#the comments finally drove me to the edge

[stylesispunk]

'Landed too hard'

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: You save Joel's life from raiders but instead of thanking you, he gets mad at you.

or

You get hurt and you are forced to be vulnerable with each other.

wc: 7k

warnings: age gap, established relationship, angst, fluff, miscommunication, insecurities, mentions of blood, and fluff

a/n: i'm slowly coming back to this with this baby here that was on my drafts. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💌

The forest was too quiet for your liking. No birds, no wind—Just the soft crunch of the snowy ground beneath your feet as you followed Joel who was ahead of you and Ellie. There was something in the air this day, eerie silence pressing on your chest, tension, and Joel had been on edge all day, his broad shoulder seemed tense under his jacker, his grip on the rifle tighter than usual.

It felt like the premonition of something bad coming on your way. So, you kept your knife close and your gun pressed under your hand.

“We’ll set up camp soon,” Joel muttered, his voice low without looking behind to you and Ellie.

Ellie groaned. “Finally. My feet feel like they’re gonna fall soon.”

You gave her a tired smile at her remark, but your eyes stayed on Joel. His jaw was tight, the scar above his brow crinkling deeper. You knew him well enough to read the signs—he was worried. More than usual.

That’s why you didn’t even hear them coming.

One second, you were walking behind Joel, and the next, chaos broke out. Shouts echoed through the trees. Five, maybe six men, all armed came out from nowhere. Joel shoved you and Ellie behind an overturned log.

“Stay down,” he growled, pressing his rifle into your hands. “If anyone gets close, you shoot. Don’t move unless I say so.”

“Joel—”

“Stay.”

You swallowed your fear and nodded, grabbing Ellie and pulling her down. Joel stepped out, drawing their attention, firing a shot that took one of the men down, then another and so on.

But the rest came fast. Through the cracks in the log, you watched Joel fight. He moved like a man who’d done this too many times, but even then, it was too much. One of the raiders tackled him, and suddenly, Joel was on the ground, with one of those men’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

the man’s hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing hard.

“Shit,” you whispered, your heart pounding so hard you could barely hear Ellie’s panicked breathing next to you.

Joel clawed at the man’s wrists, his face turning red, veins bulging in his neck. He wasn’t going to get out of it and you couldn’t just sit there watching the man you loved die in front of you.

“Stay here,” you told Ellie, voice shaking from rage.

“Wait…what are you doing?!” she whispered.

Your body moved before your mind could argue. You were already running before Ellie could have the chance to stop you.

You tackled the man strangling Joel, knocking him off balance, but before you could finish him, another set of hands grabbed you from behind. You struggled, kicking and clawing, managing to land a sharp elbow into the man’s ribs before twisting free. The first man lunged again, but you dodged, feeling the burn of a knife slicing across your cheek. The pain barely registered as you drove your own blade into the man’s neck, then turned and plunged it into the second attacker’s chest before he could recover. Warm blood splattered your hands as the man crumpled, gasping his last breath.

You stood there, panting, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Joel coughed violently, rolling onto his side, his face pale and drenched in sweat. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands hovering uselessly. “Joel? Hey—hey, are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, still gasping for air. When he finally sat up, his brown eyes locked onto yours—not with gratitude, but with pure, burning rage.

“The fuck were you thinking?” he rasped, voice raw.

You blinked, the adrenaline still rushing through you. “I—I had to. He was going to—”

“You didn’t listen to me!” Joel slammed his fist into the dirt, his whole-body trembling with anger. “I told you to stay hidden! What if he’d killed you?!”

“Well, he didn’t” you stated, “I saved your life!”

“And you risked yours doing it!”

His voice echoed through the trees, sharp and unforgiving. You felt your chest tighten, heat rising in your throat.

“I’m not some helpless girl you can just shove behind a log, Joel! I did what I had to!”

Joel stood up, wiping the blood from his hands. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else. The space between you felt impossibly wide.

He ran a hand over his face, stepping back like he couldn’t even look at you. "You put yourself in danger. You could’ve been killed. Do you even get that?"

"I get that I just saved your ass!" You shot back, the weight of the moment crashing over you. "And all you can do is yell at me?"

He exhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists before he turned away. "I ain't doin' this."

"Fine," you bit out.

The air between you felt thick, suffocating. You glanced at Ellie, who stood off to the side, arms crossed, her expression tense.

You lifted a hand to your cheek, your fingers coming away sticky with blood. The cut burned now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you sucked in a sharp breath. Ellie’s eyes flicked to the wound, concern flashing across her face, but she didn’t say anything. Joel still wasn’t looking at you, his back rigid as he adjusted his pack.

"We should get moving," he muttered, voice low and strained.

You nodded, swallowing down the ache in your throat. Without another word, the three of you fell into step, the silence stretching between you like an open wound

That night, you found a small clearing tucked between dense trees, far enough from the road to feel safe. The cold had settled deep, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you sat near the weak glow of the fire. Joel had barely spoken a word since the fight, his focus set on keeping watch, his back to you.

You weren’t hurt by his words or the outburst he had, but by the idea of him willingly die and feeling at peace with it. How easy would be for him to left you behind and in your own.

You dismissed your thoughts as you dug through your pack for a rag, pressing it against the wound on your cheek. The sting made you wince, and you cursed under your breath.

A quiet shuffling caught your attention, and you looked up to see Ellie kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed.

"Here," she said, pulling a small bottle of alcohol from her pocket. "Let me help."

You hesitated for a moment, then gave her a small nod. She dampened the cloth with the antiseptic and reached for your face. The touch was gentle, but the sting made you hiss.

"Sorry," Ellie murmured, concentrating as she cleaned the cut. "You’re lucky it’s not deeper."

You let out a small chuckle, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "Lucky isn’t exactly how I’d describe this day.”

Ellie huffed, finishing up before pulling a bandage from her pack. "Well, you’re not dead, so that counts for something."

You smiled faintly, glancing toward Joel. He still hadn’t turned around. You sighed, looking back at Ellie. "Thanks, kid."

She just shrugged, but there was warmth in her eyes. "Anytime."

As the fire crackled softly between you, you finally felt a small sense of comfort—at least, from Ellie. Joel, on the other hand, was still a storm brewing on the other side of camp.

Joel sat a few feet away, his gaze drifting to you as he kept watch. He noticed the way you shivered, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, but still, you slept. He hesitated, jaw tightening as he debated with himself. Then, with a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and carefully draped it over you.

You stirred slightly at the added warmth, a small, unconscious sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake. Joel lingered for a moment, watching you, before settling back down next to you as if he needed to remind himself you were still here.

The fire in your camp had burned down to glowing embers, the scent of smoke mixing with the cool morning air. Joel sat near it, his hands wrapped around his termo, sipping coffee our from it, his eyes occasionally flicking over to where you slept.

Your back was to him, your body curled slightly, the jacket pulled high over your shoulder. The cut ran along your cheekbone from the fight the day before—a fight that left you and Joel in a tense, suffocating silence. Reminding him how you always put yourself in danger for him.

He hated himself for it. How he had came to the point where he felt useless.

Now, in the morning light, you looked peaceful despite the frown that creased your forehead. Joel knew that look. He knew you too well.

Ellie stirred next to him, stretching before getting to her feet. She glanced at you, then back at Joel. “Should I wake her up?” she asked, rubbing her tired eyes.

Joel shook his head. “Not yet.”

Ellie raised a brow. “Why?”

Joel sighed, glancing at you again before taking another sip of coffee. “She’s got a frown.”

Ellie blinked. “Yeah, ‘cause she’s mad at you. Even in her sleep.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, but there wasn’t much fight in it. “No. It’s different. She gets that when she gets a migraine.” He ran a hand over his beard, glancing at you again. “Let her sleep a little longer.”

Ellie’s teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something softer. “You really pay attention, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another slow sip of coffee, staring into the fire. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “When it comes to her of course I do.”

Ellie sighed, dropping back down onto the log next to him. “So… you gonna fix this or what?”

Joel tensed, setting his cup down beside him. “She doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Yeah, because you yelled at her.” She reminded him.

Joel rubbed a hand down his face. “She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“She saved your ass, Joel.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “That ain’t the point.”

Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, it kinda is. She did what you would’ve done for her.”

Joel was silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do you think she would be fine if you were dead?” she pressed on, sighing.

Instead of answer, Joel reached for his bag, unbuckling the strap. He knew exactly where to look, tucked inside one of the side pockets were the pills he always carried for you, just in case.

Ellie, who had been watching with quiet curiosity, tilted her head. “Wait… you carry her pills?”

Joel didn’t look up as he pulled out the small bottle, checking how many were left. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, like he didn’t think it was something worth mentioning.

Ellie crossed her arms. “Huh.”

Joel finally glanced at her. “What?”

Ellie smirked. “Nothin’. Just—you act all tough, but you’re, like, secretly the softest person ever for her.”

Joel rolled his eyes, muttering, “Keep it to yourself, kid,” as he moved toward you.

You stirred slightly as he knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your face with a careful hand. The sight of the cut on your cheek made his stomach twist again, but he pushed the feeling down. He had already failed to keep you from getting hurt once, he wouldn’t fail you now.

Gently, he set the bottle of pills down next to you, along with a canteen of water. He knew you still weren’t talking to him, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop taking care of you.

As he sat back, Ellie watched him with something unreadable in her expression. “Still mad, huh?”

Joel sighed, rubbing his thumb over the strap of your bag.

Ellie nodded. “Well… you’re doin’ the right thing, at least.”

Joel wasn’t sure about that. But as he sat there, keeping watch while you slept, he figured it was all he could do for now.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the dull ache in your head. The second was the soft sound of the fire crackling nearby. You blinked against the morning light, your body still heavy with exhaustion.

And then you saw the canteen and the small bottle of pills sitting beside you. You didn’t have to ask who put them there.

Your gaze flickered to Joel, who sat a few feet away, his back turned slightly toward you. He was sharpening his knife, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filling the quiet space. Ellie sat across from him, kicking at the dirt with her boot, sneaking glances at you like she was waiting to see what you’d do.

You swallowed, your throat dry. Carefully, you pushed yourself up, wincing as your muscles protested. Your fingers brushed against the bottle of pills, and you hesitated before finally picking it up.

Joel’s voice came before you could say anything. “Drink some water with that.”

It was quiet. Gruff. Like he wasn’t sure where the two of you stood after yesterday.

You pressed your lips together, debating whether to respond, but you didn’t have the energy to fight again. Instead, you obeyed, twisting the cap off and dry-swallowing the pill before chasing it with a sip of water.

Joel didn’t look at you, but you saw his shoulders drop just a little.

Ellie, of course, didn’t stay quiet for long. “Sooo… does this mean you guys are done being mad at each other?

You shot her a look. “Ellie.”

“What? I’m just saying’—”

Joel cut in; his voice flat. “Eat your breakfast.”

Ellie huffed but dropped it, tearing off a piece of jerky with her teeth.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before stealing a glance at Joel. His eyes were still fixed on his knife, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the handle a little too tightly.

He was waiting. For you to say something. For you to forgive him.

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples in a weak attempt to ease the pressure in your skull. It wasn’t working. Nothing ever really worked, except for him.

Joel had a way of grounding you when the pain got bad. He didn’t always have the right words, but he never needed them. He had his own way of taking care of you, of letting you know he was there. And right now, all you wanted was for him to kiss your temples the way he used to.

The way he always did when you were hurting.

But things weren’t the same. You had fought, you had pulled away, and he had let you. And now, even though he was right there, he felt miles away.

You swallowed hard and shut your eyes, trying to push down the disappointment twisting in your chest. It was stupid to want that from him right now. After everything, you shouldn’t need him like that.

Except you did.

Joel shifted, and you felt him move closer, his presence clear even before he spoke. “Did you take the pills?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a long silence, and then, so softly you almost missed it— “Still hurts?”

You hesitated. Your pride screamed at you to say no. To brush him off and keep that last little bit of distance between you. But you were tired.

“Yeah,” you admitted.

Joel exhaled slowly. And then, finally, finally, you felt his fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your head just enough so he could lean in.

His lips pressed against your temple, warm and steady, lingering for just a second longer than they needed to.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“Get ready, we have to go now” he spoke, still closer to your face.

You nodded, your throat tightening at the sudden shift back to reality. The moment was brief, fleeting, just like every soft thing between you and Joel seemed to be.

He pulled away first, his hand dropping from your face like he hadn’t just touched you like you meant something to him. Like he hadn’t just kissed you the way he always used to when you were hurting.

You cleared your throat, pushing yourself up slightly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest "Yeah, okay," you muttered, rubbing at your face as if you could wipe away the lingering warmth of his touch.

Joel stood up, already shifting back into that closed-off version of himself, the one that had been there ever since your fight. The one that didn’t know how to bridge the gap now.

Ellie walked in just as you were attempting to stand, her eyes flicking between the two of you. "You guys look weird," she said, frowning. "Like... extra weird."

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Not now, Ellie."

She just smirked, clearly entertained by whatever tension was hanging in the air. "Whatever you say, lovebirds."

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your bag to distract yourself. Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps, but you pretended not to notice. Joel pretended too, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, watching you too closely like he always did.

The road stretched ahead, cracked and broken, nature reclaiming what once belonged to people. You walked in silence, the weight of the morning still pressing against your chest. Your head ached, but you bit down on the pain, refusing to let it slow you down.

Joel was beside you, his steps steady, his presence solid as ever. But something about him felt distant. He was looking at you, you could feel his gaze flickering toward you every few moments, but it wasn’t the same. Not like before.

Before, his eyes had been filled with something warm, something certain. But now? Now, it felt like he was watching you from behind a wall, like he was making sure you were still there but refusing to let himself feel anything about it.

Ellie, for once, was quiet, kicking a stray rock as she walked ahead, letting the tension settle between the two of you.

Joel’s outburst had been raw, desperate, his voice breaking, his hands gripping yours like he could tether you to him. But now, you saw it for what it was. Fear. Not just of losing you. But of what it meant if he didn’t.

Because Joel didn’t think he deserved to have you. He thought he wasn’t enough, that he never had been. And maybe… maybe he never would be.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have to keep looking at me like that," you muttered, not even turning your head.

Joel tensed beside you. "Like what?"

"Like you're waiting for me to cry to let you in and forgive you shout at me.”

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all. But then—

"I am not," he said, voice rough. A lie.

You stopped walking. Finally, you turned to face him. "Then what is it?" you asked, your voice softer than you meant for it to be. "Because you had been like this for week, something's been different and yesterday you just broke."

Joel exhaled slowly, looking away, his hands on his hips, his fingers flexing. "Nothing’s different."

You huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Ellie stopped a few steps ahead, glancing between the two of you like she wanted to intervene but thought better of it.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders stiff, his mouth opening—then closing again. He had no answer. No real one, anyway.

Because the truth was, it had never been about you. It had always been about him. About the way he would rather push you away than let himself believe, even for a second, that he was allowed to keep you. That you would want to stay.

That you would choose him. But you were tired of being the only one fighting for this.

So, you just nodded, setting your jaw. "Alright," you murmured, turning back toward the road, ignoring the way your chest ached. "If nothing’s different, then let’s just keep moving."

He Heard the way your voice broke at the end and he just watched as you joined Ellie.

Joel stood there, hands tightening into fists at his sides as he watched you walk away. He’d done this—again.

He had Hurt you.

He told himself it was for the best, that it was the only way to keep you safe. But that excuse was starting to sound as hollow as he felt.

Ellie shot him a glance, her expression unreadable before she turned her attention back to you. She said something low under her breath, nudging your shoulder. You didn’t look back.

And Joel? Joel just stood there, rooted in place, watching the one thing he was most afraid of slip through his fingers.

Because, deep down, he knew. It wasn’t the world that would take you from him. It was him. It was a matter of time.

A few hours later, when cold still found its way deep down your bones. You followed Joel and Ellie into the old market, the air inside thick with dust and the remnants of a world long gone. The faded signs above the shop windows once advertised fruits and vegetables, but now they were nothing more than silent witnesses to the decay around them.

Joel stepped into the shadows first, scanning the area with ease. His hand never strayed far from the rifle slung across his back. He wasn’t just looking for supplies—he was looking for danger, as always, he was ready to find it. You watched him move with that quiet confidence that made him seem invincible, even though you knew better. The way he held himself, as if the weight of the world was constantly on his shoulders.

He disappeared behind a corner, moving into the heart of the market.

Ellie, always ready for adventure, shifted impatiently next to you. “Think it’s safe?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the market.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes fixed on the place where Joel had vanished. You could feel the tension coiling between the two of you, that invisible thread that had been growing tighter over the last few hours. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

“He’ll let us know when it’s safe,” you said quietly, not taking your eyes away from him.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. “Yeah, but what if-”

You cut her off with a shake of your head. “He’s careful. He’ll check everything first.”

She didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer, but she stayed quiet. You both waited in silence, the only sounds the distant hum of the wind and the occasional creak of the building settling.

Then, Joel’s voice echoed from ahead. “Clear,” he called out as he reappeared from behind a row of shelves, his gaze briefly flicking over you before he turned to lead the way deeper into the market. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the wariness beneath it.

His fingers found their way to your shoulders, his touch was brief, just the slightest brush of his fingers against your jacket. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a habit he couldn't break.

You didn’t react, didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on scanning the shelves, looking for anything useful. Cans, medical supplies.

Ellie was already rummaging through a shelf, muttering under her breath about how people really liked canned beans before the world went to hell. Joel moved ahead, his rifle held tight as he checked the corners, ever cautious.

You bent down, shifting through a pile of toppled boxes, when Joel’s voice came from behind you. “You good?”

It was automatic, the way he asked. Like even when he was keeping his distance, he still couldn’t help but care.

You hesitated, keeping your back to him. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “Alright.”

But it wasn’t alright.

Not the way his voice sounded. Not the way your chest ached every time he was close but not close enough. And definitely not the way his fingers had lingered just a second too long on your shoulder, as if he didn’t want to let go.

Joel was already moving toward another section of the market, scanning the rows of empty shelves, searching for anything of value. Ellie had drifted further ahead, already rummaging through a crate she found. You stayed close to the wall, the building’s dilapidated structure making you nervous, but you tried not to let the unease show. You knew Joel was doing his best to keep everyone safe, but the weight of everything—of what you had lost, of what you were still fighting for—was starting to catch up with you.

You took a few more steps, carefully picking your way over the cracked floor, when suddenly, the ground beneath you gave way with a sharp, unsettling creak. Before you could react, your foot twisted, the bone snapping like a twig under the weight of the fall.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your ankle as you cried out, unable to stop yourself. The world spun for a moment as you collapsed, hands pressing to the ground to catch yourself, but the pain in your ankle was unbearable. You let out a sharp gasp, fighting the urge to cry out again as you felt something shift beneath the skin, your foot didn’t feel right.

"Shit," you muttered, trying to stay calm, but panic crept in with each breath. Your heart raced as you instinctively tried to pull yourself up, but your foot wouldn’t hold any weight. You couldn’t put it down.

Ellie’s voice broke through the fog of pain, distant but growing closer. “What happened?”

“Sweetheart?” Joel’s voice followed almost immediately. You could hear the panic lacing his tone, the urgency in his steps as he turned back toward you. You felt the weight of his presence before you saw him, his figure coming into view, moving fast.

He saw you on the ground, your face twisted in pain, and his heart dropped. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, kneeling down beside you with a speed that surprised you. His hands were gentle, but you could hear the frustration in his voice as he assessed the damage. "What the hell happened?"

“I—I fell,” you stammered, gritting your teeth as you tried to hold back more of the pain. You couldn’t focus on anything other than your ankle, the way it throbbed, the way your body seemed to give way under the weight of it.

Joel’s face hardened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to carefully touch your injured ankle. “I’m gonna need you to stay still, alright?” His voice was calm, but there was a warning edge to it. He was trying to hold himself together, trying not to let his worry show, but you could see it in his eyes. His hands worked quickly, checking for anything more serious, his brow furrowed with concentration.

“Ellie, get over here,” Joel called out, his voice low and strained.

Ellie rushed back toward you, eyes wide with concern as she knelt beside you. “Shit, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said through clenched teeth, trying to sound stronger than you felt. “It’s just my ankle.”

Joel’s gaze flicked between you and Ellie, his mind clearly racing. “We need to get you out of here, now.” His hand gripped your shoulder for a moment, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if grounding himself in that brief contact.

Ellie was already standing, her expression determined as she took a deep breath. “I’ll go grab what we need.”

Joel nodded, but his focus never left you. He reached down, his hands carefully lifting you as he positioned himself behind you. "I'm gonna carry you. It's gonna hurt a little, but I need you to hang on."

You bit back a hiss of pain as he adjusted his hold on you, making sure not to jostle your foot too much, but you couldn’t suppress the way your body tensed at the movement. The pain was still sharp, but there was something comforting in the way Joel’s arms secured around you.

“Joel…” you whispered, too exhausted to speak louder.

“I got you,” he muttered back, his voice almost a promise. "Just hang in there."

As he started to move, carrying you carefully toward a safer corner, you could feel your heart rate begin to slow, your pulse steadying slightly in the rhythm of his steps. But the ache in your ankle still lingered, a constant reminder of how fragile everything really was.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the pain, trying to find some semblance of peace in the way Joel had his arms around you. Because no matter how mad you were, no matter how much you weren’t talking to him, Joel Miller was always going to take care of you.

Joel helped you settle into a quiet corner of the abandoned store, easing you down onto an old crate. He crouched in front of you, his hands steady as he pulled your boot off, careful not to jostle your ankle too much.

Ellie hovered for a second, glancing between the two of you, then rolled her eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna go check the other side of the store. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

You didn’t respond. Joel didn’t either.

Once Ellie disappeared, Joel focused back on your ankle, pulling out a roll of bandages from his pack. He was quiet as he started wrapping, his fingers gentle but firm, pressing just enough to support your injury.

You watched him for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. “You don’t have to pretend you care about this.”

Joel’s hands stilled. His jaw ticked. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You think I’m pretending?” His voice was low, rough. Almost offended by the way your voice sounded saying those words.

You looked away, focusing on the peeling paint on the walls. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Joel. One second, you’re mad at me. The next, you’re acting like—like this.” You gestured vaguely at him. “Like it actually matters.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, sitting back on his heels. “It does matter.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Does it? Because you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you were yelling at me.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I was mad because you almost got yourself killed.”

“I was saving you.” You protested.

“I don’t need saving” He replied, rough as always.

Your eyes snapped back to his, anger flashing in them. “And I don’t need you acting like I don’t have a say in whether or not I protect you. You can’t just decide for me, Joel.”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He looked exhausted, like he was carrying too much weight on his shoulders. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

You frowned, your voice softer now. “Can’t what?”

His gaze met yours again, something raw behind it. “I can’t lose you.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the faint wind outside, the rustling of leaves.

You swallowed, your throat tight. “You think I want to lose you?”

Joel’s expression softened just a fraction. He sighed, reaching forward, his hand hesitating before resting gently on your knee.

Your breath caught. The fight, the tension, it was still there, but underneath it was something deeper. Something neither of you had the words for just yet.

“You are always so willing to die,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “Like you’re just waiting for the exact moment. Like none of this matters to you. Like I don’t matter.”

Joel’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, grounding you, but he didn’t say anything.

You sniffed, shaking your head. “Do you even know what that does to me? How it makes me feel?”

He swallowed hard, his throat working around the words he wasn’t saying.

“You walk into danger like you’ve already made peace with dying,” you continued, your voice raw. “And maybe you have. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I care. And you make me watch you throw yourself into danger like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. Like you don’t care if I have to watch you—”

Your voice cut off as a sob wracked through you.

Joel let out a slow breath. Then, finally, he spoke. “I do care,” he said quietly. “More than you know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, swiping at your tears. “You sure don’t act like it.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. His gaze dropped for a moment before he forced himself to look at you. “I’m not waiting to die.”

You scoffed, looking away.

“I’m not” he insisted. His voice was rough, firm. “I just…I don’t know how to do this. How to—” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before gripping the back of his neck. “I spent twenty years not giving a damn about whether I made it out of alive. And then you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t have the words.

You stared at him, waiting. His gaze met yours again, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable.

"Do you think I would survive without you?" You asked him.

"You're strong." he stated.  

"That doesn't matter if the person I love and I protect throws himself to death" you said, tired of the cycle.

“I’m not trying to--” he started, but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You act like you don’t care what happens to you, but I do, Joel. I do. And I don’t know what’s worse—watching you run into danger without thinking or knowing that if you died, you’d probably think I’d just move on.”

His brows furrowed. “That ain’t—”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around Joel’s wrist. “Do you love me, Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t say it—that maybe, after everything, he’d still hold back.

But then, his hand moved, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the cut on your cheek. His touch was careful, reverent, like he was memorizing you.

“I do,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “More than I know how to say.”

Your breath stilled.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “More than I ever meant to. More than I know what to do with.”

Your heart ached at the honesty in his voice.

“Then stop trying to leave me behind,” you whispered, pleading to him.

He looked at you with such intensity, as if he was trying to see past the pain and fear, trying to understand something that had always eluded him.

“How do you even love someone like me?” Joel’s voice cracked slightly, the question laced with vulnerability, a side of him you rarely saw—something raw and unprotected.

Your heart hurt at the sound of it. You wanted to reach out and erase the doubt from his mind, to tell him that he didn’t have to question it. But instead, you just looked at him, letting the silence linger for a moment, trying to gather the right words to answer him.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “I love you because you’re you. Because through all the broken pieces, all the walls you’ve built around yourself, I still see the man who’s been there for me. You’re not perfect, none of us are. But you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if taking in your words, processing them, before meeting your gaze again. His expression softened, the tightness in his jaw easing, but there was still that guarded look in his eyes. He was trying to fight something inside himself, something he had carried for so long.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, almost to himself, but you heard it loud and clear. The doubt in his voice, something he couldn’t shake.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, forcing him to see the truth in your eyes. “Stop saying that,” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “You deserve me. You deserve everything good that’s coming your way. I’ve seen who you are, Joel. You’re not what you think you are.”

“Why do you think I keep pushing you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, like he was afraid of the answer himself.

You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly touching his, and your breath mingled in the quiet space between you. “Because you’re scared of letting yourself love me the way you do,” you said softly. “You’re scared of losing me. But pushing me away won’t make it any easier. It’ll just leave you with a regret you can’t undo.”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as if your words had struck a chord in him, but it wasn’t enough to break him completely, not yet.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m afraid if I let myself love you fully... if I let myself need you the way I do… I won’t be able to protect you. I can’t live with that.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek as you reached up to wipe it away, the tenderness in his voice catching you off guard. You could feel the pain in his words, the depth of his fear, and it only made you love him more.

Joel’s hand gently moved to your ankle, and despite everything that had just been said, the tenderness in his touch wasn’t lost on you. His rough fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully positioned your leg. You winced slightly at the discomfort, but it wasn’t the pain from your ankle that caught your attention—it was the way his eyes never left you, the quiet care he was showing in that moment.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low, trying to keep his own emotions in check. You could tell he was trying to be calm for you, even though you knew he was anything but calm inside.

Joel’s fingers moved gently over your ankle, wrapping the bandage with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. His touch was steady, and for once, it was soft, more like the careful tenderness of someone who didn’t want to hurt you, rather than the harshness that often came with survival.

You winced slightly when the bandage tightened, but he immediately eased his grip, looking at you with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but his care made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

Once your ankle was properly secured, Joel leaned back, looking at you for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place in them. He didn’t speak for a while, just stared at you like he was trying to decide something in his mind.

Joel’s gaze went to your ankle for a moment, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward, his lips brushing the soft skin of your bandaged ankle. It was a gesture so tender, so unexpected, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Don’t laugh,” he murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his voice remained quiet, almost apologetic. “I’m just trying to make it better.”

You shook your head, still chuckling lightly, the sound feeling strange after everything that had happened. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Joel,” you said, meeting his eyes with a smile. “It’s just... never thought you’d be kissing my ankle better.”

Joel’s smirk softened into something more tender, and for a moment, there was nothing between you but the quiet understanding. His eyes dropped back to your ankle for a brief second before lifting to meet yours once more, his expression serious.  Without another word, he moved closer, his hand reaching to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he had shown when tending to your injury. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his lips just a breath away.

And then, without hesitation, he kissed you, soft, lingering, as if it was a promise, as if it was everything, he hadn’t been able to say before. You leaned into it, letting the kiss speak for you both, the tension between you finally easing, at least for this moment.

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” Ellie’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.

You and Joel broke apart instantly, your breath still tangled in his, as you turned to see Ellie standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, a smirk pulling at her lips.

Joel cleared his throat and sat back slightly, rubbing a hand over his beard like that would somehow erase what she’d just walked in on.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I leave you two alone for five minutes, and you’re already making out. Unbelievable.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Ellie—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, waving a hand. “I mean, it’s kinda sweet, but gross.”

Joel shot her a look, his voice flat. “Ellie.”

“What?” She shrugged, grinning. “Just saying. But, uh—maybe save the romance for later, lovebirds? We kinda got shit to do.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but when he glanced at you again, you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“C’mon,” he muttered, standing up and offering you a hand. “We should get movin’.”

You took his hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go. As you stood, Ellie shot you both a smug look before turning on her heel.

As she walked away, you heard her mutter under her breath, “God, I hope I never have to see that again.”

As soon as you put weight on your injured ankle, a sharp pain shot up your leg, making you wince. You bit down on a curse, trying to tough it out, but Joel noticed immediately.

“Joel, it’s fine, I can walk,” you protested, but you could see the look in his eyes, the one that said, no argument.

“Not gonna argue with me on this one. Up you go.” Before you could protest, he crouched slightly in front of you. “Get on.” He waited for you to settle onto his back, and you reluctantly complied, knowing it would be easier than walking on your own.

You blinked at him. “Joel, I can—”

He shot you a look over his shoulder. “I'm not asking...”

Ellie snorted. “Just get on, lovebird.”

You sighed, but there was no real fight left in you. Carefully, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his arms under your legs and lifted you effortlessly.

“Easy, old man,” you teased, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip. “Call me that again, and I’m dropping you.”

You laughed softly, “Thanks,” you muttered after a moment, your face buried in his jacket, still feeling the warmth of his body. The way he carried you felt like a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

You sighed against him, letting yourself relax just a little as Joel carried you forward with steady steps. Without thinking, you pressed a soft kiss to the side of his neck, just above the collar of his jacket.

Joel stiffened for half a second, his grip on your legs tightening before he exhaled slowly. “You trying to distract me?” His voice was lower now, rougher.

A smirk played on your lips. “Is it working?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You laughed, placing another kiss on the same spot, “I love you, Joel.”

His steps faltered for just a moment, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His grip on you tightened, his fingers pressing into your legs like he needed to ground himself.

He didn’t answer right away, just kept walking, his jaw tight. For a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

But then, in that quiet, gruff voice of his, he murmured, “I love you too, darling. Always”.

[thekinslayed]

A Moment's Reprieve

summary | Aemond just can't seem to get a moment alone with you, driving him to the point of madness.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, lil quickie, rough sex, aeggy cameo <3, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, not proofread :P

wordcount | 3.3k

note | hi, it's been a minute <3 feeling kinda meh about this but i hope u guys like it!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

It was hard to fuck while wearing leather. The heat from Aemond’s body was so easily trapped in its wall, dissipating into fat droplets of sweat cascading down his back. Moving around was no easy feat either, but the momentary suffering would have to suffice. He was easily lost enough in the fire in his loins that burned hotter than the damp flush creeping up his chest. His thrusts were hasty, his grip on your exposed breasts tight as he slammed himself in and out of your core.

On better days, he would have taken the time to take you apart piece by piece, perhaps starting with his mouth on your sweet cunny, but you both hardly had time to even undress. Your skirts were carelessly rucked up to your hips, neckline haphazardly unbound just enough to free your teats, while your husband had lowered his breeches just enough to expose his hard, swollen cock before he drove into you. Your grip on his bicep was tight, while your nails dug into the bedpost with the other for support as you stood by the bed’s edge. The pulsating of your core was enough to drive him mad, the dizzying haze of desire overwhelming his wife just as it did with him. 

“H-husband, I’m so close,” you moaned in his ear, head leaned back into his chest. He must have grunted something in response, though he wasn’t sure he even heard himself, voice lost in the din of loud smacking of his trim hips against your plump arse, and your sweet melodic mewls. The rising heat in his belly let him know he was right with you, only a few thrusts behind the release that threatened to overtake him. It was easy to get lost in it all— in you, in your warm, perfect walls. So much so his thrusts turned even more desperately erratic as his body moved in its own accord, his usually alert mind hardly registering the creaking of wood and the sudden breeze into his marital chambers.

Then he heard cackling.

“Seven fucking Hells, brother!” 

Aegon stood at the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob and the other clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter. The younger whipped his head at the intrusion, eyes widening before shifting to cover you with his body. He heard you gasp, before scrambling to cover your exposed chest away from Aegon’s curious eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond barked, turning to move to storm over where the idiot stood when he caught his brother eyeing the exposed flesh of your upper thigh, but your firm hand on his wrist kept him where he was to save yourself the last bits of dignity. 

“I… ha!” the elder snorted, laughter finally dying down into low chuckles that rumbled from his chest. He exhaled a deep sigh, dramatically wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mother sent me to call on you because court starts in five minutes and she believes the Seven Hells have cooled over when she found me ready before you, but I guess you were preoccupied, eh?” he shrugged, amethyst eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that irked Aemond to no end. “Dear me, fucking before noon? And I thought I was oversexed.”

“Shut up before I make you,” Aemond seethed. His wife sighed, peeking over his shoulder to speak to Aegon.

“Would you give us a few moments, brother? Let Her Grace know we will be right out,” you asked softly, smiling sweetly enough to earn a tight squeeze on the hips from your dragon in warning. 

“Of course, best to, uh, finish up then,” he responded, wagging his finger mockingly before turning to leave, snickering. “Good to know I had you taught well, Aemond!”

“You fucke–”

The door slammed shut before Aemond could finish, sighing against your temple in exasperation from the ruined moment. The soft kiss on his cheek was hardly enough to make up for it, the humiliation in his chest killing whatever drive in his gut. He begrudgingly tucked his softened length back into his breeches before helping you with your laces. You turned to face him once your dress had been rightened, hugging his waist and leaning your chin against his chest. 

“Such a shame, everything was feeling so good,” you pouted up at him. Aemond grunted in agreement, head still running hot in annoyance.

Surely, the court wouldn’t be too curious if his brother strolled in with a bruise on his face. He’d been in worse shape before, what was a little marked-up cheek?

There must be some sick game the gods were playing on Aemond. They were teasing him, testing to see how long he could withhold being unable to have a moment alone with his wife before going completely mad. Court took up a better part of his afternoon, long hours of appeals and hearing whatever problems their people wished to voice. It took much of him to keep his eye forward, ignoring the heat radiating off the flesh of your arm that was warmed by the sticky air of the mid-summer sun filtering into the throne room, while you stood by your husband’s side, his nose engulfed by the flowery sweetness wafting from your hair.

Supper was just as torturous, though having you sat by his side slightly made up for it, and teasing you under the table was a good way to pass the time. Aemond’s rough fingertips crept up your skirts and took hold of your thigh, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way you swatted his hand away in panic, cheeks growing adorably flushed. With dessert promptly served and devoured, the one-eyed prince all but jumped from his seat, your hand in tow to lead you back to the privacy of your chambers, but the deep drawl of his grandsire’s voice halted him before anything else, inviting him to the Tower to speak on a matter of the utmost discretion. He let your hand go with a scowl, helplessly watching you walk off into the direction of your apartments.

His grandsire sat him down to talk until well into the night, speaking in hushed tones of a matter of concern in the Reach. He was to fly to Oldtown to settle brewing disputes in the Hightower seat in his grandsire's stead, a task entrusted to him that required his sharp eye and his partiality to matters of politics. 

His steps were heavy on his return, his chest even heavier, and when he finally crossed the threshold of your spacious apartments, you were deep into your slumber. You snuggled up into his side of the bed, arm extending to where he should have been. When a responsibility like this would’ve once had Aemond eager to fly out at first light, he found himself unable to tear himself away from you when duty called, having found a home in your arms that sheltered him with warmth and lightness his reality was so deeply void of. 

He was gone for a sennight—a slow-passing, cruel week.  

The separation was torturous, and not a moment passed where your husband’s mind didn’t wander to his sweet wife. He’d tucked one of your handkerchiefs into his pocket before his departure, tracing the embroidered curves of your initials with his thumb when he grew agitated within Oldtown’s walls. They had given him a comfortable accommodation, a bed much too large to sleep in alone. Aemond had grown spoiled with your warmth, and with this temporary withdrawal, sleep came miserably.

At the week's end, disagreements were smoothed and hands were shaken. Aemond took to the skies, not a second too soon after the Lord Hobart thanked him for the crown’s aid, his longing for home shamelessly showing itself in the tension in his shoulders every minute he was there. Daeron would have to forgive him for not flying together as much as the younger wished, but his brother, ever the kindest out of all the dragon princes, saw him off with a nod of understanding and a firm pat on the back, whispering the promise of his own return to their family. 

Vhagar traversed the horizon at a speed unexpected for her size and age, but his old girl shared her rider’s wish for home. They cleared the distance in a day, and the returning prince was greeted by Ser Criston and a wheelhouse that would take him back to his home, to you.

But the gods wouldn’t grant Aemond reprieve that easily. 

The streets bustled with life as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets. He had returned just in time for his father’s nameday, a week-long celebration for the ailing king that called for the grandest celebration, with music, wine, and dancing for guests hailing from all over the realm. Aemond watched through the thin slits of the carriage— faces passing in a blur, voices of every pitch overlapping the other. His brow furrowed in perplexion when they took a sudden turn, an unexpected route that led him away from the hill leading to the Keep, but right to the middle of the celebrations— the melee.

“Queen’s orders, my prince,” Cole explained, standing stoically in front of the brooding prince. “She wished to have you join the celebrations as soon as you returned, have the family all present in front of the people.”

Aemond grumbled under his breath all the way up the steps to the royal box, plopping exhaustedly into his seat beside Aegon. The elder patted him hard on the back, adding to his aggravation, clearly oblivious to his dampened mood. “Good to have you here in time to join us, brother, Reyne’s just about to fuck Tarly up,” he cackled, taking a big swig of his wine. 

“A change of clothes first would have been nice,” Aemond huffed, ignoring the battling knights as he looked around for his wife. He twisted around his seat in confusion at the absent sight of you, earning a look from his grandsire that had him uncharacteristically slumping in his seat.

“She’s with Helaena,” Aegon said, whose eyes stayed glued to the violent display before them. “Orwyle said it was ill luck for pregnant women to look upon violence or whatever he was on about. Your wife’s keeping her company.”

Aemond sighed defeatedly, his chest twinging with annoyance. Of fucking course. Everything seemed to be working against his wishes, toying with his already short patience. Gods be damned, they would know better to keep a man like him away from his wife. Perhaps this made him seem like an addict, no better than a drunk stuck to his bottle or a pervert to a whore, but he was well past the point of denying it. You were a part of him, whether either of you could help it or not.

He turned to his mother, who sat frowning with a hand half-covering her face as she watched on, muttering some half-excuse of wanting to freshen up and be rid of the smell of dragon on his skin before enjoying the festivities. The queen granted him leave with the ghost of a quirk on her lips and a knowing look, waving him off dismissively with a ringed hand.

He all but dashed the way back to the Keep, strides large and booming through the halls back to Maegor’s Holdfast. His pulse thumped heavily in his ears, his chest sparked with a renewed lightness with every step closer. Aemond found you in his sister’s apartments, sat on the settee as you embroidered. 

Your head shot up as the door swung open, eyes brightening like a starry night when they landed on him. “Aemond!” you gasped, promptly jumping up from your seat and into his arms. With how tight your arms wound around his neck, it was clear his dearest wife was just as tortured as he. 

Aemond nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin he had missed dearly. With you back in his arms, right where you belonged, everything felt warm. He felt near bursting at the seams, his body immediately responding to the heat of your body pressed against his. His lips found yours on instinct, hungrily devouring the sweet taste he’d grown starved for. Large, calloused hands wandered on their own, finding purchase on your rear with a tight squeeze. It made you whine, pulling away in haste to glance at a sleeping Helaena.  Her third pregnancy often had her weary, as she was now, laid on her bed, with the twins tucked on either side as they slept through the peaceful haze of the late afternoon.

“Come,” your husband ordered, grasping your wrist to pull you out of the room. The growing fire in his loins left him too impatient to lead you up another flight of stairs where your apartments were, urgency nagging at him to hasten lest someone called for him to return to the melee. He led you with quick steps to the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove where he pressed you against the wall, caged between his arms.

His mouth devoured yours, tongue slithering into the warm cavern and dancing with your own. It soon descended onto the length of your perfumed neck, nipping and biting at the spots that pulled deep, pleasant sighs. Your hands gripped his doublet, subtly pushing him away as you called his name.

“Husband, h-here?” you asked, mewling as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw. You were right, this wasn't exactly an ideal location for your reunion, but he was pressed for time, and having to wait to have you until nightfall would drive him to insanity.

“There’s not one soul around, dearest,” he said into your skin, parting with a kiss on the fresh mark. With the inhabitants of the Keep all away at the tournaments, the halls were empty enough, save for the occasional passing servant and the knight standing guard outside Helaena’s door. With the near ravenous state Aemond was in, he could give less fucks who could witness him taking his wife. Your skirts were messily rucked up to your hips, wandering hand dipping past your smallclothes and finding your heat, already dripping in sweet arousal. “Did you miss me this much, wife? You’re already soaked,” your husband chuckled devilishly, eye darkening when you bit your lip as he teased your slit. 

You nodded at him eagerly, a whine rising from your throat when his fingertip brushed against your pearl. “You were gone for too long, husband. It has been miserable without you. When I saw Vhagar fly over the city I could have dashed to the gates myself if Helaena didn’t need me,” you pouted. His heart swelled at your sweetness, peppering adoring kisses onto your hairline as you pulled him in even closer.

“I have been tormented just the same, my love. Every day that passed, you were all I thought about,” he whispered. “No one will keep me away from you now, sweet girl, I promise you.” 

Somewhere in the frenzy of tongue and spit, your smallclothes fell to the stone floor and his breeches were aptly unlaced. Your smaller, dainty hand wrapped around his hardened length, stroking his leaking cock. Gods, it was pathetic how he could come from your slightest touch. He grasped your wrist to stop you, gulping as he continued to twitch in your hold.

“Wait,” he huffed. The need possessed him with a primal urge, prompting him to grab hold of both of your thighs to lift you off your feet. With you pressed against the wall and holding onto his shoulders for dear life, Aemond sunk you onto his cock, down onto the hilt. There was little time to savor the subtle pulsating of your walls, his hips taking on a steady pace from the start. “Fucking... finally,” he grunted.

You bounced in his firm hold, lower back rubbing against the rough stone, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite, rather, with the way you openly moaned, your voice echoing through the dim hall. “Gods!” you whined. Your husband’s pace suddenly shifted, hips starting to slap more ferociously against yours. Any soul who would have the misfortune to walk these halls at this very moment would hear you from the opposite end from the resounding rhythm of skin against skin.

“There are no gods here, wife, just you and I,” Aemond growled against your ear, before biting down on your shoulder, making you squeal even louder.

“I– mmph! Ah, Aem–” Any semblance of coherence on your usually pretty head dissipated in a heady jumble. It made your husband smirk, despite the heat starting to tingle in the back of his neck.

“Something to say, my love? Or have I already fucked you into a loose whore, hm?” he taunted, chuckling under his breath when you merely whined in response. He was starting to overheat in his leathers, the sharp warmth in his nape slowly trickling down his spine to signal the start of his end. Something deep within his core made his abdomen flex, the ache in his thighs no match for the utter bliss of the warm embrace of your lovely cunt. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, his hand raised to the back of your head, fingers wrapping around your hair to pull your forehead against his. He quickened his pace to spur you to your end first, thumb rubbing your pearl in tight circles. “Come for me, wife. I want to feel you spill around me. Go on,” he rasped, breath hot in your ear.

His wife was a moaning mess. You were never this loud, even in the privacy of your own chambers, but the separation had you desperate, heart sticky with need in a way you had never let yourself be before. He and you were both the same in this way, never too forward with what you wanted, until desire ate away at you from within and you started to lose better thinking.

With a particular harsh thrust, your release broke with a moan that Aemond was sure had echoed to the White Sword Tower. He came no second later with a lower, quieter grunt into your neck, spilling thick ropes of his warm seed into your quivering cunt.

You both stayed there for a second, breaths heavy and minds still in a cloud. Aemond placed you back onto your feet, though wobbly. He huffed amusedly, earning a warning smack on his chest as you furrowed your eyebrows playfully. His lips placed a kiss on your damp forehead, and you kissed his scarred cheek in return. For a second, you only looked at him, your flushed cheeks lifted in a smile, and it made him happy. 

An echo of clinking steel let Aemond know his time was up. He made sure your dress had been rightened and your hair smoothed before tying his breeches back up. The prince peeked to see Cole coming up the staircase, no doubt sent by his mother to take him away again. He sighed heavily, nuzzling one last time into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly. “You should go. Mustn’t let your mother fret,” you said softly. Your husband merely grunted in response, savoring the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. 

A clear of the throat from the knight made Aemond finally pull away, frowning despite the pleased smile on your lips as you smoothed his doublet. He parted with a kiss all-consuming, and whispers of a promise to fetch you the moment he could. 

His return to the royal box came with much reluctance, though his demeanor visibly changed. The tension was gone in his shoulders, his aura different, and his face not so grim anymore. He settled back into his seat with a deep exhale, directing his attention to the faceless lordlings swinging swords much too large for them, though his mind stayed in an alcove somewhere in the Keep. 

Beside him, Aegon yawned loudly, having grown deathly bored with the melee. Sensing the younger’s subtly brighter demeanor, he snickered under his breath. “Feeling rather refreshed now, are you?” he teased. 

Aemond’s gaze flickered to him in a glance, turning back to watch the young Bolton land the winning blow. “Hm, yes, quite.” He lifted his hand to a squire for wine, taking a small sip to quench his parched throat.

“Even without a proper change of clothes?” Aegon pushed, raising his brow mockingly. He cackled as Aemond shifted in his seat, a warning glare in his lone eye. The elder, unbothered, merely patted his brother’s knee as he shook his head. “Good for you, brother.”

[moonlightwritingf1]

Not so Innocent | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ After Lando wins the 2025 championship, he finally gets his chance with Y/N, Oscar's younger sister. Although everyone always assumed she was the innocent one, her surprising confidence and intriguing personality reveal that there’s far more to her than meets the eye.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Lando Norris x Piastri!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 8.4k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering?, rough sex, choking?, gagging on cock, multiple orgasms, deep throat, cum eating?

Based on this request.

A steady cheer buzzed through the open-air club in Abu Dhabi, where bright lights sprayed across the dance floor. The entire McLaren team had gathered to celebrate Lando Norris’s triumphant win—his very first Formula One World Drivers’ Championship. It was early December 2025, and the desert air, warm and dry, carried laughter, congratulatory toasts, and the distant hum of music through the night.

Just beyond the crowd, Lando stood by the bar, a gleaming smile never leaving his face. At 26, he was the new champion, that fresh hint of pride in his eyes. His adrenaline remained high from the race weekend, and every so often, he’d run a hand through his hair, pushing away the constant attention to keep his composure.

