibly can. You can hear the obscene noises of your passion, his tongue lavishing over you, before he pays special attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the nub and sucking softly. You cover your mouth with your free hand- grateful that the wood behind you was supporting you, because without it, you truly think you’d topple over from the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Fuck.” You whisper, voice high-pitched as you try to hold back your noises. “Fuck. Gonna come.” You warn, legs shaking as you barreled towards your release.

Without warning, his fingers enter your cunt, and you’re fighting back a scream.

How long had you stared at his fingers before this? How many times had you watched them run up and down the spines of the books he read, or gestured with them constantly whilst speaking? How long had such a simple part of his body captivated you?

How many times had you secretly wondered to yourself how they’d feel inside you?

It didn’t matter anymore. You had your answer now. Fucking amazing.

“Spencer!” You whine out, his fingers naturally reaching that soft spot inside that you often struggled to even brush against. His lips find your clit again, sucking softly and you know you’re an absolute goner.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Before you can even voice in coherent terms how good this feels, you’re coming, the walls of your cunt spasming around his fingers as he relishes in the reaction, using the tip of his tongue to circle your clit, and slowing his fingers down as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm. He slips the digits out of you as he rises to his knees, and sucks on his fingers, one by one, practically moaning as he tastes your release.

The sight is downright sinful.

“You taste so good.” He whispers, crashing his lips against yours again, and you’re already needy again when you can taste yourself on his tongue.

His hands drift down to his own slacks, undoing them and pulling his cock out, already dripping with precum.

“You ready, pretty girl?” He murmurs, guiding his tip to your waiting cunt. You’ve situated yourself on the wood of the desk entirely now, needing the support for what happens next.

You nod, and without even realizing he was already mostly there, he pushes into you entirely, and your jaw drops. Your head rests against his shoulder, trying to accustom to feeling of him stretching you out so fucking perfectly.

How could you ever fuck anyone else again, when he just felt so perfect for you?

It seemed that he agreed with the sentiment, moaning softly as his free hand steadied himself by gripping onto the shelf. “You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs. “Can I move? Are you okay?” He asks, softly.

His other hand rubs soothing circles into your hip bone, and you’re nodding, touched by his concern for you, even during such a salacious act.

His thrusts are slow at first, still allowing you to get used to the feeling of him inside of you, before he’s truly going at it, his thick cock rubbing against your wet walls in a way that makes you feel light and full all at once. It's delectable, and you never want it to end.

You whine, holding onto his neck, your head thrown back as you take it, feeling the books rattle around you with every hump he deals into you. You can’t even find it in yourself to care– all that matters right now is you, and him, and how fucking amazing it feels when he’s fucking you like this.

You can feel yourself building towards another pleasurable release, before you hear the telltale click of the library door opening, effectively removing you from the moment. Fuck. The janitor.

“Spencer, Spencer!” You whisper-shout, biting your lip. His cock doesn’t once slow inside you, and you find it hard to think when it feels that good.

“We’re gonna be caught!” You whine out, dizzied by how you were simultaneously turned on and utterly panicked.

“No, we won’t.” He whispers, gruffly. With your hands now around his neck, he lets his hand drop from the shelf and covers your mouth. He leans in even closer, if that’s possible, eyes dark.

The sight makes a shiver go up your spine.

“Stay quiet.” He murmurs, as he begins to deal slower, more deliberate thrusts into your cunt.

“Feel that? Feel how I’m filling you up, nice and slow?” He whispers, the words barely audible, but with how close he’s standing to you, they overtake every one of your senses, and you nod desperately, eyes glistening as you feel yourself dancing on the precipice of release.

“Shh. I know.” He murmurs. “Come for me, yeah? I know you want to. Show me how much you like my cock inside of you.”

It's a combination of his tone, of the risk you two were facing, and the sensation of him that has you responding exactly the way he wants, and in an instant, you’re coming with a shuddering breath, holding back a loud whine, just like he asked you to.

The feeling of your walls spasming has him releasing as well, a warmth flooding in your deepest point. His head drops into your shoulder as he attempts to muffle his moans the best he can, and you both bask in the afterglow for a second, trying to pant as quietly as you could.

Spencer immediately springs into action, redressing you with precision and care, guiding your underwear and jeans back up, buttoning them up for you. You’re still in a slight haze from the two orgasms he’d just given you, and when you properly come to, his slacks are back on, and he leans in for a much more chaste kiss. It leaves you with butterflies, despite everything, and you find yourself smiling softly at him. The fondness reflected in his expression is undeniable.

“Let’s get out of here.” He murmurs, grabbing your hand and guiding you in between the shadows of the shelves, effectively keeping you both from being caught. The janitor remains clueless, as you two sneak out, giggling like teenagers as you find yourselves outside, the summer night warm and cool all at once.

“That was..” You mumble, laughing a bit, surprised that had even happened.

“I know. I- uh. Might’ve gotten carried away?” He says. “I usually like to do that after a date. I just-” He steps closer, cupping your cheek. “I couldn’t wait. I hope that’s okay.” He whispers.

“More than okay.” You whisper back.

His thumb slowly strokes over the expanse of your cheek, and he bites his lip. “Could we? Date? Try this out?” He murmurs. “I know I didn’t get much of a chance to say it back there, but I really like you.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. This man had just been inside you, and now he was blushing and stuttering whilst he attempted to ask you out.

“Yes.” You nod. “Let’s try this.”

He’s got the most genuine smile on his face, and a sigh of relief can be heard as he leans in again to kiss you, and you can’t help the smile on your face as your lips meet his, the elation in both of your bodies absolutely radiating inside and out.

You recount your first conversation and know now, there was a difference between liking romance, and being a romantic.

You reckon Spencer Reid could make quite a romantic out of you.

this is uploading an hour later than i wanted it to :( but whatever. i hope you guys like this one <3 i'm trying something new! not first person pov, but "you" ? pleaseee let me know how this works for you guys! i love experimenting out with new fic methods but if it's clear this isn't working TELL MEEE so i can go back to what did work. anyway, any likes, reblogs, comments are so so so genuinely appreciated. thank you thank you thank you for reading either way <3

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scarrrletales · 2 months ago

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DRAGON AND DAMSEL

DRAGON!SYLUS X PRINCESS!MC

🔞 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

This blog and its content, including this post, are strictly 18+ only. If you are under 18, please do not interact, like, reblog, or follow.

Tags : Dark romance, PWP (P0rn with plot), dirty talk, past life lovers, creamp!e, double p3netration, marking, br3eding, m0nsterfvcking, unprotected s3x, r0ugh sex, MC is h0rny.

Summary : A princess is offered as a sacrificial bride to a dragon but discovers a dragon in heat.

A LONG LONG TIME AGO.....

It was a lovely morning at the kingdom of Tarus. Everything was going perfect for you, being bethroted right after you come of age — to a prince.

You can't help but to giggle and feel giddy, still not believing that you are to be his in a few hours, it's your wedding day after all.

A knock suddenly interrupted your thoughts, followed by the door opening and maids scattering to your room. I turned to look at them and smiled nervously.

"Princess (Name), it's time."

I nodded and let them take over. The maids took off my nightgown, slipping me off to a white chemise, a red sleeveless dress — followed by a corset and a large crinoline. Whilst the others gets busy with combing and styling my hair.

Heaving a sigh of relief after the torturous cinching of the corset's ribbons, the maid gently takes my wedding gown off the wooden mannequin and dressing me.

I looked at myself in the mirror "Wow...." I smiled and looked the maids. "T-thank you..." I said gently as my smile dropped as I saw their expression full of indifference. They then bowed and left my room coldly.

"We're they always like this?" I asked myself

Eversince I set foot in this castle, everyone has been so distant, even the king and queen. Only the prince was kind and welcoming towards me, even touring me the gardens and horseback riding in the mountains with me.

"I hope that all is well soon...."

—

After the wedding ceremony ended, we rode a carriage heading up to the mountain. He held out his hand after the carriage stopped, I smiled and gladly took it. I looked around and saw guests wearing masks, which made me puzzled.

"Welcome princess."

The queen greeted warmly and hugged me.

I hugged reluctantly and hugged her back "T-thank you for welcoming me into your family, your highness." I looked up to her smiling.

She nodded and took the lead on walking through the rock bridge. The queen then spoke.

"For generations, its been our task, our duty, to protect our people."

I listened intently as I tried to ignore what's underneath we're walking on. It's dark and creepy, with multiple dead roots and a never ending abyss below.

She cleared her throat and continued.

"Today, you join a legacy of women who shaped this kingdom......When our ancestors claimed this island, they discovered a bloodthirsty beast already here. It attacked the village. In retaliation, the king took his revenge, by killing the dragon's lover and the king led his soldiers against it, but none survived except him."

A beast? Here in this kingdom? How gruesome.

"The beast demanded a terrible price: bring the the fairest maiden in the land in exchange for peace. The women were sacrificed, and so......the kingdom was born."

She came to a halt and looked at me with a serious face. Signaling a red cloaked and masked individual, she took out a dagger.

"It is a tradition we commemorate every generation. A tradition going back centuries."

I looked at her nervously as she slowly asks for his son's palm — the prince. Without hesitation she slashed it. My hands trembled as I slowly took out my hand, I bit my lip in agony as I tried to held out a scream as the blade cuts through me. The queen then pressed our palms together, mixing our blood, followed with covering it with a white cloth. The queen smiled eerily "She is now of royal blood!" she proclaimed. The guests bowed in respect.

"To ensure our kingdoms thrive forevermore, toss the coin into the abyss now." I nodded determined, I slowly walked closer and tossed it below.

"The ceremony is now complete, you may now make your return."

The prince and I looked at each other smiling. I wonder what will happen later at our wedding night? I snapped out off my thoughts as he gently picks me up and carried me.

"I-i can walk fine y'know..." I said, embarrassed and smiling.

He chuckles as he looks at me and asks for me to close my eyes as he came to a halt on the middle of the bridge, I giggled. "I'm sorry." The prince said.

I looked at him confused. The last thing I new that my husband. My prince. Tossed me into the dark abyss.

"Argh....." I groaned painfully as i slowly awoke.

I writhed in pain as I tried to get up but failed. What the hell? This must be just a dream? With all the strength I got, I stood up and looked up. "HELP! I-is there anyone there? HELP ME!" I sobbed in pain as I tried desperately to climbed up the stones, only to fall down again.

"FUCKING SHIT!" i threw the crown and my ring on the ground and yelled in rage.

There was barely any light left in the cavern that I was tossed on. How will I ever survive this? Will I die here? My parents, my sister, my kingdom..... A fire suddenly flashed afar on one of the passageway of the cave. Curious, i followed the light that led to a tight cave.

I held my breath as i stumbled upon another cave, a huge one field with large rocks and a smoky-burning breeze inside it. My legs brought me to the pathway that led to a shiny spot. Why is it all so familiar? I flinched as a booming voice suddenly interrupted my admiration for the precious items.

“I…like your eyes, they are beautiful i can see your hatred, defiance and greed for life.”

My face dropped as i sensed an dark ominous aura clouding the area. Then it hit me, remembering what the prince told me when we're on a walk. Thousands of years ago, dragons ruled over the lands of Philos. By nature, dragons are wicked creatures that feed on human souls. They excel at drawing out the darkest parts of a person's heart, driving humans to turn on one another and become slaves to their desires. The greedier the soul, the more irresistible it is to a dragon.

Weary about my surroundings, i picked up a stone "W-what do you want from me!?" I shouted, full of fear as the winged figure circles around me.

"My...my....look like something's never changed. Sweetie."

The figure revealed itself as a man. Winged, sharp and undeniably good looking? I wasn't expecting this at all,

I chuckled nervously "W-what are you going to do to me?" i held back my tears, my hands clutched over to a fist. The dragon chuckled deeply and and landed Infront of me. I closed my eyes tightly, prepared for death.

His lips came crashing down on me making me gasp for air as he continuously. His lips were desperate, passionate and rough. "Mmmm..!" I tried avoiding him, but failed. It was making you go into a haze, it's almost like as if your hypnotized and familiar with his touch.

I couldn't help but to return his kisses, his large hands suddenly wrapping around my waist and his tail lifting my skirt then ripping it off. "H-hey!" I gasped, blushing.

"Relax my princess, you can handle it."

You feel so needy for him. Why? why is it like this? Why is the dragon suddenly kissing me all off a sudden? I bit my lip to prevent myself from whining. He stops kissing me and clawed open my corset revealing my body. It's tail suddenly striking my butt, making me gasp and fall over to the red cushion surrounded by sparkling treasures and bones.

"What's your name?" he asked, before dipping down to my chest ravaging and marking it down. You couldn't help the noises coming out of your mouth. "(N-name)...ohh fuck!" i whined, he bites your thighs before completely making your mind go blank. The dragon's tongue rapidly licks over your dripping wet cunt, it was so undeniably good. I gripped his hair tightly and whined.

"Sylus is the name. In case you forgot, sweetie. It's been many years after all." he smirked before starting to ravish your dripping wet pussy again. The dragon — Sylus.

His red eyes gleamed over you before showing off his two massive cocks. I gulped and bit my lip as i looked at it astonished. How will that even fit inside me? Sylus claims my lips as he spits on his hands before pumping his cock.

