#the shading is a bit softer too I think

[myokk]

💘

[unriding]

EVIE !!!!!

I SAW U USE MY ART AS UR THEME SO I WANNA DO A REMAKE !!! mostly cause the other one was full of mistaks hurrrrr orz

keeping the color palette the same so itd still fit + use softer shading so convey how soft u are + moze is now IN UR HAND !!!! >:3

oh nick :’)

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[rosesnbooks]

❤️Scorpio placements🖤

💋sun in scorpio: scorpio suns are complex and those with this placement vary a lot. i have no trouble figuring out someone's moon in scorpio but it gets a bit difficult when it comes to the sun. either way, they always have a strong presence and they don't go unnoticed. people tend to form strong opinions about them, whether good or bad. their aesthetics can be different, with some even leaning toward softer looks. the women can be really cheerful and soft, but persevering. the men tend to be more on the "man of few words" side while trying to upkeep a masculine demeanor. they tend to have a great memory and they form strong attachements with their loved ones. they can be either shy or outgoing, but one thing they have in common is that they remain a mystery to a certain degree. they are full of life and they are very curious, and intellectual. they are funny and they love humorous people too. they are interested in many things and they like direct people who are fun to be with. the toxic ones can be really mean and gossipy, while others can be attentive and interesting. they appreciate the beauty in small things in life but they also have high ambitions and aren't afraid to dream big. they are responsible and mature for their age (obviously not everyone but yeah). they are hidden romantics and they have a crush most of the time

💋moon in scorpio: sensitive people with lots of emotions they try to keep hidden. they are very careful who they open up to and people tend to drain their energy, or they simply get tired of keeping up appearances. they want to have people in their lives who make them feel safe and they want someone they can confide into. they try to be independent but they want to rely on others sometimes too. they crave to be understood but they also want to remain a mysterious persona. they also crave a lot of passion in their daily lives and romance. they need hobbies and people that make them feel alive. those who do not manage to find such things tend to become obsessive with love and..yk...because it can give them that high. nevertheless, they are very passionate and creative. they are intuitive and feel other people's emotions but their emotional intelligence depends on their personal growth and their ability to be open-minded. they are prepared to do whatever it takes for their loved ones. i have noticed that they can be hard on themselves and that they wish to be more detached because it seems less complicated. despite craving privacy, i think many of them like attention, especially from the right people. they are yearners at their core.

💋ascendant/rising sign in scorpio: these people seem intimidating at first. they could have a soft aesthetic and everything and still not be easily approachable because of their aura. and yet, people can't seem to stop gravitating toward them. they usually leave an impression even in the shortest of interactions and people want to know what's happening in their mind. they are a lot more sensitive than they look. when relaxed and confident, their demeanor can be hypnotizing and they can turn on their charm easily. i have noticed that they find a fashion style they like and stick to it religiously. many prefer darker colors or more neutral tones they can combine with similar shades. the textures can vary but I rarely see them in any flashing colors. their eyes have a specific depth to them and you feel like they're always out of your reach somehow. they are a bit shy with new people but once they relax they can be humorous and talkative. others may think that they flirt a lot more than they actually do, which can get annoying. i've noticed that they attract emotionally immature people and men who show signs of toxic masculinity. they really like music and their alone time. food is also important to them!

💋mercury in scorpio-these people may not be of too many words unless they feel comfortable with you and even then, they are not yappers (in my experience). they observe people to form strong impressions. they are not the biggest fans of confrontation because they know things could get out of hand, so if they decide to fight with you, you must have pressed all the wrong buttons; especially if you hurt someone they love. they are honest and they like to get straight to the point. they talk with passion regarding the things they like. many of them really like gossip and their tendency to form strong first impressions can be impulsive and incorrect at times, so they need to be a bit more open-minded and patient with people. they are true skeptics sometimes because they need to believe in something 100% before acknowledging it. they also like taboo/darker topics. they are interested in the human nature and value truth even when it is uncomfortable and painful. they know how to read between the lines and figure out the true meaning of someone's words, so they are not easily fooled. they are not interested in small talk, in fact it drains them. i think journaling is amazing for all signs, but scorpios could benefit from it especially. basically, any outlet that lets them express their emotions and creativity without shame or fear, is good for them. it can be hard to compromise with them sometimes, and they need to work on that.

💋venus in scorpio-they want partners they can trust wholeheartedly. they may get entangled in some affairs because of their passionate nature and a deep desire for love. when they find the right person for them, they are dedicated, loyal and borderline obsessed haha. their partner becomes a part of them. i've seen some people write that scorpios can cheat their partners if they meet someone who provides the passion that is otherwise lacking in their relationship. i think anyone can cheat, so i don't have the need to comment on that. they probably had some karmic relationships in their life that taught them, the hard way, the kind of partner that's actually good for them. they are not afraid of seeing their loved one's dark sides. in fact, that just brings them even closer because they feel like they got to know them properly and they feel less ashamed of their own darker characteristics. these people are really sensual and they make their partners feel desired and wanted. truly not for those with weaker hearts. once again, they can be stubborn so they need a patient partner with a strong character. they need someone who will be a safe haven for them; someone intuitive, kind, honest, responsible, and well-tempered. they want a healthy relationship, the kind that feels like true love. people who value their freedom and alone time a lottt are not the best match for them, as well as those who lack empathy and healthy communication. in regards to their style i think it is more varied than people may think. people always say that they are romantic but i think this depends on the rest of their chart althoough in general, they are.

💋mars in scorpio-these people are very intense. they can be stubborn and they dislike obeying authority. if they think they're right about things, they can find it difficult to consider other perspectives. they put their heart into everything they do and they dislike doing anything half-heartedly. once they lose interest in something, it is hard to get right back to it, which is why they tend to excel in things that interest them, while performing more on the average side on things that don't matter to them/make sense. they are strong-willed and no matter the obstacles and the dark periods in their life, they persevere and learn from every experience. i've written once that they tend to be either hypersexual or on the asexual spectrum, haven't noticed anything in between much (and i still stand by it). when they get angry they feel consumed by it, and the feeling can stay with them for a while. that can be really tiring. they want to resolve things immediately but they feel blinded by their emotions so they usually have to wait to cool off and think about things before giving a healthy response. they can say hurtful things and hold grudges for a long time. i feel like they are fully aware of all the darker aspects of their personality. they can be overly protective and possessive. but, their love is deep and strong, so people feel lucky to have them in their lives. people can depend on them and trust them with anything. they like taboo topics/darker topics and they are interested in spirituality; they even find comfort in it.

💋saturn in scorpio-i don't know anyone with this placement but i've heard a couple of things along the years. it is no secret that these people are afraid of intimacy and exploring their emotions. they are afraid of being too much and saying the wrong thing, which gets in the way of their personal and even professional life. they can be stubborn, secretive, and quick to judge. they are scared of relying on others so they deal with things alone. life has not treated them kindly and they underwent many transformations. they are strong individuals who can overcome any obstacles and they are very careful and observant. they don't rush into things and they are quite smart. their emotions and intuition provide a rich inner life and a big and loving heart that just needs to give people a chance more. they understand others because of everything they've been through and they can be someone's rock in difficult times. people naturally respect them and listen what they have to say attentively. i've read that they are often responsible with their finances and other reponsibilities. once they decide to work on themselves, a bright future awaits because they will realise their strength and invite wonderful people into their lives.

💋jupiter in scorpio-these people do anything their heart desires even when scared. they are careful, smart, passionate, and loving. they have most luck when they welcome change in their lives. that's when they grow as people and find many good things and people on the way. they use their intense emotions as a tool that guides them toward the truth, which is why they often make the right decisions and trust the right kind of people. they are magnetic and attractive. their wilpower is amazing and they have a great intuition. a lot of them are interested in spirituality and astrology. tarot may be something they are interested too. they have the ability to use their strengths for a good cause or for their selfish gains. this depends on them entirely. life can test them more than others which might seem unfair, which can lead someone toward a path of distrust and manipulation, or courage and honesty (and love, obviously). despite it all, some of them can be victims of manipulation (through media or the ones closest to them). people may learn what makes them tick and what they love and adapt accordingly, only to fulfil their malicious plans for them. i know someone with this placement who uses their intensity to get what they want and it can be morally troubling at times (e.g. using fear and power). they need to nourish their confidence and relationships with others in order to keep growing. nevertheless, they are interesting people you can't seem to forget

♡Thank you for reading dear! A little disclaimer: I am not a professional!♡

©rosesnbooks

[dearsnow]

YOUR BAR BOYFRIEND

- after being harassed by a drunken stranger, your bar boyfriend swoops in to save the day (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is intended to be on the quieter/more introverted side, but if you’re not like that you can ignore that one line ⚠️ verbal sexual harassment, drinking).

PART 2

word count: 1,206

a/n - tell a friend to tell a friend… SHE’S BAAACKKKK!!!! i’m so glad to be back to writing, y’all have no idea how much i missed it. i’ll probably be a bit rusty until i find my rhythm, so please ignore the not-top-quality writing until then. also, feel free to send in requests or chat!!

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend.��� You utter apologetically, side-stepping the arm of the man in front of you. He reeks of beer and a hard day’s work, his scruffy face all too unkept in the lighting of the bar. You can’t even fathom exactly why you’re in the bar in the first place- you’ve never been one to explore, but this man is making you feel like you never want to leave your house again.

Your eyes scan the room, but no one seems to notice your predicament. The bar is full of Navy men, surely one of them would be fine with pretending to help you. “C’mon, sugar, one drink. Thas’ all ya have to do. If it goes well, hey, I wouldn’t mind one fuck either.” He grins, winking. The hope that you held in your heart is quickly dissipating. “He don’t have to know.” You feel your stomach drop as he moves to grab your hand, but an firm grip shoves his fingers away instead.

“Honey, is this guy bothering you?” A voice behind you speaks. You quickly turn around.

“I… yeah.” You stutter. You’re staring right into the face of a guy in a uniform, his jaw set as he glares at the drunk through his glasses.

He moves in front of you, creating a physical barrier between you and the significantly shorter man. Relief floods you. “Then I think he’d better leave before someone kicks him out, huh?”

The intoxicated man rolls his eyes, but frantically shuffles out the door of the bar. His gait was evidently terrified.

The tension is pulled from your shoulders, and you unintentionally sigh. The guy with glasses turns around to face you. His expression is softer now that the threat is gone, and his concern is almost cute.

“Are you alright?” He asks. “I’m sorry for the pet name thing, but I overheard you and I couldn’t really just stand there and watch. I’m Bob, by the way, Bob Floyd.” He reaches his hand out for you to shake, and as you do, his hesitates through his rambling.

You smile at him. “Thank you, Bob, I’m fine. And I don’t mind.” His grip is firm but not crushing, just like his presence. You introduce yourself, and he nods like he’s desperate to commit the sound of your name to memory. The respectful tone is honestly a breath of fresh air with the raucous energy of the Hard Deck, causing your cheeks to be a few degrees warmer when you pull your hand away. Our of the corner of your eye, you can see him wipe his somewhat clammy hands on the sides of his pants.

“Also, I’m sorry for taking the place of your actual boyfriend. I assumed you just didn’t know where he was, so I stepped in.” His eyes search for your own, holding steady eye contact. They’re the prettiest shade of blue you’ve ever seen.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I don’t actually have a boyfriend, but I thought a lie was the better choice. You saved me, and that’s all that matters.” Your voice has a certain breathy quality to it. You’ve completely transitioned from terror to being deeply attracted to the person who spared you an even more intense confrontation. Bob’s eyes widen just slightly.

He takes his hands away from his sides and motions to one of the tables in the corner, his face just the slightest bit pinker. “Would you want to sit down?”

You nod, and he leads the way. As he’s pulling out your chair for you, you can’t help but wonder how your night turned out this way. You went from having the worst night of your life to dizzily encountering the person you could only describe as being your bar boyfriend.

You just recently moved to this part of San Diego for a newfound job opportunity, completely unaware of your proximity to the Hard Deck and a Naval base. You didn’t know anyone or anything, and as someone who isn’t necessarily very outgoing, it was hard for you to adjust. Not even your coworkers were easy to make friends with, so you slowly became more and more isolated.

The bar was kind of your last resort. You didn’t expect to find anything great, and you still don’t know what compelled you to go, but some hidden part of you figured that at least you could get some form of entertainment. Finding Bob, though, you never expected.

Conversation feels easy with him. He seems like a quiet guy, but he knows exactly what to say to keep you talking, and he offers insights of his own that just further the subject you’re talking about. Words fly from your mouths, and you can say that you’ve never enjoyed talking more. You bounce from common topics like work and hobbies to deeper breakdowns of memories and experiences, your smile growing wider every second. You’re completely in a world that was built brick by brick for you and him.

You’re so lost in the moment that you don’t even notice the woman who rests her hand on the back of your chair until she speaks. “Bob, you of all people? Never would’ve expected you to abandon us for a pretty girl.”

Bob reddens as you turn to face her. “Sorry, Nat.”

She holds a hand out to you, which you shake. “Call me Phoenix. He’s my backseater, and apparently a lady killer tonight.”

Bob stands as Phoenix gives him a pointed look. “Sorry to steal him away from you, but he’s taken way too long of a break from our pool game. I’ll give him back to you later.”

“You say that like I’m a robot.” He grumbles, showing just a hint of disappointment at having to leave your conversation.

You wave him away. “Have fun, Bob. I’d better go anyways.”

“Wait-“ he starts as you stand up, “-could I give you my number first?”

You secretly cheer inside of your head. You nod, and he takes a pen out of his shirt pocket. “Here.” He mumbles, writing it on a spare napkin and handing it to you. His fingers brush over yours, sending electrifying sparks throughout your entire body. You could get used to this feeling, you think. His hand hovers for a split second before regretfully moving away. “It’s, uh, it’s up to you, but I’d really like it if you called or texted. I had a nice time with you.”

You tuck the napkin into your bag, eyes soft. Bob thinks he’s never seen a sight so beautiful- the sun is setting behind you, and it casts you in a golden light as your mouth quirks up. “Of course I will. I had a nice time with you too.”

Your voice is quiet, but a sound that he relishes all the same. He could’ve gotten lost in you if Phoenix wasn’t impatiently tapping her foot next to him.

She pulls him away, and though he knows he’s up for a lot of teasing, Bob can’t find it in himself to care. He just knows that he needs to see you again, and you know that no matter what, you’ll make it happen.

[brunchable]

Santa Baby | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Christmas FLUFF, a bit of jealousy from Steve. Summary: At the annual Christmas gala, your flirty performance of Santa Baby leaves Steve Rogers captivated and a little jealous of the attention you're drawing. Later, under the falling snow on the balcony, Steve finally proposes, turning the festive night into a moment you'll cherish forever. A/N: Can be connected to "Secret Santa" if you want to connect it to each other haha. This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

The annual Christmas gala was in full swing—twinkling fairy lights, glittering ornaments, and the comforting hum of laughter set the perfect holiday mood. You had been assigned to entertain the crowd, your role as the night’s singer solidified when Tony loudly declared, “Y/N’s got the voice of an angel! She’s doing it, no arguments!”

You stood at the microphone in your long, sultry red gown, the epitome of old-Hollywood glamour. The satin hugged your figure, the thigh-high slit adding an edge of daring sophistication. The room quieted as the band started playing, the familiar playful melody of Santa Baby filling the air.

And that’s when you saw him.

Steve Rogers, sitting at a corner table, a glass of eggnog in his hand and a faint pink flush already warming his cheeks. Perfect target.

With a coy smile, you launched into the song, every word dripping with playful flirtation.

“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree... for me...” you sang, letting your voice take on a velvety quality as you held Steve’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly, and you swore his grip on the eggnog tightened.

You strolled closer to the crowd, letting your hips sway naturally to the beat. The teasing smile never left your lips as you zeroed in on Steve, directing every lyric his way.

“Been an awful good girl... Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Steve’s blush deepened as you approached. He squirmed a little in his chair, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. But as your performance continued, you noticed the looks from the other men in the room. Some were outright gawking, and a few whispered to each other, their eyes locked on your gown.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as he followed their gazes. Sam, seated beside him, smirked and leaned over. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but Steve’s curt shake of his head and the glare he shot Sam made you giggle internally.

Still, you couldn’t resist turning the heat up a notch.

“Think of all the fun I’ve missed...” You winked directly at Steve. “Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

Sam burst into laughter, giving Steve an exaggerated nudge. Poor Steve looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, his ears bright red now, but his sharp glare shifted back to anyone in the room staring too long at you. His possessiveness was adorable—and obvious.

By the time you hit the final note, Steve was practically a Christmas decoration himself—his cheeks a matching shade to your dress. The crowd erupted into applause, but you were only looking at him, grinning mischievously as you gave a little bow.

× × × ×

Not long after, you were walking through the festive crowd when a strong, familiar hand gently grabbed your elbow. You turned, meeting Steve’s sheepish yet determined expression.

“Mind stepping outside with me for a second?”

You nodded, letting him guide you to the balcony. As you approached the doors, Steve paused and slid his coat off, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric and the subtle hint of his cologne made your cheeks heat.

“It’s cold out,” he said simply, his voice softer now.

Your heart fluttered as you adjusted the coat and followed him onto the balcony. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine. Twinkling lights illuminated his face, and you noticed how serious he seemed, his usual shy demeanor replaced by something more intense.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he finally asked, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and genuinely flustered.

“What?” you replied innocently, feigning surprise. “It’s a Christmas classic! Everyone loves Santa Baby.”

“Yeah, well, everyone wasn’t being serenaded like that,” he muttered, his jaw tightening again. “And… not everyone was staring at you like that, either.”

You blinked in surprise, your lips curving into a slow grin. “Steve Rogers, are you jealous?”

His blush returned full force, but he held your gaze. 

“Maybe I am. Can you blame me? You look…” He gestured helplessly at you, searching for words. “You look like a dream tonight, Y/N. And I don’t want to share that dream with anyone else.”

Your heart melted on the spot, but you decided to push him just a little further. “Well, good thing it was just a performance. You know, for everyone.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I need to say something. And… I can’t wait anymore.”

You tilted your head, your playful expression faltering as you noticed the sincerity in his eyes. Before you could speak, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Steve…” you whispered, your breath catching.

“I’ve had this for months,” Steve admitted, his voice low but steady, the faintest tremor betraying his nerves. “I kept telling myself I’d wait for the perfect moment. Then you walked out tonight, looking like that, singing to me like that, and I realized… every moment with you is perfect. What am I waiting for?”

Your breath caught as he knelt down on one knee, his strong hand still holding yours as if grounding himself in you. The soft glow of the lights around you reflected in his blue eyes, filled with a mixture of nervousness and unwavering love.

“You, Y/N,” he began, his voice growing quieter, more tender. “You’re the brightest part of my life. You make me laugh, keep me on my toes, and remind me every day what it means to live fully. I don’t want to go another second without knowing you’ll always be by my side.”

His lips curved into a small, vulnerable smile as he revealed the vintage-style diamond ring nestled in the box. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred your vision as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace. “Steve…” you whispered, your voice catching, but the joy in your chest pushed through. “Yes. Yes, Steve. Of course!”

He stood slowly, slipping the ring onto your finger with such care it felt ceremonial, almost sacred. For a moment, you both just stared at the ring, the weight of the moment filling your heart with a radiant warmth.

And then his arms were around you, pulling you into a deep embrace. His lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so filled with emotion, it made the world around you disappear.

But Steve wasn’t done. As if overcome with the pure joy of your “yes,” he suddenly lifted you off your feet, your gasp turning into laughter against his mouth. He spun you around effortlessly, his hold on you as steady as his love, while snowflakes fell softly around you, dusting his shoulders and catching in your hair. The kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing against yours with a certainty that made your heart soar.

When he finally set you back down, the world felt quieter, the snow falling like a gentle curtain between you and everything else. You stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled in the chilly night air.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice steady and sure, his gaze locking onto yours.

A smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I love you too, Steve,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy.

His hands trailed down to your waist, holding you firmly but tenderly, as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His gaze softened further, filled with a quiet awe that mirrored your own.

For a long while, you simply stayed there, wrapped in his arms as the snow fell around you, the soft hum of music and laughter from the party barely audible in the background. This wasn’t just a memory—it was the start of something extraordinary.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

[koyagifs]

𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮

pairing: san x reader au: idol | friends to lovers genre: fluff word count: 825 words summary: san had tried confessing through subtle messages but he finally had enough. warning(s): -

You laid on San couch, wearing his t-shirt as well as some shorts as Byeol laid on your chest. San had invited you over, saying he'll meet you there after he had finish up a few verses with Hongjoong. As you laid comfortably, San was standing by a flower shop, wondering which one to get for you.

The amount of times San had tried to confess, he had lost count.

As you relaxed on the couch, Byeol curled up on your chest, her soft purring creating a soothing rhythm. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. You smiled, feeling content in this little moment of peace.

San’s playful banter echoed in your mind—how he always teased about bringing you flowers. It was sweet how much thought he put into it, even if he struggled to actually confess his feelings. You could imagine him standing there, deliberating over the vibrant blooms, his brow furrowed in concentration.

What would he pick? Maybe daisies, bright and cheerful, or perhaps roses, classic yet romantic. You chuckled softly, imagining him overthinking the choice as he always did. He’d probably think about what you might like, what would make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted, imagining what it would be like if he finally found the courage to tell you. The way he’d smile shyly, those deep brown eyes sparkling with hope. The anticipation of that moment felt thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Just then, you heard the door click open. San stepped in, a goofy grin on his face, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. “I figured you could use a little sunshine,” he said, his voice bright and teasing.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart racing a bit. “You know me so well,” you replied, glancing down at Byeol, who was now wide awake and curious.

As he approached, you could see the way his cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping into his demeanor. “I… uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started, his voice wavering just a bit.

Your heart skipped a beat. Here it was—the moment you both had danced around for so long. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the air, and waited for him to continue.

San took a deep breath, his fingers nervously twisting the stem of the sunflowers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “About how much I value our friendship and… how much I wish it could be more.”

The words hung in the air, a mix of hope and vulnerability. Your heart raced as you searched his expression, wanting to convey your own feelings without breaking the moment.

He stepped a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I just… I really like you. Like, a lot. And I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” His cheeks were flushed, the honesty of his confession making him even more endearing.

You felt a wave of warmth rush through you, and a smile broke across your face. “San,” you started, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside. You sat up, moving an upset Byeol as you left the couch. San looked at you nervously, but was soon at ease when you took the flowers from him.

“i knew the whole time," you said, smiling up at him.

San’s jaw dropped in surprise, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “Wait, really? You knew?”

You nodded, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah! All those little hints? I might be slow sometimes, but I wasn’t completely oblivious.”

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought I was being so subtle!”

“You were cute about it, but not as subtle as you think,” you teased. “Like the time you kept bringing up that café with the cute flower arrangements. I saw right through you.”

San huffed, " does this mean you like me?"

As you wrapped your arms around San’s neck and pressed your lips to his, the world around you faded away. His surprise melted into warmth, and you felt him lean into the kiss, his hands gently finding your waist.

The moment was electric—sweet and tender, yet filled with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless, you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a mixture of shock and joy.

“Wow,” he breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “So that’s what you meant by ‘liking’ me.”

You chuckled softly, feeling giddy. “Yeah, I think that qualifies.”

San let out a breathe he didn't realized that he held in, making you giggle. He placed another kiss on your lips, his heart racing as he finally got the girl of his dream.

[sixosix]

summary you take it upon yourself to make it up to lyney when he couldn’t perform on the night he looked forward to the most—and lyney falls a little harder.

or, sickfic, basically, but it’s more than that

warnings wc 3k, mentions of injuries and blood, fluff!!! and a bit of angst oops

A/N @hiraethsdesires wanted to get tagged so here u goo!!! hope u like reading it <3

“For the last time, Lyney,” you sigh, shoving one more macaron in the small, red box with the same shade as the accents of his hat, “I can’t attend your show.”

It’s a stroke of luck for him that you don’t have a line right now, or else you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him enter, fully expecting he doesn’t intend on leaving right away.

Lyney droops dramatically, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Seriously? Not this week either?”

“Not this week either. Not ever, I’m pretty sure I told you.” You push the box against his chest, to which he responds eagerly by situating his free hand firmly over yours.

He keeps his grip firm when you try tugging your hands away. He bores his eyes into yours, too sincere and open for a performer such as himself—you feel a bit of your will chip away. “That night is special to me. Won’t you consider again?”

“Why is it special?”

Lyney’s lips curl into a smirk, striking right when you’ve faltered. “Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You jerk your hands out of his grip as he laughs. “Bold assumption,” you say, smiling a little when Lyney cries a ‘come onnnn’. “Lyney, I already said—”

“—That you have no one else to take care of the shop if you leave, I know, I know,” Lyney interrupts with clear disdain. “But don’t you think I deserve a bit of compensation? Surely you recognize my efforts in being this bakery’s most loyal customer. Most purchases and most compliments to the prettiest owner.”

You roll your eyes, but you do give it a bit of thought. Lyney has been the reason why your humble little shop tucked in some hidden corner of Fontaine’s city has been gaining attention. You’ve definitely increased in customers ever since Lyney took it upon himself to come over every day with a Rainbow Rose and a dream (and Mora).

“If I attend to one, will you promise it’ll be the last?”

Lyney’s expression shifts instantly. He beams, leaning close enough until your noses are touching. You swear you can see the sparkles in his eyes. “I can’t promise anything if you enjoy it so much you keep coming back for more.”

“Don’t push it,” you say.

“I won’t, I won’t,” Lyney murmurs, his smile turning softer. “You’re not joking around, right? That’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes, I guess.”

He kisses your hand three times, saying, “I’ll make it the best night of your life, I promise,” between them.

You look forward to it. You wouldn’t tell it to his face, but if he were to look closer and see the tremble of your hands to the smile on your face, he’d know anyway.

Lyney doesn’t come over the next day.

You will yourself not to feel too disappointed. You have no right to be. Every time he does visit, he’d just invite you to one of his shows under the guise of ordering whatever you tell him is the best seller of the day, and every time, you’d reject his offer. Yesterday was an exception—on a whim.

Maybe he got a revelation, thinking that he'll find it boring when he finally got you in his grasp.

It certainly doesn’t help that Lyney still hasn't come to visit the day after that, which happened to be the same day of the performance.

They canceled the show, you hear them say, from outside on the streets and even in the walls of your bakery. What a shame; I was looking forward to it.

So was I, you want to say through gritted teeth.

You knew their fame knew no bounds, but it was only then that embarrassment crept in when you realized that the show star, Lyney himself, frequented your small shop with a bouquet in hand to invite you personally. And you had the gall to reject him.

You also learn that the bakery feels much more empty without his blazing presence.

The moment you finish watching the customer exit the shop with two paper bags in their arms, you rush to fling your apron off and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’.

You don’t often leave the bakery in fear of missing out on what could be busy days, but this is more important than that. You can’t handle working idly for another hour with guilt in your stomach urging you to do something.

You must look like a sight: speeding through the pathway with a bit of flour on your clothes and a determined glint in your eyes. Only when you spot a familiar house overhead do you pause to take a deep breath.

You can do this. You need to find out what happened.

“He got sick?”

Lynette nods, sighing in defeat. “Would you like to come in? I’ll explain as I make tea.”

You glance around unsurely, feeling a little out of place. You occasionally break the heart of the brother of this woman currently inviting you inside their home. You can only hope that Lyney hasn’t been lamenting his bakery troubles to his sister.

Lynette directs you to the loveseat of their small living room before padding over to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” she says in her endearing ever-monotone voice.

“I’m okay, thank… you…” Your gaze catches on a picture frame on the desk beside the seat of Lyney, Lynette, and what you can only assume from stories he’s shared is Freminet. Lynette is far from the camera, staring into the distance and sipping tea. Freminet is smiling awkwardly with no teeth, and the one eye he has visible isn’t even staring at the camera. Then Lyney sits in the middle, holding the camera with two arms and a wide grin, eyes screwed shut and his face so open.

You feel as if you’ve just caught a glimpse of something so personal, and the thought of that twists your heart and pushes it to beat twice as fast as normal. You’ve never seen him smile like that before. (You briefly wonder what it would be like to see it happen personally.)