Standing only a few feet away from him, Y/N drifted in and out of friendly conversations. She had come from Australia a few days earlier to see the final race of the season—she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Her brother, Oscar, drove for McLaren too, a year older than Y/N, but always protective, especially when it came to Lando. Y/N had always been known as the “innocent” one: a certain polite gentleness in how she spoke, a sweet sincerity in her eyes. Yet there was a flicker of quiet confidence inside her that wasn’t always visible to everyone else—Lando had glimpsed it, now and then, whenever she teased him or met his jokes with her own quick wit.

Music pounded on, and the swirl of lights highlighted everyone’s beaming faces. Lando caught her eye, and she felt a small thrill shoot through her. She allowed herself a timid smile, remembering how that same grin of his had her heart fluttering at Silverstone earlier in the year, or in Monza, or anywhere else she’d seen him. He’d always greet her with a relaxed wave and a playful comment or two, but she’d never thought he would want anything beyond casual banter, especially not with her older brother’s protective gaze forever in the background.

Yet here they were, hugging the edges of the party, energy crackling between them like a secret.

Oscar, for his part, was comfortably nestled in a conversation with McLaren’s top engineers, praising the car's performance that season. Y/N was grateful her brother was distracted. He was good at playing the watchful sibling—he’d made it perfectly clear to Lando that Y/N was “off-limits,” especially after glimpsing some of Lando’s rumored “playboy” ways. Tonight, however, most eyes were either on the new World Champion or on the free-flowing champagne.

Y/N found herself leaning on the bar, sipping ginger ale, content to remain a quiet observer. She wore a sleek dress in a soft color, its silhouette hugging her figure more than her usual casual outfits. Perhaps that subtle confidence she sometimes hid away was seeping through this evening—she felt radiant, certain, even daring.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lando slipped over to her, wearing a conspiratorial grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I know you don’t have a race to run tomorrow. Are you afraid of letting loose, or are you just saving your energy?”

She arched an eyebrow, playful. “You might be the champion, Lando, but you don’t get to make me do anything I don’t want,” she teased. “Besides, maybe I’m enjoying the view from right here.”

His eyes sparkled. He was used to easy flirtations, but he couldn’t deny it—something about Y/N always made his heart race. “I’m definitely enjoying the view,” he returned, letting the slightest hint of flirtation linger in his tone.

They chatted about the race. Y/N told him how she thought his overtakes had been flawless under pressure. Lando responded by asking about her time in Melbourne, how she found the racing scene there and how proud her parents were of both her and Oscar. Slowly, they drifted deeper into conversation, the rest of the party falling away. At some point, he guided her away from the bar with a gentle hand at her waist, heading for a quieter corner where the music felt less thunderous.

They settled into a plush lounge seat. Her body angled toward him, knees nearly touching. She could smell the faint cologne on his skin, something warm and woodsy. She noticed the silver bracelet glittering on his wrist, the same one he always wore—said it was a lucky charm from a friend.

Lando leaned close, voice pitched just for her ears. “You know, Oscar told me the day I met you that I’d better not get any ideas.” He lifted an amused brow. “Reckon he saw something in the way I looked at you.”

Y/N laughed a little. “Well, he does claim to read minds. He’s not as good as he thinks, though.” She paused, tapping a thoughtful finger to her lips. “And…what about you? Did you really have ideas?” She couldn’t believe she was being so forward, her usual timidity melting into the swirling atmosphere of possibility.

He rested his elbow on the back of the sofa, gaze fixed on her. “I did,” he admitted, speaking over the heavy throb of music, “but I never acted. Figured you’d see me the way most people do—a flirty driver with a short attention span.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re more than that. At least…you seemed more than that to me. Been watching you for a while, you know.”

Heat coursed between them at that admission, and neither of them seemed to mind how close their hands had gotten. His fingers brushed against hers. She caught her breath—this was too intense, but also exhilarating.

He lowered his head a fraction, close enough that she could feel his breath fan across her cheek. “Congratulations are in order for me. But now I’m thinking I should congratulate you—on staying so patient. On seeing what others might not see in me.”

She stifled a small, nervous laugh. “Lando, you might want to be careful with lines like that. You’ll give a girl the wrong idea.”

“Maybe it’s the right idea,” he murmured.

Her heart fluttered. Everything felt magnified: the lights, the vibrations of the music, his presence. The day had been an emotional one—he had just been crowned champion, after all. They were in the glowing aftermath of victory, and the tension they’d been ignoring for months had finally found a moment to surface.

Suddenly a wave of applause and a burst of cheering ruffled the room; some of the team had decided to raise Oscar up, presumably praising him for his own strong season. A few faces turned in Lando’s direction, inviting him over. He gave them a quick, friendly wave but stayed in place, eyes only for Y/N.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and set aside her empty glass on a nearby table. “They need you,” she said softly.

He shrugged, unwavering. “But I need you more.”

Her cheeks heated, and a ripple of excitement wound through her chest. She tried to scold him lightly—“You’d better not let your fans hear you say that”—but her voice cracked with amusement.

Before either of them could talk themselves out of the moment, he leaned in. Cautiously at first, as if testing boundaries. Y/N inhaled sharply, parted her lips. Their mouths found each other in a slow, sweet brush that built with every passing second. In the back of her mind, she realized exactly what they were doing, that they were in the midst of the McLaren celebration. But the world felt thousands of miles away.

His lips pressed against hers with rising urgency, and she made the faintest sound of surprise and delight. The taste of him—spearmint gum and leftover champagne—sent warmth crackling through her. She looped her arms around his neck, and he responded by pulling her closer to his body, their hearts pounding in unison.

After a few moments of stolen kisses, they broke apart, breathless. The corners of Lando’s mouth curled into a grin, as if he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to kiss her. She had an almost dazed expression, lips tingling.

He swallowed, took a steadying breath. “Come with me,” he whispered.

Her eyes flicked around at the crowd. “Back to your hotel?”

He gave a brisk nod, the glint in his eye telling her precisely where his thoughts had traveled. “I…well, I’m not exactly subtle, am I?”

She laughed, a sound full of gentle mischief. “Not even a little.”

A few minutes later, with some well-timed goodbyes and a quick word to a clueless Oscar—who seemed too preoccupied with a new wave of celebration to question his sister’s exit—Lando and Y/N slipped out. The short drive back to Lando’s hotel was a blur: the taxi’s radio, the neon lights of Abu Dhabi passing by, his arm wrapped around her shoulder as she leaned into him. They didn’t speak much; the tension they had tiptoed around for so long now simmered tangibly between them.

As soon as they reached the suite—a luxurious room with a spectacular view of Yas Marina Circuit—Lando swiped the keycard. The heavy door clicked shut behind them. The instant the latch caught, he turned to her. They stood close, the hush of air-conditioning the only sound.

And then, as though a dam had broken, he cupped her face and kissed her again, this time with a fervor that made her head spin. She responded with equal fervency, letting her fingertips press into the fabric of his shirt, feeling his heart hammering beneath.

Their breathing grew ragged. Fingers tangled in each other’s hair; hands traveled over backs, arms, waists. Y/N surprised him with just how brazen she was—there was no shy hesitation in her touches now. She was urging him on, meeting every kiss with more boldness.

“Do you know,” he murmured between kisses, “how many times I’ve imagined this?”

Y/N, savoring the heat of his breath on her neck, whispered back, “I could only guess.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a sly smile, one that took him by surprise. “You’re not the only one.” Her hands slid down his chest, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. Lando’s breath hitched as she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, her touch lingering on his skin. He had always imagined her as sweet, innocent, but the way her fingers traced his abs, the way her gaze burned with intensity, told him he had been very wrong.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You’re… not at all what I expected.”

She laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “And what did you expect? A blushing virgin who didn’t know what to do?” Her hands slid to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. “I might look innocent, Lando, but I’m far from it.”

His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. “Prove it,” he challenged, his tone daring.

She didn’t hesitate. With a confidence that left him breathless, she pushed him back onto the bed, following him down without breaking their gaze. Her lips found his again, this time with a hunger that matched his own. Her hands roamed over his body, exploring every inch of him, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Lando groaned, his own hands slipping under her dress, sliding it up her thighs.

“God, Y/N,” he gasped as her lips moved to his neck, her teeth grazing his skin. “You’re driving me crazy.”

She smiled against his neck, her hands working on the zipper of her dress. “Good.” The dress slid down her body, pooling at her feet, and Lando’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her. She was stunning, her confidence radiating as she stood before him, unashamed and unapologetic.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his hands reaching for her. But she stepped back, shaking her head with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Not yet,” she teased, her voice low and sultry. She knelt before him, her hands resting on his thighs, and Lando’s breath caught as she looked up at him through her lashes.

“Y/N,” he warned, his voice strained, but she only smiled, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers.

“Relax, Lando,” she purred, leaning in closer. “Let me take care of you.”

She didn’t waste a moment, her hands moving to the waistband of his trousers. With a swift, practiced motion, she tugged them down, along with his boxers, leaving him fully exposed. 

Lando’s breath hitched, his hands gripping the sheets as he watched her kneel before him, her eyes locking onto his with a confidence that sent a jolt of electricity through him. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock, but instead of the shy, tentative kiss he expected, she paused, her gaze never leaving his. Then, with a wicked smirk, she spat onto his cock, the sound sharp and wet in the quiet room.

Lando’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide with shock. “Shit—look at the mess you just made… you’re so fucking filthy,” he groaned, his voice thick with arousal. The spit glistened on his length, and Y/N didn’t waste a second. She licked it up slowly, her tongue flicking over the tip before she spat again, this time letting it trail down his shaft, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I didn’t expect you to be this messy… but fuck, I love it,” he admitted, his hips bucking slightly as she worked. “You’re spitting on my cock like you fucking own it.”

She smirked up at him, her fingers tightening around the base of his cock as she leaned in, her lips wrapping around him once more. But this time, she didn’t stop at the tip. She deepthroated him effortlessly, taking him all the way down her throat like she had done it a thousand times before. Lando’s head fell back, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he felt her throat tighten around him. “Shit—baby, you’re full of fucking surprises, aren’t you?” he gasped, his voice strained with desire. “You didn’t even hesitate… fuck, baby, you’re actually trying to kill me.”

The sensation was overwhelming—her mouth was warm, wet, and impossibly tight, her throat muscles constricting perfectly around him. “Look at you, taking every fucking inch. Didn’t think you had it in you,” he breathed, his hand tangling in her hair. “You’re not even gagging—fuck, that’s so fucking hot.” His cock throbbed inside her mouth, every inch of him enveloped in pure pleasure, and he could feel his control slipping with every stroke of her tongue.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her lips swollen and glistening with spit, and looked up at him with a look that sent a shiver down his spine. “I swear to God, Y/N, I’ve never been this hard in my life,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “You really know what you’re doing, don’t you? How the fuck did I not see this side of you before?” She didn’t respond with words, her mouth returning to him with a hunger that left him breathless.

Her hands rested on his thighs, gripping tightly as she looked up at him, her eyes never leaving his. “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding, her lips glistening with spit. “Fuck my throat, Lando. I want you to use me.”

Lando’s breath caught, his cock twitching at the demand. “Shit, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “You’re so fucking filthy. You really want me to fuck your throat? You’re not holding back, are you?”

She didn’t respond with words, only a wicked smirk as she leaned back in, her lips wrapping around him once more. This time, she didn’t wait for him to take control. She bobbed her head, taking him deep, her throat tightening around him in a way that made him groan. “Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers tangling in her hair. “You’re actually letting me do this? You’re not even—Jesus, Y/N, you’re perfect.”

Her hands tightened on his thighs, urging him on. “Do it,” she managed to say between strokes, her voice muffled but clear. “Fuck my throat like you mean it.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. His hips snapped forward, driving himself deeper into her mouth, and he let out a guttural moan as he felt her throat constrict around him. “Shit, baby, you’re taking it so fucking well,” he growled, his pace quickening. “You’re letting me use you like this, huh? Such a good fucking girl. Fuck, you’re drooling all over me. Look at you, making such a mess for me.”

Y/N’s moans vibrated around him, her eyes never leaving his, and he could feel his control slipping with every thrust. “I swear to God, Y/N, I’ve never been this hard in my life,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “You’re not even flinching. You’re just letting me take you, letting me fuck your throat like it’s mine. How the fuck did I not see this side of you before?”

She smirked around him, her hands sliding up to his hips, pulling him deeper. “Harder,” she managed to choke out, and Lando obeyed without hesitation, his hips slamming against her face as he lost himself in the sensation. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re trying to kill me,” he gasped, his voice strained. “You’re so fucking good at this. You’re going to make me come if you keep going like this.”

But she didn’t stop. If anything, she took him deeper, her throat swallowing him whole as he lost himself in the pure, unrelenting pleasure of her mouth. “You’re perfect,” he panted, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Lando’s cock ached with need, his hips thrusting into her mouth with abandon. Her throat was a tight, wet heat that drove him wild, and the way she took him so easily, so hungrily, was almost too much to bear. “Didn’t think my sweet, innocent girl would be this fucking filthy,” he growled, his voice thick with arousal. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you? Taking me down your throat like you were made for it.”

Y/N’s eyes watered slightly as he pushed her to her limit, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moaned around him again, her hands gripping his thighs as she took every inch he gave her. “Shit, I can feel you gagging, but you’re still taking it. Such a good girl,” he murmured, his grip on her hair tightening. “You’re making me lose my fucking mind, baby.”

His hips moved faster, his cock sliding in and out of her throat with a wet, rhythmic sound. “Look at you, eyes watering, but you’re still begging for more,” he panted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even have to tell you what to do. You just know. Fuck, that’s so hot.” The room was filled with the sounds of her moans and his ragged breaths, the tension between them reaching its breaking point.

“You’re sucking me like you want to ruin me, baby. And it’s working,” he groaned, his body trembling under her touch. Lando could feel himself teetering on the edge, his body taut with pleasure as she continued to drive him wild. “Baby, you’re too fucking good at this… are you sure you’re as innocent as everyone thinks?” he panted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back once more, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes locked onto his with a look that told him she was far from done. “You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N,” he groaned, his body trembling under her touch. “But fuck, what a way to go.”

She looked at him with a smirk. “Still think I’m innocent?”

He laughed, the sound breathless and rough. “Not even close.”

She stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving his as she reached behind her to unhook her bra. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing her breasts, the nipples already hard with anticipation. She let the bra fall to the floor, her hands trailing down her body as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties. With a slow, deliberate motion, she slid them down her legs, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. The sight of her completely naked, her pussy glistening with arousal, sent a jolt of desire through Lando that made his cock throb painfully.

“Tell me, Lando,” she purred, her voice low and sultry as she climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. Her pussy brushed against the length of his cock, the wet heat of her sending sparks of electricity through his body. “How badly do you want me right now?” Her hips rolled slowly, the slickness of her folds sliding along his shaft, teasing him mercilessly.

Lando’s breath hitched, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she ground against him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea.” 

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I know you’ve had your fair share of women, but let’s see if any of them made you feel like this.” Her hips moved in slow, deliberate circles, the wet heat of her pussy making his cock ache with need. She could feel every inch of him pressing against her, the thick length of him pulsing with desire as she teased him. 

“Congratulations, world champion,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she rocked against him. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

Her hands drifted up to her breasts, her fingers pinching and tugging at her nipples, making them even harder. She moaned softly, the sensation of her own touch sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her tits bounced slightly with the movement of her hips, the sight of her playing with herself driving Lando wild.

“All this time, you thought I was just Oscar’s sweet little sister… but tell me, Lando, do I still seem so innocent rubbing my pussy on your cock?” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief. Her pussy was so wet, the slickness of her coating his cock as she ground against him, the friction making her moan softly.

Lando’s hands tightened on her hips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she continued to tease him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained. “You’re killing me.”

“You can’t stop staring… is it because you’re turned on, or because you’re still trying to figure out where your sweet, innocent Y/N went?” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. Her hips moved faster, the wet heat of her pussy sliding along his cock, making him groan.

She could feel the tension building in him, the way his cock pulsed against her, and she knew he was close. But she wasn’t ready to let him have her yet. Her hands continued to play with her breasts, squeezing and kneading them, the sensation making her moan softly. She loved the way it felt, the way her nipples ached with pleasure as she pinched them, the way her tits bounced with the movement of her hips.

“I bet you thought I’d be shy about this… that I’d blush and hesitate. But look at you, Lando. You’re the one left speechless,” she taunted, her voice filled with satisfaction. Her pussy was so wet, the slickness of her coating his cock as she ground against him, the friction making her moan softly.

“You thought you had me all figured out, didn’t you? That I was too good, too sweet, too off-limits. But tell me, do I feel off-limits now?” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. Her hips moved faster, the wet heat of her pussy sliding along his cock, making him groan.

Lando’s grip on her hips tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she continued to tease him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained. 

“Please…” 

“Please what, Lando?” she purred, her voice filled with amusement. Her hips moved in slow, deliberate circles, the wet heat of her pussy making his cock ache with need. She could feel every inch of him pressing against her, the thick length of him pulsing with desire as she teased him. 

“Please, just take me,” he begged, his voice desperate.

Y/N smirked, leaning down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. “As you wish,” she whispered, her voice filled with promise.

She lifted her hips slightly, positioning herself over him. The tip of his cock brushed against her entrance, and she moaned softly, the sensation sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. Slowly, she sank down onto him, the thick length of him filling her completely. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she savored the feeling of him inside her.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Lando groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she took him. “You feel so fucking good.”

She opened her eyes, looking down at him with a smirk. “I know,” she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. 

She started to move, her hips rocking slowly at first, the wet heat of her pussy squeezing him tightly. The sensation was overwhelming, the way her pussy gripped him, the way her wetness coated him, the way her movements sent waves of pleasure through his body.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “You’re going to make me come.”

Y/N smirked, her hips moving faster, the wet heat of her pussy squeezing him even tighter. “That’s the idea,” she purred, her voice filled with satisfaction. 

He couldn’t hold back any longer. The moment she started to ride him in earnest, the second stroke of her hips was all it took. His cock throbbed inside her, the pressure building until it was unbearable. With a guttural groan, he came, his cum shooting deep inside her, filling her completely.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm. “I can’t believe I just came so fast.” 

She smirked, her hips still moving slowly, milking every last drop from him. “You really couldn’t help yourself, could you?” she teased, her voice filled with amusement. She loved the way his cum felt inside her, the way it filled her, the way it made her pussy feel even more sensitive.

Lando groaned, his face burning with embarrassment. “Fuck, Y/N, I swear that never happens—” 

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. “Did I really just make the big, bad playboy cum in two seconds?” she whispered, her voice filled with satisfaction.

He groaned, his whole face turning red. “Baby, I swear I’m usually better than that.” 

She grinned, dragging a hand down his abs. “I know, but it’s kinda cute seeing you like this.”

He groaned again, his cock still twitching inside her, over-sensitive but still hard. “Okay, in my defense, you feel too fucking good.” 

She raised a brow, her hips moving slightly, teasing him. “Is that supposed to make you sound less pathetic?”

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “Shut up and let me redeem myself.” 

She smirked, her hips still moving slowly, milking every last drop from him. “You’re not done, are you?”

He swallowed thickly, his cock still twitching inside her. “Not even close.”

Y/N smirked, her hips grinding against him slowly, milking every last drop from him. Then, with a deliberate motion, she lifted herself off his cock, his cum already beginning to drip out of her. She watched as his cock slid out of her pussy, the thick length glistening with a mix of her wetness and his cum. Her pussy felt empty without him, the warmth of his release pooling inside her, but the sensation only heightened her arousal. She was still dripping wet, her pussy throbbing with need, her body craving more.

She reached down, her fingers tracing the swollen lips of her pussy, feeling the thick, creamy mess of his cum as it dripped out of her. She sighed softly, the sensation of her own touch sending shivers through her body. She dipped her fingers inside herself, collecting his cum, and then brought them to her mouth, her lips wrapping around them as she sucked them clean. She moaned softly, the taste of him on her tongue making her even wetter. She repeated the motion, her fingers diving back into her pussy, scooping up more of his cum before bringing them back to her mouth, sucking and licking them clean with a wicked smile.

Lando watched her, his breath caught in his throat, his cock already twitching with renewed desire. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way she moved, the way she tasted herself, the way she looked at him with those eyes that told him she was far from done. “Jesus fucking Christ, you are so dirty,” he breathed, his voice filled with awe. He loved the way she cleaned herself, the way she sucked on her fingers, the way she looked at him with that smirk that told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“You love this, don’t you?” she purred, her voice low and sultry as she slipped her fingers back into her pussy, scooping up more of his cum. She brought them to her mouth, her lips wrapping around them as she sucked them clean, her eyes never leaving his. “Being buried between my thighs like you fucking belong there.”

Lando groaned, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she teased him. “You’re actually trying to kill me,” he admitted, his voice shaking. He couldn’t believe how turned on he was, how hard he was again, just from watching her. His cock twitched, the sight of her tasting his cum driving him wild.

She smirked, continuing to clean herself, her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy as she sucked them clean, her eyes locked onto his. “You’re insane,” he breathed, watching her with a mix of disbelief and pure desire. “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

She slid off him. She laughed softly, finally satisfied that she was clean, her pussy still throbbing with need. She lay down on the bed next to him, spreading her legs in an inviting manner. "Now, baby," she purred, her voice filled with promise, "it's your turn."

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. He moved down between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he buried his face in her pussy. His tongue flicked over her clit, the taste of her making him groan. He loved the way she tasted, the way she felt, the way her pussy gripped his tongue as he slid it inside her. He loved the way she moaned, the way her hips rocked against his face, the way she pulled his hair, urging him on.

“You’re making me feel so fucking good, baby,” Y/N moaned, her hands gripping his hair tightly as he devoured her. “Keep going.”

Lando groaned, his tongue continued to flicker over her clit, his hands gripping her thighs even tighter as he ate her out. 

“Shit, Lando—yes, just like that,” Y/N moaned, her hips grinding against his face as he sucked on her clit. “Suck on my clit, baby.”

Lando groaned again, he burying his face deeper between her legs. His tongue flicked over her clit with precision, teasing the sensitive bud before diving lower to trace the wet, swollen lips of her pussy. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet, salty, and uniquely hers—and he couldn’t get enough. He swirled his tongue around her entrance, lapping up her arousal, the sound of her slickness filling the quiet room.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hips instinctively arching toward his mouth as if begging for more. “Oh God, Lando,” she moaned, her hands tangling in his hair, urging him on. Her body was electric, every flick of his tongue sending jolts of pleasure through her.

He responded by sliding his tongue inside her, exploring her tight, warm depths with a hunger that matched her own. She gasped, her thighs trembling under his grip as he worked her with relentless intensity. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing her clit one moment and plunging deep the next.

“Yes, just like that,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if she could fuse them together.

Lando moaned against her, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through her core. He loved the way she tasted, the way she writhed beneath him, the way her pussy clenched around his tongue as if begging for release. His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her hips firmly as he devoured her with a fervor that left her breathless.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His lips glistened with her wetness, a wicked smirk playing on his face. “You’re so fucking delicious, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I could eat you out all night.”

Her hips ground against his face with a desperate urgency, her thighs trembling as the pressure built inside her. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” Y/N moaned, her voice shaking with need. Her hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, her fingers threading through the strands as if anchoring herself to him. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

Lando’s tongue worked her clit with expert precision, flicking and swirling in just the right way to drive her wild. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as her movements grew more frantic. He could feel her clenching around his fingers, her body trembling on the edge of release. The taste of her was intoxicating, he couldn’t get enough, lapping at her hungrily as she writhed above him.

“Fuck, Lando—yes, just like that,” she gasped, her voice breaking as the first waves of her orgasm hit her. Her body convulsed, her hips rocking over his face with a wild, unrestrained rhythm. She was losing control, her moans growing louder, more desperate, as her clit throbbed under his relentless tongue. “Oh God, I’m cumming—fuck, I’m cumming!”

Her thighs clamped around his head, her nails digging into his scalp as she gripped his hair even harder, pulling him even closer as she rode out her orgasm. Her pussy pulsed, her tight walls clamping down as her release washed over her in overwhelming waves. She could feel every flick of his tongue, every vibration of his moans against her sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

Lando groaned against her, his own body trembling with the intensity of her reaction. He loved the way she came undone on his tongue, the way her hips moved frantically over his face, the way her hands pulled his hair as if she needed him to anchor her. He loved the taste of her, the way she coated his tongue with her arousal. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Her body shook with the force of her orgasm, her hips still grinding against his face as she chased every last bit of pleasure. Her moans were loud, unrestrained, her voice trembling as she cried out in ecstasy. “Oh God, Lando—fuck, I’m still cumming,” she gasped, her thighs trembling around his head as her release continued to wash over her. “You feel so fucking good—don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Lando didn’t stop, his tongue flicking over her clit with relentless precision, drawing out every last shiver, every last moan. He loved the way she responded to him, the way her body quaked with pleasure, the way her hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as she came apart. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Cum for me. Let me taste all of you.”

Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, her body trembling with the intensity of it, her pussy pulsing as she rode out the waves of pleasure. When she finally collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving, her thighs still trembling, she was utterly spent. “Fuck, Lando,” she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re fucking incredible.”

Lando smirked, lifting his head to meet her gaze, his lips glistening with her wetness. “I told you,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. 

But there was no time for words—his cock was already rock hard again, throbbing with an ache that demanded to be buried deep inside her. He could feel every inch of it straining, veins pulsing under the sensitive skin, the tip slick with pre-cum as it twitched impatiently. His breath was ragged, his body burning with need, and the way she looked at him—eyes filled with desire, lips parted, her chest rising and falling—only made him harder. He wanted her. Needed her.

He positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he guided the tip of his cock to her entrance. Her pussy was glistening, swollen and wet, the sight of her arousal making his cock throb even more. He pressed against her slowly, the head of his cock spreading her open, and they both groaned as he slid inside her, inch by inch. Her pussy was so tight, so warm, the walls clenching around him as if they were made to fit him perfectly. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her completely, his cock buried to the hilt.

For a moment, he stayed still, letting her adjust to him, savoring the way her pussy felt around him—soft, but so tight, gripping him like a fist. He could feel every pulse of her arousal, the wetness coating his cock as he held himself deep inside her. Her pussy felt perfect, like it had been waiting for him all this time, and the thought sent a jolt of pleasure through him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moaned, her hips shifting slightly, and he could feel her walls tightening around him. “I can feel you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can feel every inch of you inside me.” Her pussy was so sensitive, every movement of his cock sending waves of pleasure through her. She loved the way he filled her, the way he stretched her open, the way his cock throbbed inside her, making her feel so full.

But she didn’t want slow—she wanted more. Her nails dug into his hips, her voice pleading. “Fuck, don’t tease me. Give it to me like you mean it.”

Lando hesitated, still worried about being too rough, but she wasn’t having it. “Lando, I don’t want slow. I want you to fuck me like you can’t get enough of me.” Her voice was desperate, her hips grinding against him, urging him on.

He started to move, his cock sliding in and out of her with slow, deliberate strokes. Her pussy clenched around him, the wetness making every movement smooth and effortless. He could feel her walls gripping him, the warmth of her arousal making his cock throb. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “I can feel how much you want this.”

But slow wasn’t enough for her. “I’m not some delicate thing, baby. Fucking break me,” she begged, her voice shaking. Her nails dug into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. “You feel so fucking good, but I need more. Give me more.”

Lando’s control snapped. He grabbed her hips, slamming into her harder, faster, his cock going in and out of her with a rough rhythm that had her crying out. Her pussy clutched him tighter, the wetness making every thrust slick and smooth, her walls squeezing him with every movement. He could feel her arousal coating his cock, the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, making him groan with pleasure. She was so wet, so tight, and the way her pussy gripped him was almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, just like that… but harder. Make me scream for you,” she moaned, her voice trembling. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she rocked her hips against him, meeting every thrust with equal fervor. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, her walls throbbing with every movement, and the sensation drove him wild.

“You can be rough with me. I want to feel everything,” she gasped, her voice desperate. His cock was hitting her in all the right places, every thrust sending jolts of pleasure through her. Her pussy was so sensitive, the friction of his cock inside her making her feel like she was on fire. 

Lando’s pace quickened, his cock slamming into her with a force that had her moaning loudly. Her pussy was soaking wet, every thrust making her walls clench around him, the wetness coating his cock as he fucked her. He could feel her pussy gripping him, the warmth of her arousal making his cock throb with every movement. “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name,” she panted, her voice shaking.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “Only mine.” His thrusts became more erratic, his cock plunging into her with a wild rhythm that had her crying out. He could feel her walls throbbing around him, her arousal making every movement slick and smooth.

She grabbed his hand, dragging it to her throat without a word. He hesitated for a moment, but she moaned when he tightened his grip, her nails digging into his back. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “You like when I take control.”

She moaned, her voice muffled by his hand on her throat. “Yes,” she gasped. “Make me yours, Lando. Fuck me like I belong to you.”

The gesture—her moving his hand to her throat—was so unexpected, so fucking hot that it made him lose control. He tightened his grip slightly, his thrusts becoming even more erratic, his cock slamming into her with a force that had her moaning loudly. She loved the way he took control, the way he made her feel so vulnerable, so completely his.

But then, when his hand moved to her clit, she slapped it away. “Watch me, Lando,” she whispered, her voice filled with mischief. She reached down, her fingers brushing against her clit as she started to rub herself. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttering shut as she moaned. “You like seeing me like this, don’t you? So needy, so fucking wet for you.”

Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she touched herself, the way she moaned, the way her pussy clenched around his cock—it was driving him wild. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

She smirked, her fingers moving faster. “I want to feel you deep inside me while I make myself come,” she panted, her voice desperate. She was so close, her pussy tightening around him, her walls throbbing with every movement. “Fuck, Lando… keep watching me. Don’t look away.”

Her orgasm hit her suddenly, her body convulsing as she came, her pussy clenching around his cock with a force that had him groaning. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, his voice shaking. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She panted, her body trembling as she rode out her orgasm, her fingers still moving against her clit. “Let me ride you,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Let me make you come.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. He flipped them over, letting her straddle him. She sank down onto his cock, her pussy still throbbing from her orgasm, and started to ride him with a wild, unrestrained rhythm. 

Her hands pressed firmly into his chest, nails digging into his skin as she rode him with a wild, unrestrained rhythm. Y/N’s hips moved with a ferocity that left Lando breathless, his hands gripping her waist tightly to steady her. He had imagined her sweet, slow, and tentative, but she was bouncing on his cock like she was trying to break him. Her pussy gripped him with every downward stroke, the tight, wet heat of her walls clenching around his length in a way that made his thoughts blur.

Her tits bounced inches from his face, jiggling with every frantic movement of her hips. The sight alone had Lando groaning, his hands moving from her waist to cup her breasts, kneading them roughly as she rode him. She moaned, her head thrown back, her hair cascading down her back in a wild, tangled mess. "Cum for me, baby," she panted, her voice dripping with desperation. "I want to feel you spill inside me."

Lando’s cock throbbed inside her, the sensation of her pussy squeezing him so tightly making it impossible to hold back. "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his voice rough and strained. "You’re not even giving me a chance to breathe."

She smirked, her hips never slowing as she leaned forward, her tits practically smothering his face. "You love knowing I’m not as innocent as you thought, don’t you?" she teased, her voice laced with mischief. "You love knowing I can fuck you just as good as you fuck me."

Her pussy felt incredible—welcoming, tight, and dripping wet. Every time she rose and fell on his cock, he felt her walls grip him, the sheer wetness of her making every movement slick and smooth. Her inner muscles pulsed around him, as if they were milking him for every drop. For Y/N, his cock felt like fire, stretching her open, filling her completely, the thick length of him hitting every sensitive spot as she rode him. She could feel every vein, every throb, every inch of him inside her, and it was driving her wild.

She leaned back, her hands finding the headboard behind her, and used it as leverage to fuck him even harder. Her tits bounced wildly in his face, the nipples hard and begging for attention. Lando reached up, pinching and tugging at them, making her moan as her hips moved faster, slamming down onto him with a force that had him groaning.

"Have you ever been fucked like this before?" she asked, her voice teasing, though she already knew the answer. She could feel him shaking beneath her, his cock throbbing inside her as he struggled to keep control.

"Fuck, no," Lando admitted, his voice trembling. "No one’s ever made me feel this good."

She smirked, slowing her movements just enough to lift herself off his cock completely, leaving him empty and aching. She made him watch as she sank back down onto him, the slow, deliberate motion driving him crazy. Her pussy stretched around him, the wetness making everything slick and effortless, and she moaned as she took him to the hilt.

"You like watching me take you, don’t you?" she whispered, her voice low and sultry.

"Baby, don’t play with me like this," Lando groaned, his hands gripping her thighs tightly. "I’m barely holding on."

She laughed softly, her hips rolling as she leaned forward, her tits brushing against his chest. "Feel that, baby?" she purred. "How wet I am? All for you."

Her third orgasm began to build, a slow, steady pressure that started deep in her core and spread outward with every thrust. She could feel the ache growing, the tension coiling tighter and tighter as she rode him. "Lando, I’m gonna cum," she gasped, her voice shaking. "Fuck, I need you to fill me up."

His hands tightened on her hips, his cock throbbing inside her as he struggled to keep control. "Let go, baby, let go," he pleaded, his voice rough. "I need to feel you cum around me."

Her orgasm hit her suddenly, her pussy clenching around him with a force that had them both crying out. "Shit, baby, I’m cumming!" she screamed, her body trembling as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.

Lando groaned, his own release following almost instantly. "Fuck, yes, baby, cum for me," he gasped, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside her, filling her completely. "Shit, I’m right there with you."

Her pussy felt incredible to him—warm, tight, and throbbing as she came around him. For Y/N, his cock felt like heaven, the thick length of him stretching her open as he filled her with his cum. She could feel the warmth of his release pooling inside her, making every movement of her hips even more sensitive.

"I’m so fucking full, baby," she panted, her voice trembling. "Oh my God, I can feel you filling me up."

Lando groaned, his body shaking as he buried himself deep inside her. "I’m not pulling out, baby," he admitted, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Fuck, I need to fill you up."

She collapsed onto his chest, her body trembling as they both came down from their high. Her pussy still pulsed around his cock, the aftershocks of her orgasm making her shiver. "I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let you go after this," she whispered, her voice soft and sated.

Lando chuckled, his hands gently stroking her back. "Good," he murmured, his voice filled with promise. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a tender, almost innocent kiss—a stark contrast to the way she’d just destroyed him moments ago. Her soft, sweet mouth moved over his, soothing and gentle, like a quiet reminder of the girl he thought he knew. But as he kissed her back, his mind reeled, still trying to reconcile the softness of her lips with the filth she’d just unleashed on him. She’d taken him apart completely, shattered every expectation he’d had about her, and now here she was, kissing him like nothing had changed.

Lando’s hands slid up her back, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, savoring the warmth of her lips and the taste of her lingering on his tongue. She was a paradox, a beautiful, maddening contradiction—all sweet innocence and untamed desire. How had he not seen this side of her before? How had he ever thought she was just Oscar’s sweet little sister?

When they finally broke apart, her lips curved into that wicked smirk he was starting to adore, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken. He stared at her, breathless and utterly ruined, and realized with startling clarity that he’d never really known her at all. And somehow, that only made him want her more.

[just-nc-tea]

do you think i'm fragile? ☆ ͡ ⊹

⭑.ᐟ The coaches daughter – Lee Heeseung A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the men’s hockey team, you’re thrust back into the world you’ve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything you’ve lost—and then there’s Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.

ᝰ genre. College sports aus, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, fluff, a lot of falling asleep in the same bed, some good old family drama .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, car crash, Y/N just had surgery and is using crutches, partying, some making out .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 30.k .ᐟ₊ ⊹  ᝰ an. I haven't written or published anything in like 8 years i think! And back then everything i wrote was in German so this was my first time propperly writing in English! I am not 100% pleased with this but i kinda also wanted to finally post this

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ GET ADDED THE TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🏒

The sound of crunching metal and the violent jolt of impact were the last things you remembered clearly from that day six years ago.

You had been sitting in the front seat, your legs tucked comfortably into the seat as your dad drove through the light rain on a Saturday morning. “Soobin’s got nothing on me once I perfect my wrist shot,” you told your father excitedly, looking at him in the driver's seat. He nodded and briefly glanced at his phone in the cub holder, frowning when he saw a new message. He shifted in his seat, his focus divided.

You noticed the change in his expression but tried to keep the conversation light: “I was thinking... maybe you could watch the scrimmage today? I’ve been dying to show you how much better I’ve gotten.” Your voice held that hopeful edge, the one you always used when you wanted his approval.

“I’ll try, kiddo,” he said, though his tone was distracted. Before you could respond, your father’s eyes flicked back to the road—and froze. Ahead of the two of you, a truck skidded wildly through the intersection, its tires screeching on the wet pavement. Time seemed to slow as your father’s hands gripped the wheel, his mouth opening in a shout of warning that came too late.

The impact was deafening.

In the split second before the collision, you felt your father’s arm shoot out in front of you in a reflexive, futile attempt to shield your body from impact. Then, all at once, the world turned upside down. The sound of metal smashing against metal rang in your ears, so loud it felt like your head was splitting. Your body was thrown violently against the side of the car, your head slamming into the window with brutal force. You heard the crack of glass, the sharp crunch of bones, and then... pain. Blinding, searing pain exploded through your body, radiating from your foot up into your chest. It stole the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping, choking on your own breath.

Everything was chaos. The car spun, tipping slightly before jerking to a stop. For a moment, everything was still—then the world came rushing back in a torrent of pain and noise.

Your vision blurred as you tried to move, but your body wouldn’t respond. Your leg was pinned beneath the crumpled car door, and every tiny shift sent fresh waves of agony through your body. You could barely register the sound of your father’s frantic yelling, the way the rain tapped softly on the cracked windshield, the music that was still playing. You blinked, your vision swimming as your father freed himself from the wreckage. You saw him stagger out of the car, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, his expression panicked, desperate. He tried to open your door, but it was crushed inward, trapping you in place. You heard him shout your name, but the sound felt distant, muffled, as though you were underwater. Seconds later everything went dark.

You sat between Soobin and Minji, the faint hum of your mother bustling in the background. The whole room smelled of the kimchi stew your mom cooked for dinner. She placed the final dish down, her apron still tied loosely around her waist. “Soobin,” she said, smoothing a stray hair from her forehead and handing him a bowl of rice. “How was class today?”  

Soobin scooped a generous spoonful from the bowl, a smile spreading as he dug in. “It was fine. Professor Kim’s still trying to crush our souls with assignments, though. I’ll probably have to pull another all-nighter.”  

Minji snorted, leaning across the table with a teasing grin. “When do you not pull all-nighters?” Soobin shot her a mock glare but didn’t argue. “The grind doesn’t stop,” he quipped.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “What grind?” you teased, nudging his shoulder with your own.  

The light banter bounced around the table, filling the room with laughter. Minji had just launched into a story about her teacher tripping during class when your father cleared his throat. The sound sliced through the warmth like a blade, dragging all attention toward him.

His focus was zeroed on you. You felt the weight of his question before he even opened his mouth. 

“How’s physio going?” he asked, his tone more like an accusation than a question.  

You kept your eyes on your plate, your fork idly pushing your food around. “It’s fine,” you said, trying to sound neutral. “I had a good session yesterday. I’m starting to put some weight on my foot.”  

Your father’s fork froze mid-air, his expression darkening: “You’re already putting weight on it?” he asked, his voice tightening with disapproval.  

“Yes, Dad,” you replied, bracing yourself. “That’s how rehab works. I don’t just stay on crutches forever.”  

His hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. “You’re rushing it. I’ve been around injuries my whole career. Just because the therapist said you can doesn’t mean you should.”  

The fork in your hand trembled, and you set it down with a clink. The heat of frustration prickled at the back of your neck. “I’m following the plan they gave me. They know what they’re doing.”  

Your father leaned forward, his voice rising. “No, they don’t. They don’t care about your long-term recovery. They just want you off their caseload so they can move on to the next patient.”  

Anger surged in your chest, hot and sharp. “You’re not a doctor,” you snapped, your voice cutting through the tension like shattered glass. “I trust them more than I trust you when it comes to my body.”  

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Minji’s hand hovered over her bowl, frozen mid-bite, while Soobin stared at his plate, his jaw clenched. You met your father’s gaze, refusing to look away.

His voice dropped to an icy calm, each word deliberate and cutting. “I’m just trying to keep you from making a mistake. But if you think you know better, fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re back in surgery.”  

His words struck like a slap, but you swallowed the hurt, refusing to let it show. You clenched your fists under the table and took a big breath. Soobin glanced at you and nudged your foot with his in a silent sign of support.

“Actually, I was thinking about something that might help you,” your father continued in a casual tone, as if the argument moments ago hadn’t happened.  

You blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt pivot. “What?”  “The athletic department needs someone for PR for the men’s hockey team,” he said, his voice laced with an almost forced enthusiasm. “It’s a great opportunity for you to earn the credits you missed last semester.”  

Your stomach churned at the suggestion, the tension in the room amplifying tenfold. “No,” you said firmly.  “Dad, I really don’t want to do that. I’m not into hockey anymore. You know that.” “Why not? It’s a great way to get back into it. You did love it before the accident.” he pressed.

“You just answered your own question, Dad. Before the accident, I did love it.” You felt the frustration bubbling inside, fighting against the facade of calm you tried to maintain. 

Your mother interjected, her voice firm but caring. “Woosung, you need to ease off. Pushing her into this isn’t the answer. We talked about this before.” 

“Pushing? I’m just offering her a way back into something she once loved!” he snapped, his frustration mirroring your own. 

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, a mix of anger and hurt. “Mom, I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I can handle this. I do not want to do it, Dad.” 

Your father leaned back, crossing his arms. “I thought you might appreciate having something to focus on, a way to ease back in.” 

“It’s not about easing back in. It’s about not wanting to be part of that world anymore. I don’t want to help with hockey PR. I just want to focus on my studies and figure things out on my own,” you asserted, frustration edging your voice. 

Your father’s expression hardened, but you could see the concern behind it. “I just wanted to see you succeed. I thought this could help.” “It’s not what I need!” you exclaimed. “I’m tired of everyone expecting me to dive back into hockey just because I had so much potential. I don't have it anymore, okay? I need to figure out who I am without all of that. Helping with the team won't help me at all.”

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Do whatever you want.”  

The rest of dinner passed in an unbearable silence, the warmth and laughter from earlier now a distant memory. The clink of dishes and the faint hum of the kitchen fan were the only sounds as you counted the seconds until you could leave.  

When you finally stood to go to your room, your father called out from the living room, his voice gruff. “Y/N, just… don’t overdo it, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt again.”  

You paused in the doorway, the faint light from the hallway casting shadows across the room. “I know,” you muttered, the words hollow.  

As you made your way upstairs, the tightness in your chest refused to ease. In the sanctuary of your room, the air felt no lighter. You leaned back against your pillow, the familiar ceiling staring back at you. 

The sound of skates scraping against the ice echoed faintly through the arena as Heeseung leaned against the boards, catching his breath. Practice had just wrapped up, and the team was filtering out of the rink, chattering about drills and weekend plans. Coach Choi stood near the bench, his clipboard tucked under his arm, his sharp gaze following the last few stragglers off the ice. “Heeseung, got a minute?” the Coach called, his deep voice carrying easily over the ambient hum of the arena. Heeseung turned, brushing a gloved hand over his damp hair. “Sure!” He stepped off the ice, his blades clinking against the rubber flooring as he approached. His Coach gestured for him to sit down.

“I have been thinking about the team’s image,” the Coach began, his tone casual but deliberate.  

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Image?”  

Coach nodded, tucking the clipboard under his arm. “Yeah. You boys are doing great on the ice, but you’re not just players—you’re prospects. Scouts, sponsors, even alumni donors—they pay attention to more than just your games. They want to see personalities, professionalism, something marketable for their teams.”  

Heeseung crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the boards. “I am aware, sir. But what does that have to do with me?”  The Coach gave a small smile, the kind that hinted at plans already set in motion. “I’ve been in touch with the athletic department. They agreed we need someone to handle the team’s social media—build a strong public image, keep things polished.”  

Heeseung tilted his head, curious. “A PR manager?”. He wasn’t aware that the team had the funds to hire a person to post a few pics of them on instagram to appease the sponsors. As the captain he was included in quite a few organizational meetings and has had to endure endless lectures about how the boys are not supposed to go overboard when partying because it shines a bad light on the whole team and how it could compromise the career of everyone there. But never had he heard anything about a PR manager. 

“Exactly. I was thinking of Y/N,” Coach said, nodding, “she is missing a few credits and this would be an easy and quick solution. That way we dont have to do interviews, since I do know my daughter quite well.” 

Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. He knew you, if only vaguely. You have met at a few team events over the last year and at a few parties. Soobin introduced you as his sister and warned everyone that you were off-limits. He knew that Beomgyu was quite close to you, so he assumed you weren’t off limits for everyone. The few conversations you had with him gave him the impression that you were quite fun. He also knew that you were hot. He respectfully checked you out a few times and then mentally bleached his eyes, when he realized whom he was looking at.

“Your daughter?” he asked your father, his coach.  

The Coach nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She knows hockey inside and out. And she’s good with this kind of stuff—social media, PR, that kind of thing. It’ll be good for her, and it’ll help the team.”  

Heeseung hesitated. He didn’t know you well enough to have an opinion, but he could guess that working alongside the team—especially under your father’s watchful eye—wouldn’t be simple. Soobin had told him that his father was quite overbearing with his sister after a car accident and how it's annoying the whole family. “Are you sure she wants to do this?” Heeseung asked carefully.  

Coach’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face. “She’ll do fine. She’s been looking for something to focus on, and this is a good opportunity for her. Plus, it’s not like she’s starting from scratch—she grew up around this sport.”  

Heeseung nodded slowly, still uncertain. “Okay. What do you need from me?”  

“I need you to help make this transition smooth,” Coach said, his tone firm. “She’s going to be around a lot, and I don’t want her feeling like she’s an outsider. Make sure the guys treat her with respect, and if she needs anything, you help her out.”  

Heeseung frowned slightly. “You’re not asking me to babysit her, right?”  

Coach let out a low chuckle. “No, she doesn’t need babysitting. But you’re the captain. It’s part of your job to make sure the team stays cohesive. She’s here to help, not to be a distraction or a target.”  

Heeseung considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Got it. When does she start?”  

“Next week,” Coach said, his tone decisive. “The athletic department’s finalizing the details, but she’ll be here soon enough.”  

As he walked away, his thoughts lingered on the unexpected news. He knew having you around would be an adjustment for the team—and maybe for you, too. But if Coach trusted you to take on this role, then he’d make sure to give you a fair shot.  

“Y/N! Over here!” Chaeryoung exclaimed when you entered the small café on campus the next day. The café had been closed for a few weeks after the original owner passed away, and his son had taken over. Many students visited the old barista more than once a week, and everyone had been distraught by the news of his passing. When his son reopened the café, getting a seat had become quite a challenge.

You slid into the booth opposite Chaeryoung and carefully set down your crutches, making sure they were out of the way of the bustling café. The warm aroma of coffee and fresh pastries enveloped you as you took a moment to soak in the familiar atmosphere. “Hi, guys! It's so nice to be back here. How was Kinesiology today? Did your presentation go well?”