"I-i..---" i stuttered "Scared now aren't we?"

I looked down nervously and backed away a bit. He then flips me over before slowly plunging his length inside me, making me moan and my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Holding into him tight as i closed my eyes in pain, i moaned and clawed his back. "Such a fucking whore for me. Look, your cunt perfectly hugs my cock, kitten." Slowly looking down, i bit my lip as i saw his length plunged inside me.

Sylus then began to move, his hips becoming faster and faster by time while claiming my lips and neck. "Ahhh! sy-lus..." My mind was now full of lust and need. Giving in, i started bucking my hips onto him while kissing him.

Oh...is this what the elders told me about? What happens only most to married couples on their wedding night. I fantasized about this, i red about this day. So immoral......

"Oh? you're getting a bit desperate aren't we slut?" Sylus said as he carried me, face to face before thrusting it inside my cunt. "Ohhh! yes! ohh ngh!" i whined over his shoulder and bit his neck, marking it.

You let out an shriek as he suddenly forces your head down, causing you to choke on his cock. Bucking his hips into your mouth you can only tear up in the sensation you are feeling whilst you kept eye contact with him.

"Good girl, taking my cock like that." You whimpered as his length was buried deep inside your throat, making a bulge. It was painful at first but it suddenly was replaced with pleasure as he then gets busy with your tight hole. Teasing and licking it before thrusting it once again. "s'too much...ah!!" i drooled over him. Fuck.

Delighted, he inserted the other one in to your ass. "!!!" i gasped and let him take control. "You like it that much huh? i'll teach you what love is again, sweetie." he bucked his hips and started to go rough with me. Sylus growls into your neck as he plunges into your pussy deeper. I was crying in pleasure, i looked at him desperate and kissed him as we both continue to buck our hips together in pleasure.

"I-i...i'm gonna! i'm gonna!" i moaned desperately and wrapped my legs around his waist as both of his cocks continue to delve inside me. "Let it all go, kitten." Ropes of hot seed came rushing inside your cervix. It was jaw droppingly good.

I was panting heavily and fell on top of his chest, my legs all wobly and my cunt dripping full of cum.

The cavern was silent now, the crackle of fire replaced by the rhythmic sound of their breathing. The princess lay against his chest, her fingers tracing the faint glow of scales that shimmered beneath his skin—half-man, half-beast. The intensity of their union still lingered in the air, but her mind raced as fragments of memories stirred, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. He watched her, his red eyes softened with something far deeper than desire—an ancient pain.

Sylus tilted her chin, his clawed hand surprisingly gentle. Her heart skipped. A flicker of recognition. Those eyes, that voice —it wasn’t new. It was something buried, forgotten.

She pulled back, her breath catching. "I know you.." she gasped. Her blood ran cold, then hot, as the truth hit her. "You’re... my—"

"Your lover." he finished, his voice heavy with centuries of longing. "And now, your dragon." The cavern seemed to shrink around them as her tears fell. She clung to him, her words a whisper against his chest. The dragon only held her tighter, his fiery embrace a promise of love that defied even time itself.

— the end.

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spatialwave · 3 months ago

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"my ambition" - part three | the prequel

➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ word count: 4.5k ➸ tags: mdni! minimal nsfw, fluffly, poly relationship, relationship beginnings, blossoming love, s1 act 1, no mention of y/n, alcohol use. ➸ notes: so excited to get this out! had a fun time giving this relationship history and i spent way too much time overthinking whether the ending was too rushed or if it was too self-indulgent... and then i realized its a fic so i get to do what i want LOL! pls let me know if you would like more parts, or if you want some drabbles about this specific trio. i would really appreciate it.🥹

<- part 2

You had always been academically gifted. Rising to the top of your classes each semester, pushing aside anyone in your way. Especially for a young woman, who had been accepted into the Academy before you had even finished your secondary schooling – a gifted student with the proudest of parents and professors.

Born with an influx of ambition flowing through your veins, knowing from a young age your duties to the world. It took more than wordy false promises to make a difference to Runeterra, it took action. That’s why you vowed to help Zaun.

What better way to take action, than to help those who had been long forgotten about. You were smart enough to see the way the city had been tossed aside, forgotten about, while Piltover only continued to grow and thrive. There was sickness festering underneath, people dying because of the less-than living conditions and poverty that swallowed it whole.

There were many days when you wondered if it was too much, if you, as a topsider, could actually make a difference. Would anyone want your help? The bigger question being – how were you going to help?

Then, you met Viktor.

That was when your ambition rose higher than ever. A smart, young man a handful of years older than you – a man from Zaun himself. The youngest assistant to the dean, a title that was hard to come by, and rather jealousy inducing.

You’d weaseled your way into his life quite easily, finding him in the halls and striking conversation whenever you could. He was polite, and good at slipping away when your attention became overbearing. You couldn’t help your over-excitement for a scholar from the undercity. Someone who matched your levels of ambition. Someone who was able to teach you about the place that had been nothing more than whispers and off-hand comments by your peers.

You fell in love. Quickly, and hard.

Viktor, too. It was your smile, your innate excitement, the genuine intrigue you had of him and how he was able to share the experiences of chronic illness with someone who wasn’t just a damned doctor – someone who understood the pain. How could he not fall in love?

Viktor found himself appreciating you more and more with each passing day, wondering when you’d sneak through the halls to find him to share your newest revelation.

Wondering when he could be expected to be pulled into a broom closet so you could ravage his lips with your own. He hadn’t been so experienced with romance until you appeared in his life, content with focusing on his studies at the academy. You changed the trajectory of his life—and so had Jayce.

”Hextech?” You raised an eyebrow, sitting on a stone bench within the academy courtyard and holding a half-eaten apple in your hand, “I don’t know. Sounds… unstable,” you murmured honestly, looking between Viktor’s eyes as he stood in front of you. You took another bite, the sweet flavour calming you.

You had to admit, as much as you were uncomfortable with this new scientific breakthrough, so to speak, you had never seen Viktor quite this excited about anything.

“Precisely,” Viktor said, eyes practically shimmering as he spoke to you, “that’s why you’re going to help.”

“No way,” you huffed, standing on your feet and waving him away, “you just told me that all the work got confiscated, how the hell would I even help?” You spoke in a hushed whisper, as if Heimerdinger himself was listening in to the conversation.

“Eh, confiscated is a loose term,” he said, taking a step toward you, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You tensed at the touch, turning your head from his gaze and shaking your head adamantly.

You had morals, and perhaps you listened to the dean a bit too much at times. Science was incredible, but ethics were important, and the explosion was proof that it was an unpredictable type of magic. If Heimerdinger made the call that hextech was unsafe, a yordle with decades over your own experiences, then you should listen, no?

“It has the capabilities of helping more than just the city,” he urged, fingers tightening on your shoulder, “Please. Let us show you.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings, leaving you conflicted as your heart yearned to know more. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes momentarily as your mind reeled at all the possibilities.

The first image to pop in your mind was the proper union of Zaun and Piltover, an incredible feat that no one could ever pull off. No more distinction between the two – just one beautiful place to live. Your dream.

Could hextech really be the key?

“Fine,” you sighed, crinkling your nose and opening your eyes, “but I’m under no obligation to like this Jayce guy, he sounds like he doesn’t know how to properly take care of his research.” You looked up at Viktor through your lashes, watching the way the corners of his lips curved into a small smile, “Why are you smiling like that?”

—

“Crank it!” Jayce exclaimed from his chair, eyes full of childlike wonder, as Viktor stood at the chalkboard, crossing through equations and murmuring about the research he was still properly acquainting himself with.

You, however, stood next to Jayce, chewing hard on your bottom lip as your partner agreed with his words.

It all seemed fine, plausible, even. Yet, you remained apprehensive.

“And it if it doesn’t stabilize, what then? Part two of the great blue explosion that destroyed your apartment?” You asked, eyes focusing on the man sitting, his honey-coloured eyes shining as they watched you. Your stomach twisted tight, hating the way he made you fill with butterflies.

You knew him for less than twenty-four hours, and he already had you twisted around his fingers. Gods.

It was completely unfair to be caught between them both.

“It’s worth a test,” he was adamant, then a sigh left his lips, “but we don’t have access to my equipment.”

“Which is being destroyed tomorrow,” Viktor murmured, eyes back on the chalkboard and fingers touching his chin as he was lost deep in thought.

You jumped when Jayce stood quickly, the chair he sat on nearly toppling over.

“What?” he asked, panic rising in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor cringed, looking over his shoulder at Jayce, “Sorry. I meant to tell you.”

You could sense the way Jayce was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, his breath hitching in his throat as he rambled on about how it was his life work, how they could show the council the equations to show them the proof. There had to be something!

But Viktor was right, proof wasn’t reliable on paper. They needed physical proof. A real test.

“We can’t do it without the crystals. The enforcers took them all, they’re gone,” Jayce ran his hands over his face as he collapsed onto the chair once more, deflated from the situation.

Your hand rested atop his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze, much like Viktor did with you when you were overworked. Jayce flickered his gaze to you, those puppy-like eyes offering a silent ‘thank-you’.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, “locked away in Heimerdinger’s lab,” he continued, eyes settling on you.

“No,” you were quick to know where he was going with this, “Count me out, we are not breaking in.”

“She’s right,” Jayce said, eyes widening, “you heard the council, if we’re wrong–”

“Better be right then,” Viktor interrupted, and Jayce’s eyes sparkled with possibility.

You felt a tightness in your chest, shaking your head as you took a step back. The two of them spoke back and forth, but you hadn’t been listening. Just as you reached the boiling point, you turned on your heels and took a step away, but Jayce was quick to turn his attention back to you. He stepped forward, hand grabbing your wrist, and you felt your heart jump up into your throat.

“Stay,” he pleaded, hand tightening.

You huffed a loud sigh through your nostrils, brows creasing together and lifting. Gods, why did he have to be so goddamned charming? You hardly noticed the curious look that Viktor gave you two before rolling his eyes and turning back to the chalkboard. The smirk on his lips well hidden.

“Fine!” You snapped, pulling your arm from his grip, “but if we get caught I’m telling everyone that you two made me do it. I am not taking the fall for this.”

Jayce grinned, a toothy smile that lit your cheeks aflame, “Deal.”

You stayed a few feet behind the two men, arms crossed over your chest, as you careened through the halls quietly. You were hardly a rule breaker, in fact, usually a stickler for keeping peace. It was in your nature, like many topsiders.

When the three of you reached the door, you felt panic rising as footsteps echoed down the hall from where you had just come from.

“Shit,” Jayce whispered, “hurry.”

Viktor was fiddling with the keys, fingers filtering through them until he found the one for Heimerdinger’s lab. With practiced ease, he slipped the key into the door lock, twisting back and forth until it clicked.

Both you and Jayce were standing side-by-side, watching a flashlight in the distance, pointing in your direction, but too far to pick up on the three figures breaking in.

Viktor opened the door, and they stepped inside, but you were frozen. Unable to tear your gaze away from the enforcer that had been doing patrols and walking right toward you.

“Ah!” You gasped when there was a harsh tug on your arm, stumbling into the laboratory and crashing against Jayce’s chest. Viktor closed the door behind you without even the slightest creaking – a perfectly silent entrance.

“You've never broken a rule in your life, have you?” Jayce smiled, eyes watching you with curiosity as you pulled away from him yet again. You opened your mouth to answer but Viktor cut you off.

“She is a law-abiding citizen,” he answered, supporting himself on his cane as he walked further into the lab, looking around for the confiscated equipment.

“Can you guys keep it down? They’ll hear us.” You whispered, pushing past Jayce. Annoyed, and thankful the redness on your cheeks wasn’t visible in the darkened room.

“Huh,” Jayce grinned in response to Viktor, walking behind you as he looked around the lab, “you’re not kidding.”

“Shut up.” You hissed.

Settling in the lab, you stood off to the side, peering at some of Heimerdinger’s books as Jayce scrambled to find the pieces of his work. You listened to the sounds of the electrical whirring as he welded the parts back together, lost in thought as your fingers traced over the spine of a book.

A hand lifted to the small of your back, startling you for a moment.

“Sorry,” Viktor murmured, eyes watching you.

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, smiling as you leaned against him. Silence grew between you two as you slowly dropped your hand from the bookcase. You glanced at Viktor, biting down on the inside of your lip in habit, “Do you think hextech really has the strength to help people? Like us?”

Those honey-eyes softened as they flickered over your nervous expression, and he nodded, “I do.”

With a deep inhale, you tried to let go of your apprehension to the situation. This was for the best. If you wanted to reach your dreams, you had to run over a few toes, right?

“It’s all here,” Jayce called from his spot at the table, pulling the goggles off of his face and turning to look over at you two.

Viktor held up a blue hextech crystal to you, one from the handful that was confiscated, and when you offered him a questionable look, he insisted with the forward movement of his hand. Slowly, you reached out and took it in your fingers, feeling the rigid orb press against your skin.

This was it.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before making your way to Jayce, who had been looking at you two with a small smile.

“Here,” you said, offering the crystal with an open palm as you stood next to him, Viktor coming up beside you.