“I’ve never seen him get this high of a fever before,” Lynette says, rousing you from your trance. She hands you a cup of tea, steam emanating from the cup.

“How did he even get sick?”

“I’m not sure… It could be because of the thunderstorm yesterday—he was out at that time and came home like that. He seemed really excited for tonight, too. Lyney kept telling me that this one would be special.”

“Because you will be coming to watch, of course.”

You nearly choke in your first sip because of your own thoughts.

Lynette looks back up at you over the rim of her cup. “With the stress of not being able to perform tormenting him, I assume he wouldn’t be getting better in time for the show. Or at least, not tonight at all.”

“Ah,” you voice lamely. You can’t even imagine the look of pure distress on Lyney’s sweet face—it hurts to even think about it. He’s done so much for you and even promised a whole show, only to fall sick before he could make it come true.

Will he think he’s at fault for this?

With your fingernails digging crescents on your palms, you quietly ask, “…Can I come visit him? Or would that be too much?”

Lynette’s gaze sharpens a little. “Has my brother told you the truth of our identities?”

“Most of everyone found out after the trial,” you answer without missing a beat.

“And still, you choose to care for Lyney?”

Is this a shovel talk? Are you experiencing a shovel talk right now?

“He makes it hard not to,” you say weakly; it’s the truth. You’re here because Lyney, throughout his little visits, has made you care so deeply for him that you started to look forward to each visit. “…Is that a no? Was that too much of a request?”

Lynette has a ghost of a smile on her face. “It’s perfect.”

The room is silent as you enter. You feel shame for visiting someone’s room without them knowing, even though you’ve been given complete permission by his own sister. Still, your face burns the closer you reach Lyney’s bed.

“Hey, Lyney,” you murmur as you kneel beside the bed. “I brought some of your favorites.”

He doesn’t respond, much to no one’s surprise. You wonder why you feel so disappointed that those lilac eyes aren’t looking at you, begging you, wooing you. Defeated, you place the bag of macarons on his bedside table, mostly an excuse to inspect his face closer.

His brows are furrowed, and a thin layer of sweat is on his forehead, even in his sleep. He looks nicer in casual clothes and his hair free from products.

A bowl of water is near his head, with a towel sitting in the bottom.

“You get really sick when you get it, huh?” you muse to no one in particular, gently wiping the sweat off his forehead. Then to his neck, where the warmth of his fever nearly burns you just by hovering close.

Lyney shifts a little. You pause with bated breath. Still, he doesn’t wake up.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, taking the bowl in your hands.

His nose is really red. You shouldn’t be finding it cute—really, what’s wrong with you recently?

But your movement brushed against the blanket over his torso and, with it, came revealing the side of his waist. His stomach is wrapped with bandages, and a spot of dried blood is seeping in on the bandage on his side.

Your eyes widen in horror, nearly making a loud, indecipherable noise before you catch yourself.

You rush to the door, finding Lynette in the same spot of the loveseat where you left her. Her eyes flick up to you, brows arched in surprise.

“Lynette, he—”

She catches on quickly. “He’s alright,” Lynette says, though her ears are curled back in distress. “He’s been given help. We knew of someone affiliated with Hydro and its healing properties. He’s alright.”

Well. Of course, she knew; she’s his sister. You can’t bear the thought of Lyney in the middle of a thunderstorm, finding himself in front of Lynette, bleeding. You feel sick just thinking about it. You can’t possibly imagine what Lynette has been going through, having to take care of her brother by herself.

You hesitate. “Can I come back here tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wait—really?”

Lynette pauses. “Should I have not said yes?”

“I just thought you’d be a little more stern with me because of… you know…”

“I respect those who put my brother in his place,” Lynette says, then: “And those who don’t run from us when they find out what our identities are,” and that’s that.

“You brought a flower,” is the first thing Lynette says as soon as she opens the door the following morning.

“He gives me one every visit,” you explain, and you’re not quite sure why it’s humiliating to do so. “So, I want to pay him back at least this once.”

“Rainbow Rose,” Lynette notes as she shuts the door softly. You follow her into Lyney’s room, but she halts before you two can reach the door at arm’s length. “Do you know what this one means?”

You look at the Rainbow Rose nestled in your palm. It's been well taken care of since he gave it to you—all of them had been. “No, I can’t say that I do…?”

“He’s given everyone else Lumidouce Bells because this flower is a little more special.”

Lynette reaches for your hand, gently pushing the Rainbow Rose until you’re holding it against your chest.

She looks into your eyes. “That flower is like him giving his heart to you. Please, take care of it some more. Don’t give it back, okay?”

And as you mull over her words, she leaves. And left you standing in front of Lyney’s room alone, with your entire face feeling as if it’s been burnt by the sun.

But this is no time for distractions, no matter the implications. Lyney still hasn’t woken up yet, and it’s time to pay him back. He deserves that much.

“You finally feel better?”

Lyney blinks. Or, at least, he tries to, but his eyes weigh heavier than usual. He lays back down and chooses to close them back again. “Ugh…” he rasps out, “Lynette. My side is still hurting a little, but it’s much more bearable than yesterday. I thought I was about to die!”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Lynette says, handing him a glass of water. “You already caused quite a scene.”

“Hmmm?” Lyney answers absentmindedly, finding himself ready to fall asleep again.

“You didn’t get injured yesterday. That was five days ago. And the bakery shop owner kept coming over every day.”

Lyney’s eyes definitely open at that. “What did you say?”

Lynette’s tail flicks. “The bakery has been closed for about four days now, and no one else but I know that it’s because the person responsible for it has been here in this room instead, taking care of you. It was even on The Steambird.”

Lyney’s finding it difficult to catch up. “Wait… wait. Are you saying…”

“You made Y/N, Freminet, and I worry so much, you know,” she chides.

Lyney’s heart shatters. “Does that mean—my wound—”

“I wasn’t the one changing your bandages,” Lynette says with a tiny smile as she watches her brother’s face explode in red. “Do you still feel tired?”

“Not at all!” Lyney springs up from his bed, his grin wild and insane. His side will most definitely punish him for this, but that’s far in the back of his mind. “Ah, so Y/N does care. All my efforts weren’t in vain!”

Lynette sighs, but still stays to listen.

“And—bandaging my wounds? While I was out cold? How intimate… My heart is racing at the thought of it.” He clutches his chest, because it’s true despite his dramatics.

“I’ve never seen Y/N before; I’ve only heard of what you told me every time you came back from the bakery,” Lynette starts, urging him to lie back down. She presses a towel on his forehead, and he yelps because it feels ice-cold. “But you seem wrong about every assumption, Lyney. I know the face of someone who cares.”

Lyney falters, his expression softening impossibly. “Y/N’s not mad I missed out on the show I promised…?”

“Y/N was worried about the same thing, but in your shoes.”

Lyney hides his face with his hands, but that’s a fruitless attempt. Lynette has a clear view of his red ears. “I can’t tell if I’m elated or mortified,” he groans. “Both, perhaps?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lynette says, getting up at the same time the door swings open.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” you exclaim, though hushedly. “Lynette, I brought food to eat. Here, help yourself. Has Lyney woken up yet?”

“Oh, he…” Lynette takes your handmade lunch and glances down at her brother, briefly surprised to see him with his eyes shut and his breathing as steady as it had been when he was sleeping. “Excuse me, I want to eat.”

“Wait, Lynette—” you start, but Lynette is already walking away and eventually shuts the door. She must be very excited to eat her food.

You turn to Lyney, and the world falls silent. Lyney doesn’t know why he’s terrified of you finding out he’s awake. Was it guilt? Shame for a promised night in ruin, or humiliation for seeing him at his lowest point? He grips the sheet under the blanket tighter. His heart racing seems like it’s neither of those.

“Hello again, Lyney,” you say in a low whisper, and all of a sudden, his grip loosens, and his shoulders lose tension. “You should wake up soon. I promised Lynette I’d bake your favorite dessert if you do.”

You're not expecting any reply, ceremoniously reaching for the towel on his bedside table, like you’ve lived here as much as he has been.

The steady beat of your heart calms him, and he wonders how you aren’t hearing how fast his is beating yet.

Lyney finds himself enjoying being under your tender care, until the warmth on his side disappears and he panics instantly. His eyes fly open just in time for him to see you leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Lyney slips, instinctively reaching out to hold your head in place.

You both freeze, staring at each other wide-eyed.

His thoughts race. Four days. You’ve closed the bakery shop you swore to him you wouldn’t ever abandon just for anyone—yet you did for him. You’ve been taking care of him. And kissing his cheek, for god’s sake. Four days you’ve been caring for him so sweetly, and he wasn’t awake enough to experience all of it himself.

“You’re—you’re awake!” you exclaim, your hands on both of his cheeks. “Lyney, oh, you’re— Wait, how long have you been—”

Lyney silences you with a kiss on the side of your mouth. He smiles at your dumbfounded expression. “You shouldn’t promise my dessert,” he says, and he winces when his voice doesn’t come out as smoothly as intended. “I don’t want any more promises to break.”

“You didn’t break any promise, Lyney,” you say softly, and he blinks when your eyes glisten. “You’re awake right now, aren’t you?”

“Then,” he straightens to sit up, grinning, “let me make it up to you. I promised you a night you would never forget, didn’t I?”

A/N not another lyney fic...

[mingi-s-dimples]

Strictly Confidential - San

~"Hiii❤️Can you pls write one where you are the mafia San’s lawyer, but since you are kind hearted and innocent ( not naive) he got his eyes on you??Corruption kink, (iffff it’s ok with you reader can be a virgin), dirty talk (including how much he was longing for you and waiting to take you), mild bondage, possessiveness, (reader has a crush on San too but wouldn’t think San would even look at them), pampering reader while ripping them into half <3 thank youuu❤️" ~ sweetie you also added sth about pregnancy but unfortunately I don't write those😞 but I loved the idea so I just didn't add the pregnancy talk ^^ hope you like ittt 🤍

pairing: ceo!san x lawyer fem!reader

genre: filth, 18+

summary: your outfit is *just* a little bit too revealing for San to not react.. and later that evening, he drops on his knees for you, then he ruins you.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: ceo!san, possessive san, slightly controlling san, corruption kink *just slightly*, reader is a virgin, restraining/light bondage (her hands tied up with san's belt), office sex, he doesn't even bother to take her skirt off, san's desperate, he eats her out, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk/degradation (slut), praising (good girl), ass spanking, face pushing (into the desk), pounding *literally*, vaginal sex, teasing, unprotected (booo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later.

Author's Note: why do I feel like this one is written better than my last San request..? either way y'all will see I DAMN enjoyed writing this one 😂 the detailssss sjsjshsuushs controlling san sjshshshs possessive san ajsjshhs and so on I'm biting my knuckles as we speak. I hope you all enjoy it ^^ ly guys 🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

You should’ve known the outfit would push him too far.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. The silk blouse, a shade too light, clung in ways that weren’t entirely professional, the top button left undone just enough to hint at something softer underneath. The skirt hugged your waist, cutting off at mid-thigh when you sat, revealing just a sliver more skin than usual. It wasn’t indecent. It wasn’t against the rules. But it was enough.

Enough to make Choi San snap.

You’ve been his lawyer for months now—long enough to know that he watches you more than he should. Long enough to catch the way his gaze lingers when you speak, dark eyes dropping to your mouth before flicking back up as if he didn’t mean to. Long enough to hear the shift in his voice when he says your name, the slow drag of it on his tongue.

You’ve known, and you’ve played along—just a little. Just enough to keep things interesting.

But today, something is different and you feel it the second you step into his office.

San is already standing, a rare thing given that he usually prefers to remain seated behind his desk, lazy and composed, as if the world itself is something he can toy with at his leisure. But now, he’s braced against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, eyes pinned on you the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

His silence is thick, crackling with something dark and unreadable.

Slowly, you set your leather portfolio onto the desk, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Something wrong, Mr. Choi?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it isn’t a smile. It’s something sharper. “Come here.”

A demand, not a request.

You raise a brow. “I thought we had business to discuss.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

It’s a warning. A test.

And you should say no. You should keep things professional. You should sit in the chair across from his desk like you always do, open your portfolio, and get straight to business. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward. Then another.

San stays perfectly still, watching, waiting, as if savoring the moment. When you finally stop in front of him, barely an arm’s length away, you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of leather and spice wrapping around you like a slow-burning fire.

He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s about to dismantle. Then, his eyes drop—slow, deliberate.

Your blouse. Your throat. The delicate slope of your collarbone. The soft curve of your chest where the undone button reveals just a little too much.

His jaw tightens.

And just like that, you realize—he’s been holding himself back.

For months, he’s played this game with you, circling, waiting, indulging in stolen glances and veiled innuendos. But today, you’ve tipped the scales. Today, you’ve worn something that makes him forget to be careful.

San exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused, almost like he’s irritated with himself. Then, without warning, he reaches out.

Fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up.

“You did this on purpose.” His voice is low, rougher than before.

You don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Instead, you smile—slow, knowing. “Did what?”

San laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Cute.”

His thumb brushes over your jaw, barely a whisper of a touch, but the intent behind it is unmistakable. He’s testing. Measuring.

And you let him.

Because for all his power, for all his control—he’s the one unraveling.

His gaze dips to your lips, lingers there. When he speaks again, his voice is even lower, dangerously smooth.

“You walk in here looking like this and expect me to behave?”

“I expect you to be professional,” you say, and you make sure to let the words drip with teasing, with something that is not quite innocence but plays at the edges of it.

San hums. “Is that what you want?”

His fingers trail down, brushing the column of your throat.

You don’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, you tilt your head slightly, just enough for his thumb to press against the hollow of your throat. Just enough to let him feel the pulse beneath your skin.

San stills.

Then—he moves.

One hand splays against your hip, gripping, tugging you closer until you’re barely a breath apart. His other hand trails up, slipping beneath the loose collar of your blouse, fingertips skimming over bare skin. It’s barely a touch, barely anything at all—yet it sets every nerve alight.

“You’re not as innocent as you look.” His voice is dark, laced with something dangerously indulgent.

You smile, lashes lowering just slightly. “I never said I was.”

San’s grip tightens.

And for the first time since you stepped into his office, you think you might have miscalculated.

Because you’ve been teasing him for months. Playing at the edges of this, knowing he wanted you but never letting him have enough to tip the scales.

But now?

Now, you can feel it—the shift, the moment he decides.

He isn’t going to let you play anymore.

You should resist.

You should step back, put distance between you and the man currently pressing you into the edge of his desk like he has every intention of keeping you there.

But you don’t.

Not really.

Instead, you let your hands press against his chest, the silk of his dress shirt warm beneath your fingertips. It’s a flimsy excuse for protest, a barrier that does nothing because you both know—if you really wanted to stop him, you would.

San catches the movement, and for a moment, he stills.

Dark eyes flicker to yours, sharp and assessing, scanning your face for something—hesitation, uncertainty, anything that might make him reconsider.

You arch a brow, lips curling just slightly. “A little desperate, aren’t we?”

San exhales sharply through his nose, and then—he laughs.

Low, rough, almost wrecked.

And then he moves.

Faster than you expect, pinning you between the hard edge of his desk and the even harder press of his body. His hand slides up, fingers catching your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his chest. The other settles low on your waist, fingertips digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters.

Because you’ve had a crush on him for months.

Ever since you first met him, ever since you realized the sharp-edged CEO persona wasn’t just for show. He was powerful, ruthless, magnetic in a way that made people obey without question. And yet, he’d always been just a little different with you. Always watching, always waiting.

But you never let yourself believe he actually wanted you.

Not like this.

Not enough to snap.

San must see something in your expression, because his grip tightens. “You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something else beneath it—something rough, something frayed. “You think I haven’t seen the way you play with me?”

His lips brush against your cheek, not quite kissing, not quite touching, just a slow, maddening drag of heat.

“You walk into my office every week, looking like you don’t belong in a place like this, looking like you shouldn’t be anywhere near men like me.”

His mouth ghosts over your jaw, just shy of where you want him.

“And yet…” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over the fabric of your skirt. “You always let me get too close.”

A slow, teasing exhale against your skin.

“You’ve been testing me, haven’t you?”

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an immediate response.

So instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, forcing him to drag his lips against your skin in the process. “Maybe,” you whisper.

San curses under his breath.

And the next second he’s kissing you.

Hard. Desperate.

It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s months of restraint snapping like a live wire. His hand slides up, tangling in your hair, angling your head back to deepen the kiss, to take more. His tongue parts your lips, claiming your mouth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

He kisses like he owns you. Like he’s been waiting for this, for you, for far too long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling, clawing, needing more.

San groans against your lips, and then he’s pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red from kissing you, and he looks completely, utterly wrecked.

“I’ve waited for this.” His voice is rough, frayed with something unspoken. “You think I didn’t notice you? That I didn’t feel it every single time you walked through that door, acting so fucking innocent, knowing damn well what you were doing to me?”

His fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“I wanted to ruin you the moment I met you.”

Your breath shudders.

San notices. Smirks.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” His voice dips lower, teasing. “You want me to take what you’ve been tempting me with?”

You shouldn’t say yes.

You should make him work for it.

But the way he looks at you—the way his body presses against yours, the way his fingers trace slow, maddening circles over your hip—has you completely undone.

So instead, you breathe, “Yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

San makes a sound—something dark, something pleased—before his lips crash back against yours, hungry and unrelenting. His hands are everywhere, gripping, pressing, mapping out every inch of you like he wants to memorize it.

He kisses down your throat, sucks a mark into your skin, groaning when you arch into him. “Mine,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “You don’t get to tease me anymore. Not after this.”

You shudder, nails digging into his shoulders.

And then, finally, you surrender completely.

San doesn’t hesitate.

One moment, you’re standing against his desk, breathless from the force of his kiss, and the next—his hands are gripping your waist, lifting you with ease. A gasp slips past your lips as he sets you down onto the cool wooden surface, the shift in height making you acutely aware of how much he towers over you.

The movement sends half the contents of his desk crashing to the floor. A pen rolls somewhere unseen. Papers scatter in a careless mess. He doesn’t care.

Neither do you.

Not when his hands slide up your thighs, spreading them just enough to make space for himself between them. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours, all heat and teeth, breathy and desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

It’s overwhelming.

The way he kisses you—possessive, unrelenting, like he’s been starved for this, for you. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if he’s anchoring himself to you, as if letting go isn’t an option.

And you—

You kiss him back just as fiercely.

Your hands find purchase in his suit jacket, tugging him closer, needing more, gasping softly when he presses flush against you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him consumes you.

Then—

You break away.

Not because you want to, but because there’s something you need to say.

Your chest rises and falls, lips kiss-bruised, head spinning. San doesn’t move away, his forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your lips.

“What?” His voice is wrecked, strained with restraint he’s barely holding onto.

Your fingers tighten against his jacket.

“I—I’m a virgin.”

San stills.

Completely.

You watch as his expression shifts—dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, something dangerous. His grip on your waist tightens for a second before he stills again, as if forcing himself to process what you just said.

Then—

He exhales sharply, running his tongue along his bottom lip, and the slow, wicked curl of his mouth makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck.”

The word is low, rough, dragged out like he’s savoring it.

His hands move again, sliding over your thighs with newfound purpose, fingertips teasing against your exposed skin. He leans in, lips grazing over your jaw, down the column of your throat, tracing the shape of you with agonizing precision.

“You’re serious?” he murmurs against your skin.

You swallow hard, nodding.

San lets out another rough exhale, then pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dark with something unreadable, something deeply, deeply pleased.

“You have no idea,” he says slowly, deliberately, “what that does to me.”

Your breath hitches.

His lips find yours once more, but this time, the kiss is different. Slower, more calculated, yet no less intense. He kisses you like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you respond to every touch, every shift of his body against yours.

His fingers trail up, reaching the buttons of your blouse, and he undoes them one by one, exposing more of you with every slow, deliberate flick of his hands. He doesn’t rush.

No—San takes his time.

And you let him.

Your breath stutters when he pushes the fabric aside, revealing bare skin, delicate lace. The cool air makes you shiver—or maybe it’s just him, the way his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of you.

He curses under his breath.

His fingers twitch like he wants to touch, to claim, to devour.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with something reverent, something wrecked.

And then—

He starts undoing his own buttons.

The sight alone has you utterly mesmerized.

You watch, transfixed, as he shrugs off his jacket, as he unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing inch after inch of smooth, sculpted skin. He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as if drawing out the moment just to watch your reaction.

And you—

You can’t help but stare.

San is unfairly gorgeous.

Broad shoulders, toned muscles, a physique that looks like it was carved by gods themselves. The way the soft glow of the office light catches against the lines of his body, the dips and curves of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbones—it's intoxicating.

And then, your gaze drops lower.

And you freeze.

Oh.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling the full weight of his cock straining against his pants and pressing on your body.

San catches your reaction, and the smirk that pulls at his lips is nothing short of devastating.

“Mesmerized?” His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement and something else—something darker.

You don’t answer.

Can’t.

Not when the heat of his body is so close, not when his fingers are still trailing over your skin, slow and deliberate.

And then, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers—

“You should be.”

San watches you like he’s already won.

Like you’ve been his from the moment you walked into his office, oblivious to the fire you were playing with.

His fingers trace along your exposed collarbone, slow and teasing, barely touching, but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. His eyes drag over you, dark and ravenous, taking in the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your thighs are still parted for him, your skirt hiked up from how recklessly he had pulled you onto his desk.

Then—he smirks.

That slow, knowing smirk that makes something in your stomach coil tight.

“You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” His voice is deep, smooth as silk, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

You swallow, fingers curling against the desk, but you don’t answer.

He tilts his head, almost amused. “Showing up dressed like that—” His hands slide down, fingers skimming the fabric of your skirt, teasing at the hem. “Looking so damn innocent but wearing something like this? You were begging for it.”

Your breath catches, a slow heat creeping up your spine.

San leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Such a little whore, dressing like this just to test me.”

A sharp inhale leaves you.

He chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down to your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His tongue flicks against your pulse point, his teeth scraping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Or were you hoping I’d lose control?”

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Because you got exactly what you wanted.”

Your head spins.

He’s too much—his voice, his hands, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to ruin you in ways you never even imagined.

San pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, and something dark flickers behind his eyes.

Then—

He gets an idea.

His smirk deepens as he looks over your shoulder at the discarded mess on the floor. Then, before you can question it, he steps back slightly, reaching down.

A soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of leather—

And then you see it.

The belt he had discarded with his pants that pooled at his ankles.

Your stomach flips.

San runs his tongue over his bottom lip, holding the belt loosely in one hand, testing the weight of it. Then, he meets your gaze again, and for the first time since this started—you shiver.

Possessive.

That’s the only word for the way he looks at you now.

Like you belong to him.

Like he’s about to make sure you never forget it.

“You’ve had too much freedom tonight,” he murmurs, stepping back into your space, the belt dangling from his fingers. “And I think it’s about time we fix that.”

Your pulse spikes.

San reaches for you, his hands trailing down your arms before he gently—so gently—grabs your wrists.

“Give them to me.”

It’s not a request.

It’s a command.

Your lips part slightly, but when you don’t immediately respond, San hums, tilting his head. “Oh?” He smirks. “Are you hesitating now?”

He presses closer, making you lean back slightly, making you feel the solid weight of his body.

“That’s cute.”

You swallow hard, the heat between you becoming unbearable.

San’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around your wrists. “I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart—” His voice dips, eyes locked onto yours. “If I tie you up, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

Then, he leans in and whispers against your lips—

“You sure you can handle that?”

Your breath is shallow, chest rising and falling as San watches you, waiting. His fingers tighten around your wrists, the belt still dangling from his hand, ready to bind you, ready to claim every inch of control you’ve willingly given up.

And you—

You should hesitate.

You should resist, tease him a little longer.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Do it, then.”

A flicker of something dark—dangerous—passes through his eyes. Then, his smirk returns, sharp and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The leather is cool against your skin as he pulls your wrists behind your back, looping the belt around them with practiced ease. It’s not too tight—just enough to hold you there, to remind you who’s in control.

He tugs once, testing the restraint, then hums in approval. “Perfect.”

Before you can process the way your body reacts to that single word, San moves.

His hands slide to your thighs, gripping firmly as he pulls you forward.

Hard.

A gasp leaves your lips as your body jerks, dragged right to the edge of the desk. Your legs part instinctively to accommodate the shift, your breath catching as you feel the undeniable heat of him between them.

San watches your reaction with a lazy smirk. “That’s better.”

Then—

He drops to his knees.

San doesn’t even look away from you as he does it, his movements deliberate, dripping with control. The sight alone—his broad shoulders between your legs, his dark, hungry gaze looking up at you like he’s about to devour you whole—leaves you breathless.

And then—his hands move again.

He doesn’t bother with your skirt.

No.

He slides his fingers along the inside of your thighs, parting them further, his grip firm—possessive. Then, with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls.

A soft, humiliatingly wet sound follows as he drags the fabric down, exposing just how ruined you already are.

San freezes.

And then—

He chuckles.

A low, deep sound that sends heat shooting straight through your spine.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing his thumb against the now-soaked fabric before tossing it somewhere behind him. “Look at you.”

Your face burns, but the way he’s looking at you—with pure, unfiltered hunger—makes shame the last thing on your mind.

Then—he leans in.

And without another word—

He dives in.

San doesn’t hold back.

The moment his mouth touches your folds, a wrecked gasp escapes your lips, your bound hands straining against the belt as your body jerks from the sheer heat of it.

He groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. His grip on your thighs tightens—bruising, possessive—as he presses you further against his mouth, like he’s determined to ruin you.

And he does.

His tongue moves with devastating precision—slow, languid strokes, teasing flicks, then firm pressure against your clit that makes your head spin. He eats you like a man starved, like he’s waited his entire life to have you like this, legs trembling around his shoulders, breathless and undone.

“Fuck,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look at you. His lips glisten with your arousal, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, wrecked with hunger. “So fucking sweet.”

Your face burns, but before you can process it, he’s back on you, his tongue pressing in deeper, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

A broken whimper leaves you.

San chuckles—dark, teasing. He pulls back again, dragging his lips over the inside of your thigh, pressing slow, wet kisses against your skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement and something deeper. “Fucking soaking. And all for me?”

You whine, shifting against his hold, but he doesn’t let up.

His teeth graze your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “You pretend to be so innocent,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, “but look at how filthy you are. Spreading your legs so easily, letting me taste you like this.”

Your breath stutters, shame and arousal tangling into something unbearable.

San hums, satisfied. “I bet you’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” He flicks his tongue against your clit again, making you jolt. “Bet you’ve thought about me bending you over this desk. Tearing you apart.”

His words wreck you.

A high, needy moan spills from your lips, your bound hands clenching behind you.

San groans against you. “That’s it,” he breathes, his tongue moving faster now, pushing you closer, higher. His fingers dig into your thighs as he holds you down, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he’s drowning you in.

Your body tightens, the pressure coiling in your stomach unbearably, winding, winding—

Until it snaps.

A sobbed moan rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your back arching as you cry out, utterly wrecked.

San doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re whimpering, twitching, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation.

Only then does he slow, his tongue giving you one last, languid stroke before pulling back.

He looks ruined.

His lips are swollen, his hair slightly disheveled, his breath ragged as he stares at you, utterly transfixed. Then, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh before standing.

Your dazed gaze drops—

And your breath catches.

His briefs are painfully tight around his cock, the sheer size of him making your stomach flip.

San curses under his breath, yanking them down in one swift motion.

And then—he’s on you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you further as he aligns himself, the heat of him pressing against your still-sensitive core.

Your breath stutters. “San—”

He doesn’t wait.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside—

And you break.

A cry rips from your lips, your body arching at the sheer stretch, the way he fills you so completely, so overwhelmingly. Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of it, from the way he buries himself to the hilt, not moving, just feeling you.

San groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his hands tightening on your waist. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is wrecked, trembling with restraint. “You feel so—” He exhales sharply, dropping a kiss against your lips, almost tender.

He soothes you.

One hand trails up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “Breathe,” he murmurs, voice soft, but his body trembles against yours, barely holding himself back.

And then—he moves.

Destroying you.