“Ugh,” Yeji groaned, dramatically resting her head on your shoulder. “I don't even want to think about it. I thought I was okay until Sunghoon and EJ presented. Now I feel utterly incompetent.”

Chaeryoung chuckled, shaking her head with a teasing smirk. “You’re being dramatic! What did you expect? They’ve got that whole jock thing going for them.”

“Not to feel like an idiot because some utterly pretty hockey players have the time to create a more or less perfect presentation even though they don’t have time for anything but training and partying?” Yeji retorted, her voice rising in exasperation. She turned to you, her expression softening. “We already ordered for you. I hope you’re alright with hot chocolate?”

“Sure! Thank you, love. Also, Sunghoon isn’t a hockey jock, he’s an ice skater,” you reminded your friends with a knowing grin.

“Hockey, skating, yada yada, it’s all the same. They spend a lot of time on the ice,” Ryujin shrugged.

Lia leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of ice hockey players, I had international law with Jay today. He looked like he was going to slam his head into the table when Professor Binns started handing out the grading sheets for the exams. Did their game not go well last week?”

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth twitching up as you recalled the conversation with Soobin. “Considering my dad told Soobin relatively harshly he’s supposed to get his head back in the game, I assume it didn’t go well"

“Oh, bummer. That’s probably why they didn’t go to the swimming team’s party last weekend. It was wild!" Chaeryoung nodded, her enthusiasm infectious.

“What party?” you asked, genuinely curious, since you’d been out of town visiting your aunt in Riverfield.

“Felix invited us to a party at their house. Well, it started as a small meetup, but suddenly it wasn’t small anymore,” Chaeryoung explained, her eyes widening at the memory.

Yeji waved her hand dismissively. “You didn’t miss out on anything, though. We ended up leaving early because it got a little too crazy for my taste,” she said, accepting the steaming drinks from the waitress. 

You opened the door to your families house. The aroma of the reheated Samgyetang from the day before wafted through the air, instantly making your stomach growl.

“Hey, you’re back!” Soobin called from the living room, where he was sprawled on the couch, game controller in hand. He glanced up, pausing his game. “Did you bring me anything?”

You shook your head, laughing. “If you wanted something from Corner's Creek, you should have told me when we saw each other in the cafeteria.”

“Pfft, why should I even have to ask? If I were you, I’d bring my precious brother some cake without him having to ask,” he replied, flashing a cheeky grin. “How was the café? Still as good as when Mr. Yoon was there?”

“Yeah. His son changed a few of the drinks on the menu, but they sounded nice! And they now do those cookie croissant waffle thingies? Amazing, honestly.” You plopped down on the sofa next to your older brother, carefully lifting up your leg into a more comfortable position. Soobin made an interesting noise at the thought of eating one of those.

“Did you think about the internship offer Dad gave you? I heard him talking to Heeseung about it. How you’re missing credits and how he wants you to take it,” your brother asked, tone careful.

“Don’t get me started on it. He’s been pushing this internship with the hockey team on me like it’s life or death,” you said, stirring your chili absentmindedly.

“Maybe he just wants to connect with you.” Soobin’s tone softened. “He might think this internship is a way to bridge the gap. You know it’s his world—and it was yours too, before the accident.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You’re starting to sound like him. Honestly, Soobin, that’s not supposed to happen until I’m an aunt to your kids. I just don’t care about hockey anymore. It feels like every time I turn around, it’s all about hockey, hockey, hockey.”

“Look, Y/N, I get it. But if you need those credits to graduate, maybe it’s worth considering.” He crossed his arms, looking at you earnestly. “If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll have your back. I’ll just remind them that I’m still the older brother and boss around here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly. “Right, you’ll just walk in and be like, ‘Watch out, boys! Y/N’s brother is here!’” “Exactly!” He chuckled, and for a moment, the tension eased. “But seriously, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. If you can handle what you’ve been through, this internship is nothing.”

“Maybe. I just wish it didn’t feel so… forced,” you replied, blowing on the steaming food on your spoon. “I want to find something I’m passionate about. Also, it feels unfair to others who actually care about it. I’d be something of a nepo baby.”

“It’s just one semester. If you hate it, you can quit. But at least you’ll know you tried. Plus, who knows? You might end up being the best hockey PR person out there. I mean, what do you think I hear? Coach’s son playing in his team, the co-captain? Nepo baby runs in our blood."

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, there was a hint of a smile. “I’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not making any promises.” “Fair enough.” Soobin shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just promise me you’ll at least consider it. Besides, it’s not like you have any better options right now.” You nodded slowly, knowing he was right. “Yeah, I guess.” After a night brooding over what Soobin said, you decided to go with it and accept the offer. He was right—if anything, it was just one semester, right? You’d get your credits, your dad would get off your back, and you’d have Soobin and your father, the literal coach, as backup if you needed it.

So after your last class the day after, you went to the ice rink and carefully knocked on the door to your father’s office. “Come in,” your father called through the closed door. You opened the door and pressed your lips into a tight smile when you saw him hunched over some documents

“Y/N,” he stood up, “how can I help you?”

You walked closer to his table and sat down in the chair across from his desk. “I talked to Soobin yesterday. About the internship.”

A moment of silence stretched on as your father waited for you to continue. “Did you decide to take up my offer?” he asked.

You took a deep breath. “Yeah, I decided to give it a shot. Just for one semester, though. I’m not promising anything beyond that.”

Your father’s expression shifted from anticipation to a mixture of relief and disappointment. “That’s great, Y/N! I really think this could be a good opportunity for you. You’ll learn a lot about PR and social media, and you might even discover a new passion.”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling the frustration bubbling up inside you. “Dad, it’s not about discovering a passion for hockey or PR. I just need the credits to graduate. I’m not expecting some life-changing revelation from this.”

“Then why even bother?” he retorted, crossing his arms defensively. “If you’re going into it with that attitude, you won’t get anything out of it.”

“Because I don’t want to keep disappointing you,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you think I should be involved in hockey somehow. This is just a way to keep the peace, right?”

Your father clenched his jaw, visibly frustrated. “I’m not trying to force you into anything, Y/N. I just thought you’d want to be part of something that means so much to our family. This isn’t just about hockey; it’s about being part of a team, a community.”

You leaned forward, your palms pressing against the cool surface of his desk. “But I don’t want to be part of that community, Dad! Not anymore! All I ever hear from you is hockey, hockey, hockey. I care about things other than hockey.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape. “I didn’t mean to put that pressure on you. But you need to understand that I’m proud of what I do, and I thought you’d want to be a part of it. I thought maybe being around the team would help you feel less isolated."

You stood too, feeling a mixture of anger and hurt. “It’s not about your pride, Dad! It’s about my life and my choices. I don’t want to feel obligated to fulfill your expectations. I just want to be me. And for the record, I am not isolated. I have friends and a life! It’s just not hockey.”

He softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. “I know, Y/N. But you have to understand that I’m coming from a place of love. I want the best for you. I thought this would help you find your way, especially with how difficult things have been for you.”

“Maybe you need to let me find my own way instead of trying to steer me down the path you’ve laid out,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside you. For a moment, silence hung between you, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

“Okay,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “I’ll back off. But I hope you give this a real chance, for both our sakes.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and uncertainty. “I’ll try, Dad. But just know I’m doing this for me, not for you.”

He offered a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You arrived at the rink an hour earlier than scheduled, more out of nervousness than necessity. The familiar smell of the ice, mixed with the faint hum of the arena’s machinery, makes you stop for a second. Standing near the glass, you watched a few players skate laps. The sounds of blades cutting into the ice reverberate in the empty rink, and for a moment, you feel a pull in your chest. You press your crutches into the ground, standing straighter as you try to shake off the creeping frustration. You've gotten good at suppressing it over the years, convincing yourself that you’ve moved on.

“Are you lost or something?” You blink and turn to see Heeseung, standing a few feet away, looking amused. Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him approach until his voice interrupted your moment of self pity. You turned around and caught the moment where he recognized you.

“Y/N? Didn’t expect to see you here this early.” He settled his bag down next to you.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess the captain needs to be the first one on the ice, right?”

Heeseung grinned and shrugged. “Part of the job,” he said, then nodded towards the rink. “Are you already trying to figure out how to make those losers good on Tiktok?”

You shifted your weight slightly, gripping your crutches a little tighter. “Something like that,” you muttered, glancing back at the ice.

He looked at you. “You sound thrilled.”

“Yeah, I am absolutely thrilled,” you said, your voice cool.

“Did your dad convince you to do this?”, his eyes softened a bit.

You didn’t know how much Heeseung already knew about your situation, how much Soobin or his friends that you were also close to have told him so you just shrugged: “Honestly? Kinda. But what can I say, I am here now so there is no turning back, right?”

“God wait until you get to know the others. You will regret your decision. I don’t think we have a lot of potential to be the Tiktok star your dad wants us to be.”, he chuckled

“God Hee, don’t remind me.”, you lean your head onto the glass that separated you and the rink, cringing at the cold sensation. He laughed out loud and patted your back. Someone shouted his name and he grabbed his gear from the floor, while you leaned back again.

“Alright,” he said, watching you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’ll leave you to do your very important PR duties. But, uh, if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” He pushed his hair out of his face and winked at you. You just rolled your eyes and bid him goodbye. 

Your office was a small, window-lit room with one side dominated by clutter. On the messy side, stacks of papers, unopened mail, and scattered office supplies covered multiple surfaces, including an old wooden filing cabinet. A half-empty bookshelf leaned under the weight of folders, some piled haphazardly on top of one another. Boxes of miscellaneous items were stacked in a corner, threatening to topple. In one corner stood a seemingly clean desk, which you assumed to be the one you would be working from. You settled in, trying to ignore the mess on the other side of the room, while pulling out your laptop to take a look at the team’s social media accounts. 

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting in front of a flipchart, surrounded by notes and scribbles of ideas for content. Your research had turned up dozens of trends and challenges that could work for the hockey team’s social accounts, but your enthusiasm was running low. The chair you were sitting on felt like it was designed for maximum discomfort, and you were seriously considering bringing your wheelchair the next time. You sighed, shifting your weight in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position. Your hip started aching about 20 minutes ago.

Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and Heeseung’s head popped in. “You surviving in here?"

Without looking up, you muttered, “Barely. What do you want, Heeseung?”

He chuckled and stepped fully into the room, leaning casually against the wall. “Nothing much,” he said, flashing his trademark grin. “Just thought I’d check in. You know, make sure the new PR girl isn’t drowning in spreadsheets or choking on influencer jargon.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not drowning. Yet.”

“Well, that’s good,” he replied, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer to the desk. “Though you kinda look like you’re this close from walking out of here and never coming back.”

You snorted despite yourself, leaning back and stretching your arms. “Trust me. This chair? Torture. It makes me want to get out of here asap.”

As he moved closer, you noticed a faint, fresh scent—like soap and something woody, maybe a hint of citrus. He must have just showered. His hair was still damp, a little messy. He looked very attractive in the annoyingly bright light of your office.

Heeseung pulled up a chair for himself and sat down across from you, resting his arms on the table. “So, what’s the plan? Are you trying to turn us into TikTok stars?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the flipchart. “That, or I’ll at least try to make sure you guys don’t look like total idiots online. There’s a fine line. A good start would be acceptable Instagram accounts. Tell me why some of you post random pictures of food with 20 filters slapped onto them.” You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore how nice he smelled, but it was hard not to notice. You weren't sure why, but it was definitely a little distracting. Get a grip, Y/N.

“Ah, come on,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “We’re already halfway to ‘total idiots.’ You’ll just make us look... what? Funny idiots? Also my Instagram is pretty and aesthetic!”

“Something like that,” you muttered, unable to suppress a small smile. “I found some trends, figured we could hop on a few of them. I’ve got ideas for locker room Q&As, pre-game routines, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan,” Heeseung said, nodding as he scanned the notes. “So, when do we start?”

“We?” you scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Last I checked, I’m the PR person. You’re just the guy with a stick trying to hit a rubber thingy.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, Y/N. You’ll need my charming face to pull off half of these ideas.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, though it was becoming less from irritation and more out of habit. “Oh yeah, because that’s exactly what’s going to save this campaign—your charm.”

“Admit it,” he teased, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You know I’m right.”

“Admit what? That you’ve got an ego the size of this rink?” you shot back, shaking your head. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Heeseung grinned, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for knowing his strengths.” You let out a soft chuckle. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Heeseung."

He stood up, stretching lazily, and you noticed how his shirt pulled just slightly across his chest. You quickly averted your eyes, but not before catching the way his muscles shifted beneath the fabric. Okay, yeah. Definitely kind of hot. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your spreadsheets and dance challenges. But seriously, if you need anything—or, you know, some extra ‘charm’—you know where to find me.”

You smirked, shooing him toward the door. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go away, I’ve got real work to do.”

He threw you a mock salute as he backed out of the room. “Yes, ma’am. Just don’t forget to give me a heads-up when you need me to be the face of your operation.” “Don’t hold your breath,” you called after him, shaking your head as the door closed behind him.

The next day, you were sitting at a round table in the student library, your textbooks spread out in front of you, trying to focus on the notes for your upcoming exam. Chaeryong sat next to you, furiously typing something into her laptop, while Beomgyu, who had already given up on studying, leaned back in his chair with his phone in hand, holding your injured leg on his lap. You sighed and leaned back in your chair, finally breaking the silence. "I took that internship, by the way."

Ryujin looked up from her screen, raising an eyebrow. "The hockey one?"

You nodded. "Yeah, the PR thing for the men’s team. Dad convinced me, and Soobin kind of guilted me into it too. It’s only for a semester, so I figured I might as well."

Beomgyu snorted, glancing up from his phone. "Oh boy, you’re going to be stuck with us now. We’ll have to treat you like royalty, Coach’s daughter."

You rolled your eyes. "Please don’t. The last thing I need is people treating me any differently."

"Don’t worry," Beomgyu grinned, his eyes playful. "I’ll make sure the team knows to mess with you as much as possible. No special treatment."

Before you could continue, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Hey, there you are!” Soobin’s tall frame came into view, followed closely by Yeonjun, who stopped behind Chaeryoung to press a kiss onto her head: ”Hi baby.”

She glanced at them, unimpressed. “What’s this about?"

“We’re kidnapping them,” Yeonjun said with a smirk, gesturing at you and Beomgyu. “Coach needs everyone at practice, and Y/N here has a meeting with the team.”

Beomgyu groaned, half-joking as he packed up his things. “And here I was, hoping to spend my afternoon in peace. Guess not.”

You, however, were a little more reluctant. “Wait, I thought I didn’t have to do anything with the team until later this week? I haven’t finished on collecting my thoughts? I am starting from 0 and i am not investing my free time into research?”

Soobin shook his head, grinning. “Nope, the sooner you meet everyone, the better.”

Chaeryoung leaned back in her chair, laughing. “Good luck with that, Y/N. You’re going to need it.”

You shot her a look before standing up, grabbing your crutches, and letting Soobin lead the way.

The locker room door swung open and the noise (and borderline disgusting smell) hit you all at once— talking, laughing, skates clinking. Yeonjun clapped his hands together and announced dramatically, “Alright, listen up! We have a very important guest today.”

Beomgyu chimed in, “Try not to scare her off, okay? She’s family. Like in a literal and theoretical way.”

You rolled your eyes at their antics but couldn’t help smiling. These two were practically brothers to you—they spent so much time at your house growing up that your mom would always joke that she had three sons instead of one. When all three of them got accepted into the sports scholarship Delicis offered your parents threw a party for their sons, which ended in all of you crashing over at Yeonjuns place after you all drank a bit too much of the sparkling wine. Just the thought of the day after made your stomach upset. 

Heeseung, sitting on a bench tying his skates, looked up and spotted you. He grinned at you as he stood up, leaning casually against the lockers. “Hey, if it isn’t our new PR expert. Early again. You sure you’re not secretly excited to be here?”

You scoffed, leaning into your crutches a bit. “No, Heeseung, I’m not excited to be here. I was kidnapped and should be studying econ right now.”

Jay, who was in the same economy course as you, groaned. "Please don't remind me. I feel like I am at least 10 weeks behind and the semester started four weeks ago."

A few of the guys laughed, but Soobin interrupted them: “Alright, listen up,” he said, his voice carrying authority. “Y/N’s going to be helping us with PR this season. Treat her with respect and do what she says, got it?”

Trying to ease your own discomfort, you forced a smile and crossed your arms. “Look, I’m just here to do my job. I won’t annoy you all too much!”

One of the players, EJ?, leaned back against the lockers with a smirk. “Does that mean we are going to be the next Charlie D’amilio?”

You laughed, unable to help yourself. “That depends. Can you dance?”

Jake, still sitting with his skates half-done, quipped, “I’d pay to see EJ try to pull off one of those TikTok dances.” The room erupted in laughter and you felt some of the tension in your shoulders release at the sound.

A few days later, you opted to skip class after an especially grueling session of physiotherapy. You lay sprawled on the worn sofa in Ryujin’s appartment, breathing in the comforting aroma of spaghetti carbonara simmering in the kitchen.

You called out over the sizzling bacon, “I swear to God. I can feel the bruises coming. My legs and my left ass cheek are going to be black and blue tomorrow. I won’t be able to properly sit down!”

“Nobody is seeing your legs or your ass, girl. Just wear a pair of pants, and the problem is solved,” Ryujin shot back, stirring the pan with a wooden spoon. The warm, buttery smell mingled with the salty scent of bacon, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

“Unless you want to show someone your ass?” she teased, glancing back at you with a playful smirk.

“Not really. Who would want to see my blue and black scarred arse unprompted? Do you want to see? I’ll undress just for you, baby. Magic Mike style. Magic Y/N!” You wiggled your eyebrows, shifting the frozen chickpeas from your ankle to heave yourself into your wheelchair.

Ryujin rolled her eyes, laughing as she scooped the cooked pasta into the pan. “I love you, and I have seen plenty of your naked ass already, but I don’t need you to erotically strip for me, Y/N. You are not really my type, I’m sorry.”

You clutched your chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Ryujin!”

“Ha ha! I’m sure we can find someone who would like to see your ass. There are plenty of hot guys on campus that are horny 24/7,” she shot back, glancing over her shoulder as she added a sprinkle of cheese to the mix.

“Sure. And 25 of them are on the hockey team,” you deadpanned, your mind wandering to the group of boys you were now working with. The thought of the players made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, sure. But all 25? Soobin is part of that horny group as well?” Ryujin handed your cutlery.

“Honestly? Yeah. I mean, Dad is pretty strict with him and Minji about dating since he thinks they would get distracted, but Soobin definitely appreciates some good-looking arses. Not mine, though. That would be disgusting.” You shuddered at the thought.

“Girl. Ew,” Ryujin replied flatly, shaking her head, and you both burst into laughter.

A few hours later, you rolled into the rink, greeted by the sound of skates scraping against ice and the faint scent of sweat. The boys’ training session was already in full swing, punctuated by grunts and your dad’s authoritative voice barking out encouragement and critiques. Navigating your way through the rink was fairly manageable in your wheelchair. You opted to maneuver around the rink rather than suffer through sitting on that demonic seat in your office for a few hours, especially after gaining a few bruises on your behind and legs. Seriously, your physiotherapist could have not put her entire body weight on her elbow. You didn’t care that it would help your muscles relax? About every muscle in your body was tensed while she tried to relax one in your arse?

You had asked your dad for a few items from home to make the room feel a bit more inviting. You made him buy some more plants and a floor lamp for a more comfortable light source.  A cherry and a pink dinosaur sonny angel were sitting on your desk alongside the greenery. You brought printed pictures of your friends and various art prints, but without your crutches, you decided to leave the task of hanging them up for another day. If you were to work here for the next six months you could definitely personalize the room a bit. 

You were mid-scroll through your R&B playlist when you heard a light knock on your office door. Without looking up, you called out, “Come in!”

Yeonjun poked his head in, flashing his usual grin. “Hello my dearest Y/N!”

Behind him, Soobin and Beomgyu strolled in, still in their sweaty practice gear, looking completely worn out. Beomgyu flopped dramatically into the chair near your desk that Heeseung never put back. “Yeah, sure, come in and just take over my whole workspace with your stinky gear,” you teased, though you didn’t mind the company.

Beomgyu groaned, stretching his legs out like he owned the place. “This break isn’t long enough. Coach is killing us out there. I swear I’m going to die.”

Soobin rolled his eyes, perching on the edge of your desk while Yeonjun leaned against the wall. “You’ll survive. We’ve had worse drills.”

Yeonjun smirked. “Speak for yourself. I’m not built for this much cardio.”

You laughed. “Maybe you should stick to dancing for TikTok, Yeonjun. You know, where you can actually breathe.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “That’s where my talents really shine. Wait until you see the TikToks I’ll be making for the team.”

When it was time for the boys to go back into the rink all three of them groaned. Beomgyu let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not moving from this chair. I don’t care that its uncomfortable.”

Yeonjun glanced around the room, raising an eyebrow at the mismatched furniture. “Speaking of uncomfortable... this office is seriously lacking. We need to get Coach to clear out the second half of the room so we can put in a sofa or something.”

You glanced at the cluttered back half of the office, filled with old sports equipment, boxes, and random items. “You’re not wrong. This place could use some serious cleaning.”

Beomgyu perked up. “Oh, a sofa would be amazing. We could take naps during breaks.”

You grinned, but gave Soobin a playful push toward the door. “Okay, okay, design committee. Go back to practice before Dad drags you out of here himself.”

As they shuffled out, Beomgyu gave you a lazy salute. “We’ll be back with a proposal for the Coach!” You laughed, shaking your head as they left the room, leaving you in the quiet once again

Heeseung had been at the rink longer than usual tonight. After practice had officially ended, he stayed behind for some extra drills, working on his shots while his mind wandered.

He was standing in the shower after, letting the hot water wash away the tension from his muscles. The clean scent of soap and his woodsy cologne clung to him as he dressed, ready to finally head home. He was on his way out, thinking about his bed, when he saw the light still on in your office room.

He peered through the open door and saw you still at your desk, your face illuminated by the glow of your laptop. He hadn’t expected to see you there so late. Most of the team had left, and the rink was practically deserted. What were you still doing here?

He knocked lightly on the doorframe. “You’re still here?” You glanced up, looking more exhausted than surprised.

“You too?” you shot back, though there was a flicker of warmth in your tired eyes. “I thought everyone had gone home by now.”

“I did some extra laps,” he said with a lazy smirk as he stepped inside, making his way over to your desk, his damp hair falling slightly into his eyes. His eyes drifted across the various decorations you had brought into the office. He picked up one of the tiny figurines from your desk and turned it over in his hand with a grin. “What’s with these little guys? A personal touch?”

You gave him a mock glare, clearly more amused than offended. “They’re called sonny angels, and yes, this office was depressing. I needed to liven it up.”

Heeseung laughed softly, putting the figurine back down carefully. “Why would you bring naked angles.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Don’t make fun of my babies. Besides, I’m pretty sure a pink dinosaur would look amazing in your locker. Might even give you a few extra goals on the ice.”

Heeseung laughed, setting the figure down gently. “Oh, for sure. Nothing screams ‘fearless hockey captain’ like a pink dinosaur mascot.”, he sat down on the edge of your desk, “So, what’s keeping you here so late?”

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Just finishing up a presentation for the team. It’s taking longer than I thought.”

Heeseung glanced over at the cluttered desk, noting the piles of papers and sticky notes you were using. “And you couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Nope. I like torturing myself,” you said dryly, then raised an eyebrow as he continued to toy with one of the angels. “Are you done judging my office decor now?”

Heeseung twirled the figurine in his fingers, then squinted at it. They did look cute, somehow. “I mean, I’ve got questions. First off, what’s up with this one?” He held up a small pink angel wearing a dinosaur costume. “Did you really choose this? And why is the other one naked?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “No! I wanted the red dinosaur one but kept getting the pink one instead. Three times! So, this is what I’m stuck with. And honestly I am not sure but they are cute.”

Heeseung laughed, genuinely amused by the annoyance in your voice. “So you’re telling me this cute little thing is the result of failure? That’s tragic.” He shook his head, mock-sympathetic, before placing the pink dinosaur angel thing back on your desk with exaggerated care

“Tragic doesn’t even cover it,” you replied with a deadpan expression. “I have one in my room, one in my car, and now this sad thing is stuck here, reminding me of my poor luck every day.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Well, pink dinosaur or not, it’s got character.” You just laughed at that. He watched you for a moment, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched. His gaze dropped to the wheelchair you were sitting in. He hadn’t seen you in it much before today. You usually relied on crutches when you were out and about. His curiosity got the better of him: “You alright today?” he asked, his voice softer now. “Saw you using the chair earlier. Tough day?”

You hesitated, and for a moment, he thought you wouldn’t answer. But then you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Physio was brutal. Sometimes it’s just easier to use the chair instead of crutches. Less strain, you know?”

Heeseung nodded slowly, processing your words. His chest tightened a little at how nonchalantly you explained it. Like it was just another part of your day, no big deal. He wished he could ask more—about what happened, how you went from being an athlete to sitting in this chair—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t his place, and he wasn’t about to make you relive something painful just to satisfy his curiosity. He couldn’t imagine having to adjust to something like that, especially after living a life as active as yours. Soobin claimed you were good—like, really good, that you had a future in hockey, but... He shook the thought away, not wanting to dwell on what you had lost. It didn’t seem fair, and it wasn’t something he could fix.

“You know,” he said, looking around in the room. “This office still feels so crammed and uninviting. You need a couch or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, your playful smirk returning. “A couch, huh? You are the second person to tell me that today?”

He grinned, setting the picture back down. “Actually, Yeonjun and I were thinking about it even before you had the office. We need to get Coach to clear out the junk on the other side of the room so we can move in a couch. You’d have a nice place to chill while pretending to work.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “And by ‘chill,’ you mean take naps, right?”

“Exactly. I’d probably use it more than you.” He made a mental note to talk to the Coach and Yeonjun about it. The two of them almost had the Coach to approve of their idea before it was decided you would move into this room. Honestly it was probably better for them to not have a sofa here. He got a headache when he thought of the prospect of finding people doing something unholy here.

Heeseung glanced at the clock. It was late—too late for you to still be working and for him to still be in the rink. He frowned, leaning back on the desk. “You’re not staying here alone, right?” he asked, his voice a little more serious.

You looked up. “I’m almost done. I’ll leave soon.

“Yeah, no,” Heeseung said, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself. It’s dark, and the rink is practically empty.”

You gave him a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “You’re not seriously going to babysit me, are you?”

He crossed his arms, standing firm. “Pretty much. I’m not letting you argue your way out of this.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood to fight him on it. “Fine,” you relented, though he could tell you weren’t really annoyed. “But I’ll be here a while. I still have some things to finish.”

He grinned, leaning back on your desk like he had all the time in the world. “I’m great company, remember? Besides, someone’s gotta make sure your pink angel dinosaur thingy doesn’t run away.”

You laughed, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “I think I can handle my own angels, but... thanks.” He plopped himself down in your empty office chair, watching as you worked, occasionally teasing you about the presentation or critiquing the décor you’d added to the room.

When you stepped into the rink after your classes on Thursday, the first thing you noticed was Jay, EJ, and Beomgyu hauling the old wooden filing cabinet that had been collecting dust in your office. They were making quite the effort, each one grunting as they maneuvered the bulky piece of furniture toward the exit. All three were struggling, shouting different variations of "Hey!" as they saw you walk in.

“Hi! What's going on here?” you called out, laughing a little at the sight.

Beomgyu glanced back at you, a proud grin on his face. “We’re upgrading your office!” he shouted, nearly dropping his end of the cabinet as they stumbled toward the exit.

“Oh?” you scrunched your nose in confusion.

On your way to your office, you passed a couple more of the boys—Taehyun, Jake, and even Sunghoon—all carrying random bits of old furniture and equipment that must’ve been living in your office forever. The rink seemed unusually lively for an off day.

When you finally stepped into your office, you were met with the sight of Soobin, Heeseung, and Yeonjun cleaning the floor of the cluttered side of the small room. While Jay was reading the instructions to the frame of a ikea sofa, which was still in its parcells leaned next to the door.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, seriously… What’s going on?”

Soobin shot you a sheepish grin. “Well, I figured that after Dad basically forced you and I guilt tripped you into accepting the internship, the least we could do is make this place less awful.”

“So we talked to Coach Lee,” Heeseung added, clearly amused by the situation. “And your dad.” He grinned, standing with his arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. “And guess what? You’re getting a sofa. A nice one too.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, well,” Soobin jumped in, “Coach Lee kind of convinced him. Said you needed a place to rest. And since Dad’s all for you being extra careful, he gave in. Reluctantly. He wasn’t thrilled, but he said yes.”

Yeonjun smirked from his spot against the desk. “So, congratulations on your sofa.”

You blinked, still trying to process. “You really convinced him to get you your sofa? For the record, that was fully your idea, I did not wish for one.” You looked around, almost not believing it.

Yeonjun, who had been lounging on the cleared desk, leaned forward. “Hey, we’re doing this for you, alright? You deserve a place to chill. But, you know... if a nap happens here or there...”

“Yeah, I figured,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “of course. You’re all just so thoughtful.” But despite your playful tone, you really were touched. They’d gone through the trouble of getting permission from your dad, which was no easy task, and now they were basically transforming your workspace into something a lot more comfortable.

Soobin shrugged, feigning indifference. “Hey, at least now you won’t be stuck in this depressing office.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung chimed in, his grin growing wider. “And now you’ll have even more space for your red dinosaur angel collection.”

Yeonjun gasped theatrically, hand over his heart like you’d just broken some unspoken rule. “Wait, wait, wait—you pulled the red one and didn’t tell me? What kind of betrayal is this?”

You groaned, already regretting letting them see your desk decorations,“They’re Sonny Angels!" You sighed, shaking your head. “I didn’t pull the red one, Yeonjun.”

Heeseung chuckled, walking over to your desk, picking up one of your Sonny Angels. “Well, when you do, make sure to put it right here. It can be the centerpiece of the whole office.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the teasing was making it hard to stay serious. “I’m not turning this office into a shrine for my Angels, but thanks for the suggestion.” Jay snickered from where he was now heaving one parcel towards Heeseung.

Soobin knocked his shoulder into yours, “Honestly, Y/N. Your office was lacking big time. We gave it some character!”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun added with a grin, “and when we’re not napping in here, you can totally use it too.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Gee, thanks. I’ll make sure to reserve my own office for whenever you’re not busy.”

Despite all the teasing, you felt your chest warm with appreciation. The fact that they went out of their way to make sure you’d be comfortable, going as far as convincing both the coach and your dad—meant a lot.

“Seriously though,” you said, looking between them, “thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Heeseung waved you off, but his smile was genuine. “Hey, anything for the team’s PR girl. You are able to ruin everyone's reputation in here.”

“And we can’t let you suffer in this sad office,” Soobin added with a smirk.

Jay stretched dramatically, shooting you a wink. “Now you can suffer in comfort.”

Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow after the grueling training session, his legs heavy and tired from the extra drills. It was as if your dad had dialed up the intensity after seeing the boys have a bit of fun with you earlier. Heeseung chuckled at the memory of EJ’s goofy dance moves, knowing full well that your father had caught wind of their little behind-the-scenes moment. "No fun allowed," he thought wryly, shaking his head. Heeseung wasn’t the Coach’s biggest fan. He was too strict, especially when they lost, and lately, his overprotectiveness toward you had only made things tenser. Heeseung got it, though. It couldn’t be easy to see his daughter in a wheelchair after being an athlete herself, but still, the coach’s comments were always a little too pointed, a little too controlling.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Heeseung found himself walking toward your office, knowing that even though the rest of the rink was quiet and nearly empty, you’d probably still be there, editing videos or catching up on schoolwork. It had become a familiar routine over the last few weeks—after most of the team had left, Heeseung would often wander up to find you, usually hunched over your laptop, absorbed in your work. Sure enough, when he knocked lightly and poked his head in, there you were. Your wheelchair was parked near the desk, and you had your laptop open with a few TikTok videos you’d been editing playing on repeat.

"Hey," Heeseung greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Still working?”

You glanced up from your screen, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, just editing some stuff for the ‘Get to Know the Player’ series. I can’t believe I got EJ to do that dance.”

Heeseung laughed at the memory, throwing himself onto the sofa that had recently appeared in your office.

"I am just trying to make sure I don’t accidentally make EJ look too good at dancing.”, you shrugged and replayed the video.

Heeseung snorted, pulling up a show he’d been watching lately. “You couldn’t make him look good at dancing even if you tried. He’s a lost cause.”.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head as you saved your work. “I think it’s charming. And it’s getting views, so…”

“Of course it is,” Heeseung said, grinning. “The team’s already loving the content. They’ll do anything for their fifteen seconds of fame.”

He stretched out on your sofa, letting out a loud, exaggerated groan as he sunk into the cushions. You smiled but kept your focus on the screen. Heeseung clicked on the latest episode of the new season of The Walking dead he’d been binge-watching, fully knowing he should probably be writing his essay on whatever topic his professor had picked out instead. But the idea of opening his laptop right now made him feel even more exhausted.

As the show played, Heeseung made occasional comments under his breath, reacting to the twists and turns of the plot. You were typing away, seemingly ignoring him, until he let out a surprised “No way he died!”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes. “Heeseung, don’t spoil anything! I’m not caught up yet.”

He looked at you with mock innocence. “I didn’t spoil anything! I just… reacted.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you muttered, trying to focus on your work. But Heeseung did not want to keep quiet. He quite enjoyed your attention on him so he occasionally gasped and muttered exclamations, making you groan in exasperation. “Heeseung, seriously! Shut up! If you spoil anything for me, I’m never letting you nap in here before training.”

Heeseung laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! No spoilers, I promise.”

You fell into a comfortable silence again, with Heeseung watching his show and you finishing your work. He was trying to pay attention, but his eyes kept gazing over and he was about to fall asleep. It wouldn't be the first time that he actually took advantage of the sofa to take a nap. Last week he had a free period before his training session and decided to go to the rink to train on his own a bit. Instead of training you lured him into your office with the offer of cupcakes you baked and after talking for a bit you continued working on an essay and he took the chance to take a quick nap.

“You good?” you asked, saving your work and closing your laptop.

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I mean, I guess. I’m just tired. Like, really tired.”

You looked at him sympathetically. “Long day?” “Yeah, and school’s just... killing me right now. I’ve got so much work to do, and I’m so behind. But I can’t seem to get motivated to do anything. I was supposed to write an essay tonight, but I’ve been lying here watching Netflix instead.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it feels like there’s just too much going on all at once.”

Heeseung rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the weight of everything he hadn’t done start to press down on him again. “It’s just... I don’t know. Between hockey and school, and trying to keep up with everything else, it’s exhausting. And I know I should be doing more, but sometimes I just want to do nothing.”

You tilted your head, giving him a soft smile. “You’ve been doing a lot, though. You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Heeseung. It’s okay to take a break.”

He gave you a grateful smile but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, after a pause, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I just… don’t want to let anyone down, you know? The team, my professors, the coach, everyone expects me to be perfect.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” you said gently maneuvering your wheelchair to the sofa, “I don't think you’re letting anyone down. You’re doing your best, and that’s more than enough.”

Heeseung let out a long breath, nodding slightly as he made space for you to sit down next to him. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“It's been a rough day for you too? If you are sitting in the wheelchair?” Heeseung asked, steering the conversation away from himself for a moment.

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “I’m just tired. Physio’s been rough lately, and I guess it’s catching up to me. My dad’s been extra… you know, ‘Dad’ about it all.”

Heeseung hummed, understanding what you meant. The coach could be intense. You smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were quiet for a moment before speaking again, your tone a little more subdued. “It’s been rough. I try not to complain too much, but… today’s just one of those days.”

He nodded, feeling a small pang in his chest. He wanted to ask more, to understand what exactly you were going through, but he didn’t want to pry too much. Instead, he carefully asked a question that had been lingering in his mind since Soobin had mentioned it in passing. “I know this might be a bit personal, but... Soobin told me you used to play before the accident.” he said carefully, gauging your reaction. “I mean, with your family, it makes sense, but… I don’t know. It must’ve been hard, having to stop.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, Heeseung wondered if he’d crossed a line. But then, to his surprise, you nodded. “Yeah, it was,” you said quietly, your voice a little strained. “I did. I was on the ice all the time. It was my life, honestly. And then… well, then the accident happened.” You paused, seeming to gather your thoughts. Heeseung stayed silent, letting you continue at your own pace. “It was a car accident. We were hit by a drunk driver,” you said, your voice tightening slightly, as you pull your uninjured leg towards your chest. “I-most of my left leg was jammed up and stuck in the wreck. And that was it. No more ice hockey. No more running around. Everything changed after that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung said softly, not really knowing what else to say. His heart clenched at your words. He could only imagine how hard it must’ve been for you, growing up in a family so deeply rooted in hockey, only to have that taken away after the accident. He’d seen firsthand how strict and overprotective your dad could be.

You gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it. Doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. I mean I was pretty lucky.”

Heeseung nodded, wanting to say something that would make it better, but knowing there were no magic words that could fix something like this.

You shrugged: "It’s tough sometimes, but I’m finding new things to love. Like, I never thought I’d enjoy editing TikToks and running the team’s social media, but it’s been fun.”

Heeseung smiled back at you, “Well, for what it’s worth, we’re all really glad you’re here,” he said sincerely. He was glad you were there but he wanted to kick himself for saying something as cringe as that.

You blinked, a small smile playing on your lips. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging between you, but it was a comfortable silence—one that came from understanding, from knowing they didn’t have to say everything all at once.

Finally, Heeseung broke the quiet. “Alright, I’m gonna shut up and stop spoiling.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Thanks. But seriously, don’t you dare spoil anything. I’ll never forgive you.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning back on the sofa, feeling a little lighter. “Deal."

"Coffee? Or hot chocolate?”

Heeseung looked up from his textbook, startled as you stood in front of him, holding out two cups. His brows furrowed, clearly confused. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know,” you cut him off quickly, setting the cups down beside him. “But you looked like you needed it.”

He blinked at you, processing for a moment. “Thanks,” Heeseung finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, relieved smile. “But… why?”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling a little more at ease now that he wasn’t brushing you off. “Last night,” you said, shifting on your feet, “I figured I owed you something after you waited for me and drove me home even tho you were dead tired.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, taking the coffee cup from the table, but his expression softened. “You didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t even that bothered.”

“I know,” you mumbled, “but it felt like I should do something. To, you know, thank you.”

He took a sip, then paused, a playful look flashing across his face. “Coffee’s fine.” He took a sip.” What would you have done if I’d taken the hot chocolate?” He gave you a knowing smile. “I know you don’t drink coffee.”

Your stomach dropped for a moment, and you tried not to look as flustered as you felt. How did he even know that? “Wait—how did you...?”

Heeseung’s smile widened, leaning back in his chair like he’d just won something. “You didn’t think I’d notice? You tend to bring tea or hot chocolate to the office. No matter how late.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that, and you looked away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You hadn’t realized he’d paid that much attention. “I—well, I would’ve managed,” you replied, shrugging a little too nonchalantly. “But I’m glad you took the coffee because, yeah, I don’t like it.”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than usual. “What, you were really going to choke it down just to make me feel better?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “I was trying to be nice, okay?”

His laughter softened, his expression turning more gentle. “Sure, the brave Y/N drinking coffee just for me.”

“Hey!”, you hit him softly and tried to ignore how warm your cheeks felt. You were praying that your foundation did its job properly today.

Heeseung grinned, and the atmosphere between you shifted slightly, the playful teasing replaced with something more sincere. “Well, thanks for the coffee,” he said, his voice softer now.

You glanced at Heeseung’s open book, his pages cluttered with scribbled notes and highlighted passages. “You’ve been here a while, huh?” you asked, leaning forward to peek at his notes, feeling guilty for distracting him.

Heeseung sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, midterms are killing me. I’ve been staring at this stuff for hours, but I swear, none of it’s sticking.”

You tilted your head, sympathizing. “I feel that. Econ made me want to throw my laptop out of my window yesterday and i had to resign to finish a episode of TWD. Are you done with the season?”

At that, Heeseung’s face brightened. “Oh, I finished the last episode last night. I swear i didn’t think—”

“If you spoil it, I will fight you,” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at him.

Heeseung burst into laughter, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, no spoilers! But seriously, you need to catch up soon. I want to know your reaction.”

You bit your lip, debating for a moment before offering, “Well... do you want to rewatch the last like 5 episodes? You could see my reactions in real time then?"

His eyes lit up at your suggestion, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. “I’d love that! How about we do it tonight? I could whip up some snacks, and we can binge-watch the last few episodes.”

You hesitated, suddenly aware of how casual he was making it sound. “Uh, yeah, but only if we actually study before we watch. I have a few things I want to get done today.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, nodding seriously, though a smile tugged at his lips.

The idea of going over to his place made your heart race a little faster. “Alright. Then I’ll see you later,” you said, glancing over at him once more, trying to ignore the warmth rising in your cheeks.

What was he thinking? Heeseung couldn’t believe himself. He had invited you over and casually mentioned he could whip up some snacks?

After his last class of the day, he raced into his dorm, the realization hitting him like two hours too late. Jake and Jay were sprawled across the dinner table with their books and laptops, completely oblivious to the chaos about to unfold. Heeseung nearly slammed the entrance door against the wall as he burst in. “Guys, I might have messed up!”

Jake blinked a few times, confusion etched across his face. “What happened?”

“I invited Y/N over to watch The Walking Dead,” he said, sliding off his coat. “And I told her I’d whip up some snacks. But our dorm is a disaster, and my room is even worse! She can’t come over!” Panic surged through him.

Jay stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the drama. “So you want us to speed clean so you can impress the coach’s daughter?”

“Yes!” Heeseung exclaimed, already kneeling down to pick up the shoes littering the entrance. “Please, help a guy out. I can’t let her see this place!”

“Sure,” Jake said with a chuckle, standing up and grabbing the takeout boxes scattered around him. “Our dorm needs a cleaning session anyway. And honestly, I’m so done with thermodynamics right now. If I see another heat transfer mode, I might bang my head into a wall hard enough to skip out the next semester. I am suffering.”

Jay joined in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll take the living room and vacuum. Hyung, just focus on your room. I think we have chips in the pantry, so just use that as a snack.”

“Jay, you’re a genius. Thank you,” Heeseung said, practically sprinting to his room.

Once inside, he was greeted by the mess that was his room: clothes sprawled across the floor, bed, and desk, a collection of empty water bottles. On top of that, his hockey gear is spread all haphazardly around the room - gloves, sticks, and bags. He immediately began tackling the mess, grabbing clothes, checking which ones were clean which needed to be folded and put away. He picked up a discarded hockey glove and tossed it into a corner before realizing he’d have to deal with the smell somehow.

By the time he emerged from his room, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had been. He glanced over at Jay, who was in the living room, vacuuming with an exaggerated flourish. Just that second the shrill noise of their doorbell pierced through the air. 

You stood in front of Heeseung’s dorm building, your gaze drifting up toward the tall, sleek structure. The place looked expensive—not surprising, given what you knew about his background. Heeseung’s parents were wealthy, and while you came from a comfortable home as well, this dorm definitely seemed a cut above.

As you approached the entrance, you felt a slight flutter of nerves you hadn’t expected. Pressing the elevator button for the twelfth floor, you shifted your weight onto your good leg, adjusting your crutches slightly. You didn’t really need your crutches anymore. Enough time has passed since your surgery for you to be able to walk only on your cast but you decided that going about your day and actually walking quite a bit was too much of a risk and took them with you anyway.

The ride up seemed to stretch on, giving you too much time to think. Over the past few weeks, you had grown used to Heeseung hanging out in your office, almost like it was his second home. Some days, he was already there when you finished your last class, quietly studying or taking notes. His presence had become a strange comfort, one that didn’t bother you. If anything, it helped you stay focused. But this—being invited into his space—felt like a new step, one that made your heart race a little. When you reached his door, you hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath. You could hear muffled voices and the sound of something being moved around inside. Whatever nervousness you felt, you quickly pushed it aside before ringing the doorbell.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Heeseung, his warm, easy smile greeting you. Behind him, you could see Jake lounging in the kitchen and Jay standing nearby, holding a vacuum cleaner.

“Hi, Y/N!” Heeseung said, stepping aside to let you in, the others offering casual waves.

“Hey,” you replied, carefully stepping inside with your crutches. The moment you entered, your eyes quickly took in the space—it was neat. Really neat. Surprisingly neat for a guy’s dorm.

Heeseung must have noticed the slight lift of your eyebrows because he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “Yeah, uh… we did a little tidying up.”

“A little?” you echoed, amused as you glanced around again. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think your dorm would be this... organized.”

Before Heeseung could respond, Jake snorted from across the room, biting into a chip. “Yeah, sure. We always live this clean,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, earning a pointed side-eye from Heeseung.

You laughed, the sound easing the last bit of tension in the room. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like a dig. It’s just—well, I’ve seen my brother’s room?”

“You’re giving us too much credit,” Jay chimed in, leaning the vacuum against the wall.

Once you were in his room, you sat on the edge of the bed, noticing how tidy even his space was. The bed was made, his hockey gear wasn’t strewn everywhere like Sobbing usually is, and the usual hockey player smell was faint, replaced with something cleaner. You caught a subtle hint of Heeseung’s familiar cologne, woody but fresh.

You moved to sit on the bed but hesitated, leaning on your good leg. “Uh, mind if I sit? I don’t want to mess up your bed with my outside clothes.”

Heeseung waved it off with a casual shrug. “I don’t care about that. But if you’re worried about it, I can give you a pair of my joggers?”

You blinked, not really expecting that offer. “Oh... uh, are you sure?”

“Yeah, no big deal,” he said, already moving to his closet. He pulled out a pair of gray joggers and handed them to you with a smile. “Here, these should be comfy.”

You threw the joggers over your shoulder, feeling a bit strange but also kind of grateful. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

After changing in the bathroom, you returned, feeling a little more at ease wearing his clothes, knowing you wouldn't mess his bed up with your outside clothing. You did care about that. The joggers hung low on your hips, the waistband slightly too big, but they were warm and comfortable. When you sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, Heeseung flopped down next to you, pulling out his iPad. “Alright, let’s get some studying done before we watch anything, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” You laughed, pulling out your own notes, though your focus was already wandering. The smell of his freshly laundered sheets, mixed with his subtle cologne and aftershave, was distracting you almost as much as his presence next to you.

For the next hour, you both settled into study mode. Heeseung was focused on his music theory notes, occasionally mumbling something about chord progressions or sound mixing, while you tried—really tried—to get through corporate governance. But after what felt like an eternity, your brain was officially fried. With a frustrated sigh, you tossed your notebook aside. “This is impossible. I need help with this. Do you think Jay’s busy?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “He’s probably still studying in the living room.”

You huffed and slid off the bed and made your way into the living room, where Jay was still hunched over his books. Jake had his headphones on, seemingly lost in his own world of equations.

“Hey, Jay, can you help me with something? Corporate governance is killing me,” you asked, sliding into the seat beside him.

Jay looked up, grinning. “Sure thing. What part are you stuck on?”

What was supposed to be a quick five-minute explanation stretched into ten, then fifteen. You had the gift to ask the right question to make everyone insecure in their explanations and answers and now Jay and you were confused. Great.