Jayce reached out, taking the crystal, but not without a lingering touch to your hand. Viktor took notice, a sparkle in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed as you watched in curiosity as the hextech crystal was placed into the machinery.

It glowed a bright blue hue, sparks from the crystal illuminating the room. You had never seen anything so beautiful.

“It’s time to crank it!” Viktor said excitedly as he snapped close one of Jayce’s notebooks he had spent time looking through the past few days, looking in front of you and toward Jayce.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He asked, growing uncertain as Viktor sucked back a breath and shook his head.

“Do it,” you interjected, eyes wide as you stared at the beauty of the hextech. The inner scientist in you couldn’t be tamed any longer, you needed to see what this could do. It was almost addicting, and you couldn’t look away. It had sucked you in completely, “you have to try.”

They shared a look between each other, swallowing lumps down their throats. Viktor leaned forward, pressing the button of the machine, and it began to spin. It gained enough speed that it created a constant blow of wind that pushed your hair back wildly – electric currents flying wildly.

“I don’t think it’s going to hold!” Jayce said loudly, the electrical crackling of the machine deafening all other noses, “look at the buildup!”

“The resonance will stabilize it, trust me,” Viktor returned, sharing a thoughtful look with Jayce, an attempt to calm him.

You, however, were unable to look away. You stared at the wild glows of blue, a smile on your face, and blissfully unaware of the enforcers that were making their way up to the laboratory after seeing the blue light shining from the windows of the lab.

Moments later, the chaos settled, and you gasped with a big smile, hands slamming on the tabletop, “this is incredible!” You exclaimed in awe, watching as it stabilized.

Viktor smiled to himself, his hand finding your back yet again, “told you it would work,” he said encouragingly, eyes flickering to Jayce, “all yours.”

“It’s never done that before,” he murmured to himself, unable to tear his gaze from the slowly spinning crystal that sent waves of electricity to the surrounding runes, “...alright. Here we go.”

Hesitantly, he reached to the button Viktor had pressed, twisting the knob several times, so the surrounding runes began to spin and orbit the crystal.

You watched expectantly as Jayce twisted it over and over, creating different pathways for the crystal to spark energy. You couldn’t help but lean closer, even when the out flowing electricity stung your cheeks.

What the three of you hadn’t expected was a surge of energy to blast out, nearly toppling you all and breaking the lab’s windows. Within the impact, you fell right into Jayce with a yelp. Strong arms wrapped around you as he reached for the knob, and you clung to him, face buried into his chest.

The energy was strong, and for a moment you prepared for the untimely death of three scientists who just wanted to change lives. How fitting.

Then, the glass from the window flew back into place, as though time around you reversed, causing a brief moment of respite and enough time for Jayce to push forward and slam his hand on the button. The crystal fell back into place, and you were all able to breathe.

Slowly, you peeled yourself away from Jayce, feeling around your face and body to make sure your body was still completely intact.

“Incredible,” Viktor beamed, smiling, “we need to try again.”

You and Jayce shared a look, silently agreeing that it was now or never. And for you, there was no more backing out.

This time, you took a few steps back, not wanting to be caught up in the aftermath of a worse explosion, but still curious enough to peek over their shoulders. As you settled back, you swore you heard sounds coming from the hallway, but it was hard to tell over the crackling sounds of the hextech.

Pressing your ear against the door, you closed your eyes to focus, and you gasped.

“Someone’s coming,” you told them, hands holding the doorknob tight, “you better hurry.”

Viktor took a few steps to the door, sliding his cane through the handles of the door so it was snug, “better than nothing.”

The two of you shared a startled gasp, the rattling of the door loud when the enforcers reached the door and began to hit it with force, kicking and yelling for you to open up. Heimerdinger was with them.

“Stop this lunacy at once!” He called from beyond the door, and your gut twisted in guilt.

A few more heavy kicks and the door creaked.

“They’re almost through,” Viktor said, turning around back to Jayce’s side, “no pressure.”

“That sounds like pressure!” Jayce yelled, working hard to synchronize the runes with the knob. He looked over his shoulder at you, who was now pressing against the door with your weight. With each kick of the door, you huffed, doing your best to keep them from pushing it in.

A rather heavy kick caused you to stumble, but you got right back to it, watching over your shoulder as Jayce closed his eyes and focused on the hextech.

Your attention was pulled back to the door when the cane cracked, and you tried to push against the door, but it was no use. One more kick and you’d be goners.

But the hextech won.

The sound of another surge pushed you against the door, and you panicked at the intensity that felt like it was going to crush you, and then suddenly… you were weightless. You turned to Jayce and Viktor, eyes wide, as you all had begun to float up into the air.

After one more kick, they broke inside, but the surge reached them, too. They stumbled back, while you had started laughing.

It was incredible, absolutely incredible.

“Excuse me, underfoot,” Heimerdinger spoke, pushing past the enforcer and stepping inside his lab, gasping when his eyes landed on you three.

You were nearly touching the ceiling, floating with your belly to the ground and caught slowly spinning between Jayce and Viktor. Your giggles erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to control it as you twisted around in the air.

Jayce flicked a piece of metal, where it floated through a glowing blue orb that was just above you, and it shot out right at Viktor. You collectively gasped, taking everything in.

This was magic and science blurred together, a medley of perfection. Hextech worked. You did it!

“Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger spoke, looking up as you spun your body around, touching and prodding at debris.

It was like swimming, you were able to push yourself, and you accidentally collided against Jayce, the two of you sharing a laugh. You couldn’t quite place it, but as your eyes caught his, you felt something – like a mutual intrigue of each other. Was attraction too strong of a word? Your cheeks reddened, matching his own, then he cleared his throat and turned his gaze away.

“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor finally responded, pushing toward you both and smiling as the three of you moved around together smoothly, not touching. Floating. Feeling free.

Like all things in life, it didn’t last. The surged power of the hextech settled, and thankfully it was a smooth descend that kept you three from any broken bones.

Viktor had been wrangled by Heimerdinger, only after a good verbal lashing that included you and Jayce. Blabbering about the rules, ethics and how dangerous this was. At the end, your partner had been whisked away for damage control, trying to explain everything and to keep any of you three from penalties and punishments.

It left you and Jayce to clean up, gathering everything together into the back area of the lab, still in awe over everything that had happened.

Once finished, you stepped out into the brisk night air first, somehow still chipper enough to bounce down the steps while Jayce hustled behind you. You hadn’t been so inclined to do goodbyes, but he stopped you with a hand on your wrist, much like earlier. It sent a shiver up your arm.

“Wait,” he said, and you faced him, battling the redness that crept up your neck as you tried to remain composed, “will you stay?” he asked, grip loosening on your wrist, “to help us, I mean.”

“With the hextech? Of course,” you answered, rolling your eyes playfully, “Who in their right mind would see that and not want to explore it? That was incredible, Jayce. You should be really proud of yourself.”

A smile lifted at the corners of his cheeks, the compliment doing wonders to the insecurities that lie deep within him.

“Wanted to make sure,” he eventually said, dropping your wrist as you both ventured away and into Piltover, toward your homes, “I like you. Well, I mean – you’re good to have around. Smart, you know.”

A giggle bubbled up, a hand lifting to your mouth to try to stifle it, “you’re a dork, just like Viktor.”

Jayce smiled at you, biting down on his bottom lip as the two of you ventured down the streets together, “how long have you two been together?”

The question was quick to fluster you as you met Jayce’s curious gaze. You wondered if the question accidentally slipped out, and you could ignore it, but you could tell he was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, uh, just a couple of months. Officially.” You answered shyly, hands clasped behind your back as you walked side-by-side.

“That’s nice,” he murmured, “...so, has he always been so absurdly intense about science? Don’t get me wrong, I like everything about his ambitions, he’s a great guy for even wanting to help me. He’s just—“

“Surprisingly eccentric?” You laughed, nodding, “when he gets excited about something, it’s like his brain goes haywire. I suppose that’s the way of being an ambitious innovator”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jayce smiled, quietly admiring you in the moonlight. Studying and memorizing everything he could.

The two of you ended up walking around aimlessly, indulging in small chatter as you shared your hopes and dreams. You shared nearly everything you could about your life, and he told his story about him and his mother, and how that sparked his discovery towards hextech. It was easy to talk to Jayce, to get lost in his voice – he was just so damned kind.

Nearly an hour passed when you finally approached your apartment, which was rather close to the Academy. The two of you had simply taken a few detours around the neighbouring streets.

“Trust me, if you want to get on the dean’s good side, then you need to…” your voice drifted off when your eyes settled on a certain individual sitting outside on a stone bench. Broken cane in his hand and looking up at the sky. “Viktor!” You called out, rushing ahead, “if I had known you were coming back to mine, I would’ve hurried back.”

He turned to look at you two, raising a curious eyebrow and smirking as Jayce slowed his pace behind you, “I have only been here a few minutes, it’s all right.”

You dug around for your keys in your pocket, walking up to him and outstretching an arm for support as he stood. He could walk relatively okay without his cane, but you still enjoyed the way he would lean on you. It became habitual between you two.

“I should leave you both to it,” Jayce cleared his throat, giving an awkward wave as you two ventured toward the apartment.

“Why don’t you come in?” Viktor asked, motioning for him to follow.

You looked up at him in interest, figuring the two of you would be falling asleep the moment you got inside. Nonetheless, you went along with it.

“No, no, it’s late. I don’t want to overstay–”

“Come inside, Jayce. We don’t bite.”

Viktor was convincing enough, or perhaps Jayce had too much of a soft spot for him because he was quick to accept the invitation.

It ended up being a great night, the three of you crowding around your kitchen table. Drinking some nicely aged wine you had hidden away for only the most important occasions. You celebrated your shared success and discussed everything hextech, the possibilities and what you hoped it would provide. You shared laughs, especially as the night went on, and you had all begun to feel a bit delirious at times as the sun began lighting the sky above the horizon and the wine settled in your stomachs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to end the night,” you smiled, sleep beginning to win its war over you, “I’m tired and sore, I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I should get back to mine, or, what’s left of it,” Jayce agreed with a dampened chuckle, eyes flickering out of the window to gauge the time with the colour of the skyline.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” The question fell from your lips much too quickly, unsure if it was your overt politeness or an underlying desire that lead it, “if you’re okay with that.” You shot your gaze to Viktor.

It felt like hours, but the few seconds you took to share a look said lots. A silent agreement about your shared feelings for Jayce.

“Sure,” he answered. A shy smile tugged at your lips, and your lover turned back to Jayce.

The man seemed a bit uncertain, and maybe a bit too tipsy to understand the looks thrown at him. His amber eyes jumped between you two, “I’ve intruded far too mu–”

“Stay.” Your voice mixed with Viktor’s almost too perfectly, in complete synchronization.

“Okay.”

The night became a blur. It was Viktor who had led you both to the bedroom, the wine clouding all judgment from the three parties and allowing you to just be. To indulge in each other without wondering what would come next. To allow yourselves to act on attraction and lust with nothing holding you back.

“I’m glad you stayed,” you murmured, lips lingering along the stubble on Jayce’s jawline. Viktor, who was behind you, peppered kisses along your bare shoulders.

“Me too,” Jayce breathed in response, hands careening your naked body and intertwining with Viktor’s fingers with they met over your hip.

“Let’s stop talking,” Viktor mumbled with a quick nip at your skin, the confidence in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

Jayce wasn’t quite certain how he managed to be wrangled in by you both, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when, for once, everything felt right.

#jayvik x reader #jayvik x you #jayce talis x reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane jayce #arcane viktor #arcane fanfic #jayvik #jayce x reader #jayce x you #arcane #jayce talis fic #viktor fic #wordsbyspatial #too many tags loool

1K notes · View notes

osarina · 2 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 LOVERS ROCK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: there are very few things that leave dazai osamu at a loss for answers. you are one of them. more specifically, it's your relationship (is this a relationship?) with him that has him so disconcerted, and dazai is getting to his breaking point.

(wordcount: 3.6k; nsfw [kind of, very suggestive so will label nsfw], ada!reader, dazai has SEVERE trust issues & paranoia, this is set like half a year after he joined the ada, dazai also has a bad relationship with sex that is mentioned in his narration, he is terrible at communication too, accidentally hurts reader a little [nothing major])

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hiiiiiii guys <.< so i'm actually really proud of this ehehe. this is a universe that i'm tempted to expand on like wykyk, but we'll see.

Dazai hates giving up control.

Ever since he was a kid, he’s been hyper-independent. First with his family, because they were never around and he had to learn to be self-sufficient otherwise he’d die a slow, painful death. Then in the Port Mafia, he quickly learned that asking for help is a weakness and being dependent on others is a vulnerability that people would take advantage of to subvert his influence and usurp his position as an underboss. As long as he’s remembered, it was all but a death sentence to rely on any other than himself.

It wasn't until he became a member of the Agency that he finally began to allow himself to depend on others—banking on Ranpo and his mind, Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her tenacity. But even then, he never allowed himself to lose complete control over a situation, drawing things out in a way that would always leave him with a firm hand guiding the chess board.

Until he met you, at least.