Every thrust is deep, dragging against your sensitive walls with devastating precision, pushing you to the brink of insanity. Your bound hands twist behind you, desperate for something—anything—to hold onto, but there’s nothing.

Nothing but him.

And he knows it.

His grip tightens on your waist as he pulls back, making you feel every inch of him, before sinking in again—so deep, so full that you can’t stop the moan that spills from your lips.

San groans, the sound low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, kissing—nipping. “You hear yourself? You're a fucking whiny mess just for me.”

Your face burns, but the humiliation only makes the pleasure worse—makes your body clench around him, desperate for more.

San feels it. And he looses it.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his pace stays agonizingly slow, but his words turn filthy, raw. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, rolling his hips deep, making you cry out. “Like you were made for me.”

You are.

The thought is dangerous, but it lingers.

San notices.

His fingers trail up your stomach, his touch warm, teasing, possessive. His other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, ravenous.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done to me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Wearing that little outfit—acting all innocent when you’re dripping for me.”

His hips snap forward, a little harder, and you gasp.

San smirks. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

The teasing should make you flinch, should make you want to shy away—but you don’t.

Because you love it.

Because you love him like this—feral, corrupted, completely obsessed with you.

Your moans break into whimpers as his thrusts turn deeper, sharper, but still so slow, so cruelly controlled that your body starts trembling. “San—”

He shushes you.

His lips brush over your temple, soft in contrast to the way he’s utterly wrecking you. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And yet—

It’s not enough.

For him.

For you.

San curses under his breath, frustration clear in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. “I can’t—” His breath is ragged. “I can’t fucking hold back.”

Before you can process—

San moves.

His grip locks around you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the desk, but before you can fully catch your breath, he flips you over.

Your palms slam against the your back, the belt still binding them, your cheek pressing into the cool surface as San forces you down, arching you for him.

A sharp sound echoes in the room.

You gasp.

San’s palm stays on your ass where he just spanked you, rubbing over the heated skin, his breath heavy behind you. “Mhm,” he hums, dark, pleased.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s more like it.”

Your body is trembling—wrecked, pinned under San’s weight as he presses you against the desk, his grip firm on your waist. His breath is heavy, hot against your skin, his patience fraying with every second.

And then—

You say it.

A teasing little whisper, breathless, barely a murmur—

“San.. you can go- harder.”

A guttural growl rips from his throat, and then—he ruins you.

His grip tightens bruisingly on your hips as he slams into you, deep and relentless, each thrust sharp, overwhelming, making you choke on your own moans.

He pounds into you, his cock pushing impossibly deep, so deep that— He hits your cervix.

A sharp cry tears from your throat, your bound hands clenching behind you as the intense stimulation sends a wave of pleasurable pain crashing over you.

San hears it. Feels it. Loses it.

“Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked, his pace punishing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He thrusts harder, making you wail. “Wanted me to break you?”

The way he’s holding you—gripping your waist tight, pressing you down deep into the desk, his chest flush against your back as he fucks into you like he’s starving—

It’s too much.

He feels the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body clings to him, drawing him in, taking everything he gives.

His breath is ragged, his groans turning into curses.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, his thrusts becoming desperate. “So fucking tight, so fucking wet—”

He grips your wrists, still bound behind your back, and pulls, arching you further, making your back bow into him, making you yake him deeper.

A wrecked sob escapes you.

San curses. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice breaking. “Fucking take it.”

He pounds into you, hips snapping, rhythm frenzied, his cock hitting that spot over and over until you’re a mess beneath him—whimpering, crying, begging.

And you could swear he fucking loves it.

“Listen to you,” he pants, his lips brushing over your ear, his breath ragged. “Crying for me—so desperate.”

You are. But he’s no better.

His grip tightens, his thrusts turning frantic, his moans growing shaky, and you can inly feel how damn close he is. And he knows it.

His pace falters for half a second—just long enough for him to lean over you, his lips grazing your ear as he breathes, voice dark, rough, possession dripping from every word—.

“I’ll fill you up just like you’ve probably been fantasizing over for a while, you little slut.”

And then—

He breaks.

A deep, wrecked moan tears from his chest as he thrusts deep, his body shuddering violently as he spills into you, warmth flooding your insides as his grip on your wrists turns almost bruising.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even as he comes, he keeps moving, keeps pounding into you, pushing you over the edge right after him.

Your body shatters.

A high, sobbed moan rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening, pulsing around him, drawing out his own orgasm, making him groan, curse, whisper filth and praise against your skin.

You gasp his name—

And San loses himself all over again.

His hips slow, his body shuddering as he rides both of you through your highs, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your spine, soothing you while still wrecking you.

You could barely move.

Your arms are still bound, your body limp against the desk, your breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.

San finally stills.

His chest rises and falls against your back, his grip on your wrists loosening, his breath hot against your skin.

And then—

A satisfied, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“That’s my girl.”

San exhales, his grip softening as he slowly lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His hands are gentle now, his touch the exact opposite of how he just wrecked you. With careful precision, he sets you down on the desk, his fingers immediately moving to untie your wrists.

The moment they’re free, he brings them to his lips, kissing the delicate skin as if to soothe away any marks left behind. His gaze meets yours, still dark, still possessive, but now filled with something softer.

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Can’t have you walking out of here looking like this, baby.”

Before you can respond, he grabs your blouse from where it was discarded, slipping it over your shoulders, his touch slow, careful, reverent. His fingers linger as he buttons it up, his eyes roaming your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Then, he leans in, kissing you.

Deep, slow, lingering. Like he’s still not ready to let go.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your lips, his voice a low murmur. “Come on,” he says. “We’re taking a shower.”

Your brows raise slightly. “Here?”

San chuckles, shaking his head. “Not in the office, baby.” He eyes you, his woman, his masterpiece, before smirking. “And I’m sure as hell not letting anyone see you like this on our way there.”

You laugh, amused by his protectiveness, and his smirk widens.

“Laugh all you want,” he muses, scooping you up again. “But you’re mine. And I don’t share.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[doki-doki-imagines]

Hybrid!Cow Nagi x Reader

tw: Smut, afab reader, use of she/her, hybrid x human sex, Nagi is a bit mean, but he is also very very in love.

a/n: a small piece of a much bigger fic inspired by this official art. This is just the smut part, but I wanted to get this idea out of my system. It was set in a world where most people are hybrids, and just a few (like reader) are born human. Nagi is one of the local mailmen and the first person to meet you. It was going to be a long, fluffy fic ending with filthy smut. So take just the cherry on top, lol. Maybe one day I'll complete this.

Seishiro isn’t used to rough nights like he isn’t used to scratched knuckles and sore muscles, but it seemed the only right thing to do when that shit poor example of a cat hybrid treated you like that.

He lays on your bed, white hair sprawled on your soft sky-blue pillow, his large-fitting hoodie and blue pants miraculously clean.  “Smell nice” Seishiro thinks, cow ears fluttering when your smell on the pillow hits his nostrils. It’s relaxing after such an intense fight. For that dude, not for him.

“It’s an honor to be my partner-“ “Nobody wants a simple human as a partner, I’m doing it just because my parents asked, and anyway they should thank me since I could get much better-“ “I don’t want a loser nerd as a partner, they should start to dress and eat better-“ 

Seishiro doesn’t remember what came first, but the clear image of you crouched on yourself, lips trembling and fat tears hanging on your lower lashes keeps playing in his head. His tail beat nervously on your mattress, remembering the entitlement in that loser voice. Nagi bites the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood, your pillow now pressed to his face, trying to calm himself down with your smell. His leg twitches, remembering how hard he kicked that douchebag,  straight on his chest, making him hit a table behind and surprising all his friends.

It was already a pain to go out with everyone, but seeing you on a date with a guy that wasn’t him, and treated that badly was the cherry on top of his already poor patience.

“Is everything okay Nagi?” A shiver runs down Seishiro’s body, making every muscle twitch for the surprise. He moves away the pillow, side-eyeing you, before plopping it on his back to look better at you.

“I have to ask two things-“ You nod, prompting him to ask whatever he wants, while sitting on your bed, eyes locked with his ones.

“Call me Seishiro-“ You nod “and-“ He gulps, throat dry from the moment your figure met his sight. “Are you trying to seduce me?” His voice is calm as always, but the intensity of his eyes makes you jump on the spot.

“Seduce? I mean, I usually dress like this to-“ You turn around, not wanting to look at him, embarrassed by his comment. Your sheer nightgown, with cute sunflowers embroidered on it and matching panties, left very little to the imagination after all. Not to talk about you being braless, a sight that sent in short circuit his brain.

 “Usually, so not always-”  He whispers, almost into your ear. He can see a shiver running down your spine making you arch. The desire to run a finger from your neck to your lower back is tempting.

He lay his chin on your shoulder, letting out a sigh, annoyed by the whirlwind that is happening in his stomach. “Can I kiss you?” His greyish eyes lock with yours, trying to read your emotions. Seishiro doesn’t move, waiting to understand your intentions.

You nod, and to Seishiro's surprise, you make the first move. Your soft lips touch his ones, it’s a butterfly touch that lasts way too little for the white-haired guy's tastes. “Is it good?” Your voice breaks a little and Nagi has to keep himself from pinching your cheek. “Yeah, but let’s improve.” He mutters back, full lips locking with yours, tasting a different shade of love from the previous one. Seishiro’s eyes are closed but he can feel your softer hands cupping his cheeks, before sliding lower to his chin and neck. He worries that you may have pyrokinetic powers since every time you touch his naked skin he seems to get hotter.

You moan into his mouth when his big hands start to wander, one groping your mound, protected by his rough touch thanks to your thin nightgown. The other pushed you towards the mattress, making you both slide lower into your bed.

“Sei-“ You break the kiss, breath heavy and barely open eyes, just to notice your lover laying at your side, the end of his tail tickling your right thigh.

“Can I go further?” He is surprised by himself. Seishiro, Mr. Hassle man suddenly asks for more and more, knowing exactly that he’ll have to do most of the work. You nod, neck turned in an uncomfortable position. Nagi notices and decides to leave little pecks down your throat, trying to make you relax.

Such a gentle gesture as opposed to his deft fingers lifting the end of your nightgown, exposing the soft skin of your leg to his rough handling. Hand groping and slapping your thigh with no finesse and for his own enjoyment.

“Ngh, Nagi-“ You get interrupted by another slap to your leg, making your ass grind into his lap, a gesture that generates a choked moan in Seishiro’s throat.  “I told you to call me Seishiro-“ He spits out, leaving a small bite on your shoulder, not too hard to bruise, but still leaving a sign.

Nagi’s lips find yours again, his tongue prodding at your entrance, asking, wanting, to lap into your mouth, to drink your moans, and to taste your spit. You surrender immediately, your tongue weakly fighting against his, lost to the pleasure this entire situation is bringing you. The hand that was massaging your leg is sliding closer to your core, bunching your nightgown to your waist. A deft finger slides into your panties, playing first with one curl of your hairs, before pulling it, making you groan.

“She kept herself untouched for me, maybe she hoped to scare that loser off-“Seishiro thinks, pushing his hips, and therefore his boner against your ass, that idea clouding his brain even more.  “I like them, keep them for me, mh?” He pants in your mouth, your lips still slightly open from the previous kiss. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips and Nagi takes it as consent to his order instead of a response to his forefinger assaulting your clit.

Seishiro has never been a patient guy, and it shows even now when his fingers caress your outer folds before digging a bit deeper, but never enough for your taste, edging you constantly while playing with the bundle of nerves with no grace. He wants to see fat tears roll down your cheeks, he wants to hear you beg for him, he wants to feel desired, and he wants it now.

“Sei-Seishiro!” You half scream, closing your eyes and finally, making tears escape. Nagi keeps himself from smirking, but his heart roars in pleasure at the sight. “Good-“

“You-you are a bully.” You interrupt him, your own phrase is broken by sighs of pleasure. Breath gets caught in his throat, not expecting to hear that from you, dick twitching when hearing your voice in strain.

“So, you don’t like me anymore? You want me to get out?” Seishiro teases you, speeding up the movement of his fingers. Your head moving left and right tells him all he needs to know, together with the hand that keeps pulling at the collar of his hoodie to keep him close. He finally pushes his middle finger inside your wet core “So wet, for me.” He mumbles biting his lower lip, thrusting faster, and soon adding the ring finger, curling them so deliciously that your eyes cross in pleasure. You are a mess, but Seishiro is no better, grinding his clothed boner into your ass desperately searching for relief, while his tail keeps trashing on his side of the bed, trying not to hurt your softer, human skin.

“Ah-ah” You moan, almost into his mouth, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“Why do you keep your mouth open? C’mon if you need to say something, say it-“ The malice in his voice is clear, teasing you so meanly, but he can’t really stop himself from trying to push your buttons.

“Ngh-bully!” You groan back, your hand sliding to his hard-on groping it through his gym pants, noticing the big wet patch.

And how big he is.

“Ah-“ He moans too, the touch of your smaller hand driving him almost immediately to completion. It soon becomes a competition on whom would crumble first, both your bodies hot and sweaty trying to pull away but at the same time searching desperately for each other touch.

You reach your end first, throwing your head back into his shoulder, and letting out a high-pitched moan that Seishiro is sure to remember till he breathes. He pulls away as soon as possible, laying on his back and immediately pushing down, just the needed amount, his pants and boxers, freeing his erection, which hit his still-covered abdomen.

“Angh-“  He groans half in pain and half in pleasure for being finally able to free his cock, all flushed and angry for being edged for so long.

“Sei-“ You turn around. The mixture of your sweet, wet eyes and soft voice almost makes Nagi cum on the spot. “G-give me a moment. Then I-I can try to ride you.” You say in between heavy breaths, still swimming in the pleasure of the previous orgasm.

But as much as Seishiro would like to accept “N-No, turn around like before.” He orders, but to your ears, it seems more like he is begging you. Nagi notices and damn himself for sounding so pathetic, but the image of you on top of him, wet eyes, pouty mouth, and trembling legs, still wearing that damn sheer nightgown, wouldn’t make him last.

To say the truth just that image is sending him over the edge.

You nod at his request, turning around just like he asked; you must have thrown your panties somewhere since your back is completely exposed to him. Some droplet of your essence stains the apex of your legs, making Seishiro damn himself for not going down on you, having now to settle for his fingers to taste you.

Seishiro doesn’t indulge too much in your taste, even if it matches your smell, intoxicating, therefore he rolls on your side, grabbing your waist to pull you closer, his erection grinding against your back, slick with all the pre that copiously rolled down during your intercourse.

“Is-Is it gonna fit?” You look at him, and Nagi doesn’t have in him to lie to such sweet eyes “Maybe. I’ll go slow. If you were a cow hybrid it would have been easier-“ He brushes away some hair sticking to your forehead to land a sweet long kiss there “But I want you. More than any hybrid, ever. If it hurts I’m gonna stop.” He kisses your cheek, now dry after all those tears, before pushing just the tip inside your core.

Seishiro sees you wince, but you don’t tell him to stop. His left hand that was holding your waist is now entwined with yours, the other massaging your bosom, but not resisting the desire to pinch your pert nipple. Nagi pecks down your neck, to your chest, while sliding his throbbing member inside you, trying to ease your pain.

“Ngh-“ He groans, irises become liquid bliss. You are so warm and welcoming, sucking him in like you were made to fit together. All those hybrid theories could go fuck themselves because the white-haired guy is sure nobody could make him feel so ecstatic. “You are so good- so good for me.” He moans in between kisses, pushing your nightgown up to touch your trembling tummy, mouth now kissing and sucking your covered chest, pulling sweet moans out of your throat, while his tail tries to encircle your lifted leg to keep you impossibly close.

“You-You feel so nice Sei-“ You breathe out, scratching the little hair on his nape pulling a guttural groan from his mouth. He looks back at you, and you twitch feeling his hot mouth leaving your bosom, missing it already “Can I fuck you?” You tighten around his length and nod, biting your lower lip eyes looking at him so deeply he thinks he may drown in them.

He starts slowly, never really pushing out, not wanting to be separated long from your warmth. But things start to go downhill when your sweet, almost mellifluous moans meet his ears, calling his name so deliciously that he soon gives up on rationality like a sailor enchanted by a mermaid’s voice. His thrusts are deep and fast, making you both mewl out each other names.

“I’m-close-“ You slur out, one hand gripping one of the small horns on Nagi’s head to find purchase to reality in this frenzy. Seishiro just nods at your words, having noticed way before you told him, his length almost slipping out for how wet you are. His deft fingers return to your clit, rubbing furious circles on it to bring you to your apex “Ngh-no, together.” You grumble, trashing a bit and trying to pull away the hand that was bringing you so soon to delirious pleasure.

He looks at you from the nook of your head, not sure you are serious about this. But the look in your eyes, so determined and confident makes him crumble. “Ngh, ah-“ A pathetic mewl escaped his throat making him wince for how cringe he sounded, his thrusts now sloppy and with no finesse, just trying to grind the both of you to the apex. Seishiro kisses your already swollen lips when you reach your peak, too worried about the pitiful sound he’d make, but damning himself for losing the occasion to hear your voice one more time. Your walls spasm around his length trying to suck everything from his cock, desperate to have all of him inside you. He thrusts a bit more into your core, not wanting to leave your warmth so soon, but the overstimulation feels soon overbearing.

You break the kiss, both your breaths are heavy, lashes hanging low like you are waking up from a dream. You cup his cheek, your thumb tracing little hearts making his heart thump harder than before. It seems like you want to say something, you have a cute little smile on your face but Seishiro doesn’t give you the time, his plump lips against yours, tongue already begging for one more dance. The overstimulation subdues to desire, and from the twinkle in your eyes, Seishiro knows you are on the same page.

The night ahead is still long.

[koenigami]

soft kissing hour. tags : fluff, fem!reader, touchy togame, mentions of reader wearing make up wc : 950 - Less is more. Togame likes to live by that simple rule in more than only one way. Whether that be his clothing, his minimalistically decorated home, or his decision to exchange his long messy mullet with a plain short undercut a few years ago. As cheesy as it sounds, he just thinks that it is important to appreciate the mundane things in life.

His conviction is even further undermined once your silhouette appears in the doorway of his bedroom.

It is the first time that you’re actually spending the night at his, and to say that he’s more than elated is an understatement.

Being able to watch you pad around his room in his own clothes, hold you in the comfort of his bed, and having the honor to have you being the last thing he sees before falling asleep as well as the first thing when he wakes up the following morning. The simple thought of it makes him only now aware of the fact that his home has been missing something significant all this time. You.

That's why you're met with the most gentle smile once you walk over to the unoccupied side of the bed, clad in an old shirt of his and sweat shorts.

A light shiver runs through your body accompanied with goosebumps rising along your skin once you slip under cold sheets. Yet when Togame's arm reaches out and pulls you in by your waist, you can't hold back the little hum of contentment once you feel his warmth.

You always tell him that he's a walking furnace. Especially on days when he calls you a living icicle. When your freezing fingers meet his warm palms, or when you bury your cold nose in the crevice of his neck, soaking in his warmth and the woody scent of his that you've gotten so very addicted to.

"I don't think I've seen you like this before." He speaks lowly once you're nestled against him, your head resting on his upper arm.

"Like what?" You breathe out and wonder whether he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. His lips are so close, all you would have to do is lean in the slightest bit only to taste him, slot your mouth against his and forget the entire world around you.

His soft gaze travels across your face. Your eyes, your lips, your jaw, your nose, again your lips-

Your eyebrows perk up when he opens his mouth, obviously unsure about how to word his thoughts. There's a stuttering beat against your chest, and you have no clue whether it is yours or his. A second passes, then another, and when the suspense is getting almost unbearable, Togame only sighs. You both giggle in unison when he just curses while a rosey blush suddenly dusts over his cheeks.

"Jo! Come on, just say it already." The corners of your mouth are starting to hurt from the bright grin plastered on your face. Though it falls slowly when his palm cups your jaw, and he just silently looks at you.

Your heart swells at how tenderly his thumb swipes over the skin of your cheek. Togame Jo, a man so strong yet a man who knows that the blessing of such a strength comes with certain responsibilities.

His broad shoulders and back have always been an advantage when facing adversaries, allowing him to intimidate them easily. Now, he knows that those same shoulders are meant to carry any burdens that seem to weigh you down.

Big strong hands that have punched and broken so much, been covered in blood for way too many times. Now, he can use those same hands to gently hold your softer ones in his, glide them over the plush skin of your curves and feel your warmth.

"What are you doing?" You giggle quietly when his thumb slides higher up to the corner of your eyes, tracing the dark shades which are usually covered by a light sheen of concealer. He can easily move the pad of his finger over your eyebrows and down your nose bridge without you whining about how he's messing up your make up.

"You're just-" You follow his eyes which somehow seem to drift all over your face, as if he wants to take in all of you and burn every single detail into his memory. There's just something so satisfying about being able to see every single mark and blemish on your skin, and it's crazy how he has thought that you could not be any prettier. Yet here you are, taking his breath away and leaving his mind empty, and unable to come up with words to properly describe you. "Pretty. Very."

A beat of silence passes, while you blink at him.

"My boyfriend has such a way with words." Your voice is a pitch higher as you fan your face, containing your smile with a bite on your lip until you shriek when his teeth suddenly graze your jaw.

"Maybe my girlfriend should have dated a poet instead then." There's something darker in his voice as he looks at you through hooded eyes. As if even the single thought of you with someone else is able to kindle a fire inside him that could only ever be extinguished by you yourself.

No, Togame may not be your classical poet. However the way his body language speaks to you, reacts to you, how his fingers trace all kinds of shapes into your skin, how his eyes roam all over your body, pupils dilating and throwing shadows into the green forest in his eyes- It's probably more worth than simple words on a piece paper.

"Nah." You quip and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer to him. The tip of your nose touches his. "I think I'm more than fine like this."

[sailorluna15]

Pitfighter vi x reader. vi is really cold at first and the whole thing is strictly physical but one time, reader tends to her wounds and she starts getting softer with her after that. Smut + angst if you don't mind.

-🍃

Thank you for being my very first request!

Let's get into it!

Pat, Pat, Pat.

Your face falls in defeat as your hands meet an empty mattress.

Why does she always do this to me? It's my fault, she always does this. I don't know why I expected different.

Vi always did this to you. Fucking you, using you for comfort, leaving you alone in the morning, and then acting like nothing ever happened. You thought you would get used to it, but you never do. Everyone tells you to leave her alone, but you just can't. You just can't.

With a bouquet of whatever flowers could find in Zaun, you stood waiting for Vi to come out of the pit. She had won her match, and you were so proud of her.

As soon as you see her beautiful figure, you stand up and straight and attempt to talk.

"Vi, you did so good..."

Your head turns as she walks right past you. You run to catch up to her, stopping right in front of her with your bouquet to her chest.

"I got these for you." You say nervously.

"Why are you here." Vi spits out.

Blinking two times in confusion, a little laugh comes out of your mouth.

"What do you mean? I came to support you. I always want to support you."

"Look, I don't need any fangirls. Please, go on somewhere." Vi says with an eye roll.

You stand there in shock as Vi pushes the flowers back to you and walks away.

As your shock fades away, you quickly decide that you won't let Vi slip from you this easily.

She's just hurt is all. She just needs somebody who won't give up on her, somebody to care.

The next time you saw Vi at one of her matches, she got her ass beat. Her lip was busted, her nose was bleeding from her piercing, and her left one had a shiner on it.

Goddamn

You wait, like always, for her to come out of the pit. When she does, she looks pissed.

"Vi-"

"I don't have time for your fucking fangirly bullshit! Haven't I fucking told you that before! When will you finally get it through your fucking skull that I just like to fuck you?" Vi yells as blood spills from her lip.

With a second thought, you dig in your pocket and pull out a handkerchief for her to wipe her lip with. You hold it out to her, and she looks at you in disbelief.

"I have ointment and gauze for your nose, too if you need it." You speak calmy.

Vi continues to stare at you with her jaw dropped.

"I know you don't care about anything but sex when it comes to me, but I am not the same. I want you to be good. I want you to be more than good. You don't have to feel the same but at least let me heal you a bit. We can have sex after that, and then you can leave."

A beat passes before Vi gives in.

"Fine, but you better make me dinner, too, and I definitely want sex."

With a light laugh, you agree, and you both make the journey to your house.

After entering your house, Vi plops herself on her couch.

"Are you thirsty?" You ask.

"You got beer?" Vi responds.

"Yes. Here you go."

You give the beer to her and then go to the back to get your healing kit.

You sit next to Vi and ask her to turn your way.

"I'll try to be as careful as possible. It might sting a little."

As you heal Vi's face, her body relaxes, and she starts to ask you questions about your life.

How did you get into healing? How do you know how to cook. Where did you find those flowers?

You politely answer every question until you finally finish.

"All done! You did so well." You say cheerfully.

A rosy shade paints Vi's face as she hears your praise. With a cough, she asks roughly, "What for dinner?"

"Oh, I forgot! I was thinking we could have fried fish and rice. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds alright." Vi says nonchalantly despite doing jumping jacks in her head as the thought of a home cooked meal.

As you cook the meal, Vi gets up and stalks towards you.

"What are you doing?"

You nearly jump 10 feet in the air as her voice suprises you.

"Oh, my fucking God Vi, you scared me! I'm breading the fish."

"What's "breading the fish"." Vi says, making quotations in the air.

"It's when you put the chicken in eggs and flour before frying it. It's what makes the fish crispy."

"Mmm." Vi hums as she puts her arms around your waist.

Vi's lips trail down you neck as her hands crawl up the inside of your top.

You moan softly as you fail to push her away. "Vi, I'm trying to cook."

"Cook later, I'm horny."

"I thought you wanted dinner." You puff out.

"I want pussy more." She muffles out into your neck. Continuing, she says, "Plus, I gotta make it up to you for being such as asshole earlier."

"It's okay, Vi. I understand that you're just frustrated sometimes. You don't have to make it up to me." You sigh out in ecstasy as Vi rubs circular motions on your breasts.

"Lemme make it up to you, cupcake."

"Let me turn off the stove." Quickly, you turn off the stove and allow Vi to pick you up to take you to the bedroom.

As soon as Vi lays you on the bed, you immediately start taking each other's clothes off.

The first thing Vi does as she sees your breast is suck on them. She swirls her tongue around your nipple while she palms your other breast. You moan and arch into her touch as she works your body.

"Fuck, Vi, don't stop." You say as you begin to rub quick motions on her clit. She groans into your mouth, her cum coating your fingers. Vi moves away from your breast, trailing kisses down your stomach, happy trail, to the top of your pussy. She plants a kiss there before attempting to dive into you.

"Wait," you say with a heavy breath.

"What?" Vi says with a confused look.

"Let's do 69, I wanna eat your pussy."

A grin splits across Vi's face at lightning speed as quickly moves into position. As soon as her pussy is in front of you, you dive into each other like a five-course Michelin meal.

Both of your moans resound throughout the entire room as you tongue fuck and clit suck each other's pussies into oblivion.

"Fuck, suck my clit harder." Vi demands as she rocks against your face. Quickly obeying her command, you attach your lips to her and suck like a vacuum.

She does the same to you and in a matter of second you both come hard, shaking against each other. Vi rolls off of you and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

"Shit, that felt so good, Vi. You ready for dinner now?" You ask innocently.

Vi nods her head weakly. With a chuckle, you get up out of bed, clean both of you up, and start on dinner.

"Damn, I think fucking love her," Vi whispers to herself.

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 19✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Angst, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language

Word Count: 7695

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

When he reached the kitchen, he saw you standing by the sink, your back to him. The hum of the faucet filled the room, but it was the soft sound of your quiet humming that drew him closer. You seemed lost in your own world.

Dean’s chest tightened at the sight of you. You were so at ease, so comfortable, even in his chaotic world. And while he knew he shouldn’t—knew he needed to calm down and keep his thoughts in check—he couldn’t stop himself from stepping closer.

You didn’t hear him at first, too focused on the task in front of you, until you felt his presence behind you. The warmth of his body was unmistakable, and you turned your head slightly, catching the faint scent of leather and musk that always clung to him.

“Dean”, you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you glanced back. “You need something?”.