Eventually, you noticed Heeseung joining you. “You guys still going at it?” he asked, pulling up a chair next to you. “We’re just about done,” Jay said, pushing his notes aside.

Heeseung laughed. He settled in, flipping through his book, and soon enough, all four of you were studying together at the dinner table. It was surprisingly productive.

After a while, though, you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms. “Okay, I’m officially done. My brain can’t take any more.”

Heeseung set his book aside, looking just as exhausted. “Same here. Ready for some TWD?”

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar excitement bubble up again. As much as you tried to play it cool, you’d been looking forward to this part all day. Annoying Lia during your shared class and Beomguy during your break about how excited you were.

Back in his room, you climbed onto the bed again, this time letting yourself sink fully into the pillows and pulling the blanket over yourself. As you did, you caught that same scent of Heeseung’s cologne again. The coolness of the evening was creeping in, and without thinking, you shifted closer to Heeseung, stealing a little more of the blanket. He glanced at you with a small smile but didn’t say anything, his focus returning to the screen.

Heeseung shifted slightly on the bed, stretching his legs as the second episode ended. He turned his head to ask you if you wanted to start another one, but when he glanced over, his breath hitched.

You were fast asleep.

For a moment, Heeseung just stared, not quite sure what to do. You had curled up against the pillows, still wrapped in his blanket, one arm tucked under your head. His heart skipped a beat.

You looked so peaceful. He didn’t want to move or make any noise that might wake you. Heeseung swallowed nervously and tugged at his own shirt collar, feeling a little too aware of everything suddenly—his breathing, the quiet hum of the room, the weight of the blanket. What was he supposed to do? Wake you up? Ask if you wanted to go back home? In a flash of pure panic, he grabbed his phone and opened up a text to Soobin.

Heeseung Hey man, Y/N fell asleep at my place. Is it cool if she stays over? I don’t want to wake her up.

Heeseung bit his lip, waiting for a reply, his eyes darting between the screen and your sleeping form. You looked so calm, your breathing steady, you looked so soft. It made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand. He wasn’t used to this, if he had girls over it wasn’t for watching TV Shows, nor did they just fall asleep. 

A soft buzz broke his thoughts as Soobin replied.

Soobin Hyung (New) She’s an adult, dude. I’ll let my parents know she’s sleeping over, though. Just tell her she owes me for covering for her.

Heeseung exhaled a sigh of relief, slumping back against the headboard. At least he didn’t have to deal with the wrath of an angry captain tonight. He stared at your peaceful face again, and a small smile tugged at his lips. You really were out cold. Carefully, he shifted closer, trying to tuck the blanket more securely around you without disturbing your sleep. He sent a quick thank you text to Soobin.

Heeseung tried to get comfortable, though he couldn’t ignore the fact that his heart was beating a little faster than usual. He was overthinking every tiny movement, wondering if shifting just a little might accidentally wake you up. Glancing over at you, the rise and fall of your chest was slow and steady, and he felt that strange, unfamiliar warmth in his chest again. He had no idea what to do with it. You were just there, peacefully sleeping, wrapped in his blanket, wearing his joggers, and somehow that made the moment feel more significant than it should. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You were off limits. He shifted a little closer to the edge of the bed, carefully trying to give you more space without disturbing you. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, worried that it might be your brother again, but when he checked, it was just a message from Jake into their groupchat.

Puckin' Legends and Sunghoon  Jakey Jakey So? How’s the TV date going hyung Jeongsongie You owe us for cleaning the dorm in record speed. I dont think i ever vacuumed so quickly? Heeseung She fell asleep??  She is so cute tho But thanks for the help. Dorm looks way better now. And don’t call it a TV date?? We were literally studying before this.

He didn’t really mind the teasing—not anymore. At first, when they’d made comments about him spending a bit too much time with the coaches daughter, he’d felt awkward. But now, with you lying beside him, snuggled up under his blanket, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His phone buzzed again.

Hoon I still cannot believe you try to bag your coaches daughter. Jakey Jakey I don’t think the coach can believe it either Jeongsongie I cant believe how gone he is for her??? Did anyone read the she is so cute????

Heeseung rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, setting his phone down without replying. He wasn’t about to engage in that conversation right now. The soft light from the TV illuminated your face just enough for him to see. The way you’d tucked your hand under your cheek, your hair falling slightly over your face—it was… cute. His mind wandered back to earlier, to the way you’d laughed at his teasing or the look of concentration on your face while studying. You had a way of being fully in the moment, and it made him want to stay in those moments with you for as long as possible.

Heeseung closed his eyes, knowing that sleep wasn’t going to come easy, not when his brain was buzzing with thoughts of you. He took one more look at you, tucked under his blanket, your crutches leaning against the wall in the corner of his room. 

You stirred awake, the room dark except for the dim glow of the TV screen that had long since gone idle, casting soft shadows around you. It took a second to remember where you were: Heeseung’s room. His bed. The blanket wrapped around you wasn’t yours. For a split second, panic rose—shit. You fell asleep in Heeseung’s bed? What time was it? How long had you been out? You turned slightly, glancing at Heeseung. He was still sitting next to you, back against the headboard, his eyes closed. You wondered if he had fallen asleep too. Rubbing your face in exhaustion, you felt a rush of embarrassment. This was the first time you were ever over at his place, and you had fallen asleep? Well done, Y/N. Truly.

Glancing at his dimly glowing alarm clock, you realized it was way past midnight. You tried shifting slightly, hoping to find a more comfortable position, but your leg wasn’t cooperating. Every attempt to adjust it left you either more uncomfortable or closer to waking Heeseung. Eventually, you gave in, trying to reposition your injured leg one last time. However, the slight rustling of the blanket stirred Heeseung beside you, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he looked confused, as if he’d forgotten where he was too.

“Y/N?” His voice was low and heavy with sleep, but still warm. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on you. “You okay?”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty for waking him. “Yeah, sorry. My leg just… won’t get comfortable.”

He shifted beside you, rubbing his eyes. His hair was messier now, and his face carried the remnants of sleep. “Want me to help? Or… do you need a pillow or something?”

You shook your head, adjusting the blanket around you. “No, it’s fine.”

His expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Now I know why you need half an eternity to finish the season. You knocked out pretty hard after just two episodes,” he said softly, his voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

You laughed quietly, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said quickly, his voice warm. “I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed really comfortable.” Comfortable. You were. Too comfortable, honestly. You glanced down at the blanket wrapped tightly around you, feeling a strange warmth in your chest.

“Did I miss much?” you asked, your voice still quiet.

“Nah, just the end of the episode,” Heeseung replied, glancing at the TV. “You didn’t miss anything important. I was going to ask if you wanted to watch another one, but, uh…”

“But I was out cold,” you finished for him, chuckling.

“Exactly.”

There was a pause, a soft, almost peaceful silence hanging between you. You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to leave the comfort of his bed, his blanket, or this moment. You could feel his presence next to you, his arm brushing yours slightly as you both sat there. “So…” you began, hesitating for a moment. “I should probably get going.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything right away. He shifted slightly, and you thought you caught a flicker of something in his expression, but it was gone too quickly to tell.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice careful. “I mean, if you’re comfortable here, it’s late… Also, Soobin’s got you covered. He said your parents will survive you crashing here for the night.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You texted Soobin?”

Heeseung’s smile was sheepish. “I didn’t want your parents to freak out when you didn’t show up. So yeah, I let him know. He said you’re an adult but added that he’d let them know you’re safe.”

You sighed, a mix of gratitude and amusement rising in your chest. “Thanks, Heeseung. Really.”

He shrugged, his easy smile still in place. “Anytime. I just figured I should let someone know.”

You began to move out of your blanket burrito,”I’ll migrate to the sofa then! I don’t want to hog your bed. You have training tomorrow and you should get some proper sleep before then!”

His gaze shifted to you, a little more serious now. “Hell no. If you’re gonna stay, you are going to sleep here. If you feel uncomfortable I can go to the sofa.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his casual offer. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” you protested, even as part of you was tempted.

Heeseung tilted his head, his eyes soft and teasing. “Then I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. Just scoot over, and I’ll lie down too. We can both be comfortable.”

A beat of silence passed as you considered it, but then you nodded, scooting over to give him room. Your heart pounded just a little harder as you adjusted yourself, settling more comfortably against the pillows. Heeseung shifted too, lying down on his side, facing you. The bed suddenly felt smaller than it had moments ago, the space between you somehow feeling both large and almost nonexistent.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft as he looked at you.

You nodded. “Yeah. Much better.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You found yourself more aware of everything—the blanket, the smell of Heeseung’s cologne lingering in the air, and the soft, even rhythm of his breathing.

“Good,” Heeseung murmured, his eyes closing again.“Just… wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

You smiled softly, watching as his breathing slowed, his expression relaxed as sleep pulled him back under. It was strange, this feeling of being so comfortable, of having someone care enough to make sure you were okay. You could not believe what was happening right now but you were also too tired to think about it right now. So you just closed your eyes again, the weight of the day and the warmth of the moment making it easier to drift off. And as sleep began to claim you once more, you felt a quiet contentment settle in your chest. 

The sun was barely beginning to rise as Heeseung wiped the sweat off his brow, the air in the rink still heavy with the lingering chill of the early morning. Their training session had just wrapped up, and the team was scattered around the locker room, chatting and peeling off their gear. Heeseung sat on a bench, untying his skates when he felt someone approach.

“Soobin.” Heeseung looked up, surprised to see your older brother standing in front of him with a serious expression.

“We need to talk,” Soobin said, his tone calm but firm. Heeseung immediately sensed that something was up and he straightened up, suddenly more alert. Soobin didn’t usually pull him aside like this, and the shift in his demeanor was hard to miss. Heeseung’s heart rate quickened, but he kept his face neutral, unsure of where this conversation was going. He stood, following Soobin outside to a quieter part of the rink, away from the rest of the team.

Once they were alone, Soobin crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met Heeseung’s gaze. “You're gonna tell me what’s going on between you and Y/N?” Soobin asked, voice stern but not hostile.

The question hit Heeseung like a puck to the chest (pun intended), and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Scratch that he knew what he wanted to say but saying it out loud made it too real.

He thought about the evenings spent in your office, long after practice had ended, when the rink was quiet, and it was just the two of you. Most nights, it started with something simple—you finishing up work while he lingered, not really wanting to go back to the dorm. You would end up on the sofa in your office, talking about everything and nothing at the same time.

He could picture how you would sit, your back nestled into the corner of the sofa, one knee pulled up to your chest while the other, still recovering, rested comfortably across his lap. You were so casual about it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to drape your leg over him like that. And somehow, it was. You would chat for hours sometimes, and he found himself looking forward to those nights more than he ever admitted. Seeing the way your eyes lit up when you got excited about something, or the way your lips quirked into a small smile when you said something you thought was clever. There was a comfort between the two of you that made everything else fade into the background.

On days where your physiotherapist, whom you claim to love with all of your heart, went a bit harder on you leaving you exhausted and in pain he would be trying his best to cheer you up a bit. You never complained but he could tell. Your leg would stiffen up, and you would move with a slight limp, your jaw tight as you tried to brush it off like it was nothing. He remembered the first time he noticed it—how you had tried to hide the discomfort, laughing off his concern with some joke about how you have “had worse.” Without thinking, he had reached out and placed his hand on your leg, gently massaging the tense muscles. You hadn’t said anything at first, but you didn’t pull away either. Instead, you had leaned back into the cushions, closing your eyes for a brief moment, as if allowing yourself to relax in his presence.

That morning, when he got up for training, you had still been there, your hair spilling over the pillow in soft waves. He had whispered for you to stay, to sleep in and leave whenever you wanted, and a small part of him had hoped that when he returned, you’d still be in his bed.

Soobin waited, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Heeseung, don’t make me ask twice.”

But what was he supposed to say to Soobin? You were his sister. He couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing, especially not when he was still trying to figure it all out himself.

“Nothing’s going on,” Heeseung replied, though even as he said it, he knew it sounded weak. “I mean, we’re friends.”

Soobin’s jaw clenched, clearly unsatisfied. "Friends, huh? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like there’s more to it than just being friends. And don’t give me that ‘nothing’s going on’ line. I’m not stupid, Heeseung."

Heeseung swallowed. Soobin wasn’t the kind of guy to be brushed off easily. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his damp hair. “I…” He started, his voice a little shaky, but he forced himself to meet Soobin’s eyes. “I think I like her. A lot, actually.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed, and Heeseung felt his heart rate spiking. “You think? Or you know?”

“I know,” Heeseung admitted, his voice more certain now. “I like her more than just a friend, Soobin. I’ve liked her for a while. It’s not just…” He paused, searching for the right words, trying to explain how he felt about you. “It’s not just some fling or whatever. It’s… more. Or at least for me it is.”

There. He’d said it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before—how his feelings for you had slowly shifted, deepening with each shared moment, every lingering glance, every time he found himself thinking about you when he wasn’t supposed to. But saying it out loud and not just gushing to his friends about you made it real in a way that he wasn’t fully prepared for.

Soobin stayed silent for a long moment, his gaze hard but thoughtful. Heeseung’s stomach twisted. But when Soobin spoke again, his voice was calmer, though still edged with that protective tone.

“Look, I get it,” Soobin said slowly, his gaze locked on Heeseung’s. “Y/N… she’s been through a lot. You know that. The last thing she needs is someone messing with her heart. So if you’re not serious about her, if you’re just playing around or you’re not sure what you want, you need to back off. Because if you hurt her, Heeseung… I swear—”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Heeseung interrupted, his voice firm, surprising even himself with the certainty of his own words. “I would never do that, Soobin.”, his chest tightening at the thought of hurting you. “I wouldn’t. I won’t. I just… I don’t want to complicate things for her. But I can’t help how I feel.”

Soobin stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of his words. Finally, he let out a small sigh, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “I believe you,” he said, though there was still a note of caution in his tone. “But I’m warning you—if you break her heart, you’ll answer to me.”

Heeseung nodded, knowing that Soobin meant every word. And honestly, he couldn’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, if he were in Soobin’s shoes, he would’ve done the same thing.

As Soobin walked back toward the locker room, Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

With a sigh, Heeseung headed back inside, his skates dangling loosely from his fingers. As he stepped into the locker room, his mind wandered back to his dorm. He wondered if you were still there, still curled up in his bed like you had been when he left. You were probably already gone, but a small part of him hoped you were still there.

“A little bird told me you didn’t return home last night,” Beomgyu teased as he plopped down into the empty seat next to you in the library, dropping his hockey gear with a soft thud. He had no trouble finding you among the maze of bookshelves and antique paintings - you were in your usual spot, struggling through an international law essay. You looked up and sighed, already bracing yourself for his relentless teasing.

“I didn’t,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “Did that little bird also tell you I fell asleep after studying and watching, like, one and a half episodes of The Walking Dead? Or did he conveniently forget to mention that part?” You knew exactly who the “little bird” was—your brother.

“He did mention that, actually,” Beomgyu smirked, shaking his damp hair free from his hat. “But I have to say, I’m a little disappointed.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “You had the perfect opportunity to get something going with,” he paused for effect, “a hot guy that Yeonjun hyung, Soobin hyung, and I fully approve of—and you did nothing? And don’t give me the ‘I’m not interested in Heeseung’ excuse. I know all about your little evening sessions in your office.”

Your face heated up at the mention of Heeseung, but you quickly dismissed it. “We’re just friends, Gyu. Friends,” you emphasized. “When he comes to my office, we’re actually studying. It’s peaceful there, no one interrupts us.” You crossed your arms, trying to hide the sudden, unwelcome flutter in your chest.

“Sure, sure,” Beomgyu grinned, clearly not buying it. “But you slept over. That’s new.”

You sighed, glancing back at your laptop. “I slept over because I fell asleep. He had to get up early for practice, so he let me sleep in. When I woke up, he was already gone. It was no big deal.” You said it like you were reminding yourself more than Beomgyu—because it wasn’t a big deal, right? You were just comfortable around Heeseung. That’s all.

“Uh-huh. Sure, it wasn’t a big deal,” Beomgyu leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “Jake and Jay weren’t exactly quiet about it during practice this morning. And now the entire team, including your dad, knows about your ‘sleepover.’ Your dad wasn’t thrilled, by the way. Might want to prepare for an awkward conversation later.”

You groaned, letting your head fall onto the old wooden desk with a soft thud. “Of course he’d freak out. How is he so worried about me being lonely but still loses his shit whenever I’m near a guy?” You turned your head to the side, pouting.

Beomgyu patted your head sympathetically. “Your dad’s a scary guy. I can’t help you there. But seriously, are you sure you’re not into Heeseung?”

You straightened up, an annoyed huff escaping your lips. “I’m not interested in Heeseung like that,” you insisted, though your mind betrayed you with memories of how you’d felt waking up in his bed this morning. The way the sheets still held his warmth, how his cologne lingered faintly in the air... But no. It wasn’t like that. You had just fallen asleep while watching TV, that’s all. It wasn’t a date. Just two friends watching a show, nothing more.

Beomgyu wasn’t buying it. “I’m just saying, you spend a lot of time with him. Almost every other night, actually. And don’t even get me started on the way he naps in your office all the time. That sofa is supposed to be my personal napping spot.”

“I mean, first come, first serve,” you shot back, forcing a lighthearted tone. “Yeonjun’s slept on that couch plenty of times too.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see you staying over at Yeonjun’s place,” Beomgyu countered with a sly grin. “Face it, you’re into Heeseung.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but inside, his words echoed. You and Heeseung had gotten close, yes. Maybe closer than you’d expected. But that didn’t mean anything, right? You were just... comfortable around him. There was nothing more to it.

“Gyu, I’m really not interested in dating right now,” you said, turning back to your laptop in an attempt to end the conversation. “I just want to get this essay done. Jay and Lia asked me to proofread theirs, and I won’t have time if I don’t finish today.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair dramatically. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. But I’m keeping an eye on you two.”

“Oh no, I’m so scared,” you laughed, shaking your head. “Now, can I please focus on this essay?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this conversation is over. I’m just getting started.” You managed to ignore Beomgyu’s incessant teasing for a while, but the fluttering thoughts about Heeseung kept creeping back in, much to your annoyance. It was like a small nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering things you didn’t want to hear. Things like how nice it was that he let you stay in his bed, how considerate it was of him to slip out quietly in the morning so you could sleep in, and how warm his side of the bed had felt when you rolled over into it. Stop it, you mentally scolded yourself.

It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Nope. No. Stop. You shook your head slightly, forcing yourself to focus. You had way too much going on to be distracted by feelings—or whatever this was. The coming weeks were packed with deadlines, presentations, and a social media campaign for the team that was eating up all your free time. Not to mention the upcoming games, which meant more PR work for you. You didn’t have time to analyze whatever was happening between you and Heeseung. Not that there was anything to analyze.

The final whistle echoed through the arena, and you were still trying to process what had just happened. Heeseung had scored the winning goal - on his birthday, no less. The crowd roared, players rushed onto the ice, and you could barely keep your camera steady as you captured the celebrations for the team’s social media. But your thoughts were still stuck on the way Heeseung had glanced up into the stands after scoring. Pointing at you. Dedicating the goal to technically the teams fans. He’d joked with you before the game that it would be perfect PR if the “birthday boy” scored the winning goal. 

You stood in front of the changing rooms, waiting for the boys to finish up after the game. The arena was still buzzing from the victory—Heeseung’s last-second, game-winning goal had the whole place on fire. You could hear the muffled celebrations from behind the door, the players’ laughter and shouts of excitement as they reveled in their win.

You leaned against the wall, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone as you waited for them to emerge. But before you could even think about your next move, the door to the changing room swung open, and Beomgyu poked his head out.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, his grin as mischievous as ever. “Come on, get in here!”

Before you could protest, he gently pushed you into the locker room. The smell of sweat hit you all at once, and the noise of the players’ post-game celebrations was deafening. The boys were in various stages of undress—some half-naked, some wrapped in towels, others already pulling on their post-game clothes. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling a little out of place.

“Uh, I’m not really supposed to be in here -” you started, but Beomgyu waved you off.

“Nonsense! You’re part of the team too,” he said, nudging you further inside. “Besides, someone’s gotta document Heeseung’s birthday win for the fans, right?”

You smiled at his enthusiasm, but your attention was quickly diverted to Heeseung himself, who was standing by his locker, shirtless, toweling off his hair. Your eyes involuntarily scanned over him, taking in the toned muscles of his chest, the curve of his collarbones, the way the light from the overhead lamps cast soft shadows across his skin. He was talking to one of the other players, a relaxed smile on his face, but you couldn’t help but be distracted by the way his shoulders flexed as he moved, the muscles in his back rippling as he dried off. Fuck. You caught yourself staring and quickly averted your gaze, your face growing warm. Get a grip, you scolded yourself.

“Watch out Y/N. You are about to drool.” Beomgyu teased, suddenly reappearing at your side. His grin was knowing, and you could tell he hadn’t missed the way your eyes had lingered on Heeseung.

“Shut up,” you muttered, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. Beomgyu just chuckled. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was still racing. You glanced back at Heeseung, only to find that he was already looking at you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. The noise of the locker room, the boys’ laughter, even Beomgyu’s teasing all became background noise as you held his gaze. There was something in the way he was looking at you, something warm and intense that made your breath catch.

A slow, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of Heeseung’s lips, and you felt your stomach flip again. You suddenly felt like you couldn’t stand still, like you needed to move, do something to break the intensity of the moment. But before you could, Heeseung looked away, returning to his conversation with a teammate, breaking eye contact.

After a while, the players finished up and started getting dressed, and you slipped out of the changing room, glad to have a moment to collect yourself. The victory high carried on as the team headed to a nearby bar to celebrate. You tagged along—PR duties and all. Your original plan was to go back to your and Soobins Hotel room to study a bit but Yeonjun threatened to spoil the end of Prison Break if you wouldn’t tag along. That and the fact that Heeseung had his arms around your shoulder in such an aggravating casual way as soon as he came out of the locker and was pouting when you told him about your study plans was pretty convincing. Heeseung kept finding excuses to be near you even after you left the rink. Every time you looked up, he was there—handing you a drink, making a joke, his arm bushing yours as he leaned in to talk.

You found yourself glancing at him more often, watching the way his lips curved when he laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. But every time you tried to be subtle about it, you’d catch him already looking at you, making your pulse quicken and your cheeks rosy red. He would lower his head slightly, his eyes being hidden behind his hair and smirking at you until you couldn't take it any longer and the intense broke eye contact, blushing like a little school girl. 

You were sitting at a booth with some of the players when Beomgyu sidled up to you, a mischievous grin already in place.

“So… birthday boy scores the winning goal and dedicates it to you? That’s a bit more than a coincidence, don’t you think?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. “It was just a joke, Beomgyu. Heeseung was dedicating it to the fans, not me.” You were praying that the noise around you was loud enough for Soobin, Yeonjun and Jay to not hear what the two of you were talking about.

Beomgyu leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, Y/N. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just a joke.”

Your face flushed, warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial,” he shot back, leaning back in his seat and giving you a smug look. “I’m just saying - maybe it’s time to stop pretending.”

You tried to brush it off, but his words lingered. You have been telling yourself that you were imagining things and that you were a bit delusional when thinking about Heeseung - not talking, hell your friends cannot know about your little crush - but maybe just maybe did Beomgyu have a point.  

Heeseung slid in next to you, and immediately, you felt the heat of his body radiating toward you. He was so close, not closer than usual, but you could smell the faint hint of his cologne—something warm and woodsy that made your head swim a little. You liked it a little too much, and you had to fight the urge to lean in closer, to let yourself get lost in the warmth of his presence. Like you have done on his bed plenty of times in the last weeks during your strictly friendly studying-and-binge-watching-not-dates-dates that sometimes turn into sleepovers. (Yes, you have your own toothbrush at his place and a designated set of PJs. And yes, in hindsight you are a lost causes and Beomgyu has been right about everything but you would never tell him that.)

As you sipped your drink, trying to keep your thoughts in check, Soobin’s gaze was on you, watchful and a little too knowing. You could feel his eyes darting between you and Heeseung. It made you even more self-conscious, and you prayed Heeseung didn’t notice. When Heeseung put one of his hands on your thigh while talking, Soobin looked like he was ready to punch his captain in the face. Yeonjun shot Soobin a look and discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Relax, man,” he muttered under his breath, though you heard it clearly.

You silently thanked Yeonjun for the intervention, but you still couldn’t shake the nervous energy building up inside you. You kept your focus on the conversation, laughing along with the others, but the whole time, all you could think about was the way Heeseung’s leg was pressed against yours under the table, the steady heat of his body next to you, his hand on your thigh and his thumb that started caressing it slightly. The skin under his hand was tingling.

The way back to your hotel felt significantly longer than the way there. You were busy giggling  together with Jake about a dumb joke Jay made while walking rather slowly towards your hotel. Having had one or two drinks while relying on crutches may have not been the best idea.

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” you pouted as you squeezed into the elevator with the others, leaning your head against Jay’s shoulder. Heeseung and Jake swayed as they stepped into the cramped space, followed by a few of the other players and their girlfriends.

“I swear I am out as soon as my head hits the pillow”, Jay yawned and patted your head causing you to giggle.

You giggled. “Ohhh,” you teased, fake pouting, “you didn’t get your nap today! Poor Jay must be exhausted.”

“Ha, ha,” Jay replied dryly, grabbing Jake’s arm as the latter swayed dangerously. “Might I remind you that I played a phenomenal game today? That’s exhausting, you know.”

“Sure, Park,” you said with mock seriousness, lips pursed as you nodded.

At your floor, you bid the boys a quick goodnight and shuffled toward your room. Inside, Soobin was standing in the middle of the room clad in nothing but boxer shorts, toothbrush in hand, his mouth full of foam. He turned to you with a confused expression.

“Whaf are you doin’ hewe?” he mumbled around his toothbrush, his words muffled as foam threatened to dribble from the corner of his lips.

“What do you mean?” you asked, flopping onto your bed and ignoring the fact that you were still wearing your outside clothing “We’re sharing this room, remember?”

Soobin rolled his eyes and ducked into the bathroom, his voice muffled as he spit into the sink. “Yeah, but I thought you were going to give Hee his present?”

You blinked, sitting up. “Oh. I was thinking I’d do it tomorrow or maybe next week. Didn’t want to give it to him in front of everyone.”

Soobin emerged from the bathroom, drying his face with a towel, water droplets scattered across his chest and shoulders. “No. Do it today. It’s his birthday. I’m sure he’d appreciate some one-on-one time with you.”

You froze for a second. You weren’t entirely sure how Soobin was thinking about whatever was going on between you and his friend and captain, but you hadn’t expected him to ask about Heesung. Especially after the glare he had sent Heeseung’s way at the bar. “I mean, I already talked to him and said happy birthday…” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

“Y/N.” Soobin said flatly, crossing his arms, “Go downstairs and give him your present and spend some time with him. You have my official blessing. Just be careful.”

“I-You-What?”, you gawked at him,, feeling your face flush.

“Do you really think i am that stupid?”, Soobin asked with a shake of his head, grinning at you, “You look at him the same way you did look at your Taemin poster. All heart eyes. It's almost embarrassing.”

Your jaw dropped as his words sank in, your face now fully flushed. “Soobin, that’s not—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, tossing the towel onto a chair, “just go.”

Ten minutes later you found yourself standing in front of Heeseungs hotel room door, your heart pounding in your chest as you worked up the nerve to knock. When he opened the door, already clad in his pyjama pants only, his hair messy, his eyes widened in surprise, but a slow smile spread across his face.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “What’s up?” You held out the small box in your hands, feeling a bit shy and honestly still a bit embarrassed. You did not give Heeseung herat eyes. Those were for Taemin and Taemin only. “I, uh, got you something. For your birthday.” You were looking into his face and tried to ignore that he was standing there half naked.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly, but he was already reaching for the gift.

“Just open it,” you insisted, your heart beating faster as you watched him unwrap the small package.

“Come in first.”, he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you.

Heeseung’s fingers carefully peeled away the colorful wrapper, his eyes flickering between you and the small box in his hands. He laughed slightly when he saw the packaging and you couldn’t help but smile. He was holding a Sonny Angel dinosaur special edition box you had Soobin buy a few days earlier when he went to the mall. When Heeseung finally opened up the small plastic bag and revealed the figurine inside, his eyes widened in disbelief. It was the red dinosaur.

“No way,” he breathed, turning the figure over in his hands, a wide grin breaking across his face. “Is this the one you wanted?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice soft. “I’ve been trying to get it forever, but I guess it was meant for you.” Heeseung’s eyes lit up, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at the small figure, his smile never fading. Then, his gaze lifted to meet yours. The way he looked at you had your heart racing in a concerning way.

“I offer one red dinosaur for a pink one. This one fits you better anyway. And the pink one would have a cozy home in my locker.” he said, his voice low.

You just laughed softly and nodded, “Sure scary captain. It will be honored to live in your stinky locker.” The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows across his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes.

Over the past two months, you’d come to realize that yes, Heeseung was undeniably hot and effortlessly charming, but there was something about him with messy hair and a sleepy smile that completely stole your heart.

“Thank you,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice still soft. “Really, this is... it means a lot.”

You smiled, trying to steady your heartbeat. “You’re welcome,” you breathed out.

Heeseung set the figure on the nightstand beside his bed, then turned back to you, his gaze lingering on your face. “I still can’t believe you got me the dinosaur,” he said, his voice a little lighter now, though his eyes were still on you, unreadable but intense.

You chuckled, trying to shake off the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I had no idea it was in there,” you admitted, glancing at the little red figure on his nightstand. “But I’m glad it was. Birthday luck, I guess.”

Heeseung nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah, I guess so.” He hesitated for a moment, then shifted on the bed, patting the space next to him. “Wanna sit? I’ll put on Prison Break.”

You blinked, feeling your heartbeat pick up again, but you nodded, moving to sit beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours as he grabbed the remote and queued up an episode.

As the show began to play, you tried to focus on the screen, but it was hard with Heeseung so close. His arm brushed against yours as he settled in, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air between you. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore, your skin tingling wherever you felt his presence.

Your heart thudded in your chest, and as the minutes passed, you felt yourself relax just slightly, letting the comforting hum of the TV and the warmth of Heeseung beside you lull you into a calm state. You tried to focus on the show, but your mind kept drifting back to him. The longer you sat there, the more aware you became of just how close he was, has been the whole evening. His thigh and arm was touching yours, you could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with every breath. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, catching the way his features softened in the dim light, his attention half on the screen and half... somewhere else.

Just then, he turned his head, his eyes meeting yours, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Your pulse quickened as his gaze flickered down to your lips for just a second, then back up to your eyes again. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, your heart pounding in your chest. Heeseung’s lips parted as if he was about to say something, but the words never came. Instead, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable. The only sound in the room was the faint murmur of the TV in the background, but even that felt distant now, drowned out by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Your breath hitched in your throat as Heeseung shifted again, just slightly, his knee brushing against yours under the blanket to reach up and tuck one of your hair strands that fell out of your braid behind your ear. His hand grazed your cheek slightly and you were sure he could not only see but also feel how warm your face grew under his intense gaze.

The moment stretched on, the air thick with tension, and for a second, you were sure he would lean down and kiss you. But instead of closing the distance, he just smiled—soft, almost teasing—and turned his attention back to the screen.

You blinked, trying to calm yourself, not sure if you were just imagining things or not. You nodded slightly, attempting to focus on the show again, but your thoughts still whirled, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Minutes passed, and slowly, you began to feel tired. The weight of the day—watching the game, the excitement of the win, the celebration afterward—began to settle in. You could feel your eyelids growing heavier by the second. Your head involuntarily tilted toward Heeseung, resting lightly against his shoulder. You froze for a moment, worried you’d overstepped, but he didn’t move or say anything. Instead, he shifted around a bit. His arm was now fully pressed against yours, and the quiet rise and fall of his chest was soothing.

You let out a small breath, letting your body relax, the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. The steady sound of the TV mixed with the warmth of Heeseung beside you, lulling you into a daze. You could hear the faint murmur of the characters on screen, but your focus was completely on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting thrum of his presence beside you.

Just as your eyes fluttered shut, you felt Heeseung shift again, his arm lifting slightly, as if hesitating. Then, gently, his arm rested behind you on the bed, his hand barely brushing your shoulder. And as you drifted further into sleep, your head nestled against his chest, the last thing you felt was Heeseung’s fingers gently brushing the edge of your arm. Yeah. Beomgyu was definitely right. This might be more than just a little crush.

The night had already been one big adrenaline rush. It was the final day of the midterms week and Heeseung and his teammates had just won another game earlier in the evening, so the hockey team came into the swimming team’s Halloween party riding the high of their victory.

Heeseung wasn’t usually the frat party type, but after a win, he didn’t mind letting loose a little. He had already knocked back a couple of drinks with his teammates, and the tipsy warmth was settling in his body. He mingled with the crowd, greeting friends and teammates, celebrating their victory. Jeongin had been bragging about his game-winning goal to anyone who would listen, while Jake and Jay were deep in conversation with some girls dressed as cats. Heeseung had been enjoying himself too, wandering around, chatting here and there.

But then he saw you.

You weren’t hard to spot—how could you be when you were dressed like that? Heeseung blinked, not sure if it was the alcohol, the lighting, or maybe a mix of both, but you looked... really good. No, scratch that, you looked hot. You were wearing a vampire costume that hugged your curves in ways he’d never quite allowed him to notice before. The dark lipstick and fake fangs were surprisingly fitting, and the way the red fabric of your dress shimmered under the lights made it hard not to stare.

The crowd shifted, and suddenly you were right in front of him, your face lighting up in drunken enthusiasm as soon as you recognized him. "Heeseung!" you called out, stumbling a little as you reached him.

He grabbed your elbow instinctively, steadying you. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary. “Hey, careful.”, he laughed and then realized something, “You’re not using your crutches?”

You grinned, tipsy and a little wobbly. “My physio human,” you slurred, “said I could start walking a few days ago! Isn’t that awesome?”

Heeseung blinked, feeling a little hurt that you hadn’t mentioned this to him. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t wanna jinx it!” you said, giggling like it was no big deal. “I’ve been walking at home but didn’t wanna try it in public until I was more confident. And look! I’m walking! No crutches, baby!”

Heeseung couldn’t help the way his heart clenched. He should’ve been excited for you, but a part of him was bothered. Why hadn’t you shared this with him? You spent so much time together lately, and yet, this felt like something important he should’ve known. You were practically glowing with excitement, your face flushed from the alcohol, and the way you kept swaying made him nervous.

“Just… be careful, okay?” Heeseung said, his voice softer than he intended, the sting in his chest dissipating when he saw how genuinely happy you were.

You leaned closer your face dangerously close to his, the warmth of your breath brushing his cheek, “I promise! Look, I’m a vampire now! I’m unstoppable!” You twirled, your dress swirling around you, and Heeseung couldn’t help but smile despite the growing tension in his chest. His gaze followed your every movement. The red dress clung to your body in ways that felt unfair, making his thoughts wander into a dangerous direction. But he quickly pushed the thought away.

“Yeah, but even vampires need to be careful,” he replied, teasingly.

Before he could say anything more, a rowdy group called for a beer pong game, and you were swept away in the chaos, your laughter trailing behind you. Heeseung watched as you joined the game, the way you threw your head back in laughter. It was impossible for him to look away, but Jay came up to him holding a bottle of Malibu, saying something about needing alcohol for a confidence boost.

After the two of them finished the bottle and won a game of beerpong against some cheerleaders, Heeseung stepped away from the crowd to get some air, letting the noise fade into the background as he sat down next to Mark Lee onto one of the many chairs in the yard. He needed a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts and was glad that Mark was apparently sleeping. He did check if he was breathing, just in case. He couldn’t stop thinking about how good you looked, how much he wanted to kiss you. The way you layed there, eyes big, lips slightly parted and looking so so soft. It hasn’t left his thoughts all week. Every time you came close to him today, you cupped his face in your hands to speak into his ear, your proximity sending his emotions spiraling. His hand would instinctively settle on your hip or the back of your neck. One wrong move and he knew he’d lose all control, closing the small distance and kissing you.

Eventually, he felt a little more sober and not like he was about to run inside to ruin your lipstick. He returned to the main area. That’s when he caught sight of you again. You were perched on a sofa, laughing animatedly with some guy from the swimming team while sipping on a colorful drink. A weird feeling flared up in him, and as he watched you lean in closer to the guy. Heeseung’s jaw clenched as he watched the guy lean closer as well.

His feet moved before his brain could catch up, and the next thing he knew, he was walking toward you. As he approached, you spotted him, and your entire face lit up. "Hee!" you called out excitedly, as you reached for his hand and practically pulled him down onto the couch next to you. The closeness sent a spark through him, his skin tingling where your skin touched his.

Heeseung shot the guy a look that clearly said back off, and thankfully, he took the hint and left.

“Hee! I haven’t seen you in days!” you whined, your words slightly more slurred from alcohol than it was the last time he talked to you but bright with excitement. “I missed you! You’re not hanging out in the office anymore. What’s that about?” Your body was warm, and you smelled sweet, like vanilla with a hint of alcohol.

Heeseung chuckled, putting his arm on the backrest behind you. “You haven’t been there either! I thought you were avoiding me.”

Since that morning in the hotel room last week, Heeseung hadn’t seen much of you. You’d been busy working during the day and noticeably absent from the rink during your usual hours. He couldn’t shake the nagging worry that he might have overstepped, that something he did had made you uncomfortable. Instead of reaching out, he chose to give you space.

You shook your head dramatically, fake fangs peeking out as you grinned. “Noooo! I was just doing physio. You know, walking practice. But my therapist only had evening sessions!” You wiggled your foot with the cast and looked down at it. “The bathrooms are all messed up tonight,” you said, your cheeks flushed.

“Bathrooms?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden change in topic, reaching out to tuck a stand of hair behind your ear. Slightly caressing your face.

“I tried to pee earlier, but every bathroom was closed when I went the first time,” you explained, giggling at the absurdity of it all, leaning your head into his hand. “Then I tried again, and this very disheveled couple came out. I mean”, a hiccup interrupted you, ”they looked like they just had a wild night.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like you had quite the adventure.” He was tempted to ask how many drinks you’d had and reached for your cup, his brows knitting together. “Can I have a sip of that?”

“Sure!” you said, handing it over with a smile. 

As the night wore on you slowed down on the drinks, after Heeseung refused to get you another one when you asked him to but you still accepted nearly every shot offered to you. He could’ve spent the rest of the night just watching you laugh, but as the crowd grew louder and wilder, he realized you were a bit drunker than he had originally thought.

You were now fully leaning into him. The proximity made his pulse quicken. His hand rested next to your head and he was occasionally smoothing over your hair. His mind kept drifting back to how you looked tonight. How you’d pulled him onto the couch with such excitement as if he was the best thing you have seen all day. How much he still wanted to ruin your stupid lipstick. He couldn't stop staring at your lips.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled, and before he could react, you nesteled your face onto his chest, moving your body while doing so and lifting your legs to hand over his thights.

He watched as your eyelids grew heavy. “You should stop drinking,” he said gently, gliding his hand along your back. You shuttered slightly and he was loving the effect he had on you. How reactive you were even though we was barely doing anything.

“I know,” you sighed, looking up at him. The sight made his heart race, and he fought to keep his expression neutral despite the way his pulse quickened at your gaze. Soobin and Yeonjun were sitting next to the two of you. “But it’s just so much fun!”

“I can take you home,” Heeseung offered, the protective side of him kicking in.

You shook your head. “No, I am staying at Lia and Ryujin’s. But they’re not answering their phones. My dad would freak if he saw me without my crutches. He’d lose his mind.”

Heeseung paused, running a hand through his hair, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Okay, then come to my dorm.”

“Your dorm?” you repeated, eyes brightening slightly. “Is that really okay? I don’t want to crash your night.”

“It’s fine. I mean, Jake and Jay probably won’t be back until morning, anyway,” he reassured you, trying to keep his tone light.

You contemplated it for a moment, and Heeseung held his breath, hoping you’d say yes. You nodded, a small smile creeping across your face. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” Heeseung replied, helping you up, saying bye to your brother and his friend. 

The walk back to Heeseung’s dorm was slow and a bit wobbly, as you swayed gently on your feet. The chill in the night air didn’t seem to bother you. He offered you his jacket, but you denied claiming that you were so warm and you didn’t want to sweat into his jacket.

“Hey, can we take a quick pit stop?” you asked after a while, stopping mid-step and glancing around. “My foot is hurting, and I just need to sit for a second.���

“Alright,” Heeseung replied, his brows knitting together slightly with concern. He really did not want to let you sit down on the cold and slightly wet concrete floor in the middle of the campus. “You want me to give you a piggyback ride?”

“What? You want me to ride on your back?” you said, your eyes wide.

“It’s either that or a bladder infection for you,” he said, lifting his arms in mock surrender. “Your call.”

After a moment of hesitation, you grinned and climbed onto his back. When you wrapped your arms around his neck, the warmth of your body pressed against his back, Heeseung’s heart raced. The feel of your breath on his neck, the softness of your body against his—it was intoxicating.

He took steady strides, feeling your laughter vibrate against his back.

“You’re really strong!” you said, your voice muffled slightly against him. “I could get used to this!”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he replied, trying to sound serious but failing miserably.

Once inside, he gently set you down on his bed. You flopped back onto the mattress dramatically, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “This is amazing. I don’t wanna move anymore.”

Heeseung chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “Don't you want to get out of that dress? It looks tight, and you’ll be uncomfortable if you sleep in it.”

You pouted, staring up at him with those stupidly adorable doe eyes. “But it’s so comfy here.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes playfully. “Come on, I’ll help you. We can’t have you sleeping in that.You don’t even like sleeping in leggings and I don't want you to complain all day tomorrow.”

With a little more coaxing, you reluctantly sat up, the slight sway in your movements reminding him how tipsy you still were.

“Okay, I might need help,” you admitted sheepishly.

He just laughed and took your cheek onto one hand and caressed it softly, “Alright. Just let me know what to do.”

As you turned your back to him, he helped you unzip the dress. “Just a little more,” he whispered, and he pulled the fabric down gently, letting it fall to the floor.

The sight of the scars on your back caught him off guard for a second. He knew they were there but you were keen on not letting anyone see any of your scars, wearing high waisted pants or skirts all the time. You have told him before, that you were quite insecure over them. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to make you uncomfortable. Instead, he focused on peeling the dress off of your body, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers.

“There you go,” he said, reaching for your set of pajamas in his closet. “Much better, right?”

“Mhm”, you nodded. Heeseung felt a warmth spread through him, watching as you nestled into his bed, claiming your space. He took a deep breath, trying to ease his sudden flustered state.

“Good, we need to hydrate,” he said, already moving toward the small fridge he kept in the corner. He rummaged through it and grabbed a bottle of water before heading back to the bed. “Drink up.”

You took the bottle eagerly, gulping down the water like it was the most refreshing thing in the world and flopped down onto his bed again, shielding your eyes with your arms. Heeseung chuckled at your actions and changed into his own pajamas. He coaxed you to go to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

As you brushed your teeth, you stumbled a little while rinsing, giggling as Heeseung steadied you.

When you finally returned to the bed, you carefully adjusted yourself into a position that wouldn’t hurt your leg and snuggled into him. He felt your warmth seep into him, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around you.

“I feel so sleepy,” you murmured, your voice slightly muffled as you nestled closer.

“Then close your eyes and sleep, Y/N,” he replied quietly, resting his chin on top of your head, feeling your breathing slow down.

You put your hand onto his waist and squished your face into his chest. He was praying you didn’t notice his racing heart. He started tracing up and down your naked arm and just as he closed his eyes, he felt you sigh contentedly, your breath warm against his skin. “Heeseung?” you murmured, half-asleep already.

“Yeah?” he answered softly, glancing down at you.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you mumbled, and within moments, he could tell you’d already drifted off into sleep.

---

Your eyes fluttered open, immediately assaulted by the glaring sunlight streaming into the room. You winced, instinctively trying to turn away from the light, but you couldn't move. Something was holding you down. Or, more precisely, someone. A familiar warmth, a scent you’d recognize anywhere - Heeseung. His chest rose and fell beneath you, steady and rhythmic, the sound of his slow breathing soothing against your ear. You were completely wrapped around him, using him like a full-body pillow—your head on his chest, arms draped over his torso, and your leg casually resting on top of his. His other arm was curled around you, holding you close. His head rested lightly on yours, his messy hair brushing against your forehead.

It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up like this. In fact, it had happened more times than you cared to admit. But each time felt like a new wave of confusion crashing over you. Friends didn’t wake up like this, right? Yet here you were again, tangled up in Heeseung’s arms, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You sighed deeply, letting the warmth of his body seep into you as you tried to ignore the slow, dull pounding in your head. The light was making it worse, far too bright for your sensitive eyes. Carefully, you slid out of his arms, lifting his arm from your waist with a soft, reluctant tug. The cool air hit your skin, and you immediately missed Heeseungs warmth.

You winced slightly as you stood, your recovering leg was hurting more than it usually did after waking up. Maybe going all out with the cast on wasn’t the brightest idea. You pulled the curtains shut, dimming the room and giving your poor head some relief.

A quick glance back at the bed confirmed that Heeseung hadn’t moved an inch. He was laying there, still peacefully asleep, his hair tousled and his lips slightly parted. You hated how good he looked, even now, first thing in the morning. Last night at the party, when he had shown up in his stupidly perfect Greek god costume, you hadn’t been able to take your eyes off him. And it wasn’t just how he looked. It was everything. The way he was always so caring, so thoughtful. Despite being surrounded by people, he kept checking in on you—making sure you were okay, that you weren’t overdoing it with your cast. In Rihanna's words: he did make you feel like you were the only girl in the world.

---

After a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up, you made your way back to Heeseung’s bed, your heart giving an involuntary flutter at the sight of him still sprawled out, completely at ease. He hadn’t moved since you left, still lost in sleep, his chest rising and falling gently.

As you slid back into the bed, careful not to disturb him, Heeseung stirred. Without hesitation, his arm found you again, pulling you right back against his chest. A sleepy groan rumbled through him as he snuggled closer, his nose brushing against your hair. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing were comforting, almost enough to make you forget the pounding in your head and the dull ache in your leg.

You let your eyes wander over his face, taking in the soft curve of his lips, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, and the way his lashes fluttered slightly as he dreamed. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed, and so ridiculously hot, even now, sprawled out in his bed probably not nursing a hangover but still. It was unfair, really.

You buried your face against his chest, breathing him in—the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly Heeseung. It was comforting. Addicting, even. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in it, to pretend that this was normal, that waking up with him like this could be your reality. But even as those thoughts tugged at you, the real reality remained the same: you and Heeseung were still just friends. Friends who somehow found themselves waking up tangled together, friends who shared the kind of closeness that made your heart race.

As you lay there, snuggled against Heeseung’s chest, you felt him stir beneath you. His breath hitched slightly before his body shifted, his hand gently trailing down your back as he woke up. You tried not to move, eyes still closed, but you could feel his sleepy gaze on you.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled softly, voice low and husky from sleep.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Morning."

He blinked lazily, his warm brown eyes still heavy with sleep, but a soft smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. His hand brushed through your hair, his fingers grazing the nape of your neck in a way that sent little shivers down your spine. You were hyper-aware of how close you were to him, of the way his chest pressed against yours.

“You hungry?” he asked, his voice still quiet, almost a whisper as if not to disturb the moment.