He wasn’t sure what made you so different—he still isn’t entirely sure, it’s a thought that frequently plagues him, and because of it, he can never allow himself to be fully comfortable with you. You joined the Agency a month after him with lips that spoke pretty words and gave him even prettier smiles. You’d been kind to everyone, but Dazai likes to think you were especially kind to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Dazai liked the idea of it.

Well, he didn’t at first.

In fact, he was rather hostile to it. To you. The longing he felt for the casual, soft touches you laid upon the other members of the Agency felt more like a weakness than anything else. It scared him. He’d never desired anything of the sort before, he’d always been okay on his own—thrived in it, really—and now he was suddenly seeking you out at all hours of the day, and he didn’t even fully understand why. Every time he sought you out, it ended poorly with him saying something uncalled for and your expression twisting as you tried to hide your hurt.

And yet he still continued to seek you out. He made the same mistake over and over again: constantly forcing himself into your space after getting jealous watching you doll out casual affection to the other detectives, waiting for you to give him the same attention, and then lashing out in some manner when you finally did.

He supposed it didn’t help that Dazai was uncomfortable in general with people touching him, which naturally made him even more hostile because why was he longing for something that made him uncomfortable?

He also still isn’t sure how you managed to break through all of his walls—or why you even persisted when it became clear that he was at best incompetent when it comes to dealing with real emotions, and at worst, borderline malicious.

But you did. And it scared him. Scares him.

Dazai lets out a shaky breath when he feels your lips ghost against his neck, fingers twisting the sheets below him. Your hands are sliding against his sides, gentle and soothing, and a part of him wants to melt into the sheets while another part of him wants to flip the two of you around, press you back down into the mattress and rip control over the situation back from you.

As if you can sense his conflict—maybe you can, Dazai has come to realize that unlike everyone else at the Agency, who he can fool with his mask of exaggerated dramatics and clownlike behavior, that you had somehow learned how to see right through him—you pause for the sparest moment and trace your lips back up his neck to brush them against his own, soft and comforting, as if to soothe his discord.

And it works somehow. Dazai doesn’t know how you do it because he can’t even quell his own mind when it starts to spin out of control, but the brush of your lips against his is enough to ground him again.

“Everything okay?” you ask quietly, eyes searching his face for the answers that he knew his lips might not give.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice rough and cracking over the word.

He thinks maybe a part of it is the way you always check on him to make sure he’s doing alright. For Dazai, sex has only ever been transactional—he was young when he was first carted off to a whorehouse so he could be taught how to use his body for intel and other miscellaneous advantages. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy it, he always found it to be underwhelming at best and loathsome at worst. And he did try to enjoy it, he forced himself to seek out women in his free time to try to learn to enjoy the activity that so many other people seem to find comfort and pleasure in.

It wasn’t until you that he could.

His first time with you was earth shattering. He’s not exaggerating when he says it completely altered his perspective on intimacy. It was embarrassing, almost—he remembers giving you quick, flirty smiles, and he remembers the sly comments he whispered to you at the bar the members of the Agency were at to celebrate Yosano’s birthday.

He knew that morning that he wanted you in his bed by nightfall—partly because he thought it would get you out of his system, that maybe all he needed was a good fuck to stop acting like he was brainless whenever you were around, and partly because he was curious. He was curious to know if that genuine demeanor of yours continued behind closed doors, or if it was all just a mask you liked to put up in public.

Dazai’s hands were on you before the two of you even left for the night—they were creeping up your inner thigh, lingering on your bicep, he was resting his chin on your shoulder as he stood behind you, warding off any man that might try to approach you with cold looks you couldn’t catch. Eventually, like he planned, you asked him if he wanted to go back to your apartment, and Dazai agreed, of course, eager to get his questions answered. Eager to free himself of whatever shackles you’ve put on him.

And it all went downhill from there.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, frown deepening and hands stilling on his waist when you don’t find an answer you like on his face.

Dazai tries to play it off—you’re here for sex, not all of his unstable thoughts. He gives you a practiced smile and slips his hand under your shirt to rest on your lower back, pulling you firmer against him—an easy tactic, one of the first he learned to distract his partner when he slips up.

He should have known better than to think you would fall for it.

Instead of returning to the lingering line of kisses you were leaving on his neck, you sit back to study him, and Dazai feels seen. He shifts under your scrutinizing gaze, averting his eyes to the ceiling and counting the seconds that pass as he waits for you to ask that dreaded question.

“What's wrong?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai can evade it. He knows that he can—even if the sex is ruined, because he knows you’re not going to have sex with him if you think something is wrong, he can evade this question by refusing to answer. You never press it, although sometimes your lips curve down in a disappointed frown that makes him feel even worse than before.

But Dazai finds himself hesitating.

“I-“ he starts to say before cutting himself off abruptly, horrified by the realization that he was just about to admit to you what he was thinking. “Nothing.”

The anticipation that had sprung to your eyes when he started to speak dissipates when he blows you off, and it makes his chest tighten. He feels your thighs tense and knows you’re about to get off of him, so his hands fly to your hips to keep you in place.

“Something,” he corrects, voice just a little too raspy for comfort. “… Something.”

You settle back down on top of him, tilting your head to the side.

“Tell me?” you offer quietly, your hands drop to his arms, sliding up and down the bandages that cover his forearms slowly. Soothingly. He hates it.

“I just don’t understand this,” Dazai admits. “It’s… confusing.”

It's possibly the first time he’s ever spoken these words out loud. It’s a weakness he’s never allowed anyone to be aware of—even when Dazai has no idea what’s going on, he’s careful to put up an impenetrable facade of confidence, one that even the keenest eyes can’t see through.

And here he is, bare of masks and facades, admitting his weakness plainly to someone who could easily take advantage of it.

Oh.

“This as in…?” you prompt with a pondering frown.

Is that it?

“This,” he repeats more insistently as his mind races. “Us.”

You, he accuses silently.

You have the ability to destroy him. Dazai realizes, disconcerted, that this is what is confusing him. He's allowed himself to be weak in front of you. He's lowered all of his guards. He's let you in through his many walls of defenses. You’ve settled down in the treacherous beating thing in his chest that he’s tried to rip out too many times to count, and Dazai waits for you to take advantage of it. He waits for this to go wrong. Waits for you to prove yourself to be a Trojan Horse in the form of dazzling smiles and a beautiful face.

But you don’t, and that’s what Dazai just can’t understand. He doesn’t understand what you’re getting out of this—he knows what he’s getting out of it. He’s getting comfort, he’s able to pretend he’s capable of being loved, he gets you. But you’re not getting anything out of this, so he feels like he’s just been biding time before the other shoe drops.

“… What about us do you not understand?” You sound perplexed, and it agitates Dazai. Worse, you can tell it agitates him because immediately you run your thumb over the pulse point on his wrist to soothe him. You add quickly with a small smile, “I'm not understanding now, help me?”

It is beyond disconcerting that even though he knows it was a ploy to distract and soothe him, it works anyway. Dazai needs to do something about this.

“What do you get out of this?” Dazai decides to ask the question plainly instead of dancing around his words, partially because of the agitation and partially because he just needs an answer. Desperately. “What do you get out of what’s going on between us? I don't understand why you keep agreeing to meet me, why you initiate it sometimes. I need to know what it is you get."

Sex is transactional—it always is. Each party has to get something out of it, and if you don't know what the other is getting, then you have made a perilous mistake somewhere along the line. Dazai has known this since the beginning, but he allowed himself too long to bask blindly in the comfort of your arms and bed. He can’t keep doing this without knowing what you’re getting, It’ll come back to haunt him.

You’re still confused by his question even with the explanation, he can see it in the way the thoughts race behind your eyes as you try to piece it together.

Eventually you settle on a smile that’s almost playful as you answer with, “You?”

Dazai’s frown deepens at your words, his expression becomes a bit colder. He thinks you’re evading the question because you don’t want to answer it, and that’s dangerous. You joined the Armed Detective Agency not long after him—were you a plant sent to get close to him by one of his old enemies? By Mori? His thoughts start to spiral dangerously. These are questions he should’ve been having months ago when you first joined the Agency, not now.

“What are you really getting?” His grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me. Stop avoiding the question.”

Your expression becomes a bit more alarmed when he closes off from you, he thinks maybe his grip on your hips might be painful from your wince but he can’t afford to let go until he has his answer.

“You, Dazai,” you say again, more insistently this time. “I get you. I get to spend time with you. be with you. That’s what I get.”

“But why?” Dazai presses, raising his voice, holding you tighter. He is hurting you now, he can tell from the way you try to bat his hands away, but he couldn’t let go if he wanted to. His blood pressure is rising as he realizes how badly he might have messed up. All of Ango’s efforts—Odasaku’s last request—all down the drain because of one mistake. “Why? What information are you trying to get? Who sent you? Who are you work-“

“What?” you demand. The confusion in your eyes is almost believable—Dazai thinks you must’ve been sent by someone important if you’re this good of an actress. His thoughts track back to Mori and his mind starts to fog with fury. “Who sent me? What are you-Dazai-I want you because I care about you. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The fog clears, Dazai stares at you blankly, hands loosening on your hips. He's not sure he heard you correctly, so he says: “What did you just say?”

Your expression softens a bit, and you repeat, “I care about you. I want you because I care about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Dazai says immediately. Instinctually.

“Yes, I do.” Dazai has never seen you get irritated before, but your face twists when he instantly denies your words. “I do, Dazai.”

“You don’t,” he insists. “You can’t. You don’t even know me, you don't care about me.”

He thinks he almost would have preferred that you had some ulterior motive to this. He hates the way his chest swells with hope—hope is dangerous, more dangerous than any other emotion. Fear, anger, sadness, none of it compares to the light that tries to bloom within his rotted chest. He tries to cut it off before it can spread, but it’s notoriously hard to snuff out; it clings to anything it can get a hold on even as he tries to push it away.

The idea is… more tempting than he expected. It’s concerning, that should be enough to clear his head, but it’s not. His fingers cling to your shirt desperately, he searches your face, trying to find the sparest indication that you may be lying.

He finds none.

Still, Dazai knows better. He knows this won’t last. you’ll find out who he was, all of the things he did, and then you’ll leave him. You’ll see him for what he is, and you’ll leave him. This will never last.

Nothing good ever does for him.

“But I do care about you,” you insist, and you’re cruel now, because you reach out to cup his cheek and Dazai leans into your touch. He can’t help himself from it. “I care about you deeply, Dazai.”

“You can’t,” he repeats, and to his horror, his voice wavers. “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’ve done, and when you do-“

“We all have skeletons in our closet, Dazai,” you interrupt him quietly. “I don't think there’s a single ability user out there that doesn’t. I don't need to know your past to know I care about you.”

That’s not true, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out. Instead, he says hoarsely, “It would change how you see me. I'm not who you think I am. I’m-”

A monster. A demon. His blood is black—has been since the day he was born, will be until the day he dies. He is not someone who should be cared for. He's someone who should be left to rot, someone the world would be better off without. He doesn’t deserve this, not when there are so many other people in the world who are unfailingly good and do deserve it.

“It won’t,” you say again, but Dazai knows it’s not true, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know how awful he is. You don’t give him the chance to protest though. “I care about who you are today. I care about who you are tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. Not who you were months ago. The past is the past, Dazai, leave it there.”

“It's not that simple,” he rasps.

“It can be,” you say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, “if you let it.”

“It can’t be that simple,” he disagrees. There’s an odd lilt to the voice—pleading, almost, begging you not to give him hope only to rip it away when the truth inevitably comes to light. “It can’t.”

“It can for us,” you tell him again, and Dazai finds himself believing you. Wanting to believe you. Wanting to believe things can just be that simple. That easy.

“Why?” Dazai breathes out, eyes searching your face for answers. “Why me? Why not someone…”

Someone better. Someone good. Someone deserving.

“Because you’re you,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, you lean down to ghost your lips against his and it fogs his brain with a pleasant warmth he’s only ever felt with you. “Do I need a reason more than that?”

Dazai wants to say yes, because him being him is a reason for you to not want him. He’s despicable, he’s cruel, he lashed out at you for weeks all the while forcing himself into your space because he wanted to be near you but didn’t understand why.

“I love your smile,” you say, thumb running along his bottom lip, “and I love even more when I’m the reason for it.”

“But-“

“And I love your eyes,” you continue, fingers trailing up his face to trace under his eyes. “I think they’re the prettiest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.”

“I know that’s not true,” he rasps—he knows very well that his eyes are unnerving, too black and too empty. People have been unable to look him in the eye for long even when he was a kid. “I-“

“But most of all, it’s just you,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks with both of your hands. “You make me happy. I like being around you. I always look forward to the time we get to spend together—missions, at work, after work. I’ll take you in whatever way I can get, Dazai.”

You don’t let him avert his gaze this time, you force him to look at you, force him to see the truth of your words reflected in the adoration on your face. No one has ever looked at him like this before, and it makes him feel bare. Seen. He’s always felt seen with you, but never like this.

“I was… mean to you.” He still tries to argue with you, lashes fluttering shut. “I was cruel for months because-“

You laugh at him. “Mean? You were like a puppy trying to snap at my hand to scare me off.”