He shook his head, his good hand coming to rest lightly on the counter beside you for balance. His broken arm stayed close to his chest, but even with one hand, he managed to close the space between you, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Just couldn’t sit still”, he muttered, his voice low, rough. “Thought I’d come check on you”.

Your smile widened slightly as you turned back to the sink. “I’m fine”, you replied, though your voice softened at his concern. “Just dealing with the usual… you know”.

Dean let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned closer, his chest brushing lightly against your back. The heat of him made you pause, your hands stilling as you opened the cap of the hot water bottle.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly in your ear, “you’re humming that little tune you do when you’re thinking too hard”.

Your cheeks warmed as you realized he’d caught you, and you bit your lip, glancing back at him. “I didn’t even notice”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean smirked, his green eyes flicking down to yours. “Yeah, well, I notice”, he said, his tone softer now, filled with something unspoken.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of Dean in your peripheral vision. His presence was steady, grounding, as he stood close behind you, his broken arm cradled protectively against his chest. His green eyes met yours when you turned fully, and the intensity there made your heart skip a beat.

“Dean”, you said softly, your voice curious but warm. “What are you doing?”.

Dean’s gaze flicked down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and for a moment, he hesitated. His jaw tightened slightly, as though he was debating something with himself, before he finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “Just… thinking about how much I wanna kiss those lips of yours”.

Your breath caught at his words, the air in the room seeming to grow heavier. His vulnerability, the rawness in his tone, made your heart race as you stared up at him, momentarily speechless.

“Dean”, you murmured, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks as the corners of your lips curved into a soft smile. “You can just… do it, you know”.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes softened with something deeper. “Yeah?”, he asked, stepping just a little closer, his good hand brushing against your waist.

You nodded shyly, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as you bit your lip, anticipation fluttering in your chest. Dean’s smirk softened into something more tender as he stepped closer, his good hand resting firmly on your waist. He leaned down slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, almost hesitant kiss that sent a shiver down your spine.

The kiss deepened as Dean tilted his head, his lips parting slightly before his tongue brushed against yours, teasing, inviting. The sensation made your knees weaken, and you instinctively grabbed onto his shoulders for balance. Despite your effort, you couldn’t help but feel a little clumsy, your movements unsure and unpracticed when it came to the dance of tongues. But rather than deter him, your hesitance seemed to ignite something deeper in Dean.

A low groan escaped his throat, the sound reverberating through you as his grip on your waist tightened. His body pressed closer to yours, and you suddenly became very aware of the hard length of him pressing against your stomach. Your breath hitched, the realization sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

As Dean’s tongue teased yours, the intensity of the kiss grew, and you felt your body responding in ways you couldn’t control. A warmth spread through your core, pooling low in your belly as a soft ache built steadily. The realization of how wet you were becoming made your breath hitch, and you exhaled heavily into the kiss, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to keep up with the sensations flooding through you.

Dean noticed—of course he did. His groan deepened, vibrating against your lips as his good hand tightened on your waist. Every movement felt deliberate, every stroke of his tongue and press of his hips igniting a fire within you. You clung to him, instinctively letting him lead, just as you always did. With Dean, you trusted him completely, and the way he guided you in every moment left no room for doubt or fear.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. His green eyes were heavy-lidded and filled with a heat that made your pulse race.

Dean’s lips curved into that boyish grin that always had a way of disarming you, making your heart race and your knees weak. His forehead still pressed against yours, his green eyes danced with mischief as he murmured, “You sure you don’t wanna…? Heard it helps with those cramps”.

You blinked, your face flushing even deeper at his bold suggestion. “Dean”, you mumbled, but your voice wavered, unsure whether you were protesting or simply trying to process what he’d just said.

“I’m serious”, he added, his voice dropping lower, the grin never leaving his lips. “And c’mon, sweetheart—blood? You think I care? Hell, I drown in blood every weekend”. His tone was teasing but edged with sincerity, and the way his hand squeezed your waist made it impossible to look away.

Your mind spun, your cheeks burning as you tried to come up with a response.

Dean’s grin didn’t falter as his hand gently stroked your waist, his green eyes locked onto yours with a mix of playfulness and intensity. He leaned in just a fraction closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice low and rough, “C’mon, sweetheart. What’s there to think about? You’re already squirming against me, and you know you’ll feel better after”.

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, unable to look at him directly. “I don’t know, Dean”, you whispered shyly, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability in your tone made your blush deepen, and you pressed your palms lightly against his chest, unsure if you were holding him closer or trying to push him away.

Dean’s good hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. His touch was firm but careful, the warmth of his hand sending shivers down your spine. “You trust me, don’t you?”, he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “I’ll take care of you, baby. Make you feel so damn good you’ll forget you ever doubted it”.

The way he said it, so full of confidence and heat, made your heart race. He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re already dripping for me, aren’t you?”, he continued, his voice dipping lower, each word deliberate and teasing. “Let me take care of that, yeah? You’ll feel better—promise”.

His words sent a rush of heat through you, and you clenched your thighs instinctively, the ache between them growing harder to ignore. Dean’s smirk widened slightly as he noticed, his fingers brushing lightly over your lower back. His lips hovered near your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His voice dropped even lower, barely more than a rumble, as he murmured, “Sweetheart, you’re already making those little noises for me, squirming in my arms like this. You really think you’re gonna say no?”.

His good hand pressed against the small of your back, holding you tighter, while his thumb brushed teasingly along your side. “You know how good I can make you feel”, he whispered, his tone darkening just enough to make your cheeks burn hotter. “Just imagine it. Me, buried inside you, moving slow and deep, making you forget every little ache you’ve got”.

Your breath hitched, and you let out a small whimper, unable to suppress the way your body reacted to his words.

“Yeah, that’s it”, he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I bet you’re already so wet for me. Just thinking about how good it’ll feel”. He paused, his hand sliding slightly lower, his thumb brushing the waistband of your leggings.

You squirmed against him, your hands clutching at his shirt as you bit your lip, trying to keep yourself steady. His voice was intoxicating, each word making the ache between your legs more unbearable.

“C’mon, baby”, Dean murmured, his voice husky and full of heat. “Let me make you feel good". His tongue flicked against your earlobe, making you gasp softly. “Just say the word”.

His words and his touch were overwhelming, the heat in your body rising to a fever pitch as he continued.

Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His good hand gripped your waist firmly, his thumb brushing small, tantalizing circles over your skin. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice strained and husky, “I’m so damn hard it hurts”.

The rawness in his tone made your breath hitch, your body instinctively pressing closer to his. He groaned again at the contact, his hips shifting slightly to emphasize the growing pressure against you. “I just wanna feel you”, he continued, his voice dropping lower, filled with unfiltered desire. “Feel myself sliding into you, nice and slow. Taking my time… making sure you feel every damn inch”.

Your cheeks burned as his words settled over you, a rush of heat coursing through your body. “I know what this does to you. I know how much you like it when I tell you what I want. And right now, all I want is you”.

You trembled in his arms, your hands clutching his shirt as if to steady yourself. Dean tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing down the side of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you squirm.

“Come on, baby". His lips brushed the sensitive spot just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’ll be so gentle, sweetheart. Just you and me, nice and slow”.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your heart pounding in your chest as his words wrapped around you like a spell. He knew exactly what to say, exactly how to make you feel completely consumed by him.

“Okay”, you finally whispered, your voice barely audible as you clung to him, your body trembling with anticipation. The word slipped from your lips almost involuntarily, a soft admission of surrender that made Dean groan in response.

Dean hovered over you, his broad frame tense as he braced himself with his good arm, the muscles in his forearm flexing under the strain. His shirt clung to him, rumpled and slightly damp from the effort of maneuvering himself without aggravating his injuries. His green eyes burned with intensity as he looked down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. The weight of the moment made the air between you thick, charged with anticipation.

He glanced down toward his sweatpants, then back at you, his lips curving into a crooked smirk. “You’re gonna have to help me out here, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. “Can’t do it one-handed”.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and your heart raced as you nodded, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the waistband of his sweatpants. The intimacy of the moment felt overwhelming, but the way Dean’s eyes softened as he watched you steadied your nerves. Slowly, you tugged the fabric down, careful not to move too quickly or jostle him.

Dean let out a low groan as you freed him, the sound sending a wave of heat through your body. His eyes, full of raw desire, watched your every move, his breath catching as your fingers, trembling slightly, wrapped around him. The intimacy of the gesture, your hesitant yet determined touch, stirred something deep within him.

You met his gaze, your own eyes wide with a mix of nerves and anticipation. With a gentle but firm grip, you guided him towards your entrance, your breath hitching as you felt the tip press against you.

Dean’s good hand remained braced above you, keeping his weight steady, but it was his other hand—the one with the broken arm—that surprised you. Carefully, tenderly, it moved to rest over yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you as his fingers brushed against yours. Despite his injury, the gesture was firm yet comforting, his broken arm moving just enough to help guide you.

“Easy, baby”, he murmured, his voice a soothing balm, low and rough with need but steady and calm. His green eyes locked onto yours, grounding you in his gaze. “Just like that”.

Dean’s broken arm stayed cradled protectively against his chest, but his fingers found their way to your hip, resting there lightly as if to steady you. Slowly, he began to ease himself inside you, his movements deliberate and measured.

You let out a soft whimper as the sensation overwhelmed you, the stretch coupled with the dull ache of your cramps making your body tense. Dean immediately noticed, his green eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of concern and reassurance.

“Shh, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he paused, his thumb brushing soft, calming circles against your hip. “It’ll get better, I promise. Just give it a second”.

You nodded, biting your lip as you focused on his words, letting the warmth of his touch and the steady tone of his voice wash over you. Dean pressed his forehead gently against yours, his breath fanning over your face as he murmured again, “Breathe, baby. Just relax”.

Following his lead, you took a slow, shaky breath, letting the tension in your body ease just enough for him to push forward again, inch by inch. Dean’s lips brushed lightly against your temple. “That’s it”, he rasped, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart”.

Dean groaned low in his throat as he pressed deeper inside you. His fingers flexing against your skin as if to remind you that despite his injuries, he was still in control.

His forehead rested against yours, his green eyes dark with a mix of raw desire and something deeper, something possessive. “You feel so damn good, sweetheart”, he rasped.

You whimpered softly, the sound escaping your lips as your body tensed. The sharp ache of your cramps flared with the stretch, making your breath hitch. “I know, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and soothing despite the strain in his tone. “I can feel you tensing up. Just breathe for me, baby. I promise, it’ll get better”.

You whimpered again, your hands gripping his shoulders harder as your body trembled beneath him. Dean’s good hand moved slowly up your side, his thumb brushing tender circles against your skin in an effort to calm you. The contrast between his rough, calloused hand and his gentle touch sent a shiver through you, momentarily distracting you from the discomfort.

“You’re doing so good”, he rasped, his lips grazing your jawline as he pressed another inch deeper, his hips rolling with a deliberate slowness. “I know it’s intense, baby. But I’ll take care of you. Just trust me”.

The raw edge to his voice made your stomach flutter despite the pain, and you nodded shakily, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to focus on the soothing rhythm of his movements. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he rocked into you again. “That’s it”, he murmured, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You’re so damn perfect".

The ache in your abdomen began to dull slightly, replaced by a spreading warmth that eased the tension in your body. Dean seemed to sense the change, his smirk returning as he moved a little deeper, his good hand gripping your hip firmly as he held you steady.

“See?”, he whispered, his lips brushing over yours as he spoke. “Told you it’d feel better”.

After a few thrusts, Dean´s muscles trembling slightly as he fought to keep himself steady. The strain was evident in the tightness of his jaw and the beads of sweat gathering at his temple. His broken arm remained cradled protectively against his chest, but the effort of holding himself up with only his good arm—and the pull on his injured chest—was taking its toll. Yet, even through the strain, his focus remained entirely on you.

You moaned softly, your body adjusting to him as the sharpness of your cramps began to dull more and more, replaced by a slow, building pleasure. Your hands moved instinctively to his shoulders, your fingers brushing over the tense muscles as if trying to steady him in return.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice shaky as you looked up at him. “You don’t have to—”.

“Shh”, he interrupted, his voice rough but firm as his lips brushed over your forehead. “I’ve got you, baby. Don’t worry about me”.

But you couldn’t help it. The way his arm trembled slightly, the way his chest heaved with the effort—it was clear this wasn’t easy for him. And yet, he refused to stop, refused to let his injuries hold him back.

“Fuck, sweetheart”, he muttered, his voice strained but full of heat. “You feel so good. So damn tight. Worth every second of this”.

You whimpered softly at his words, your hands gripping his shoulders more firmly as your body arched into his. The pressure inside you built with each slow thrust, the mix of pleasure and the sight of Dean’s determination making your heart race.

“You’re… killing me here”, he murmured, his lips brushing against yours before moving to your neck, where he pressed a series of lazy, open-mouthed kisses. “But damn, I don’t wanna stop”.

The sight of him—his raw, unrelenting strength, his refusal to let his injuries dictate the moment—made your chest tighten with emotion. You reached up, your hands sliding to his jaw as you guided his face back to yours, capturing his lips in a soft, desperate kiss.

And with that, he shifted his hips again, drawing another quiet moan from your lips as he pushed deeper. Every movement was slow and deliberate, as much for his sake as yours, but the intensity of it was enough to make your entire body tremble.

The tension in the room reached its peak as Dean’s deliberate movements pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His low groans, the sound of his uneven breathing, and the overwhelming intimacy of the moment were enough to send you spiraling. Your body tensed beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as the wave of pleasure finally crested.

“Dean”, you whimpered, your voice breaking as the release washed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. The sensation was all-consuming, your muscles clenching tightly around him as your body arched into his.

Dean groaned deeply at the sensation, his hips faltering as he thrust into you one last time, the intensity of your release pushing him over the edge. His breath hitched, and with a low, guttural moan, he followed you into bliss. His body trembled with the effort, the strain evident as he emptied himself inside you, his head falling to rest against your shoulder.

Completely spent, Dean collapsed gently onto you. His good arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as his breathing came in short, ragged gasps. His broken arm remained cradled protectively between your bodies, though you could feel the faint tremor in his muscles from the effort he’d exerted.

For a few moments, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths. Dean’s face was buried in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he tried to catch his breath.

“You okay?”, he rasped, his voice low and rough as he shifted slightly, mindful of his injuries. Despite the strain, there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced up at you, his green eyes soft and full of affection.

You nodded, your fingers brushing gently through his sweat-dampened hair as you tried to steady your own breathing. “I’m… pretty fine”, you whispered, your voice trembling but sincere. “What about you? Are you okay?”.

Dean chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with fatigue. “Better than okay”, he muttered, his lips pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. “Damn near perfect”.

After a few long, quiet moments, Dean’s breathing began to steady, his body finally relaxing against yours. With a soft grunt, he shifted slightly, planting a kiss on your shoulder before lifting his head to meet your gaze. The faint smirk tugging at his lips was matched by the warmth in his green eyes, though the exhaustion lingering there was unmistakable.

“Alright, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice still rough as he slowly eased himself up. “Time to move before we’re stuck here all night”.

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as he gently pulled out of you, careful not to rush or cause any discomfort. The sensation made you wince slightly, and your instinct was to glance down, curious about the inevitable mess you’d made. But before you could, Dean’s hand reached out, his fingers lightly brushing your chin to tilt your face back up to meet his gaze.

“Nuh-uh”, he said softly, his smirk softening into a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about that. Let’s take a shower instead”.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. “Dean, I should—”.

“Trust me”, he interrupted, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips, silencing your protest. “You’ve had enough to worry about the last few weeks. Let me take care of you”.

The conviction in his voice left no room for argument, and you nodded, your heart fluttering at the thoughtfulness behind his words. He grinned faintly at your agreement, his good arm wrapping around your waist as he carefully helped you sit up. Despite his obvious fatigue, Dean made sure to support you, his movements slow and deliberate as he guided you toward the edge of the bed.

“C’mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and gentle as he helped you to your feet. “Let’s get cleaned up”.

About a week later, the bunker had settled back into its usual quiet rhythm, though the tension of Dean’s slow recovery still lingered in the air. Dean was sitting in the library, his good arm resting lazily on the back of his chair while Sam leaned over him, carefully inspecting the stitches along his chest. The wound, though healing, was still an angry red, and Sam’s brow furrowed in concentration as he examined it.

Dean, as usual, looked impatient, his jaw set as he sat shirtless, his muscles flexing slightly with every subtle movement. His broken arm was still secured in a sling, though it didn’t stop him from shifting uncomfortably under Sam’s scrutiny.

“Hold still”, Sam muttered, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. “These stitches look good, but you keep moving around too much, and you’re going to rip them open again”.

Dean rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I’m fine, Sammy. You act like I’m on death’s door”.

Sam straightened, giving him a pointed look. “Because you were, Dean. You can’t keep acting like this is nothing”.

Dean’s smirk faltered slightly, but before Sam could press the point, your voice floated in from the doorway.

“Listen to him, Dean”, you said, stepping into the library with a cup of coffee in hand. Your gaze swept over the scene, and your heart did a little flip at the sight of Dean sitting there, topless and stubborn as ever. “He’s right, you know”.

Dean’s eyes flicked to you, and despite the irritation at being lectured, the corners of his mouth quirked into a softer, more genuine smile. “I’ve got two nurses now, huh?”, he teased, his voice low and warm.

“More like two babysitters”, you shot back, setting the coffee on the table and crossing your arms as you leaned against a chair. “You’re not exactly an easy patient”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he packed up the first-aid kit. “She’s not wrong”, he said, giving Dean a final once-over before stepping back. “Just keep the sling on and try not to do anything stupid”.

Dean snorted, leaning back in his chair as Sam walked off. “That’s asking a lot, don’t you think?”, he called after him, his grin widening before turning his attention back to you. His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he gestured to his chest. “So, how do the stitches look? Think they add to my charm?”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Only you would think scars make you more charming”.

Dean leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with that familiar intensity. “You like ’em, though”, he said softly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You huffed, trying to keep your composure. “What I like”, you said, stepping closer, “is seeing you actually healing. So maybe listen to Sam for once and don’t rip them open”.

Dean’s smirk softened into something warmer as he reached out with his good hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “Yeah, yeah”, he murmured, his voice teasing but affectionate. “I’ll behave… for now”.

It had taken weeks, but Dean was nearly back to his old self—stubborn, self-reliant, and unwilling to show any sign of weakness. On the outside, he seemed fine, even smug about how well he’d healed, but something had shifted. He wasn’t the same with you anymore, and it hurt.

The past few nights had been the hardest. Dean, who had once insisted on having you by his side every night, now seemed to avoid asking you to join him. He’d retreat to his room alone, leaving you to wonder what you’d done wrong. He hadn’t touched you, hadn’t even kissed you, and the absence of his warmth was like a hole in your chest that kept growing wider.

You’d tried to brush it off, telling yourself he was just readjusting, that he’d come around. But as the days dragged on, his distance felt more deliberate, and your patience was wearing thin.

This morning, you found him in the kitchen. The bunker was quiet, Sam still in bed and the world still dark outside. Dean stood at the counter, his back to you, nursing a mug of coffee. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his posture tense despite the casual scene. He didn’t turn when you entered, but you knew he’d heard you—Dean always noticed everything.

“Morning”, you said softly, hesitant as you moved closer. Your voice carried the weight of everything you hadn’t said in the past few days.

Dean glanced over his shoulder, his face unreadable, before turning back to his coffee. “Morning”, he muttered, his voice gruff and distant.

You frowned, the knot in your stomach tightening. “You’re up early”.

“Couldn’t sleep”, he replied, taking a sip from his mug. His tone was clipped, and he didn’t elaborate.

You hesitated for a moment, your nerves tangling in your chest as you debated what to do. Dean was pulling away, for whatever fucking reasons and you couldn’t stand it anymore. You needed to try—needed to bridge the gap between you. Taking a shaky breath, you bit your lip and stepped closer, your fingers brushing softly against his biceps. His warmth seeped into your skin as you leaned in, standing on your tiptoes to bring yourself closer.

“Maybe that’s because I’m not in your bed”, you murmured softly, trying to inject a bit of lightness into your voice, though the vulnerability behind your words was impossible to miss.

Dean barely flinched at first, his grip tightening slightly on his coffee mug. His jaw ticked, his eyes flicking down to where your hand rested against his arm, but he didn’t pull away. The tension in his body was palpable, and while he didn’t respond, the subtle shift in his posture—his muscles tightening beneath your touch, the faint hitch in his breath—told you he’d felt it. Felt you.

What he didn’t want you to know was that the second you pressed yourself so close, the heat of your body against his, the softness of your voice, it hit him like a truck. Desire flared through him, unbidden and overwhelming. He could feel himself hardening instantly, his body betraying every effort to keep himself in check. But he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still, to keep the space between you—even though every part of him screamed to close it.

“Don’t”, he said finally, his voice rough, though it lacked the edge it might have carried before.

You leaned back, crossing your arms, your gaze steady and determined despite the nervous energy thrumming through you. “Don’t what?”, you asked, your voice soft but firm. “What’s going on, Dean? You’ve been pulling away for days, and I don’t understand why”.

His green eyes flicked to yours for a moment before darting away, his shoulders tense and his posture rigid. He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to admit what was really going on. The truth sat heavy in his chest, threatening to spill over, but Dean Winchester wasn’t the kind of man who talked about his feelings—not easily, anyway.

You didn’t know it, but Dean was ashamed. He hated how the last few weeks had unfolded, how vulnerable and weak he’d been in front of you. Dean loved being the strong one, the one who protected you, guided you, and showed you everything. He loved knowing he was your first for so many things—your first kiss, your first love, your first everything. It gave him a sense of purpose, a role he understood and embraced.

But now? Now, you’d seen him at his lowest. You’d seen him unable to stand on his own, struggling with pain, relying on you for things he should’ve been able to do himself. Instead of being the unshakable force in your life, he’d become someone you had to care for, someone you had to worry about. And that wasn’t what you deserved—not in his eyes.

“Dean”, you pressed, your tone tinged with frustration as you stepped closer again. “Talk to me. Please. You’re shutting me out, and I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong".

He let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”, he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “You shouldn’t have to fix anything. Not for me”.

You frowned, your heart twisting at the bitterness in his tone. “What are you talking about?”.

Dean finally met your gaze, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your breath catch. “You’ve seen too much”, he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “I’m supposed to be the strong one. The guy who keeps you safe, who takes care of you. Not some… burden. Not someone you have to look after like a damn kid”.

The confession hit you like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t expected that. “Dean, you’re not a burden”, you said firmly, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted to help you. I wanted to take care of you. That’s what people do when they love each other”.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to”, he murmured. “You’re too young for this—for me. You should be out there, living your life, being carefree. Not stuck here, babysitting me”.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, the frustration bubbling to the surface as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “Dean”, you said, your voice laced with exasperation, “are we seriously doing this again? I thought we talked through all of that already”.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, well, maybe we didn’t talk enough”, he muttered, his voice low and gruff.

You took a step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Dean, I don’t care about the age difference. I don’t care about any of the crap you keep throwing up as reasons why I shouldn’t be with you. None of it matters to me”.

“It should”, he snapped, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and softened. “It should matter. You deserve better than this—better than me. I’m broken, and you’re… you’re young, and bright, and you shouldn’t be tied down to someone who—”.

“Stop”, you interrupted sharply, your voice steady even though your chest was tight. “Do you really think you get to decide what I deserve? What I want?”.

Dean faltered, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to respond. You took another step forward, closing the distance between you until you were standing toe-to-toe. “Because if you do”, you continued, your voice trembling slightly with emotion, “then you’re not the man I thought you were”.

That seemed to hit him like a slap. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked at you as though you’d just punched him in the gut. “That’s not—”, he started, his voice breaking. “That’s not what I’m saying”.

“Then what are you saying, Dean?”, you challenged, your tone softening but still firm. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re trying to push me away for reasons that don’t make sense”.

Dean’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darting away as if he could find the words he needed somewhere in the empty air. You could see the war in his mind, the way his shoulders tensed and his chest rose and fell with restrained emotion. He was holding back, but you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time.

“Dean”, you pressed, your voice firm but trembling with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “Talk to me. Please".

He hesitated for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line as he fought to keep his emotions in check. But the dam finally broke, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy with self-loathing. “I hate that you saw me like that”, he admitted, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I hate that you had to take care of me, that you saw me weak, useless. I hate that I needed you like that”.

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. “Dean—”.

“No”.

Dean’s voice cracked as he cut you off, his emotions threatening to spill over despite his best efforts to keep them buried. He raked a hand through his short hair, his frustration evident in the sharp exhale that escaped his lips. “You don’t get it”, he said, his voice rising slightly before it dropped again, quieter, darker. “You weren’t supposed to see me like that. Not you”.

You stayed silent, giving him the space to say what he needed, even though your heart ached at the anger he was directing inward. He took a shaky breath, his green eyes blazing with a mix of shame and vulnerability that he hated showing, especially to you.

“Do you have any idea how it felt?”, he continued, his words clipped, raw. “Lying there, useless, while you ran around taking care of me like… like I’m some damn invalid? I’m supposed to be the one looking after you. Protecting you. Hell, I’m twice your age, and all I’ve been doing is dragging you down, making you worry about me instead of letting you live your life”.

His words hit you like a freight train, and your chest tightened at the weight of his pain. “Dean, that’s not—”.

“I’m supposed to be a man”, he bit out, his tone tinged with bitterness. “Not someone you have to babysit. Not someone who can’t even pull his own damn weight. And every time I looked at you these past few weeks, all I could see was how much I’ve failed you. I’m not invincible anymore, and the last thing I want is for you to see that”.

You stepped closer, but he flinched slightly, his defenses still firmly in place. His gaze flicked to you briefly before he looked away again, ashamed to let you see just how deep this wound went. It wasn’t just his pride—it was his entire sense of self. Dean had spent his life building himself into this protector, this unshakable force of nature, and the idea of you seeing him weak, human, was unbearable.

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the raw pain in Dean’s words. The tension between you was thick, his vulnerability hanging in the air like a fragile thread threatening to snap. You couldn’t let him spiral further into his own self-loathing. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to cup his jaw, to pull his gaze back to yours.

But before you could make contact, Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with more force than he probably intended. The grip was firm, almost desperate, and you froze at the sudden contact. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and filled with something that looked like regret, as if he immediately realized what he’d done.

“Don’t”, he said hoarsely, his voice low and rough, his grip loosening slightly but not letting go entirely. “Don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t care about what you saw. Like it doesn’t matter”.

You stared at him, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling, “it doesn’t matter. It never did”.

His jaw clenched, his grip finally releasing your wrist as he stepped back, running a hand over his face. “You don’t get it”, he muttered, his frustration spilling over. “It should matter. I’ve spent my whole life being the guy who fixes things, who protects people. And now, what the hell am I? A liability? Someone you have to take care of?”.

His words cut deep, but not in the way he intended. You took a steadying breath, refusing to let him push you away. “You’re still that guy, Dean”, you said firmly, stepping closer again despite his retreat. “You’re still the one who protects me, who keeps me safe. But even you’re allowed to need help sometimes. That doesn’t make you less of a man”.

He let out a bitter laugh, his shoulders sagging as he turned his head away, unable to meet your gaze. “It sure as hell feels like it”.

You stood there, your heart pounding as the weight of Dean’s self-loathing filled the room. His words hung in the air, sharp and raw, and you knew this wasn’t just about his injuries or the past few weeks—it was about how he saw himself. Dean had built his entire identity around being the protector, the strong one, and now he felt like he’d lost that. The man you loved was crumbling under the pressure of his own insecurities, and you couldn’t let him drown in it.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to figure out what to say, how to reach him. You knew him too well, knew that this wasn’t something a simple “you’re enough” would fix. He needed something more, something that would remind him he was still the same man—the man you loved, the man who made your knees weak and your heart race.

It took every ounce of courage you had to finally say the words that had been swirling in your mind. You stepped closer, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Fuck me”.

Dean froze, his eyes snapping to yours in shock. For a moment, it was like time stood still. His green eyes widened, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “What?”, he rasped, his voice barely audible.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning, but you didn’t back down. “I said… fuck me”, you repeated, your voice steadier this time.