Your stomach growled at that very second, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

You groaned, burying your face into his chest out of embarrassment. “Starving,” you admitted, muffled against his shirt.

Heeseung shifted underneath you, slowly sitting up and gently moving you off his chest. “Alright, I’ll see what we’ve got.” He stretched, running a hand through his messy hair, and threw you a playful look before getting up and heading for the kitchen.

As he left the room, you took a moment to compose yourself, sitting up in his bed with a soft sigh. The warmth of the bed still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel a little empty now that he was no longer lying next to you. You shook your head, trying to shake off the butterflies that seemed to be fluttering in your stomach, and made your way to the kitchen.

When you got there, Heeseung was already at the counter, holding up a box of Froot Loops with a playful grin. “It’s not much, but breakfast is served.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Perfect.”

The two of you sat down at the kitchen island, munching on the cereal together in comfortable silence. Every now and then, your eyes would meet across the table, a small smile shared between you.

As you finished your bowl, the sound of shuffling footsteps caught your attention. Jake stumbled out of his room, his hair a complete mess and his eyes half-shut. He grumbled something unintelligible, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

You watched, amused, as Jake poured himself a cup, taking one long sip before practically collapsing onto the couch. He barely made a dent in his coffee before lying down and pulling a blanket over his head.

“Good morning to you, too,” you called over to him, stifling a laugh.

Jake groaned in response, clearly not in the mood to be social. "Too loud," he mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter over his head.

You and Heeseung exchanged a look, sharing a quiet chuckle. Heeseung finished his cereal and stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna wash up. You good here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, stifling a yawn of your own. "I think I’ll head back to bed for a bit. It’s too early to be awake.”

Heeseung smirked, tossing his bowl into the sink. “Good idea.” He ruffled your hair lightly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Curling up in his bed felt like sinking into a cloud. His scent lingered on the pillows and sheets, a mix of clean soap and something distinctly him, and it was so comforting that you didn’t bother trying to fight the pull of sleep.

Heeseung returned to the room, fresh and looking even better after his quick wash-up. He smiled when he saw you curled up in his bed and slid in beside you, careful not to disturb you too much.

“Wanna watch Prison Break?” he asked softly, picking up the remote.

You nodded sleepily, cuddling closer to him as he pressed play. The intro music started, but your focus drifted more toward him than the screen. The warmth of his body, the way his scent surrounded you—it was impossible to focus on anything else. One of your hands was resting on his chest. You were carefully tracing the design that was printed on his shirt, trying to distract yourself enough to not fall asleep.

You froze as Heeseung’s fingers wrapped around yours, his hand warm and steady against your own.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rough and low, sending shivers up your spine. His fingers left yours, only to trail upward, brushing against your arm before settling gently on your face.

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. His palm cupped your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart stutter, his thumb grazing your skin in slow, soothing circles. The intimacy of the gesture sent your senses into overdrive. His hand was warm, his touch light, but the closeness between you was almost too much to handle.

You dared to glance up, meeting his eyes. His gaze flickered downward, lingering on your lips for a beat too long before returning to yours. The proximity was dizzying. You could feel the faint brush of his breath against your face and it made your head spin.

“You’re making it really hard to focus,” he murmured, his thumb continuing its gentle path along your cheekbone.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered, but your voice was unsteady.

Heeseung’s lips tilted into a small, knowing smile. His other hand came up, cradling your face fully now, his fingers curling lightly around the edges of your jaw. He tilted your face up slightly, his thumb brushing over your chin in a way that left you breathless.

“You are,” he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours as his voice dropped even lower. “You always do.”

“Heeseung…” you tried, your voice barely audible, but whatever you wanted to say evaporated as his fingers shifted, tilting your head just enough that his eyes could lock on yours completely. You were pretty sure that his expression was comparable to the one you gave your Taemin poster back in highschool.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, the words so quiet they almost didn’t register.

You didn’t want to stop. The thought of pulling away was laughable. Instead, you gripped the front of his shirt. “I won’t,” you breathed, the words barely leaving your lips.

That was all he needed. He closed the gap between you, his lips hesitantly brushing against yours. It was soft at first, almost testing, but the moment you leaned into him, the kiss deepened.

You melted into him, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, and he groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through you. His fingers danced across your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every brush of his lips, every touch, sent electricity through your veins. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss even more. A soft sound escaped you, and you could feel him smile against your lips..

You responded instinctively, your hand brushing against his chest, then sliding down to the hem of his shirt. The sensation of his warm skin under your fingertips made your breath hitch, but before you could let yourself get lost in the moment, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“You okay?” His voice was low, a little strained, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, still breathing a little heavier than normal. “Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

You gave his hair a small tug again, bringing his lips back to yours. Heeseung’s lips never left yours as he slowly, almost reverently, moved you so that you were straddling him. His hands rested on your waist, his thumbs brushing softly against the exposed skin just above your hips, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers gently graced the angry red scars along your hip.

“I—Sorry,” you muttered against his lips, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your face away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I didn’t mean for you to see those.”

Heeseung’s gaze softened, his fingers stopping at the hem of your shirt. He gently cupped your face with one hand, tilting it upward again so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Heeseung’s fingers gently brushed over your scars again, this time intentionally. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “All of you.”

“Heeseung…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your gaze flickered down to his lips and then back up to meet his eyes again.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving with a slow urgency. His hand, now fully under your shirt, splayed across your stomach, fingers tracing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel his warmth radiating against you, every touch, every movement, setting your skin on fire. His lips left yours, trailing along your jawline, down to your neck, kissing, nipping at the skin there. You could feel the heat of his breath against your throat, each kiss igniting a fire that spread throughout your body.

“Can I take your shirt off Y/N”, he breathed out.

You just nodded and he carefully lifted you shirt up, revealing your upper body. He threw your (his) shirt off the bed and gently shifted the two of you, laying you back against the pillows. His lips hovered over yours, his breath warm against your skin as his eyes searched yours. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with emotion. “You’re so hot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the unexpected comment catching you off guard, but the sound was quickly swallowed by him pressing his lips to yours with a fervor that left you breathless.

His hands began to explore your body again. His fingers grazed the curve of your waist, drifting higher, brushing the edge of your bra. The sensation drew a soft gasp from your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. His lips left yours to trail kisses along your jawline, down your neck, and lower. You felt the warm press of his lips against the scars along your hip. He kissed each mark with care, as if they were something to be cherished. Your breath hitched as his gaze flicked upward, meeting yours. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes. Unable to find the right words, you carefully reached down, your fingers brushing against his jaw as you guided his face closer to yours. Before you could speak, a sudden, sharp pounding on the door shattered the moment.

“Heeseung! I hate to break up whatever’s going on in there, but the coach wants us at the rink in, like, 30 minutes,” Jake’s voice rang out through the closed door.

Heeseung groaned, his forehead falling against yours as his lips curved into a reluctant smirk. “Of course,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. “The world’s worst timing award goes to your father.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly.

---

As Heeseung and Jake arrived at the rink, a heavy tension hung in the air. The team was scattered around the locker room, each member in a different state of exhaustion.

“Dude, yesterday got crazy after you left,” EJ muttered beside him, still rubbing his temples.

Nicolas, nursing a bruised cheek and offering a wry grin, added, “Not exactly our fault though. Kim Yeoso started it.”

Before Heeseung could ask for more details, the Coach’s voice echoed sharply across the room. “Line up. Now.”

The room fell silent, and a collective weight seemed to settle on everyone as the Coach’s gaze traveled down the line of players. His pacing was slow and deliberate. “Last night was a disgrace. I don’t care who threw the first punch or how it started—this is my team, and I don’t want this kind of attention.”

His glare seared through the team, and though he moved down the line, his eyes rested on Heeseung a beat longer than the others, his silent accusation unmistakable. Heeseung felt the full weight of the words, as if they were directed solely at him. His chest tightened, but he kept his face neutral, silently bracing himself as the Coach continued. Finally, your fathers eyes flickered back to the team with an almost weary finality. “Meeting’s over,” he said, dismissing the rest of the team. “Not you, Heeseung. Stay a minute.”

The players exchanged wary glances as they filed out, each one offering him silent nods of support. Heeseung turned to see the Coach shut the door, his expression shifting from professional disappointment to something far more personal.

His voice was colder than ever when he started speaking: “I’ll ask you once, Heeseung, and I expect a straight answer. What’s going on between you and Y/N?”

His jaw clenched as he quickly composed himself, being caught off guard by the question. “With all due respect, Coach,” he started, his voice calm but firm, “my personal life and Y/N’s are private. I don’t feel it’s appropriate to discuss this with you.”

The Coach’s face darkened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You think I’m just some overprotective dad, Heeseung?” he bit out, his tone cutting. “She’s barely recovered, and getting involved with you is a distraction she doesn’t need. If you care about her as much as you seem to, you’d understand that.”

Heeseung felt his hands clench at his sides, the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I understand what she’s been through, Coach. But Y/N is stronger than you’re giving her credit for. And I’m not backing off because it makes you uncomfortable.”

The air between them turned icy. Your fathers expression hardened. “Then you’re making a mistake,” he warned, his voice low, barely contained. “Because if you don’t back off, I’ll make sure there are consequences. And that’s not a threat, Heeseung—that’s a promise.”

Heeseung’s pulse pounded as the gravity of Coach’s words settled in, but he stood firm, his voice unwavering.

“I’m sorry, Coach Choi. But with all due respect, I’m not going anywhere.”

No matter what Coach threatened, Heeseung knew he wouldn’t step back. He was already drafted and chose to go back to college hockey, so the Coach had nothing on him.

Your father held his gaze a moment longer, his expression unreadable but filled with a disappointed resolve. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Then don’t expect me to go easy on you.” Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving Heeseung standing alone in the empty locker room.

---

“It’s not about whether or not you think you’re fine!” Your fathrs voice is sharper than ever, frustration bubbling over as he paces in front of you. “You’re ignoring your own recovery. The doctors said you could walk without crutches, but they didn’t say to push yourself to the point of needing another surgery. What are you thinking?”

The accusation stinged, sharp and unexpected. You blinked, willing yourself not to let him see how much that hurt. Another surgery. He knew, maybe better than anyone, how terrified you were of that possibility. And here he was, throwing it in your face as if it’s something you’d choose—like you’d ever risk it on purpose.

A mix of disbelief and anger rose within you, and you stood up, meeting his intense gaze. “You know I don’t want that. You know better than anyone what I’ve been through, and you think I’d risk more just for one night? I’m not being reckless, I’m just… living my life.”

“Living your life?” he snapped back, his tone filled with frustration. “Living your life means ignoring everything you’ve fought to rebuild, just for a night of fun? I’m trying to keep you from setting yourself back.”

“You’re acting like I don’t take this seriously! Like I haven’t been doing everything I can to heal. I know my body better than anyone, Dad. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you treating me like I’m made of glass.”, your voice was shaking in anger. When your father and Soobin returned from the rink you weren’t even able to properly greet them, before your father started berating you.

Soobin’s voice cut through the tension, calm but unwavering. “She’s an adult, Dad. Y/N knows her limits. You can’t keep controlling everything.”

Your dad turned sharply to face Soobin, his gaze hard. “This isn’t about what she thinks she can handle, Soobin. It’s about being realistic, about protecting her from making choices she’ll regret later.”

Soobin didnt back down. “But you’re treating her like she’s fragile when she’s proven over and over that she’s not.”

“I just don’t want her making reckless decisions,” your dad insited, but his eyes slide back to you. Your dad’s tone was sharp as he moved past your injuries.

“And then there’s Heeseung.” The way he says his name makes you flinch. “He’s a distraction, Y/N. You’re already pushing yourself too hard, and now you’re getting involved with someone who won’t be there when things get difficult. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose focus on everything that matters. And in addition to that you are distracting my captain from his duties.”

Before you could respond, Soobin stepped forward, his voice firm. “Dad, you’re being unfair.”

Your dad turned, surprised, but Soobin stood his ground. “You know Heeseung. You were the one who made him captain because you trusted him to lead. He’s responsible, he’s focused, and he cares about Y/N, more than you’re giving him credit for.”

Your dad’s expression hardened, and he crossed his arms. “He’s a good player, Soobin. But he’s young, and he doesn’t understand what Y/N needs right now.”

“And you think you do?” You countered, voice tight with frustration. “I am an adult. I know what I'm doing. And Heeseung’s been there for me, supporting me, making sure I am taking care of myself. He’s never pushed me into anything that would risk me recovery.”

Your father hesitated, his gaze moving between you and Soobin, a flicker of doubt finally creeping into his expression. But he quickly brushed it off, his jaw set in a familiar look of stubbornness. “You’re not seeing the big picture. I’m trying to protect you, to keep you from making choices you'll regret later.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. “The only thing I’m going to regret is not standing up for what I want and what I know I can handle. Heeseung isn’t the problem here, Dad. And if you would actually talk to me, you’d know that he’s been nothing but respectful and supportive.”

Soobin looked at your father, his tone more measured. “I trust Heeseung, Dad. You should, too. And more than that, you need to trust Y/N. She knows her limits better than anyone else here.”

Your father’s silence spoke volumes. Finally, he lets out a slow breath, his gaze softening just slightly. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N.”

“I know,” you said, your voice steadier now. “But I’m not going to let fear control me.”

For once, he didn’t argue, and though the silence remains strained, there’s a glimmer of something that felt like reluctant acceptance. Soobin squeezed your shoulder in quiet reassurance.

---

You and Soobin sat cross-legged on Yeonjun's living room floor, surrounded by discarded pizza boxes and half-empty soda cans. You let out a frustrated groan and leaned back, resting your head against the couch right next to Beomgyu's thigh, who patted your head in solidarity.

“Maybe you should just… move out? Like properly," Beomgyu suggested, his voice gentle but with a hint of urgency. "If he sees you’re capable on your own, maybe he’d finally get that you’re an independent adult who knows what she’s doing.”

You sighed. “I’d love to, honestly. But how am I even supposed to manage that?” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “It’s not like I have a job—he’s always insisted that I focus on school, hockey, or ‘recovery.’ Everything’s paid for by him. So if I tried to move out, I’d probably have to ask him for rent money anyway. I’m not really independent.”

Soobin, sitting cross-legged beside you, crossed his arms. “Mom would definitely cover your rent if you asked. She’s offered to help me plenty of times.”

Yeonjun, lounging on the other side of the room with a slice of pizza in hand, smirked. “Yeah, and Soobin, you should really take her up on that sometime. You’ve crashed on my couch way too many nights,” he teased, nudging Soobin’s leg with his foot. “Maybe I could ask her.” You shrugged, the thought of moving out felt a bit daunting.

“Trust me, we’ll find you a place that works,” Yeonjun assured, with his usual casual confidence. He reached over and tousled your hair, smiling as he added, “And hey, if nothing else, my couch will always be happy to host any Choi family member.”

“Thanks, Yeonjun,” you laughed, feeling a little lighter.

In the end, you decided to stay at Yeji’s and Ryujin’s dorm for a few days. You weren’t ready for the full commitment of moving out just yet, but the space away from home was a welcome relief. Their couch became your temporary refuge, a safe distance from the constant arguments and suffocating expectations. 

And it seemed your dad got the hint after a few days of you not coming home and keeping conversations strictly professional at work. You noticed his glances lingering a bit longer than usual whenever he’d pass you at the rink, sometimes with a sigh or a hesitant pause, as if he wanted to say something but held back. Each time he tried, though, Soobin, your (now official) boyfriend, or one of their friends would step in, steering you away from him, often under the guise of needing help with some “urgent task.” 

Heeseung was sprawled out on the couch, fingers deftly moving over the controller as he focused intently on the game playing out on the screen. The familiar sounds of COD echoed through the apartment. You had just returned from physiotherapy, and the session had left you exhausted. You rested your head in Heeseung’s lap, the soft fabric of his sweatpants cushy against your cheek.

“Gotcha!” Heeseung exclaimed suddenly, his excitement pulling you out of your sleepy haze. Just as you began to relax back into the soothing rhythm of him playing, the ringing of Heeseung's phone cut through the peaceful atmosphere. He frowned, glancing down at the screen.

“It’s Jay,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully. He answered the call, holding the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

You shifted slightly in his lap, burying your face into his stomach, seeking more comfort. Heeseung chuckled, brushing your hair back gently. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on?”

As Jay spoke on the other end, Heeseung’s face lit up with a smile. “Oh, curry sounds good!”

At the mention of curry, you stirred, raising your head to look at him. “Oh yes curry.” you mumbled sleepily, your voice muffled against his shirt. Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Want curry?” he asked, repeating your question back to you. You nodded slowly, still feeling heavy with tiredness, and you buried your face deeper into his stomach as if hiding from the world. You nodded sleepily, and he relayed the message to Jay. “Y/N’s here, and she’s definitely in for some curry,” he said, laughing at how cozy you looked all curled up against him.

After hanging up, Heeseung glanced down at you, his expression softening. “Jay is bringing over curry, is that fine with you?”

You nodded, still half-asleep. “Yeah.”

He chuckled softly, running his fingers through your hair. You shifted again, resting your cheek against his stomach, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment longer.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, feeling the vibrations of his laughter through your body.

Heeseung’s hand continued to play with your hair, a peaceful silence settling over the room again. “You know, if you keep this up, we might miss dinner and just sleep until tomorrow,” he teased, and you just nodded, not responding anymore.

As sleep began to take hold, Heeseung gently scooped you up in his arms and carried you to his bedroom, tucking you under the blankets. The last thing you felt was his warmth beside you, and then you were out like a light.

You awoke to the sound of animated voices and the smell of food. Blinking against the light, you felt slightly disoriented. As you stepped into the kitchen area, you latched onto Heeseung’s back, burying your face into his shoulder. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.

“Well good evening, nice of you to join us,” he said, leaning back into you.

Jay and Jake turned, both bursting into laughter at the sight. “Look at you two! So cute,” Jake teased, leaning against the counter with a smug grin.

“Heeseung’s gotten so soft, it’s actually embarrassing.” Jay added, shaking his head in mock disbelief. 

As you took a seat at the table, Jay served up generous portions of steaming curry, filling the kitchen with a delicious warmth. You nestled into the chair beside Heeseung, pulling his hoodie sleeves over your hands to keep cozy.

Jake leaned back in his chair, digging into his food. “Not gonna lie, this curry tastes like heaven after today’s practice,” he said, letting out a small groan of appreciation.

Heeseung nodded, laughing. “Tell me about it. Coach was on us the whole time, especially after the last game. I can still feel the bruises from blocking shots in the scrimmage.”

Jake joined in with a laugh. “Y/N, you should’ve seen him. Dude was practically diving in front of pucks like it was a championship game.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Absolutely no chill.”

“Hey, that ‘no chill’ gets results,” Heeseung shot back, grinning before glancing at you a little more seriously.

“Actually… speaking of practice. Your dad stopped me today. He asked about you.”

You paused mid-bite, meeting Heeseung’s gaze. “ What did he say?”

“Nothing pushy,” Heeseung said, clearly choosing his words carefully. “He just asked if I’d seen you and if you were doing alright.”

You took a moment to process it, unsure how to feel. “I mean, he has been calling. And he has been asking Soobin and Minji where I am. Soobin just told to guess where I am.”

Jay gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, maybe he is trying to fix things?.”

Heeseung gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles. “I think Jay has a point. Maybe it’s worth giving him a chance to apologize.”

You sighed, your eyes drifting down to your half-finished plate. “It’s just… every time we have a conversation, he manages to make it feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m throwing away his idea of the perfect future, or like my decisions don’t matter. I don’t know if I want to go through all that again.”

Jake, who had been quietly stirring his drink, chimed in with a thoughtful look. “Maybe this time you don’t have to go through all of it. Talk to him on your terms. You don’t owe him anything more than what you’re comfortable with.”

Heeseung nodded. “Exactly. You can set boundaries. I’ll even be there if you want—or, you know, Soobin could tag along for backup moral support.”

Jake chuckled, giving you a reassuring smile. “Just let him do all the talking. Sometimes people need to hear themselves to realize how ridiculous they sound.”

You exhaled slowly,”I’ll think about it.”

---

You entered the rink together with Jays girl (space) friend, ready to capture the day’s events. The hockey team had organized a special event where they would teach local kids the basics of hockey, and you were there to film some PR content. Heeseung crouched down, demonstrating how to hold a stick while surrounded by a group of eager kids. You couldn’t help but smile as you filmed, completely enchanted by how cute he looked in his hockey gear, patiently explaining everything while the kids watched with wide eyes.

After a while, Heeseung noticed you filming from the sidelines and excused himself from the kids. He made his way over to you.

“Hi baby.” he greeted you, gently taking your face in his hands, tilting it up toward him. His eyes searched yours for a moment, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It was sweet and tender, and you melted into him, completely forgetting about the cameras and the kids for a few blissful seconds.

“Ew. Boo! Get a room!” Beomgyu called out from the sidelines, pretending to gag dramatically, his face scrunched up in mock disgust. You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to suppress a smile.

“Sorry, Beomgyu. Didn’t know you were such a romantic,” you shot back.

Heeseung chuckled. “Don’t be jealous, Gyu. Just appreciate the love in the air.” Heeseung pecked your lips again and went back onto the ice, regrouping the kids for another round of activities. 

---

Heeseung made his way up to your office when the event ended. He knocked at your door and peaked his face into the room: “Let’s go home babe. The kids are all gone.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll be done with the Tiktok recap for today.”, you said, softly smiling at him.

“Sure thing.”, he plopped down onto the sofa in your office and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

As you wrapped up the editing, you couldn’t help but glance over at him. Heeseung was focused, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration, and you felt a rush of affection. When you finished, you got up and sat down on his lap, surprising him.

“Hey there,” he said, a smile breaking through his concentration. His hands found their way to your sides, his touch warm.

“Hi Love.” You leaned in closer, caressing his cheek gently. “I gotta say seeing you with kids? Might be one of the best things ever.” you teased, inching your lips closer to his.

Heeseung’s eyes sparkled, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “Oh yeah? I guess I’ll have to volunteer more often, then.”

“You just might have to,” you replied, leaning in closer, letting your hand drift to his cheek, your thumb brushing his skin.

He closed the gap between you. The kiss was soft at first, just a gentle brushing of lips, but it quickly deepened as he pulled you closer, his hands resting firmly on your waist. You melted against him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you lost yourself in the moment. You tilted your head to the side and gasped when Heeseung traced your lips with his tongue. His hands started caressing your thighs as you broke the kiss to breathe for a second. He directed his focus onto your neck, kissing it softly.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name, when a sharp knock on your door made you jump apart. “Y/N? Do you have a minute for me?”, your fathers deep voice came from the other side of the door.

You threw a panicked glance at Heeseung, who was frantically trying to smooth his hair and pull his sweatshirt into a more composed position. If your ears were even half as red as his, your father would definitely know what he’d just interrupted. With a quick attempt to brush your own hair back, you got up, meeting Heeseung’s sheepish smile with a reassuring one of your own.

Finally, you took a steadying breath and walked to open the door. “Sure, Dad. Come in.”

Your father stepped inside, taking in the two of you with an expression that looked almost nervous? “Y/N,” he began, his voice hesitant, “can I talk to you for a minute? Both of you, actually.”

You exchanged a quick, curious look with Heeseung before nodding. Heeseung sat up straighter, and your dad took a deep breath before sinking into the office chair opposite you.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” your dad started, his hands clasped tightly together. “About everything… about how I’ve treated you since the accident.” His voice cracked slightly, and you felt your chest tighten.

“I’ve been so hard on you, Y/N. Pushing, hovering, nagging… It’s like I’ve been trying to fix something I can’t undo.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his vulnerability. “Dad…”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t forgive myself for what happened. I feel like I failed you. You’re so young, and you’ve had to deal with so much—too much. And instead of helping you heal, I made things worse by trying to control everything. I just… I couldn’t stand the thought of you hurting, and I thought that if I stayed on top of everything, it might somehow fix things.”

The raw emotion in his voice left you speechless.

“I was wrong,” he continued, looking up at you now, his eyes glassy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved someone who could help you without suffocating you.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Dad, I—”

“And Heeseung,” your dad continued, turning his attention to the boy at your side. The tension in the room seemed to double.

Heeseung straightened, his jaw tightening as if bracing for a blow.

“I was hard on you. I know that,” your dad admitted.

“When I found out about you and Y/N, I wasnt exactly happy.”

You winced at the memory, glancing at Heeseung, who gave a small, humorless smile.

“I didn’t want her getting hurt,” your dad said, his voice softer now. “But I realize now that I was wrong about you.” He paused, running a hand over his face before meeting Heeseung’s gaze again. “You’re not just a great captain. You’re a good man. And I couldn’t ask for anyone better to be with my daughter.”

Heeseung looked stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the words. Finally, he managed a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

Your dad gave a small, rueful smile. “You’ve earned it. Both of you have. And I hope you’ll forgive me for the way I’ve handled things. I know it’ll take time to rebuild some of the trust I’ve broken, but I just wanted you both to know how sorry I am.”

For a long moment, silence hung in the air. You felt Heeseung’s hand brush against yours, grounding you, and you reached out to take your dad’s hand.

“Thank you, Dad,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m still mad at you, a little. But… I’m glad you said this. It means a lot.”

Heeseung nodded beside you, his own expression softening. “We appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “Really.” Your dad gave a small, watery smile.

---

The hotel room was softly lit, the glow from the bedside lamp casting a golden hue. You were at the small vanity, adjusting your earrings. Behind you, Heeseung was sprawled out on the bed, still in his undershirt and slacks, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone.

“You’re not even close to being ready,” you teased, catching his reflection in the mirror.

Heeseung smirked, locking his phone and stretching out lazily. “I’m waiting for you to come help me with this dumb tie. You know I suck at it.”

“You could have learned by now,” you chided, turning to face him. “But no, you just like making me do it for you.”

“Maybe,” he said, sitting up. “But it’s also an excuse to keep you close.”

You rolled your eyes but crossed the room anyway. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased, sitting up and letting his knees part slightly so you could stand between them.

Heeseung grinned, holding the tie up like a peace offering. You took it from him, carefully looping and pulling it into a neat knot. He watched you the entire time, his eyes soft and unwavering.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, focusing on his tie.

“Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Your fingers faltered for a second before continuing, looping the tie around his neck and starting to knot it.

“You’re so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” he quipped, echoing your usual response.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, watching you with that warm, unrelenting gaze that always made your heart skip. As you finished the tie, your fingers brushing against his chest, he reached out to grab your hand, stopping you before you could step back. “Are you sure I look good enough to be seen with you?”

You arched a brow, feigning consideration. “Hmm. Maybe. You clean up okay.”

“Just okay?” he asked, tugging gently on your hand to pull you closer. His other hand slid to your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Better than okay,” you admitted softly, feeling his warmth seep through the fabric.

“That’s more like it.” Heeseung’s voice dropped an octave. His free hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers traced lightly down the side of your neck.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured, your voice unsteady under his gaze.

“Can you blame me?” he said, his lips quirking into a grin. “You’re stunning.”

“Flatterer,” you mumbled, though your cheeks flushed at his words.

“You’re blushing,” he teased, leaning in until your noses were almost touching.

“Stop it,” you whispered, half laughing, but you didn’t pull away.

“Make me.” 

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours, soft at first, just a gentle brush. But the moment you leaned into him, he made a low sound deep in his throat, and the kiss shifted—growing hungrier, more urgent. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while the other cradled your face. One of his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, the simple gesture making your heart race even faster.

You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped you when he deepened the kiss, his tongue tentatively exploring as though he was savoring every second. Your hands instinctively flew to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer. He groaned at the sensation, his fingers tightening slightly against your back. A soft whimper escaped your throat when he tilted his head, adjusting the angle to kiss you even deeper. His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a mixture of passion and care that made your heart race. The hand on your back shifted, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles that made your skin tingle even through the fabric of your dress.

He pulled back just slightly, enough to draw in a breath, but his forehead stayed pressed to yours. His eyes were hooded, his pupils dark with something that made your stomach flip. His thumb grazed your lower lip.

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“Right back at you,” you whispered, but before you could catch your breath, he leaned back in, capturing your lips again.

This time, the kiss was slower but no less intense, his lips lingering as though memorizing the taste of you. His hand drifted upward, tangling lightly in the hair at the nape of your neck, while yours tightened their grip in his. The small tug you gave his hair made him groan again, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a delicious thrill down your spine. His free hand slid along your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your dress as though he couldn’t decide whether to hold you closer or take his time exploring. A small, breathless sound escaped you, and he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You taste like vanilla,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

“Is that a complaint?” you asked, your voice breathless, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Not even close,” he whispered before diving back in, his lips capturing yours with a renewed fervor.

When he finally pulled away, his lips hovered just above yours, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face.“Still think we’re going to be late?”

You laughed, brushing a hand through his hair to smooth it. “Definitely.”

“And I don’t even feel bad about it,” he said, leaning in to steal one more kiss before letting you go.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing your clutch from the nightstand. “Get your jacket. We’re already pushing it.”

He hopped up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. As you turned toward the door, he caught your hand and pulled you back to him. “For the record,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, “I don’t care if we miss the gala entirely. I’ve already got everything I want right here.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re impossible.”

“I am just lucky you love me.” he said, flashing you that boyish grin as he opened the door for you.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

[godjustkys]

I need to frot with gregory house oh Good god who said that???

SYPNOSIS: frotting with house!!

CHARACTER: male reader x gregory house

NOTE: 🎵🎶

p.s. requests are always open!!

WC: 0.8k

WARNING: frotting,, clothed frotting,, light degradation,, snarky!house,,

“you gonna stare at me all night, or are you planning to do something with all that brooding intensity?” gregory was lying back against his pillows, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily, a smug little grin tugging at his lips as he looked up at you. shirt halfway unbuttoned, hair just messy enough to be intentional, and his usual sharpness dulled only slightly by the heat in his eyes. “you’re not exactly helping with the temptation,” you replied, crawling between his spread thighs, leaning over him. his breath hitched just slightly; not enough for the average person to catch, but you weren’t average. “oh no,” he drawled, his voice low and taunting. “the horror. pinned down by a broody man. how will i survive.” you smirked. “you’re mouthy for someone this hard already.”

“physiological response,” gregory said, even as his hips arched up into yours. “basic friction, proximity, pheromones. has absolutely nothing to do with— you.” you rolled your hips, cock grinding against his through the thin fabric of your boxers. the sound that tore out of him was barely stifled, half-growl, half-moan. “totally unrelated, huh?”

“completely,” gregory said, voice tighter now, his hands gripping your sides despite himself. “might as well be the bedpost rutting against me.” he commented. “then I guess the bedpost is doing a hell of a job,” you muttered, leaning down to kiss him roughly. your cocks slid together perfectly, the friction sweet and maddening, your hips falling into a steady grind. gregory kissed you back with teeth and tongue, still biting down smirks between moans. “still not impressed,” he rasped, even as he bucked up to meet you. “i’ve had better.”

“you’re dripping,” you breathed against his jaw. “you’re soaked, greg.”

“a.. coincidence,” he gasped, and then hissed through his teeth as you ground harder. you leaned in, gently biting the shell of his ear, your hands braced on either side of his head as you drove your cock against his again. “i jus’ need you to cum first.”

“oh, is that the plan?” he said, breath hitching again. “uh-huh.” you only hummed in response. and as your hips kept rolling — slow and unrelenting — his smartass comments faded into gasps, curses, and finally, your name moaned into your neck as he came hard between you both, leg twitching.

the sheets were already a mess, twisted and damp with sweat. gregory’s chest rose and fell beneath you, flushed and heaving, shirt shoved up to his armpits, boxers pulled down just far enough to let your cocks grind together. he was panting through clenched teeth, trying to pretend he wasn’t teetering right on the edge. “you know,” he rasped, voice rough, “if you’re trying to kill me, this is a pretty solid plan. just stroke me into cardiac arrest. very efficient.”

“you’ll live,” you growled, thrusting your hips hard enough to make his back arch. “maybe.” gregory let out a guttural sound — somewhere between a moan and a curse. you bit down on his throat, leaving a mark, grinding down harder, dragging your cock against his with relentless pressure. “ah— fuck—” his voice cracked as you rolled your hips again, dragging slick skin over slick skin, both of you soaked in pre-cum, friction sharp and raw and perfect. you grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the mattress above his head, leaning over him, chest to chest, cocks sliding together with each breath. gregory tried to twist out of your grip, not seriously, just enough to make you work for it. you groaned and shoved him back down. “stay still.”

“ooh,” he panted, grinning even as his thighs trembled. “now you’re trying to be dominant.” you slammed your hips forward, grinding against him with precision. his breath caught, finally, and his smart mouth opened but said nothing. “not trying,” you hissed, thrusting again. “i am. look at you, sweating, squirming, rubbing up against me like some desperate little slut.” he laughed breathlessly. “takes one to know one.” and then he gasped loudly, sharply, because you shifted, rutting against him just right, cocks lined up perfectly, dragging over each other in a slick, maddening rhythm. his voice broke. “fuck. there. right—goddamn it.”

“you gonna cum again just from this?” you whispered darkly, letting your hips grind faster. “you wish—” gregory tried, but the words died on his tongue, replaced by a desperate groan, his whole body arching up into you. you leaned down and bit his bottom lip, grinding even harder, your cocks caught between you, sliding with obscene wet sounds. “cum for me, greg,” you growled. “fucking do it.” with a pathetic ragged whine, a full-body jerk, his hips stuttering wildly beneath you as he came, hot and messy between you both, dripping down your stomach. his smirk was gone, lips parted, eyes blown wide. you followed seconds later, grinding through it, rutting until you were spent, until your body collapsed half on top of him.

[scarletcomalies]

the outside world has failed you

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Word count: 6,253

Warnings: 18+ content, mention of cockroaches and bedbugs, mention of contract-killing, Natasha x Reader, I criticize the church a lot, blasphemy, caning as a punishment, manipulation, masochism, oral sex, edging, dacryphilia, strap-on usage, hair-pulling, slamming, degrading, angst, fluff.

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for disappearing, but in so few months, so much has happened. It has taken a toll on me, and I was in no mood for anything, in many ways. I am recovering, though! I love it here and I'm glad I was able to write a little something hehe. Watching AHS Asylum for the fourth time does things to you. 😮‍💨

Sister Wanda Maximoff didn't make your plan to take advantage of the church as easy as you thought it would be.

You were not going to endure another god-awful day in that abyss you called life. You simply could not. Nothing particularly happened, you simply collapsed.

Your job in this economy did not allow you to support rent, food, services, all that went with being independent. So many exhausting hours for so little pay. Just so when you finally returned home, the first thing you saw were multiple eviction notices on your door, reminding you that you were on the verge of being homeless.

So, when you opened your door with push, the inside was not very welcoming either, as the holes in your furniture and under your broken sink were the perfect place for cockroaches to breed in droves, causing you to find a few over here and there. At least they lived rent free, you thought.

You ate microwavable or precooked food, the cheapest you could find, and proceeded to go to sleep, hoping the bedbugs wouldn't cause you any more health problems than you already had from the quality of sleep and food you provided your body with.

And then, you slept four hours, you got up to work, you came back home, you repeated.

Well, the sole exception was your upstairs neighbor, Natasha Romanoff. A Russian immigrant on the run from the authorities for her involvement as an accomplice to Clint Barton, a notorious contract killer. Barton, lacking the courage to face imprisonment with dignity, betrayed his loyal partner, declaring, "If I go down, you go down with me".

Now a fugitive, Natasha cut and dyed her hair blonde and resorted to phone scams to survive. “Fucking cyber education”, you could hear her yell from downstairs, usually followed by the sound of her cell phone hitting the ground (your ceiling). You deduced it was because fewer and fewer people were falling for the bullshit of a $500,000 prize.

The sex with her was good, too good to be true. You weren't happy about her misfortune, but you were grateful to whoever was smart enough not to fall for that classic scam, because you knew that after that, she would get to take out her frustration on you as soon as you got home from work. That was the only means by which you could secrete a little dopamine, a little... happiness.

“I hate this life,” you once commented, clinging to her as she rode out the ground-breaking orgasm she gave you.

“Hmmm, bullshit,” she growled. ”I can't go out and buy fucking cigarretes without the fear of some asshole recognizing me from the wanted signs and ratting me out,” you could feel her back muscles tensing again. “I can't engage in anything too scandalous, legal or illegal, because any false move will take me back to Russia. And don't make me detail what prison is like in Russia,” she added, quickening her movements and panting slightly. Your eyes rolled, and against your will, the need began to simmer inside you once again. “Don't come and tell me your life is difficult. Figure it out! God... damn it!”

“What do you propose I do?” You asked her, once the overstimulation of two orgasms in a row had subsided enough to allow you to formulate something more than whimpers and moans.

“Go to the nuns congregation,” she shrugged, as she buttoned her pants. They were somewhat tight, which made visible the bulge formed by the strap-on she used on you.

“Fuck you!” You exclaimed.

“I'm serious. They love to feel like they're saving souls,” she justified. “Tell them you want to let God into your life, and just like that you get three meals a day and a warm bed. You deserve a chance in life."

Okay, maybe you could have gone on to apply for other jobs and in one of them you might've been lucky to get hired, but your day-to-day life had mentally drained you so much that you didn't think you were capable of making one more effort to survive.

It wasn't fair. The people working in the church enjoyed every comfort simply by feeding people's beliefs in something greater. They stood before crowds reading teachings they often didn't apply to their own lives, but that didn't matter. All they needed to do was make people feel good about themselves for sacrificing one hour of their Sunday to listen. People gave money to the church for this. They granted the church privileges for this, like tax exemption. Meanwhile, you did pay your taxes.

Natasha was right. If a simple practice of a religion was going to give you all that, more than your skills or abilities would, you might as well take it. After all, it was divine justice to privilege yourself from the church that privileged itself from the people.

Everything went smoothly, for you were a master in words and conviction. If only you had the opportunity to go to college, you would be using those skills to build a career of your liking, maybe laws or literature. But there you were, reorienting the reason for the misfortunes in your life to a motive to strengthen your faith. You even talked about a dream where you received a message where God commanded you to serve Him, and you dropped a couple of tears to make it believable. They loved it!

From then on, your days were consumed by correspondence lessons, spiritual readings that stirred nothing within you, and the hollow act of pretending to pray mentally. It was excruciatingly monotonous, devoting yourself to something that doesn’t align with the core of who you were. However, the only solace came from the feeling of a full stomach, the embrace of a bed where you could finally surrender to real rest, and the relief of having left behind the life that once tormented you.

If that weren’t enough, Natasha remained present in your life. There was no love, perhaps not even affection, but there was familiarity. You were each other's person to look forward to after an exhausting, unsuccesful day.

Therefore, every night, she would appear at your window, her wide smile showing beneath the shadow of her hood.

She would fuck you hard, keeping in mind the exciting fact that, despite covering your mouth with her firm hand, a moan could probably be heard if she dared to let go or if you didn't control yourself.

The danger of someone discovering an Aspirant being thrusted deep by another woman whose reward for finding her exceeded a million dollars gave you the most delicious orgasms you had ever had in your life.

All your needs were taken care of, and all you had to do was pretend that this was your calling.

Until Sister Wanda Maximoff noticed your lack of interest. The other Aspirants glowed with marvel, their eyes burning with the will to learn during every lesson. They bombarded her with so many questions that each class stretched at least an extra half hour. But overall, they worshiped her as the living embodiment of what they could only dream to become.

But you remained sitting quietly, your gaze steady but lacking the usual awe radiating from your classmates. It wasn't shyness, for Sister Wanda had taught many shy Aspirants before, it was as if you existed on a separate plane of existence, observing from a distance instead of immersing yourself.

So she deliberately picked on you, persistently directing her questions at you regardless of your ‘fellow’ Aspirants' raised, insisting hands.

What exasperated her the most was your response to her gentle reprimands when you answered incorrectly; your attitude matched, perhaps even surpassed, the apathy you showed toward her lessons. The sole thing you were eager about was to demonstrate how little she mattered to you.

How wrong she was to believe private lessons would change anything. She assumed whatever shit show you were trying to pull would crumble when it was just the two of you, face to face. She thought you showed defiance only because you were among other Aspirants, who would devastate at the sight of their sweet, dear Sister being —justifiably— hard on someone. But no, you were insolent and that was all there was to it.

Unfortunately for you, Sister Wanda didn't have her group of adoring students around to see her now, leaving her free to do whatever she pleased with you.

"Damn you!" She slammed her Bible shut, after she made one last attempt to kindly ask you to make an effort to pay attention. You barely had time to register her words before she was standing—no, looming in front of you. "Listen," she hissed, her breath sharp against your face. The smell of cigarretes was evident. "I don't care why you're here. I only care that you are here. And as long as you are here, you're going to listen to my lesson. You're going to care. And one way or another, you're going to love me for it.”

That was the heart of it, wasn't it? You hadn't knelt, hadn't lapped at her heels like the others, and that was enough to wound her. Enough to make her angry. You could see it in her eyes, controlled fury, a slow-burning arrogance that refused to be challenged.

"Bend over," she ordered, signalling towards her desk with her emerald-green eyes.

You met her eyes, and in that moment, you knew she saw your rage, your disgust, your perplexity barely restrained beneath your clenched jaw.

"Excuse me?" Your voice was trembling of pure impotence, as the room itself seemed to contract around you.

"Bend over," she repeated. “Or… don't. You can always go back to that job—”

And before she could even complete her sentence, you were bent over her desk.

"Normally, I’d let you choose," she mused, her voice thick with condescension. "But you’ve been so bad, you don’t even deserve that.”

The closet doors creaked open behind you. Wooden. Heavy. Old.

The sound pierced the silence, a whistle of something cutting through the air, followed by a firm whip exploding across your flesh.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

It stuck in your throat, strangled by disbelief, both from the action and the inimaginable pain.

Your body jerked forward against the desk, as a high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.

The wooden cane struck again, and again, and again.

Sister Wanda was known for being methodical, and her punishments weren't the exception, for she let each strike sink in before delivering the next.

Your fingers clawed at the barnished wood of her desk, intending to stay still, to deny her the satisfaction of seeing you squirm and suffer.

But it was impossible. The burning sensation radiating from your ass across your whole body, had you sobbing openly, with your pride as bruised as your skin.

"Please," you whimpered, choked with pathetic attempts to inhale some air. "I‐I'm sorry, please...”

She hummed with indifference. The same indifference you once gave her during her lessons. Divine justice.

Her cane tapped thoughtfully against your tender flesh, making you flinch. You couldn't take another single one.

"What did Christ say to Peter after the resurrection?” Just another cynical test. You should've seen it coming.

The answer was somewhere within the depths of your distressed mind. But the sting of open skin, made your thoughts slow.

"Well?" she pressed, and the cane lifted from your ass.

"Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Through your sobs, you heard the creak of the cabinet opening again, the soft sound of the cane being returned to its place. Your flesh throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and you knew you wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days.

With gentle hands that moments ago had wielded the cane, she carefully smoothed down your tunic, her touch now impossibly tender.

"There now, sweet girl," she murmured, her voice honey-like and soothing. Her fingers traced the tear tracks on your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of the evidence of your sorrow. "You took your punishment so well.”

Every alert in your rational mind that would dcream at you to stay away was turned off. You knew it when you found yourself melting into her touch, craving the comfort she offered. And she looked down at you with adoration when she found nothing but submission in your eyes, as she cradled your face between her palms.

"Such a good girl for me now, isn't that right?" he whispered, and the praise… the praise had your earlier fear dissolving under her careful ministrations. "This is all I wanted from you, darling, just to see you truly present, truly here with me."

She drew you closer, letting you rest your forehead against her shoulder as her fingers threaded through your hair. The scent of chapel incense and that hint of cigarettes enveloped you, and you found yourself breathing it in deeply, letting it ground you.

“This is what happens when you let yourself be guided, when you submit to proper instruction," her lips brushed your earshell as she spoke. "Will you be good for me from now on?"

You nodded against her shoulder, unable and unwilling to resist the tempting implication she made. If you behaved, you would have more of these precious moments.

And this alone gave you more purpose than anything else since you arrived to the monastery.

You became aware of it in the same way a candle becomes aware of fire, at first, just a taste of heat, then a flame that tangles in the wax until it consumes it all.

You became an active participant in her lessons, a constant presence who made sure to be seen, to be noticed. You knew Sister Wanda liked your enthusiasm, but it wasn't just her approval you sought. You wanted her recognition.

And so, when you weren't taking her lessons, you were reading, studying, making sure your application made you stand out among the other Aspirants. All so that you would be her favorite girl.

She usually saw you reading under one of the garden's trees. You had chosen the one that was the closest to the hall, she noticed. She couldn't miss it if she was walking out of her office. It was adorable.

If she had time, she would stop by your side, looking at the book in your hands. She would take the tome gently, making sure that her slender fingers brushed yours, even if for a second, and her arm subsequently found its around you in an almost unconscious, protective manner.

"Do you have any questions?" She would inquire. And even though you didn't —unsurprisingly so—, you pretended to need clarification, any excuse to let her closeness linger a few seconds longer, not ready to be apart from her yet.

It had taken hold of you. The need of her touch.

Before, reading and prayer were mere obligations, mechanical routines that you did just because you had to. Now, they had become rituals charged with intention, directed towards something greater; her.

If you prayed fervently, if you participated enthusiastically, if you were everything she expected of you, rest assured she would seek you out every time, just to remind you that you did not go unnoticed by her.

"It was so good," she purred, her hand sliding over your lower back.

And, of course, she noticed your every gesture. Every held breath, every tiny tilt of your body in her direction.

She had conditioned other students to obey her in the same way, but they did not respond to her touch as you did that day after she bent you over the desk. Not only did you not flinch, you melted.

They obeyed for fear of being punished again. But, it seemed you had even forgotten all about it.

You didn't look at her with terror. You looked at her with longing.

Sure, it was normal to look for approval. That's all it was. A conditioned reflex, a survival instinct. To make sure you didn't get any more punishment.

But you... you weren't just looking for her approval.

You were looking for her.

And she didn't know which was worse, the reverse effect it had inadvertently caused in you, or the one it was causing in her.

She should have stopped when she had the chance, when she noticed that her threatening attempts to impose fear, meaning by grabbing your face, squeezing your shoulder or resting her hand on your back, for you were, in reality, caresses. Caresses that you evidently lacked throughout your life.

"One way or another, you're going to love me for it," she had established, but the another way was not the one she usually applied, the one she used to know so well.

The admiration of others fed her ego, and gave her that sense of power and control to which she had long ago become addicted. But you had made that seem insignificant compared to what you provided her.

She was fully aware that you didn't want to be like her. Hell, she knew exactly why you joined the congregation.

It was something far more significant than the admiration she had initially tried to kindle within you.

It was submission.

And therefore every slightest caress became a bottomless pit for her, for both of you. And both, without fear, fell.

It was everything you were looking for.

So much so that, when Natasha touched your window, you felt nothing. And you had reached the point of believing that there was no point in continuing to do something that no longer had any meaning for you.

So, as she was about to climb in, you stopped her.

"I'm reading," you said without looking up from the book in your hands, signaling to her that you weren't going to move from there.

Natasha paused for a second, just long enough for doubt to seep into her expression before pulling herself together.

"I can see that. Good for you.”

And still, she walked in. She did so as confidently as she always did, expecting no more permission than she believed belonged to her.