Dazai gapes. “A puppy?” he demands, seriously offended. “Don’t compare me to a dog. I’m more like a… A…”

“A…?” you press, a pretty smile flickering at your lips.

“A panther,” he supplies confidently.

“A kitten,” you correct.

Dazai groans dramatically, flinging his head back, but he finds himself smiling. He finds his chest full of warmth, light and bubbly, and when he looks back up at you to meet your eyes, he finds the same emotion swimming on your face. He thinks again that no one has ever looked at him like this before—not with such fondness, not with adoration, not with…

No, Dazai doesn’t dare think that word.

“I care about you too,” he admits. He’s hesitant, like he’s scared to say the words out loud.

“Even with all of the skeletons hidden in my closet?” you tease, leaning down to brush your lips against his again, and then a second time, and then a third. He basks in it, eyes sliding shut as you kiss him gently—it takes a few moments for your words to register.

“They’re not worse than mine,” he replies, the pads of his fingers running up and down your thighs absently. After a couple of seconds pass, he asks, “… What skeletons do you have?”

You tilt your head to the side and say playfully, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Dazai isn’t ready for that, so he just tosses you a smile and a wink before murmuring, “How about you show me something else instead?”

You laugh at that, tossing your head back and giggling so genuinely that your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound. His lips part to make another suggestive comment, but he finds himself breathless at the sight of you.

You’re beautiful, and Dazai can’t help but think again that he doesn’t deserve this. You.

“Deal,” you agree.

This time when you lean down to press your lips against his, Dazai’s hands are content to rest on your thighs. His fingers don’t itch to wrangle control from you, and his mind isn’t plagued with paranoia-induced thoughts.

He thinks, maybe, that he can get used to this. Used to you.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs smut

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dunmeshistash · 10 months ago

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Okay I think I'm ready to write the second part of this post about Milsiril

To make it easier for me I'll just divide this into her relationship with Kabru, Mithrun and Helki (her ex-canary prisoner teammate)

First about Kabru

This is an extra from the daydream hour 5. The caption says "Something like this might as well have happened" so its probably not canon but could be. I honestly think his reaction to Milsiril visiting and being overbearing says a lot about the type of relantionship they have. This is the fakest bitch in the whole of dungeon meshi, he never says what he trully thinks unless there's an advantage to doing so, he's a people pleaser that does and says anything to make people like/trust him. And yet he immediatly converts into "Mooooooom you're embarassing meeeeee" when he sees it's Milsiril.

This translation used "Mom" but as I understand the original he uses the more formal version so I think it would be closer to "Mother" but still he acknowleges her as his Mother, and he acts like her kid in every interaction we see between them.

I really don't understand where the idea that he learned to be fake from being "forced" to be her adoptive son comes from.

(Continuing under a cut)

The other interaction we see between them is the Kabru extra from the Adventurer's Bible

Kabru comes to her with a deep fear he clearly has had even before she adopted him, he trusted her with this fear and she did not disappoint him, she comforted him and then gave him the information he needed to believe what she was saying

I'd also like to point out in no moment she discouraged him from calling his his bio-mom "Mom". He also says she taught her children everything they asked

I doubt this would only be true for him, it also mirrors something she said in the manga

"You can go ahead and learn all you want about something else." I believe it when Kabru says she made every effort to answer her children's questions. I think this is also the way she expresses the love she has for them. Plus I love the thought bubble with Kabru mirroring what he learned from her. I also love this daydream hour, she sacrifices her own comfort to do something for Kabru.

Milsiril isn't a perfect mother tho, besides the fact she is overprotective she comes from a very different culture from her children. I like to call her Kabru's white mom cause I think that would be the real world equivalent. This extra is the one I think the most about showing this context perfectly

Kabru wants to share Utaya sweets but looks at his mom looking gloomy/rejected so he talks about fruitcake instead. This very rude for Milsiril to do since she's kinda trying to overwrite his actual cultural background, but I think its done more as a "I want you to like the things I like" rather than something nefarious, and once again Kabru doesn't hide at all his distaste for it, he does the bare minimum to please his mom since she's being dramatic but he doesn't lie to her, he shows how displeased he is about fruitcake, something he refuses to do when eating the harpy omelette that is way worse, because he must make a good impression for Laios. Kabru is honest with his overbearing white mom once again.

Now a little about Rin, from Kabru's context, this is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

(look at Helki he's such a gremlin i love him) anyway, Rin has a trauma about elves, they really mistreated her so she hates them, but when they notice she isn't thriving they go to Milsiril for help (Helki specifically I'll talk more about him next). I think this indicates she really has a better understanding of short lived kids, her kids are thriving differently from the ones the other elves try to care for. I'd also like to remember she lives secluded from other elves so while Kabru probably had lots of interactions with elves during his life, most of it was probably spent with Milsiril and her other adoptive kids. She also asks Kabru if he would do this to help Rin, he isn't being forced or anything, I also think it's good that Milsiril knows she cant take in any more kids, this to me shows she's worried about the quality of life her kids have. That is all to say, Rin is the one with elf trauma, not Kabru, because Kabru had Milsiril to shelter him from them.

Helki

This will be short and sweet since there's barely anything about Helki, he's her prisioner companion from her time in the canaries, but he was pardoned after Utaya, it says so in the Canarie's Structure page in the new adventurer's guide but I cant really find it translated again... so here's google's machine translation (I remember it saying "Retired and pardoned as a reward after Utaya", something like that)

so officially he isn't a prisoner anymore, but I think he still works as a canary, even so he and Milsiril seem quite close, he is the one to go talk to her about Rin, He is there when she's training Kabru (both laughing at Kabru and then participating). I saw people theorizing she stays close to him because he is also someone who she can feel superior to, but I don't believe it at all, he's STILL in contact with her even after they have nothing to with each other, I think they really have a friendship, and there's no point where it seems like she feels like she's better than him or that he's less than her, people seem to interpret Milsiril and her relationships in the worst possible ways every time and I don't understand why.

This segways into Mithrun

I've also seen people assuming she only got close to Mithrun because now he needs her and has no power over her, once again with the theory that Milsiril surrounds herself with people she can feel superior to. But once again, Milsiril had a change of perspective about Mithrun after seeing his Dungeon

Rather than she feeling superior to him I think rather she realized he was just like her. (And I think she's friends with Helki for a similar reason, it's probably easier to see him as an equal than other nobles)

I've also seen this part used as proof of that. "He said that you've got suspicious ulterior motives and that I shouldn't listen to you" as if that's true, but this is past Mithrun, the one that didn't trust anyone and thought ill of all his teammates, ofc he doesn't believe someone would help him without an ulterior motive. This doesn't prove much about her real motivations.

Also before she showed up, Mithrun was being cared for by servants hired by his brother, he isn't someone helpless she has power over, he is still a member of an important Noble family that has a caring brother providing for him, he can do without Milsiril, he had done without her for 20 years before Utaya happened and she quit the Canaries.

This is all to say I think Milsiril is just a white(elf) adoptive mom doing her best, I don't see much of anything nefarious about her or her motivations, she is flawed as all the dunmeshi characters are, she isn't a perfect mom, she isn't an evil mom, she's just a person.

Elves in general also see short lived species as "children" so I imagine this makes her "You'll always be my baby" attitude way worse, she really treats pre-teen/teen Kabru like he's a toddler sometimes. But she also respected him enough to go all out in training him. I think they're a family with everything that entails.

PS: I didn't get much into Interracial adoption since this is something that happens irl too and I don't know much about all the issues that entails, but in the end, in this case, it seems like a net positive for the kids she adopts considering all we see about how she raised Kabru.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Milsiril #Mithrun #Kabru #The Canaries #part 2 of 2 #longpost #long post #Kabru of Utaya #Helki #dunmeshi thoughts #Dunmeshi Extra

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diamonddaze01 · 21 days ago

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Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?��

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this.

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining.

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,�� you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.”

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

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clesired · 2 months ago

Text

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred x slytherin!reader? someone who’s an introvert but opposites attract?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! everyone knows opposites attract, how could you forget!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! light!angst ( like really light, reader gets into her head a bit but nothing drastic ), fluff, introverted slytherin fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.3k words!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of a warm hand rubbing your side.

You look down at your boyfriend, who’s already looking up at you with a small smile as he pulls you closer to his chest.

“You alright, love?” He asks quietly, his question only for you to hear, and you feel a wave of affection for your sweet boy wash over you.

He can get a bit rowdier when he’s with his friends. Louder—but he always lowers his voice when he’s checking in on you in group settings, knowing it would only make you feel bad if attention was brought to it.

It’s no secret that you tend to keep to yourself, but ever since you and Fred became official—you’ve made it a point to put yourself out there more.

Admittedly, you two are polar opposites personality wise. Where Fred thrives in groups and socializing, pulling out laughter and smiles with ease—you thrive in more quiet, solitary spaces with a decided lack of too many people.

Seeing as you always avoided your housemates—the other Slytherins just too nasty for you to tolerate for longer than necessary; your first real taste of being part of a friend group was with the Gryffindors.

And it’s been great—truly. You genuinely enjoy spending time with all of them. But sometimes, you still find yourself getting a bit overwhelmed.

It’s just not in your nature to be around lots of people for extended periods of time and when your social battery is low—it’s low.

Fred knows this, which is why he’s always checking in, and you swear you fall in love with him a little more each time he does it.

“I’m okay, Freddie.” You respond, your voice equally as quiet, as your left hand comes up to fiddle with the neck of his shirt.

Truthfully, you feel yourself running out of energy to keep up with the rambunctious group of lions, but you don’t want to be the reason Fred has to leave his friends. You know he’s having a good time.

George and Lee are locked in on an intense round of Wizard’s Chess, Alicia narrating the game flawlessly as Angelina whispers to George on where he should move his pieces. And upon realizing what the two are doing, Lee recruits Katie to help him, insisting that if George is going to cheat, then so is he.

As they continue to play—throwing playful jabs at each other all the while, Fred’s eyes fall down to where you’re fiddling with his shirt.

He knows what that means. Your hands can never stay still when you’re either nervous or overwhelmed, a habit he’s sure you don’t even realize you do most of the time.

He grabs your hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss before caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

He looks over to his twin and his friends and smiles. “Alright mates, my lovely witch and I are gonna call it a night.” He announces as he gently pats your hip before picking you up and placing you on your feet in front of him.

The boys playfully boo while the girls laugh and wave at the two of you.

Katie focuses on you and winks. “Thanks for getting rid of one of the stooges for us, Y/N.”

Angelina nods in agreement, jumping in. “Real life saver, you.”

“Hopefully the other two follow suit.” Alicia smirks.

You four share a laugh while the boys look at you in mock outrage.

Fred stands up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind as he smirks at the girls. “Hopefully not.”

He just barely manages to shield both you and himself from the pillow that gets thrown at his head as George places a hand over his heart. “Betrayed by my own twin!”

“I see where I stand.” Lee huffs as he makes a show of turning away from Fred.

You smile at their antics, the guilt over taking Fred from them easing a little at their playful reactions.

“Goodnight, guys.” You bid them goodbye as Fred gently leads you up to his dorm, the last sound you hear from the common room being their loud choruses of goodnights in response back.

Moments later, you two curl up in his bed, curtains drawn closed and a silencio casted with a simple flick of the wrist as you two settle into the pillows and sheets.

He kisses the top of your head gently as he pulls you into his chest, hand moving to trace up and down your spine soothingly as he slips it beneath your top.

You sigh softly in content, already feeling better now that you’re not surrounded by all the loud chatter of the common room.

“You know you can always tell me when you want to leave, love. You don’t have to force yourself to stay with our friends any longer than you want to be.” He says softly.

His use of the word ‘our’ makes you feel all warm inside as you nuzzle into his neck. “I know you enjoy spending time with them. I don’t wanna get in the way of that.” You explain quietly.

He squeezes you tighter, then, as he kisses the top of your head once more. “I enjoy spending time with you.” He shoots back, his gentle ministrations on your back not letting up.

“I spend all day with my friends. Quidditch, classes, meals…but I don’t get you to myself nearly as often as I’d like.” He taps your nose gently, smiling when you only scrunch it in response.

His arm falls to your waist once more as he resumes tracing shapes into your back. “You could never ‘get in the way,’ silly girl.”

You blush softly, hands moving to fiddle with the neck of his shirt once more. “I guess I’m just a little afraid you’re gonna grow tired of it one day. You’re such a people’s person and I’m—you know…not.” Your voice turns a little deprecating as you speak.

He’s having none of that, as he uses his finger to tilt your chin up, forcing you to hold eye contact with him as he speaks.

“Now listen here, miss. I don’t care about any of that. If anything—I love you more because of it. You keep me balanced.” He says strongly, cupping your face gently.

“Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Opposites attract, love. That’s us. We make each other better. Nuanced, as your brilliant brain would say. Encourage each other to step out of our comfort zones and try new things.” He gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Do you resent me for pushing you to hang out with our friends?” He asks, and the question is so absurd you can’t help but rear back a little.

“Exactly.” He says, and that brings you up short.

You breathe out a small laugh, dropping your head to his chest. You can’t argue with that and he knows it.

“Okay, okay, you make some good points.” You admit, pulling back to look down at his face as you smile.