Dean stood frozen for a beat, your words hitting him like a freight train. His green eyes darkened, the vulnerability and doubt in them giving way to something deeper, something primal. His jaw worked as he tried to process the sudden shift in the air, but it was clear your words had struck a nerve—the kind that didn’t just tug at his heart but at every fiber of his being.

You took a shaky step closer, your hand brushing against his chest as you looked up at him, your cheeks burning but your voice steady. “Show me, Dean”, you murmured, your tone soft but laced with a quiet confidence. “Show me how much of a man you are. Because I’m sure no one—no one—can give me what you do”.

Dean’s breathing hitched, his nostrils flaring as the weight of your words sank in. You pressed your hand more firmly against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“No one else can make my knees shake the way you do”, you continued, your voice dipping lower as you held his gaze. “No one else can kiss me, touch me, make me moan like you do. No one else can make me come so hard I forget my own name”.

The shift in Dean’s expression was immediate, the self-loathing that had clouded his features melting away as the heat of your words took over. His jaw tightened, and his good hand shot out, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The intensity of his touch made your breath hitch, and you could feel him—rock hard against you, the blood from his worrying head clearly having taken a detour south.

Dean’s grip on your waist tightened, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared down at you. His green eyes burned with an intensity that made your knees weak, but there was something softer beneath the hunger—a flicker of hesitation, of restraint that you recognized all too well.

“Please”, you murmured, your voice trembling with a mix of vulnerability and anticipation. You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, the innocence in your expression juxtaposed with the boldness of your words. “Show me how good it can feel, Dean. When you’re not holding back”.

His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as his good hand slid from your waist to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Sweetheart”, he rasped, his voice rough, strained. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do”, you whispered, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know you’ve been holding back, Dean. Ever since… since the first time. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not scared, and I trust you”.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his thumb freezing against your cheek as he stared at you, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your words. “You have no idea what you do to me”, he muttered, his voice darkening with the primal edge you’d only seen glimpses of before. “No idea how many nights I’ve laid awake, thinking about giving you everything, about making you scream my name until you can’t even think straight”.

You whimpered softly at his confession, your body trembling against his as the heat between you grew unbearable. “You sure you can handle it?”.

“Yes”, you whispered, barely able to get the word out as the intensity of his presence overwhelmed you. “Please, Dean”.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 20

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall @lilbloggs @emily-

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

RUN FOR THE HILLS — max verstappen (angst, smut, nsfw)

pairing; fem!reader x max verstappen summary: you knew deep down that it was never gonna be you and him. warnings: angst, smut, nsfw, mdni, fingering a/n: lowkey highkey obsessed w tate mcrae😵😵i need to stop writing just angst and smut

the suite smelled like him; a faint mix of the expensive perfume he used and the redbulls he always drank.

a metallic tang of adrenaline clung to the air itself.

you hated how much it felt like home—this room that wasn’t yours, this man who wasn't yours.

but it always was like this. hotels, late nights, his hands through your hair. your clothes scattered across the floor.

you were perched on the edge of the bed, legs bare beneath a shirt he had forgotten he’d lent you.

his silhouette loomed in the doorway to the balcony, glass filled with some alcohol—glowing faintly between his fingers. the city lights painted his face in shades of gold and blue, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw and the set of his mouth.

he hadn’t said a word in minutes.

but it was always like this after, once the thrill burned off, leaving only silence.

silence that was a reminder of the long talks that never went deep enough, never continued outside of the room. his red eyes, that were evidence of too much feeling buried beneath too little honesty. and of you, missing the moments when he was still close enough to touch.

“you’re quiet,” you murmured, voice soft. you didn’t mean for it to sound as accusatory as it did, but the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

max sucked in a sharp breath. “what do you want me to say?” his voice was hoarse, as if he’d swallowed gravel and wasn’t interested in smoothing it out.

you bit back the immediate response, instead choosing to slide off the bed and approach him. the cool floor stung your feet as you crossed the small distance to stand beside him.

“what this is?” you asked, your words barely audible over the muffled sounds of the city below.

max turned to you, eyes dark and unreadable.

he had a way of looking at you in a way that made you jittery, like he could see every thought you’d ever had about him.

“it’s whatever you want it to be,” he said after a pause, and you hated the way his words felt like both a gift and a dismissal.

your laugh came sharp and humourless.

“don’t you fucking do that, max.” you stepped closer, daring him to flinch, to break. “you’re the one who texts me at two in the morning. you're the one who shows up even when i say i need space. you're the one who kisses me and then acts like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“stop.” his voice came like a whip, cutting through the air. he harshly placed his glass on the table before looking at you again. “you think i don’t know what this is doing to you? to us?”

us.

the word hung there, fragile and fleeting, choking the air and suffocating both of you.

you looked into his eyes, shaking your head.

fuck.

you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward you, crashing your mouth against his.

the kiss was desperate, tongue and teeth and anger spilling out all at once.

his hands found your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough.

“this isn’t gonna work,” you gasped against his mouth, even as your hands slid beneath his shirt to trace the muscles of his back. “it’s never gonna be real.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath hot against your lips. “walk away, then.”

the answer knocked the air from your lungs, but deep down you knew he was right.

you should have left months ago, left the first time you realised what he meant to you and how little you meant to him in return. but here you were, melting from his touch, caught in the gravity of him.

drawn to the danger that was covered by the thrill.

“i'm obsessed with you,” you whispered, the confession raw, bleeding between you both.

his lips found yours again, softer this time, like an apology he didn’t know how to give. he backed you into the room, the edge of the bed catching the backs of your knees until you were falling, pulling him down with you.

his weight settled over you, grounding you in a way that felt both comforting and suffocating.

clothes disappeared in a haze of heat and urgency.

his hands roamed around your body as if he was memorising you, as if this was the last time he’d ever touch you.

perhaps, it was.

his lips traced a fire along your collarbone, down your chest, lower still. all you could do was feel—the slide of his skin against yours, the way he filled the empty spaces inside you that you didn’t even know existed until him.

you gasped as his fingers slipped inside you, his touch familiar, addictive.

the way he touched you, it went straight to your heart, igniting a fire within you and cutting your heart.

your nails dug into his shoulders, the skin slick beneath your fingers. he was everywhere, and it wasn't enough.

"fuck," he hissed as you pressed your thighs around his fingers, chasing the sensation of his touch, the feel of him filling you.

"please," the word escaped as a moan as his lips traced the line of your collarbone. "max."

his name tumbled from your lips, sounding broken and desperate and aching.

"fuck me like it means something." you weren't sure if the words you had said were a plea or an accusation.

or maybe both.

he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. for a moment, all you could see was a boy lost in a storm.

but then his lips were on yours, the kiss hard, bruising, possessive, and all your senses were knocked away.

the weight of his body pressed against yours, and his fingers intertwined with yours, pinning them to the mattress above your head. he released a ragged breath, his grip tightening on your hands.

he pulled his fingers out of you, trailing them back to himself as he aligned himself and immediately pushed into you.

a groan tore through his throat, a broken, beautiful sound that sent goosebumps down your arms. you arched your back in response, his name falling from your lips as pleasure coursed through your body, making your vision blur.

he began moving, slow and deep, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe—the pressure building, consuming, overwhelming.

everything was him. he was everywhere and also nowhere, and you wondered how he was the only thing you needed but not one thing you wanted.

max, a chant.

your fingers clung to him as he moved within you, as if the two of you would fall apart without the other.

maybe you would. maybe this was a deck of cards waiting to crash down. maybe he was a flame shining brighter than the stars, and you were a moth, ready to burn up and turn to ash.

it was chaos and peace; a hurricane wrapped in the promise of a tomorrow.

it wasn’t enough, and it never would be. it was never going to be you, and you were so fucking tired of it.

yet, here you were, begging him to make it hurt a little more.

he moved faster, the pleasure building within you, and your eyes rolled back into your head, the sight drawing a low, guttural groan from his throat, the sound reverberating through his body.

everything was becoming too much. his touch, his scent, the heat of his skin, the sounds he made, the way his name felt as it slipped past your lips.

your vision blurred, the world fading around you until there was only him.

he kissed you then, his lips claimed yours and you let him—you surrendered yourself, losing yourself to him. his grip around your hands tightened into a bruising grip.

"fuck, baby." his voice was nothing but a breath, a desperate plea, a promise. "you are so good."

he set a faster pace, and every sigh, every moan, every broken word—he drank them up, held them close.

the pressure reached higher and higher, your body aching, pleading for release. and then his name spilled from your lips in a cry, and you were gone, the world shattering around you as pleasure crashed through you like waves in a high tide.

and he was there with you, following after you, the sound of your name dripping down his lips—a symphony, a lullaby, a curse.

he slowed down, resting his head on your forehead before collapsing beside you, breathing ragged and skin slick with sweat.

but when the sweat dried and the silence crept back in, the reality creeped back like a stone in your stomach.

“this is killing me,” you said softly, the words breaking somewhere between your throat and your chest.

your eyes were trained on the white ceiling above you, and so were his.

max didn’t respond right away. when he finally did, his voice was quiet, almost broken. “maybe it’s time to stop.”

you closed your eyes, accepting his answer.

you’d always known that the fire would burn you alive. this thing between you wasn’t love. it was darker, messier—something that was tearing both of you apart piece by piece.

"it's never gonna ever be us, y'know?" he said, and it sounded almost like a confession.

it was the truth that had been staring both of you in the face since the very beginning.

"i know." you truly did, because it was a fact.

whatever this was, it was just fragments of what could have been—if only neither of you had been scared to ask for more.

but there were some things that were better left unsaid.

[anothermansjeans]

oooo i would LOVE if you could do a blurb where we see youtuber reader getting ready with spencer’s voiceover spliced in between your descriptions!

hehehe YES! i was wondering if anyone would have wanted to see it SO THANKS FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO WRITE IT!!

cw: fluff, spencer is a menace at times

wc: 599

youtuber!reader masterlist

++

The engagement of your most recent TikTok was off the charts. It wasn't something that you normally thought about. Yes, making content was your job and what helped keep the bills paid, but you always did well enough to not have to worry (you're very aware and never take this for granted). There was just something about Spencer in your videos that made the views and comments skyrocket.

The video went as follows: it was a simple set up, you were at your vanity with your makeup setup, and you sent a smile and wave to your phone. A voiceover of yourself talking. “Hey lovelies, I’ll be doing my makeup but Spencer will be doing the voiceover! Okay, bye!”

The video continued on with you massaging spf onto your face, followed by some primer. “This is Y/N doing her makeup routine, even though I tell her every day she already looks perfect.” Your awe was heard after his statement. “It looks like Y/N is putting sunblock all over her face. She’s not putting on the recommended amount which is about ¼ teaspoon. Many dermatologists recommend the ‘three finger rule’ when applying so that you know you’ve used enough.” Your scoff could be heard in the background, but Spencer continued. “She’s now using another product with the name ‘elf’ on it. I believe this is a skin primer, which I learned blurs pores and smooths your skin so makeup can glide on.”

The video continued on as you went through putting on concealer, foundation, and contour. “She’s now putting concealer under her eyes and on red spots. I believe this is for color correction, but she should be using a shade of green to neutralize the red and then put concealer or foundation on. She’s now blending in the concealer very vigorously.” His next words were a bit softer, most likely looking directly at you when he spoke “you should have a lighter hand so bruising doesn't occur or worse, when you're blending on your eyelid the possibility of popping a blood vessel.”

Your giggles could be heard as well as your words, “okay babe, you're missing some of the video though.”

“Right! Okay, now she's using foundation. This shade looks to be a shade too dark though. Y/N, did you run out of your winter shade?”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry, sorry, now she’s blending again, still very harshly, but now she's using a darker shade to contour under her zygoma and on her mandible.”

The video went on with Spencer’s commentary sprinkled in. He knew exactly what each process was (you think he watches more of your videos than you originally assumed), and he would only roast you every other step. It was the end of the video when you were putting setting spray on and Spencer let out a sigh. “And the last step. I think. She’s spraying something on her face. She told me this helps her makeup stay on all day, but her skin produces oils throughout the day so it's likely this really only works for a couple of hours at most.”

Your grumbled voice could be heard after his. “Outro, Spence!”

“Thanks… for watching? Was that good? I don't know how to stop the recording, Y/N–”

And the video was over. People were obsessed with Spencer just from his voice alone. The quips were funny, his voice was a bit raspy, TikTok declared they loved him (and you– they were obsessed with this relationship). You had a feeling Spencer would be a lot more involved in your content from here on out.

++

BONUS: some comments

@ user: HE KNEW SO MUCH??? 😭

@ user1: he's so sassy PLEASE...sassy man epidemic is REAL

@ user2: his...voice... girl i would die a happy death fr

@ user3: SHE'S GETTING COMFORTABLE WITH SHARING HIM WE'RE WINNING

@ user4: why is he DRAGGING you ever so slightly LMAOSHSJDJD

@ user5: yall are so cute i want what you have 🫶

++

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

[sxcret-garden]

Jongho ღ Build You Up [M]

ღ Ateez Jongho x fem-bodied!reader ღ feat.: best friend!San, Wooyoung, Hongjoong ღ words: ~23k ღ genre & warnings: fluff (a lot of it, actually), some humor, a bit of angst (unhappy past relationships for both of them and the consequences, why do I like sadness), slowburn, smut (sub!Jongho, dom!reader, detailed warnings under the cut); brief discussion of (over)weight (it’s about a cat tho), alcohol consumption ღ reader: has a vagina, no other descriptions of reader’s anatomy, no pronouns used to refer to reader

Desc.: It hasn’t been long since you and Jongho have started seeing each other, when it begins to look like your originally purely sexual relationship is turning into something much broader. After you initially make it very clear that you aren’t ready for a new relationship after a painful breakup, you can’t help but wonder if Jongho would be the one who can finally help you heal, and at the same time you too are set on helping him with his own troubles, getting him to let go of control around you more and more easily. This is the sequel to my fic Break You Down - it can also be read as a standalone work, but probably makes more sense if you’ve read the original fic too~

ღ smut warnings: off-screen kink-negotiation, a hint of dumbification, subspace, lots of praise, some teasing, some begging, some humiliation, biting, oral & fingering (reader receiving), reader sitting on his face, (kinda) guided masturbation & cum eating (idol), restraints (handcuffs & rope, idol receiving), blindfold (idol), handjobs, edging, orgasm control, overstimulation as a punishment (and also just for fun tbh), traffic light system (only “green” is used), reader has a bit of a dom drop at one point, temperature play, a bit of finger sucking, unprotected sex, anal (fingering & with a strap, idol receiving), dacryphilia, they have pretty sweet and vanilla sex once, multiple orgasms

“Did so well for me…” you breathe the words into his ear as he’s about to collapse on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and you let your lips brush against his earlobe. Your hand is up in his hair, gripping the dark brown locks to guide him into a position where you could comfortably wrap your arms around his broad figure, feeling the way his hot skin presses against yours and how his chest is rising and sinking in tune with your own, both catching your breaths. 

You lean your back against the headrest of your bed, with a pillow in between, and you wait for him to come down from the euphoric high you’ve swept him up in. Granted, it wasn’t your effort alone, and you wonder if words would be enough to convey to him what you’re feeling deep in your chest right in this moment.

“Such a good boy, letting me take care of you like that…” you mutter, and you notice a shade of pink dusted onto his cheeks as he looks up at you with big round eyes. He seems so much softer now - his features, his gaze, and the sound of his voice too, when he hums an elongated “mhmmm” at your praise. Eyelids drooping, he sinks down to a lying position eventually, with his head in your lap, and as he closes his eyes fully while you’re still playing with his hair, you think he’s dozing off, until his warm voice fills the room again.

“Say…” Jongho looks up at you, parted lips swollen from how hard you had kissed him just earlier, and you have to resist the urge to lean in and pepper little pecks all over his features. 

“What is it?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from grinning like a fool at how cute he looks, all fucked out, laying in your lap like that.

“Mmmm.” Lips pursed, his eyes dart to the side as he’s trying hard to come up with a coherent sentence. You find yourself chuckling, finding it amusing how this usually so eloquent man is struggling to form words now.

“It’s okay,” you speak soothingly, fingertips ghosting over his mouth and grazing his plush lips. “You don’t have to say anything right now if it’s too hard.” However, Jongho frowns at what was supposed to be a comfort to him.

“No, just… been thinking…” he slurs.

“About what?”

“Just… if maybe… we could meet up sometime?” Another short laugh escapes you.

“You mean, outside of having sex?” you guess, and he gives you a nod. “Hmm…” You ponder on the question for a while, and as you do, you feel resistance in your heart. Truth be told, you’ve been afraid one of your partners would bring up something like this sooner or later, though you do your best to keep things lowkey and not make any advances that aren’t of a purely sexual nature on anyone. And yet there is also a spark of curiousity lighting up within you. The little bits of his usual personality you get to see before and during the start of a scene can’t be more than a fraction of what he’s really like during his everyday life, and you can’t say you haven’t caught yourself wondering about who he might be outside of when you have sex with him.

“Don’t want to?” he asks, and you know he is trying his hardest not to sound sad, but the pout that involuntarily appears on his lips does nothing in helping him hide his true feelings.

“It’s not that…” you answer, soothingly caressing his face as you brush a strand of hair away and attempt to tuck it behind his ear, already knowing prior that it’s too short for that anyway. He raises his eyebrows as if prompting you to continue speaking. “Just…” You look around the room, wondering if you should let the doubt on your mind win or not, and eventually you figure that it’d probably be just fine.

“Alright,” you decide, finally, and you find a spark in his eyes upon hearing your answer. “Any plans on what to do?” Jongho makes a noise, opening and closing his mouth like a fish in water, and you smile at the way his mind has gone blank again, stroking his hair a few more times. “Maybe we’ll discuss that later, then?” you propose, and you see the tension leaving his shoulders. “No need to overexert that pretty little head of yours,” you tease, and you earn yourself a pouty frown, reacting immediately by giving him some more scalp scratches meant to appease him.

Thursday afternoon. You’re looking your reflection in the shop window in front of you up and down, adjusting the way the fabric of the simple but elegant blouse wraps itself around your shoulders to look as neat as possible. Its color an antique pink, with flowers cross-stitched onto the ends of the sleeves, you don’t get a whole lot of chances to wear this type of clothing anymore nowadays, so you made sure to pick out your outfit thoughtfully. Maybe a little too thoughtfully, as you’ve tried on all kinds of possible combinations a day prior, in an attempt to choose the most perfect one out of all of them. In the end you settled for something comfortable and in some way nostalgic, remembering the last time you wore this particular top having been at a friend’s graduation party. Paired with some dark grey dress pants and classy shoes with just a tiny heel, you think you match the definition of “elegant, but not over the top” - which is the only thing besides the time and meeting place that Jongho had told you about today. Judging from the fact that it’s almost 6pm you assume his plan is to take you out for dinner, plus the address he had sent you is in the middle of an area known for its fancy restaurants, and when he finally comes into sight as he’s turning a corner a couple of meters away from you, he’s about to confirm your assumptions.

“Hi,” he greets you with a tired but warm smile, and you return the greeting.

“Hi. How have you been?” He looks away as if he had hoped you wouldn’t ask him this very standard question meant to open up a conversation, yet here you are. “Sorry, should I not ask?” you figure, and he shows you a gesture of his hand to wave it off.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” he says. “Today wasn’t so bad. I had a meeting until…” he checks his wristwatch, and you notice how expensive it looks, “half an hour ago, that’s why I’m a little late. I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, you let me know on time so it’s fine,” you assure him.

“But aside from that it wasn’t too busy today. Thankfully,” he says. “My father is away on a business trip so… can’t terrorize the whole company for a few days. But let’s get going, shall we?” Stopping himself from rambling, he holds out his hand to you for you to hook your arm through his, and you start walking. “How was your day?” he then asks back, having calmed himself down a little. You wonder for a moment if you’re right in your observation that he seems unusually open today, at least compared to what he was like when you had only just met him, but then again you figure it’s only natural to be comfortable opening up to a person who’s already broken down so many walls within you, no?

“It was good. I had a day off, actually, so I finally got to run some errands I’ve been putting off,” you explain briefly, as he’s taking the lead on the way to your destination. And maybe he’s noticed your dopey smile about it, because upon looking at you, he asks,

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” you lie at first, giving him big, innocent eyes, but the suspicion in his expression tells you he’s probably already figured it out anyway, so you might as well give him the answer yourself. “I was just thinking that this is the first time you’re guiding me.”

“Oh… you’re right,” he says, coming to a halt with you in front of a crossing.

“It feels…”

“Weird?” he laughs.

“Different,” you say with a smile. “Not bad.”

“I see?” he says, visibly intrigued, and as the pedestrian lights switch to green, he walks you across the street. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” you then say, and wordlessly, he shows you a toothy smile - you’re sure he knows what you were implying.

You arrive at the restaurant on the 15th floor of a huge building, having one of the servers show you your table right by the window with a vast view of the surrounding city. The sun is slowly beginning to set when you finish choosing your meals, and you’re served some sweet sparkling wine as an aperitif. 

“Cheers,” he raises his glass and you do the same.

“Cheers.” You both take a sip, and as you set down your glasses, he says, earnestly,

“You look good by the way.”

“So do you.” You shoot him a smile, reckoning that a well fitted, classic suit really does everything to make him look even more handsome. Even when it’s apparent that work is taking its toll on him, a part of him is glowing in that business attire - almost creating the illusion that a high ranking corporate job must be where he belongs most.

As the courses are served to you one by one, beautifully plated, each accompanied with wines from all over the world, which, according to your waiter, have been carefully chosen to perfectly round up the respective dishes they come with. You find yourself having fun like this, chatting with Jongho while having a fine meal, and the atmosphere of the restaurant only makes the evening feel more special. 

“You know,” you say, “it’s been a long time since I’ve gone out for dinner like this. Dressing up and having good wine and all that.” You swirl the drink around in your glass, watching as a layer of deep red slowly drips back down along the walls. “So, thanks for taking me out here,” you conclude, shooting him a smile across the table, and he reciprocates, before looking away with a hint of shyness on his face.

“So you’re enjoying yourself?” he asks after clearing his throat.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad I chose the right thing to do then,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Why?” you chuckle. “Were you scared I wouldn’t like it here?”

“I just… wasn’t sure if you’re the type for fancy dinners with wine and candle light and all that,” he says, and your eyes flick over to the candle burning at the edge of your table.

“Wouldn’t everyone enjoy this kind of thing every once in a while?” you wonder out loud, and the man in front of you agrees. “I also don’t get to dress up like this a whole lot,” you continue. “So, that was nice for the first time in a while too.”

“You really do look beautiful today,” he says, giving you a soft smile as he tilts his head to the side a little, and you can’t help but find the image in front of you cute.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for the stem of your wine glass once again to busy your hands. “I also can’t remember when the last time was that I’ve heard that…” you add, keeping your voice low now. “Even though there was a person I would’ve wanted to hear it from more often.” Jongho raises his eyebrows, indicating he wants you to keep going. “Just…” you hesitate. Should you really mention your ex here?

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says quickly, upon noticing you’re indecisive. 

“Right… sorry,” you apologize, taking a quick sip of your beverage.

“It’s alright,” he says, and before the silence between you can get too awkward, he changes the topic. “But… I’ve told you so much about my job since we started talking. I’ve been wondering what you do?”

“Oh. I work with animals,” you explain. “I’m a physiotherapist for animals like… cats, dogs. Mostly those two, but sometimes people also bring in other pets, and we take care of those as well.” 

“Oh,” he gasps, surprise written all over his face.

“What did you think I’d be doing?” you ask, grinning.

“Hm… I don’t know. I was expecting some boring office job, like me,” Jongho admits, and now you let out a short laugh.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you say. “I did study business, actually. But after a year I realized it’s not for me. I wanted to do something to help, you know? Something that’s actually fulfilling.”

“What, filling out excel sheets and handing in reports to your superiour all day doesn’t sound fulfilling to you…?” he questions, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Right, that’s totally the best job in the world…” you say, smiling and rolling your eyes.

“So…” he returns to the original topic, after taking a bite of his food, “you must like animals?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling to yourself. “I have a cat at the moment too.”

“Right, I did think I heard a meow last time I was with you,” Jongho says.

“Yeah, my Meatball is very shy though, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if you hadn’t noticed he’s there at all.”

“Your meatball?” he repeats, and though you’re sure he understands it’s the cat’s name, he’s still chuckling at the sound of it - and maybe the mental image too. 

“Ah, yeah…” Now you laugh as well, having gotten so used to the name that time and time again you forget it might make other people scratch their heads. “He’s a rescue,” you explain. “Was severely overweight when I got him from the shelter, that’s why they called him that. His previous owners must’ve overfed him… thankfully he’s at a healthy weight now.”

“Ahh, now it makes sense.”

“Yeah. But,” you chuckle, “you still gotta be careful and not leave anything edible out on the table or something. He steals everything if given the chance.”

Dessert is finally served, a variation of chocolates accompanied by some fruit parfait, and it’s just as delicious as everything you’ve been served thus far. 

“This is so good…” you mumble, completely indulged in the food in front of you.

“Right? I really like that they don’t make their desserts too sweet,” Jongho comments.

“Yeah. Maybe I should let my subs take me out for dinner more often at this rate,” you joke, but the guy sitting opposite you doesn’t give you the expected light-hearted reaction.

“You’re seeing other people as well?” he reckons, trying hard to keep his facial expression neutral, but you can tell he must’ve been thinking he’s the only one.

“Yeah, at the moment,” you explain, and you find yourself monitoring him closely for any signs of upset. “I have two other people I sometimes do scenes with nowadays.”

“Right, that makes sense.”

“But what about you?” you try to divert the conversation elsewhere as you notice some tension leaving his shoulders.

“Me?”

“Are you seeing people? Dating anyone?”

“Ah, no,” he answers, and when a smile returns to his lips you too find yourself relaxing. “Aside from you, anyway. It’s… been a while since my last relationship too.”

“Oh?”

“Well, that was… a bit of a complicated situation.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” you repeat what he had told you earlier, but he shakes his head.

“It’s not that,” Jongho says, “I just don’t want to… kill the mood I suppose?” His gums show as he gives you an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry about that,” you assure him, and so he leans back in his chair, looking around the room as he mutters,

“Where do I even start?”

“That bad?”

“I mean… I had a girlfriend a while back. A couple of years, no… four? Almost four years. Basically our parents set us up, hoping we would get married. You know, two wealthy families, it was about business to them. And our image of course.”

“Right,” you say.

“It’s not that we didn’t get along at all or anything, or that we weren’t attracted to each other. It’s just… after the honeymoon phase, we didn’t really know what to do with each other.”

“So you didn’t match,” you guess, and he nods.

“Yeah. I tried to make things work, to win her over, you know… rekindle the flame I suppose?” He laughs, and you think you can see a hint of bitterness hiding in the corners of his smile. “So I put in an effort.”

“...and?” you ask, expecting this story to take a bad turn quite soon.

“She was seeing other guys.” Jongho doesn’t look at you as he speaks those words, instead staring off into the distance, head turned towards the general direction of the window to his left. 

“You’re still hurt over that, huh?” you dare to say what’s on your mind, and without wavering, he responds,

“Yeah.”

“That sucks…” you look down at your plate, where there’s some remainder of the chocolate cream smeared across the white porcelain, and you drag the tips of your fork across them. 

“It’s how it is,” he says, sighing, and returning his gaze to you. “I’ve been focusing on my studies and then on work ever since, so I didn’t really have the time to date anyone else.” He thinks for a moment, before he adds, “Maybe I’ve been busying myself so much because it would mean I wouldn’t have time for that.” You begin to understand a little more why he seemed hesitant to ask for a meeting between you two after you started chatting online, or why he’s struggling so hard to let go of control, even in situations where he desperately wants to. And somehow now your determination to help him with that as best you can is growing some more, and before you can think, you find yourself reaching out across the table, your hand covering his. You don’t say anything, really, a smile that’s supposed to tell him you sympathize is all you can give here. And it’s not like you don’t get him - your last relationship didn’t exactly go great either, and maybe in that pain of being betrayed by someone you trusted, someone you had committed to, there might be a chance for you two to build yet another connection.