"I can't do this anymore," you stated, firm this time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, somewhere between mockery and skepticism. She swept her gaze over you, that quick, almost bored assessment. Then, she chuckled.

"What?" She asked in mock disbelief. "Are you going to tell me that you received a calling from the Lord to give yourself to him? Is this what it is? Are you going to practice chastity?”

You denied quickly.

"No, don't be ridiculous.”

It wasn't faith, not in the way she implied. It was devotion, but to someone who was there, who did respond. There was something greater than mindless pleasure, something more real than the filling of your needy hole. You had found someone to exist for, someone who saw beyond the fleeting instant and looked at you, not just what she could take from you.

She tilted her head, with the same expression of one who already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway.

"You met someone else," she asserted.

"No..." it was an instinctive reflex that, upon reaching your tongue, lost its form, dissolving into something uncertain. "Maybe. I don't know."

Had you, really? Wanda hadn't touched you in that way, the way Natasha did, urgently, hungrily. And yet what she did to you had been more than anything you'd ever felt. Her fingers glided over your skin with a lightness that didn't demand, that didn't take. There was something in the way she looked at you, not with possession, but with recognition. As if you were someone, not something.

You didn't know if it was equal, but it was better. Much better.

There was a second of silence. Then Natasha let out a dry laugh.

"Well, I'd be damned," she muttered with a half-smile, not taking her eyes off you. "Just... think about her if you want. I had a long day.”

And you agreed. It was the only way to know if this bordered on a level of attraction that was new to you.

When Natasha fucked you, you closed your eyes, and you imagined those pink lips, those big emerald green eyes, that unseen body hiding under that habit.

No. Not like this.

If you were doing this with Wanda, she'd be stroking your hair. She'd kiss your cheeks. She'd make sure you felt how much she appreciated having your presence beneath her, pleasing her. Overall, she'd make sure you were enjoying yourself too.

Because you were somebody.

You opened your eyes, and you pulled Natasha's hand away from your mouth, with a movement that was not abrupt, but definite.

"Caress me," you commanded.

Natasha frowned.

"You're insane," she panted between thrusts. You didn't blame her for saying it. Maybe you were.

"Do it," you insisted, with the certainty of one who has made a decision with no turning back. "Or this will be the last time.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently. But she agreed. Without love, without affection, with a mechanical manner that barely mimicked what you had asked.

"No, this isn't working," you growled, nudging her gently. You didn't want to make her feel like this was her fault, it really wasn't. You simply began to crave for something she was no longer capable of giving you.

"I agree, let me do my thing," she replied, slamming deeper inside you to reassert her dominance. You knew she knew what you were referring to, the fact that her flings during the night were no longer working for you. But she wasn't going to admit it, because she wanted to keep using you, seeing you.

And no, you had a say in this.

"Natasha, I don't want you anymore!" You exclaimed, perhaps louder than you should have in the middle of the night when everyone was supposed to be asleep.

She pulled back, just enough to glance in your direction, as if to silently confirm the truth of your words. Within the depths of your eyes, she found the answer. Therefore she stepped back with deliberate nonchalance and adjusted her pants, maintaining her composure in the shifting tide of the moment.

You thought she was going to refute, as it seemed very important to her to leave her house, to risk being found just to 'take out her frustrations on you'. She could have looked for anyone, but she wanted you. And perhaps the reason would remain a mystery.

"Call me when that cheesiness wears off," she stated matter-of-factly, and retreated from your room through the window.

And with that, you thought you were off the hook.

You thought.

You were under your tree, your now shelter, when you saw Wanda come out of her office. Her footsteps echoed on the floor, quick and heavy, so different from her usual gait. She was furious, you knew.

You didn't alert yourself, you thought it wasn't about you, that if you were doing what she expected from you, without fail, why would she be angry?

But then, instead of taking the path to the hallway, as she always did, she walkes you. Her eyes showed no gentleness. There was no tenderness in her face. But what had happened? Everything seemed to be in order. Why... this?

In one sudden movement, she bent down and, with a violence that made you lose your breath, she lifted you up suddenly, pulling your hair towards her, forcing you to stumble, to stagger, all the way to her office. She didn't care about your whines, and, your desperate pleas to explain what was happening.

And once inside, the door closed with a clang that chilled your blood, and proceeded to bend you over the desk by slamming the side of your face against it. There were no orders. There were no requests. There was no room for choice.

No explanation, not a single word spoken, like you didn't deserve any of that. It couldn't be real. Not again. Not like this. She was treating you... badly. And you didn't know why, or what you had done wrong.

"I took you for so many things," she began, and the sound of the closet doors where she kept her canes chilled your skin just like the last time. "Insolent, disdainful, opportunist... and I thought I'd fixed you."

You choked, your throat closed up with unshed tears. You didn't understand. You couldn't understand.

The prospect of getting caned didn't even occupy your mind at that moment. It was the torture of knowing that you let her down, that everything you had done, all your effort, had been in vain, that consumed you to the core.

"Y-you did!" you cried, trying to cling to some hope, some justification, looking for some way to explain what you didn’t even know you did. "I've done everything you asked, and more! I don't understand!"

The way she dismissed your words with a curt hum, and proceeded to lift your tunic, was a silent communication that everything you did for her wasn't enough to forgive nor forget what she was about to punish you for.

"Yes," she said, caressing your bare cheeks, which still held the memories of your first punishment. "Except for the fact that you're a filthy slut, fucking a criminal every night in your room."

Your skin bristled at her accusation. She felt it under her fingertips, and that made her more relentless.There was no point in applying those impecable lying techniques that had brought you to this point, if ultimately, your body was at her mercy, and it did not lie.

"Who told you?" you could barely articulate. How could anyone ever dare to touch something so sacred to you?

"No one!" She exclaimed.

It had been one of your fellow Aspirants. She was heading to the bathroom that night, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when she heard the hushed moans and accelerated breaths through your door.

And when she heard your apparent fling was about to slip out of your window, she followed.

She didn’t go far, just enough to reach Natasha out, grip her shoulder, and turn her around to reveal her identity. That cost her a broken nose. However, it was worth it. So worth it.

Because she hated you, everyone hated you. Why were you Wanda's favorite? You hated her lessons, you were rude to her, and when you started doing what everyone did, you got praised for it?

She was supposed to belong to all of them! Equally. So if she had to sabotage your relationship to take back what was theirs, then so be it.

First thing in the morning, she told Wanda everything.

"I don't understand you, (Y/N)!" She continued, whipping you three times in a row, the contact coursing through your entire body. You could have sworn you felt an electric current run from your head to your feet. And worse than the first time. Much worse. Oh, compared to what you felt now, those moments seemed like paradise. "Here, you have it all!"

Wanda's jealousy, the shadows of her anger, made her apply way more force than she intended to. And from your end, the realization that you had failed the one person who had ever made you feel you were worth anything, who had made you believe you weren't invisible, made you the perfect recipient for her fury.

You were vulnerable, not resistant, for you defeatedly accepted this as just a little bit of the hell you deserved for having disappointed Wanda. Your Wanda.

"You got everything you wanted," she continued. "Everything you wanted in exchange for being my good girl. And isn't that enough? You had to look outside for what you could have here, with me?"

Before you could apologize, or beg for mercy, you felt the touch of her face against the fabric of your panties, where she inhaled deeply.

"I should have known my baby girl wanted to be fucked, hm?" She commented, more softly than before. The scent of your involuntary arousal soothed her unlike any other. "My bad.”

“I… I'm so… I'm so stupid,” you whimpered, your words laced with embarrasment. Your tears had already formed a small, glistening puddle on the surface of her desk, reflecting the dim candlelight.

"Shhh, nothing to be ashamed of," she whispered in your ear. Her body pressed against your back with almost reverent care, as though she wanted to hold you rather than crush you. After all, you were someone fragile, someone precious that deserved protection from the claws of the outside world. "Oh, my darling," she cooed, with a gentleness so sincere that it made you forget, if only for an instant, the trust that had been broken. "No more tears," she commanded softly.

She stuck out her tongue and slid it tenderly over your cheek, gathering the salty trace of your regret.

She extended her tongue, moving it with deliberate tenderness across your tear-stained cheek, collecting each salty droplet that marked your sorrow.

The warm, wet sensation of her tongue against your skin, the taste of your regret, provoked her to elicit a deep, satisfied moan that resonated through her whole body and into yours.

It shouldn't have felt like salvation, but it did. And naturally, you yearned for more, as you did with form of contact that she could offer you.

And, with the same quiet desperation of a sinner seeking absolution, you turned your head, parted your lips, and let the tip of your tongue meet hers. She stilled for a moment, just a moment, before answering you kindly. A gentle meeting of tongues, tentative at first, but then so natural and carefree. Like you had done this a thousand times before. In a previous lifetime, perhaps.

The kiss deepened, her tongue exploring yours with the same careful attention she gave to every aspect of your being. Her mouth moved against yours with a rhythm that spoke of ownership, of belonging, each sweep of her tongue claiming territory that had always been rightfully hers. Not anyone else’s.

The taste of her, sharp and sweet like consecrated wine, filled your senses until there was nothing else. No past mistakes, no future uncertainties, just the perfect present of her mouth commanding yours.

Your heart thundered against her desk, no longer from fear but from the raw intensity of being truly seen, truly possessed. Each sigh you drew was heavy with the innate air of submission you emanated, sweeter than any prayer you'd ever offered. And she inhaled it blissfully.

"Out there, they only know how to take from you," she whispered against your lips. "But here, my precious girl, I'll make sure you get everything you need. No need to look outside ever again."

“Yes,” was the only thing you needed to say, and it was the only thing she needed to hear.

She left a kiss on your cheek, both as a thankful gesture and as a silent assurance before she knelt to the level of her desk where you were still bent over, now in front of her.

You felt her warm breath clash against the sensitive skin between your legs as she pushed your underwear to the side.

She trailed her tongue against your folds, making you gasp at the sudden foreign intrusion. No one has ever tasted you before. Natasha thought it was too intimate.

But screw Natasha. There you had everything you’d ever needed.

Her eyes widened in awe. She had just discovered a flavor so intoxicating, so essential, that she couldn’t imagine life before tasting it. And the last ounce of self-control vanished as she lunged forward, devouring your pussy with the desperation of a starved creature finally set free.

She wanted you to interiorize with every fiber of your being that this was where you belonged, under her ministrations, receiving the divine attention only she could provide.

It was overwhelming, not just physically, but emotionally. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes shut tight and your head struggled to process the intensity of it all.

"Oh, Wanda!" You whimpered, your voice thick with need for more. Always needed more of her, didn't you? The words barely made it past your lips before dissolving into desperate gasps.

It was all too much. The cool surface of the desk against your heated skin, the warmth of her mouth claiming you so intimately, the sting from your punishment mixing with rising pleasure until you couldn't distinguish between the two.

"Tell me where do you belong," she demanded, pulling back just so she could speak. The sudden absence of her tongue made you whine pathetically. You felt hollow inside.

"With you, only with you!" You vowed, proudly. "I've always been yours."

Your admission seemed to ignite something animalistic in her. She growled against your flesh, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

Your hands fisted helplessly against the polished wood, seeking grounding as your body threatened to collapse under the assault of her mouth.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only her mouth working you with devastating precision, only the building pressure deep in your core that threatened to tear you apart. Your consciousness narrowed to a singular point of pure feeling.

"Give it to me, my sweet girl," she murmured, her words muffled against your flesh.

Your body responded to her command before your mind could process it. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, manifesting itself through your release, and she swallowed every drop of it. She wasn't going to stop until she made sure to dry you out.

Your vision blurred, spots of light dancing behind your closed eyelids as you succumbed completely to her dominance, that didn't seem to cease despite your surrender.

"Oh, p-please..." you gasped, though you weren't sure what you were begging for, to stop or to continue.

Regardless, she didn't stop, didn't even slow down. If anything, your pleas spurred her on, her tongue moving with renewed vigor as she worked you through your release. Your legs shook violently, and if not for her firm grip on your hips, you would have fell down like a ragdoll.

"Mine," she established, finally pulling back to admire her work. Your swollen, pink pussy throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

A rustle of fabric caught your attention, followed by the cool touch of silicone against your worn out hole. She leaned over you, pressing soft kisses along your spine as she aligned herself.

"My precious girl," she whispered, intertwining her fingers with yours on the desk. You turned your head to meet her gaze, overwhelmed by the tenderness in her eyes.

She pressed forward slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. Her other hand caressed your cheek lovingly, wiping away the remnants of your tears. You leaned into her touch, turning to kiss her palm.

"Please, I want you," you breathed, squeezing her hand. "Only you, always you."

She began to move with gentle, measured thrusts, each one accompanied by sweet words of praise and affection.

She leaned down to press her lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The new angle made you gasp into her mouth as she hit a particularly sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

"There, my love," she encouraged, maintaining the steady rhythm that was slowly building you towards another peak. "You're doing so good. Always making me so proud."

Her thrusts became more purposeful, but never lost their tenderness. One hand remained firmly clasped with yours while the other wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she fucked you thoroughly.

Your breath hitched as she increased her pace, each thrust now hitting deeper inside you. Her lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as she drove you closer to the edge. The feeling of fullness, of being completely possessed by her, was overwhelming.

Wanda's embrace tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against her body as she continued her relentless rhythm. She delivered sloppy pecks on your lips, gentle brushes against your cheeks, tender touches along your jawline. Despite her agitated breathing, not for a second did she halt her worshipping.

"Let go for me," she whispered against your ear, her accent slipping out.

Her order, combined with the perfect angle of her thrusts, sent you spiraling into another intense orgasm. Your walls clenched around her as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. She held you through it all, her arms secure around your waist, her lips pressing sweet kisses to your temple.

"Good job," she cooed, slowly bringing you down from your high. "You're perfect, absolutely perfect."

As your breathing steadied, she carefully withdrew, turning you in her arms to face her. Her eyes were full of adoration as she cupped your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. She pressed her forehead against yours, sharing the same breath, the same space, the same devotion.

"No more fucking that girl, understood?" she asked. It was clear you were never going to let Natasha lay a hand on you again, not after this. Nevertheless, she wanted to hear you say it.

"No, never again," you assured her. "I know now, I shouldn't look outside what only you can provide for me.”

"Hmm, that's how a good girl talks," she commented, pulling away from you, intending to see your reaction when she told you the following. "Well. It's not like she's going to show up again anyway. While I was fucking you, she was probably heading on a plane back to Russia.”

[emchante]

kinktober | pIeasure in your pleas - o.p.

summary: with oscar teasing you relentlessly, your incesent begging shows how badly you need him. the begging only drives him on, taking great pleasure from your pleas.

WARNINGS: 18+ content, fingering, dom!oscar, begging, teasing, dirty talk, praise, light dacryphilia.

w.c. 2.8k+

a/n: last week of kinktober!! remember there's this post, an extra tomorrow and then the final halloween post. hope you all enjoy this, as the majority of you all voted dom!oscar! let me know your thoughts via reblog, comment or ask, i love hearing from you guys.

oscar piastri was a lot of things—charming, competitive, and determined—but when it came to you, he had a streak that was insatiably playful, bordering on devilishly teasing. you were lounging in his hotel room after a long day, the air between you charged with a lingering electricity. the chemistry the both of you shared was undeniable, and despite the endless hours of travel and work, your mind could never quite keep away from thinking about him.

tonight was no different.

oscar was in one of his moods, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he lay on his side, propped up by an elbow. You could feel his gaze trailing over you, soaking up every movement of your smaller body, every shift in your expression as you read the latest articles on your phone. he had a knack for reading you, knowing just what buttons to press to drive you to the edge.

his fingers traced an absentminded pattern along your thigh, the gentle graze of his fingertips causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. his touch was maddeningly light, not enough to satisfy the craving you had building inside but enough to keep your senses buzzing with anticipation.

you shifted restlessly on the bed, your breath coming out a little sharper than usual. “oscar…” you managed to say, your voice sounding far too needy for your liking. you knew he could hear the pleading in it—he always did.

“what is it?” he asked, his tone all innocent curiosity as if he hadn’t been the one tormenting you for the past twenty minutes. his fingers halted their exploration, and you almost whimpered at the loss. the small smirk on his face started to grow larger as he heard you try to restrain any noises.

he knew what you wanted. hell, he could practically feel it radiating off of you in waves, the growing desperation to have him do something, anything, more than this teasing.

“oscar,” you said again, hoping he would just stop this game. but he didn’t move. instead, he leaned in a little closer, tilting his head as if he were trying to figure you out.

“i’m listening,” he prompted, his voice low and smooth, laced with a teasing note that sent a shiver down your spine. you bit your lip, embarrassed at the sheer neediness in your voice. You were supposed to be strong, confident.. not this needy mess begging for his attention. but when he was looking at you like that, with those knowing eyes and that infuriatingly smug smirk, it felt impossible to hold onto any semblance of control.

“please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but were instantly met back with a  “please, what?” and there it was—that teasing lilt again. it drove you crazy, the way he reveled in making you beg for him. his fingers resumed their lazy exploration, but now they danced along the inside of your thigh, so close to where you ached for him yet so far at the same time.

your breath hitched at the touch, your hips arching slightly towards his hand of their own accord. but he pulled away in an instant, as if to punish you for trying to get what you wanted without asking for it.

“please,” you repeated, louder this time, almost desperate. you could feel the heat building between your legs, a slow, torturous burn that only oscar seemed capable of igniting.

“come on,” he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper now. he shifted closer, his face mere inches from yours. “you know what I want to hear,” he coaxed, hooded eyes switching from your own, to your lips, and then back up. 

you felt your cheeks flush, embarrassment warring with the overwhelming need you felt. he knew exactly how to push you, to toy with you until you were practically falling apart at his feet. it was maddening, the way he got such a twisted pleasure out of hearing you beg.

“oscar,” you tried again, your voice trembling slightly. “please, fuck. just—”

“just what?” he cut in, smirk overtaking his face completely. he was enjoying this far too much, taking great pleasure in the way you were slowly unraveling under his touch. he hadn’t had you like this in so long, due to the latest tripler header. why shouldn’t he let himself indulge a little?

your hands fisted in the sheets, trying to find something to ground you. “touch me,” you finally managed to say, barely a whisper. “i need you.”

“oh?” he raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. “you need me?” he pushed, needing more than that to allow his fingers to continue their journey up your thigh.

“yes,” you breathed, nodding desperately. “please, osc. i need you so fucking bad, i’m desperate,” you told him, closing your eyes in defeat. you knew you had to let yourself beg a little more to get what you wanted.

but Oscar wasn’t satisfied with that. no, he wanted more. he always wanted more, and today was no different. 

“say it again,” he urged, his voice dropping to a low murmur. his hand traced up your thigh once more, fingers grazing the edge of your shorts, so achingly close yet still not quite enough. the icy touch of his calloused fingers against your soft skin was amazing, you desperately needed him to move further.

you felt yourself shudder, the tension in your body almost unbearable at this point. “fucking– please,” you repeated, louder this time. “i need you, oscar. i need you so fucking bad, you have no idea.”

he let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through you, making your breath catch in your throat, heat filling your cheeks. “that’s a good start,” he mused, almost as if he were talking to himself.

a good start?? you felt a surge of frustration, though it was mixed with desire. that combination was deadly, and it felt almost too much to bear. he was enjoying this, drawing it out just to watch you squirm beneath him.

“oscar,” you pleaded, your voice breaking slightly. “please—” “hmm,” he interrupted, tilting his head as if considering your plea. “i don’t know… i’m not sure if you really deserve it yet.”

the words sent a shock of arousal through you, a mixture of frustration and want so intense it nearly left you breathless. he was toying with you, holding back just to hear you beg more.

“please,” you begged again, your voice a desperate whimper now. “i need you so badly, oscar, please—”

“much better,” he murmured, his fingers finally slipping under the hem of your shorts, brushing over the fabric of your underwear. you gasped at the sudden movement– but still, it wasn’t enough. not nearly enough. 

you couldn’t hold back the needy sound that escaped your lips at the sensation. “osc,” you breathed, your voice nothing more than a desperate plea at this point. “for fuck sake– i’m begging you.”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “i love hearing you beg like this,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. you wanted to roll your eyes at oscar, as if he didn’t just state the obvious. but he spoke up again before you could.  “do you even realize how good you sound right now? whining.. begging, just for me?”

you let out a shaky breath, your entire body trembling with need. you repeated your pleas over and over, your voice barely recognizable now, laced with desperation. “osc, please…”

he seemed to consider your plea for a moment, as if weighing his options. and then, finally, he pressed his lips against your neck, the gentle brush of his mouth sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

you let out a high-pitched moan, your entire body relaxing into the touch. but he didn’t stop there. his lips trailed down, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the curve of your neck, his hand slipping lower as his fingers brushed over the fabric covering your most sensitive spot– the spot where you needed him most.

your breath hitched at the contact, another moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. you were too far gone to care about holding back now—too lost in the overwhelming need for him to keep up any pretense of restraint.

“oscar,” you breathed, the sound of his name almost a sob. even more so when you continued to chant his name, hoping he’d accept those begs and start giving you what you wanted.

he hummed in satisfaction, his fingers finally slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, brushing over your heated skin. you let out a shaky breath, your entire body trembling at the sensation.

“good girl,” he praised quietly, his voice sending another shiver down your spine. his low, quiet voice was such a sharp contrast to your loud, insistent begs that he was making you hit out with. “you’re doing so well for me, baby. doing just as i ask.”

the praise made you feel lightheaded, your mind going blank with need. he knew exactly how to unravel you, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the overwhelming desire for him.

he pressed a finger against your clit, the sudden contact making you gasp. your hips arched involuntarily towards him, trying to chase the feeling. but he pulled back just enough to leave you wanting, a teasing grin on his lips. your eyes widened at the loss of contact, staring at his cocky expression with confusion lacing it’s way onto your features.

“patience,” he chided, his voice laced with amusement. “you begged so nicely, love— i want to enjoy this for a little longer, you understand right?”

you let out a whimper of frustration, your body practically thrumming with need. it was almost unbearable, the way he kept you on the edge, never quite giving you enough to tip you over. 

“please,” you begged again, your voice was nothing but a broken whisper at this point, just like he wanted. “oscar, please—”

he seemed to take pity on you then, his fingers finally slipping inside, pressing into your heat with a deliberate slowness that made you feel like you were coming apart at the seams. you let out a choked moan, your hands clutching the sheets as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

he set a slow, torturous pace, watching with rapt attention as you writhed beneath him, his name falling from your lips in a desperate chant. you were so close, teetering on the edge, and he knew it. but just as you felt yourself start to unravel, he pulled back, his fingers stilling inside you. you let out a frustrated whine, your hips bucking towards him in a futile attempt to chase the feeling.

“not yet,” he hummed, his voice all dark amusement. “You’ll have to beg a little more than that, baby.”

You couldn’t stop the tears of frustration that welled up in your eyes, your entire body trembling with need. “please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “fucking hell– i’m going to lose it oscar, i’m begging you please—”

“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he took in the sight of you, completely undone beneath him. “you’re doing so well for me.”

and then, finally, he relented, his fingers resuming their movement. this time oscar resumed his rhythm with renewed intensity, his fingers driving into you with a purposeful, steady pace that made your whole body quiver. he was focused, watching every expression you made as if memorizing them. it was almost as if your desperation was a reward in itself, fueling his relentless teasing.

“look at you,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “so needy for just my fingers?”

you could barely respond, the pleasure building inside you making it difficult to think straight. every stroke of his fingers sent another wave of heat flooding through you, and the pressure inside was coiling tighter and tighter. your lips parted, your breathing ragged, and you felt your chest rising and falling faster than you could control.

his words kept you tethered, just enough to drive you forward. “shit,” you whimpered, feeling so close to the release you had been begging for. “oscar, i’m going to—”

“no,” he cut you off, his voice firm yet still maddeningly gentle. “not yet.”

the desperation in his tone mirrored your own, but he was too wrapped up in this—wrapped up in you. he wanted to hold you there, wanted you to reach the peak only when he decided to allow it. your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to obey, every muscle in your body taut, straining against the thin thread of control he held over you.

you felt a tear slip down your cheek, your voice catching in your throat. “oscar, please—” the word was a broken sob now, a plea, a surrender. you couldn’t hold back anymore, the raw, vulnerable sound of your voice echoing in the room.

“that’s it,” he cooed, a dark satisfaction coloring his voice. “such a good girl, begging so sweetly for me. just like i wanted you to do, and you listened. so, so good for me.”

the praise felt like gasoline to the fire, burning away the last shred of restraint you had left. your nails dug into his arm, your grip trembling as you tried to ground yourself in the onslaught of sensation. the ache inside you was almost too much to bear, the pleasure teetering on that agonizing edge, waiting for permission to break free.

“oscar,” you pleaded, your voice strained and breathless. “i need—please, i can’t– i need”

“i know,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and something more tender, something almost fond. “but you need to hold on just a little longer, baby. i know you can do that for me”

the way he spoke, the absolute control he wielded over you, left you feeling utterly powerless and yet completely safe. it was a maddening paradox, the pleasure intertwined with the anticipation. every second felt like an eternity, and yet you never wanted this feeling to end.

when he finally pressed his lips against your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin, you felt another surge of arousal rush through you. he was marking you, claiming you, and the knowledge of that made you feel impossibly closer to the edge.

“okay,” he finally breathed, his voice almost a growl, his fingers picking up speed. “now.”

it was all you needed to hear. the words triggered something inside you, the pressure snapping like a tightly wound string. your body convulsed, the orgasm crashing over you in an overwhelming wave, leaving you breathless and shaking. his name fell from your lips in a cry, your vision going hazy as you rode out the intense pleasure.

oscar didn’t stop, working you through your high with steady, deliberate movements until you were left trembling in the aftershocks, your body completely spent. he held you, his touch gentle now, as if afraid you might break under his hands. the intensity of the moment slowly faded, replaced by a lingering warmth that spread through your entire being.

you were panting, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. oscar shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. his fingers brushed against your cheek, wiping away the tear that had slipped out earlier. there was a tenderness in his gaze now, a softness that hadn’t been there during his teasing.

“good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and affectionate. “you did so well for me. listening to everything i said.”

you felt a smile tug at your lips, the praise making your chest swell with a quiet satisfaction. the teasing might have driven you to the brink, but the way he looked at you now made it all worth it.

as the tension melted away, you allowed yourself to relax against him, your body still humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure. oscar shifted, pulling you closer to him until you were nestled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gesture intimate and comforting.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, his tone laced with genuine concern. you nodded, still too dazed to form words, and felt him chuckle quietly against you. the sound was warm and familiar, grounding you in the aftermath of everything that had just happened.

he held you for a while longer, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back as you slowly came back to yourself. there was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet intimacy of being held by someone who knew you so deeply.

and as you lay there, completely spent and yet utterly content, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way oscar knew how to push you to your limits—and then catch you when you inevitably fell.

[h8aaz]

⋆ ࣪. — MY VALENTINE — .࣪ ⋆

WARNINGS .ᐟ . . . smut, MDNI!!! . sub!sam, dom + f!reader . piv unprotected (wrap it, ya freaks) . slight mention of edging + choking . petnames . established relationship .

GABS YAPS .ᐟ . . . happy valentine's day, angels!! hope y'all like this, it's extremely rushed bc i forgot ab it lmfaoo. this is mostly catered to the #1 sub sammy lover aka the loml @j2archives & its slightly inspired by their writing! likes, comments, + reblogs are very appreciated!! <33.

sam whimpered as you continued to ride him. petals littered the bed, matching the mess of lipstick kisses and purple love bites on his neck. his hands gripped your rocking hips, squeezing the supple skin, but not moving you. his eyebrows were upturned in pleasure while his lust-blown eyes were mesmerized by your bouncing tits; his pupils dilated at the hardened peaks of your chest, a slight ring of his green eyes showing behind them.

you reached out to his chest, slowly raking your nails down with red marks in their wake. his gaze followed down where your touch lingered. he let out a loud, whiny moan at the sight of you taking him in, a creamy ring around his base from your past orgasms.

your own noises matched the movements of your body, which brought out sam's confirmation of pleasure. "fuck! oh- please, please let me-" his head jerked back against the pillow, his eyes closing as slurred moans slipped from his open mouth. you had sped up, bouncing on his cock more frantically, searching for your next high.

"let you what, baby?" you cooed through fucked out pants, reaching to cradle one side of his head with a hand. you pulled his flushed and sweaty face down to stare back at you. "d'you wanna cum? is that it, sweetheart?" you teased with a halt of your hips, making him whine as he nodded.

"mm- please," he went to buck his hips while he squeezed yours tighter. your hand immediately wrapped around his throat, lightly choking him. "don't," you ordered before leaning down until your lips brushed his, "not yet, baby." you whispered. he crashed his lips against yours with heated noises, your lipstick smearing on his mouth for the millionth time.

you began to move slowly against him, drawing more pornagraphic mewls from your boyfriend. he savored the feeling of you; your soft, colored lips moving against his, the feel of your breasts pressed against his chest, and the wet slick raining down from your cunt onto his cock. oh how he loved the way your warm gummy walls hugged his dick so snugly, it drove him insane how perfect you were for him.

your tongues fought as the knot in your stomach got closer to breaking. you pushed yourself up, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before disintegrating when you grinded and bounced on him. sam's hands moved up to grip your breasts, fingers playing with your nipples as your orgasm washed over you.

he felt every wave of you against him. you looked down at him through your hooded lids and simply nodded, the signal making him practically jump. his lust and hunger for you was shown through his pretty lashes as he quickly grabbed you and pulled you back down to him. he held you tightly while he slammed into you.

the mixed noises of both of your moans and the wetness where you were connected filled the bedroom, the petals on the sheets were ruffled and broken around your bodies. he continued to pound up into you until he finally came undone, loud bliss coming out of him while his white spurts of cum coated your insides.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, just breathing in the scents of each other and your sex in the air. you lifted your head and smiled, "happy valentine's day, my love."

he chuckled softly, swiping your hair out of your face. "happy valentine's day, baby." he breathed before pecking your lips multiple times until it became heated once again.

tags: @sunsbaby @starzify @dulcescorderitas @soldiersgirl @ultravi0lence14 @cowboysandcigarettes @legalmente-loca @bejeweledinterludes

[theosang3ls]

Starved for your touch

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Pairing:Theodore Nott x Female!Reader

Summary: you and Theo had been always something more than friends, teasing one another every chance you got and now Theo took his chance to finally get what he wanted.

Warnings: smut under the cut, literally no plot just smut, dry humping, fingering, praise, slight degradation and possessiveness (if you squint), unprotected p in v (USE PROTECTION), change of positions.

a/n: I’ve never written smut before but the parasites in me have finally gotten the best of me so here it is😈 Thread lightly I have no idea if this is good or bad:’) Also English is not my first language, sorry for any grammatical errors.

NSFW content below

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Your relationship with Theo had always danced on the edge of something more—stolen glances across candlelit dinners in the Great Hall, fleeting brushes of hands during potion-making, the soft, teasing lilt in his voice when he called you bella or tesoro, each pet name laced with a promise you were too shy to name. You had spent weeks caught in the ache of anticipation, hearts orbiting closer with each smirk, each flirty comment, each shared moment that lasted just a second too long.

And now, it had finally broken open.

Theo was kissing you like a man starved—not just for touch, but for you. His lips moved hungrily against yours, desperate, as if he needed to make up for all the time he had spent holding back. You were straddling him on his bed, tangled in the messy warmth of his dormitory sheets, your hands threaded into his hair, tugging softly, messing it up in the way he secretly liked. Every time your lips collided, it felt like you were pouring every fantasy, every whispered longing, into that kiss.

You rocked your hips against him, slowly at first, teasing, and his breath hitched, a low groan vibrating in his throat. You could feel how hard he was through the fabric between you, how your movement drove him crazy. His hands were everywhere—roaming up your sides, gripping your waist possessively, as though trying to memorize every curve, every inch of your body. When his fingers slid down to squeeze your ass, the pressure was firm, claiming, and it pulled a sharp, unguarded moan from your throat that vibrated between your joined mouths.

That sound—raw and needy—unraveled something in him.

Theo’s restraint shattered in an instant. His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you flush against him, as though the layers of clothing separating you were unbearable. His kisses turned deeper, sloppier, his mouth tracing the curve of your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a trail of heat behind. Every press of his lips felt like a brand, like he was trying to mark you, to make sure this wasn’t just a dream.

You were both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, and yet it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Every second mattered, every touch burned, and all you could think—through the haze of want and the way he groaned your name like a prayer—was that this was real. Finally, breathtakingly real.

Your fingers curled tighter into Theo’s hair as his mouth moved lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck—slow and deliberate, like he wanted to taste every inch of you. He groaned softly when you tilted your head to give him more access, the sound low and reverent, as if he couldn’t believe he finally had you like this, in his arms, on top of him, warm and willing.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, his accent thick, voice hoarse with want. “You drive me insane, tesoro.”

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms meeting soft skin, and the touch made you gasp—electric, grounding, and dizzying all at once. He took his time, fingers gliding up your spine, slow and reverent like he was memorizing you by feel. When his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, not quite touching where you needed him, your breath caught and your hips rocked against him instinctively.

That did something to him.

With a groan, Theo surged up, flipping you gently onto your back. Now he was above you, hovering, his chest rising and falling like he was holding back a storm. He paused for a moment, eyes locked on yours, giving you a chance to stop him, to breathe—but the look you gave him only pulled him deeper. You wanted him. All of him.

His mouth crashed back onto yours, more urgent now. The kiss was heat and teeth, desperation and unspoken devotion. His hand slipped beneath your bra, cupping you fully, his thumb brushing over your nipple until you whimpered into his mouth. Every sound you made only spurred him on, his hips grinding down into yours, the friction between you unbearable, but addictive.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you. The heat between your bodies was molten. Your name spilled from his lips like a curse and a prayer as he ground harder against your core, and you felt how much he needed this—how much he needed you.

His lips left yours only to kiss down your throat, dragging teeth and tongue along your collarbone, dipping lower as he tugged your shirt up and off with a smoothness that sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you. His eyes darkened when he saw you—flushed, breathless, pupils blown wide with lust.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice ragged, reverent, like the words had been caged in his chest for too long, “I want to make you feel everything you deserve.”

And then his mouth was on you again, his hands everywhere—worshipping, exploring, coaxing soft, breathy moans from you that seemed to go straight to his head. Your body arched into him, aching for more, and with every passing second, every drag of his mouth across your skin, it became impossible to think of anything else but him—his touch, his lips, the slow, torturous way he was taking you apart.

This wasn’t just a kiss. This was a confession. A promise. A surrender.

And you were ready to give him everything.

Theo’s mouth was fire—hot, hungry, consuming you like a man who’d waited far too long. And he had. You both had. Weeks of teasing, touches that lingered too long, nights spent alone with aching thoughts of what this moment might feel like. And now that it was finally happening? There was no going slow anymore. No savoring. Only need.

He tore your panties off like they offended him, the fabric giving with a snap that sent a thrill straight to your core. “Fucking hell, you’re soaked,” he rasped, voice rough, primal. His thumb dragged through your folds, spreading the slick, smearing it with reverence and greed. “You’ve been wanting this. Been thinking about me fucking you like this, haven’t you?”

You barely managed a nod before his fingers were on you—in you—two thick digits sliding in with ease from how drenched you were. The stretch was immediate, delicious, and your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.

Theo swore under his breath, leaning down to kiss your jaw, your neck, whispering filth against your skin. “So fucking tight. You clench around my fingers like your cunt’s been waiting for me.”

He curled them just right, hitting a spot inside you that made your thighs shake. You gasped, hips bucking, eyes closing shut, as desperate moans of pleasure escaped your lips. He groaned low, watching you fall apart under his touch. “Yeah, there it is,” he muttered darkly. “Right there, huh? That the spot that makes you lose it?” you whimpered, small yes’s spilling from your lips uncontrollably.

And then he kept pressing into it, again and again, slow but deliberate, working you open with calculated precision. He knew exactly what he was doing—drawing circles over your clit with his thumb in time with each thrust of his fingers, building the tension until your body was taut with it, like a string about to snap.

Your hands clawed at his forearms, nails digging into the muscle. “Theo—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna come for me like this. Gonna drench my fucking fingers.”

He picked up the pace—just a little—fucking you with his hand like he was starving for the way your body reacted. Your walls fluttered around him with every thrust, the squelch of wet heat filling the room, obscene, but neither of you cared. His thumb was relentless, stroking your clit with filthy, practiced pressure, and when he added a third finger, your eyes rolled back.

The stretch was insane—borderline too much—but you loved it, loved how full he made you feel already. Your legs shook. Your moans became cries, high and desperate and raw.

“God, look at you,” he groaned, eyes fixed between your legs like he was entranced. “Taking three fingers like a good little slut. You were made for this. Made for me.”

Your orgasm hit so fast it stole your breath. Your mouth opened in a silent scream as you clamped down around him, legs spasming, body arched as you shattered completely. Theo didn’t stop—he fucked you through it, dragging your climax out until it bordered on too much, until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your thighs trembled violently.

“That’s it,” he purred, slowing only when you whimpered, his touch suddenly gentle, but still possessive. He slid his soaked fingers out with a slow, wet sound, then held them up between you, dripping with your slick. “You see that? That’s mine.”

And then—fuck—he sucked them into his mouth with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he tasted you.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he said, voice like sin. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your hands scrabbled at his shirt. “Off. Now.” You were desperate, you needed him and you needed him now.

He obeyed instantly, yanking it over his head, muscles flexing, his chest heaving. His mouth crashed down on yours again—sloppy, rough, all teeth and tongue, like he was trying to consume the moans right out of your throat. Then he pulled back just long enough to shove his trousers down, his cock finally springing free, hard and leaking, and fuck, he was big. Thick. Veins bulging. Made for wrecking you.

“Condom,” you gasped, barely able to form words through the haze of lust.

“No,” Theo said, voice low and guttural. “Need to feel you. Every. Fucking. Inch.”

That should have made you hesitate, but it didn’t. You wanted him raw. Real. You wanted everything.

And then he was on top of you again, lining himself up, not even teasing—not anymore. He shoved into you in one brutal, perfect stroke, and the sound you made was filthy, echoing off the walls as your body clenched around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, buried to the hilt, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought for control. “You feel fucking incredible. So tight. So wet. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He filled you so deep, stretched you so wide it hurt just a little, but you loved it—loved the way he didn’t hold back. His hips started to move, snapping into yours with a pace that was already bruising, unrelenting, feral. He fucked you like he meant it, like he needed it to survive.

You clung to him, nails digging into his back, dragging down his skin hard enough to leave marks. He hissed, then slammed into you harder, like he liked the pain.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear as he picked up an unrelenting pace, “You understand me?” you nodded frantically, the pleasure was too much, you could barely form a coherent sentence. “Say it.” he demanded, his voice laced with possessiveness that only made you more desperate.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, over and over like a prayer, like a spell. “Yours, yours, yours—”

His thrusts grew ragged, deeper, rougher, the bedframe slamming into the wall with each one, but neither of you cared. It wasn’t sex anymore—it was madness. Sweat and skin, moans and curses, mouths finding each other only to break apart again with gasps and whimpers. You were choking on the intensity, and you loved it.

Theo sat back on his knees, grabbing your hips and dragging you roughly into his lap as he kept pounding into you, harder now, watching your tits bounce with every thrust. His gaze was feral, mouth parted, a thin sheen of sweat on his chest.

“You’re gonna come again,” he growled. “Gonna come on my cock this time. Gonna milk me.”

And you did.

You shattered around him, screaming his name, body convulsing, vision going white. Your walls clenched so tightly around him it drew a filthy, strangled sound from his throat, and then he was cursing—loud, desperate—as he slammed in one final time and came, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside you with a moan that sounded like your name was the only word he knew.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried in you, chest heaving, body trembling from the force of it.

For a moment, the world stilled. All that remained was the sound of your breathing and the heavy beat of two hearts that had finally, completely, collided.

Then Theo leaned in and kissed you—slow, sweet, the opposite of what had just happened—and whispered, “You ruin me.”

And god, you’d let him do it all over again.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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…until next time lovelies💋

[concretejunglefm]

Will you wait me out?

Summary: You were once the best of friends—maybe a little bit more—and maybe, if life hadn’t gotten in the way, things could be different now, but instead, a decade after you once knew Noah, you see his face again and find yourself chasing ghosts in the form of old memories, before finally coming face to face with the past.

Part 1 here

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x f!reader.

CW: includes mentions of old feelings, soft reunions, fluffy moments, protected sex (p in v), fingering & oral (f receiving).

WC: 6.8k.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

The first time Noah receives a postcard, the other guys laugh and admittedly, he does too. They’re no strangers to odd fan mail. Letters declaring undying love or detailing how much the band means to someone are typical, normal even, but a postcard that essentially mirrors his own words back to him? That’s a little strange. Most people use email these days, so a postcard feels out of place. Peculiar, even, especially one unsigned, and yet, the longer he stares at the handwriting scrawled across it, the more familiar it feels, though he can’t quite place it.

Weeks go by before a whole pile gets dumped in his lap. They’ve been on the road, touring on and off, and a quick trip back home to California gave them a chance to swing by their PO box—Davis, at least.

“More?” Noah asks.

Davis just shrugs with a quiet, “I guess so.”

More laughter erupts from the rest of the guys, followed by a comment from Jolly. “I think someone’s got an obsessed fan,” the Swede remarks.

Noah laughs in agreement, brushing it off, until he starts reading them. One by one, he flips through the postcards and it’s the details—small, intimate details—that start to hit him. Mentions of places, shared memories, little ideas he once spoke of, but only with one person in mind. That’s when the realization hits him, these aren’t just any old fan mail, they’re from you.

Admittedly, it’s a little insane to assume you’re out there, somewhere, sending him these postcards. Postcards that contain oddly specific details from conversations you once had.

He remembers when you confessed your fear of rollercoasters after a senior class trip was announced for Six Flags. You didn’t want people to think you were scared of the rides—even though you knew you were, and Noah had agreed, without hesitation, to stay back with you the entire trip. Later, you’d made a promise: you’d conquer the fear together, after graduation, but after that, you left.

You both made a lot of promises back then—some spoken, some not—but plenty of them stuck. With each read-through of the postcards, Noah still doesn’t know how to feel. Happy? Sad? Angry? Why reach out now, after all this time? You left, didn’t you?

Or maybe it was him.

The details from a decade ago have blurred at the edges, both of you swept up in teenage hormones and diverging dreams.

“It was her. I’m sure of it,” Davis tells him one night—referring to the girl who supposedly showed up at a show and left early, bumping into him on the way out.

“You’re sure?” Noah asks, skeptical, but maybe now, it’s his turn to go a little insane with the idea of finding you.

Searches across social media turned up almost nothing. Either you’d changed your name completely or disappeared off the grid. Either way, he drove himself halfway to madness trying to find you. A couple of LinkedIn profiles came close, but no pictures, no details concrete enough to know if they were really you.

It’s like chasing ghosts, searching for someone who’s been leaving a trail just for him to follow, only to vanish the moment he gets close. All it’s done is stir the memory of you that once lingered quietly in the back of his mind. Now, it’s no longer a fleeting thought, but something he carries every day, wondering when—or if, another postcard will arrive.

Gradually, your face becomes the one he looks for in the crowd. Every night. Hopeful that maybe, this time, he’ll spot you among the sea of strangers and each time the chords to Just Pretend begin, it’s like tearing open an old wound. When he wrote it, he thought he was past it, past you, past the unspoken weight of everything that once lingered between you, but now, it’s all come flooding back—resurrected. Everything he buried instead of confronting, all the what ifs echoing too loudly in his head.

Between the relentless touring, the quiet obsession of chasing your ghost, and the burnout from overworking and writing new music, he’s slowly becoming a cliché. The performing monkey, doing what he’s told, when he’s told—wearing the familiar mask everyone’s grown to love: the sweet, shy frontman, but behind closed doors, he’s unraveling. People keep telling him to take a break, to slow down, to stop putting so much pressure on himself, but the truth is, it never sinks in. He doesn’t stop. Even when he pretends to.

Even now, sitting at the back of the bus, he’s scrolling through yet another batch of profiles—every possible variation of your name, your nickname, anything that might lead to you—and still, nothing. Every search turns up empty.

It’s like you really are a ghost.

When he hears your voice say your name for the first time in a decade, Noah has to convince himself he’s not hallucinating. He looks up and sees you. Your name rolls off his tongue with practiced ease, as if it had never left his lips.

Noah glances over at Matt, torn between slipping away and silently apologizing for holding everyone up, but then his gaze returns to you, and instinctively, his hand reaches out to grasp yours. It’s an unconscious motion—part disbelief, part grounding. You feel solid beneath his touch. Real. Warm. Your skin is softer than he remembers, and his hand feels larger now, enveloping yours with ease. You might’ve felt embarrassed by how clammy your palm is—if his weren’t just the same.

“Do you have to go?” Noah asks.

“Uh…” You hesitate, because no, you don’t have to go anywhere, but you didn’t exactly plan what to do if he actually wanted to see you.

“She can wait with me,” Davis offers, stepping out from behind the Bad Omens banner erected behind them. Your mouth opens—an apology on the tip of your tongue, or maybe an excuse, but before you can speak, Noah is already nodding.

“Yeah. Go hang with Davis. I won’t be much longer,” he tells you, guiding you around the edge of the table. His grip tightens slightly, reluctant to let go, and truthfully, you’re not ready to either.

When your eyes meet his, it’s there—the flood of things left unsaid, the echo of the hope and dreams you once shared as teenagers. Somehow, that spark still lingers. You feel it in his touch, in his gaze. He never stopped caring.

Behind him, Jolly leans toward Nicholas, whispering a question. Nicholas murmurs something back, both of them giving you the space to have this moment, even with fans still in line and crew buzzing around.

“I’ll be over…” you start, gesturing vaguely, your eyes unwilling to leave his face.

“Yeah…” Noah nods, his voice softer now, as he finally lets go of your hand and the weight of Davis’s hand on your shoulder pulls you back into the present.

You murmur an apology—you’re not even sure what for. For bumping into him at the concert? For showing up now? For holding up the meet and greet? Your thoughts are spinning, but Davis seems to sense it. Gently, he suggests stepping outside, offering a reprieve—a quiet place to gather yourself.

“So… postcards, huh?” Davis says, leaning beside you as your back meets the cool surface of the brick wall.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air in an effort to steady yourself. Tilting your head toward him, you shrug, heat rising to your cheeks as your gaze drops to the ground.

“You know he’s been going crazy over them ever since the first one.”

“Really?” you ask, your voice soft—unable to hide the flicker of hope in your tone, as if maybe this could fix everything, as if it could erase ten years of silence and missed chances.

Davis glances over at you, his tone gentle, free of judgment. “What made you do it?” He sounds genuinely curious. Not prying. Not skeptical. Just trying to understand.

You briefly consider telling Davis the truth—how it all started when you came across that magazine. How everything spiraled from there. It hadn’t been entirely intentional. More like some strange twist of fate. A coincidence, maybe, but somehow, everything that led you to this moment doesn’t feel like coincidence at all. It feels inevitable. Like the pull between you and Noah had always been there, quietly waiting, ready to snap you back into each other’s orbit.

You open your mouth to answer, but the fire exit creaks open, cutting you off.

Noah steps out and his eyes lock onto yours immediately, wide and disbelieving. For a second, he just stands there, stunned. Like seeing you again is something he still hasn’t convinced himself is real. He looks at you like you’re a dream he’s been chasing, one he’s terrified might vanish the moment he blinks.