He raises a brow, smirking cockily. “When do I not?”

Before you can respond, he quickly tacks on, “Don’t answer that.”

You laugh once more, a little louder this time, before you lean down and press a gentle kiss into his lips.

He kisses you back eagerly, tugging you even closer to his chest if possible, hands gripping at your waist tightly.

When you pull away, your smile is wide. “I love you so much.” You whisper softly, and he pecks your lips once more before nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling your scent contentedly.

“And I love you.” He says equally as soft, eyes closing as he relaxes further into the bed, still holding you to his body.

You two are polar opposites personality wise, and you couldn’t be happier.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨�� 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! may this kind of love find me, honestly. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

#clesired #clesiredwrites #clesiredoneshots #clesiredfredweasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter golden era #harry potter golden era fanfiction #harry potter golden era fic #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader

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moonyflesh · 9 months ago

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dating Logan Howlett would include…

WARNINGS: smutty. p in v, oral sex, fingering, breeding kink, orgasm teasing/control, mentions of aggressive/risky sex, (language, obviously), etc. - [🔞]

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (MARVEL/X-MEN/WOLVERINE)

🐾 .*.. 🩹

- possessive smacks on the ass when you pass him in the hall.

- all talk, but no bite (he would never actually hurt you).

- routine scalp massages (on both ends), usually ending in you both being passed out on the other’s bed.

- having to label what food is yours, or he will eat it.

- constantly scolding him for his chapped lips…where he continuously looses the chapsticks you graciously lend him (he always buys you more).

- playful banter that usually ends with you bent over whatever flat surface is nearby.

- having to get used to loud chewing. i mean, it’s Logan. what do you expect?

- not much physical show of affection in public- that’s reserved for behind closed doors. (an occasional press of his lips to your forehead, or his hand on the small of your back is as far as he’s willing to put on display for the student’s prying eyes).

- thriving off of each other’s warmth at night- tangled up in each other under some thin duvet.

- country, bluegrass, and old as fuck music. don’t you dare even think about turning on “that shitty music you like so much” around him.

- being turned on by your makeup on him in some way— lipstick prints smeared along the collar of his white t-shirt- your mascara running down your face and smearing onto his fingers when he wipes it off.

- (^) just you making an absolute mess on him in general. he fucking loves it.

- needing to take sharp intakes of breath in between his kisses, since he physically can hold his breath for much longer than the “average mutant”.

- rough, meaningful sex. there is no such thing as a ‘quickie’ in his book. he wants to savor your moments of vulnerability.

- more teeth than tongue. he wants to feel how you squirm under him when his canines sink into your lips, shoulders, and inner thighs.

- (^) lovebites and hickeys. you’re not allowed to leave the house unless there’s something that’s marking you as taken. as his.

- wearing his clothes when he’s gone for long periods of time.

- long motorcycle rides, usually at night. (he makes you wear a helmet and plenty of protective leather, much to his enjoyment).

- soaking in your scent. he always knows when your needy. he can smell it on you.

- oh, and he smells like cedar wood and pine. Maybe a bit of cigar smoke- his natural sweat smell he can’t seem to get rid of? Something Iike that.

- (^) him going absolutely feral when he can smell himself on you- his cologne, cigars- just his general aura on you is such a massive turn on for him.

- lots of loving nips and kisses, though. constantly has his lips pressed against the nape of your neck or crown of your skull.

- sleeps with you in his arms. no way in hell you’re allowed to wake up before him.

- face sitting. he wants every pound of you on his mouth and nose, his arms wrapped up and around your thighs, pushing your cunt into his tongue.

- wanting to feel good too. no matter how hard he’s been going down on you, he wants release, too.

- praise. lots of shrewd language and name-calling.

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“fuck, that’s my good fucking girl- you’re doing so good, sweetheart- so pretty all sweaty and wet cuzzah’ me, huh?”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

- face fucking. he’ll stop no matter how close he is to his peak if you need him to, but he wants it so far down your throat. and you better swallow every last drop.

- breeding kink? idk i just feel like he’s super into seeing you carry his kid (only when you’re ready, though. he of all people knows what a big deal pregnancy is).

- decent aftercare. he at least puts some amount of effort into it; probably brings you a glass of lukewarm water, a damp towel from his bathroom, maybe one of his t-shirts if he thinks of it.

- expect to wait a while for him to say “i love you” back. he’s been hurt. too many times. he loves you, he breathes you, he craves you. he just doesn’t know if he’s ready to actually admit that to himself yet, let alone to you.

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

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rooomate james. 😭😭 literally obsessed w himm!!

Me too I love him (and you!) sm <3

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 808 words

You don’t recognize James’ car until he shouts at you.

“Hey!”

You give a little jump, turning midair to find James smiling out the rolled-down window.

“Want a lift?”

“God, you scared me!” You backtrack and open the passenger door. The seat looks to have been tidied in a hurry, receipts and takeaway containers tossed into the backseat. “How’d you even know I’d need a ride?”

James refrains from responding to give you an expectant look. You roll your eyes and buckle your seatbelt. Satisfied, he puts the car in reverse, setting his hand on your seat to look behind him as he backs out of the parking spot.

“You weren’t home when I got there,” he says, “and then I remembered on Sundays you usually get off at eleven, so here I am. Is Art not with you?”

“No, he wasn’t working tonight.”

James doesn’t seem too disappointed by this. He pulls onto the street. You watch him, looking almost unconsciously for signs of wear and tear.

Now that rugby season is in full swing, he’s gone not just during the day for training but sometimes overnight for away games. You’ve been alone in your apartment for the whole weekend while he played in London and then Bristol. It was weird. You think you’ve accidentally grown used to having James around. You don’t fancy yourself a very tactile person, and the urge to hug him isn’t terribly strong, but it’s there.

“How was work?” he asks you.

“It was fine. How were your matches?”

“They were fine,” he imitates you, grinning. “No, it’s like I said. Winning the second one’s always better than winning the first and losing the second. It’s nice to end on a good note.”

He’d texted continual updates while he was gone. You sat on your couch, pretending to yourself or perhaps to some invisible, judgemental observer that you were watching TV when really you were entirely focused on James’ texts. You imagined him sitting in his hotel room doing the same, or maybe in a pub with his teammates, smiling at his phone each time you responded.

Your imagination has become terribly overindulgent lately.

“Honestly, I was pretty disappointed you weren’t home when I got there,” James says, a familiar teasing lilt to his voice. “I was hoping to come in and catch you wearing one of my jumpers and staring tearily at a framed photo of me.”

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. You did use his shampoo, once. In your defense, you’d run out of yours, but you thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to smell like him, nice and fresh and comforting. It had foamed more than you expected. It did smell really nice, but it made your hair feel dry (boy shampoo always does that, you’ve no idea how James’ curls seem to thrive under such poor treatment) and you felt silly about it for days, lovesick in the most derogatory sense.

Didn’t stop you from sniffing your hair occasionally, though.

“You weren’t gone to war,” you reply. “And where would I get a framed photo of you?”

James looks affronted. “I assumed you already had one. How did you get through the weekend without even a photo? You brave, brave girl.”

“I actually threw a rager,” you deadpan. “Rented out your room to six people traveling through with the carnival and let them invite over all their friends. Did loads of hard drugs.”

“Well, we all have different ways of coping.” He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder consolingly. You pretend goosebumps don’t skitter all the way down your arm from the brief touch. “And what a marvelous job you’ve done covering up your escapades!” He exclaims as you pull up in front of the apartment. “I haven’t come across the cocaine dust on our bathroom counter yet, so you must have really done a thorough cleanup.”

“Keep looking, it’s around there somewhere.”

James laughs. You’re slower getting out of the car than he is, and by the time you emerge he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug. You think your bones liquefy. He’s warm and strong and he smells like his shampoo, both arms squishing you heartily before he lets go with a little laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, bringing his hands to your upper arms, “I didn’t even ask. I just missed you, you know?” James has this look on his face, smile brilliant and eyes wide open. So saccharine sweet you almost can’t look at him. “Guess I got used to having you around.”

You do your best to smile back. “Yeah, me too.”

He squeezes your arms before turning to go inside. “You smell like Italian food, too. I don’t suppose you’ve cooked anything recently that’s still in the fridge? I’m beginning to think about second dinner.”

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rosones · 14 days ago

Text

social media au - being an actress dating choi seunghyun pt. 6

liked by y/n, & 2,484,212 others

ttt ✓ - more to come

view comments

user - he gives 2016 tumblr vibes sooooo much

user - he NEEDS to post more selfies

user - my husband fr

user - maybe babygirl is a 37 year old Korean man named choi seunghyun

y/n ✓ - mr yummy

liked by author

liked by y/n, xxxibgdrgn, & 6,381,798 others

ttt ✓ - EXILE , THE ALBUM . 5.5.25

view comments

user - we are SO back

userlikesphotography231 - is this a drawing of y/n??

user - /@userlikesphotography231 considering the gorgeous silhouette + the fact that Top is obsessed with her, most likely is her lol

xxxibgdrgn ✓ - so happy for you, my brother 🤍🌼

ttt ✓ - /@xxxibgdrgn 🤍🤍🤍

user - so fucking excited for his comeback

user - as a VIP, I used to pray for times like this 🥹

user - already album of the year and it ain’t even out yet

liked by y/n, xxxibgdrgn, gq, & 7,342,447 others

ttt ✓ - Vogue Korea

view comments

user - he’s SO fine

user - y/n better share him

y/n ✓ - MY man

liked by author

user - this made my hole weak

user - jawline sculpted by the gods

the following article was written by journalist Kim Do-Yun & published by Vogue Korea .

T.O.P Returns: A Candid Conversation on Redemption, Love, and ‘Exile’

By: Kim Do-Yun

Choi Seung-hyun—better known as T.O.P. for years, was one of K-pop’s most enigmatic figures: a deep-voiced rapper, a captivating performer, an artist who thrived in mystery. But mystery turned to scandal when his 2017 marijuana case sent shockwaves through South Korea’s entertainment industry. The fallout was brutal, the silence that followed even more so.

Now, after years spent in near-complete solitude, he’s back—not just with music, but with acting, love, and a newfound perspective on life.

Throughout my interview with him, he exuded a quiet confidence, different from the playful arrogance he once carried as a member of BIGBANG. He has always been measured in his words, but that day, there was something more—an openness, a willingness to be seen for who he truly is, not just who the public wants him to be.

Facing the Shadows

“I won’t pretend it was easy,” he admitted. “There was a time when I thought I might never return to music or acting. I felt like I had lost the right to stand in front of people again.”

Following the scandal, T.O.P withdrew almost entirely from the entertainment world. There were sporadic updates—glimpses of his art collection, a few cryptic Instagram posts—but nothing substantial.

“I needed time,” he said simply. “Time to understand my own mind, my mistakes, and what I wanted from life. I spent years writing & making music with no intention of releasing it. It was a way of surviving, I think. But at some point, I realized I didn’t just want to create in the shadows anymore.”

That realization birthed his upcoming album, Exile, a deeply personal project that delves into themes of isolation, redemption, and transformation.

The Concept Behind Exile

“I see Exile as a letter to my past self,” he explained. “It’s about being cast out—sometimes by others, but more often by yourself. It’s about wandering, finding meaning in solitude, and ultimately, choosing to return.”

The album is a drastic departure from his earlier work, blending experimental hip-hop and jazz influences. The soundscape is layered, atmospheric—reflecting the emotional depth of a man who has lived through both adoration and condemnation.

“There’s pain in the music, but there’s also hope,” he continued. “It’s not just about suffering—it’s about what comes after. How do you rebuild yourself when the world thinks you’ve already fallen?”

The lead single, Ashes, encapsulates this journey. “It’s about burning down what no longer serves you and rising from it,” he explained. “Not in a dramatic way—no big explosion. Just embers, slow and steady, turning into something new.”

Reclaiming His Place in Acting: ‘Squid Game’ and Thanos

But music isn’t the only thing marking T.O.P’s return. His casting in Netflix’s Squid Game Season 2 sent fans into a frenzy, a bold choice for an artist who had stayed away from the spotlight for so long.

“I never thought I’d act again,” he admitted. “I had offers over the years, but I wasn’t ready. Then I read the script for Squid Game 2, and something in me woke up. It was exactly the kind of story I wanted to tell.”

In the highly anticipated sequel to the global phenomenon, T.O.P plays Thanos, a complex and ruthless figure within the deadly games. Unlike the participants struggling to survive, Thanos is a former winner—one who chose to return.

“He’s not a traditional villain,” T.O.P clarified. “He’s someone who understands the system better than anyone else. He’s cold, calculating, but not without emotion. He knows what it takes to survive, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes—not for money, but for something deeper. Something he lost.”

The role demanded an emotional transformation. “The hardest part was getting into his mindset. Thanos isn’t just playing the game—he’s manipulating it. He’s someone who has seen too much, lost too much.”

The weight of the character stayed with him long after filming wrapped. “I think I related to him more than I expected,” he admitted. “Not in his actions, but in his solitude. In that feeling of being outside of everything, even when you’re in the center of it.”

Love & Chaos

It was on the Squid Game set that T.O.P met someone who would change everything—his co-star, Y/N. Their connection, first built through long filming days, soon grew into something deeper.

“She saw me for who I was, not just who the world made me out to be,” he said, a softness in his voice. “There’s something freeing about that—being with someone who knows both your darkness and your light and chooses to stay anyway.”

For someone who spent so long rebuilding himself alone, letting someone in was no easy task. “I used to think love was another thing I had lost the right to,” he confessed. “But she changed that.”

Their relationship became public in a way that no one expected—through a series of intimate photos posted on Instagram. They felt raw, real, and unlike other polished celebrity relationships.

“I was nervous,” T.O.P admitted. “Not because I was ashamed—but because I knew how people might react. I knew what it meant to expose something so personal in a place where people think they have the right to dissect every part of your life.”

Y/N, however, had a different perspective. “She told me, ‘Why should we hide something that makes us happy?’ And she was right,” he said. “For so long, I lived in fear of what people would say. But love isn’t something to be ashamed of. If anything, it’s something to be proud of.”

Now, with both Exile and Squid Game, their love story is no longer a secret—but he’s still extremely protective of it. “I don’t need people to approve,” he said. “I just need her.”

Looking Ahead

As our conversation started nearing its end, I asked him what he hoped people will take away from his return.

“I don’t expect everyone to forgive me, and I don’t expect to go back to who I was before. That person is gone,” he said. “But I hope people will listen. Not just to the music, but to the story behind it. I hope they see that exile isn’t the end—it’s just another beginning.”

With Exile set to drop and his acting career reignited, T.O.P is stepping into the spotlight once again—not as the idol he once was, but as an artist and a man who has found his way back from the shadows.

——————————————————————————————————

I wanted to write that little article portion because I wanted to add something unique to this fic, this part is also why I took a little long to post something new !! I haven’t written like an actual piece of writing on this account so I’m like excited and nervous at the same time lol. anyway, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it !! xx

#bigbang #choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #squid game #squid game season 2 #t.o.p #t.o.p x reader #thanos #thanos x reader #player 230

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rayroseu · 2 months ago

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I really appreciate the beauty of Malleus New Year's card. But most importantly, other than its gorgeousness, I also appreciate how it pays so much homage to his status and character, from the flowers, the clothes, and the setting. 🥹

We know that wisterias were prevalent in his Dorm Groovy SSR, this time its another flower which is the red plum blossom here😭❤️

In Chinese philosophy, the Plum tree’s blossom is a symbol of winter ending and a herald of spring. The tree’s pale pink blossoms are cherished because they bloom vibrantly and so bravely amidst the winter chill. They symbolise perseverance and hope, as well as, beauty thriving in adverse circumstances.

The way this flower's meaning is so matched with Malleus' character is so precious. We know he's "the herald of spring" because his birth brought forth a hope that the Draconias(or the faes in general) won't die out just yet (the ending of winter) and the fact that this flower blooms even in winter probably symbolizes the fact that when he was an egg, he was still perservering to live. This also applies to his life as he grows up. With the way even if his life is riddled with loneliness and exclusion, he makes an effort to go out and adjust himself with others, he doesn't give up even if his reality consistently places him in situation where his goals can never be achieved (that is, him being accepted socially and him being ignorant of human culture but still makes an effort to understand it), he just continues to be hopeful that someone/ some place will invite him, therefore his ability to thrive in adverse circumstances.

The way he slowly rises in this card makes me feel like it symbolizes how slow paced Malleus is "in going out/getting used to outside of his comfort zone", actually lol. He described his admission to NRC as him being nervous because its an unknown place but still hopeful for the experiences that he might get(acccording to the vignette of his GloMas SSR), just like him here rising from the snow and the way he lifts the veil which makes me think he wants to see the world outside of his country's point of view with his own eyes.

Japanese tradition holds that the Plum (or ‘ume’) is celebrated as a protective charm against evil, so the ume is traditionally planted in the northeast of the garden, the direction from which evil is believed to come.

I also read this symbolism which makes me tear up lmaooo 😭Because we know in Book 7, Briarland was invaded from northeast where the Silver Owls originated from 💀 The fact that the plum blossom is a protection flower and he's surrounded with it in this card makes me think that it symbolizes how protected he was during Briarland's era 😭and another thing to dissect from his slow rise from the snow with the fact the plum blossom signifies protection is probably the fact that he took so long to hatch despite many people caring for him.

Side note that in Malleus Bloom Birthday Groovy, it implied that he was born in daytime during a snowfall, and he was happy experiencing the winter, just like in this New Years card where he's smiling against the heavy snowfall 🥹

In Japan, plum blossoms symbolize good fortune, an auspicious flower, along with pine and bamboo, and the arrival of early spring. They are often used as the design for New Year’s greeting cards and other celebratory occasions. (And maybe this is just the likely reason why this flower is here in Malleus' card and I'm overthinking it above lol

Next thing I want to mention is his clothes, that attire reminds me of the formal outfit of a Japanese Emperor (From what I searched, its called sokutai, but what Malleus wears is much more simpler I guess, its a outfit derived from it which is called ikan.) This post is a great overview about these two outfits.

Ikan is the work clothes of nobles and government officials in the Imperial Court after the Heian period. Sokutai is a formal costume for those from the Emperor to the court nobles in and after Heian period (Heian costume). Ikan is called 'tonoi (nighttime) costume', whereas sokutai is called 'hino (daytime) costume'. (which probably references the fact that he's a night fae)

The point is, what Malleus wears in this card is a very traditional garment that only high ranking Japanese officials can wear. But what he wears isn't the clothes of an emperor yet, but just for a high ranking official, which is accurate to his status that he's still a crown prince not yet the king, because only Maleficia truly rules Briar Valley right now.

I love the decision that they made him wear such a prestigious outfit because the story of the New Years event is the characters working on customer service lol Its like his clothes is a reminder that he is still highly distinguished even if temporarily he's a worker.

Lastly the VEIL !!!!!! That's the thing that catched my eyes the most in this card lol I KNOW they're not referencing a wedding here because the veil don't look the same, but its so good not to mention that the one of the headress of a Japanese bride is called tsunokakushi and its description can be related with Malleus a lot lol.

The term is a compound of 角 (tsuno, "horn") + 隠し (kakushi, "hiding"). This derivation is listed in some sources as a reference to hiding a bride's "horns" of anger, jealousy, or other negative qualities, in order to present a more virtuous image for the wedding. However, this interpretation might be a folk etymology resulting from a shift in the reading and meaning.

The headdress and the veil aren't the same thing but I kinda feel like this is the idea they're going for considering the veil is 1) hiding his horns, 2) he's a character associated with being jealous, and most importantly, 3) only the person he is looking at can see his face (which is the point of most wedding veils/headdress, to hide the bride's face so that only her partner can see it).

But long veils, like the one Malleus is holding is also just a garment for a noble to hide their nobility. Which is this is probably the likely reason, considering he's using that veil to cover up his horns and his clothes, the most obvious features of his status.

Also, it could be just a fun reference to the fact that Maleficent in live action wore a long veil to hide her horns so that she wouldn't scare the humans lol

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #malleus draconia #disney twst #twst malleus #lian notes #twst malleus draconia #twst diasomnia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleusdraconia #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst analysis #my ass can never make a simple simping post about him i need to dissect this with all the power my google search image has LKADJFLKS #I AM STILL STANDING WITH MY DELUSIONAL TAKE ABOUT THE WEDDING BIT THOUGH #look the VEIL IS WHITE i knooowww Malleus would pull up in a wedding attire once he catches you referring to him as your wife HEAR ME OUT--#/jk but lowkey not reallya lkfdjlksfd #this is the malleyuu crumb ive extracted from this thank you for reading my ted talk everyone #i really wish i can just put copy pasta down bad captions about this man BUT NO my mind really INSIST i need to make #an analysis essay about him anytime he does something new😭😭😭

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star2fishmeg · 2 months ago

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ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ǫ(ᴜɪᴄᴋɪᴇ)

[3.8k] Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | Tedious events paired with his beloved dolled up just release that dog in him Warnings | 18+ smut, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), swearing, minor ass slapping, gagging (panties), making out, mild derogation kink (slut) Authors Note | This is dedicated to all the Quinn girlies who follow me - spare me I haven’t written Q in a while. I am planning to write Jack too, I swear <3 and I really hate how this font screws up the ‘Q’. This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes

The moment he saw the ‘Q’ embroidered on her evening gown, she had him on a leash. She had him grinning and tracing his fingers over the letter cleverly stitched on the hip, perfectly positioned where Quinn loved to place his hand. He wasn’t the kind of guy to brag about anything, but there were occasions when he thrived in showing her off to people, out of pride and with the swell in his heart.

Y/n’s eyes flickered from one businessman to the other and then back to Quinn. She’d never seen either of these men before and she’d attended a reasonable number of Quinn’s important Canucks events. Yet, she remained tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around her waist and hand securely on her hip, his thumb rubbing over the embroidered ‘Q’ that settled there for him. Whatever the other men were saying drowned out in her ears, the only voice that mattered was Quinn’s and how soothing it was to get lost in, letting it pick her up and sweep her away while the boring conversation in which she’d heard hundreds of times droned on. She knew she shouldn’t think that, but at least she was an honest woman, able to recite word for word Quinn’s answers and what they truly meant.

His hand tightened on her hip, gripped, and what started as soothing over the embroidery turned to his whole hand running up and down her waist, eyes struggling to maintain on the men in front and not wander down to her cleavage. She looked far too divine in the dress, too sexy for an event, the dress complimented her in every form possible and the moment she stepped out in it, his stomach flipped, and his body surged with warm, adrenaline. Heart eyes, drooling. How was he supposed to keep his cool when his girlfriend looked stunning, how was he supposed to keep his hands to himself when she’d claimed him in the fabric, silently bragging to everyone who she was, showing the lengths she’d go for him?

She tapped his shoulder, and he leaned down slightly, her breath hot against his neck as she murmured, “You seem busy, Captain. I’m getting a drink.”

With a coy smirk across her pretty lips, she turned and walked away with swaying hips, her touch lingering on his chest and all he could do was wet his lips and watch her leave. Heat flushed through him and to his face, tie suddenly too tight and he tugged at it, playing it off as just normal suit warmness when the businessmen piped up again with their chuckling. When she wasn’t with him, he realised how heads over heels he was for her, an emptiness by his side and there she was, leaning over the bar, without him when she could be giving him that siren look she had, luring him into her waters where she’d be unbuttoning his shirt, tugging it over his shoulders and running her lips slowly down his neck, leaving languid kisses over his skin just how he liked.

“Excuse me, guys.” Quinn smiled politely, the gentlemen raised their glasses slightly and continued to chat amongst each other. The eldest Hughes strode, confidently, desperately, in y/n’s shadow, as if her perfume took him by the hand and led him right back to her at the bar. His hand smoothed over the small of her back, lips grazing her cheek until he mumbled in her ear, “What exactly are you playing at? Captain? Seriously?”

She turned her head to face him, noses bumping from how close he’d leant down to conceal his words. Cocking a brow, she smirked slightly, “What are you talking about, Captain? You saying you’re upset that I lured you away like this? Do you not like my company?”

“Darling, you know I’d rather ditch this joint and be with you. But keep that ‘Captain’ shit until we get home, you swore you’d behave.” His voice was gruff, and stern, as if he was almost scolding her, trying to tame the wildfire she could be yet the only effect it had was to fuel her, his attitude going straight to her pussy.

His eyebrows knitted, but he wasn’t truly angry. Tempted, heat rose up his neck and spread over his back, his suit becoming too warm to cope and he felt his cheeks fluster. Her honey-coated voice was relentless in her game of torment, their height difference perfect at that moment, the bar stool she sat on letting Quinn tower over her and it was so easy for him to grab her jaw and kiss her hard, the ecstatic tingles in his chest and stomach attempting to use him like a puppet and give in. He didn’t. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, steadying a firm gaze on her glimmering eyes.

“I thought you liked it when I used your title?” she rubbed her foot along his calf, eyes flickering down to his crotch and hooked her finger around his belt loop, ensuring her knuckle brushed against his semi-hard dick, “And you seem to be enjoying it right now.”

The straining was painful, throbbing, slacks doing him enough justice but the more she pressed her breasts together, the more his insatiable, selfish greed pinned him in a chokehold. He licked his lips, hand gliding from her lower back up her spine until his fingers took her by the chin, his thumb running across her lips and he tilted her head up. The way his gaze burned into her eyes unleashed a desire between them both, a mutual aching. Quinn would never admit such a secret out loud, but getting caught balls deep didn’t sound all that bad, the endless comments of being walked like y/n’s dog would turn into people knowing how much of a whore she was for him, how she begged for him to let her cum, to throw her around. Yet, she was too pretty for anyone else to see her how he gets to, her fucked out face with jaw hung open and eyes rolled back was for him and him only, something only he got to think about.

She rose from the stool, pushing the drink aside and smoothed her palms over his chest, feeling it fall deeply, like he was trying to keep his composure, with excitement bubbling in her stomach. Sliding her hands down his stomach slowly, fingertips leaving little tingles spurting through his body in their wake, her arms wound around his waist, their bodies meeting chest to chest. Quinn swallowed hard at the doe-like eyes she flashed, pressing into him with that enticing gaze that deemed him a sap, and got her whatever she wanted. His cock twitched when she wet her lips, only imagining how warm her mouth felt around him while on her knees, hair and makeup ruined by lewd choking of his cock pumping down her throat and he couldn’t take it.

“Stop it.” he grumbled, bringing her chin between his fingers and leaning down, placing a slow kiss on her lips, his free hand finding her hip exactly where the ‘Q’ sat as if waiting for him. Loud chatting dimmed and only their heartbeats thumped in their ears, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip before he pulled away, noses millimetres apart as his voice seemed to drop. “You’re killing me, the dress, the embroidery and the title, y/n I am struggling not to bend you over this bar and fuck you sore.”

She bit her lip, eyes flickering between his and his lips, clit throbbing with desire. “Too bad you’ll have to wait then; I think there’s a few donors here who want to talk with you-”

Y/n stepped back, arms leaving his waist and he craved their presence instantly, that empty, cold feeling returning and all he felt was a raging urge to throw her onto the bar. She turned and began to walk away, eyes locking with his but if there was one thing Quinn had learnt, it was that he needed to think less and do more, let his body move on its own and give in to his needs, no matter how filthy or desperate they were. He gripped her wrist, abruptly yanking her back into his chest, hands roaming along her waist, breath fanning in her ear, hot on her neck and for those few seconds, he didn’t care if people were watching him.

“-C’mon, pretty girl. Just quickly, in the bathroom, I’m dying here. You can tease me all you want, darling, but the second I ignore you; you’re begging for my cock like the little slut you are. So, you’re either gonna use your words and tell me what you want, or we can both stick around unsatisfied.” His words oozed with an enticing demand, a roughness that pooled heat into her underwear and goosebumps stood on end.

Turning her head slightly, enough for their eyes to meet, she smirked playfully, “I want you to come find me in the bathroom and show me just how insane I make you.”

He’d zoned out at her words for so long that she'd already disappeared into the bathrooms by the time he’d snapped back to the present, his tongue poking into his cheek and exhaling. He knew she had a chokehold on him, the moment he saw the dress, but he wasn’t the strongest soldier, clearly. And he certainly wasn’t right then and there because his feet took him away, power walking after her with a face of thunder - brows furrowed with a burning in his eyes, weaving through guests and shoving past Thatcher and Brock, who stifled laughter.

Y/n didn’t have to wait long before he came barging into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and pushing her against the sink, towering over so close she felt the heat radiate off his body. His hands landed on either side of her, encasing her without a word leaving her stomach to flip in excitement and lips to pull up.

“Is this what you wanted? To be fucked? Such a slut, aren’t you? Couldn’t wait until we got home.” He kissed the spot just under her ear, his voice raspy and low, the perfect spell of seduction he knew worked on her every time. Another kiss just below her jaw, long as if imprinting his presence onto her, reminding her of who she was riling up to kill time and exhausted from all the serious hockey talk she’d endured. She needed a boost, and maybe he did too.

Tilting her head to the side, she granted him more space, hand tangling in his hair, tainting the way it was perfectly styled for the event as his lips pressed warm and wet kisses down her neck. He hummed deliberately, vibrations sparking her sweet spots and electric sensations channelled through her nerves, arousal pooling into her underwear. She took her bottom lip between her teeth, pelvis rolling into his. Quinn wearing suits was one slice of heaven alone, and she knew how badly it played with her heartstrings, carnally. She knew that they wouldn’t last at the event, they never did, one way or another they would disappear off into a bathroom and one way or another they’d sneak out flushed with something skewed about them. He just had that brooding sexiness to him, and she fell for it every time.

Releasing a whispered mewl, she tugged his face away from her neck, “Your little slut, though, Q. I think you want to bend me over and fuck me with your organisation outside. I think you enjoy it. Don’t you enjoy seeing my pretty dresses, Captain?”

“C’mere, I’ll show you how they drive me fucking insane.” His lips collided with hers urgently, hands soothing up and down her back and the rhythm of tongues lapping fuelling the drive and desire in which their stomachs flipped with rousing tingles.

In one vigorous movement, Quinn’s palms gripped her hips and spun her around to face the mirror. He pulled her ass into his dick, one hand moving to lay flat between her shoulder blades and bending her over the counter. She gasped, hands slamming onto the marble and catching his glare in the reflection, that fiery glare boring into her while his stiff cock nudged into her, arousal blooming up her chest, but she craved nothing but him. For a moment she thought he’d kiss her, but he leant over her body, hands gliding up her sides and fingers hooking under the straps of her dress, lips grazing over her ear.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, sliding the straps over her shoulders, pulling them down so her breasts spilt out. She breathed in sharply when his palms cupped them, squeezing before taking her nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, rolling them while watching her face contort in lewd mannerisms. Her jaw fell open, tilting her head back into his shoulder as he toyed and smirked, her clit throbbing and she pushed her ass back into him. “You’re gonna have to be quiet now, pretty girl. We don’t want someone hearing how well I take care of you.”

He released her right breast and slid his hand up to her throat, her skin smooth like silk and her perfume almost sedating him into a state of euphoria alone; she wore her most expensive, seducing fragrance, the vanilla and cedarwood of Yves Saint Laurant’s Black Opium. Wrapping his sturdy fingers around her throat, he pulled her back into his chest roughly, y/n yelping at the sudden action but with his left thumb still rolling over her nipple, the sexual stimulation embracing her coaxed her into enjoying it.

“You’re so pretty when you beg for me, you know that? How hot it is when you throw yourself at me? What it does to me?” he continued.

She turned her head to face him, only to catch his eyes boring into hers and whispered, “Show me, Captain.”

Without indication, Quinn captured her lips into an alluringly tenacious kiss, tongue darting into her mouth and silencing her squeaks in a passionate movement. She moaned, his hands gliding down the natural curves of her chest down to her waist, grabbing the fabric between his fingers and bunching the dress up to her waist, cock twitching in his slacks painfully.

He bent her back over the counter, one hand now gripping her hip while the other soothed over the globe of her ass, caressing in circles and nudging her legs further apart with his knee. He wet his lips, eyes taking in the view of her entirety. From the lacy panties to her breasts and finally, to her face, half-lidded eyes and lips where her lipstick was smeared. Quinn unbuckled his belt, gaze locking onto hers in the reflection and she watched his every movement, from his belt clinking open to his hand pulling his cock out. He gave himself two pumps before pulling her panties aside and running the tip through her folds, tipping his head back and exhaling at how he slipped in her arousal and relished the little whines she released.

“Stop teasing, Quinn.” She pushed herself back, encouraging him to fuck her already, sneaking her fingers to her clit and circling over the bundle of nerves. “Fuck me, Q, please. I need you so bad.”

“I know, darling. You’re soaked and all I did was kiss you.” He cooed, pushing inside her cunt slowly, watching her eyes flutter close and mouth waver open, body feeling light as ecstasy washed over her the deeper he slid in. “That’s it, pretty girl, rub your clit f’me, doesn’t that feel good?”

Y/n weakly nodded, whining when his cock bottomed out inside her, walls stretching around him and the raw nature of him being buried inside with every vein kissing her walls sending hot flushes up her back, sweat prickling. His thrusting started slow, sensual, deliberate. Hips rolling and watching his cock disappear in and out of her, y/n biting down on her lip to keep her high-pitched moans from echoing beyond the bathroom door. Quinn’s lips pulled upwards as his pace increased, his grip on her hips tightening with every harsh thrust.

He glanced in the reflection, trying to find a breathing pattern in which he could fuck her senseless without panting like a dog, only for his gaze to fixate on the state of his girlfriend in front of him. She was a Goddess of beauty, lips faltering open with sharp moans tumbling out her throat with every thrust into her, getting louder and more vulgar when he became rougher, slamming into her at a brutal pace. He could watch her squirm and whimper all day if he could. He released his hand from her hip, leaning over her body and taking her breast into his palm, fingers playing with her pebbled nipple.

“Sshh, you like that, hm?” his lips grazed the shell of her ear, beard tickling over her skin, plunging his cock into her mercilessly as her walls squeezed around him, wet skin slapping and bouncing off the walls as y/n’s breathy chanting of his name threatened to slip by the door to passing guests. Not that it irritated him, no, he adored hearing her lose her mind over him, hearing his name in her voice. What bothered him was everyone else hearing how she preached with wanton moans, they were noises only for him unless otherwise and in that moment, knowing his cock was hitting every angle with insatiable greed was for him only.

He pulled out abruptly, y/n turning her body awkwardly in surprise but whining at the loss of warmth, disappointed.

“Off,” his fingers hooked around the waistband of her panties, slipping down her legs and letting her step out of them. She watched him the best she could from her bent-over position, a whole new wave of excitement crashing over her with cold air brushing over her sopping folds and she continued her slow massaging on her clit. Quinn stood behind her again, hand gripping her jaw and stuffing her damp underwear into her mouth, “I said you had to be quiet, y/n. Come on, you’re doing so well for me.”

Lining himself back up, Quinn pushed in again, this time hard, pelvis meeting her backside instantly with how easily he slid in through the slick. He wrapped his hand around her waist, drawing the other back and giving her ass a firm slap before starting his thrusting again, no build-up, no adjusting, just desperate driving into her pussy, fuelled by the way her wanton moans muffled against her underwear. She dug her nails into the countertop, breasts jolting as he guided her along his cock with her eyes rolling back, the pit of her stomach twisting like a coil. His pace dissolved from desperate and rhythmic, controlled and deliberate to animalistic and sloppy, driven by the knot in his stomach tightening as he watched the way he buried himself inside her. Every thought in her head jumbled, her mind dizzying and it was like the heavens were calling her, feeling her legs become weak and wobbly in her heels, sweat trickling down her spine, or maybe it was Quinn’s dripping off his face, it didn’t matter. What mattered was trying to keep herself from collapsing in his hold.

“Oh, God, fuck-” she whined, yet muffled from the clothing in her mouth, the taste of her own arousal painting her tastebuds.

He hooked his hand around her thigh, hoisting it to rest on the counter and he sank into her cunt deeper, throwing his head back and groaning at his cock being clenched tighter, warmer, dragging his veins along her walls again and feeling nothing but pure bliss blossom into his stomach as he plunged with vigour, “Feel better now? Yeah, s’what I thought, so greedy.”

Y/n’s chest rumbled with a deep moan, her head dropping as her pussy pulsed, the knot in her stomach pulling tighter and tighter with every rut.

“You look all sweet and cute, but I know how much of a filthy fucking mind you have.” He groaned, husky and low, fixing his eyes back onto the reflection. His lips parted, in his world, all sounds muting, and he was just watching her face contort and hair fall over her eyes.

White noise encased her ears, eyes rolling back as her vision blurred and she sang an elongated moan, mouth falling open. Her legs trembled and she was sure the only reason she was still standing was because Quinn was holding her up while he fucked her. The pressure in the pit of her stomach became light, orgasm rippling through her and coating his dick in white, ring forming at his base and he grinned, his thrusting brutal and sloppy.

“That’s my girl,” he cooed, letting his walls crumble and the knot he’d been holding tight snap completely, using her cunt to bring himself to his pleasure, releasing ropes of cum into her and watching it leak down her leg.

Panting, he leant over her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek and nudging her mouth to part more, pulling her underwear out and dropping it onto the counter. They stood there, airy giggles between pants, the high winding down as he trailed kisses over her shoulders while pulling out, tucking himself back into his slacks.

“Fuck, Q, that was so hot.” She stood up straight, Quinn’s posture following her as she pulled the straps of her dress over her shoulders and re-adjusted her breasts. Fucked out and dishevelled was a new kind of sexy on him, paired with his smile, she resisted the urge to pounce on him all over again, turning to face him. “I take it you like the dress?”

“I love the woman wearing it more.” He said, voice deep and husky, tugging her dress down her hips. “Let’s go.”

She kissed his lips sweetly, just a peck while soothing her hands over his chest, “You go ahead, I need to pee and fix my makeup.”

Nodding, he fixed his hair and suit, straightening his jacket and tie. In the corner of the countertop, her underwear sat tangled up and his eyes glazed with mischief, that glint that came with a small smirk. He slid the garments into his pocket and took his leave, strolling out the hallway with a grin smeared across his - mildly flushed - face, soothing the lace fabric between his fingers. Thatcher leant against the wall just outside the hall, Brock stifling a laugh and nudging Thatcher’s elbow.

“What’cha got there, Huggy?” Thatcher asked, gesturing his head down to Quinn’s hand moving in his pocket.

Quinn swallowed with a dry throat, “Huh? Oh, uh, handkerchief…yeah.”

Giggling like schoolgirls, the two watched him powerwalk towards the bar. They looked at each other, raising their eyebrows as if reading each other’s mind. They’d been to many events with their Captain before and it sparked many bets between them, JT and Petey.

“Did you add it to the tally chart?” Thatcher took a sip of his drink.

Brock mirrored, eyes still watching Quinn order two drinks, “Did it as soon as he stormed past. Good ol’ Huggy Dog.”

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#≡qh43 #quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes fic #nhl smut #nhl x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction

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