You say goodbye outside on the street, in front of the building where you were dining. Jongho had insisted on paying for the both of you, even after you had assured him you didn’t mind splitting the bill. So you make sure to thank him again, to which he shows you that toothy smile you’re starting to find strangely reassuring, and you find your heart warmed.

“We’ll see each other next week?” you say, finding an expression in his eyes that makes you think he doesn’t want you to leave yet. And still, he nods.

“Yes. Until then.” You wave each other goodbye, and when you turn on your heels to walk to the bus station to get home, you too feel a distant pull on your heart, begging you to stay with him for just a while longer.

“You seemed a little out of focus today.” San states the obvious as you undo the rope you had meticulously tied around this wrists. He gives you a smile while he stares up at you, warmth in his gaze, but you also make out some curiousity shining through.

“I’m really sorry…” you say once he’s freed from his restraints, and he lets his hands sink into his lap, sitting up on your bed with his lower back propped up against the headrest. It was a short session - you kept it like that on purpose, having known from the start that your concentration would give up on you sooner rather than later today, and you honestly feel sorry for him. He doesn’t even look as tired out as usually when you’re done with him, and San seems to sense that something’s weighing you down, because next thing you know after putting the rope aside is that he’s pulling you into his embrace, letting you rest your head against his bare chest. 

“Shouldn’t this be my job…” you mumble, even though you allow for your eyelids to close and your mind to rest for a while.

“Shh,” San shushes you. “Doms need reassurance too. Plus, I can take care of a friend, can’t I?” 

You and San have known each other since forever - high school, to be exact, where you ended up in the same class and somehow formed an alliance to get together for study sessions and to tackle exams together. You’ve stayed in touch ever since, and hooked up a couple of times, until it was him who introduced you to the world of BDSM, and you immediately found yourself in your element. Even now you get together to have sex sometimes, and to satisfy the sub in him from time to time.

“How’s Woo doing?” you ask, letting him cradle you in his embrace for now.

“Don’t try to change the topic,” San scolds you in the softest tone. 

“I really want to know!” you insist, and it wouldn’t be San if he could keep up his strict demeanor for more than a hot second when it comes to you.

“He’s doing fine. Bratty as ever.” You both laugh. “But I’ve got him tamed.”

“That’s my boy,” you chuckle, patting his thigh a few times.

“So? What’s on your mind, Y/N?” You let out an existential sigh. Choi Jongho, obviously. The thought pops up in your mind without permission, and you wonder if you should really keep fighting it so hard - and then you ask yourself why you’re fighting it in the first place.

“It’s just…” you talk eventually, but stop to ponder on your words some more. And then you peel yourself out of San’s hold, and you sit cross legged opposite him, with him mirroring your position. His smile dripping with warmth, he gives you the most sympathetic eyes known to mankind, and you curse him for it out loud.

“Why do you have to be so goddamn trustworthy and empathetic all the time?”

“What?” San laughs, the dimples on his cheeks almost as deep as the confusion in his gaze.

“I just… I met someone, I guess…” you admit.

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows in interest.

“The CEO son… I told you about him.” And now San leans back, arms raised in a stretch before he crosses them behind his head.

“Well this is getting interesting…”

“... Jongho… is his name.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop acting like this!” you yell out of embarrassment.

“Like what? I’m just curious!” San shrugs like he had done nothing wrong.

“Just… I’m not ready for a new relationship yet…” San’s expression becomes serious again as he pieces together the bits of information you give him in an attempt to see the bigger picture, and you continue, “I guess that’s why this feels so conflicting. I like him, don’t get me wrong, but he took me out to dinner this week, and I think he more than just likes me.”

“You went on a date?” Surprise echoes in your friend’s words.

“It wasn’t a date. We just went out together.”

“That sounds like a date to me…”

“It wasn’t-... well maybe it was.” You pause, staring at the bedsheets underneath you. “I wish it wasn’t.”

“Come here,” San spreads his arms, beckoning you to come closer, and you let him engulf you in yet another warm hug. “If you’re not ready for another relationship after what happened, you can simply tell him that, can’t you?” It’s such an obvious piece of advice, and yet it seems to have so much more weight, now, that you’re hearing it from one of your oldest friends, and not just as a constantly recurring thought in your head.

“Right.”

“Do you think he might react badly?” You think about it for a while. It’s not like you know Jongho well enough to have gained a deep understanding of how he works in situations like these, but your gut feeling tells you he’ll at least be reasonable about it.

“Probably not,” you say finally.

“You’ll be fine,” San encourages you, and he lets you rest against his strong figure for a while. “But now I’m curious…” he continues eventually. 

“Hm?”

“How is he?” He shoots you a smirk, and immediately several memories from the times you’ve been with Jongho so far flash by your inner eye.

“... haven’t had someone like him in a while. Actually, I haven’t had someone like him at all. A tough nut to crack.” You shoot San a knowing look. “But so worth it.”

“Hmm? Well, I’m glad you’re having your fun with him.”

“Yeah… it’s fun,” you say, and you can’t help but think of all the other things having sex with him is.

“I’m going to miss you,” San then says, without adding too much weight to the words - probably in an attempt not to burden you, but they hit you where it hurts anyway.

“What are you saying?”

“Well, we know you don’t do things like me and Wooyoung. When you’re dating someone, you’re dating just them.”

“Did you listen to any of what I just said?” You turn around to shoot San a look full of offense, and you’re met with a broad, playful smile from his side.

“Well, I feel like it’s only a matter of time with this one…”

“Choi San!” You call out his full name, only adding to his amusement. “Did you listen. To anything. I just said?”

“I did, I did, I’m sorry.” Your friend’s features soften as he falls forward to rest his chin atop your shoulder. You can’t tell if he was joking or not, if he was teasing you or if he really thinks there’s a chance being with Jongho would mend your heart enough for you to be ready to trust again. To fall in love again. And you know there’s currently nobody in your life who knows you better than San does. And yet, you can’t be mad at him.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” your friend speaks up, reaching out to put his hand over yours, thumb rubbing a few soothing circles onto your skin. “Take your time.”

“So that gave me a few sleepless nights, but fortunately we got the deal… oh, is that Meatball?” You turn your head into the general direction of where Jongho is looking, and find your cat’s pitch black fur blending into the shadows at the foot of one of the shelves in your living room.

“Ah, yes,” you say, and you smile at the small creature. “My grumpy old boy.” His yellow eyes are intently watching you and your visitor where you’re sitting across each other at your dinner table, and after a while of observing the both of you, he decides it’s time to venture closer. Stretching his body thoroughly as he gets up, he slowly walks a little closer, and then sits down halfway to watch Jongho with curiousity. 

“Do you like cats?” you ask as Meatball proceeds to clean his hind legs. 

“They’re quiet,” Jongho responds, not taking his eyes off your pet.

“I see,” you say, chuckling, and then you observe as Meatball comes yet a little closer, and you’re surprised to see him hop up onto Jongho’s lap, who seems flustered by the cat’s action. “I think he likes you,” you comment, and you find it amusing how the guy in front of you doesn’t seem too sure of what to do with Meatball rolling up in his lap, fully intent on taking a nap by the looks of it. However, he relaxes eventually.

“Can I pet him?”

“You can try,” you say. “If he doesn’t like it he’ll get up and leave.”

“Ah… so he doesn’t bite or anything?” Jongho asks, his palm finding the pitch black fur and Meatball doesn’t react as he strokes him from head to tail a few times.

“He does,” you say, pulling up the sleeve on your left arm and showing him the half healed scratches Meatball had given you just last week. “He hates taking his meds.”

“I see,” Jongho chuckles, continuously petting the cat in his lap.

“He’s used to it, so usually he’ll just accept his fate. But sometimes his fighting spirit comes out,” you explain, laughing, and the guy sitting opposite you laughs as well. “But in a situation where he can escape, he’ll rather do that. So no need to worry.”

“I see… oh?” Meatball gets up, and, seemingly having had enough coddling for today, jumps down onto the floor to spread out and continue his nap there. “He’s had enough, huh?”

“Looks like it,” you respond, and for a while you both end up just watching his sleeping figure. However, you eventually tear yourself away from the adorable image, remembering what you had planned to have a conversation about before starting your scene today.

“Uhm…” you clear your throat. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Jongho asks, shooting you a smile. 

“So… we’ve been getting closer even… outside of the bedroom, right?” you say, unsure how to start the conversation, but you know you’ll have to start somewhere, even if things come out a bit awkwardly.

“Right.”

“And it feels like… you really like me. I mean, I like you too, just…”

“What is it?” Jongho raises his eyebrows, and you find a hint of concern hiding behind his gaze.

“Look…” You place your hands on top of the table in front of you. “Before this can go in any direction where we’re not on the same page anymore… I just felt like I should tell you that I’m currently not looking for a romantic relationship.” Silence falls over the room as soon as the words are out, and if you’re being quite honest, you’re a little scared of his reaction. You’ve been very sure there’s more going on here than just sex for him, and you can’t say you’re not taking a liking to him as well. But with your very recent past experiences, you just can’t see yourself already dating someone new. And he deserves to know that, so you know you’re doing the right thing by telling him that. However, at the same time there’s a part of you that’s scared he’ll want to stop seeing you altogether in that case.

“I see,” he eventually answers.

“It’s not you, it’s…” You pause as Jongho holds his breath, waiting for your explanation. “It just hasn’t been long enough for me to… get over my last relationship.”

“Ah…”

“I mean- get over isn’t the right wording. More like… heal?”

“Can I ask… what happened?” he poses a question. Memories flash by your inner eye, and along with them you feel the pain as if everything had happened just yesterday.

“Well… I had a long-term partner until about… five months ago?” you say, while simultaneously deciding you really don’t want to dive into any details right now. Explaining this out loud even just vaguely still hurts a little too much to handle. “We had a pretty bad breakup where a lot of stuff came up… like, that he’s been lying to me about all kinds of stuff. And looking back he never really was a safe person to be with emotionally, but I only realized it when it became clear we’d split up. So…”

“Right… I get that you need a lot of time to recover from something like that,” Jongho answers.

“Yeah…” You take a deep breath. “I’ve been with him for a long time too…” Your ex’s face appears in your mind, and the memories of the man you had once loved and admired so much now just makes you feel sick inside. A touch against your knuckles - Jongho’s hand grazing yours - brings you back to reality, and a look at his face stirs up conflicting emotions deep within you. However, once you watch his lips part for him to speak, and the soothing sound of his voice wraps itself around your ears, an unexpected wave of reassurance washes over you.

“You’re right, by the way,” he says, pausing as he looks around in search of just the right words. “About me liking you beyond just… someone I sometimes get together to have sex with.” You nod at his words as you listen to him speak. “But I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, or that triggers anything you’re not ready to face.” And then he hesitates, as if it was difficult for him to get his next words out, and as your hand slips into his in order to encourage him to keep going, you feel the dynamic between you two shifting into what you’re most comfortable with. You feel you have taken back some control over the situation, and that makes you feel safe. 

“So, how do you feel about this now? About us.” You ask a question, hoping it would help him speak his mind, and yet it takes him a while before he can reply.

“What I want… is to keep seeing you,” he eventually says, though it seems hard for him to look at you while speaking so honestly, and you give his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him to keep going. “I understand that dating someone would be difficult for you after something like that. So…” His gaze finds you now, and the sudden determination reflecting in his eyes makes your heart stop for a second. “It’d be fine with me if we kept in touch as just friends for now.”

“Ah…” you sigh, as the remainder of the tension and the anxiety about his response leave your body at once. “I would like that too. As I said, I do like you, and I enjoy spending time with you. It’s just…”

“Not the right time for more,” he finishes your sentence and you nod, relieved that he understands.

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay. Oh, but… Y/N,” he calls out to you, a little hesitant.

“What is it?”

“Does this mean… you want to stop doing scenes with me too?” You raise your eyebrows at him, staring blankly for a second, and he’s quick to add, “I mean, of course I’ll respect that if you don’t want to-” Upon him lifting his hands, waving them in front of his chest and his ears turning a bright shade of red as he’s afraid he might’ve said something wrong, you smile and you get up off your chair, approaching him, and when you’re standing right next to him you capture his chin between your thumb and index finger.

“If you still want to play after this, I’d like to as well,” you assure him, your tone soft, and you brush your thumb along his bottom lip as he glances up at you, need filling his eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I still want to.”

“Then follow me. I wanna try something a bit different today,” you say as you lead him to your bedroom.

He lets you peel off his shirt without resistance, his palms landing on your hips as soon as his bare chest comes into view. And though something inside you wants to escape his touch and swat away his hands so as not to let him have even a fraction of control about the situation, you let it be for now. Instead, you draw closer to him, your fingers finding the buckle of his belt, never once breaking eye contact even when your lips are merely an inch apart. He kisses you back confidently once you close the distance between the two of you, and as his hands attempt to wander up your sides, you’re quick to grab his wrists and tear them away.

“Don’t touch me unless I tell you to,” you mutter dangerously, and though he doesn’t try to escape your grip, in the way he continues kissing you hard you find the desire to overpower you. “That’s enough,” you warn him as you take a few steps back. “Stay right there.” You throw another command at him, and you keep watching him as you rid yourself of your own clothes, revealing the harness you’ve been wearing all this while and no underwear. You’re amused by the way he’s ogling your figure, and a smile creeps onto your lips when you walk over to one of the drawers in your room in order to retrieve a pair of handcuffs from it. 

“You remember talking about this, don’t you?” you say on your way back to him, watching him gulp.

“Yes.” His curt answer intrigues you, as well as the sudden uncertainty behind his expression.

“This is what I wanna try today,” you explain. “Would you be okay with that?” Jongho thinks for a while, and as soon as he nods you run your hand up his chest and comb your fingers through his hair. “That’s what I wanna hear. Good boy,” you coo, and as per usual at this point of a scene, he doesn’t react much to the praise. Then your hand finds the hem of his pants, and as you tug at the fabric, you say, “Off with these.” This time he listens without hesitation, and you let your eyes take in his shapes as he rids himself of the remainder of clothes as well.

“Down.” You give him one simple command, and you watch as the struggle of considering whether he should listen to you or not reflects in the way he keeps his gaze fixated on you while you circle him on light steps. “Didn’t hear me?” you pry, raising your eyebrows at him, and you place your free hand below his chin, drawing near. Thumb brushing across his lower lip, you dig your nail into the plush for a moment, while biting your own bottom lip - the need to kiss him stupid arises within you, but you resist. Now is not the time for that, not when he’s disobeying you like this. Your gaze returns from his mouth to his dark brown eyes, and you decide to stay patient. You stop your movement and merely stare at him, and when his resolve finally wavers, he sinks to his knees, keeping his eyes on yours as his features soften. The look he gives you now hides so many things, you have to take a moment to dismantle all that you can read in it. First and foremost, need. Devotion. Hopefulness. Obedience. Submission. 

You let the emotions it stirs awake deep within you almost sweep you away, but you manage to collect yourself, and you speak another command, “Hands behind your back, pretty boy.” Your voice is soft, wanting to relay to him that you’re proud of him, and when he complies - though not without hesitation - you cuff his wrists together. Then you walk around him and you sit down at the foot of your bed, right in front of him, and with a gesture of your hand, you beckon him to come closer. Fingers lacing through his hair, you observe how his eyelids flutter shut for a moment, lips parting, and he leans into your gentle touch.

“That’s right…” you speak, and the way he peeks up at you is filled with both need and desire. You spread your legs apart, and you inch a little closer to the edge of the bed. “You know what I think?” you say, and Jongho waits for you to tell him the answer to your question. Your hand travels down from the top of his head to his lips, parting them so you could run your thumb across the bottom row of his teeth. “I was thinking you should put that pretty mouth of yours to use.” You can see his adam’s apple move as he gulps at your words, and on his knees he crawls closer yet. His gaze falls to your core immediately, laid out for him to bury his face right there, but with a tug on his hair you stop him.

“Not so greedy,” you say, and you chuckle. “You really think you can please me when you’re driven by nothing but hunger?” Wide-eyed, he stares up at you, and where you had expected a cheeky comment about how he knows how to give good head, you find only silence. “What?” you mock him. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to eat pussy?” And now you must’ve struck something within him, because you can see his eyebrows knit in dismay.

“I know what I’m doing,” he responds somewhat coldly.

“Then prove it.” Without making you wait, he goes in with a bite to the inside of your thigh that ends up being harsher than it would’ve had to be, and you immediately yank on his hair as a punishment. “Getting cheeky, are we?” You receive a glare from Jongho while he kneels between your legs, and though his anger directed at you like that affects you in all the best ways, you know you’re very close to crossing a line for him. You loosen your grip on his hair, massaging his scalp as you continue, “Gentle, or you’re not getting anything at all.” He glares up at you for a few seconds longer, but then reason wins him over, and he goes in more slowly this time. His expression softens while his lips brush against your skin, and he begins kissing his way to your middle. Reaching the spot he had sunk his teeth into just a moment ago, his tongue darts across the marks his little stunt had left, licking them better.

“That’s right,” you praise him. “That’s a good boy.” He hums at your words very quietly, and him already reacting to your praise satisfies you. Playing with his hair, you let him come closer, and when his hot breath hits your core, you let out a deep sigh. He looks up at you as his lips brush against your folds. Then he extends his tongue to lick up a stripe, and his eyes close upon tasting you. The warmth of his tongue pressing against your pussy has you letting out a breathy moan, and you notice how he’s carefully mapping you out - kissing your clit, dragging the tip of his wet muscle along your folds, dipping it inside of your hole only to come back up. And all the while he watches for your every reaction, set on figuring out how to best please you, while intentionally - or so you think, at least - riling you up by slowly testing out whatever comes to mind.

“Wanna do good for me, hm?” you guess, brushing a few strands of his hair out of his face. He responds by pushing his tongue inside of you, slowly, and as he pulls back out, you see him licking his lips. 

“Yes…” he whispers, not daring to look at you now, and you smile at what you can only interpret as shyness.

“Then make me cum,” you say. “And you might just get a reward.” His gaze returns to your face, and eager to please, he wraps his lips around your clit, beginning to gently suck on it. You gasp when his teeth graze the sensitive bud, and you pull away for a moment - you sure as hell aren’t planning on making this easy for him. Allowing him to dive back in, he tries a different approach, this time using his tongue to probe your reaction to him flicking it across the bundle of nerves. With you settling back in against his face he continues, giving it some time now before he starts putting some more pressure behind his movements to make you feel his touch more intensely. The timing being right this time, it makes you moan, and you can slowly feel the pleasure building up in your gut. Again, he keeps doing the same thing while never taking his gaze off of your face, and when he can see you getting slightly underwhelmed by his repeated motions, he lets his tongue wander south, licking into your dripping hole.

“Mmh…” A moan falls from your lips, and you throw your head back for a moment. Jongho takes it as a sign to continue, and when he begins thrusting his muscle in and out of you, you tug at his hair from the heat it sends rushing through your veins. “Feels nice…” you mutter, and when your eyes return to his face buried in your pussy, you find him slowly getting drunk on your taste. And then, just as you’re about to wonder whether you should tell him to switch up what he’s doing, he pulls back out and goes back to drawing figure eights on your clit. You hiss at the feeling - both at how good the sensation of his warm touch against your sensitive bud is, and at how empty him retracting from inside of you is leaving you. For just a moment you curse yourself for deciding to handcuff him, knowing just how good his long fingers would feel inside of you right now, but then you remember you were gonna make this a tedious task for him on purpose, and so you push that thought away.

“Doing really good for me…” you praise him. “But… it’s gonna take you ages to make me cum like that.” The challenging look you send him is met with acceptance, and as he gently bites down on your clit this time, your breath hitches in return, a wave of pleasure shooting right through you like lightning. And he doesn’t miss the opportunity to send you a shit-eating grin upon seeing how he just affected you, but before you can punish him for it, his tongue is already plunging back into your cunt, and you arch your back, pushing your core towards him. He hums at your reactions, pulling back out to draw a few circles onto your clit, and then diving right back in, lapping at your walls. As he repeats that process a few times, you can finally feel your high starting to build up somewhere in the distance, and yet you know this much won’t be enough to throw you over the edge.

“Shit, do more…” you say, and he continues eating you out eagerly, and then finally he angles his face so the tip of his nose brushes against your sensitive bud with each time his tongue fucks into you, and another moan falls from your lips. “Like that…” you say, breathless, and you tighten your grip on his hair. “Keep going just like that…” And he does, eyes closed as he continues licking up into you, nose rubbing up and down on your clit. You spread your legs apart just a little further, wriggling as close to him as you possibly can in order to allow him to reach deeper up into you, and when he moans in response the vibrations shooting up your cunt make you shiver involuntarily. “Fuck, Jongho…” you curse, and hearing his name only serves to make him more eager. A few more strokes of his tongue against that delicious spot right inside of you, and you come undone, your walls contracting around his wet muscle as you let your high overwhelm you.

“Did so well for me…” you praise him as you let go of his hair, and he pulls back. He licks up your juices glistening on his lips, and as you look down on him, you can unmistakably see how much eating you out has turned him on as well. “Get up,” you say, and he does. “And turn around.” You take the handcuffs off him, and as soon as he’s facing you again, you sit back against the headrest of your bed, and you make him come closer, until you have him kneeling right in front of you.

“Get yourself off. I wanna watch,” you command. He doesn’t think twice until his large hand wraps around his hard cock, and the heavy sighs he lets you hear as he jerks himself off tell you how much he must’ve been needing this. He falls forward, his free hand supporting him against the headboard right next to you, and like this, slightly leaned over your body, face distorted in desperation for a release, he ruts into his hand. His eyes wander your figure, fist tightly squeezing around his length, and within mere seconds he cums with a broken moan, spilling his seed all over you. Feeling the sticky white on your stomach and chest, you grant him a few moments to catch his breath, and then you reach out to push him back onto his heels.

“Look at the mess you made…” you growl, and in the way he takes in the image in front of him, you can clearly tell he likes the result of what he’s done. “And you didn’t even last more than a hot minute, huh?” you mock him. Reaching for the handcuffs you had simply tossed aside on the bed, you make him hold out his wrists for you to link them back together, in front of him this time. “Clean up your mess.” You think maybe it’s because making him struggle a bit just earlier that he doesn’t hesitate, but either way you make sure to praise him for getting to work almost immediately. He bends over, tongue lapping at your body to lick off his seed, and he doesn’t frown or complain - he simply does what you’ve asked of him. And the way he so eagerly cleans you up is making you want to force him to please you all over again, and suddenly you remember the question San had asked you when you last saw him. 

“How is he?” The words echo in your head as Jongho reaches your core, his position looking somewhat sorry, but that doesn’t stop him from lapping at your still sensitive pussy as soon as you give him the okay. 

“Wait,” you say, making him sit up briefly, just long enough so you could take the handcuffs off him. You trust that he wouldn’t do anything stupid at this point, so you fling the restraints to the side, and you lie down flat on your back so he could reach where you want him more comfortably. “Get to work, pretty boy,” you say, and he does, throwing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face in your core.

“Doing so good…” you mutter as you watch him, lips wrapped around your clit and sucking, while he pushes two of his fingers into you, stretching you out, and you throw your head back from the feeling of being filled up like this. You had been right, his fingers inside you combined with his mouth working your bundle of nerves really do feel amazing.

Amazing. That’s what he is. But you don’t say that out loud. Instead, you keep urging him on to continue what he’s doing with all other sorts of praise, bucking your hips into his touch, and making him fuck you from one high to the next for however long you feel like it.

“That’s a good boy… shit… listen so well… such a good toy for me…”

“Sorry I’m late!” One of your friends rushes towards the table as Wooyoung is in the process of pouring everyone their first round of shots. 

“You have to drink two for being late!” someone else yells and everyone agrees with laughter. Meanwhile you’re busy grilling some meat for everyone - pork belly, the usual for when all of you manage to make time for you to gather like in the old days. The soju shots are handed out, and you all say cheers, emptying the tiny glasses at once. You continue the conversation you’ve been having before the late comer announced her arrival, and soon enough, Wooyoung decides it’s time for another round of shots.

“What’s with you today?” Hongjoong, who sits right across from him on the round table asks. 

“What do you mean, what’s with me?” the younger man answers. “I’m here to have fun. But I can get you a glass of water in case you’re not.” His cynical comment evokes laughter, and Hongjoong fires back,

“Bring it on.” Next to you, San shakes his head.

“These two…”

“Yeah,” you agree, cutting the meat into bite sized pieces for everyone. “I bet by the end of this at least one of them is passed out on the toilet again.” San smiles, yelling over the table at his boyfriend,

“I’m not carrying you home this time, princess!” However, Wooyoung seems to have heard nothing but the last part, because now he’s grinning from ear to ear, blushing, handing out the glasses to everyone.

“Pff,” you snort upon witnessing their interaction, and when you see the display of your phone lighting up on the table, you shift your attention there. Handing San the tongs and the pair of scissors to continue cooking the meat, you unlock your phone to read the full message sent by Jongho.

“I think I’ll buy it, but I’ll wait for it to go on sale. Btw, I’m free on saturday, if you want to meet up?” You type up a quick answer.

“can’t make saturday. meatball has a vet appointment and then i gotta run some errands ㅜㅜ what about next week?”

You put down the device and return your attention to the conversation at the table, but soon enough your phone lights up again.

“Actually, can we call real quick?”

“sure” You get up, not saying a word, expecting you’ll be back soon enough anyway, and then you leave the busy restaurant. Outside, it is definitely a lot quieter, and standing at the side of the road, you give Jongho a call.

“Y/N? Hi.”

“Hi… what is it?”

“Ah… I just thought it’d be quicker this way.”

“Oh,” you let out a laugh. “I thought something happened.”

“No, no, don’t worry. I just… actually prefer calls to texting.”

“Oh. I get that. So?” You pause for a short moment. “Next week?”

“I could do Friday.”

“Works for me. At 5?”

“7? I’m not sure when I’ll be able to leave work…” he says, sounding somewhat apologetic.

“7 it is,” you reply.

“Nice,” you hear him say.

“Where do you want to meet? We could go to this café near me, the one I told you about last time.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my place? I think I need some peace and quiet after a full week of work.”

“Sure,” you smile even though he can’t see you. “Your place then. You have to send me the address.”

“Will do.” 

“Great,” you say, and then the line goes quiet. Yet neither of you hangs up, so eventually you add, “So… how was your day?”

“It was alright. I only had one meeting in the morning. The company had stew for lunch today, so I ate at the cafeteria for the first time in a while.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“And you?”

“Ah, I’m out with friends right now. You know, my old high school friends.”

“I hope you have fun, then!”

“Yeah, it’s always fun when we see each other,” you assure him, and somehow the way you’re exchanging trivialities like this makes you feel a little closer to him. “I feel like one of them is trying to get all of us drunk today though. So we see how that ends,” you laugh, and so does Jongho.

“Well, I happen to know a very effective recipe for a hangover soup. So if you need me, just call,” he offers.

“Thanks,” you say. “Not trying to reach that state, but I’ll keep it in mind. Oh, but, I think I should go back in. I’m in charge of the grill today, so they’ll start complaining if I don’t come back to feed them soon.”

“Right,” he answers. “Then go. We’ll talk.”

“Yeah. Hanging up!” 

“Bye,” he greets, and for a second you hesitate to press the red button to end the call, and you sigh when he beats you to it. As you’re putting your phone into your pocket, you find a somewhat appalled San approaching you.

“Y/N, is everything alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just… you were suddenly gone, so I thought I’d check on you,” he says, seemingly embarrassed about how gravely he had misjudged the situation. You shoot him a smile.

“It’s okay, no need to worry. I was just talking to Jongho about meeting him.”

“Oh?” Now your friend raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t want to go on dates with him…?”

“It’s not a date!” you immediately refute. “We’re just seeing each other as friends. Is that so bad?”

“No?” San fails to repress a grin and he teases, “You sure it’s not a date?”

“Very sure,” you say. After all, you and Jongho had agreed to keep things friendly outside of the bedroom for now. “It’s not a date if the two of us meet up either, is it now?” you state, pointing at San and then yourself.

“No,” your friend agrees.

“See? Nothing to giggle about then. Let’s go back in,” you decide, and you put your hand onto his shoulder to push him towards the direction you both came from.