You barely catch Davis slipping past you both, heading inside—too caught up in the sight of Noah slowly approaching.

“Is it really…”

You see Noah’s hands trembling as he reaches out for you, his palms gently cupping your face, cradling you as he gazes down in awe—like you’re some unholy treasure he’s unearthed. You swear you see the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

“It is,” you whisper, nodding softly as you look up at him. Your hands reach for him in return, your fingers threading through his now much shorter hair. “You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles—soft, gravelly—and it stirs a warmth inside you. You’ve missed his laugh. You’ve missed him, probably more than words could ever really convey.

You look at him like you’re trying to commit him to memory. Comparing the boy you once knew with the man standing in front of you now. He’s changed in subtle ways—beyond the haircut, beyond his features. There are more tattoos on his skin; he’s a walking piece of art, and yet, the way he looks at you—like he wants to kiss you, like he’s desperate to hold onto you and confirm this is real—that hasn’t changed.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” you tease, laughing softly, glancing around the alleyway behind the building he met you outside of, after you’d slipped out for some air.

Noah pulls back just enough to look around, but his hands never leave you. They slide from your face down the sides of your neck, resting on your shoulders before he wraps you in a full embrace—a big, warm bear hug that tucks you beneath his arm, snug against his chest.

“Only if you promise you’re coming with me,” he mumbles, his mouth pressed against the top of your head. You exhale a soft sigh, content with the idea that he still wants you close. You’re not sure you could’ve handled him sending you on your way—as if a five-minute reunion could ever be enough.

“Promise…” you whisper, but there’s a hollowness in your voice, a quiet ache as memories stir. You think back on all the promises you once made to each other. Part of you wonders if he hears it too—if he can sense the guilt, the shame, the weight of everything left unkept between you.

Room service becomes the meal for your reunion, as you order everything you can from the basic menu, enough to keep you both satisfied, because the idea of leaving the hotel room he’s invited you back to isn’t one either of you wants to consider. You’re both content to shut the world outside out.

Neither of you are tired, too buzzed on the adrenaline that finding one another has ignited. Despite the bags beneath Noah’s eyes, he fights any attempt sleep makes to take over him the later into the night you talk—catching up, reminiscing, just being in each other’s presence.

“Best international artist,” you tease, a grin stretched across your face. Noah ducks his head, bashful, hiding it in the crook of your neck, mumbling something almost unintelligible.

Your bodies fit close to one another—like two pieces of a puzzle. His leg slips between yours, keeping you drawn close as your arms wrap around one another, clinging as though letting go would cause the other to disappear. You’re back to being those two kids you once were—secretly in love and finding any excuse to stay close.

Some moments, it feels like no time has passed at all, and he’s still the same guy you once knew. Other times, you’re reminded of the lifetime that has passed—how he’s already lived multiple lifetimes in the past decade alone.

“So why LA?” you ask, curious for the answer. For a guy who often complained about LA, calling it a ‘piece of shit city’, he seems to have found himself a home there.

Noah tugs you a little closer, watching as your fingers trace the fresh tattoos on his arms—the ones you never stuck around to see. For a brief second, he contemplates telling you the truth. His eyes flick up to your face, searching yours for a moment until your own flicker back, causing his to flint away again.

“There wasn’t really anything left in Virginia for me anymore,” he shrugs, his voice a little cracked, a little pained. Suddenly, it stirs a whirl of guilt inside you.

You don’t blame yourself—not entirely. Your family kept you up to date with things that happened over the years. Sad news travels fast through a community, even one in a city that big, but you know the truth behind his words—home stopped being home when you were no longer there. You know this because that’s how everywhere since has felt for you. Every place you’ve been, every attempt to find somewhere to settle, there was always something missing—someone missing.

Now, you can’t help but worry that you’re too late.

Neither of you want the spell to break, but with the early signs of morning sunrise creeping in through the gaps in the curtains, the new day threatens to do precisely that. Noah has obligations, and you have… nothing. You’ve spent so long being a nomad that your responsibilities aren’t as set in stone as his, but you also have no plans going forward. You never thought about what would come after—when you both said your peace, whether that would be a goodbye or a reunion.

Before you can drown in the upcoming storm, it’s as though Noah detects your silent distress, throwing you a life preserver before you crash into the waves threatening to pull you under.

“You should stay.”

“What?” Not because you didn’t hear him, but because you can’t believe what he’s suggesting.

“Noah, I can’t just—”

“Stay? You can. We have a couple of shows left. You should come—since you walked out of the last one you were at.” He raises a brow at you, as though to say he knows all about that, but the grin on his face tells you he isn’t upset by your choice to walk out.

“Noah, I don’t…” you trail off, unsure whether it’s a good idea—not when you already feel the slow, growing dependency on him reemerging. You spent so much of your time together hanging onto him, onto his every word, looking at him like someone who hung the moon and stars—completely unaware he looked at you the same way, and now, you feel like you’re inserting yourself into a life you no longer belong to as being part of.

“Please?” He steps toward the bed, running his fingers through his ruffled hair. Even after not sleeping, he still manages to look good—the shadow of his facial hair is more prominent in the morning hours. He always had a baby face, but there’s an unmistakable shade of stubble. As he draws closer, you lift your hand to cradle his face, feeling the prickly sensation beneath your fingers.

“Just for the last two shows, and then you can continue on to whatever it is you had planned.”

You don’t know how to tell him you have nothing planned after this—that you’ve been traveling, walking through life feeling like a ghost, and finding him has brought some form of life back into you; that he’s revitalized you just by knowing he was out there.

“Okay…” you say softly, an unmistakable grin breaking out across his face—wide, prideful, like a kid who’s just been told he can have ice cream for dinner.

You stroke his cheek, your thumb tracing the outline of his lips, of his smile, wanting to commit it to memory, wanting to commit him even more to memory. Every second of this, of being with him—you don’t want to forget it.

It’s magnetic, like second nature, the way Noah’s hand instinctively reaches for yours as you sit together, walk together, spend your time with the band and crew—his friends. Each time he takes your hand in his own, you’re pulled back from the thoughts you’ve been ruminating on—the ‘what ifs,’ the things left unsaid all those years ago—because right now, he’s treating you like none of that matters. Like the time spent apart is a void easily filled and forgotten, no longer the ache that once resided in your chest.

You agree to stay for the show—the last two shows on the tour—with the strict instruction to sit in at the sound booth with Matt. You’re being babysat, Davis nearby looking like the guy who’s just kept on the payroll to hang out with his friends.

“So you’re the one Noah’s been pining after all this time?” Matt’s question takes you by surprise, mostly because you hadn’t anticipated Noah had been pining after anyone—let alone you.

“He’s not—”

“Come on, you haven’t seen him. Ever since he got that first postcard, he’s been mumbling about you, on his phone day and night, probably searching for you.”

Your cheeks heat a little, though you wonder if the tech should even be saying this—as his friend, especially—but Matt continues to rattle on, his focus on the soundboard in front of him, moving smoothly across it as though it’s second nature—by now, you suppose it is.

Towards the end of the set, Davis slips up behind you, gently urging, “Come with me. You can meet him backstage after the show.”

You feel like some kind of VIP getting special treatment, especially the moment you take your spot at the side of the stage, watching the final roar of Dethrone as Noah falls to his knees, looking both fearful and like a god. It’s hypnotic, though arguably the whole show has been, your eyes glued to him the entire time, onto the way he moves, the way he sings, everything coming together perfectly.

The moment he steps off the stage, you charge toward him, his arms quickly enveloping you and lifting you off the floor in one large swing. You throw your head back with a giggle, demanding he set you down, and when he does, you hover for a moment, your gaze fixed on him.

The urge to kiss him right now is palpable, the way his eyes sparkle, the feeling of his heart racing, and there’s a huge surge of pride blooming in your own chest. Last time, you’d been too preoccupied with your own thoughts and emotions to appreciate the performance, but now you’re seeing the grandmaster on stage—the performer you always knew Noah could be—albeit with a little confidence and a push.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty.” The tension between you breaks as your hands move down his chest, feeling the sweat soaking his tank top. Instead of being offended, he just scoops you back up, dipping his head and shaking it like a dog as he nestles against the side of your neck with a playful, “Yeah? Am I?”

You giggle, and he laughs, you attempting to pull away as his arms tighten like an anchor, holding you to him as he walks. It’s like you’re teenagers again, the familiarity of your former friendship resurfacing like no time has passed at all. You like it. You like the familiarity of him, how complete it makes you feel to be around him, even in these goofy moments.

“Will you two get a room already?” Folio calls out, a cheeky grin stretched across his face.

Your eyes roll, opening your mouth to refute him, but Noah silences you as he turns his head, his arms still wrapped around your shoulders, holding you from behind.

“Just ’cause you’re jealous,” he retorts to Folio.

“Soooo jealous,” Folio chuckles, quickly moving out of the way when Noah reaches a huge paw in his direction, using Nicholas as his shield.

“Dick,” Noah grumbles, but there’s a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

His attention falls back to you as he presses a faint kiss against the side of your head, proud as a peacock, as though he’s somehow defended your honor. In a way, it mirrors the times he did back in high school, when guys tried to make snide comments, they were quickly shut down whenever Noah barked in their direction. Granted, he was skinnier and a lot less threatening looking, but somehow he had enough presence to silence them and protect you.

Suddenly, you’re mortified by the fact that the notion of getting a room together—despite technically already having one in the form of his hotel room, sounds like a good idea. You can’t lie and say the idea of kissing him—and possibly more—hasn’t crossed your mind since you finally reunited.

Back at the hotel, you’re left to your own devices, and your own thoughts, as Noah takes a shower, washing off the sweat and the show. To your surprise, when he steps out of the bathroom, he’s wearing just a pair of boxer shorts, and your mouth goes dry at the sight of him shirtless, water still trailing down his tatted chest. You don’t know where to look, but Noah clearly has no shame—even when he tosses the towel in your direction, chuckling.

“For your drooling.”

You gasp, narrowing your gaze at him. “I was not drooling.”

“No, but you were gawking.” He teases, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he joins you.

“No, I wasn’t—I was just…” you stumble over your words, struggling to find an excuse while Noah hits you with a raised eyebrow—skeptical.

“You just look different, that’s all.”

“Good different?” he asks, his hand reaching out toward you as he strokes his fingers along the outer part of your thigh.

“Yeah… good different.” You smile softly, feeling goosebumps rise across your skin.

Noah pulls you onto his lap. You don’t know what prompts him, but you slip easily and seamlessly, fitting like two puzzle pieces all over again. His hands settle at your hips, fingers just skating the hem of your shirt, while your own hands fix their purchase on his shoulders, one hand slipping around the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his damp hair.

“I wanted to kiss you, you know. After the show.” You whisper your confession, a soft hot breath between you, your forehead pressed to his.

Noah doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch—just asks, “Why didn’t you?”

You shrug. Scared, you think to yourself, but the word doesn’t come. His fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing softly along the dip of your back as he shifts around.

“I wanted to kiss you back in the alleyway after first seeing you again.” Noah’s confession makes you draw back slightly, your eyes searching his, as though they hold the answer to your next question.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to ruin things.”

You can attest to that, so many times you were afraid that kissing him, giving in to your desires back then, would’ve been the end of everything, and yet now, nothing feels more right.

“I want you to kiss me,” you offer, your fingers curling into the ends of his hair.

“Don’t say that. Not if you don’t—”

“I mean it, Noah. Please… kiss me.”

You inch closer, your forehead resting against his, his mouth so close to yours there’s barely an inch between you. His breath feels warm against your lips. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, and still, a shiver ripples through your body—the closeness of him setting you on edge, your senses heightened, your body thrumming, receptive to every movement, every touch.

When his mouth finally brushes against yours in a soft, tender kiss, something warm bursts low in your belly. His fingers tighten on your hips, drawing you in, holding you flush against him. You’re pulled forward by a magnetic force, your bodies fitting together so seamlessly it steals the breath from your lungs. It’s everything you ever imagined, and yet somehow more—more real, more consuming. Every second of anticipation feels worth it, every moment you fantasized about this.

It’s quick to descend into something hungrier—deeper, more need spilling through than either of you intended, but it’s you who pulls yourself closer, your hips pressing down against him as though trying to erase the space between you, needing more.

For a brief moment, you fear he might pull away, declare this a mistake, but then he’s following your lead, giving in, unleashing his own desire. Soft, breathy sounds spill into the kiss, and in a swift motion, he switches your positions, rolling you beneath him with practiced ease.

Layers are shed—mostly yours—and you feel the heat of his hands against your bare skin as they travel along your sides. His head dips to your chest, leaving fervent kisses, worshiping you with soft whispers against your skin as your fingers tangle in his hair. You’ve thought about this more times than you’d ever dare to confess, back when he was still in your life, and in the lonely nights since, when solo relief was your only comfort, but no fantasy you ever conjured comes close to this, to the way he makes your body burn and tremble with barely a touch.

“Noah…” His name slips from your lips like a prayer—soft, reverent, like it belongs there. Like you’re claiming him, just for yourself, and truthfully, you are.

You’ve wanted him for as long as you can remember.

When his mouth closes around the peak of one nipple, your back arches, a hissed moan escaping your parted lips. His other hand cups your other breast, caressing gently, taking his time, entirely focused on your pleasure—on the way your body responds to him, even as his own arousal presses hard against the front of his boxers, the thick heat of it nestled between your thighs. He’s so close that you know, just one shift of your hips could give you both the friction you’re aching for.

But he doesn’t give in.

Instead, he growls softly against your chest, dragging his hands down to grip your thighs, pinning you to the bed. “Stop. Do you have any idea how hard you’re making this?”

“I have a little idea,” you breathe, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips as you squirm beneath him, trying to lift your hips toward his.

You expect it to break the tension, his laughter, the way he pauses, but instead, it only fuels him. Slipping his hands beneath your thighs, he tugs you closer with ease, and you feel him sink between them, the unmistakable size and heat of him pressing firmly against your panties, making your breath hitch and your heart race.

“You really are a little minx,” he taunts, dipping his head to tease his mouth along the column of your throat, letting his teeth graze over the more delicate areas.

“And you’re a tease.”

That earns you a sharp bite, and you hiss in response, Noah making it abundantly clear he’s more than happy to mark you, to leave behind a reminder of himself etched into your skin. The thought only deepens the ache between your thighs.

“Tell me what it is you want,” he whispers against your neck, his lips brushing kisses over the same spot he bit into moments before.

“You.”

You say it without hesitation, confident and open. You’re done holding back, especially now, especially with your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, squeezing at his biceps, feeling the way he hovers above you like he owns the space between your bodies.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about this, how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs, his lips trailing across your throat, along your jawline, and finally back to your mouth. You can’t even whine your impatience, only melt into a soft moan at his words.

“I’ve thought about you so many times. How it would feel to finally have you beneath me like this.”

“Then take me,” you breathe, gasping as his fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties.

“You’re not going to rush me, baby. Not when I’ve waited this long. I want to take my time with you—I want to savor every second of this.”

His mouth meets yours again in a heated, claiming kiss, and you moan into it, your body arching to meet his. Your hips lift instinctively as he eases your panties down, sliding them off completely with practiced, reverent care.

Every kiss is drawn out, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, his tongue exploring your mouth with deep, languid strokes. His touch follows suit, unhurried and deliberate, exploring every inch of your skin, and when his fingers finally slip inside you—thick and skilled—you feel just how soaked you truly are.

The moment he sinks his index and middle finger into you, you clench around him, your back arching in response. They’re longer, stronger, more purposeful than yours ever could be, curling just right, finding spots you didn’t even know existed, sending sparks through your core that make you feel like you’re seeing stars.

He’s gentle but thorough, driving you steadily higher with each stroke, each slow thrust. He whispers praise and filth in equal measure against your lips, your jawline, your ear, his mouth touching every bit of you he can reach as he begins to trail down your body.

He kisses his way lower, worshiping every inch as if your body is a map he never wants to stop exploring. By the time he settles between your thighs, his mouth replaces his fingers, latching onto your clit with aching precision.

You’ve had sex before. You’ve been fingered, eaten out, but nothing compares to this, to Noah. The way he devours you is almost reverent, as if the act itself is sacred. Each groan he releases vibrates against your clit, sending aftershocks through your entire body. His tongue moves slowly, purposefully, savoring your taste like he’s waited years for it.

Your thighs twitch and try to close around him, overwhelmed by the sensation, but his strong hand catches one and pins it down easily. Then, gently, he reaches up and grabs one of your hands, guiding it down to the top of his head. Your fingers thread into his damp hair instinctively. A moment later, he catches your other hand too, intertwining your fingers together as he continues working you over—anchoring you to him, body and soul.

It’s sensual—intimate in a whole new way. You feel him guiding you, lifting you into the pleasure that’s steadily blooming in your stomach, a heat that rips through you and erupts with a moan as your body trembles beneath him. He’s quick to hold you still, to keep a firm grip on you as you ride out your high, his name falling from your lips in the softest, weakest breath as you begin to come down.

“Are you back with me, baby?” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter open to find him hovering above you, his fingers stroking gently through your hair as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“That was… more?” you ask, your voice still shaky, eyes softening into a quiet plea as your hands slide down, tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

Noah can’t deny you, not when he’s painfully hard, straining against the fabric. He quickly shoves his boxers down, kicking them aside, and reaches for his wallet on the nightstand, pulling out a condom.

“Please don’t tell me that’s your lucky condom from when we were teenagers,” you say, raising a brow at him.

“What? No, it’s been replaced since then!”

You scoff, lightly swatting his chest. “Don’t make me think about you fucking other girls while we’re about to have sex!”

“I’m sorry, I’m still a virgin—is that what you wanted to hear?” he teases, tilting his head with a smirk.

“Yes, it is. Good boy.” You giggle, cupping his face and pulling him into another kiss, already addicted to how it feels to have him this close. “Let me,” you whisper against his lips, taking the condom from his hand.

With a tear of the wrapper, you slip the condom out and reach down between you, watching as you slowly roll it onto his cock. Your hand strokes along the length, feeling how it throbs beneath your touch.

“God, you’re so big…” you murmur under your breath, and his hand wraps around yours, helping to guide himself toward you.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow, okay?” he says softly, using his free hand to slip beneath your chin and tilt your face up to his. Your eyes lock onto his as you nod, not daring to look away. His fingers squeeze yours, silently asking for trust, and you respond in kind, gripping the shaft with him as he angles himself forward.

With a slow, deliberate press, he drags his cock along your soaked slit, drawing a soft sound from your throat. He begins to push forward, inch by inch, sinking into you, and you hold his gaze, lips parting as you adjust to the stretch.

“Do you feel that? Fuck… fuck, you’re so—” His words dissolve into a deep, guttural groan. His head drops back, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the way you clench around him as he continues to sink in.

The moment he bottoms out, your hands fall away and his fingers intertwine with yours once more. He lifts them to press a kiss to the back of your hand, while his other hand settles at your hip, holding you in place with a firm, grounding grip.

He draws his hips back slowly, his cock dragging against your walls, and you squirm beneath him, gasping and moaning at the intensity of each movement, especially with how sensitive you already are. Noah’s breath catches in his throat as his head drops to the crook of your neck, his hips finding a steady rhythm, chasing the slow, exquisite build of his own release.

When it comes to the heat blooming in your stomach, it feels like chasing after a train you’ve already missed—you can’t quite find your way back. Maybe it’s because your first orgasm has already passed, leaving you floating somewhere in the afterglow, but it doesn’t stop you from savouring the feeling of him inside you, the slow roll of his hips, the drag of his cock between your walls, the way you clench around him, pulling him deeper with every movement. Each thrust draws a soft sound of pleasure from his lips, and you drink them in like they’re meant for you alone.

Cradling the back of his head with your free hand, you pull him down into another kiss. Your mouths move in tandem—hot, slow, sensual—punctuated by soft whimpers and moans, a perfect echo of the rhythm between your bodies.

The air is filled with those quiet, reverent sounds: whispered names, gasps, and the faintest rustle of sheets as your bodies move together. His pace builds steadily, and you cling to him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, as if keeping him close might somehow draw him even deeper.

“Fuck, you just feel so… I never could’ve imagined it,” he groans, thrusting deeper, and your breath hitches as the sensation stretches through you.

“Keep going, baby. It feels so good. You feel so good,” you croon in his ear, and you feel the way your words make him shiver against you.

There’s no denying your own climax isn’t building the same way—it’s not a sharp, roaring wave or a tightly coiled spring about to snap. It’s quieter than that, a soft hum of pleasure rippling beneath your skin. Not overwhelming, but still so good. Still everything.

“I can’t… I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Noah gasps, and you turn your head, pressing soft kisses along his jaw as your fingers stroke through his shorter locks. You’d briefly missed the longer hair, but now, you find yourself loving the slightly overgrown look, the way it feels between your fingers as you curl them into it, tugging gently, coaxing him closer to release.

Part of you wishes he could’ve come inside you, the thought sending a flutter of butterflies through your stomach. Maybe next time. You can’t help but consider the idea of there being a next time—even though there’s so much to think about, so much that could complicate things, but you won’t let yourself spiral into worry, not now. Not when you can feel him falling apart inside you.

Noah’s hips begin to buck faster, chasing the tight coil of heat winding through his stomach. He’s so close he can taste it, and you feel it too, the way his cock throbs inside you, just before he finally spills over. Your name falls from his lips in a ragged breath—half a moan, half a plea—his fingers tightening around yours, the other digging into your flesh, leaving marks you know you’ll find later, but you won’t mind, not one bit.

Even in the aftershocks of his orgasm, he trembles, his cock still twitching inside you as your walls clench around him—milking him, holding him there. You feel the warmth blooming in the condom, and the sudden awareness of what it might’ve felt like without it overwhelms you. The idea of him filling you up, dripping from you—it’s a fantasy you didn’t expect to crave this badly.

“Next time, I’m gonna fill you up nice and full,” he murmurs against your jaw, and you smirk, turning your head to brush your mouth against his.

“Is that a promise?” you whisper.

You know it is, feel it in the halfhearted kiss he gives you in return, tender and spent, still savoring every second of this moment.

Neither of you could recall when you’d fallen asleep, both wrapped in the warm afterglow, Noah’s arms tight around you, but when he wakes, it’s to the sight of you admiring him like he’s a piece of artwork, your fingers gently tracing over his tattoos, moving between the old ones you remember and the newer ones he’s collected.

“I can give you a tour if you want,” he murmurs, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. It startles you, making you jump slightly within his hold.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You can look,” he chuckles, gesturing for you to continue. He stretches out a little, adjusting himself and tucking one arm behind his head to prop it up as he gazes down at you, still curled up against his side.

“You just have so many more now, it’s… wow,” you breathe, still amazed by how beautiful he is, how somehow, with every new piece of ink, he manages to look even more ethereal.

“Did this one hurt?” you ask, gently brushing your fingers over the tattoo on his neck—the apple, the snake, the hand.

“Like hell.”

You giggle at the irony, at the symbolism of Eve’s apple and all the religious undertones. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, and a soft, tired smile spreads across his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah…”

When you catch him staring, a familiar surge of butterflies rises in your stomach, but you can’t quiet the nagging voice at the back of your mind—the same one that stirred the moment you woke this morning, still wrapped in his arms, your bodies naked and pressed together like they belonged.

You try to fight the urge to ask, but the moment Noah cradles your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into his palm, the question slips out.

“What is this, Noah? What are we doing?”

“What we’ve both clearly wanted for a long time,” he replies without hesitation. He says it with such certainty, like he knows—truly knows—that this is everything he’s ever wanted, and truthfully, it is. He’s spent so long thinking about you, wishing for you. Now that the moment is finally here, he doesn’t feel foolish for giving in to it.

“We’ll figure it out, baby. We always do, don’t we?”

You nod softly, your hand coming up to cradle his against your cheek, because he’s right. You’ve always figured things out—somehow, and he’s never let you down before.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke ��@geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens  @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai

[helluvapoison]

Hey hey !

Can I request a part 2 of Adam and Lucifer being romantic rivals ? Ending in a threesome maybe ? I'm dying to read an Adam x reader x Lucifer smut lmao

I'm sure they would still fight about who is pleasuring y/n better lol

Thanks ! And take this : �� !

three’s a crowd if you’re a coward

[i], [ii]

Adam x Reader x Lucifer (NSFW)

18+ /only beyond this point!

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• Considering you had the two of them wrapped around your finger… this was destined to happen– and there was no lying your way out of this one, you wanted it to happen too

• They didn’t need to like each other. Just you, if they wanted it to work. Lord have mercy, did they ever

• “I don’t think he’ll be a problem for me,” Lucifer chuckles then drops a kiss on the back of your hand

Adam bristles, glaring at him with a tight smile as he grabs your other hand and kisses your wrist, “Yeah? You’ll be even less of a problem for me, shorty!”

• Like it never ended, which it didn’t, the rivalry and bickering started all over again. What one said, the other would counter placing kisses higher and higher up your arms

“This is exactly what I was worried abo–out!” Your voice jumped to a squeak when one of them, your guess was Adam, bit your neck, “That’s it! Both of you sit!”

• Simultaneously, they dropped to their knees on the ground and looked up at you. Not exactly what you had in mind but not a bad look for them either. Adam seemed a tad unsure of himself in this position, glancing Lucifer who was fidgeting and deliberately avoiding facing either of you

“For fucks sake,” Adam snickered, “don’t tell me you have a boner—“

“Shut it,” You snapped at him, “I’m serious, if you guys want this to work I cannot deal with anymore fighting! And-And no biting so high!”

You didn’t particularly care about the latter one way or the other, you were merely riding this power high

“So… bite lower?” Lucifer asks eagerly, his crimson eyes the size of pinpricks

• Destined, I tell you

• Reduced to a moaning disaster, Adam stood in front of you, cradling your jaw and rocking his dick into your drooling mouth. Every time your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, his hips would stutter and he’d push your limits, earning a swat to his thigh. He’d stutter out a, “s-sorry, babe,” and force himself still

• Lucifer was fairing no better. He came in you twice already, sobbing from overstimulation. How could he not!? Kneeling over him, bouncing on his cock while he dug his claws into your hips like a lifeline. “C-Can’t. Please, fuck, I can’t,” he whined against your skin

• You had no choice but to change positions for him. You were almost disappointed Lucifer had to tap out when he slithered underneath you and pulled your down onto his face. Forked tongue deep inside you, cleaning up the mess he made had you moaning around Adam’s dick

• “Shit, ‘m gonna cum—“

Lucifer pulled away just enough to let his snarky comment be heard, “So soon?”

“Motherf-f-fucker! Fuck, fuck fuck!”

• Desperate not to let Lucifer ruin his orgasm, Adam pulled your hair, effectively tugging you closer to him and away from the other. He grunted out many more swears amongst your name, filling your mouth with his load

• Lucifer would later declare he was acting selflessly, in your best interest when he guided you back onto his tongue and drove you over the edge a final time

• Adam fixed your hair and brought you water

• Lucifer took a damp rag and cleaned you up

• They both doted on you, delivered praise in their own ways, dressing you with clothes that didn’t match. Maybe they didn’t realize they were working together but it was possible! And that made you feel much, much better about your decision

• They absolutely bickered about who made you moan louder later as you slept between them. Lucifer snuggled into your chest while Adam brought you into his, keeping an arm around your waist

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ UNO REVERSO! TAKE THIS 🍫 because you’re so sweet! enjoy!

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Baby Blurb #7

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Animal Kingdom Masterlist Pope x Hawk Playlist Well Enough Alone Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk has a late night craving and gets more than she bargained for. Word Count: 2.5k Content Warning: childbirth, but nothing in detail. AN: please don't make me go back to the main WEA fic. I'm begging. please comment & reblog :)

It was a rare night when Lena stayed with Baz instead of at Hawk and Pope’s place, and tonight was one of those rare nights. Hawk hit the eight and a half month mark and she felt every bit of those eight and a half months. Her back ached, her boobs were sore every waking second, she was always hot, and the near constant heartburn was driving her crazy. 

Hawk’s sleep schedule had been thrown out of whack by the seventh month, and she was now up at odd hours of the night —occupying herself with the plants in the garage or going for late night swims in the pool if Pope was up with her. Most of the time, though, she’d just sit up in bed while Pope slept beside her, murmuring to baby Thalia about anything and everything that happened throughout the day, or plans they had coming up, or anything Pope did in the nursery to get things ready for her arrival. Pope would wake up to full on one sided conversations Hawk would be having with the baby, taking their kicks and punches as confirmations to her questions. He’d smile into his pillow as he listened, not wanting to disturb Hawk’s ritual that became a more frequent occurrence the later in her pregnancy she got.

Hawk had taken her maternity leave from the shop at the eighth month mark at Pope’s request. If she had it her way, she’d still be working up until she went into labor, but Pope insisted she needed to take it easy because she could. Not everyone was afforded that luxury, he reminded her, so she should take it while she could.   

Pope had been on edge the further along Hawk got, especially now that she was feeling the full brunt of the pregnancy. Her due date was inching closer and closer and he was chomping at the bit for this to be over, for Hawk to be safe and for the baby to finally be here. He was with her everywhere she went, giving her just enough space to not feel suffocated, but he hovered all the same. He had the occasional nightmares of something happening to her, or the baby, and the days that followed those were unrelenting to him. He just wanted them safe and healthy, and he’d do everything in his power to make that happen, even if it meant keeping Hawk at arm’s length.  

Tonight though, Hawk’s cravings were out in full force and she was taking no prisoners. Pope, god love him, only put up a small resistance at leaving the house at three in the morning with Hawk in tow because she would not give up. They took Hawk’s small SUV when they needed to go anywhere together nowadays because she had a hard time climbing in and out of Pope’s massive truck by the time she was five months along. This all led them to where they were now -driving along the coastline to one of the local 24 hour donut shops at two in the morning. 

Pope’s right hand held Hawk’s, his thumb rubbing over the top of her hand affectionately as he drove with the stereo playing in the background. 

“I can’t believe how close we are.” Hawk breathed out, letting the salty sea air hit her face from the open passenger window. 

“Only a few more weeks.�� Pope glanced at her, grinning softly. 

“Believe it or not, I’m gonna miss doing all of this. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done to get us ready for this. I love you so much, Andy. I really mean that.”

“I know you do.” He kissed her hand, “and I’d do it a dozen more times if you’d let me.”

“Settle down,” Hawk laughed, head tilted back. “I’ll settle for maybe one more, but you’re out of luck for the other eleven.”

“You mean that?”

“That you’re not getting your baker’s dozen of kids? Yeah, I mean that.” Hawk scoffed.

“No, that you’d have another.”

“Possibly.” She shrugged, “I actually liked being pregnant more than I thought I would. Granted, there are things about it that drive me nuts, but I wouldn’t trade this experience with you for the world.” Her other hand rested on her bump, rubbing circles to feel the baby move. Hawk grunted when Thalia gave a particularly strong kick. “She wants a cruller…and a chocolate frosted with sprinkles, by the way.” 

“Oh, she’s got a sweet tooth tonight?” 

“She sure does.” 

“You sure you want to get down?” Pope asked her, but Hawk was already undoing her seatbelt and propping the door open. “I can run in and out.”

“Yeah, I’m getting antsy.” She said as she heaved herself out of the vehicle. Pope was quick to come around to her side and held out his arm for her to take. Instead, she pulled him down to kiss her and she pat his ass playfully. He grinned down at Hawk with a brow raised at her boldness, but walked ahead of her to open the door like a gentleman. 

When Pope noticed Hawk wasn’t right behind him and he couldn’t hear her feet over the gravel, he turned around to see her looking down at where she was standing halfway between him and the car.

“You alright?”

“I uh, I think my water just broke?” Hawk looked up at him with wide eyes. Pope blinked at her, brows furrowing as each individual word processed through his brain until they were comprehended after Hawk repeated herself. “My water broke, Andy.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes held shock. Pope, to his credit, all but levitated over to her, trying to herd her back to the SUV. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked as she waddled back to the passenger side. 

“We gotta go.” Hawk gently pushed him back towards the donut shop, but he stood as solid as he ever did. 

“No, no -I need those donuts!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not going to be able to eat anything for god knows how long, Andy! Do not deprive me of this one last thing before I pop our kid out.” Pope wanted to argue, to toss Hawk into the car and fly to the hospital “-and I don’t want to get the seat wet.” Hawk mumbled as an afterthought as she shimmied one of her legs to kick off the remnants that were dripping down it uncomfortably. 

Pope leveled her with a look, then against his better judgement he turned and went inside the shop, shaking his head the whole way. He waited in line, but kept an eye on her as she waddled back and forth next to the car, shaking her legs every few steps. She sent him two thumbs up with a big smile when she caught him watching. He could only nervously half-smiled back, but inside he was panicking. 

Pope’s heart pounded in his chest as he placed the order, his mind going on cruise control as he realized that the baby was coming, and she was coming early. Two weeks early wasn’t a big deal, Pope knew this, but it still worried him that something could possibly be wrong. 

Pope jogged outside once he had the bag and picked up his speed when he saw Hawk slightly bent against the door, clutching the metal and trying to steady her breathing with her forehead pressed against her arm. 

“Why are you still outside?” He pulled his sweatshirt over his head and opened the passenger door so he could set it on her seat before helping her in, placing the paper bag on her lap. 

“I didn’t want to get the seat wet. We’ve already discussed this.” Hawk peeked in the paper bag and smiled. Pope hustled to the driver’s side and they were flying out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. 

“Are you timing the contractions?” His fingers tapped against the steering wheel. 

“Considering that was my first one? No,” She said as she stuffed half of the cruller into her mouth. 

“You’re killing me, Hawk.” Pope groaned. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel and the last thing Hawk needed was for Pope to have a coronary while he was driving. 

“Hey,” Hawk said firmly to ground Pope, her hand reaching over to squeeze his bouncing thigh, “Look at me.” Pope glanced over to her, then back to the road. “I am fine. The baby is fine. We’re going to be okay. Just get us to the hospital safely, alright? That’s all you need to worry about right now.” Pope nodded, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. “We’re going to be parents, Andy.” That seemed to settle him for a split second.

“Are you nervous?” He asked, full irony present, nervously. 

“I’m fucking terrified,” Hawk answered honestly, “but I’m also so excited to meet Thalia.” 

“We’re gonna meet Thalia.” Pope repeated, his eyes fluttering as nerves wracked his entire body. Hawk smiled at him tenderly and squeezed his leg when another contraction hit. 

To Pope’s credit, he tried not to glare at everyone who came in and out of the room once they were settled in, especially when Hawk winced as they checked how dilated she was. And then they kept checking. He was becoming more agitated than she was, but he kept it to himself for her sake. 

By the time they made it to the hospital, Hawk was four centimeters. He knew they needed to make it to ten, so he did everything he learned through his hours upon hours of research through articles, YouTube videos, and message boards. 

Hawk held onto his arm as he walked the halls with her, he let her squeeze any part of his she could get her hands on when a contraction hit, and he soothed her, letting her know he was staying right there with her through all of it. He had the nurses being in a yoga ball so she could open her hips and alleviate some of the pressure in her spine.  

Pope wasn’t a stranger to birth and just how brutal it was. He helped deliver Deran on the dirty bathroom floor of a gas station when he was a troubled teen, and that had been traumatic for everyone involved. Now, he just had to support Hawk in any way he could as she pushed with the best team of doctors and nurses, in the nicest hospital they could afford. He wanted this experience to be as beautiful as it could be for Hawk -and Thalia, when she finally made her appearance. 

It was seven hours of grueling labor, of screaming, crying, and pushing, but she did it. 

Pope didn’t care how many strangers were in the room —the second he heard his daughter’s thunderous wails echo in the room, he felt like he was floating off the floor in absolute euphoria. Hawk was crying tears of happy relief when a nurse placed a teeny, tiny bundle on her chest, her shaking arms holding the now quiet infant to her after she had been checked out and cleaned up. The team was finishing up all of the afterbirth tasks and the adrenaline was still pumping through her. Pope was right up at her side, looking down at Hawk with pride bursting through his chest. 

“Oh, my girl.” Hawk cooed quietly, her voice shaking as her fingertips brushed against the baby’s cheek. The infant’s just looked up at Hawk. “Welcome to the world, my Thalia.” Pope kissed Hawk’s sweaty forehead, lingering long enough to say how proud of her he was and how much he loved her. How grateful he was. His eyes shined with unbroken tears and he held Hawk’s shoulders as they both looked down at the now sleeping infant. 

The room had quieted down as everyone left to give the new parents some time alone as a family. 

“We did it.” Hawk whispered, looking up at Pope. He leaned down to kiss her lips, his hand bracing her arm so Thalia didn’t jostle. “I can’t believe she’s here.”

“She’s beautiful.” Pope whispered against the crown of Hawk’s head. “You don’t understand how much this means to me. What all of this has meant to me.”

“You deserve happiness, Andy. We both do.” He nodded, allowing himself to feel the happiness he was never afforded as he continued watching Thalia’s every little movement. “You want to hold her?” Hawk asked with a knowing grin. His palms were itching, she could tell, but he’d never rush her first time holding the baby she carried and delivered selflessly. 

“Really?” Hawk chuckled, wincing as it started a round of cramping from her waist down. 

“Yes, really. She’s your daughter, Andy, and you’ve waited long enough to meet her.” 

Pope pumped some sanitizer into his palm from the bedside table. The act itself was second nature as the man had a germ phobia (and kept a bottle of Purell in nearly every room of the house), and he made damn sure that his daughter would be well protected from things that could be prevented. 

Hawk patted the side of the bed near her hip and he gently sat down, his body angled towards her. When Pope felt the minuscule weight of his tiny daughter in his hands, the tears that had built finally fell. A small sob broke through his trembling lips as he bent down to give her tiny forehead a kiss.

Hawk’s hand soothed his leg, rubbing circles as she saw the immediate bond he lassoed around Thalia take place. Hawk was exhausted, but the smile never left her. Thalia opened her eyes when Pope pulled back and his jaw fell ever so slightly. He didn’t try to hide any of the emotions he usually kept tight under lock and key, leaving himself wide open and vulnerable to the only two people he’d allow himself to be around. 

“Hi, Thalia.” Pope got choked up, “I’m your dad and I already love you so much.” He said softly, words shaking. Hawk had never seen the smile he gave Thalia before. It lit him up completely from the inside out, and it was enough to send Hawk into another round of happy tears. Pope brought Thalia up to his chest and just held her there for a moment with his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing. She cooed and gurgled for a moment before settling against the heat he radiated, and Pope felt it send a shock wave through his system. 

How could Baz, or Smurf, or any of them see what he saw or physically feel what he felt while looking down at the infant they made and not want to give their child everything they had in them? How could Baz look at Lena and not feel grateful that this piece of him and Cath was on this planet? Pope didn’t understand it before becoming a father, but now? He couldn’t comprehend it. 

Pope would move mountains, he’d split rivers, he’d kill or be killed for Thalia. He only had her for minutes and yet he’d burn the world and everyone in it for her. 

“This doesn’t feel real.” Pope whispered, not wanting to disturb Thalia as she fell asleep. Hawk had given him the greatest gift anyone could have given him in his life, and he had no way to outwardly express to her how precious she and their daughter were to him in that very moment. 

she's heeeeeeeeeere

[mypimpademia]

— Housewife

Bakugo x fem! Reader

Synopsis: What it’d be like to be Katsukis housewife

TW: Swearing, suggestive, mentions of having children

Note: Izuku’s version here!

⇶ Originally, you and Katsuki had never planned for you to be a housewife

⇶ He was a naturally hard worker and so were you, the thought of a life where you were at home almost all day everyday never really crossed your mind

⇶ But that was during the first few years of your relationship and marriage

⇶ Overtime, you found your job getting more and more stressful

⇶ You tried to hide your stress from Katsuki, but if anyone could read you, it was him

⇶ He always offered his support and asked how he could help take some stress off you, but there was hardly anything he could do for you

⇶ And even with the little things he could do, you knew he was busy with hero

⇶ Katsuki grew concerned as you came home from work too tired and overworked to even sit down and have a meal with him

⇶ You both knew that he was more than capable of supporting the both of you on his own

⇶ But when he proposed that you quit your job entirely and essentially become a housewife, you thought he lost it

⇶ You loved him and trusted him, yes, but you also prided yourself on your independence

⇶ The topic of you quitting your job was a weekly discussion for the two of you, but you denied his offer everytime

⇶ Soon, he gave up and decided that you would do it when you were ready

⇶ And you were ready faster than either of you had anticipated

⇶ Day by day, his proposition sounded more and more appealing

⇶ And after one too many stressful weeks, you finally made the decision to quit your job

⇶ Though, you’ll be the first to admit that it was far from planned out

⇶ It was a particularly rough day in a particularly rough week that drove you over the edge, causing you to quit your job in a stress induced outburst

⇶ Thankfully, Katsuki was more than understanding even with through sobbed out apologies you gave him when he came home to you crying on the couch

⇶ From that day forward, you and Katsuki have had an established dynamic

⇶ He goes to work, and you take care of the house and spend your day, and his money, as you please

⇶ You always make it back from your days out and shopping trips just in time to make a nice dinner for the both of you to enjoy when Katsuki arrives home

⇶ And while some may argue that the work of a housewife is worthless, Katsuki sees it as quite the opposite and often times comes home with flowers and gifts to show his appreciation

⇶ After you grew into your routine more, the conversation of kids was off the back burner and became something you and Katsuki began to consider more and more

⇶ Katsuki would take time off to be with you during your pregnancy and postpartum of course, flipping the roles to essentially become your house husband while your only job was to carry your bundle of joy

⇶ When you both talked about the idea of it, Katsuki sounded more enthusiastic about it than you did as he romanticized what it’d be like to further your domestic life in such a way

⇶ If you didn’t know him so well, you’d say it was out of character

⇶ He’d thought of names, mostly combinations of yours and his, the baby shower theme, what their nursery would look like, and even what brands you’d use for your baby

⇶ It all sounded like a dream, and Katsuki promised to make it come true one day

—

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Send in an ask or DM me to be added to all taglists, or fill out my form to be added to select ones.

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated! Follow for more!

[mythicalmaven]

smut 18 with max please

Burning Rivalry - Max Verstappen

This was my first time writing for Max Verstappen, so please let me know in the comments if i wrote it a okay or not :) Really wanna know if I failed miserably on this one or not lol hahah

Masterlist ↳pairing: max verstappen x female!driver!reader ↳word count: 2.2K ↳prompts used: 18 - "fucking hell, if I knew you were this good, I would have gotten you on your knees earlier" ↳summary: When the tension between you and Max finally gets resolved after a heated and competitive Grand Prix

↳content warnings: rivals to lovers, first kiss, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), explicit sexual content, blowjob, oral sex f!receiving, sassy talk between the two of them lol, slight begging (nothing much tho), a small hint of dom!max (but also not really), sexual tension

The tension between you and Max had always been palpable, but it wasn’t just because you were two of the best racing drivers on the grid. It was the rivalry that simmered beneath the surface, the unspoken competition that pushed both of you to your limits every time you got behind the wheel. You weren’t just friends—you were rivals, constantly trying to outdo each other on the track, and the fire that rivalry stoked didn’t stop when the race was over.

You had known Max for years, your careers growing alongside each other, and though there was a mutual respect, there was also a constant challenge, a need to prove who was better. It led to banter, to teasing comments, and sometimes, to something darker, more intense—like tonight.

The race had been brutal, both of you fighting tooth and nail for the podium. Max had edged you out in the final laps, taking the victory by a hair, and though you congratulated him afterward, there was a spark in your eyes that told him the rivalry was far from over.

But now, as you stood in Max’s driver’s room after the race, that competitive fire had taken on a new form. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made your skin tingle and your pulse race. Max was leaning against the couch, his racing suit half unzipped, revealing the sweat-slicked skin underneath. His eyes were dark, filled with something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“You drove like shit today,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips as you met his gaze, challenging him.

Max raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk of his own. “Is that why I’m the one holding the trophy?” he shot back, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just barely. You know I’ll get you next time.”

“Is that a promise?” Max asked, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice laced with challenge. The banter, the back-and-forth, was like foreplay, each word stoking the fire that burned between you.

Max’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with intent as he pushed off the couch and closed the distance between you in a few quick strides. He was in your space now, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent—a mixture of sweat and something uniquely him—invading your senses.

“I think you like losing to me,” Max murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something more, something that made your breath hitch.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, but the words were softer now, your bravado faltering under the intensity of his gaze.

Max’s hand slipped to the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about I make you a deal?” he whispered, his voice rough and commanding. “You get on your knees for me, and maybe I’ll let you win next time.”

The words sent a jolt of arousal through you, your heart skipping a beat at the sheer audacity of his proposition. But you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand so easily. “Make me,” you challenged, your voice steady despite the racing of your pulse.

Max’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, something that made your knees weak. His grip tightened on your neck, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so you were forced to look up at him.

“Oh, I will,” Max promised, his voice low and filled with dark intent.

Before you could respond, Max’s lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was hard, demanding, and full of the fiery passion that always seemed to ignite between the two of you. His hands were on you, pulling you closer, holding you tight as his mouth claimed yours with a dominance that made your heart race.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed your body against his, needing more, needing everything he was offering. The rivalry, the tension, the years of unspoken desire—it all culminated in this moment, in the heat of his body against yours, in the way his lips moved over yours with a hunger that matched your own.

Max’s hands moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he guided you backward, pressing you against the wall. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks that you knew would linger long after tonight.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Max muttered against your skin, his voice rough with need as his hands slipped under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head.

“Good,” you shot back, your voice breathless as you helped him strip you of your clothing, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. “Maybe now you know how I feel.”

Max’s eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you, his hands tracing the curves of your body, making you shiver under his touch. “On your knees,” he commanded, his voice rough and filled with authority.

But you weren’t about to give in that easily. “Make me,” you repeated, your eyes locking with his, challenging him to take what he wanted.

Max’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with a mixture of amusement and arousal. “You’re going to regret that,” he warned, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer.

“Try me,” you shot back, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart.

Max didn’t need any more encouragement. He pushed you down onto the couch, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, his hands sliding down your body, touching, caressing, teasing. You could feel the heat of his arousal against your thigh, the hardness of him making your own desire flare even hotter.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them apart as he knelt between them, his eyes locked on yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You’re going to beg for me,” Max promised, his voice low and filled with dark intent.

You shivered at his words, your breath hitching as his mouth moved higher, teasing you with soft, feather-light kisses that made your body tremble with anticipation. You tried to hold on to your bravado, but the way he was touching you, the way his tongue flicked against your skin, was making it impossible to think, let alone resist.

Max’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing against your wetness, making you gasp. He smirked at your reaction, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he continued to tease you, his touch light, almost maddeningly so.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me,” Max murmured, his voice rough with desire as he pressed a finger inside you, making you moan at the sensation.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sounds that threatened to escape, but Max wasn’t having it. He added another finger, curling them inside you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that made you see stars.

“Let me hear you,” Max demanded, his voice a low growl as he worked you with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you were trembling with need.

“Max, please,” you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Max’s eyes gleamed with triumph, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit as he pushed you to the brink. “That’s it,” Max encouraged, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

And you did, your body convulsing with pleasure as you came apart in his hands, your moans filling the room as the orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense sensation leaving you trembling and breathless.

When you finally came down from the high, Max was there, his lips on yours, kissing you deeply, passionately, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark with desire.

“Now, on your knees,” Max commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You slid off the couch, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands reaching out to free him from the confines of his racing suit. Max’s breath hitched as you took him in your hands, your touch sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you leaned in, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him groan with need. “You’re going to love this,” you promised, your voice a low, sultry whisper.

Max’s hand tangled in your hair, his eyes dark with anticipation as he watched you. “Show me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You took him into your mouth, your lips closing around him as you began to suck, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, teasing him, driving him insane with every flick, every stroke.

Max’s grip on your hair tightened, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth, the pleasure building inside him with every movement.

“Fucking hell,” Max groaned, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill of satisfaction through you. “If I knew you were this good, I would have gotten you on your knees earlier.”

The words only spurred you on, fueling the fire of desire burning inside you. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked harder, your tongue continuing its relentless assault on him. The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans—only made you want to give him more, to push him further toward the edge.

Max’s hips began to move more urgently, his hand guiding your head as he thrust into your mouth, the rhythm becoming more erratic as he lost himself in the pleasure you were giving him. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his body as he neared his climax.

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him shudder, his grip on your hair tightening as he fought to hold on. But you could tell he was close, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his muscles tensing as he teetered on the brink.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Max’s words broke off in a strangled moan as his orgasm overtook him. His hips jerked forward, and you felt the first hot spurt hit the back of your throat. You didn’t slow down, working him through his release, swallowing every drop as he came, your tongue still swirling around him, milking every last bit of pleasure from his body.

Max’s grip on your hair loosened as the last waves of his climax washed over him, leaving him trembling and breathless. You pulled back slowly, your lips lingering on him for just a moment longer before releasing him, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

Max’s chest was heaving, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked down at you, his expression one of pure satisfaction mixed with something deeper, something almost primal. He reached down, his hand cupping your chin, lifting your face so that you were forced to look up at him.

“You’re incredible,” Max said, his voice rough and still thick with the aftereffects of his orgasm. There was a softness in his eyes now, a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of pride at his words, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of what had just happened. “Glad you think so,” you replied, your voice laced with satisfaction and a hint of teasing.

Max chuckled, the sound low and warm as he pulled you up to your feet. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you close until your bodies were pressed together again. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that was all about savoring the moment, the heat of the earlier intensity giving way to something more intimate.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. “We should do this again,” Max murmured, his voice soft but full of promise.

“Only if you let me win next time,” you teased, your lips curving into a playful smile as you looked up at him.

Max’s eyes sparkled with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness that made your heart flutter.

As you both stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the rivalry between you didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was something more now, something that went beyond the track, beyond the competition. And as you leaned into his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that whatever happened next, it was only the beginning of something much bigger, something that neither of you could walk away from.

Masterlist

[polydeuces]

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊

𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯 ; Dexter Morgan x Fem! Reader (Cult Leader)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ; You linger in Dexter Morgan’s shadows, close enough to feel the darkness he hides so well. You know his secrets, his rituals, the thrill he keeps hidden from the world. Silently, you wait for that perfect moment to step into his path—so he can finally see that he’s been hunted all along.

𝔠𝔴 / 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 ; (688words) mentions of cults, stalking, potential violence, intrusive thoughts, and elements of psychological tension.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

He was supposed to be the predator.

You’d watched him for a year now, the man who walked through the world with an all too familiar blend of invisibility and quiet command. Dexter Morgan, a blood–spatter analyst by day and something far more dangerous by night. But those were his surface-level disguises. You’d begun to peel back the layers, unraveling the nuances of a man who navigated life in the shadows, just as you have for so many years now.

It started innocently enough—fleeting moments when you’d caught sight of him on the crowded Miami streets, merging into the sea of faces like he belonged there. But you knew better. You knew what it was to wear masks, to walk amoung people undetected, unseen and unnoticed. There was something about him, the way he looked at the world, made him all the more intriguing.

So you watched. Carefully, hidden, with a patience you’d honed over years of practice, you observed him as he slipped out of his office at night, slightly tense in his gaze, focused, distant, as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Often times, you’d follow him to the places he frequented; his home, abandoned warehouses, places where the thin line between light and darkness blurred. You learned his routines, the way he’d pull his signature black gloves onto his hands, the way his eyes would sweep across the streets with a meticulous attention to detail before stepping into his own hidden rituals.

It fascinated you.. his dance, this performance between worlds. His life was a careful balance of precision and secrecy. And then there were his victims. You’d seen him work, watched from the edges as he sized up those he deemed worthy enough. You hadn’t intervened— after all, it wasn’t about them. It was about him. You needed to understand his purpose, what drove him and what rulebook or code tethered him to this life.

You began to study his life beyond the night as well, picking up pieces of Dexter Morgan, the man, the father, the blood-spatter analyst, the widower, the mask. You’d slip into his world unnoticed, lingering at places he went during the day; you listened to his colleagues, his sister and the casual comments that painted a picture of someone, friendly, yet distant, the “nice guy” who kept to himself.

You learned his patterns, his preferences, even the small, old habits he indulged in when he thought no one was watching. You uncovered the Dexter he showed to the world, the façade that kept his true nature hidden.

But you could see it—the subtle tension in his jaw, the guarded look in his eyes that surfaced when someone got too close, the small tells of a hidden life. The knowledge inside you—the kind of intimacy that was both exhilarating and forbidden—you knew him in a way no one else did, knew him not by the lies he told, but by the silence he kept.

So, you kept waiting, biding your time. You wanted him to know that he been seen, that he wasn’t as invisible as he thought. You wanted him to understand that he was no longer the only one who lived by a code of shadows. You watched him for countless nights—slipping in and out of his world like a phantom, leaving a sense of unease that you knew would begin to gnaw at him.

Until finally, one night, you decided it was time.

do not repost/duplicate on other sites. © polydeuces 2024.

note; i have a taglist open for updates on this story—just let me know if you’d like your name added !

important; please keep in mind that the dexter character is not my own original creation; it’s inspired by the work of the creators behind the tv show.

[1982grapejuiceblues]

New Roads, Old Rules

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Stranger Lanes Part 3

Summary: Y/N and Harry arrive at the lake house and are instantly thrown into the fragile rhythm of group dynamics, uncomfortable reunions, and emotional landmines. Surrounded by friends who don’t quite know what to say—and exes who act like nothing happened—they try to keep quiet and keep the peace. But behind closed doors, a different kind of tension builds. Quiet. Steady. Unavoidable. As the first day ends, what started as survival begins to shift into something softer. Something neither of them expected.

Warnings: Emotional discomfort and social anxiety | Underlying grief and unresolved relationship tension | Passive-aggressive group dynamics | Mentions of past betrayal (non-graphic) | Heavy internal monologue | Insomnia / sleeplessness | Slow-burn emotional intensity

A/N: Okay you guys, here it is. Sorry it took so long, I just really wanted it to be perfect. Let me know what you think! As always, comment or reblog to be added to the taglist! Love ya! <3

Word Count: 8.4k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

They crossed the final bridge at exactly 4:13 p.m.

She knew that because she checked the clock three times. Once as they merged back onto the main stretch of county road that wound like a lazy loop around the edge of the lake. Again when they passed the sign that said Welcome to Hollow Pines – Est. 1894 in crooked gold letters someone had repainted last summer. And one more time—without thinking—just as the water came into view.

It was always the water that hit her first.

There was something about that stretch of blue between the trees, so sudden and vast and deeply still, that made her chest seize up. Like her body wasn’t sure if it was awe or grief. Like she couldn’t tell whether she was going home or running directly into the wreckage.

She pressed her hand to the inside of the window, not hard, just enough to feel the glass. It was warm from the sun. Her skin buzzed with it.

The lake shimmered.

The road narrowed.

Her breath caught on the edge of something she didn’t want to name.

She hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes.

Neither had Harry.

He drove like someone who didn’t need to announce it. No GPS voice. No “we’re almost there.” No last-minute check-in. Just a quiet, measured pace, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh like it had always belonged there.

His window was cracked. Hers was too. The air between them moved just enough to feel alive, like the car was breathing.

The playlist had long since faded out. The silence had grown roots.

Y/N shifted in her seat.

She could feel it—her body starting to pull in on itself. Muscles tensing, shoulders rising, chest tightening like it was preparing for a wave that hadn’t hit yet.

She wanted to stretch. To crack her knuckles. To open her mouth and say anything.

But the only thing she could think was: he’s going to be there.

Ben. Standing on the porch. In the same spot he stood last summer. The spot where he handed her a beer and kissed her forehead and said “I love this trip. I love us.”

And Claire.

Claire would be barefoot. Probably in cutoffs and an oversized tee, holding a glass of wine like she wasn’t about to play host to a party she’d broken. She’d laugh too loud. Touch people too often. Say “Oh my god, you made it!” like she hadn’t detonated everything.

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

She reached for her water bottle, unscrewed the cap, took a sip.

Harry didn’t glance at her. But she felt him notice anyway.

He always noticed.

The trees thickened.

The road curved left.

They passed a wooden sign half-sunken into the brush—Raven Rock Private Residences—and she felt the memory rush in before she could stop it.

That first summer.

The year they all took tequila shots on the dock and made up fake awards for each other. When Ali cried because someone called her “Most Likely to Start a Cult” and it hit too close to home. When Harry and Claire were new and quiet and curled into each other like a secret no one was allowed to name.

That summer, Y/N and Ben had barely fought.

That summer, she thought they’d make it.

Her throat burned.

“Do you want to stop before we pull in?” Harry asked.

His voice cut through the silence like a soft blade.

Y/N blinked. “Stop?”

He nodded. “Just for a second. In the shade. Before it… starts.”

She stared at him.

He was still looking at the road. Still calm. But something in his voice had changed. Softer. Not tentative. Just… careful.

Like he knew exactly how this was going to feel.

She wanted to say no.

She wanted to say I’m fine. Let’s just get it over with.

But she wasn’t. And she didn’t.

So she said, “Okay.”

They didn’t speak again until Harry eased the car off the road and onto a flat patch of shoulder just before the gravel driveway.

There was no sign. No gate. Just a break in the trees where the light shifted and the road disappeared between two mossy posts and a spray of goldenrod. The lake glimmered faintly through the trees to their right, casting thin, watery reflections against the windows.

He pulled to a stop under a tall maple that arched just far enough to shade the windshield. Killed the engine. Left the keys in the ignition.

Y/N didn’t move.

The stillness was immediate. Pressing. Like someone had shut a door behind them and sealed the moment off from everything else.

There was no wind. No traffic. No noise but the ping of the engine cooling and the soft click of the air settling around them.

She stared straight ahead.

The lake house sat just down the road—just past the trees and around a bend she could practically feel in her bones. She’d walked it a hundred times. Knew how the driveway curved left just before the porch came into view. Knew exactly where people would be standing. Which cars would be parked out front. Which voices would carry.

They’d all be waiting.

Ali. Eli. Maybe Jules and her girlfriend, if they’d arrived early.

Claire.

Ben.

She felt her chest start to tighten.

Her body didn’t quite shake, but it began to pull in on itself, like her muscles were preparing for a blow. Like her skin was trying to build armor from the inside out.

She pressed her hands flat against her thighs.

Breathed in.

Out.

Again.

Harry didn’t look at her.

He just sat. One hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other on his knee. His fingers tapped once, then stopped.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t try to fix it.

And somehow, that made it bearable.

“I hate this,” Y/N said softly.

Her voice cracked like old film.

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

“It feels like walking into a house fire just to prove I’m not flammable.”

“Mm.”

She stared down at the ridge of her knuckles.

“It’s going to be in their eyes,” she murmured. “That look. The one that says we don’t know what to say to you so we’ll pretend you’re fine.”

Harry let out a breath. Quiet, through his nose.

She continued. “They’ll act like they didn’t know. Or like it’s not that bad. Or like Claire didn’t spend the last two months slow-burning my life to the ground.”

He didn’t offer reassurance.

She was grateful for that.

“I haven’t even figured out how to talk about it yet,” she said. “And now I have to be around people who think not talking about it is the polite thing to do.”

Still, he said nothing.

She turned her head. Finally looked at him.

He wasn’t watching her. But he wasn’t distant, either.

Just… there.

Steady.

A quiet tether.

Birdsong trailed from somewhere behind the trees.

The light shifted.

The car interior was still warm from the drive, but the air around them had cooled. It smelled faintly like pine and distant water.

Y/N closed her eyes.

Let her head fall gently back against the seat.

Breathed again.

Her voice was smaller when she spoke next. Not fragile, just… honest.

“Did you expect it? With them?”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

She swallowed. “I did.”

He looked over.

She met his eyes. “I didn’t want to. But I did.”

He didn’t say I’m sorry.

He didn’t say That sucks.

He didn’t say Yeah, me too.

He just nodded.

And somehow, that was enough.

They sat with that.

Long enough for the moment to settle into something weightier than silence.

Then Harry reached for the keys.

Didn’t turn them yet. Just held them.

“Tell me when,” he said.

And Y/N—after three deep breaths, a glance toward the tree line, and one quick swipe of her sleeve beneath her eyes—finally nodded.

“Now.”

He turned the wheel. Drove slowly. The tires crunched over the gravel like it was warning them.

And then the house came into view.

-

The car rolled forward like it was holding its breath.

No music. No breeze. No small talk to fill the space between them—just the sound of tires crunching gravel and a tension so thick it wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders like a second seatbelt. The house came into view slowly, framed by the tall curve of trees overhead and the way the sunlight filtered in at an angle that made everything look too still. Too bright. Like the set of a play where she already knew she hated her part.

She could see the porch first.

Two rocking chairs, the blue one repainted since last summer. A small cooler tucked next to the front door. Someone’s sandals. A glass with condensation on the railing.

Then came the cars.

Ben’s. Eli’s. The silver Prius she knew was Jules’. Ali’s rental, slightly crooked at the far end of the lot like she’d pulled in mid-phone call and forgot to straighten out.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

She hadn’t moved to unbuckle yet.

Harry pulled into a spot near the edge of the driveway, closest to the path that led down toward the dock. He turned off the ignition. The engine ticked. The windshield gleamed.

No one spoke.

And then—

The screen door creaked.

A figure stepped onto the porch.

Hair in a messy braid. Big sunglasses. Barefoot and beaming.

Ali.

She was down the steps before Y/N had even opened the door.

“THEY’RE HERE!” she called back over her shoulder toward the house, voice sharp and sing-song like she was trying to announce it before anyone else could. Like if she named it out loud, she could control what came next.

Y/N got out slowly, her knees stiff from the hours in the car, the weight of her thoughts suddenly too much to balance on such unsteady legs. She shut the door with more force than she meant to, slinging her bag over her shoulder like it might protect her.

Ali reached her before she could speak.

Wrapped her up. Arms around her neck. Chin tucked over her shoulder.

The kind of hug that knew things. That remembered.

Y/N didn’t move at first. Didn’t trust herself to.

But when Ali whispered, “You did it,” into the space where her hair met her ear, something broke in her chest. Quietly. Without fanfare. Just a little crack in the wall she’d been patching over since the text came through two weeks ago and sent her life spinning sideways.

She squeezed her back. Not too hard. Not enough to cry.

Just enough to say thank you without saying anything.

By the time she pulled away, her voice was steady again.

“Hey,” she said.

Ali looked her over. “You okay?”

Y/N offered the ghost of a smile. “Getting there.”

Ali nodded, like she knew better than to press.

She turned to Harry next and threw her arms around him, too.

Less emotional. But still real.

“You made it without killing each other,” she said brightly.

Harry grunted. “Jury’s out.”

Ali grinned, then looped her arm through Y/N’s like a shield. “Come on. Everyone’s inside. Jules brought that weird popcorn mix you like and there’s beer and the air conditioning’s working.”

Y/N let herself be pulled forward.

Each step toward the porch felt heavier.

The sun was hot on her back. The bag dug into her shoulder. Her fingers itched to reach for Harry, to grab a second anchor—but he was behind her now, just far enough not to touch, just close enough that she could still hear the gravel under his boots.

The porch creaked beneath them.

The door stood open.

And there—half in shadow, half in golden light—stood Claire.

She looked exactly the same.

Worse.

Her hair was up in a loose bun that looked casual but probably took effort. Big gold hoops. A linen button-up tied at the waist over a swimsuit Y/N recognized from an ad they’d once laughed about. She held a half-empty glass of white wine and a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

She said, “Oh my god, hi!” like she hadn’t texted Ben “she’ll be fine, I promise.”

Y/N’s spine straightened.

Ali squeezed her arm, gave her one last look—You good?—then slipped inside ahead of her.

Leaving her alone at the top of the stairs.

-

Claire stepped aside to make space.

Her arm brushed the doorframe. Her wine glass tilted lazily in her hand. The porch light above them flickered like it couldn’t decide whether or not to stay on.

Y/N didn’t move yet.

She stood still at the threshold, just outside the doorway, watching Claire’s smile sharpen in real time. Watching her posture shift into something performative and breezy. Watching the way she tilted her head and said, “Oh my god, hi!” like she was seeing an old roommate and not the woman whose life she’d casually gutted like a ripe pear.

Behind Y/N, Harry stepped up beside her.

She didn’t look at him. But she felt the presence of him—shoulder to shoulder, not touching, but there. Solid. Quiet. Patient.

She could smell the faint citrus of his sunscreen, the edge of his cologne clinging to the fabric of his sweatshirt, the ghost of the road still lingering between them.

She exhaled.

And then—

Without thinking, without turning, she let her hand drift down and barely graze his.

Not quite a touch.

Just a brush.

The briefest flicker of I’m still here. Are you?

Harry didn’t startle. Didn’t pull away.

He shifted—subtle—and let his knuckles rest against hers.

Warm. Intentional.

It only lasted a second.

A beat and a half.

But it grounded her like nothing else had all day.

She swallowed hard.

And stepped inside.

-

The next two minutes were a blur of hellos.

Jules hugging her too tight. Someone handing her a beer she didn’t want. The sound of Eli’s laugh from the kitchen. Music playing from a speaker somewhere in the corner, faint and too upbeat. The ceiling fan clicking with every rotation.

Harry hovered near the door, his bag still over his shoulder, face unreadable.

Y/N wanted to look at him.

To check in. To tether.

But people were watching. People who didn’t know how much she needed that.

So instead, she smiled.

Nodded.

Laughed at a joke she didn’t hear.

Let someone take her bag.

And pretended.

Like she always did.

-

The door clicked softly behind them.

The second Y/N stepped inside, she could feel her body go stiff. Like every limb was bracing for judgment. Like the air itself was heavier here—denser with memory, weighted by history, thickened by the collective energy of too many people trying to act normal in a house where everything had changed.

The living room opened wide in front of them.

High ceilings. Worn leather couches. That same ugly green rug someone’s mom had donated five summers ago and no one had had the heart to replace. A low wooden coffee table cluttered with card games and half-sweated drinks and a single citronella candle burning for no one in particular.

Music drifted faintly from the Bluetooth speaker on the bookshelf. Some upbeat indie playlist, chirpy and harmless. The kind of music you put on when you don’t want anyone to think you’re trying too hard.

Y/N scanned the room, mentally tracking movement.

Ali was in the kitchen, pulling something from the oven. Jules sat cross-legged on the arm of the couch, whispering something to her girlfriend. Eli leaned against the counter with a beer in hand, already mid-story, hands gesturing in big loops like punctuation.

Claire was… everywhere. Laughing. Pouring wine. Touching shoulders as she passed. She moved through the space like she owned it, like she’d curated the whole night just to prove nothing was broken.

Ben sat at the table.

He looked up just as Y/N did.

Their eyes caught.

And just as quickly, she looked away.

“You okay?” Harry’s voice was low.

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

She let the question sit, thrum under her skin, echo through the space between her ribs.

Then she gave a short nod.

Not yes.

But I can pretend to be.

They both stood there a beat too long.

Long enough for Ali to glance up from the kitchen and wave a hand toward the table. “You guys want to sit? Food’s almost ready.”

Harry nodded and moved to set his bag down beside the door.

Y/N followed, slower.

As she passed the dining room table, Claire’s voice rang out—just a touch too loud. “Oh! Y/N, sit by me!”

It landed like a splash in the wrong kind of water.

The room shifted.

Not visibly. Not dramatically.

But the energy changed.

Y/N froze. For half a second. Long enough for anyone paying attention to see it.

Then Harry, without missing a beat, said, “Actually, I was hoping she’d sit with me. I need someone to explain Ali’s complicated salt preferences before I accidentally offend a whole household.”

The words weren’t dramatic. Not sharp.

Just dry. Low. Easy.

But they landed like a stone skipping across tension.

Y/N blinked.

Claire smiled—tight, too practiced—and shrugged. “Of course. I forgot you’re the salt whisperer.”

Jules snorted softly behind her beer.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Y/N turned to Harry, heart thudding in her ears, and muttered, “Thank you.”

He just nodded. No smile. No wink.

Just: I’ve got you.

-

Dinner happened like it always did the first night.

Too many dishes. Too many voices talking over one another. Inside jokes. Bad wine. A toast that started as a joke and ended with everyone awkwardly clinking glasses because no one wanted to be the one who didn’t.

Y/N picked at her food. Answered questions when asked. Smiled when expected.

But her body never fully unclenched.

It wasn’t the noise, not exactly. It was the undercurrent. The fact that Claire kept glancing over like she was measuring reactions. That Ben laughed too loud at Eli’s jokes. That no one asked how are you—not in a real way, not in the way that meant I saw what they did to you and I’m not pretending it’s okay.

And through it all, Harry sat to her right.

Quiet. Observant. Utterly still.

He didn’t speak much. Just nodded along, sipped his drink, offered the salad to Jules, and asked Ali if the pasta was the same one she’d made two summers ago.

But every so often—every few minutes—he’d lean slightly toward Y/N.

Not obviously. Not so anyone else would notice.

Just enough for her to feel the air shift. The space narrow. The edge of his presence brush against hers.

Once, when she dropped her fork, he bent to grab it before she could reach.

Their hands touched.

Briefly.

And when she looked at him—flushed, tired, grateful—he just gave her that same, unreadable look he always had.

Like he knew exactly what she was feeling.

And didn’t need to say anything about it.

-

The toast came too late.

They were already halfway through dinner—bowls half-empty, glasses nearly refilled, the kind of lazy, lopsided conversation that happened when everyone was tired and buzzed and trying to pretend they weren’t uncomfortable.

Claire stood up.

Of course she did.

She tapped her fork against the rim of her wine glass and smiled that wide, open smile she always wore when she wanted people to forget she could be cruel.

“Okay,” she said, bright and breezy, “first of all, I just want to say how insanely happy I am that we’re all here. Really. This trip means the world to me.”

Ali smiled. Jules nodded. Ben watched his plate.

Y/N stared at a smear of tomato sauce on the rim of her dish and thought about throwing it.

Claire continued, “I know we’ve all had a lot going on this year. Changes, work stuff, life stuff. But the fact that we can still show up for each other like this—god, I just think it says something about the kind of friends we are.”

Something twisted in Y/N’s stomach.

She reached for her water. Her hand shook.

Harry noticed.

His foot tapped lightly against hers under the table.

Not hard. Not obvious.

Just enough to say I’m here.

Claire lifted her glass. “So here’s to all of us. For being the kind of people who don’t let anything get in the way of what matters.”

It landed like a slap.

Y/N’s vision went soft at the edges.

She blinked. Focused on the edge of the napkin in her lap. The faint print in the fabric. The texture. The shape.

Jules raised her glass.

Ben followed.

Y/N’s hand didn’t move.

But Harry’s did.

He picked up his drink. Tapped it against hers. And whispered, just for her, “We don’t have to toast to a lie.”

She looked at him.

Really looked.

And whatever held her chest in a vice loosened. Just a little.

The rest of the table clinked and laughed and moved on. Someone cracked a joke about the garlic bread. Eli started talking about a podcast. Ali asked who brought the Cards Against Humanity deck.

But Y/N barely heard any of it.

She was still staring at Harry.

And he—calmly, quietly—was watching her back.

-

The dishes were cleared. Dessert was passed around. Someone opened a second bottle of wine.

And then, of course, the conversation turned to the cabin.

“So,” Jules said, dragging the word out, “did anyone actually figure out the room situation, or are we doing the traditional free-for-all and pretending we’re still twenty-two?”

Ali smirked. “I vote for tradition. I love watching everyone fight over the one room that has the window AC unit.”

Ben chuckled. “As long as I’m not on the floor again, I’m happy.”

Y/N froze.

Claire leaned in. “Well, we did sort of… pre-arrange some of it. Just to make things easier. Right, Ben?”

There was a long, dense pause.

Y/N didn’t breathe.

Harry didn’t blink.

Ben coughed. “Yeah. We figured since we got here early—”

Claire cut in, too quick. “We took the back room. The one with the closet. Hope that’s okay!”

The silence was thunderous.

No one said anything. Not really.

Eli raised his eyebrows. Jules glanced at Ali. Ali stared at her drink.

Y/N felt her ears buzzing.

Like the room was underwater.

Like her skin was too tight.

Like she couldn’t possibly sit there one more second without either laughing or screaming or crawling under the table and dissolving into salt and bone.

But then—

Harry shifted.

Just enough that his shoulder brushed hers.

Warm. Present. Grounding.

And without looking at her, without turning his head or clearing his throat or making it into anything more than what it was, he said, “We’ll take the front one.”

Claire looked up.

Y/N did too.

He met Claire’s gaze without flinching. “Hope that’s okay.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a decision.

Claire’s mouth opened. Closed.

Then she smiled.

Tight. Thin. “Of course.”

Y/N said nothing.

But under the table, her foot found Harry’s again.

And this time?

She left it there.

-

The wine bottles were half-empty by the time the group started to drift.

Jules grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and disappeared onto the back porch with a bottle of rosé. Eli claimed the pullout couch like it was a throne, flipping through TV options and loudly rejecting everything he landed on. Claire offered to make tea no one asked for. Ali started sorting leftovers with quiet, purposeful efficiency, like she couldn’t sit still or she’d drown.

Y/N stayed where she was.

Still seated at the dining room table, empty fork resting on an untouched plate, spine straight as a ruler and throat full of fire.

Her gaze was fixed somewhere in the middle distance—on a dark smudge near the baseboard. A water stain, maybe. A knot in the wood. Anything but the reality of what had just happened.

She could still hear Claire’s voice, echoing in her head.

We took the back room. The one with the closet.

As if it hadn’t once been her room. As if it hadn’t once held the sweater she’d left behind last summer, the novel with the folded page still in the drawer, the sweatshirt Ben used to steal when the nights got cold.

She pressed her thumbnail into the curve of her palm and tried to breathe through it.

Harry stood slowly.

Not loud. Not abrupt. Just enough to pull her out of the spiral.

“You ready?” he asked.

Simple question.

Weighted like a boulder.

She nodded once, careful not to let her voice crack. “Yeah.”

They didn’t look at anyone else.

Didn’t say goodnight.

They just left.

-

The hallway was dim.

The air smelled like cedar and dust and something faintly sweet—maybe candle wax, maybe spilled wine, maybe the ghost of a summer that didn’t belong to her anymore.

Y/N walked ahead, her feet light against the wooden floorboards, her hand still curled in the hem of her sleeve.

She didn’t speak.

Harry didn’t either.

They reached the front bedroom in silence.

He pushed the door open gently.

The hallway was dim.

The air smelled like cedar and dust and something faintly sweet—maybe candle wax, maybe spilled wine, maybe the ghost of a summer that didn’t belong to her anymore.

Y/N walked ahead, her feet light against the wooden floorboards, her hand still curled in the hem of her sleeve.

She didn’t speak.

Harry didn’t either.

They reached the front bedroom in silence.

He pushed the door open gently.

Harry turned.

His voice was low. “You okay?”

She shook her head.

Then nodded.

Then finally said, “No.”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t say that makes sense or me neither or we’ll be fine.

He just looked at her.

And something in his expression cracked open.

Not pity.

Not concern.

Just recognition.

Like he saw her exactly as she was—and wasn’t afraid of it.

She walked in.

The door clicked shut behind her.

The air changed.

It was quiet here. Too quiet. She could hear the fan overhead. The wind through the screen. The blood in her ears.

She stood near the dresser, fingers twitching slightly, like her body didn’t know where to land.

Harry stepped to the window and opened it wider.

The breeze shifted the curtain. It floated softly into the room, brushing the frame before falling back again.

They both watched it move.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed.

Her shoulders slumped.

Her spine folded.

And for the first time all day, she let herself look at him like she meant it.

Harry was standing by the window, arms crossed loosely, hair falling over his forehead in waves. His eyes were on the trees beyond the glass—but his body was turned slightly toward her. Just enough to say I know you’re watching.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

He glanced at her. “For what?”

“For dinner. For the room. For… the fork. All of it.”

He didn’t smile. But something shifted.

“You didn’t need saving,” he said.

She scoffed. “I absolutely did.”

He shook his head. “You were surviving. I just stepped in where it was stupid for you to do it alone.”

She tilted her head. “Is that your thing? Stepping in?”

His gaze didn’t move. “Only when you need me to”

Silence stretched.

Heavy. Familiar.

But not uncomfortable.

Not anymore.

“You really hate her, don’t you?” Y/N asked quietly.

Harry didn’t flinch. “I don’t know if I hate her.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would mean she still has space to take up.”

Y/N blinked.

God, she envied that.

She wasn’t there yet. She still felt Claire in every room.

Still felt Ben in every conversation.

Still felt the parts of herself she’d sanded down to make space for people who never stopped taking.

Harry looked at her again.

Really looked.

And the weight of that gaze made something in her chest ache.

She lay back on the bed without thinking.

Shoes still on.

Bag still by her side.

She stared at the ceiling fan and blinked against the burn behind her eyes.

The bed creaked slightly under her weight.

A second later, the mattress dipped beside her.

She turned her head.

Harry sat on the edge. Not facing her. Just… close.

Enough to feel the warmth of him.

Enough to remember the drive. The silence. The foot tapping under the table. The fork.

The room was dim now. The curtain swayed. Her fingers ached from being curled too tightly for too long.

She reached up.

Flicked a piece of lint off the hem of his sweatshirt.

His breath hitched.

Not audibly. Not dramatically.

But she felt it.

She pulled her hand back slowly.

“I don’t know if I can do this for a week,” she whispered.

Harry didn’t move.

But after a beat, he said, “You don’t have to.”

She turned toward him. “What?”

“You don’t have to do anything. You can sit out. Stay in here. Walk away.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he said simply. “I’ll cover for you.”

She looked at him.

At the slope of his shoulder.

At the tendon in his throat.

At the way his hands rested—open-palmed, knees apart, like he wasn’t trying to protect anything.

“You would do that?”

“Already am.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it?

He already was.

From the moment they left. From the first hour in the car. From the fork on the floor to the foot beneath the table to the space beside her in the doorway.

He was the only person who hadn’t looked at her like she was about to fall apart.

He looked at her like she already had—and was still standing anyway.

The fan creaked above them, soft and irregular—three turns smooth, then a faint hitch, like the blades weren’t perfectly balanced.

The breeze through the window had cooled a little, sharp around the edges now that the sun had fully dipped behind the trees. Outside, the lake hummed in low, muffled sounds—distant insects, an occasional splash, laughter from the back porch still bleeding into the air like smoke.

Inside the room, it was just them.

No music. No chatter. No more pretending.

Just one mattress, one quiet body next to another, and the air so thick with unspoken things it could’ve drowned them both.

Harry still sat beside her.

His shoulders slightly hunched, back curved just enough to look like he wasn’t used to staying still this long. His eyes hadn’t moved from the window in minutes, but Y/N could feel him watching her without turning.

Not directly. Not head-on.

But aware. Present.

Like he was holding his breath beside her and letting her exhale for the both of them.

Y/N shifted. Not away—just enough to roll onto her side, eyes tracing the line of his arm from wrist to elbow, where his sleeve had pushed up just enough to show a pale stretch of forearm and the edge of a scar she didn’t know the story behind.

She didn’t ask.

She didn’t need to.

It felt too intimate already, just being allowed to look.

“You don’t talk much,” she said softly, almost to the ceiling.

Harry’s lips twitched. “You make up for it.”

She huffed a faint laugh, but didn’t look away. “Is that a dig?”

“Compliment.”

“Sure it is.”

He finally glanced down at her then—just a tilt of the head, just enough shadow on his face to make the green of his eyes look darker than usual.

“You talk like someone who’s used to not being heard,” he said.

The breath left her lungs too fast.

She blinked.

And then, before she could think better of it, whispered, “You listen like someone who’s always waiting to be needed.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

Just nodded once, slowly. Like that hurt a little. Like she wasn’t wrong.

The silence after that felt different. Less like a weight. More like a thread—thin, invisible, running between them. Not pulled tight. But there.

Tangible.

Tethered.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she murmured after a while.

Harry didn’t ask what.

He didn’t need to.

He was quiet for a long time. Then said, “You don’t have to know.”

“I feel like I’m supposed to.”

“Why?”

“Because she does.” The words spilled out before she could catch them. “Claire always knows how to perform. How to play the part. And I just—I never know what to do with my hands.”

Harry’s head tipped a little. Not mocking. Just thoughtful.

“Maybe that’s the part she envies,” he said.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You don’t pretend well. She does. But you… you’re real. Even when it’s messy.”

She stared at him.

He didn’t look away.

“Are you trying to compliment me?” she asked finally, because her throat felt too tight not to fill the space with something.

“Not very well, apparently.”

“Well, keep practicing.”

He looked at her again, more fully this time.

And something in his gaze softened—like the last inch of armor had finally dropped.

She sat up before she could overthink it.

Crossed her legs on the bed. Let the sheet wrinkle beneath her. Tucked her knees in and stared down at the weave of the blanket between them.

“I feel like I’m walking around without skin,” she whispered. “Like everyone’s looking at me and seeing a version of myself that doesn’t fit anymore.”

Harry shifted.

She felt the mattress pull slightly toward him. The heat of his knee close to hers, not touching, but there.

“Maybe they are,” he said. “But you’re the only one who gets to decide what happens next.”

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t trust herself to.

So she let the words hang in the space between them like a threadbare sheet—light and worn and too delicate to hold anything, but still real.

-

It was nearly midnight when she finally stood to change.

He turned his back without her asking.

Stayed that way until she whispered “Okay,” voice quiet from the far corner of the room.

When he turned again, she was in an oversized t-shirt and bike shorts, one hand bracing the windowsill like she needed the grounding. Her hair was a little messy. Her eyes were puffy. She looked undone.

She looked beautiful.

Not in the way people threw the word around—effortlessly or performatively or just to fill the space.

She looked beautiful because she wasn’t hiding anymore.

Harry lay down in his bed.

Y/N climbed into hers.

For a long time, they said nothing.

The breeze shifted.

The curtain moved.

And just before the quiet could settle too deeply into sleep, her voice reached across the dark.

“Harry?”

He hummed.

“You’re the only part of today that didn’t hurt.”

His breath hitched.

She couldn’t see his face.

But she felt the weight of his silence like a hand on her back.

After a beat, he whispered, “You too.”

The house had gone still.

The porch had quieted. The back door had creaked shut. The voices had lowered, one by one, as doors closed and lights flicked off. Even the fan overhead seemed to be spinning slower now, the room dipping into that strange space between night and not-quite-sleep.

Harry had already changed—quietly, deliberately—while Y/N curled in her own bed, eyes on the ceiling, pretending not to notice the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional click of a zipper.

She hadn’t moved since.

-

The silence stretched between them like thread—thin and invisible and so easy to snap.

But no one did.

They hadn’t spoken in a while. Not since she told him, You’re the only part of today that didn’t hurt.

He hadn’t responded with words. Not after that. Just lay there, still as stone, breathing carefully, like if he exhaled too loudly the moment might evaporate.

Now, her eyes had adjusted enough to make out the shape of him across the room. One arm folded beneath his pillow. His hair falling forward into his eyes, shadowed but soft. His chest rising and falling, steady.

She wondered if he knew she was still awake.

She wondered if he was, too.

She turned onto her side. Slowly. Quietly.

The sheet whispered across her skin.

She was hyper-aware of every shift in her own body. The creak of the mattress, the faint press of air against her ankles. The warmth beneath the blanket that now felt too warm, the room too still. Like even her heartbeat was echoing back too loudly.

There was something too naked about the space between their beds.

Not in a literal way.

But in the way that everything between them felt… exposed now.

No more group. No more cover. No more noise.

Just her.

And Harry.

And a whole day’s worth of unspoken weight.

She blinked into the dark.

Her voice, when it came, surprised her.

“Can I tell you something kind of stupid?”

Harry didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “Always.”

She inhaled. Held it. Let it go.

“I brought his sweater.”

Silence.

She felt him turn slightly—just enough that she knew he was facing her now.

“I packed it without thinking. It was at the bottom of the drawer and I—I don’t know. It still smells like him.”

Harry didn’t speak.

Didn’t rush to fill the gap.

She was grateful for it.

“I was going to wear it tonight,” she said, voice smaller. “Like maybe it would… I don’t know. Trick my body into thinking I’m okay.”

Harry’s voice was low. Raspy.

“Did it?”

“No.”

She swallowed.

“It made me feel like a ghost in my own skin.”

He shifted again.

She could hear the sheets move.

But he still didn’t say anything.

And somehow, that helped more than anything else would have.

Y/N lay there a while longer.

Eyes open.

Not crying. Not spiraling.

Just… breathing.

Feeling the night settle around them. Feeling the air stretch between her bed and his like the softest, sharpest thread.

At one point, she turned again. Lay on her back.

And whispered, “Harry?”

A beat.

Then: “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

It was quiet for a long time.

So long she almost thought he’d fallen asleep.

But then—

His voice, barely there: “I think I will be.”

She stared at the ceiling.

Me too, she wanted to say.

But she wasn’t ready yet.

So instead, she said, “Good night.”

And from across the room, warm and slow and real:

“Good night, Y/N.”

-

It wasn’t sleep that came next.

It was something that wore its shape.

Time passed, but it didn’t move.

The dark thickened. The air shifted. The sounds of the house slowed into hush.

But Y/N stayed wide awake.

Not tossing. Not turning.

Still.

Her body was quiet, but her mind wasn’t. Her thoughts raced in slow, dragging circles—too tired to run, too wound up to rest. Her eyes stayed open long after they stopped registering anything, fixed on the faint shape of the ceiling fan spinning shadows against shadows.

The room had changed.

The moonlight through the window was different now—softer, slightly lower, like it had collapsed inward. The breeze had calmed. The curtain had stilled.

Harry hadn’t made a sound in over an hour. But she knew he wasn’t asleep.

She knew.

It was something in the way his breath stayed shallow. Steady, yes. But deliberate. As if he, too, was trying not to be the first one to move.

Y/N’s muscles had gone numb from stillness.

Every part of her felt suspended.

Her wrists. Her calves. Her lungs.

She lay on her side, facing the wall, the curve of her knees pulled tight, one hand curled gently beneath her pillow. Her skin was too warm. Her t-shirt clung in places it hadn’t earlier. Her hair felt heavy at the back of her neck.

And Harry was less than ten feet away.

Still. Quiet. Present.

It should’ve felt comforting.

It didn’t.

It felt like pressure.

Like a truth too big to name.

Like if she rolled over, everything about the day would come pouring out and she’d never be able to put it back in.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Hard.

Tried to breathe through it.

Counted the seconds between the fan’s clicks.

But it didn’t help.

Because behind her eyelids, she could still feel it—him.

Not just Harry.

Harry.

The way he’d looked at her earlier.

The way he’d listened. Really listened. Without asking for anything back.

The way he’d said “Only when you need me to.”

The way he sat beside her like he didn’t need to touch her to hold her up.

It was too much.

It was too much, and yet—

She wanted more of it anyway.

She flipped onto her back.

Slowly. Quietly.

Held her breath as the mattress shifted.

She stared up at the ceiling like it could answer for her thoughts.

And then—just once—she let herself glance to the right.

To him.

To Harry.

He was lying on his side now, facing her.

His eyes were open.

He didn’t pretend otherwise.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

There was just the space between them.

Dark. Bare. Unbearable.

Her voice stayed locked in her throat.

And his expression didn’t change.

But she felt it.

All of it.

The weight of everything they weren’t saying.

The pull of something neither of them had expected, but had been circling since mile three on the highway.

The knowing.

The quiet, impossible truth of I see you. I see you. I see you.

Y/N blinked once.

Harry did too.

Then he shifted—just slightly—like he might say something.

But he didn’t.

And neither did she.

Because this wasn’t a night for saying anything.

This was a night for surviving the silence.

For letting it shape them. Softly. Slowly.

And hoping it didn’t ruin them in the morning.

-

It was the stillness that woke her.

Not a sound. Not a shift in the bed.

Just that heavy, humming kind of quiet that didn’t feel accidental.

The kind of silence that pressed against her eyelids, warm and slow and thick with waiting.

Y/N blinked into the dark.

Or what was left of it.

There was light now—soft, early, barely-there light spilling through the open window in long, pale strokes across the floorboards. The curtain stirred once, brushed the wall like a sigh, then stilled again.

She stayed where she was.

Her body still curled under the blanket. Her breath still low. Her heart still racing for reasons she couldn’t quite name.

She didn’t know what time it was. But it had that hollow-boned quality—the hour that lives between real rest and being needed. The hour that tastes like forgotten dreams and creaking floorboards and the knowledge that if you speak, the day will begin and nothing will ever go back to how it was the night before.

Y/N turned slowly onto her side.

She didn’t mean to look at him.

She told herself she was checking the window.

The light.

The fan.

But when her eyes found Harry, they stayed there.

He hadn’t moved.

Still lying on his side. Still facing her.

Still awake.

She could tell by the way his chest lifted—too slow for sleep, too steady for dreaming. His hands were folded beneath the pillow. His hair was a mess, curling at the edges and fanned against the case like he’d been fighting gravity in his sleep.

But his eyes were open.

Soft. Heavy-lidded. But open.

Watching her.

She almost looked away.

She should have.

But neither of them flinched.

It felt like something had been peeled back in the dark—something raw and silent and so obvious now, there was no way to pretend it hadn’t always been there.

They didn’t speak.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because saying anything would mean naming it.

And naming it meant letting it be real.

And real was terrifying.

The fan clicked above them.

A single bird called out from the trees beyond the window.

Harry blinked. Once.

And Y/N, before she could stop herself, whispered, “You’re still awake.”

He nodded.

Barely.

Like even that was too much effort.

Like even that might break the spell.

Harry didn’t speak.

He just looked at her.

Not intensely. Not sharply.

Just… steadily.

Like he’d already decided it was okay to keep looking.

Like he wasn’t going to pretend this wasn’t happening anymore.

And the worst part was—

She didn’t want him to.

She didn’t want him to stop. Didn’t want him to turn away and fold himself back into the safe, quiet, too-neutral version of himself he carried around for everyone else.

She wanted this one.

The one who stayed.

The one who watched.

The one who knew how to sit still beside the burn of someone else’s grief without flinching.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

So she did nothing.

The fan overhead clicked once.

Then twice.

The light creeping through the curtain shifted an inch to the right, washing over the curve of Harry’s cheekbone, lighting just the edge of his profile—his brow, the tip of his nose, the top of his lip.

Y/N’s stomach turned.

Not from nerves.

From recognition.

From the gut-deep awareness that this wasn’t some harmless crush or fleeting moment of situational comfort. This was something she’d remember later. When she shouldn’t. When she’d try not to.

She curled her fingers tighter around the blanket draped across her stomach.

Not out of cold.

But control.

“You’re still awake,” she said quietly.

The words landed softly, but they didn’t dissolve.

They settled.

They stayed.

Harry nodded once, like even that tiny movement carried meaning.

And it did.

Of course it did.

Y/N rolled onto her back.

Carefully. Slowly.

Like the air between them might shatter if she moved too fast.

She didn’t look at him again.

But she felt it.

The weight of his gaze. The heat of it.

The way it rested on her like a question neither of them wanted answered yet.

“Did you sleep at all?” she whispered.

Harry didn’t speak right away.

He rarely did.

“Some,” he said eventually.

She nodded. Not because it mattered.

But because it gave her something to do with her head.

“Me neither.”

No laughter. No soft teasing. No false lightness to smooth out the rawness of it.

Just honesty.

The kind that existed at 5:30 a.m., when the sky hadn’t committed to being blue yet and your chest still ached from dreams you couldn’t remember.

The blanket was too warm.

The air too thin.

The room too quiet.

But somehow, none of it mattered.

Because he was still awake.

And so was she.

And that meant something.

He rolled onto his back too, and their bodies mirrored—lying still, not facing each other now, but not far.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then: “I kept thinking about the dock.”

She blinked at the ceiling.

“What about it?”

“That first night we got here last year. Everyone jumped in at once. It was freezing.”

A breath of something like a smile passed over her lips.

“Claire screamed like she’d been electrocuted.”

Harry huffed a soft laugh. “And then you dared Ben to stay in for two full minutes.”

Her smile dropped.

The memory stung.

More than it should have.

That ache was back again.

The one that sat behind her ribs like a bruise.

But Harry didn’t leave her there.

“I remember thinking…” he said, voice lower now, “you were the only one who looked like you actually belonged here.”

Y/N’s head turned.

She looked at him.

This time, really looked.

And in the slant of his voice, in the quiet weight of that sentence, she heard it:

I see you. I saw you even then.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

It wasn’t awkward.

It was something else.

Something thicker.

Something slower.

Something that buzzed just below her skin, like heat trapped under the surface.

She swallowed.

She didn’t ask him what he meant.

She knew.

She knew.

And that was worse.

Because knowing meant noticing.

Noticing meant caring.

And caring was a door she hadn’t meant to open.

“I don’t think I ever have,” she said finally.

“Have what?”

“Belonged here.”

Harry didn’t respond right away.

And when he did, it wasn’t with a correction or a protest or a no, that’s not true.

It was this:

“I don’t think any of them notice the difference.”

She frowned.

“But I do,” he added.

Her heart stuttered.

Once. Hard.

And just before she could ask what that meant—what she meant—his voice came again, soft and sure:

“That’s the part that matters.”

The light was climbing now.

Faint pink crept up the walls. The edges of the dresser sharpened. The curtain glowed.

But Y/N didn’t look away.

Not from him.

Not this time.

Harry lay still, one arm bent behind his head, his eyes on hers.

There was no mask now.

Nothing softening the truth of his gaze.

He looked at her like he already knew what she was afraid to feel.

Like he’d felt it too.

And that—

That made it worse.

Because it meant they were standing on the same ledge.

It meant she wasn’t imagining this.

And if she wasn’t imagining it, then…

Then everything had already changed.

She breathed in slowly.

Let it out through her nose.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed, just slightly. “Mean what?”

“That I’m the only one who didn’t pretend.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She nodded once.

Then looked away.

The curtain moved again. Just a little.

Like the morning was reminding her that time still existed, even if she wasn’t ready to move through it yet.

“You should get some sleep,” she said, though she wasn’t sure who she meant it for.

Harry’s voice was quieter now. “You should, too.”

But neither of them did.

They stayed like that.

In the quiet.

In the space between confession and denial.

In the ache that came from being seen too clearly by someone who hadn’t meant to see you at all—and did anyway.

Y/N closed her eyes.

The sun crept higher.

The breeze turned warmer.

And for the first time since arriving, she let herself believe—just barely, just once—that maybe she didn’t have to carry all of this alone.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

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