As soon as you enter Jongho’s apartment, you look around in awe. It’s neat, it’s modern, it’s spacious, and the rent is probably in a range you’d never even dream of earning in your lifetime ever. The walls are all white, the furniture is mostly black with some silver metal rods connecting everything elegantly, you find a grey rug underneath the coffee table that has a glass pane as its top, and the windows are tall - you figure they let in a lot of light during the day, but now, in the evening, they grant a magnificent view of the lights and the bustling nightlife in the city underneath. 

“Whoa…” you gasp, slipping out of your shoes and walking inside right behind Jongho. “So that’s how rich people live, huh.”

“Ahh, it’s not that impressive,” he waves it off, but you shake your head.

“Uhm, excuse me, you do know what my flat looks like, yeah? This here is more than twice the size!” you refute, and then you add, “I just think you’re lucky to be able to afford to live so comfortably.”

“Right,” Jongho agrees, and he loosens his tie as he walks over to the open kitchen. “Do you want anything? Water? Alcohol?” 

“What, wanna get drunk tonight?” you ask with a grin on your lips and you follow him. Catching a glimpse of the contents of one of the cabinets, you can see he doesn’t have a lot of tableware - which makes sense, considering he lives alone. 

“Honestly, I need it…” the guy sighs, looking away. The bags under his eyes are apparent, exhaustion carved into his features, and you wonder if it’s from the usual stress or if something additional happened. “Do you like drinking?”

“From time to time, yeah,” you answer, and you watch him walking out into the living room, opening a different cupboard there, to reveal several bottles of assorted alcoholic beverages. “I take it you enjoy it quite a bit?” you guess, and he gives you a tired laugh.

“Yeah… how about this?” He holds up a bottle of whiskey, and you wonder how many hours you’d have to work to be able to afford an expensive looking bottle like this.

“Whatever you can recommend,” you say. “I don’t know that much about what brands are good.”

“Then we’ll go with this,” he decides, and after bringing over two tumblers and pouring each of you a glass, he sits down on the sofa, inviting you to do the same. 

“Cheers,” he raises his glass, and you follow suit.

“Cheers.” You end up quite enjoying the rich taste of the beverage, along with the slight burn it leaves as it goes down your throat. You make sure to drink it slowly, savouring the taste, and yet soon enough you both find yourselves having emptied your glasses.

“Seconds?” Jongho offers, and you nod. “Oh, do you want ice in it?”

“Sure,” you say, adding with a grin as you watch him walking over to the kitchen for the ice. “You are trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?”

“No, no,” he denies it with a shy smile on his face, and you both laugh. You use the few moments that it takes him until he comes back to scan your surroundings again. There’s not many decorations on the shelves or the wall, a picture that has not been hung up yet and a candle that looks like it’s been lit maybe once. You also find a guitar in one corner of the room - a classical one, and you wonder if he’s good at playing it.

“There you go.” He returns with an adequate amount of ice, and he pours the both of you another drink. You watch as he brings the glass to his lips, taking a sip, and savouring it for a moment before he lets it glide down his throat.

“Had a rough day?” you too take a sip after posing your question.

“Yeah…” the guy next to you answers, and as he puts down his glass, his gaze finds you. “I need a distraction, I think.”

“A distraction? What are you thinking about?”

“You know… what we always do.”

“Ah…” you sigh and you set your glass down on the coffee table in front of you, before turning to him, leaning your body against the backrest of the sofa and placing your palm on top of his thigh. “I don’t do scenes when I’ve had a drink.” You can see the disappointment reflecting in his gaze, though Jongho tries his best not to show it. It’s enough to make you feel bad for having to turn him down though - even when you know it’s for the best. “I could… offer something else though.”

“What?” he asks, looking directly at you with his head cocked slightly to the side, his gaze taking in your features.

“Well… for starters, you seem like you could use a nice hot bath,” you suggest, your thumb drawing circles onto the fabric of his dress pants. “And then you can tell me all about what made you this stressed and tired. Does that sound good?” He nods, his eyes not leaving your face as your fingertips dance from his leg to his stomach, hand coming to a rest there. “And then maybe I’ll make you feel good too… just nothing too extreme today, yeah?” You reach up into his hair, combing it back with your fingers, and at this point his stare lingers on your lips so very obviously. Still, you don’t give him what he wants just yet. Instead, you get up and you position yourself right in front of him, cupping his chin in your hand.

“What?” you chuckle, while he stares up at you with round eyes. “Want a kiss?” Jongho nods and you reach for your glass that is still half full. “I have a better idea.” You take a sip of the cool liquid, and then you bring the tumbler to his lips, feeding him the remainder of the alcohol inside. You watch as he drinks up, feeling the movements along his throat with each gulp he takes, and he blushes upon hearing you mutter,

“Swallow. That’s a good boy.” With him expectantly staring up at you as soon as the glass is empty, you brush your thumb across his bottom lip, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment upon feeling your touch. You lean in, finally granting him a kiss, and as your tongue licks into his mouth, you can still taste the remainder of the alcohol. 

“Let’s go?” you then say, speaking softly, while you part from him slowly. He merely follows you into the bathroom wordlessly, giving you a good idea of just how tired he is, and as you think to yourself that either way this isn’t a state where you’d want to do a scene with him, you also feel the strong urge to take care of him in any way you can bubbling up from deep inside. 

And so you take him by the hand after you close the bathroom door behind you, and you scatter a few kisses in his neck at which he lets out a deep sigh, before you undo his tie for him and you toss it to the side. He reaches up to unbutton his white shirt, but you gently push his hands away, whispering,

“Let me do it.” You take off his clothes one by one, filling the tub up with some nice hot water, and you add some bath salt that you find in one of the cabinets. Ridding yourself of your clothes as well, you get into the bathtub first, sitting at one end of it so you could let him comfortably lean his back against your chest, and as soon as he’s all settled in, your arms snake around his waist. His eyes fall shut with a groan almost immediately, and as your lips brush against his temple, you stop yourself from placing a kiss there. You notice your face has heated up from the warm water, the alcohol in your veins, or maybe the way you feel you’ve never quite been as intimate with him as right now, and you reach over to the bottle of shampoo sitting beside the bathtub. You squirt a generous amount of it into your hands, and as your fingers are working the shampoo into his hair, gently massaging his scalp, you can feel his body relax against you, along with him letting out a deep sigh.

“Feels good?” you ask, and he mumbles,

“Myeah…” 

“So… you wanna talk about anything? Or just stay like this and have me spoil you a bit?” you ask, and it takes him some time to decide on an answer.

“Mmmm… both?” he says while the corners of his mouth curl up into a weak smile. 

“Alright,” you mutter, rinsing his hair, making sure none of the soap gets into his face.

“It’s just…” he sighs, knitting his eyebrows. “Some days I don’t think I can keep doing this anymore.”

“Your job?” you say.

“Yeah… I mean…” he pauses for a while to collect his thoughts. “I’m given more and more responsibilities. I’m not sure when my father is planning on retiring exactly, but it feels like he’s preparing to do it soon? Maybe within the next few years I’ll be able to follow in his footsteps. He hasn’t once asked me whether I really wanted that or not.”

“He just assumes you will do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you are doing it…” you throw in, your fingertips dancing down to his chest. 

“What choice do I have?” Jongho responds. And though you decided long ago that you yourself would walk a different path than the one set out for you, it’s not like you don’t understand why he’s doing it. 

“You’re loyal to your father,” you conclude.

“Yeah…” A bitter laugh escapes him. “Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to rebel.” Combing your fingers through his wet hair, you hum at his words.

“For somebody who needs to be coerced into following orders when it comes to me, you sure are timid.”

“Whatever…” He pouts at your observation, but soon enough the exhaustion takes back over, and his facial features relax as he leans his head against your shoulder. You let your palms wander down his torso slowly, and when you graze his core, he lets out a soft moan.

“I hope you can do what you really want to do,” you then say, as you wrap your fingers around him, feeling him grow as you slowly move up and down his length. “I don’t know how realistic it is to change professions from one day to the other. But I really hope there’s a way for you to do music.”

“Mhm…” he sighs as his body reacts to your touch. 

“If I can help you with this somehow… you know where to find me,” you add, and when your fist reaches his tip, he whines a little.

“I know…” he says, and after a few more strokes of your hand he proceeds, “You’re already helping a lot.” You smile at his words, and at the way he sucks in a breath as the pleasure flows through his body. “But…”

“Hm?”

“No games today?” He raises an eyebrow at you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, and you have to think for a second to understand what he’s referring to.

“Ah, no… I told you we’re not doing anything crazy while half drunk,” you respond.

“I know, but… this just seems very out of character,” he chuckles, and it’s not like you don’t find yourself agreeing.

“I just wanna make you feel good today,” you say. “You don’t like that?”

“No, no, I do…” he sighs and you know he’s getting closer and closer upon hearing him moaning. 

“I just…” you say, and you earn yourself a disappointed gasp when you stop your movements. “I’ve actually… had something on my mind as well.”

“What is it?” he asks, though it takes him a while to swallow the frustration of you ceasing your touch. Wrapping your arms around his torso now, you speak,

“I’ve just been wondering… if it’s really okay for me to do to you what I’m doing…”

“What do you mean?”

“Forcing you into submission.”

“Ahh…” Silence follows, and Jongho puts one hand over yours that’s resting on his stomach. 

“It’s just… sometimes I wonder if you really want that. Because it’s often so hard for you to let go and go there.”

“I do…” His answer is merely a whisper, and somehow you’re not convinced.

“You sure?” You feel him squeezing your hand in his, and he turns his head as far as he can so he could look at your face properly.

“It’s hard for me, that’s true,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it… once you do get me to submit…” You repeat his words in your mind, hoping they would wash away your doubts. You can trust him on things like this, you feel that deep inside, but sometimes you just can’t help but wonder. “And besides… you always take really good care of me. Even now you said you wouldn’t do a scene when you had something to drink. I assume not everyone is that responsible.”

“That’s true…” He turns his head back to look straight ahead, and you feel him intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I feel like I’m in safe hands with you. And if you ever do something I don’t enjoy, I will let you know.”

“Right… thank you,” you mutter, burying your face in the crook of his neck and resting your head there for a while. “That’s reassuring to hear.” You stay like this for some time, just holding him close and listening to each other’s breathing as you enjoy the warmth of the water. “You know what I think?” you eventually speak up. 

“What?” Jongho answers with a bit of a delay, making you think he might’ve been dozing off a bit.

“We should get ourselves to bed. You’ve had a rough day, and you need the rest.”

“So… you’re staying overnight?” he assumes, sounding a little surprised.

“If it’s okay with you… I think the trains will stop running soon anyway,” you make up an excuse, though you’re not exactly sure what time it is. But either way he doesn’t question it and you both get out of the water, wrapping yourselves into two large towels to dry off. You grab a smaller one to throw over his head, and as you roughly rub it against his wet hair, he sends you a boyish grin that makes your heart beat just a little bit faster.

When you’re about to reach for your clothes, Jongho takes you by the hand instead, and next thing you know your back meets the tiles on his bathroom wall, and his lips connect to yours. After but a moment of hesitation, you do the only thing that comes to mind, and you kiss him back, lips moving against each other in a slow rhythm. Drawing closer, his hands find purchase on your hips, and when he presses his body against yours, you moan quietly into his mouth. None of you speaks a word when you part, and though you had planned to simply slip under the covers together and tuck him in, you don’t feel any kind of objection within yourself against where he’s taking this night instead.

You stumble into the bedroom, your towels scattered somewhere on the floor, and when he gently pushes you down on the sheets, crawling on top of you, you can hear him whisper,

“Is this alright with you?” 

“Yeah…” you answer when his lips graze your neck, and your hand finds its way up into his hair as he begins trailing tired kisses down your sternum and belly. At this point you can see just how badly he needs some sleep, but even when you try to convey that to him, he shakes his head.

“Just a bit longer…” he mutters as he lies down beside you, rolling you over onto your side so your back is facing him. “Need you…” You suck in a sharp breath as he mutters those words, and his hot breath hits the back of your neck before you feel his lips connecting to the skin there. He pulls you closer by your hip, until you can feel his length against your behind, and his fingertips wander towards your core while he keeps kissing and nipping at your neck and shoulders.

“Shit…” you breathe, and your body immediately reacts to him running a finger through your folds and then dipping it inside your wet cunt effortlessly. He moans at the sensation and at how ready you are for him, and he snakes his other arm around you from underneath to keep you as close to him as possible. You whine when he slips out of you, lifting your leg up a bit instead for better access, and when you feel his tip grazing your pussy, a shiver full of expectation runs down your spine. You’re so used to long and intense sessions when you’re fucking someone, always staying on top of the situation and keeping control, but every once in a while this is nice too - or maybe your body and mind are reacting to him especially strongly. Either way, you moan when he pushes up into you, and his name escapes you when he begins to roll his hips. His thrusts are sloppy and lack control, purely guided by desperation and the need to be inside of you, but combined with the way his fingers are drawing precise circles against your clit, he’s getting you right where you wants you anyway. And with your back arched just at the right angle, he hits that sweet spot deep inside your cunt with every time he thrusts back in.

“Fuck…” he curses in between letting you hear the prettiest moans, and the sound of his voice only adds to the pleasure rushing through your body. 

“Jongho…” you breathe as he ruts into you faster. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…” He whines in response, his dick twitching inside of you, and you know he’s just as close as you are. A few more thrusts and you feel your walls contract around his size, your high washing over you as a broken moan falls from your lips. He fucks you right through it, when mere seconds later, he too comes undone, teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder as he spills inside you. 

You stay just like this, with his arms wrapped around you, and him still buried deep inside you as you both catch your breaths, coming down from your respective highs. The tip of his nose grazes your neck as he lets out a sleepy groan, and you reach for his hand that’s resting on your chest, bringing it up to your lips. Your mind clouded by the blissful aftermath of your orgasm and probably the whiskey too, you press a kiss to his palm, finding yourself mouthing the words you wouldn’t dare speak out loud.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Him holding you as close as he possibly can, he drifts off to sleep behind you while his grip loosens a bit, and feeling safe and sound in his embrace, soon enough you too find yourself slipping into dreamland.

You wake up the next morning, a blanket having been pulled over both your and Jongho’s bodies at some point during the night, and as you blink against the light falling into the room through the windows with the curtains still open, you spot his sleeping face right next to you. It’s not the first time you’ve awoken next to him, yet somehow it feels different than it used to now. The little pout on his puffy lips makes you smile, and while the sunlight slowly wakes up your mind, you wonder whether you should stay in bed like this for a while, or see if there’s anything to make breakfast out of in his fridge. You choose the latter eventually, quietly deciding to borrow a t-shirt of his to throw on, and after you’ve managed to find your underpants in the pile of clothes you had left behind in the bathroom, you make your way to the kitchen. Looking through the scarce ingredients that greet you there, you figure Jongho doesn’t cook for himself a whole lot, but some eggs and rice should be enough for a simple breakfast. 

Soon enough, he appears behind you in his kitchen, using the opportunity to sleepily hug you from behind as he peeks over your shoulder.

“What you making?” he asks, his voice not yet warmed up, and you shake him off with a giggle to move towards the stove, cracking two eggs into a pan.

“Just this with some rice,” you answer. “It’s not a very fancy breakfast but I thought it’s better than nothing.”

“Hmm,” he makes a noise in return. “We could’ve ordered something, you know?” 

“That’s what I was trying to avoid, dumbass,” you laugh.

“Hey!” he exclaims in offense, and you shoot him a cheeky grin.

“Go wash up, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. Oh, also,” you stop him from running off right away. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” he answers, opening a cupboard to get two mugs out of it, and he gets to brewing some on the expensive looking coffee machine on the counter.

“I could’ve made it too,” you say, heating up the rice in his microwave, but Jongho just shakes his head. 

You carry the minimalistic breakfast over to the dinner table, sitting down across from each other, and you eat in silence. You find there’s some irony behind you sitting in such a fancy apartment, owned by someone who has more than enough money, and then you’re having such a simple and cheap dish with him. When you’re both done eating and you reach for the dishes to collect them and carry them back to the kitchen, he beats you to it.

“You go brush your teeth first, I’ll take care of this,” Jongho mutters, shaking his head at your attempt to clean up. “There should be a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink.” And so you leave him to it, finishing your morning routine in the bathroom, and soon enough he joins you.

“So? How are you planning on spending the day?” you ask, both of you back in the living room, lounging on his sofa.

“I usually don’t do much on the weekends,” he says. “I’ll go work out later, and then probably just catch up on some more sleep.” 

“Makes sense,” you retort, and your eyes find the guitar you had already noticed yesterday. Pointing at it with your chin, you ask, “You play?”

“Ah, yeah. It’s been a while though.” He gets up to bring it over, tuning it with the help of some app on his phone, and as he’s getting ready to play, he clears his throat a few times. “I can show you a bit if you want… my voice isn’t warmed up though, so sorry if anything sounds off,” he explains, an embarrassed smile playing on his lips, and then he begins strumming a few chords. You listen in anticipation, and though you knew you liked his voice before, you find yourself taken aback when you actually hear him sing for the first time. He’s playing a song you haven’t heard before, a Korean ballad, so not exactly your go-to genre of music. But you have to say it suits him very well, and so you find yourself enjoying the music he’s playing for you, finding that the song ends much too soon.

“Wow…” You give him an applause, causing him to look away a bit awkwardly.

“I’m not that good,” he says, but you disagree.

“No, that was really good actually,” you say. “I didn’t know you could sing that well!” He hesitates for a while, before taking the compliment.

“Thank you…” As he puts the guitar aside, you wonder whether you should stop him and ask him to play something else, but he ends up being faster in starting to talk.

“You see, I don’t have much time for music these days.”

“That’s a shame…” you say, and he nods in agreement.

“Yeah… but you know how it is.” You sense a bitterness behind his words that hurts to witness, and you wonder if there’s anything you could say that would comfort him. “Things have been decided for me. And the decision wasn’t this.”

“You should’ve been able to choose for yourself.”

“Yeah. My brother got that privilege. Not me.”

“How come?”

“He got to pursue his dream. When he was in middle school my parents had a talk with him to ensure he could do what he wants. Meanwhile they told me that I’m the future of my dad’s company, and I need to study well and do what they want.”

“That’s… really unfair,” you say.

“I guess it’s the burden of the first born,” he reckons, but there’s no sincerity behind his words. Maybe it’s something he’s been telling himself to make things a bit more bearable.

“Still…” You reach out, wanting to comfort him, but you hesitate to put your hand into his. Instead, your palm somewhat awkwardly lands on his shoulder, and he turns his head to look you in the eye. His gaze lingers on your face, taking in your features one by one, and once he can tear himself away, he continues.

“You know, I get that my father doesn’t want to give up the family business. It’s taken him and his parents a long time to build it up and to make it as successful as it is now. But… some days I wish it had been different.”

“I know.”

“Having a choice… must be nice.” You gulp. You are the one who had a choice here. And for a second the fear that maybe he resents you for it takes a hold of you, and you try to push it down with all your might. “Ah…” Jongho sighs, looking up at the ceiling now as he reaches for the hand resting on his shoulder, his warm palm covering it. “I’m jealous of him. To be honest, I’m jealous of you too.” Your breath gets stuck in your throat, but when he turns to give you a look filled with warmth, you find yourself relaxing a bit.

“Who wouldn’t be?” you say.

“Right…” He wraps his hand around yours, peeling it off his shoulder and instead intertwining his fingers with yours. You draw closer, until your faces are mere inches apart. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay,” you answer, shaking your head ever so slightly, and you find him staring at your lips. “I got a little scared there. But I know you wouldn’t take it out on me.” He closes the distance between you, but instead of kissing you, he buries his head in your neck, and he lets go of your hand to pull you closer and into his lap by your hips instead. You don’t fight it, quite the opposite - you let your lips ghost over his nape, and once you’re comfortably settled on top of him, your mouth searches for his, melting against him in a slow and lazy kiss. You permit him to have his fingertips wandering your figure, soft touches received through the oversized shirt you’re wearing. He nibbles on your lower lip, drawing a breathy moan out of you, and in return you roll your hips against him, taking back control of the kiss in the blink of an eye. You separate eventually, breathless, and you don’t hesitate to move on to his neck, brushing your lips against his mole there. One hand finds the short hair at the back of his head to tug at, and you make him expose his neck to you, giving you access to wherever you want it. Teeth sunk into his skin and your tongue pressing against his pulse makes him push you closer into him with his hand placed on the small of your back, and when you start sucking a mark into his nape, he hums at the feeling. You take your time with it, nibbling on the skin until it begins to change color, and even though you’ve chosen a spot that’s hard to cover up, he doesn’t stop you. Instead, his heavy breaths and the way you can feel him growing against your core tell you he likes what you’re doing, and once you’re done you make sure to soothe the spot with a few gentle kisses. You sit up straight to take a look at your work and then at his face, half lidded eyes watching you attentively.

“Say…” you begin, putting a finger over his lips and then tracing a line down from his chin, over his adam’s apple and towards the base of his neck. “How about a different kind of workout for today?”

“What kind?” Jongho asks, his voice low, and you’re sure he knows exactly what you’re thinking of.

“Well…” you mumble, drawing near until you’re sure he can feel your hot breath on his face. “We’re both sober now, so…”

“I think I’m in trouble.” San stares at you from across the table of the fast food place where you decided to have an emergency meeting during your lunch break. You know you don’t have time to beat around the bush, as you will both have to be back at your work places in less than an hour, so you ended up simply blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“What do you mean?” Concern is painted all over his face as he picks up his sandwich, stopping himself in the process of biting into it to respond to you.

“Uh…” That’s the only sound that makes it out of your mouth as your gaze drops from your friend’s face to the food on your tray.

“Y/N, did something happen…?”

“...I think I’m in love with him.” 

“Ahhh…” Now San is leaning back in his chair, a smug grin appearing on his lips. “I knew it.”

“Shut up.”

“I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Alright, alright.” Still grinning, he takes a big bite of his egg sandwich, and you do the same.

“I just… I’m scared,” you admit once you’ve swallowed the food in your mouth. “I know I’m repeating myself here, just…”

“I know,” San says. “You’re scared of getting hurt again.”

“Yeah… maybe,” you answer. “Actually, I don’t think… he would betray me like that. But… yeah, I guess the fear is still there somewhere.”

“That makes sense,” your friend responds. “But… it’s good to see you heal.” His words make you halt for a moment.

“Right… I suppose that does mean… I’m healing. But…” you let your gaze wander around the restaurant, “have I healed enough?”

“Only you know that.” You lower your head.

“I’m scared I’m not ready yet after all, and that I’ll end up hurting him…” you mutter.

“Y/N,” San says, reaching across the table to put his hand over yours, making you look him right in the eye. “I think you worry too much.” You sigh.

“I know that too…”

“And besides,” he continues, “how else are you going to heal wounds caused by a relationship other than in a relationship?”

“Right,” you find yourself agreeing, and at the same time you wonder if maybe there’s wounds you have helped Jongho heal. You’ve done a lot for him, you know that, so why wouldn’t it be possible that he’s also doing a lot for you?

“You know what I think?” San says.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna like this, but… as much as you’re trying to help that guy let go of his need to be in control… I think that’s something you too would benefit from practicing sometimes.” His words hit you like a speeding truck. You’ve actually never thought of it this way, but now that he’s laid this aspect of you bare, you can’t deny it’s always been there. For a while, you find yourself wondering since when you’ve been like that, and part of the answer is probably always. But you do remember moments where you let go of that control, where you quite willingly put it into somebody else’s hands actually. So where did all that go?

Oh. You hold your breath for a second. It was probably your ex who made you close yourself up to the possibility of letting someone else take care of you, take a bit of control away from you every once in a while. Because you couldn’t trust him.

“You’re right,” you retort dryly. “I didn’t like hearing that. But I think you’re right.” San shoots you a smile, his dimples showing.

“Then go tell him how you feel, and you can figure things out. You don’t have to rush into a relationship and, I don’t know, get married and move country right away,” he reminds you with a lighthearted tone. “You can take things as slow as you need them to be. Though I’m sure now I’m the one repeating himself.” He lures a chuckle out of you, as you manage to push the thoughts of your past relationship aside.

“Yeah… I wonder if I have the courage yet,” you respond. “Thanks for listening, anyway.”

“That’s what friends are for, don’t mention it.”

You stretch your back with your arms thrown above your head while you groan, and you don’t miss the amused gaze Jongho gives you for it.

“What?” you ask with a grin on your lips. “Sitting still for almost three hours is taking its toll on me!” And now he’s laughing at your words, and seeing the expression on his face makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I didn’t say anything,” he refutes, holding out his hand to take your empty popcorn bag from you. “I’ll be right back.” You see him walk over to the trash bins to throw it away for you, when the song played in the lobby of the cinema you came to watch a movie you’ve both been dying to see catches your attention. 

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you - you hum along to the melody, and when Jongho is back by your side, you point towards the general direction of where the nearest speaker must be. 

“I really like this song,” you comment, and he listens for a short while before his face lights up and he recognizes it.

“Oh, me too actually,” he says. “I tried playing it a few days ago, but I think I already forgot half the chords again.” You make your way out of the building, and when he’s getting ready to say goodbye, you speak up before he can.

“Your place is close to here, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then how about we go together and I drop you off. You didn’t come here by car, did you?”

“Ah, no. I walked,” he says. “I thought some exercise would do me good after today. Though it’s only like ten minutes.”

“Then let’s go!” 

You chat some more about the movie and the actors on the way, and somehow you both end up coming to the conclusion that it didn’t quite meet your expectations.

“The actress who played the female lead did a really good job though,” Jongho throws in, and you agree.

“Right, I’ve only seen her in dramas so far, and I liked her acting better here,” you say. “Are you a fan of her?”

“A bit, yeah,” he admits, and the urge to tease him about suddenly getting shy is overwhelming.

“So you like her, huh? You think she’s pretty?”

“Well.. yes,” he says, and you chuckle. 

“So she’s your type?”

“I don’t know, actually,” he says as you arrive in front of the apartment complex where he lives, and he fishes the keys out of his pocket. “I maybe wouldn’t go that far.”

“I see.”

“Then…”

“Yeah…” You both hesitate, and as he opens his mouth to say goodbye, you cut him off. “Actually, can I come in for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” he says. “You can stay for longer than that too.” He lets the both of you inside and you take the elevator to his floor. Having arrived in his flat, you both slip out of your shoes and leave them by the door before stepping inside. You know what you came here to say, yet somehow now that you’re supposed to start the conversation, nothing will come out of your mouth. Torn in your mind, you fidget with the sleeves of your shirt, and when you hear Jongho’s voice you snap out of it.

“Did you want to talk about something?” he asks knowingly, and you nod. “Then let’s sit down first of all.”

“I… haven’t been seeing other partners for a while, actually,” you blurt out before he can start walking over to his sofa, and he raises his eyebrows at you, seeming a little perplexed. 

“That’s… great I guess?” he answers, before correcting himself, “I mean… is it?” 

“I-” The words threaten to get stuck in your throat again, but you take in a deep breath and before the doubts in your mind can set in again, you say, “I’m falling in love with you… is what I’m trying to say.” And now the expression on Jongho’s face changes to genuine surprise, before you find a slowly growing smile appearing on his lips. “But… it still scares me,” you add, and wordlessly the man in front of you takes you by the hands, leading you over to the sofa and sitting down with you. He too seems to need a few moments to find the right words, as you see him looking around the room before he finally speaks up.

“I still… feel the same about you,” he starts, his gaze directed at you now. “I’m in love with you too. And I get that it’s still hard for you. So, we don’t have to go anywhere you’re not ready for.”

“I just… I know you won’t hurt me on purpose… but a part of me…” You struggle to keep going. You don’t want to project your past relationship onto Jongho, and yet you just cannot get that voice at the back of your head that’s constantly screaming danger to shut up.

“I know.” He gives your hands a light squeeze, and the gesture tears you out of your endless worries and brings you back to reality. To him. “And it’s not like my past relationship isn’t still haunting me either, to be quite honest.” Considering how long it’s been for him, you’re a little surprised. “But I think… maybe… we can just keep going at the pace we had so far. And see where it takes us.”

“You’re probably right…” you find yourself agreeing with him. You want anything but to rush into another relationship, because you know you still need time more than anything. But thinking about it now, you’ve actually been going at just the right pace all this time. “No, you’re right,” you repeat, and he shows you a reassuring smile. Hope grows in your chest that maybe, just maybe this might just work out for the two of you. No - that hope has been there for a long time, you’ve just never had the courage to admit it up until now.

“Oh,” he then exclaims, getting up. “Wait.”

“For what?” you ask, but you don’t receive an answer. So you simply watch as he turns on his radio, and then he searches for something on his phone, before you hear a song starting to play, and within the first few beats you recognize it as the song you’ve pointed out to him back at the cinema. Jongho puts his phone on top of one of the half empty shelves and then approaches you, holding a hand out to you.

“Do you like dancing?”

“Dancing?” The horror on your face must be apparent, because he briefly laughs at your reaction when he comes to a halt right in front of you and you hesitantly get up. “I… don’t know how to dance…” you admit, and he grabs you by your hands, pulling you aside to where there’s more space.

“It’s okay,” he mutters, placing his palm onto the small of your back and waiting for you to hold onto him. “I’ll lead you.” He begins moving along to the music, leaving you no choice but to follow as his grip on you remains steady. Your steps feel heavy, and you’re clumsily following along wherever he decides to sway next, but soon enough you recognize a pattern behind his movements, and you find yourself feeling a bit more comfortable in his hold.

“You’re doing well,” he says, and you crack a smile. This is probably the first time you’ve heard those words from him and not vice versa, and for some strange reason pride swells in your chest. You find yourself humming along to the singers on the track as you let go of the fear of embarrassing yourself or stumbling over your own feet, and you find him mouthing a few of the lyrics as well.

I don't even wanna do this anymore Cause you already know what you mean to me And our love's the only war worth fighting for.

You sway from side to side, the distance between your bodies closing almost naturally, until you have your head leaning against his chest, allowing him to just hold you close as you move in tune with the song’s rhythm. You close your eyes, and in that moment it dawns on you that you trust him to show you the right direction, to hold onto you so you won’t fall, no matter what. 

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow Nobody's promised tomorrow So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night.

“You know,” he breathes into your ear.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now… Thanks for becoming someone I can rely on.” His sudden confession makes you smile, and at this point you feel like your body is moving along with his by itself, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Mhm,” you hum. “The same goes for me.” Warmth spreads all throughout you - a kind of warmth you haven’t felt in a while. You realize in that moment that you two have become a pretty good team in more ways than one. Emotionally, you’ve come to understand each other, being able to tell what the other might need from the slightest signs. And physically too, you’re not the only one who’s learned how to read him, how to handle him. He too has learnt how to see right through you, like coming together with you to form a perfect synergy, time and time again.

“Sit down for me,” you say, kneeling in front of him on top of your bed, a piece of cloth in your hands, and you give him a smile filled with both excitement and the need to take care of him. Jongho obeys, peeking up at you expectantly, and you cup his chin in your hand. “Good boy,” you praise him, and you see the way his eyes sparkle at your words. Then you bring the blindfold up to his face, covering his eyes with it.

“You feeling alright?” you ask once you finish tying the ends of the silky fabric together behind his head, and Jongho slowly nods. You have him straddled on top of your bed, sitting comfortably in his lap when you reach for the bowl of ice cubes you had prepared and you pop one of them into your mouth, letting it melt on your tongue for a little bit before you chew on it a few times and you swallow. Your now ice cold lips meet his, and as he gasps at the cool sensation, you slip your tongue inside. With your arms loosely wrapped around his broad shoulders, you share a slow but deep kiss with him as your lips gradually take on a warmer temperature again.

“Wanna be good for me and lie down?” you breathe, giving him a gentle push to his sternum, and he does as told. Then you reach for another ice cube, and holding it between your lips, you lean in. He sucks in a sharp breath as the cold material comes in touch with his skin, and it leaves a thin layer of melted water as you drag it along his collarbone and down his chest. His hands searching for something to hold on to, he finds your hips, but as per usual, you don’t permit him to touch you. Instead, you take a hold of his wrists, placing them to each side of his head, and letting go of the ice cube for a moment, you speak quietly but with an emphasis,

“Stay like this.” You watch as his lips part, though he doesn’t give you an answer. Instead, he merely holds the position you’ve put him in, even when you can see his hands forming fists as soon as you continue to move the ice along the lines on his torso. You let your warm palm glide up the same way you had dragged the ice down his body, and he gasps softly at the sudden temperature change. “‘S that feel good, pretty boy?” You run your nails back down over his well trained chest and the delicate skin on his stomach, and he flinches underneath you.

“Mhm,” he hums in response as the ice cube continues to melt against his skin. You lick up the water around it, flat tongue warming up the area, and you quietly reach for a new one from the bowl on your bedside table. Nipping on his skin while his chest gently rises and sinks beneath you, your lips wander to the left, and when you brush them against his nipple, he lets you hear a tiny whine. 

“You like that?” you ask, your voice sultry.

“Yeah,” Jongho breathes.

“And what about this?” You put the ice into your mouth, using it to draw circles around the sensitive bud, and immediately his chest rises as he sharply sucks in a breath of air. You use the tip of your tongue to soothe his skin, but when you begin to lap at his hard nipple, the heat of your mouth mixing with the chilling sensation of the ice, a moan falls from his lips. Your hand finds the other side of his chest, and with one thigh placed between his legs, you press up against his core, feeling him starting to get hard.

“Getting horny for me, huh?” you tease him. “And so pliant today.” Your partner can’t but whine at your words, as you move your thigh against his length for some friction. You pick up the remainder of the ice cube and move back up to his mouth to kiss him, parting his lips so you could let the ice melt between your tongues as you kiss him breathless. “Such a good boy,” you mutter into his mouth, and when you reach down between your bodies to wrap your hand around his cock, he throws his head back, teeth clenched. You hum at all the reactions you seem to be drawing out of him so much more easily today, and with your face buried in his neck to nibble on the skin there, you start slowly jerking him off. Jongho lets you hear a breathy moan when you sink your teeth into his skin with the intention of marking him as yours, and he writhes underneath you when your fist reaches his tip.

“Sensitive today, aren’t we?” you tease him a bit further, and his ears take on a bright shade of red as heat rushes to his face. “You’re so cute like this.” He whines in protest and all you can do is chuckle in return when you move further south, leaving a trail of kisses down his chest, and a few bites here and there too. A pained sigh falls from his lips when you let go of his fully erect length, sitting up on top of him now and gently running your nails down his upper body. “You don’t like it when I call you that?” He doesn’t say anything, but the pout that appears on his plush lips tells you all you need to know. “You can tell me, beautiful,” you mutter, reaching for one of his hands and placing a lingering kiss to his palm. “Or did I already make you forget how to speak?”

“No…” he says. “Don’t like it…” You find his other hand as well, and you pin both his wrists to the bed right above his head with one hand.

“Well I can’t help it,” you coo over him, and for a second there you have to recollect yourself upon taking in the image unfolding underneath you. “You’ll need to be a little less cute then.” And again, he whines in defeat, and you roll your hips on top of him once, your core grazing his hard on and it makes him shiver. “Shit, I didn’t think taking one of your senses away would make you this much more sensitive…” He throws his head to the side, mayhaps in an attempt to escape your looks, but he must know just as well as you do that he can’t hide. “Don’t,” you whisper, capturing his chin between your thumb and index finger of your free hand, and you place a kiss to the corner of his mouth before running your fingertips across his lips. He parts them ever so slightly, and you push your thumb inside eventually, leading him to gently bite down before you find the tip of his tongue. Hot saliva coating your thumb, you praise him to make him continue sucking on it. “I wanna watch you…” you mutter, almost mesmerized by how well he complies, a blush dusted onto his cheeks. “Wanna see everything.” You pull out your thumb and you bring your hand down to wrap it around his cock, distributing his spit along his length and spreading it on his tip. He arches his back underneath you, seemingly desperate for your touch, and maybe if he could see the wicked smile on your lips he wouldn’t get so into it already. However, like this you just can’t help but take advantage of his need, and so you gradually pick up speed, stroking him closer and closer towards his high.

“Doing so well for me today,” you grant him some more words of praise, and you enjoy seeing how his face distorts underneath the blindfold when you add, “And so needy…” He groans as you bring him nearer to the edge, his hips bucking up into your hand, but you immediately shift your weight to hold him down. “Don’t get greedy, pretty boy,” you warn him, and by the broken moan he lets out you can tell he’s about to come undone.

“Not yet,” you mutter when you take your hand away, and as soon as Jongho understands what’s happening, he sucks in a sharp breath. 

“Shit…” he curses through gritted teeth, and you chuckle at him, cupping his cheek in your palm.

“You really thought I’d let you cum? Just like that?” you mock him in a tone so sweet it must hurt. “Shouldn’t you know better by now?” He moves his head away from your touch, anger reflecting on his face, and it intrigues you. “What? You really are getting greedy.” Pouring some salt into the wound, you wonder how he would react. You know for a fact that if you had done this same exact thing to him a few weeks ago, he would’ve immediately tried to fight back, to turn the tables around on you. Or maybe he would’ve called out the safe word, unable to stomach all the frustration coursing through his body from how you’re treating him so unfairly - according to him anyway.

But nothing. He merely lies there, his jaw clenched, not starting a single attempt to free his hands from your hold. And it takes him a few moments, but eventually you can feel him relax underneath you, and an overwhelming wave of heat rushes straight to your core as you can hear him speak a single word very quietly.

“Please.” For just a second you want to give him everything, and so you reach for his cock, and when you start pleasuring him, he throws his head back, letting out an almost angelic sound as he moans at your touch.

“That’s right…” you breathe. “Such a good boy…” And he seems to get the hint, because as soon as the praise reaches his ears, he begs some more.

“Please… please let me cum…” 

“More, baby boy. Let me hear more…”

“P-please… want it so bad…” You feel him twitching in your hand and he whines at the way you’re moving your fist along his size, a drop of precum forming on his tip and you collect it on your fingers to coat his length with it. “P-please… please…!” The words keep falling from his lips while his body tenses up, and just when you think he must be almost there, you stop again, earning another strained noise from him. He says nothing as you let him catch his breath for a while, waiting until he’s come down from his almost-high, and again you find yourself affected by how he isn’t complaining at all.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” you promise. “Just trust me.” Jongho nods. He does trust you. And so, with a swelling feeling of pride warming your chest, you begin jerking him off again. “Doing so well for me, baby,” you say. “Gonna make you cum so good.” You lean in, your nose grazing the skin on his neck as you scatter little kisses all over, and eventually you wander down to his shoulder. You can feel him writhe in pleasure underneath you, and the stronger he reacts, the faster you move your hand along his cock. “Cum for me, pretty boy,” you mutter, before sinking your teeth into his flesh, and not long after he cries out from the sharp pain, he comes undone with a sweet moan, spilling into your hand and all over his stomach.

You let go of his hands and you reach for the wet towel beside your bed to wipe him clean, enjoying the few whines you draw out of him when touching an area that’s still too sensitive. Then you rub your hands along his thighs in a soothing motion, watching him catch his breath.

“Such a good boy…” you mutter, and you see him gulp at the praise. “You know what I think?” 

“Hm?”

“I’d really like to tie you up a bit… how’s that sound?” He nods at your suggestion. “Then sit up.” You get a piece of rope before you position yourself behind him. “Give me your hands.” Jongho does as told, and you place them so his elbows are angled at about 90 degrees, and his forearms are parallel to each other. You put some rope around them, checking if the position feels comfortable to him, and as soon as he gives you the okay, you get to work. It’s almost meditative, tying one knot after the other, watching as a pretty pattern forms along his arms, and he too seems to enjoy the sensations it’s giving him, because it’s apparent how the tension leaves his shoulders bit by bit.

“That should work,” you say when you’re done, and you run your palms up his shoulder blades, all the way to his neck, wrapping your fingers around it. He reacts immediately by leaning his head back, exposing his throat to you, and you go in for a few feathery light kisses against his pulse. “How are you feeling?” Your fingertips wander down his front, grazing his chest and then moving to his sides, following the lines to his hips before you rub your palm along his thighs. You feel the urge to bend him over right then and there, maybe give him a few spanks, but you remember he’s told you before he’s bad with pain - most kinds anyway, so instead you bring your hands back up, and you take them away as you move to his front, and you comb your digits through his brown locks while he says,

“I’m good.” 

“There’s so much I want to do to you…” you whisper, watching him biting his lower lip in anticipation, and with one look down his body you find him in the process of getting hard again. You huff at the sight. “Already recovering, huh? Well, I think if you want me to touch you some more you should first earn it, don’t you agree?” Jongho nods, waiting patiently for you to tell him what you want. “Lie down.” Your command is short, and he follows it immediately, lying flat on his back with his arms underneath. “That’s right,” you praise as you crawl on top of him, placing yourself right above his face with your thighs to each side of it. “Show me how much you want it, baby boy.” His mouth falls open as soon as you lower yourself onto his face, lips grazing your folds and his hot breath makes you shiver. You hold on to the bed frame with one hand, and you suck in a breath when you feel the tip of his tongue starting to carefully map out your pussy. And it doesn’t take long for it to become apparent that just as much as you got to know him pretty well over the past few months, he too knows a thing or two about how to push all the right buttons for you. Because even just the way he starts out with light, teasing touches, humming at your taste while he licks up your juices makes your head spin. 

“Doing so well for me…” you mewl, and he draws another moan out of you when the tip of his nose bumps against your clit.

“Y/N…” he slurs your name with his mouth buried in your cunt, and you clench around nothing in response. He takes his time outlining your folds with the tip of his tongue, always returning to your sensitive bud in the end. And when his wet muscle travels back down, he lets the tip of his nose rub against it instead. Slowly but steadily he makes you crave more, and in between soft moans and deep breaths, you order,

“More. Want you inside.” And he doesn’t keep you waiting, his tongue darting up into your dripping cunt and when he moans at your taste the vibrations he sends up your core have you mewling some more. “Shit, like that…” you praise, reaching into his hair and pulling on the strands while he begins thrusting his tongue in and out of you. You rock your hips on top of him, grinding down onto his face, and he whines at the way you tear at his locks somewhat ungently while searching for just the right angle. His moans mingling with yours in the air, you feel your heartbeat quicken as you fuck yourself on his face, and when the tip of his tongue hits that perfect spot deep inside of you, you say,

“Right there… don’t stop.” Hungrily lapping up your juices, he’s keeping a steady pace, and even though he can probably barely breathe at this point he lets you use him to get off. “Just a little… longer… shit, you’re doing so well for me…” Praise after praise falls from your lips, and with only a few more strokes of his tongue, you feel yourself clenching around it as your orgasm hits you. “Fuck, Jongho…” you mewl through gritted teeth as your entire body shakes on top of him, and he fucks you right through your high, until he can feel you starting to come down from it. 

“Did so well…” you whisper a praise as you crawl off his face to give him some space to breathe. A groan escapes him as soon as his nose and mouth are unobstructed, and you notice the way the lower half of his face is all covered in your slick. “Such a good boy for me…” you add as you lean in, licking your juices off him and then eventually kissing him, tasting yourself in his mouth as you dominate the kiss. “I’ll be right back,” you assure him, running your fingers through his disheveled hair once, before you lift yourself up off the bed to put on the harness and the strap on you had prepared. 

“You think you’re ready for your reward now, pretty boy?” you ask him on the way back, and he nods vigorously, letting out a noise in agreement. You chuckle at the image, and you order, “On your knees then.” He takes on the position you asked for - still managing to look good in the process, despite his hands being tied behind his back not being of much use, but you can tell the scene so far has exhausted him. You sit right in front of him, his cock rock hard and waiting to be touched, and when your fingers ghost over the tip he flinches.

“Guess what I got for you,” you whisper, leaning in close to his ear, and you brush your lips against his neck, grazing the mole there when he leans back his head to give you access. You take the invitation, sinking your teeth into his skin gently, before pulling back.

“What…?” he slurs.

“Guess,” you say again, but when his lips part and he doesn’t respond, you decide to give him a hint. “Something you liked a looooot last time.” He gulps, and you’re sure he understands. “Say it, pretty boy,” you mutter as you give his cock another light touch, and he immediately sucks in a sharp breath of air. “Or you won’t get to cum again.” Jongho whines in response - it must feel unfair to him that you’re making him wait for it so long. But at this point you know that with a few praises scattered in between all the teasing and edging and making him work for it, he’ll regain some patience, and you can keep playing with him a little longer.

“S-strap…” he guesses correctly, yet very quietly.

“What was that?” you ask him to repeat himself, and you wrap your fingers around the base of his length.

“Strap on,” he repeats, ears burning red, and you move your hand up and down his size slowly as a reward.

“That’s right,” you say. “Are you embarrassed?”

“A little,” he admits, and it makes you grin.

“A little?” you coo, as you jerk him off way too slowly. And yet his body tenses up under your touch, and he whines each time you graze his sensitive tip. “Don’t cum,” you warn him. “If you do, no strap for my baby boy.” He whines again, very clearly in distress, because all of the pleasure that has built up deep in his stomach is gradually getting too much to handle, and you see his thighs beginning to tremble. “You’re embarrassed… but my cock inside of you makes you feel so good.”

“Ah-!” Another whine falls from his lips, his hips charging forward as he ruts into your hand without control, but he manages to stop himself when you hiss,

“What did I say? No cumming until I allow it.” 

“Y-yes…” Seeing his gritted teeth it’s obvious how much willpower it takes him to hold back as his whole body begins to shake, and you reckon with the blindfold on it’s only harder to resist the overwhelming pleasure. But you don’t stop touching him, you don’t stop stroking his twitching cock, even when he begins stringing together all the curse words he knows and then some more.

“Fuck… shit… I’m-...” With a pathetic noise, he spills into your hand, and when he goes down, bowing before you to apologize, he doesn’t stop shaking all over. “I’m sorry… ‘m so sorry…” You remove your hand, watching as the man in front of you crumbles into nothing more than a tiny picture of misery, and when you see the wet stains forming on the fabric of the blindfold, you bring your hand that’s still coated in his seed to his mouth.

“Shh,” you coo. “Open up, beautiful.” And he does, he opens wide for you to put your fingers in his mouth, and without you needing to say anything else, he knows what to do. His tongue snaking around them, he cleans his cum off your hand thoroughly, not leaving a single millimeter of your skin stained when you pull out again. Instead, your hand is now coated in his saliva, and so you tell him to turn around.

“Bend over for me,” you order, and using the spit on your fingers as a substitute for lube, you start teasing his hole. And as soon as you come in contact with his ass, a heavenly moan slips past his lips. “That’s right, relax. Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you for cumming.”

“Mhm…”

“However… I think you do deserve a little bit of a punishment,” you continue, slipping one finger inside him. With the other hand, you reach around his body, and with a firm grip, you find his limp dick. His breath hitches immediately, and you chuckle at his reaction. “Too sensitive, are we?”

“Y-yeah…” he admits with a trembling voice.

“Should’ve listened to me then, hm?” You’re fully aware that he couldn’t have possibly held out any longer - truth be told, it was your goal to make him cum unallowed, just so you could punish him for it in the aftermath. “What’s your color, baby boy?”

“...green…” he whines desperately, and his entire body jolts as you stroke him, while you gradually prep his hole for what’s to come. Some actual lube serves to assist you, and when you find his sweet spot with two fingers buried inside of him, there’s nothing more than a whining, squirming mess left underneath you.

“Sh-shit… f-feels so… g-good…” he stutters, slurring his words as his mind must be filled with nothing but the overwhelming mixture of pleasure and pain from the way you’re overstimulating him. 

“You feel good?” you repeat, your voice gentle, and the more you feel him growing again in your hand, the more desperate his whines and whimpers become.

“Mmm… myeah… so good…” You add a third finger, wondering how quickly you’ll have him reaching his next high, and for how much longer he could go after that, but with the state you’ve put him in so far, there’s really only one thing left you desperately want to do.

“I’ll wreck you so good, my pretty boy,” you breathe at the shaking mess that he is. “So, so good.” When you feel he’s ready for the toy strapped to your hips, you finally pull out and you grant him a few seconds to catch his breath - though you’re sure at this point even hours wouldn’t be enough for him to regain his senses - and as you push up into him from behind, he cries out. His desperate noises alone could make you cum again, and as that thought crosses your mind, you reach over for a pillow, placing it underneath his lower stomach so his cock would graze it with every single time you thrust in and out of him. And it makes him moan even when you’re still going slow to make sure you don’t hurt him in the beginning, and when you pick up your pace you catch a glimpse of some drool dripping down his chin and you know he’s really gone too far now. Still, with each of your movements a noise more desperate than the one before escapes him, and when you go harder it doesn’t take long for him to come undone one more time. His moan upon being fucked right to his next high gets stuck in his throat this time, and as tears start streaming down his face, you reach into his hair, tugging at the strands and then pressing him down face first into the blanket.

“Is that all you can take?” you ask mockingly. “So strong, and already down, huh?” Tearing at the dark brown locks, he lets you hear a pathetic noise when his face is lifted up from the soft fabric for a moment. You wait for a response, but no words leave his parted lips. “What? Too fucked out to talk now?”

“Mhmm…” A whimper is all he can give to tell you yes, and the surge of power flowing through you immediately after has you beginning to thrust again. “Ah…!” he hiccups, crying from all the sensations overwhelming his senses, and one more time you halt and say,

“Give me your color.” 

“...g-green…!” You can tell how much it took out of him to speak that one word, but the fact that he did, even when he’s this wrecked, even while he’s crying, only makes you feel even prouder of him, and simultaneously serves as your sign to destroy him some more. So, one more time, you begin to fuck into him, pressing him down into the mattress with him writhing in the pain and the pleasure underneath you, sobbing and whining and crying out.

“Shit… you’re so perfect… so perfect for me…” With the strap grazing your clit at just the right angle with each time your hips snap against his, your own greed to cum again mixes with all the other emotions the image unfolding right before your eyes causes, and you pick up the pace relentlessly. “Taking me so well… fuck… my perfect boy…” 

“A-ah…!” He cries out one more time before his body convulses, and he cums all over the pillow once more. Just a few more thrusts, and you too feel yourself tumbling over the edge, and finally, you slow down and come to a stop. 

“Did so well… come here…” you breathe after pulling out of him and letting him collapse on his stomach right then and there. You lay down behind him, loosening the blindfold to reveal a pair of reddened eyes, and you wrap an arm around his broad figure. With your thumb, you wipe the tear stains off his face, and you scatter a line of kisses from below his ear to his neck and all the way down his upper back as far as you can reach. “You feeling okay?” Jongho nods, albeit seeming very tired.

“Then I’m glad… wouldn’t want to hurt my amazing boy…” With the last remainder of strength left in his body, he turns around so he could face you, and you immediately pull him close to let him rest his head atop your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” you continue to shower him in praises, and then you add some more when you notice the weak smile creeping onto his lips. “You did amazing.”

“You too…” he eventually mumbles, and with one arm loosely placed around your upper body, he draws a few circles onto your side with his thumb. Combing your fingers through his hair and feeling him lean into your touch, you feel your heart swell at the sight.

“I love you.” You whisper the words so quietly, you think he wouldn’t have caught them, but then he places a lingering kiss onto your chest, and he breathes,

“I love you too.” And for a second you can feel all the fears and the anxieties creeping back up to you. However, when he opens his tired eyes and he glances up at you with the most fucked out and at the same time love drunk expression you’ve seen, the doubts wash away. 

Right, maybe you did find each other at just the right time, so you both could heal some of the scars in each other’s hearts. And maybe this time, you’ve both found someone who’s right for you.

“That’s a good boy!” you cheer as you pet your last client for the day on his sides. The bulldog wags his butt upon hearing your praise, panting in expectation over the treat he knows you’re hiding in your back pocket. You reach around for the piece of jerky all dogs get after their physiotherapy session is over, and you laugh as he greedily lunges towards it.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head and lift your index finger in front of the dog’s face. “Sit. That’s a good boy.” The dog listens to the command obediently, and this time when you carefully hold out the treat for him, he takes it from you more gently. Well, a little more gently anyway. Smiling, you shake your head at the energetic pup, and then you get up off the floor and walk towards the door to let the owner inside.

“Thank you,” the young man tells you, before joyfully greeting his pet, his voice rising a few octaves and you find the image endearing. It always makes you the happiest to see how not only the animals, but also their owners seem to feel better after a session, having granted both of them relief from two different kinds of pain. You watch them walk out of the clinic together with a content smile on your face, before dedicating yourself to the last task of today’s shift: cleaning up. It takes you about half an hour to set up your office for a fresh start on Monday, and on your way out you greet your colleagues who are still standing by the reception counter chatting.

“See you next week!”

“Have a nice weekend!”

“You too!” You step outside into the warm air of late spring, and you take in a deep breath and close your eyes. You chose this profession because you knew you could thrive doing a job like this, continuously seeing payback for your efforts, and yet a full work week doesn’t leave you unfazed. Of course not, no matter how much someone likes their job, they’re bound to get exhausted from it from time to time - or that’s what your observations say.

“Y/N, hey.” You open your eyes to see Jongho standing in front of you, a smile full of adoration plastered onto his face, and you can’t help but return that same expression to him.

“Hey,” you greet him, hands in the pockets of the thin jacket you had thrown on in the morning, when it was still a bit colder. You notice you’re feeling a little too warm with layered clothing now, wondering if you should take off the jacket after all. “How was your day?”

“Ah, you know,” he looks to the side. “The usual.”

“Better if I don’t ask?”

“Better if you don’t ask, yeah,” he retorts, and there’s a hint of tiredness behind his smile. Jongho holds out his hand for you to take, and you don’t hesitate. “Let’s go?”

“Let’s. I’ve been starving,” you answer, and you intertwine your fingers with his as you begin to walk down the street.

“What about you? How was your day?”

“Good,” you say. “The grumpy chihuahua I told you about last time almost bit me again. But other than that it was good,” you chuckle, and instinctively Jongho lifts up your hand that he’s holding to check for any nicks or scratches. 

“You sure you didn’t get bitten?” he asks upon finding a bandaid on your other hand.

“Ah, that,” you exclaim as you arrive where he parked his car, and he opens the door for you to get in. “That’s from two days ago, actually.” He sits in the driver’s seat, and as soon as he’s shut the door on his side, he turns towards you, gesturing for you to give him your hand.

“It’s fine, really,” you assure, though you hold out the wounded hand to him anyway. “An angry cat scratched me, I’m used to-” Jongho lifts your hand up to his mouth, pressing a soothing kiss to the bandaid, and his eyes flutter shut while his soft lips linger. “Thanks,” you say eventually, watching him pull back and shooting you a serious look. He reaches out to cup your cheek in his palm, thumb brushing against the skin on your face.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it with such gravity that it almost seems a little over the top for the situation - it is just a tiny scratch after all, and it’ll be all healed up in a week or so. And still, you know there’s so much more behind his words than just worry over your hand. 

And so you do the only thing you can think of in that moment, and you shoot him a sincere smile, saying, “I know. Thank you for looking out for me.” Wordlessly, he returns your expression, before letting go of you and instead putting on his seatbelt and bringing his hand up to the steering wheel. “So?” you switch topic. “Where are you taking me today?”

“Surprise,” Jongho says, starting the engine. “But I packed you some clothes in the backseat that I think would be fitting for the occasion.” He points to the back and you reach behind you to try to get a glimpse of the contents of the bag. You find a pair of dress pants, making you assume he’s planning on taking you somewhere expensive, and upon digging some more, you find yourself holding onto an embroidered sleeve in antique pink. You stop your rummaging, and before you know it, you’re grinning from ear to ear like an idiot as memories of the first time he took you out on a date come back to you. 

“Thanks for bringing them,” you say, sitting up straight, and you glance over to him, who’s focused on driving out of his parking space.

“Of course,” he answers, before he enters the road towards your destination. “I think you’ll have to get changed in the car though.”

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you brush it off, staring out of the window as the lights of the bustling city pass you by. Right. You two sure have come a long way.

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@aaa-sia @wooyoungisbaby @winklehwa @asianpenguin04

@certifiedmoa @bunnyluvr25

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lyrics appearing in the story are from “Die With A Smile” by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars