#there's just NO GOOD LIGHTING ANYWHERE >:(

[hyukascampfire]

im so sorry i went ham and cheese on this and i’m psychotic so a lot of it is weird rambling but FUCKING HELLLLL MY FIRST ENHA FIC AND THIS IS WHAT YOU DO TO ME??

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” #MENTION

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. i love her already she’s silly

A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. I DO LUV HER SHE #getsit

“Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”i’m going. don’t u know what happens at fanfic parties, ho? 🙄

“Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!”  YES I WILL

You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey.  just you wait… just u wait

Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this.  yunjin ily queen

“Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” EEEEEEEEK

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here.  she dgaf

One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth.  OH HELL YEAH LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. oh he’s sexy sexy i need to prepare myself

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” CLAWING AT MY SKIN GRT ME OUT GET ME OUT

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.”  awww naww theyre freaking in somebody’s bedroom PACK IT UP LETS GO sticky is my worst nightmare

But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again.  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH and so it begins

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.”  STFU LADIES AND GENTLEMEN ITS HAPPENING WHERES MY EFFING POPCORN I LOVE THIS TROPE

A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it.  hehehe… he.. 😍😍😍

You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. failing ass hoe

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. EHHEEHEHEHEEH >.<;;;

Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. yeah shes cooked she wants him. jk but i do wonder at this point if he’s just getting under her skin or if she’s just as susceptible to his awful charm. cuz me too i’m #justlikeothergirls. but also then again he’s charming and all but i don’t think he’s given her much reason to like him at all. he’s def the get under your skin till he’s all your thoughts and—oh! you like even if you hate him kinda guy. MMMMM

“Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” don’t even

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.”  LMAO WHO ASKED HIM

Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” IM SAYINGGGG

some people #somepeople 🙄👉👉👉

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.”  now i had to wait AND put up w ur ass 🙄🙄 dpmo. BUT FRSIES i wonder if he’s playing nonchalant or just genuinely doesn’t care and is just taking interest in her. i’m thinking it’s the second rn

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. LOVE A WOMAN THAT STANDS UP FOR HERSELF. finally a fic like this where she doesn’t just get walked over. UR NOT GONNA ACT LIKE MY TIME IS OKAY TO WASTE N THEN ACT LIKE ITS OK CUZ UR HERE NOW 🙄🙄 but seriously i do really enjoy this mc. she knows her worth but never trades personality for it. so good

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. put me in coach ID BE SO MAD oh we going rounds

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. TEEHEE

“I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!!!! LMFAOOO the way she felt his bad aura like he’s a demonic energy

His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do.  OH YES YES GIVE ME 10 OF THESE WAITER i love shit like this

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…"  OM NOM NOM EATING THAT SHIT UP LIKE DESSERT

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” how about a thanks for trying to help me, HOE. jk on a srs note… small steps

Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. GOBBLE GOBBLE

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. she’s so me

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”  tongue out

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?”  / Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?”  YASSS okay lore i’m buckled in

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.”  YURR. something tells me that it’s gonna get to his head later on. idk if this makes sense but like cady heron style. like itll seem for a little bit that he wants to change, but his need to feel vindicated or popular or wtv will get in the way and he’ll throw people who care abt him, (like MC i’m assuming as they get closer) away or step over them. MY PREDICTIONS!!

“I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.”  MY SPIDEY SENSES ARE TINGLINGGGG this is not who he really is, he’s wearing a mask of what he thinks ‘popularity’ is, and he’s gonna have a hard time letting that go

“Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.”  TEEEHEEHEE IM GEEKED

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them.  DAMN?!

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back.  honestly, how did she think he was gonna react to that? he curated that persona for a reason. he definitely doesn’t want anybody to see it as a facade or anything. i can see what she was trying to do though.

But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 🌲🌲🌲🌲 PINE

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.”  LMAO

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it.  THIS IS SUCH A SEXY WAY TO DESCRIBE IT AND I LOVE THIS ILY also woodsy cologne 🤓🤓🤓 me and him are gonna 👉👌

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?”  UGH MY HISTORY BUFF SISTER ILY RAIN

And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder. You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” “I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.”  🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲 HHEEEHD he knows what he’s doing

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.”  i’m locked tf in

You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking. STOP IT I LOVE THIS seeing him ‘undressed’ in a way, where he doesn’t have to perform. he’s already shown that MC has smth abt her that sort of drags this realness out of him, gets under his skin in a similar way that he gets under hers i think.

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. mmmmm because it made him feel seen. i worry that there is literally nothing he would put before hockey, then. i worry for MC

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. so hometowney i love it. my fav vibe. makes me yearn for heartworm and dairyqueen. ALSO ‘or if he just takes up that much space’ sexy yes

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. YES YES YES

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” :(

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” my heart

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. love this moment of just letting your guard down on accident around somebody you don’t expect to. for both of them, not just hs. accidentally realizing that maybe you’re looking at somebody through a warped lense of your own pretenses.

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. he was doing so well💔 don’t do this to me heeseung

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table.  AWWW FUCK UR FORGIVEN

“Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.”  WE’RE GOING TO ONE OF THEIR PLACES SRENT WE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. nvm don’t look at me i’m ashamed

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.”  me and you both queen

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” AUSYEIEKENEGSUSU RAIN

At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type.  and still….. 🌲

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat.  TEEHEEEEEEEE YES GAWD

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?”  DONTNTTT FUCKING PLAY W ME AND PRIDE AND PREJUDICE STOP IT RAIN STOP i mentioned p&p in tsfawc too ILYSM

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.”  LMAO

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?”  RAIN UR AFTER MY HEART DTOP TYING IT INTO THEIR GROWING TENSION TOO YES

Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. WORLD STOP

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out.  it’s so over guys he read the room so incredibly wrong. unless he genuinely was just messing around IDK W HIM

That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. omg wait :(

“Shit,” he breathes. yeah

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that.  definitely shows a contrast in not just their personality, but also how they view romance in general. i fear this might become a point of contention in the future (even as it already very much is now.)

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”  awww stop i adore her and this hurts my heart </3

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.”  cuties

“I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest.  the way i just puckered up YES SIR

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  COCKY MAN GETS NERVOUS YES ILL TAKE 10 OF TJOSE PLS!

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. because it’s him out there 💔💔 (also note while editing this after finishing DAMN SEEING THSI HURTD)

And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. wait guys i teared up WHAT TGE FUCK i love the way this was put together too. poetic but in a simple way that encapsulates the nature of them well.

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens.  oh whos you….

“Good luck with that, sweetheart.” FORESHADOWING. foreshadowing and i’m calling it as much as i don’t want it to be true

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking?  fawk

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.”  oh yeah i felt this coming in my bones and still i don’t like seeing it happening damn it </3

“And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.”  i just said “oooooh…” out loud this is so FUCKED rain are you serious rn

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours.  OH THIS IS HAPPENING STFU

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱MEOW

But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was.  >.<;;;;; this in contrast with his earlier/usual depictions of intimacy, treating it’s nothing special, and then the romantic, charged energy of this scene. yes!

“Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.”  TEHEHEHEH

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with.  OH FUCKING HELL RAIN FUCK YOU

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy.  FUCK NO IM NOT READING THIS IM NOY

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless.  my windo w is right there….

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.”  FUCKIND FUCKKKKKKKKKK NOOOOO PLEASE I KNEW IN MY SOUL HE WOULD PROBABLY PULL BACK BYT FOR REAL? YOU HAD TO ACTUALLY DONIT?

You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung.  THATS FUCKIGM RIGHT

How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for.  FUCK YOU RAIN IM CRYING I HATE YOU(i do) WDYM IT ALL CIRCLES BACK TO THE BEGINNING YOUR INZANE NO

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?”  i fucking knew he wouldn’t put her before hockey damn it

Because you love him and he loves you.  REPEATIG THIS LIKE A MANTRA

You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung.  twisted the knife 💔💔

He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder.

sorry all i can think is sexy man

“You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run.

i love that she says it plainly. i do adore this mc

SEE I WENT ALL HAM AND HOG ON THIS BYT SERIOUSLY DO NOT PLAY WITH MY FEELINGS LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN MY CHEST FEELS ACHY

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.” 

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.” 

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. 

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” 

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.” 

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit. 

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!” 

​​You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. 

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this. 

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here. 

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. 

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing. 

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?” 

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here. 

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. 

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies. 

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth. 

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess. 

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?” 

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more. 

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to. 

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?” 

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.” 

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect. 

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again. 

-

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.” 

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.” 

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it. 

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. 

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence. 

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.” 

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it. 

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you. 

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. 

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out. 

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath. 

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” 

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?” 

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.” 

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.” 

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.” 

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” 

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.” 

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.” 

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.” 

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting. 

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.” 

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” 

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.” 

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up. 

And wait.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response. 

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.” 

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.” 

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all. 

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." 

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?” 

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.” 

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?” 

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.” 

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.” 

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done. 

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life. 

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.” 

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?” 

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.” 

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.” 

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm. 

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—” 

“Hey” 

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.” 

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” 

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…" 

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous. 

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.” 

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung. 

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?” 

“Five sharp.” 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.” 

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much. 

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice. 

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.” 

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.” 

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.” 

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?” 

She nods, sitting up a little.  “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?” 

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.” 

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.” 

​​You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.” 

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine. 

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all. 

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.” 

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently. 

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him. 

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” 

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp. 

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—” 

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table. 

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own. 

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?” 

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back. 

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—” 

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable. 

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens. 

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it. 

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” 

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung. 

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable. 

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?” 

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” 

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.” 

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse. 

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you. 

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired. 

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.” 

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care. 

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. 

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. 

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going. 

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling. 

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” 

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.” 

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens. 

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now. 

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. 

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. 

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. 

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. 

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” 

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup. 

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.” 

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.” 

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things. 

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library. 

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” 

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” 

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood. 

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” 

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type. 

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” 

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. 

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same. 

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until— 

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?” 

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” 

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” 

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” 

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” 

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. 

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.” 

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” 

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out. 

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not. 

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. 

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” 

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” 

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. 

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down. 

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there. 

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. 

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.” 

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him. 

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.” 

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him? 

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.” 

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him. 

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.” 

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur. 

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good. 

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands. 

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different. 

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung. 

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great. 

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands. 

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before. 

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.” 

You blink, startled. “What?” 

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.” 

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.” 

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” 

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—” 

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.” 

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”  

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise. 

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back? 

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face. 

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.” 

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..” 

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation. 

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..” 

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really. 

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she. 

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself. 

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases. 

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed. 

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?” 

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.” 

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening. 

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him. 

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens. 

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?” 

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself. 

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them. 

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene. 

“Damn.” 

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it. 

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do. 

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking? 

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?” 

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.” 

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.” 

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.” 

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil. 

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.” 

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.” 

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?” 

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.” 

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about? 

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.”  Oh. Oh. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—” 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” 

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—” 

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?” 

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.” 

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up. 

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.” 

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again. 

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. 

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. 

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to. 

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..” 

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.” 

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff. 

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips. 

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him. 

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight. 

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?” 

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it. 

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.” 

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good. 

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. 

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before. 

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.” 

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to. 

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was. 

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size. 

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?” 

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.” 

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet. 

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.” 

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.  

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up. 

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit. 

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin. 

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.” 

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?” 

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.” 

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?” 

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know. 

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.” 

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?” 

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.” 

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks. 

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with. 

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner. 

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. 

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy. 

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless. 

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.” 

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach. 

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.” 

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. 

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.” 

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see. 

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?” 

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts. 

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for. 

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together. 

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really. 

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung. 

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.” 

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.” 

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.” 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?” 

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door. 

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” 

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” 

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—” 

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me get it.” 

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?” 

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear? 

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. 

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” 

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” 

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” 

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin. 

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you. 

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him. 

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” 

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.” 

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.” 

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.” 

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him. 

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.” 

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.” 

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.” 

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung. 

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” 

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—” 

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.” 

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.” 

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. 

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you. 

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.” 

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” 

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?” 

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.” 

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” 

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?” 

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay”

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

[navybrat817]

Diamonds and Steel - Intro

Pairing: Retired Hitman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky treats you to a getaway, but peace won't last for long.

Word Count: Over 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected v. sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, established relationship, dirty talk, talk of violence and nightmares, world building, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: So, I wrote this intro months ago. I feel like this Bucky would get along with our alpha. Thanks @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me (s)cream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in from the balcony door woke you slowly. You weren't sure what time it was as you squinted against the brightness with a small stretch, the spacious bedroom becoming brighter with each passing second. You had only been in the villa for a day, but it was your new favorite place. Thanks in large part to the person who brought you here. 

A smile touched your face when the hand on your hip gripped you tighter. Carefully turning to face the man beside you who still had his eyes closed, you took the opportunity to run your fingers through his long dark hair. Your smile widened when he leaned into your touch. Asleep or awake, he always sought it out. And this was a person who didn't let most people touch him. 

But I can because he’s my man. 

Bucky Barnes, a man who was intimidating even laying down. Tall with wide shoulders, built like a warrior with a few scars to prove it. You moved a finger through his nearly trimmed beard and almost wished he'd open his steely eyes so you could gaze into them. He unnerved many with his stare, but he always looked at you as if you were the reason he saw the light of day. Burying your face in his neck with a sigh, it gave you a sense of peace when he pulled you closer to him on instinct. 

“Morning, my treasure.” The affectionate pet name was one you'd never grow tired of. It did make you giggle the first time he called you that. He had lots of money, more than you could ever fathom, and could buy all the treasures he could ever desire, yet he thought you were treasure. His most precious thing. 

“Morning,” you whispered, shifting so your body could melt into his more. 

He moaned appreciatively as your hips moved closer. “How did you sleep?” He tipped your chin up so he could look at you, the sleep fading quickly from his eyes. It didn't matter that he just woke up, he looked as handsome as ever and knocked the wind right out of you. It was highly doubtful you looked beautiful having just woken up, but he’d say looked perfect if you asked. 

“I slept well,” you answered. You had good dreams, including one of the two of you sitting on soft white sand and watching the waves crash in the glittering ocean. You could go anywhere in the world you wanted now thanks to him. “Did you?”

Bucky warned you when you entered your relationship with him that he sometimes had trouble sleeping. Bouts of insomnia and occasional nightmares. You witnessed one first-hand near the beginning when he woke up in a cold sweat, his hand clenched like he was holding a weapon and empty eyes like he couldn't see what was right in front of him. He didn't like to talk about his past and could only tell you later on that all he saw were bullets and blood. 

His haunted gaze broke your heart. 

“Slept very well. I had very good dreams.” His nose brushed your forehead before his lips touched it. You were happy to hear that. “In fact, I can show you exactly what I dreamt about if you’d like.”

Need slammed into you at the implication, your palms itching to feel his hardened body as he held you closer. You wanted to trace the scars, the tattoos. Every inch of him. “Sure you don't want breakfast first?”

Bucky didn't ask for much. One of the only things he requested when you began your journey together was that you’d sit and have meals with him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a time for the two of you to talk about anything and everything, though he preferred to focus on the present and the future instead of the past. You understood. You didn't like dwelling on the past either since your life was much happier now. 

He arched an eyebrow, looking cool as ever. “What if I want you for breakfast?” He brought his lips to yours, not giving you a chance to argue that you hadn't brushed your teeth. He didn't care about things like that. “You wouldn't let me starve, would you?”

The low heat from his voice seared through your core, wrapping around you like the satin sheet that covered you both. It was the only thing covering you in fact, your clothes strewn across the floor the night before. He had you keep the diamond pendant on, a gift he had given you when you arrived at the villa. It was beautiful.

The diamond to his steel.

“As if you’d ever starve. Your appetite for me is borderline gluttonous,” you teased. Guilt flickered in his eyes before you put a hand to his cheek, his expression shifting back to normal. “Hey, I didn't mean that in a bad way. I love that you want me.”

Oh, did Bucky want you. His face buried between your thighs, his cock spearing you open. If he didn't have you in bed, he had you against a wall or bent over the nearest surface. Not a day went by that he didn't give you at least one orgasm, like he was making up for lost time apart before you even knew each other. It didn't make sense to you some days that a man as gorgeous and worldly as him could have anyone he wanted, but chose you. 

“And I love you wanting me,” he said. You didn't just want him. You ached for him, inside and out. How could one man hold such power over you? To be fair, the balance of power was equal in some ways since you affected him the same way.

“How could I not want you? Even if I resisted, your skills of seduction are dangerous.”

You gasped when a massive thigh pushed between your legs. “Moya Sladkaya, you think I’m seductive?” he purred, making you shiver as the sound vibrated through your body.

“Yes and you know you are.” You bit your lip as his thigh shifted, gliding along your heat. It was tempting to ride it. “Your voice, your eyes, your mouth, your body. Partially why you became my sugar daddy.”

He growled as he suddenly rolled on top of you. “I'm your boyfriend,” he corrected you, holding your gaze. He looked hungry. “Who happened to wipe out your debt the way a sugar daddy would.”

“That’s still crazy to me,” you remarked. 

“That I wiped out your debt or that I’m your boyfriend?”

You twirled a bit of his hair around your finger. “Both,” you whispered. Living a debt free life was something you hadn't thought possible until he showed up. Now you had a life without the stress of bills and work, and also one where you felt loved and cared for. He gave you that and more. “But it’s crazy in the best possible way.”

“So it’s a good thing I'm crazy about you,” he smirked.

“Crazy about me?” You put a hand to his forehead. “Hmm. I think you should have your head examined.”

Bucky took your hand and brought it to his mouth, his expression blank. “No one needs to look inside my head,” he said, his eyes warm again as he kissed your palm. It seemed to push out whatever memory undoubtedly crept into his mind. “Because if someone could, they’d see all the dirty things I've done to you and no one else needs to see that.”

You giggled as he nudged your legs apart. “Yes, you’ve done a lot of dirty things to me,” you teased, your eyes slipping shut as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. Just two days ago he had you naked in his lap with your arms tied behind your back while he fed you dessert. And then he had you for dessert. “You’re insatiable.”

The gentle scrape of his teeth over your neck set your blood on fire. “If I’m insatiable, it’s your fault. One look at you and I was a goner,” he whispered, a hand moving possessively between your bodies. His thumb brushed your nipple into a taut peak, your back arching to seek out more of him. “You brought beauty and joy back to my world. You saved me, you know that?”

Unexpected tears burned behind your lids. He lived in a world of gray for so long. The least you could do after everything was bring him some light. “You saved me, too,” you breathed. He got to be your hero. You got to be his treasure. A fair trade in his eyes.

You gasped when he nipped at your racing pulse. “Don’t do that. Don't compliment me. This isn’t about me.” Both of you had a tendency to deflect praise at times, but it was something you were working on. And while he didn’t view himself as a hero, he did save you in his own way. 

“You’re a good man,” you said softly, fiercely. He didn't think he was because of some of the things he had done, because of the blood on his hands, but he wasn’t a bad person. “I mean it, Bucky.”

He sighed, scraping his beard against your skin affectionately. “I know you do.” He took his time sliding his hand down your torso, your breath leaving your lungs at the same slow speed. “But I want to compliment you, so take what I give you.”

You'd be sure to compliment him again later. “Not the only thing you’ll tell me to take, is it?” You giggled when he growled again. Getting under his skin was a lot of fun. “We both know I take you so well. Just like I take every drop you spill into me, no matter which hole you choose.”

He made a sound between a moan and a growl. You didn't think your dirty talk was the best by any means, but he loved it. “And you call me insatiable,” he said, his fingers exquisitely gentle as they found your wetness. “Always wet and ready for me, eager for me to fill all of your holes.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you groaned, feeling the evidence of his arousal press against you. Thick. Hard. You shuddered with the need for him to just take you. “Actually, you have every right to be cocky. You’ve ruined me.”

He brought his face up to yours, close enough that he breathed against your lips. “I haven't ruined you yet.” His promise had you trembling, wishing he’d tear you apart without a second thought. 

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his, heat curling in your stomach as he slipped a calloused finger inside you. Your hands moved to his arms, his muscles rippling as he pumped it deep. Your sensitive walls clenched as he added another, a delicious tease of what was to come. How did your need for him continue to grow with each day that passed?

Bucky broke the kiss, your breathing heavy as he continued to toy with you. “After breakfast, I want your cunt pulsing on my tongue,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, a thrill shooting from your head to your toes. You’d be content to spend the rest of your life sitting on his face if you could get away with it.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, pleasure mounting as his fingers curled. You tried to hold back the familiar cresting waves, wanting his cock inside you when you let it wash over you. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Just get your cock in me.”

Slowly removing his fingers, your hole clenching around nothing, he smirked as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean. The stark hunger in his gaze at the taste of you nearly made you orgasm. “Well, since you’re so desperate for me,” he teased, gripping the base of his cock and lining the head against your hole. 

“I’m desperate?” Your voice cracked when he slid into you in one deep thrust. Your fingers dug into his biceps, adjusting to the size of him as he looked into your eyes. He was searching for any discomfort or pain. There was none there. Your body would always welcome him home. 

“Yes. Desperate.” You couldn't deny that when Bucky moved his hips. Deep, long strokes, the drag of his cock making you feel almost mindless. No one before him made you desperate. No one else ever would. “Wet. Tight. Beautiful. Perfect.”

You gasped, rolling your hips up to meet his. “I’m not-” He cut you off with a kiss, silencing your protest that you weren't perfect. You were anything but. Like everyone, you had flaws. Imperfections. It was like he didn't see them or they didn't exist in his eyes. 

“Yes, you fucking are,” he growled, making you cry out when he thrust hard. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he crushed your chests together, your heart matching the rhythm of his. You held onto him like you never wanted to let him go. “My perfect treasure.”

Heat engulfed you as he reached between you and slid his fingers along your clit. Your hips bucked, your arousal climbing and taking you higher. The handsome man above you canting his hips and groaning as you keened had your body begging for release. 

“Bucky, please. I need to come,” you whined. You didn't need his permission, but you still begged for it. 

He watched your blissful expression with dark eyes and a devilish smirk. “That’s what I dreamt about.” His rumbling words had your thighs trembling. “You underneath me, taking every inch of my cock, begging to come.”

A hand worked its way to his hair and gripped it, trying to ground yourself from the sensations rushing through you. The edges of your vision blurred as your body wound tighter, ready to give yourself over to the pleasure only he could provide. “Please, Bucky,” you said. At least you thought you said it. The waves were ready to sweep you away. 

“Come for me.” His husky voice wasn't one to be denied. “Make my dream come true.”

Your head fell back, your walls fluttering around his cock as you went over the precipice. Blood roared in your ears, but you could still hear him moan your name as you spiraled out of control. His body followed your lead, pumping his hips a few more times before he came with a deep moan. Feeling him flood your insides and seeing ecstasy fill his gorgeous eyes made you grip him like a vice all over again. 

Bucky pulled you close when he gently collapsed on the bed, staying inside you as long as he could. Your body fit against his like you were designed just for him and you couldn't help but smile as you caught your breath. He smiled, too. A gorgeous, carefree smile. 

“Dream come true?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat when his smile widened and eyes crinkled. 

“Even better,” he whispered, cupping your cheek and skimming his lips against yours in a soft kiss. “Can we just stay like this?

You rubbed your cheek against his hand as the hazy cloud lifted. “If that’s what you want.”

“I meant forever,” he half teased, his hand reaching for yours to trace your bare finger.

Butterflies filled your stomach. It wasn’t a proposal, but it still felt like he was asking in a way. “Do you mean in this bed? As long as we can have our meals here and do movie nights. Oh, and a way to clean the sheets because they’ll be filthy.”

His eyes crinkled again as he chuckled. How did a laugh sound both wholesome and seductive? That was the power of Bucky Barnes. “And sex to keep us in shape,” he said, pulling the sheet more over you. “Sounds perfect, even if I don’t deserve it.”

You tilted your head, gazing at the man who turned your world upside down as the happiness slowly slipped from his face. Like how your body ached for his, your heart ached for him, too. “You do deserve this. You're not a bad man, Bucky.” He needed to hear it again. You'd tell him as many times as it took until it sank in. 

His jaw twitched, his eyes holding a hint of regret. “I’ve killed people,” he reminded you in an even tone.

“I know,” you whispered. You accepted that it was part of his past and who he was. You accepted him. “That doesn’t make you unworthy of me.”

His eyes closed, his hold on you firmer. “It would almost be easier if you condemned me, but I’m a selfish man who wouldn’t be able to let you go.”

Your heart swelled. He was so gone for you. “I’m not asking you to let me go,” you said, turning his head back to you until his eyes opened. “I’m your treasure, remember? Yours to keep.”

The hard edges to his face softened once again. “C’mere,” he breathed. You met him halfway when he leaned in, his lips only on yours for a second when the doorbell rang. You were about to ask if he was expecting company, but he didn’t have to with the way his body tensed. He turned away from you, his phone in hand to check the camera at the front door. Security was important to him. “What the hell?”

“Who is it?” You sat up, not bothering to cover yourself as he got up and threw something on. You couldn’t even appreciate the view since his entire demeanor changed. “And should I go with you?”

His jaw twitched again. “Delivery guy dropped something off and left. Hang back a little,” he answered before he grabbed you a robe. He’d preferred you close as opposed to being in the bedroom alone. “I don’t want anyone seeing you if they’re still nearby.”

“Lots of people see me,” you tried to joke. You stopped smiling when he swung his head your way. He took your safety very seriously. “I’ll hang back.”

Taking your hand, he headed to the front of the villa. Your legs shook a bit, but you blamed that on the orgasm he gave you and not fear. He stopped you before you could reach the door, giving you a quick, hard kiss. It left you breathless when he pulled away. “Stay right here,” he whispered, your heart pounding as he grabbed one of his many hidden guns. 

Weapons everywhere, a habit he’d never break.

You couldn’t see his expression when he went out to retrieve whatever was dropped off, but you understood his paranoia since he lived a dangerous life before. Not a lot of people knew where you were going on this vacation and he clearly wasn't expecting a delivery. “What is it?” you asked once he put the gun away and went back to you. A smile touched your lips when you saw the arrangement of various red flowers. “Those are beautiful.”

“They’re addressed to you.” He plucked the card from the holder to show you, his mouth set in a grim line. “But I didn’t order these.”

Dread filled you as you took the card from him and turned it over. Your name was the only thing written on it, minus a small stamp in the corner you hadn’t seen before: a heart and dagger. “Well, if you didn’t get me these, who did?”

“Someone from my past,” he said so quietly he almost missed it. 

Your eyes widened. “Why would someone from your past send me flowers?” As far as you knew he didn't keep in touch with most of his old associates. “And how do they know we’re here?”

You stopped breathing when you saw his eyes. Cold. Deadly. “That’s what I'm going to find out.”

So much for staying in bed today.

OOH. What do we think so far? I wonder who from Bucky's past is going to pop up and why. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[chrisbesitos]

troublemaker!chris looking after younger!reader.

chris' sipping his drink, standing in the corner of the room. they're throwing a party, the house is illuminated by purple lights and a low music is playing. like always, chris is alone, because none of the people in the house are his friends, his brothers hate them, so he never can invite them. but he doesn't care, he doesn't need company at all.

chris tilts his head, noticing something or someone on the couch. he narrows his eyes, trying to see who's laying down, but he realizes it is you. the colourful clothes, full of patterns, all messy, he knows is you. he watches your eyes fully closed, the eyelashes resting on the cheeks, you look so peaceful while sleep in a crowded room.

chris looks around, looking for your personal bodyguard, but matt isn't anywhere in the living room. chris huffs, swiping his fingers on his jaw, smiling disbelief. matt vanished, nick is not around, so then he needs to deal with you.

even though you're not his problem.

he finishes his drink, leaving the red cup on the kitchen table. he walks towards you, pushing drunk strangers out of his way, careless about being polite. chris rolls his eyes, kneeling down, he touches your cheek, trying to wake you up, but you don't even move. he groans, wanting to kill matt for leaving you alone for him taking care.

even though he doesn't need it to do.

chris raises his body, he leans himself and holds you by the waist. he lifts you up, his bare arms swiping through your back. even on your sleep state, you feel you're not on the couch anymore, now you're embraced by warm arms and involved by a comfortable scent. you swipe your arms through chris' neck, he rolls his eyes and tries to push you away, but you're holding him too tight. he's just helping, just moving you to a comfortable place.

he walks towards matt's room, carry you it's like nothing, you light as a feather. chris tries to open matt's room door, but it's locked. he huffs, matt's probably fucking someone and that's why he vanished. good friend, chris thinks. chris thinks about leaving you on nick's room, but the probability of him being with some guy there is big. he rolls his eyes once he realizes he needs to put you on his room.

chris starts to move, walking downstairs to reach his room. he opens the door with his elbow, closing with his foot. chris walks towards the bed, perfectly made, he gently lays you down, grabbing your arms and swiping them away from his neck. you don't even move from your fast asleep state. chris kneels down, unties the lace from your shoes, throwing them on the ground, not caring about being silent.

he covers your body with the blanket and adjusts the pillows for you to be comfortable. chris stares at you for a couple seconds, he's kinda annoyed with all the situation, he's mad at his brothers for leaving you behind, even though you're a grown woman, he's still mad at them. even more for making him deal with you.

even though he doesn't need to do any of this.

he could just let you on the couch, he could care less.

chris leaves the room, walking back upstairs. after a while, the people start to leave, leaving just all the mess for them to clean. chris' sitting on the couch, lazily swiping his feed on his phone, smoking a cigarette nonchalant. his brothers, finally appeared, are cleaning the kitchen table and balcony, chris' doesn't care about helping them, it's not his party at all.

"is y/n in your room? i didn't see her leaving." matt asks, nick shakes his eyes. chris raises his eyebrows, listening to the conversation, but staying in silence. he knows where she is, obviously. "shit, i'm gonna text her."

"she's in my room." chris says, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"what?!" matt raises his voice, moving towards chris. "what she's doing in your room, chris?"

"jeez, matt, stop acting like i'm a fuckin' perv." chris rolls his eyes, throwing his phone on his pocket. "she's fine, just sleeping. she was fast asleep on the couch, i carried her to a safe place, because you were too busy fucking." chris says, taking a hint of his cigarette, matt looks disbelief. "if you don't believe me, go check yourself. you better not wake her, it's better sleep there than in your shitty bed."

"then where are you gonna sleep?" matt asks, watching chris lifts from the couch and reaching his keys on the coffee table, chris walks towards the stairs.

"don't act like you worry about me, matt." chris says, storming out of the house.

© chrisbesitos.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Sick Day ~BatFamily Imagine~

Summary: You get sick but it's a good thing your kids take care of you.

Author’s Note: I finally thought of something after having writers block for how long?

BatFam Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none

Do not repost this anywhere!

Ever since they knew you, the kids could rely on you no matter what. Really. If they were sick, you would hold their hand as they took medicine and watch movies until they felt better. If they were badly hurt, you would kiss their booboos and they would suddenly feel better. If they were sad or overwhelmed, you would either give them ice cream or go for a walk. No matter what, you were always there for them.

So when you came down with a bad cold and fever, the kids were on top of it.

"Mom, I brought you some chicken noodle soup," Dick said as he walked over with a bowl that Alfred made.

"Thank you sweetie," you whispered. Along with the cold and fever, you had a sore throat. You were sitting on the couch, not in the mood to be on the bed. Normally it was comfy. But currently, it felt uncomfortable during the day.

Dick placed the bowl down on the side table before placing a cup of water next to you.

"Gotta stay hydrated mom. Do you want me to stay with you?" Dick asked.

"No. I can't get you sick," you whispered to him.

"I'm wearing a mask. It'll be okay if you want the company."

"I'm okay sweetie. I'm gonna just binge watch that show Barbra recommended to me," you tell him.

"Okay. I'll come get the bowl soon," Dick said, kissing your head.

Once you had finished your soup, Jason came by to check on you.

"Hey ma. Did you take your medicine already?" Jason asked.

"Not yet," you whispered.

"Gotta take it so you feel better. Want me to hold your hand like you used to do with us?" Jason asked.

"Sure," you smiled weakly.

Jason poured some Dayquil for you before handing you the small cup. He held your hand while you quickly chugged down the thick liquid. You made a face in disgust before handing it back over to Jason.

"Need me to get you anything? Tea? More water?" Jason asked.

"Probably more water please," you whispered.

"On it."

You lied on the couch as you continued to binge watch the show. Jason came back with the water and set it to the side.

"Want some company?" Jason asked.

"I'm okay. Don't want to get any of you kids sick. I'm just going to rest my eyes for a little while," you tell Jason as you switched the TV to YouTube to listen to some lofi calming music. After Tim had introduced lofi music to you, you had it on as background noise or when you needed to sleep.

"Okay. I'll let everyone know," Jason said, kissing your head before walking out of your room.

You woke up from your two hour nap feeling slightly better. You walked out of the bedroom and headed downstairs. You put on a mask so you didn't get anyone else sick.

"Mom! You shouldn't be out of bed," Tim says as he rushed over towards you.

"I need some fresh air. I'm just gonna sit outside for a bit," you tell him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," you smiled softly as you walked outside to the backyard.

You sat under the gazebo as you noticed Cassandra and Stephanie sparing.

"Hey mom! What are you doing out here?" Cassandra asked.

"Just needed some fresh air," you tell her.

You took off your mask to breathe in and out. You noticed Duke walk out with a mug before handing it over to you.

"I heard hot water with lemon and honey can help with a sore throat," Duke tells you.

"Thank you, Duke. I appreciate that," you smiled.

"I gotta finish on some homework so I'll be inside if you need anything," Duke said.

"Okay," you nodded.

"How are you feeling?" Stephanie asked me.

"A little better. But I am still feeling a little light headed," you tell them.

"Did you eat?"

"I had chicken noodle soup earlier. I should get some more though."

"I'll grab you some. Do you want to eat out here or inside?" Stephanie asked.

"I'll eat inside," you tell her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just needed some fresh air for a little while. I've been cooped up all day in the house," you explained, taking a sip of your drink afterwards.

"Okay. Coming right up," Stephanie said as she headed inside.

"I'm gonna shower up," Cassandra told you.

"Okay. I'll be in soon," you tell her.

You continued to sit outside, enjoying the peace and quiet. You drank the sore throat remedy Duke made for you which helped your throat. You heard footsteps walking over, making you look to see Bruce with Martha.

"Hi honey," Bruce greeted.

"I don't want Martha getting too close to me. Don't want her to get sick," you tell him.

"Okay. Stephanie told me you were outside for some fresh air," Bruce said.

"Yeah. The kids have been taking care of me all day," you tell him with a small smile.

"That's good. After all, you've always been the one to take care of us. Now it's our turn to take care of you," Bruce smiled.

You smiled back at him before seeing Damien walk over to you. He was wearing a mask as he marched over towards you.

"Did you let Stephanie get you chicken noodle soup?" He asked.

"Yes. She offered to get a bowl ready for me," you tell him.

"Tsk. She's sweaty. I got the bowl ready for you along with water. I heard Duke got you that hot water with lemon and honey. If you need it reheated, I can do that for you as well," Damien tells you. You smiled as you put on your mask.

"Thank you Damien. I'll eat right now," you tell him as you got up. Damien held your hand before leading you back inside.

"Father. Please make sure Martha is not near ummi. We can't have both of them sick," Damien tells Bruce. Bruce chuckled as he nodded.

"I'll make sure Martha's not near mom," Bruce tells him.

"Good. Come on Ummi."

You chuckled as you walked inside. You sat at the table where Damien had everything set up for you. The kids were setting up the rest of the table for dinner. You ate the soup while Damien watched you.

"Is there a good ready to why you're watching me?" You asked Damien.

"I just want to make sure you get better," Damien tells you.

"I'll get better soon Damien. Remember? The doctor you made me go to said that I will be better in a couple of days," you reminded him.

"I don't want anything to be risked," Damien says. You ruffled his hair before taking another spoonful of soup.

"Hey mom. Feeling any better?" Dick asked as he sat down.

"A little. Thank you kids for taking care and checking up on me."

"Of course. You've always been there for us, it's our turn to be there for you," Tim said.

"I am going to shower and go to bed. You kids eat and stay safe on patrol," you tell them as you stood up. You grabbed your bowl before heading to the kitchen to put it in the sink.

You walked upstairs but heard someone follow you. You looked over to see Bruce walking upstairs with you.

"Everything okay?" You asked.

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Bruce said.

"I'll be fine Bruce. I'd give you a kiss but you turn into a bigger baby than Jason when you get sick," you joked. Bruce smiled before giving you a quick kiss.

"Don't care. I'll do my best to come back from patrol early today," Bruce tells you.

"Okay. Goodnight. Stay safe please," you tell him.

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you too."

[bluebanistrs]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪a great start .

when kimi aks his best friend if she is interested on going to a blind date

ollie × wolff ! tennis player ! female ! reader

this is my first fic and first time writing in english, which is not my first language. sorry for any errors !! (btw it's kinda short)

Growing up as the daughter of an F1 team principal was really something. As I grew up and my tennis career started to leverage, my frequency of going to the paddock reduced for almost every race to just a few, and it was enough for me to start a great friendship with the Mercedes junior driver, Kimi Antonelli.

Kimi and I became almost instantly best friends, and as time went by, it became very common to see him in my games and me in the Prema paddock.

It was January 2nd, a new year had just begun, and the winter cold still continued in Monaco. I was watching Juno while eating some candy when Kimi texted me.

It could be a lot of Kimi's friends and I was really nervous. What if it's terrible? What if the guy is a completely weirdo? What if the guy is Kimi himself?.. I would only know the answer to my questions the next day.

✸

I did nothing but get ready the whole day. When it was almost time for me to be late, I went into my dad's office “I'm going out with some friends, see you later!” I said while opening the door.

“Yn come here. You're not going anywhere.” I heard my dad saying it with his strong accent.

“You have 5 minutes. My Uber is almost arriving.”

“Why would you need an Uber when your dad is home and can drive you anywhere? Yn, where are you going?”

“You'll never let me go out if i tell you my situation.” I checked the time, 6pm. I should already be there.

“Kimi asked me if I wanted to go on a blind date, and after he insisted a lot, I said yes. I don't know who the guy is, but I'm pretty sure it is not a sociopath who is planning to kill me. By the way, I'm really late, and he's probably already waiting for me.”

Toto, my dad, took his glasses off “Oh God. I'll let you go. But be safe and send me your location. And be home at 8pm.”

“Thank you, dad. Ugh, my Uber canceled. Can you take me there? It's at the cinema nearby.”

✸

I arrived there exactly 15 minutes late. “Call me if anything happens, and good luck!” Toto said while leaving a little kiss on my forehead.

When I got out of the car, nobody was outside the cinema. I instantly got more anxious. “What if he got tired of waiting and just went home?” I said to myself. I entered there, and the first thing I saw was Oliver Bearman holding a bouquet of lilies.

“Kimi said you like lilies. Those were the prettiest I found.” He said with a shy smile.

“They are amazing! Thank you! God, I'm so glad that Kimi invited you. I was so nervous.”

Ollie was someone that I never had a conversation that lasted more than 3 minutes, but I always had a little hidden crush on him. He's definitely my type, another athlete, tall, gorgeous, and british.

“Sorry I was late… We should probably just go, our film will start soon.”

Ollie tried to grab my hand, but I was sweating so much, I just pretended I didn't see it. When we got to our seats, the movie had already started. The first few moments were terrible, I couldn't move even a finger. But then I finally found just a little bit of courage in my body and laid my head on his shoulder. When the movie was almost ending, I gave a delicate kiss on his left cheek while caressing his hand. We're staring at each other and our faces were getting closer and colser and when I thought we would have our first kiss… the film ended and all the lights came on. We just shared a good laugh.

Despite the cold weather, we decided to go to an ice cream shop. We sat on a table, next to each other, just talking and eating.

“What did Kimi say to you? He just texted me asking if i was interested in going on a blind date.” I said while biting my mochi.

“Actually, Kimi didn't say anything to me. I said to him I was interested in you, cause I think you're really pretty and such a cool person, but I didn't know how to talk with you and ask you on a date. So Kimi suggested it, a blind date. At first, I thought it was a terrible idea, but he ended up convincing me.”

“So you you think I'm pretty?” He smiled when I said that.

“Yes, I do.” Said with a convinced voice.

I sat closer to him. So close that I could hear him breathing. He pressed his lips against mine, and we started with soft kisses. Then I felt his tongue in my mouth, it tasted like the chocolate ice cream he was eating minutes ago. The kiss was soft, slow and full of desire. His hands were in my cheeks and mine were in his neck and hair. We separated because of shortness of breath, but it was amazing, a moment that i wanted to last forevermore.

✸

I got home kinda late, Ollie and I spent some time kissing and talking about our lives. He paid my Uber back home, and we kept talking through our phones.

“Ladie you are almost an hour late.” I heard my dad's voice coming from our apartment kitchen. He was oppening a botle of wine. “How it was?”

“It was Ollie… My date was Oliver Bearman, Kimi's teamate. It was amazing, we watched the film and after we went to that ice cream shop that I like.”

“You are not going to date a driver.” he said with a serious voice.

“Why not? He was so sweet to me, you don’t even know him. And it was just a date, we're not officially a couple.”

“Honey, i wasn't born yesterday. I know how those young drivers get crazy when they make it to F1. He will be cercaded of womens and he will love it. I saw it happening so many times, I just know how it works.”

“Ollie doesn't seem to be this type of guy.”

“Let's see…” Toto said while drinking some of his wine.

[riverbends]

Hear me out pope takes readers virginity 😅he'd be so sweet about it (in a pope way)

he’s known you for quite some time now and you’ve managed to help him ease his guard down. he probably met you at the beach or deran’s bar or just anywhere that didn’t hold the accursed imprint of smurf. while it’s a complete mystery to pope, you were suddenly fond of him in the way you’re fond of strays.

he’s not sure what you are to him, but, no matter how much he tries to filter it out of his conscience, you’ve got this way of leaning into his space without really physically making contact. when you’re together, he feels phantom touches of your elbow whispering against his forearm or your knee barely brushing his. you are not privy to the goings-on of the cody family, so he tries his best not to rope you into the mess of it.

maybe one night he’s dropping you home and you stall in his car before he bluntly tells you to say whatever you’re trying to avoid.

“do you wanna come in?”

the question paralyses him. you know pope, he has to fully digest something sometimes before he can find his voice. except he just looks at you blankly and now you’re worried you’ve crossed boundaries.

“i’m sorry—”

you’re cut off by the sound of his belt buckle releasing. and then he’s out of the car.

he’s absolutely soundless as you lead him to your bedroom. i won’t go into too much detail here (i’m usually very descriptive about it though, trust me).

but it starts with soft, hesitant kisses, initiated by you, of course. other wise he’d stand there all night, waiting. you help him with his clothes and, at some point, he gently seizes your wrists. he can see the tremor in your hands under the low light. you tell him you’ve never been with anyone like this before, and he’s still holding your wrists between your bodies. eyes searching in the dark.

barely a whisper, he says, “we can stop.”

your heart shrinks in shame, “do you want to stop?” you ask. another pause.

“only if you do.”

and then you’re tangled with him in your sheets, your ankles crossing at his tailbone as his weight presses your body into the mattress. he’s not even inside you yet because he is being so agonisingly slow about it. almost too careful for your appetite.

he’s not holding out on you to be a tease or assert some kind of power of you. he’s really just trying to do this the right way. trying to make it as comfortable as possible. another part of him is also trying to process how and why you’re so desperate for him, practically squirming beneath him with want. he’s never really been desired.

and the moment he gives you what you’re asking him for, you’re both rendered speechless. while you savour the burn of your first breach, he’s relishing in the way you fit him so perfectly. at first, he’s consistently preparing himself to wrench his body away from yours every time you gasp a little too loud or dig your heels into his lower back. he learns, though, that he is not hurting you. you aren’t signalling discomfort through your intensity… you simply want him too much to contain yourself.

afterwards, he is as gentle as he was when he sank himself inside you. when you’ve excused yourself to go to your bathroom, he collects your discarded clothes and remakes your bed, despite knowing you’ll pull it apart once more in the depths of your sleep.

he’s fully dressed again because he’s expecting you to ask him to leave, but he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed. spine rigid with quiet apprehension. when you reappear, he braces himself for ruin. for rejection.

“can i stay?”

you don’t answer him.

instead, you drag him back into your bed and divest him of his clothes under the covers. not to go for another round, but to feel his skin against yours again.

this warmth he has found here with you, he thinks, is as good as it’ll ever get.

[whatifitis]

♡ for the better - OP 81 ♡

Summary: for the first time in your life, you were happy. you were loved. and now the person who loves you, may grow to resent you.

WC: 3318

CW: fluff, angst, spiraling a bit, not proofread

It started off as just being friends. A group of you were brought together by an interest you all had in common. But you two had managed to grow a special connection over the course of a month. It started as just a silent adventure between the two of you. Taking a walk together in the park, not talking, just enjoying the comfortable silence. Each walk in the park, he began to grow more comfortable and confident around you. He started picking flowers each walk, to tuck into your hair. He started to ask you more questions, to get to know you. 

One day, he stopped to look at you and said “Do you wanna go out?” with a shy smile.

You smiled brightly at him “Yeah, I'd love to.”

Your first date was something you’d never experienced. No one had ever put so much effort into you. He had set up a little picnic at the park you two frequented. There was a light green (your favorite color), checkered blanket on the ground. A top the blanket sat a picnic basket, packed with your favorite snacks, 2 painting canvases, paint brushes and some paints. To say you were overwhelmed would be an understatement. His simple actions meant so much to you. You never thought someone would be able to care for you as he did. 

He knelt down onto the blanket and reached out a hand, inviting you to sit by him. You took his hand and sat across from him. 

“This is so incredibly sweet. You didn’t have to go all out, I mean, it’s just me. It’s not like the Queen is coming… right?” you’d asked with a giggle.

He gave you a toothy grin and said “No, no, the Queen isn't coming. This is all for you. I tried to think of the best thing to do for a first date with you. You’re so amazing, I didn’t want to disappoint.”

“You could never disappoint me.” 

With that, you two began to eat the contents of the picnic basket. Both of you laughed and smiled, talking about the craziest things. One question that got you two riled up a bit was whether sprinkles were a seasoning. Who would’ve thought two people could debate for so long on the subject. But you had fun. 

Once the two of you had finished eating, you and Oscar began to paint each other. As you guys painted, loving glances were exchanged between you two. 

When you two had both finished painting, you took turns showing each other your works. 

“Alright,” Oscar started “Countdown from 3 and I’ll show you the masterpiece that I’ve just created, alright?”

“Alright, ready? 3, 2, ,1….” 

You burst out laughing at the sight of what you’ve been shown.

Oscar furrows his brows but can’t hide his smile “What? What’s so funny? It’s good!” he insists.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” you try to say through your laughing fit “but that’s so bad. I mean, what happened to my eyes? They look wonky, they’re 2 completely different sizes.”

“Well excuse me, Misses I have an art degree so I can tell people their blood, sweat and tears result in absolute shit.” he laughs with you.

“Come on, let’s see your supposed “masterpiece” now.” Oscar said.

You turn your canvas around and smile brightly at him. 

He’s stunned. He’s speechless. He’s ashamed of his painting of you. 

“Love, I- HOLY SHIT! This is amazing, baby! Oh my god we have to hang it up somewhere. My house, your house, a museum, the Met, THE LOUVRE.”

You’re laughing again, wiping the tears from your face. 

“It’s just a painting Oscar, it’s alright, no need to hang it anywhere. Especially not a museum darling.”

“Wrong. I’m keeping this and hanging it up at home.”

“Whatever you want, my love” you said, smiling fondly at him.

-=+=- 

One day, you and Oscar are chilling in the park. Oscar laying back on his arms while you lay your head across his stomach. The two of you sit, making idle conversation with each other for a few hours. 

“Y/n?” Oscar says, looking down at you. 

“Oscar?”

“I don’t want to lose you. I hope this never ends. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

You sit up to look him in the eyes properly.

“What’s going on? Why are you saying this?”

“I’m just in my feelings. But I’m serious, I love you Y/n. I love this feeling I get when I’m with you. I don’t know the word for it, or if there even is a word for it. But I know I always want to feel this way. You mean more to me than life, darling.” 

Your nose feels fuzzy, tears are forming in your eyes. You grab his hand and squeeze it three times. 

You give him a smile, “I love you, Oscar. You don’t know what you mean to me. Everything you’ve done for me, it means so fucking much. If I ever lose you, I don’t think I’d be able to live. Thank you, my love.” 

You two share a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, but at the same time, it feels urgent. You feel like you can’t stop, like you can’t let go, cause if you do, it’ll slip away. But you don’t, and you won’t. You’ll hold onto each other until your last dying breaths. Possibly even past death, you’ll have each other. 

-=+=-

“Has anyone seen Oscar?” You ask for what feels like the millionth time. 

Oscar has been missing for half an hour and no one can find him. He’s meant to be on the track in 15 minutes but he’s not answering his phone. 

You’ve been running around the paddock like a maniac, calling out his name. You don't have long til all the drivers are meant to be out on the paddock for the national anthem. 

You’re sprinting down the halls when something catches her eye. You stop and look to see a figure pacing back and forth in a dark corner. You know exactly who it is. 

You begin walking towards Oscar and stop 4 feet away from him. He’s too in his head to notice anyone is near him, so he keeps pacing with his head down. You walk to him, and grab both his hands in yours. You press your intertwined hands into his chest to try and ground him. 

Oscar is startled at first but once he sees it’s you, his face falls and he lets go of the tears he’s been holding. 

You immediately pull him into your arms, wrapping them around his neck and scratching the back of his neck softly. His arms wrap around your face and he nuzzles his face into your neck. You let him cry it out for a minute before speaking.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

He sniffles as he says “Panic attack I think.”

“Do you know what brought this on?”

“I think I’m just tired. We’ve been working for so long, going from place to place every week. I just don’t think I’m performing as well as I should be. I’m not as put together and the fans have noticed. I hate letting them down and I just don’t know how to fix everything.”

“Baby,” you say as you grab the side of his face gently, wiping away some of his tears “The fans understand. You said it yourself, you guys have been put through the ringer as of late, especially with all the crazy regulations the FIA created. They know this and understand if you’re not as aggressive and calm as usual. You need to stop putting yourself down like this, love. Things happen, so we just have to manage.” 

“I know, but it’s hard. A lot of them travel from so far away just to see these races. They’re buying tickets, booking hotels and flights, just to watch us be the best. All for me to go up there and be a disappointment.”

“Hey, no. You’re not a disappointment, Oscar. You’re anything but that. You’re stubborn, stupid at times, and mental. But you’re not a disappointment. And I love you because of all that, okay?”

“Okay” he says, giving you a shy smile. 

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up and on the track for everyone to see your talents.” 

“Thank you, baby, for everything. I don’t deserve you.” 

“No need to thank me baby. If anyone is undeserving of the other, it’s me. I don’t know what I did to be able to have you in my life.”

With a quick kiss, you two set off to the Mclaren garage to help Oscar freshen up for the race. 

-=+=-

“Darling I told you, I can’t go. I’ve gotta meet Mark and some other guys. We have so much to do before we even think about renewing the contract. I don’t have time for this.” Oscar said whilst putting his shoes on.

“I asked you weeks ago if you could come. And you’d said yes. We’ve had this planned for ages. You can’t just dump our plans.”

“I can if it’s for work. This is something that I can’t ignore. This is my job. The thing I’ve been working towards my whole life. I have to get this stuff done.”

“You’ve been away from home every night for the past month. And you’re telling me you can’t just take one night off? Is that much more important than one night with your girlfriend?”

At this, Oscar stops and his face drops. He didn’t realize how you might have felt, that you’d felt like you came second. He realizes his neglect towards you and your feelings. He walks to you and holds your hands in his. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve been treating you like shit, not taking into account how you feel. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll call Mark and cancel.” 

“No, Oscar. It’s okay. Go to the meeting.” you say softly. 

“No, no. we’re gonna do what we planned.” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket while simultaneously taking his shoes off. 

“Baby, you don’t have to. I was just a little upset. I’m okay now, you can go.”

“No, go get ready. I’ll call Mark, then we can go out like we planned.” he smiles at you, trying to make you feel better. 

“Are you sure? I’m fine with postponing. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, you were hurt. We’re going, end of discussion.” he said as he kissed your head. 

That night, the two of you went out as you’d planned. You went and had lunch at a new restaurant you had been raving about to Oscar. He was happy to take you and was pleasantly surprised when the food turned out to be the best he’s ever had (of course not as good as your cooking). 

After lunch, the two of you took a walk in the park. You and Oscar walked hand in hand for ages. Enjoying the quiet breeze and the warming sun. During your walk, you two had discussed the origin of the argument that took place earlier and worked your way through it. With some compromising, you two felt better about the result of said argument. 

After your afternoon walk, you and Oscar headed home where he showed you exactly how sorry he was. And he didn’t use just his words. 

-=+=-

He’d been planning this for ages. Tonight was the night he’d ask to be yours forever. He’s been in love with you for ages. He can’t think of a better time to do this. 

“Baby? You ready to go?” Oscar asked you from the front door. 

“One second darling. I can’t get this shoe on.” 

“Do you need help?”

“No baby, I got it.” you said as you walked up to him. He’s never seen something so beautiful. You’re standing there in your favorite dress, some pieces of jewelry and a simple pair of heels. 

Oscar holds his hand out to you, and you immediately grab it, kissing him before walking out the door with him right behind you. 

-=+=- 

The two of you enjoy a nice dinner at a restaurant you and Oscar frequented. It was so nice to get out of the house and spend some time with Oscar. You’ve missed him a lot since he’s been away for work, but it’s what he loves to do. And you love seeing him happy. 

After dinner, the two of you take a walk in your favorite park. Walking, hand in hand, you ask Oscar “What do you think the meaning of life is?”

“42” he says laughing to himself.

“I’m being serious,” you laugh with him “what do you think it is?”

“I think it’s whatever you want it to be. It can be to find the end of space. It can be to find out where the megalodon went. It can be about finding the love of your life, your soulmate…. speaking of which.”

He stops where he is, moving to stand face to face with you and grabbing both your hands in his. 

oh shit

“Y/n, I have loved you for a long, long time. I’m not gonna lie and say it was love at first sight cause, ya know, that’s kind of crazy. But I will tell you that the second I laid my eyes on you, I was enchanted by you. And I was really hoping you weren’t in love with someone else, hoping you didn’t have someone waiting on you. Since the day we met, there was never a day where I didn’t think about you. I love you Y/n, so fucking much.”

He gets down on one knee while pulling a box from his pants pocket. He holds the box in both hands, presenting it to you and opening it. Inside was the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. He knew you weren’t a fan of traditional engagement rings that had a huge stone on the top. He knew you loved the rings that looked as if they were created in a magical land, far far away, crafted by the most powerful jewelers of the land. 

“Y/n L/n, will you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband?”

You stood there motionless with your hands covering your mouth that had been hanging open since he began his speech. Tears were streaming down your face. You couldn’t believe it. He actually want to marry you? He loves you that much? How did you get so lucky to find your person?

“Are you sure? Like really sure?” you’d said.

“Yes I’m really sure darling. You are the love of my life. I want to spend forever with you.” 

Tears are streaming down his face too. The anticipation is killing him. 

“Yes. Yes, I want to marry you too.” you finally say.

“Oh my god! I love you so much darling, thank you so much.” he said as he began to stand up. 

Once he was standing straight up, he pulled the ring out of the box and put it in your ring finger. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around your hips and pulled you impossibly closer. Neither of you stopped or let go for ages. You guys were it for each other. There would never be anyone else. 

-=+=-

it’s for the better 

i know it’s for the better

it’s for the better

You were pacing the living room that you shared with Oscar. Your bags were already packed and in the car. 

You couldn’t let Oscar go through with this. You couldn’t let him do this to himself. He deserves to marry someone better. Better than you. You love him so much, but you weren’t enough for him. You didn’t want to bring Oscar down with you.

You continued pacing the living room, waiting for him to come back home. You feel so sick like you could throw up. Your heart is racing and your hands are shaking. You didn’t want to let him go, but it would be selfish to hold onto him, when he could do a lot better than you. 

The sound of the front door caught your attention. Oscar was home. You stood there in the middle of the living room, fighting your hands.

“Darling, I’m home.” he’d called out from the front entrance.

He walked into the living room to see you standing there, pain and sadness written all over your face. 

“Hey darling, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he said as he walked to you. 

“We need to talk.”

“Alright, what’s going on?”

You took a moment, trying to find the strength to say it. 

“We- need to break up.”

“What? Why? Did something happen?”

“No, I just think it will be best for the both of us.” 

“You’re confusing me darling, what do you mean “better for the both of us?”’

“I mean, you deserve something better. Someone better. I can’t be that for you. I can’t give you everything you deserve. I love you too much to hold you back. So I’m letting you go. I’ve already got everything packed, I’ll be going.”

“What? No. No, we’re not breaking up. Y/n, I love you. I don’t want to lose you. You’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else. You’re what’s best for me. You’re what I want. You give me everything I could ever need or want. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

A tear slips loose and runs down your cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Oscar. But I have to let you go. You’ll be miserable if you stay with me. I need you to be happy, even if it’s without me. I’ll always be there to support you for everything. I just can’t be the one right next to you, with you. I won’t let you do this to yourself. Goodbye, Oscar.”

You begin to walk out the door as Oscar starts to plead, asking you to stay. 

“Y/n, please don’t go. If you need some space and time to think then I’ll give that to you. You can stay here and I’ll stay with Lando or something. We can get through this, darling.”

You kept walking out the door, towards your car. Oscar was running after you. As you began to get into the car, Oscar ran up to the window to try and convince you to stop.

“Baby, please talk to me.”

He’s crying now. Tears upon tears were streaming down his face. He was begging you.

“Baby, please. If it was something that I said or did then I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll fix everything. Just please don’t go. I need you.”

“Oscar, please let go.” you say weakly. “You have to let me go.”

“No. I won’t. I don’t want to live without you. I can’t live without you. Please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry”

And with that, you put the car in drive and made your way out of the driveway of your once shared home. You didn’t have the strength to look in the rear view mirror. You didn’t have the strength to see him. 

-=+=-

Once you got to the hotel room you had booked for the week, you dropped your bags and just started sobbing. You can’t believe you let him go. You already regret it but he does deserve better. So much better than you. He’ll find someone. You know it. 

You can wish all you want, but it won’t bring you two together. 

All you can do is repeat the same things over and over, trying to convince yourself that…

it’s for the better

it’s for the better

it’s for the

for the better

i know it’s for the better

know for it’s the better

for the better

the better.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ BABY TALK, S.W

summary. Resting in bed with sam, you propose something that might actually make him the happiest man alive.

⭑.ᐟ why did I lowkey get baby fever from writing this because I know Sam as a dad is just…. Too hot. Please interact and send requests if u have any<3

word count. 692

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

It's easy, getting lost in time when you're wrapped up with sam in bed, his head on your chest, his arms around your waist, just the sound of his light breathing and the sun breaking through the curtains, whether the sun is going up or down, you’re not exactly sure, it’s like time is stuck, the world is still.

One of Sam's hand is tracing patterns on your waist while your hands caress his hair. You're almost sweating because of how much heat radiates off of his body, but you wouldn't change a thing.

You wouldn't change the way he touches you, or the way his arms feel so strong around you, the way it makes you feel protected and safe, or even the way it makes your core grow hot at the proximity.

Sam's vulnerable, and you love that. You love that he can cry, that he doesn't have any of that toxic masculinity that his dad try to teach him when he was younger. You love how close he is to his emotions and that he knows how important it is to let them out, and to let you in.

Sam's cried in your arms before, just like you have in his. You don't talk about those moments, because even with how in touch he is with his emotions, he's still a man. He still gets embarrassed, so you know it's better not to mention it.

If he does mention it, you listen.

You listen because you love him, and because you know that he needs you to hear him. He needs to know someone in this world other than his brother understands him.

You know that Sam's not asleep, because his hand is still tracing patterns, his breath still sounds like he's at peace and like he'd rather be here with you than anywhere else right now.

'Do you ever think about kids?' You break the silence.

Sam's head perks up, his hands moving up to your arms.

'Of course I do. I thought you didn't?' He's surprised, but he doesn't show it. Something in him lights up, he hopes.

'I think I might've changed my mind.' Your hand is still in his hair, the other one on his cheek.

'What?' You're pretty sure you witness the light in his eyes come back. You hadn't seen that in awhile.

'I mean it. Think about it, we'd make pretty cute babies don't you think?'

Sam almost jumps at that. He's not resting on you anymore. His legs lay on each sides of your body, you've never seen him smile so big.

'You're actually serious?'

'Yes, baby. I think I'm ready. Our lives aren't as hectic or dangerous anymore, I just want us to be normal, you know?'

Sam doesn't answer. Or maybe he does, by kissing you. Maybe that kiss is worth a million words. Maybe this is a better answer than anything he could've given you.

He kisses you softly, then he kisses you harder.

He kisses you harder because he's never wanted you more than in this moment. Not because you just said you want kids with him, but because for the first time in his life, he's allowing himself to think about it fully. He knows he won't pressure you, that if he talks about it, you'll want to hear you. He won't be scared to mention it anymore, because now he knows you want to.

He's never wanted you this way, because now he knows that it's a new beginning. It doesn't matter how long it takes. There’s no pressure.

He's wanted to be normal his whole life, and until you came, he never thought he'd let himself lead a normal and safe life.

Now he knows he will. He knows he'll be with you, maybe with a little one, maybe a couple.

He's never been happier.

He's never felt such peace or calm.

Because now he knows he's done, for real.

He's done not being normal.

He's done hunting.

It's just you and him now.

And the future promises to be good to the both of you.

[itsnotamatterofif]

Writing some stuff about Slick not being able to sleep so have my Wemby Freight sleep headcanons lest they leave my brain again:

Slick : sleeps in mismatched pyjama sets because she keeps losing the other half, has to have the blanket curled up around her shoulders and feet lest the demons get her, so sleeps with her knees against her chest pretty much. Hates alarms but oversleeps very easily, so has four heavy duty ones on rotation because she gets freaked out when they go off and throws them at the wall. Mutters/talks in her sleep, but it’s unintelligible unless she’s having a super complex dream.

Lumber: sleeps like the dead, once he’s asleep it’s incredibly hard to wake him up, and snores like a jet engine. Although freight can sleep anywhere, he’s an extreme case, and has been known to sleep during races if they’re boring enough. Hates blankets but also doesn’t like being cold, so sleeps in thick hoodies, joggers, and fluffy socks. Also has a complex skin and hair routine that he does most nights gets very pissy if it’s interrupted, and spends most of his pay-check on hair and face products

Porter: world’s most normal sleeper award recipient, has trained himself to go to sleep and wake up at the same time every day so never needs an alarm. Pretty light sleeper since he’s used to keeping an eye on the other trucks in the fleet, has a good collection of long pyjama bottoms in various tartans because slick buys them for him for his birthday every year (she finds it funny bc he’s Scottish. It just pisses him off but they’re always soft so he’s not gonna get rid of them). Silent sleeper, impossible to tell if he’s just sleeping or resting his eyes.

Hydra: world’s most abnormal sleeper award, has specific dust resistant pyjamas that have the worst texture but the lab says he has to wear. Has a specific set up of things they need to fall asleep (eye mask, wireless headphones to play white noise, weighted blanket) and even then is a very light sleeper. Swears he sleeps better with someone else in the bed but no one in the shed can put up with their requirements for sleep to find out. Talks in his sleep, can have full conversations - sometimes them and slick end up talking to each other without realising.

[sagesturns]

Hold me - m.s

warnings: smut. pnv. soft dom!matt. slight fluff? that's all? (lower case intended)

you don’t say anything when matt steps through your bedroom door. you don’t need to.

your body’s curled in on itself, quiet and raw, the day clinging to you like a storm cloud that won’t pass. you hear him exhale gently, the door clicking shut behind him. and then, the sound of soft footsteps. he doesn’t ask what happened — just sits beside you on the edge of the bed like he already knows. like he’s felt it all through the air.

he leans over slowly, fingers brushing your temple. “hey… look at me.”

you do.

and he’s just… there. ocean-blue eyes full of concern, brows drawn together, mouth slightly parted like he doesn’t know whether to speak or kiss you. so he does both. a soft press of lips against your forehead, warm and careful. “Bad day, huh?”

you nod once. barely.

“i got you,” he whispers, climbing over you, not heavy but close — the kind of close that makes the world shrink down to just you and him. he smells like cool linen and something slightly sweet, and when his hand cups your cheek, you lean into it like it’s the only solid thing in the room.

his mouth finds yours, a slow, searching kiss — soft, like he’s kissing the sadness straight out of your bones. your chest trembles beneath him, and he pulls back just enough to ask, “can i…?”

you nod again. this time, more certain.

his hands are steady as they move beneath your shirt, lifting it inch by inch. He undresses you like you’re something delicate — like fabric pulled from a wound. one sleeve, then the other, the hem brushing your arms before it’s gone. he doesn’t look away, not once, even as his gaze turns reverent.

“you’re beautiful,” he breathes. “even like this.”

when you’re bare, he doesn’t rush. just lets his palms trail along your sides, his thumbs stroking over your ribs like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your sadness. he strips next — hoodie first, then shirt, then sweats — never breaking eye contact. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until he’s leaning back in, skin to skin, warm and grounding.

his forehead rests against yours, breath shared between open mouths. he watches your face like it’s the only thing that matters.

then he kisses you again. deeper. thirsty in that quiet, aching way. and when he finally pushes in — slow, patient — your breath catches in your throat.

you gasp into the kiss, arms winding around his back as he sinks inside you. the stretch is slow, perfect. like your body’s been waiting for this exact kind of fullness — this weight, this closeness — all day.

sparks your mind whispers. every nerve ending alive. the way he fills you, so deep, so present — it’s electric. like your whole body lights up around him.

matt groans softly against your lips, not from pleasure, but from how good you feel. how right you feel. “jesus,” he murmurs, nose brushing yours. “you feel like everything.”

he doesn’t move fast. he doesn’t need to. his hips roll into you with a rhythm that’s slow and devastating, like each thrust is a promise: i’m here. i see you. i’m not going anywhere.

you whimper softly, the sound breaking in your throat as he reaches a spot that steals the breath from your lungs. he shushes you gently, one hand cradling your head, the other splayed across your waist to hold you still.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “let me take care of you. Just let it go.”

you claw gently at his back, needing something to ground you — and it’s all him. The heat of his skin. The sound of his breath. The tremble in his voice as he keeps whispering, “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

and when you come, it’s not loud. it’s not wild.

it’s soft — a broken whimper, quiet and overwhelmed, as your body pulses around him. your thighs tighten, arms holding him tighter, and he’s right there with you, burying his face in your neck, murmuring, “that’s it, you're okay, I'm here” he coos into your ear like reassuring you this isn't some dream.

he comes not long after, but you can feel it — this wasn’t about him.

every touch, every word, every thrust — it was all for you.

and in the quiet after, he doesn’t move. just stays inside you, holding you close, like if he lets go, the world might break all over again.

after, he kisses every part of you he can reach—shoulder, cheek, collarbone, knuckles—like he’s saying thank you in a language made only for the two of you.

“so proud of you,” he whispers between kisses, arms wrapped around your back like he’s scared you’ll vanish. “so good. always so good.”

you bury your face in his chest, still trembling, and he just strokes your hair, heart beating wild against your ear.

you’ve never felt more wrecked. or more wanted.

a/n: sigh #needthat, anyways back after almost a whole month...

🏷️: @sweetshuga . @strnilolover . @sturnmeovr . @marrykisskilled

©sagesturns

[annie-creates]

The greatest mistake | Part 4

Pairing: Dain Aetos x Riorson reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 2022

Note: The finale is here! Settle in for some teeth-rotting fluff. Please be aware not every detail might be completely true to the canon source material. Thank you to everyone who was reading my little series and let me know what you think!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It took a week for you to be able to take the bandage completely off your face and see fully again. You were excused from challenges for the time being, but that also meant you weren’t able to train. Furthermore you avoided Dain anywhere you went, because your heart was torn between the need to run away in protection of yourself and falling back into his arms because you still loved him, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t. The only bright side was that Xaden had finally overcome his wounded pride and started slowly talking to you again, even though you didn’t make it easy for him either.

But he got off quite well in comparison to Dain, because you really loved and wanted your brother. It helped that he kept sincerely apologizing for all the hurtful things he said and assuring you that your father loved you and still would love you and be proud of you very much. Your dragon kept pestering him with annoyed remarks, but Xaden took it like a champion realizing his mistakes. The one thing you weren’t brave enough to talk to him about was your strained relationship with Dain though, you knew what kind of opinion he had about him and you weren’t suicidal enough to bring it up.

In reality you were scared to face Dain. In all your relationship he has never seen you so raw and vulnerable, with your faults and weaknesses facing out. You were scared to talk about the things he’d seen and you knew he’d ask if he had the chance. So you didn’t give it to him. But you also couldn’t stay away. You silently watched him across the dining hall, followed his steps on the mat in challenges. It’s like you were connected by an invisible thread, always guiding you back to him.

After a week of not being able to train and spending too much time in the library studying as a result, you miss the sunshine and you miss the thrill of a good soaring challenge. So you couldn’t be happier when you’re finally cleared for fighting again, your eye fully healed and leaving only a light pink scar that will hopefully go away in a few days. You walk into the gym and see Dain giving training orders to his squad, so that’s where you go after he sends them off. It was time to stop dancing around each other.

“Hey, you’ve got a minute?” You ask him with a carefree smile, gathering all your courage.

“Sure, what for?” He returns your smile, a little surprised.

“I need to breach in my training and I’ve actually never fought with you before.” You ask him to the mat.

“Are you sure you’re ready for it?” He knew better than to question you, but he still tried. “You were hurt just a week ago, nobody will mind if you have a few more days off.”

“Absolutely sure.” You dismiss his concerns, there was no convincing you otherwise when you had already decided on something. “Wait till I kick your ass.”

You rile him up, walking to the nearest mat, not wasting any more time before getting into position. The fight is actually quite good, Dain quicky realizing there’s no point holding back with you. Where you were lacking in power you compensated in stamina and speed, catching him unprepared here or there. You both succeeded getting each other on your knees or back a few times, Dain currently holding you down pinned with his legs.

“You are a menace.” Dain laughs breathlessly.

“Thank you. I try.” You laugh back, your breaths mingling.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Xaden’s gruffy voice rings out, cutting your banter short.

Dain helps you up then and you watch Xaden stepping in, followed by his squad of empty-headed ducklings. You feel Dain go rigid next to you, arms folding over his chest just like your own. Maybe your relationship was complicated right now, but you still won’t let Xaden put him down, and as it seems, Dain won’t let Xaden talk down to you either.

“What does it look like?” Dain challenges, stepping in front of you a little.

“Like you’re trying to beat my little sister up.” Xaden spits angrily.

“We’re just training.” You step between them, trying to calm them both down.

“Oh, then you chose a great opponent to do that with.” Xaden pesters you, switching his sight to Dain. “Some protector, are you?”

“Hey. It’s not like you’re training with her.” Dain doesn’t back down. “It’s not like you’re protecting her.”

“Who I train with is none of your business.” You argue with Xaden. “And if I remember correctly you said I’m not your sister anymore, so why do you care.”

“You have no business fraternizing with him.” You clearly struck a painful nerve as he finally looks at you.

“Who I fraternize with is none of your damn business.” You turn on your heel grabbing Dain’s hand and marching out of the gym as if to prove your point.

“Like hell it is. I’m not gonna let you…” Xaden yells at you but your lungs are stronger.

“Let me!? You have no grounds letting me do anything.” You remind him, he was still on thin ice.

“You’re gonna do as I say!” He orders furiously, desperate for control.

“Watch me.” You challenge as you grab Dain by his collar and pull him down into a show off kiss, just to spite your brother. “Let’s go.”

You grab his hand once more, almost running out of the gym, not wanting to see Xaden’s surely pissed reaction. Dain doesn’t argue, he may be self-confident, but he knows he’d be no match to Xaden in the state of rage he is in. Both of you are taken back by the sudden kiss you didn’t plan for, but you don’t speak and only hold hands in a shared silent understanding of urgency until you reach your room. The air is still as he sits on the edge of your bed, you lean on the rim of your desk.

For a moment, nobody speaks, he’s just looking around your room. The scattered homework. The nearly full bottle of solution you got for your scars that makes his lips quirk up in a faint smile. And you’re studying him like as if you look intensely enough, you’ll be able to read him like an open book just like Xaden does, to see if he’s really remorseful and honest with you. But you can’t read people, so you’ll have to trust him. Can you do that?

“I’m sorry… about the kiss. I didn’t really plan on that.” You break the silence timidly.

“Don’t be. I… I missed you so damn much.” He admits, afraid to meet your eyes. “I am so sorry for what I did Y/n.”

With a heavy sigh you sit on your bed facing him, no longer able to avoid the conversation. This is it. You’ll have to confront his actions and your feelings and that made you so fuckin nervous. Your muscles were so tense they could snap, and you absentmindedly pick your switchblade out of your pocket to play with it in your lap.

“I’m sorry Y/n, I should have never let you go. I’m an idiot, and I’ll never forget that.” He shakes his head, watching your skilled fingers. “I just hope one day you can forgive me. I don’t want to be the reason for a single scar more on your body.”

“It’s not only that Dain.” You admit heavily. “You picked your father over me, you dropped me the minute he didn’t approve of me, and I… I understand. Really. I’m not a great girlfriend. I’m marked. A daughter of the rebellion, of the great betrayer. But it still hurt damn much.”

“That’s not what you are.” He answers rapidly, holding your gaze this time with so much intent it almost breaks you. “I’m so sorry that’s what I made you feel like. Because that’s not at all who you are to me. You’re not a traitor, you’re not unworthy or flawy. I can’t believe I was such an idiot to let you believe that.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… complicated.” You sigh. “Well at least you’ve had a better conversation with me than my brother did.”

“What’s the deal with him?” Dain asks. “I mean, other than normally being a dick.”

“Well, he disowned me after I went with you to the reunification day. Said I’m a disgrace to my family and my father would be disappointed in me.” You admit ashamedly after a little laugh. “And even though he keeps apologizing, I can’t help but wonder if he was right, at least a little.”

“Do you think he would be ashamed?” he asks carefully.

“How would I know. He’s dead.” You avoid his gaze now. “It’s not like I can ask him for opinions or advice, or if I’m a good enough daughter to him.”

“Y/n, I’m sure your father would be proud of you.” Dain holds your chin to make you look at him. “Look at you, you’re strong, and clever, agile, and you bonded an amazing dragon. I think he couldn’t ask for his daughter to turn out more perfectly.”

“How would you know, you didn’t know him.” You say with a watery laugh.

“Maybe I didn’t need to know him. I know you. And I know you’re pretty fuckin perfect.” He looks at you so intensely it makes your stomach dance.

“I’m not perfect.” You sigh.

“You are to me.” Dain exclaims, still holding you. “And I’ll spent every day of my stupid miserable life proving that to you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You blush.

“Yes, I do. And it still won’t be enough. Because what I did was inexcusable, and still here I am, begging for your forgiveness on things that shouldn’t be forgiven. But I’ll be damned if I don’t spend every day apologizing and telling you how much I love you.” His words hold heaviness and vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “I was an idiot. I tried to dump my own insecurities on you, because it was easier than facing the truth.”

“You’re not…” But he doesn’t let you interrupt him.

“The truth is, I don’t care about a single damn person in this world but you. You’re my only concern Y/n. And if you ask, I’ll let the world burn for you.” His eyes are filled with urgency for you to believe his words, because they’re the truth.

“Dain…” You whisper, eyes boring into his.

After a minute of his revelation seeping into every fiber of your body, you kiss him. Slowly, your lips gliding against his, bathing in the raw emotions and desire for each other. For a moment, the world around you doesn’t exist, it’s only him and you. He holds your waist, guiding you to sit in his lap so he can be as close to you as humanly possible. He’d never wish to spend another minute separated from you.

“I’ll be damned if I waste another minute not being right next to you.” Dain breaths out.

“Wait…” You whisper before you get too lost in his smell and his smile and everything that’s so unmistakably him. “About the scars…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” He assures you, seeing as you don’t really know what to say. “Your scars are your own. You can share them when you’re ready. And if that day never comes, that’s okay too. But know that I’ll be happy to help you carry any weight I can. You’re not alone.”

“Thank you.” You whisper before curling into him, embraced by his strong arms.

Maybe your life will never be easy, but you felt it could be a tad bit more light-weighted if you had Dain by your side, sharing your burdens and fortune. And he would do anything to stand right next to you. Even if he’d take his last breath protecting you, it would be worth living his life.

Tags: @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @bellblake @lagrandeourse

[evecolourshock]

Beck with glasses is Such A Mood omg, I love him ♡♡♡

Fic under the cut :)

If someone had asked Beck five cycles ago if he'd ever need any sort of aid seeing or hearing, he would have laughed at the asker before making a terrible excuse and slipping away to steal or blow something up under Tron's instructions.

Unfortunately, Beck of five cycles ago was a lot more naive and had far fewer concussions. Beck of now can't see a damn thing without his glasses, and has trouble hearing pretty much anything.

His helmet did not have adequate protection, even after Tron upgraded it. Mechanic visors shield against bright lights, not combat or concussive blasts.

His hearing aids are small and unobtrusive, mostly hidden by his hair - necessity, not a preference. Mechanics shouldn't need hearing aids when they're as young as Beck, at least according to general consensus, and he doesn't want anyone asking questions. Plus they're near-impossible to disrupt, so he doesn't have to worry too much about unexpectedly not being able to hear.

The glasses... are more of an issue. Granted, his visor now has the visual correction built in so he doesn't have any more near-misses, and he can kind of get away with wearing them at work by claiming eyestrain (true enough, anyway)...

But if his visor or glasses get damaged? Beck can't see a damn thing. This is a problem for the Renegade, who regularly gets into fights and the opponents tend to aim for the visor. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were doing it because they know he's practically blind without it.

Tron has been trying to arrange distractions and missions so Beck doesn't have to get into more fights, which is nice, but it's rare things go according to plan. And they now understand each other when it comes to terrible vision and the fear it evokes when being approached by someone they can't see.

Beck does not regret biting Zed, when Zed stole his glasses and then tried to surprise him. Zed should be thankful he didn't react by punching, and Beck's willing to demonstrate if he needs to defend his position.

Beck pushes his glasses back onto his nose unconsciously, snickering to himself. Someone is going to be in for a very bad milli once he gets past these defences-

"Mara, he's doing it again!" Zed wails. Beck sorely considers turning off his ears. Granted, his friends didn't have anywhere else to go after Pavel insinuated they'd outlived their usefulness and would be going to the Rectifiers, but he doesn't like that they're in the Spire and getting involved in everything Beck's worked hard on.

He's not jealous. He could understand and handle jealousy, because that would imply their meddling is productive. Alas, it is not, so he's just frustrated.

Tron steps into the room, and everything silences. Beck's shoulders relax noticeably. "Any issues?" He rumbles out, awkward but trying to be personable. It's a huge step up from how he was when Beck met him, and Beck's so proud he's starting to try again.

Beck stretches, feeling his framework realign. "Out of the usual, no. Just got the last bit of this script to compile, and I should be able to access their main command hub and high-sec databases." He flashes a smile at Tron, perking up when the Monitor does a head-tilt smile back. "Energy and sleep after, promise."

"Good." Tron praises quietly. "What are you looking for, once you get in?"

"How rectifying works. Because if I know that, maybe I can figure out how to reverse it." Beck shrugs. "It'd be nice to have more allies with combat experience. And a failsafe." It's mostly true - that's his main focus, especially now he's fully aware he has a major vulnerability someone could exploit if they got a good enough hit in. But it's not his only focus - he also wants to find out what exactly Dyson did to Tron. He knows he's going to hate it, and he'll probably be more onboard the Murder Dyson train unless he finds a compelling reason not to, but...

Tron's not getting better, even after the interrupted rectification stopped him derezzing.

Granted, he's not getting any worse either, but... Beck's worried. His eyes might not work right any more, but that doesn't mean he can't see a major concern. And it's compounded because Tron's of the opinion that for him "not derezzing" means "functioning fine", which is definitely not the case.

Tron hums at him, pleased. Beck bats at Tron's shoulder gently. "And when was the last time you slept, huh?"

"You know I don't need-"

"Yes you do." Beck scolds. "You need just as much sleep as I do, so don't even with that."

"Says the beta that doesn't sleep." Tron teases.

"Doesn't sleep enough, you mean." Beck rolls his eyes, chuckling. "You think I like looking like a raccoon?"

"And here I thought that was the new style." Tron deadpans. Beck howls with laughter - circuits flickering with mirth, so Tron knows for certain Beck thinks his sarcasm is funny.

A choked-off squeak has them both looking over, but Mara and a faint-looking Zed wave them off. "Just realised how alike you two are." Mara hurries to explain, and Beck shrugs.

"There's several reasons for that." Tron rests his elbow on Beck's head, leaning on him and flattening his spikes in every direction - prompting another strange sound from Mara when Beck just lets him do that - and doesn't elaborate. Beck hums agreement, focusing on his script, well used to Tron being both reticent and an absolute gremlin.

Mischief, thy name is Tron. And therefore also Beck, because he'll follow Tron into the abyss without his glasses and with minimal hesitation. He may, however, gripe the whole way.

Beck's script finishes compiling, and dings at him cheerily within a few nanos.

"We're in?" Tron asks quietly, watching the screen start filling with information.

"We're in." Beck confirms. "Clu just triggered it. Full access to everything."

Tron's smile grows teeth. "Excellent."

Beck grabs Tron by the wrist, staying gentle with a hold they both know Tron can break without trying. "Sleep." He stresses, thaking his glasses off and leaving them by the darkened screen, before Tron can get involved in anything. "Let it finish infiltrating. Then we can ransack their files."

Tron grumbles at him, but backs off. Beck still holds his wrist, tugging him off towards the nearest fuzzy pile of blankets. Tron makes a show of protesting, but lets him. He could get free if he wanted to, and it's telling that he doesn't.

Tron's warm, when Beck bullies him into lying down and flops on top of him - the only guaranteed way to make Tron stay still long enough to sleep. Tron's arms are strong, wrapped around him in a hug. Tron's core is sure, steady, and soothing to Beck's barely-functioning ears.

He might not be able to see well any more, but Beck wouldn't change a thing.

I'm too bored so I drew Beck with glasses. Thank you for your attention.

[mangyraccooon]

Dragon doing that ptsd thing where he sleeps with one eye open because a portion of his brain is always alert, no matter what.

Sharing a bed with someone he trusts is the only way he’s been able to combat it. Nothing else works.

Dragon is a chronically light sleeper, woken by the sound of a pin drop.

Sleep is scarce and fitful, honestly the first thing Iva did after being busted out of prison was tackle dragon onto the nearest soft surface so both of them could get well deserved shut eye.

There’s a photo, Garp has. Tucked in the farthest part of his dresser in a house on foosha. The photo is something he rarely looks at, too painful.

It depicts a much younger Dragon with the tiniest newborn curled on his chest. Both fast asleep.

Garp doesn’t know who took it, he doesn’t even care (that much.) it was handed over to him with Luffy.

“No trace.” Dragon had said, his voice broken.

Garp hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t sat his son down or bothered to ask why his child had a bloody bandage around his neck or when his eyes got so desperate.

No Garp had done what he does best, he had gotten angry. He had screamed and threw punches that his son took without a word.

He had stood over his bleeding child in the pouring rain.

“If I ever see you with Luffy, no if I ever even catch a trace of you anywhere near this island. I will put you in impel down myself.”

What he meant was

Give up, please, give up and I will protect you both. I beg of you do not deprive your son of his parent. Stop fighting, the world won’t change to your will, just try to live a happy life within the laws.

Don’t make me lose you as well.

It was almost 20 years before Garp saw his son again.

“He doesn’t want you in his life.” He said, feeling the prickle of electricity at his neck. Knowing exactly who was filing the office with ozone. “It doesn’t matter who knows, Luffy doesn’t see you as an ally let alone a parent. ”

It’s cruel, unbelievably so. But Garp needs to say it, needs to hammer his point home.

You gave him up, you don’t get to change your mind

“Good.”

That catches Garp off guard, not just the change to Dragons voice but the resolution of his tone.

He turns to look at his son, who stands tall. Swaying with the slight breeze from the window yet steady as a rock.

“Luffy.” Dragon pauses, coughs slightly then continues. “Luffy is and always will be, better off without me. He- he doesn’t need me.”

His voice is wrong, like his throat is covered in gravel and glass chips. Deep and raspy coming out in short bursts.

You’re wrong, Garp wants to scream. You’re wrong. Luffy needed you when he was small and couldn’t find his words, Luffy needed you when the big kids called him stupid and gullible. Luffy needed you like you needed me, but you would’ve had the words to explain. Where I failed.

“A child will always need a parent, you are a coward for wanting to think otherwise.”

For a moment time seems to freeze, thunder rumbles and Garp can practically taste the storm on his tongue. He braces himself for the anger, to be called a hypocrite.

After all it was his doing that Dragon never saw Luffy.

Fuck he wants Dragon to be angry, to get upset, to show something.

Rain starts to fall outside.

“I made my choice.” Dragons voice is but a whisper. “I regret it most days but I made it nonetheless.”

His eyes are burning, red tracing around his pupil. “I had hoped you had learned your lesson when you chained me to that post. I had thought you wouldn’t-

You just stood there again, waiting for someone else to step in, save the day. When you had the power to stop it from happening in the first place!”

The low flickering light, cast shadows. Making the red ink over Dragons eye deepen, revealing the scar beneath.

Sheets of rain continued to fall, pounding against the roof.

“Dragon..”

“Congratulations on your retirement. I hope you enjoy the time with whatever family you have left.”

Then he was gone, leaving Garp in the half packed office.

[willoryn]

Lucifer knows how to greet you in the morning~

Luciferxfem!reader smut below the cut

Top Lucifer, intercourse (reader receiving), dirty talk <3

Imagine, being woken up by Lucifer peppering your cheek and neck with kisses. He was spooning you from behind all night, holding you so tight as you slept. His kisses are so sweet and light as butterfly wings against your face.

Then you wiggle back against him and feel something hard poking the back of your thigh... that's when you realize Lucifer wasn't wearing anything.

"Good morning, my dove~" he says, his voice low and a bit raspy. "I thought about you all night..."

A gasp escapes you when he slips his hard cock between your soft thighs and starts sliding himself against you. All the blood in your body immediately catching fire and pooling to your center, awakening a burning desire that you needed to be satisfied.

"Luci," You whine, moving against him to match his strokes. "Please~"

He chuckles low behind you, making you shiver.

"Needy, darling? Let me help you."

In a swift motion he pulls away from you and turns you over. He moves to settle between your legs, lifting one of them and throwing it over his shoulder. Lucifer knows exactly what you want. He wastes no time sliding his cock into your waiting entrance. You throw your head back against the pillow as his size stretches your walls.

"Fuck, you're so wet." Lucifer growls, a toothy smile spreads across his face. "Were you dreaming of me, angel?"

You are breathless as he starts pounding into you. All you can do is grab desperately at the sheets beneath you.

"Were you dreaming of this, my love? Me buried deep inside you... you positively desperate for me to fill you? I wonder what other dirty fantasies you were having right next to me." Lucifer nipped at your leg, urging out even more whines from you.

"Oh, fuck... I'm already getting close, sweetheart... do you want me to fill you? Will you take all of my cum like a good girl~?"

"Lucifer.. ahn! O-Oh, god-"

You moved your legs to wrap around his waist, locking your ankles behind him to bring him in as deep as possible. Lucifer groaned, his hips moving on their own at this point. The way your pussy clenched around him made his head spin. He knew he wasn't long for this world...

You nodded furiously and arched your back, moving your hips up to meet his thrusts and take as much of him in as you could. You were nearing your own nirvana as he relentlessly pounded into a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves inside you.

"Please, Luci," you utter out between gasps. "Fill me, baby... please!"

Lucifer bites his lip and quickens his pace, crashing his lips down against yours as your own orgasm finally shook you. Your tongues and your moans mingled together as he found his own euphoria, spilling his seed inside you. Filling you to capacity.

"Good girl~! F-Fuck, so good..." He moans, milking out the rest of himself inside you that he can. You whimper at the overstimulation, but his movements soon slow to a stop and you are both left panting and sweaty on the silken sheets.

Lucifer gathers you into his arms and returns to doing what he did when he first woke you. Placing fleeting little kisses all over your skin...

You sigh happily and let your eyes flutter closed. You could probably fall back asleep after that. But you knew it was probably time for the two of you to get up, shower, and start the day. However, when you went to move away, Lucifer refused to let you go.

"Just a little longer..." He said softly, looking at you with a half-lidded look of contentment. You would feel cruel moving him.

You smiled and nestled back down with him. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was anywhere else you'd rather be right now.

You could get used to waking up like this every morning.

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `make it stop, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you're both grieving, but sam needs you more than ever. word count: 1197 pairing: sam winchester x reader now playing;｡･:*♫♪ make it stop (septembers children) - rise against

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The bunker is eerily quiet.

Too quiet. In fact, it’s almost like you can hear him sometimes. Metallica playing through his record player, his snarky, sarcastic comments followed by his heartiful laugh.

A month has passed since Dean’s death. You’re not taking it well, and hell, neither is Sam. You see him maybe once a day if you’re lucky. Sam barely leaves his room, tangled earphones plugged into his phone, dark circles molded to his pretty face. It breaks your heart knowing that he’s suffering so much — and there’s barely anything you can do.

Family don’t end in blood. That’s what Dean would tell you when he wanted to prove that your bond means more than what’s on the outside. You know he took it from Bobby, but it’s a hell of a good precept.

You loved that man like a brother. His courage and pride were contagious, unwavering. Without him, you feel lost.

Completely and utterly lost.

Sam’s bedroom door is open ajar, he’s laid across his bed in a white t-shirt, grey joggers and dark navy blue socks. His hair is wild and long. It’s probably the longest he’s had in a long time. Sam is glued to his phone, with earphones plugged in, as usual. Whilst you’re at the door, you knock gently, and he looks up for a mere second, before backing down at his phone. “Can I talk to you?” You ask him, padding over to his bed. You sit gently by his thighs.

“Sure.”

He is still staring at his phone, and you gingerly move his phone out of his way. “I don’t think we should sit at home and sulk,” you attempt to pick your words carefully, “how about we get out of town for a little while? The bunker isn’t going anywhere.” You chuckle lightly, and Sam looks at you, almost completely deadpan. Your lips purse slightly at his response.

“I know you’re hurting right now, Sammy, but Dean wouldn’t want you to. He would want you to celebrate his life, continue the family business, right? Saving people, hunting things.”

“I can’t do that right now when I can barely save myself.” He mutters, his glazed hazel eyes meet yours, whispers of anguish begin to show through the colour of his iris, his once bright eyes now dull.

“Sam…” You tut, noticing tears form and well across his waterline, threatening to spill. “C’mere,” you pull him into a hug, and his vast arms wrap latch around you as you tenderly stroke his hair.

-

It’s been a couple of hours, and you have a couple of bags packed. You assisted Sam in packing his bags, too, as he’s taking this much harder than you originally thought. You called a couple of air b&b’s and rental homes and found one a state over, a good 5 hour drive away. At this rate, you’re just happy attempting to help Sam, help him feel better.

Sam lifts the bags into the Impala, luggage covering the back seat completely. You’re only away for a couple of weeks, but it feels like you’re moving out.

You offered to drive there, allowing Sam some time to rest. He finds solace in the Impala. Many, many years of driving around the country with his brother surely brings him the comfort he’s been needing.

It still slightly smells of him. A musk of expensive cologne has sunken into the leather seats, one that you’ve come to know and love throughout the years. You know he’s there with you in spirit, probably complaining that you’re driving Baby and not him.

When you arrive, you take a little bit of time unpacking, placing your things in your designated bedrooms and folding your clothes and placing them in the drawers. Although you’re there for two weeks, you feel the need to make it like it’s your home. A fresh start with no memory of your old life at the bunker.

The sun begins to set, a purple and pink sunset graces the horizon with light orange clouds. The trees create a silhouette outside of the window, creating the perfect picture. You yawn, exhaustion finally catching up to you. Rubbing your eyes, you exit your bedroom and prepare to get ready for bed. You use your usual skincare, brush your teeth and pad over to your room, shutting your door behind you. It’s early, but you know sleeping now will refresh you completely for the morning.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

There’s a knock at your door. A light one that shocks you awake. Back at the bunker, you never have anyone knock at your door. You’ve come prepared, though. Just in case.

Stepping over to your door, you open it quietly, only to reveal Sam on the other side.

“What’s up?” You yawn, squinting your eyes slightly. “I can’t sleep.” He mutters, his voice low and gruff. Sam’s clearly been in and out of sleep, his hair tousled and he has a habit of keeping his eyes mostly shut when he’s tired. You grin at him, widening your door. “Do you want company?” You ask, and he nods. Stepping to the side, you let him in.

He crawls into your bed, and you follow suit. Surprisingly, he’s not brought his earphones or his phone with him. You can’t help but feel awful for the guy. He’s lost every family member and everyone he’s ever loved. They’re gone.

Except for you.

As you’re sitting up, he’s beginning to get comfy. He lies on his back, then turns over to his side, facing away from you. The silence between you both is comfortable, peaceful. But there’s something lingering in the air. You turn to face him, tapping him tenderly on his upper arm.

“Sam,” you begin, and he hums.

“Yeah?”

It takes you a second to collect your thoughts, knowing that saying the wrong thing can set him off. You keep your hand placed on his bicep, attempting to keep that connection and ensure he’s listening.

“I know you feel like you have to carry all this shit alone. But you don’t. Like moving forward is the only way to make the pain stop. You don’t have to. It’s okay to grieve and feel sorry and all of the above. It’s normal, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but you can hear the shaky breath he exhales.

“I miss and love him so much too,” you continue, your voice quieter, softer. “There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about him. I know nothing I can say will fix anything, but I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallow as his body stiffens. Sam remains quiet, his hand settling over yours. Sam’s hesitant, unsure that if he lets go, he’ll lose you too. Nothing in the world right now will bring as much solace than the comfort of one another.

“We’ve lost such a huge part of our lives… but we still have each other. And that’s something.”

Sam lies there, absorbing your words like a sponge. He responds with a small hum in agreement. He squeezes your hand tiredly, so you know he’s got you too.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 25: Flirtation, Formation, and Flaming Teapots

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: There are three things one should never underestimate at Aubrey Hall: a Bridgerton in competition, a scandal brewing before breakfast, and a teapot set ablaze in the name of ceremony. Today promised all three. Flirtations would be sharpened into strategy. Formations would disguise vendettas. And beneath it all, the faint scent of lemon custard and impending chaos would linger like perfume on war paint. Let the games begin.

Aubrey Hall – Morning Courtyard

The sun was indecently bright.

Which felt like an attack, honestly.

You stepped out onto the stone path just outside the main courtyard and blinked against the light — only for it to catch the gleam of a nearby golden waistcoat.

Lucien.

Already standing with Simon and Hyacinth, sleeves rolled up, one eyebrow raised like he was born to deliver threats wrapped in silk.

You hadn’t even reached the gravel before he turned his head, sensing you.

“Angel,” he called lazily, “tell the Duke he is wrong.”

You blinked. “About?”

Simon raised a brow. “I said it’s not possible to lose with Hyacinth on our team.”

Hyacinth tilted her head. “That sounds like a compliment.”

Lucien looked bored. “It’s not. It’s a declaration of war.”

You smiled, just a little. “If you’re already arguing, I fear for your team cohesion.”

Hyacinth grinned at you. “You say that now. Wait until we start playing dirty.”

Lucien’s gaze lingered a beat longer than necessary — as if taking stock of your mood, your stance, your distance.

Then he stepped forward and brushed an invisible thread from your sleeve, his voice dipping low enough for only you to hear.

“You slept well?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Well enough.”

A pause.

His fingers barely grazed your wrist. “Are we alright?” he asked, like the question had lived in him all night.

You met his gaze. Steady. Real.

“We are good,” you said softly. “I just needed a moment yesterday. But you… you never make me feel small. I promise.”

His jaw relaxed just slightly.

Simon, standing just a few feet away, was looking anywhere but at you two. “I’m going to take a walk,” he announced. “Possibly to the other side of the estate.”

Hyacinth called after him, “Pick me some sabotage flowers!”

Lucien chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, but your hand lingered on his sleeve just a second longer than necessary.

Then—

A door opened behind you.

Anthony stepped out.

He wasn’t looking at you. Not yet. He was mid-conversation with Benedict, who was carrying a large scroll of paper and muttering something about the emotional implications of scoreboard font.

But he felt you.

That much was obvious.

Because his step slowed.

Because he didn’t laugh at Benedict’s joke.

Because his eyes — when they finally did lift — went straight to the two of you.

You. Lucien. Standing far too close in the light of morning.

Lucien saw it too.

But he didn’t pull away.

He simply leaned closer, whispered something that made you smile, and then stepped back — smooth, easy, like nothing had just passed between you.

Benedict saw it.

Kate, emerging from the house behind them, definitely saw it.

And Anthony?

Anthony clenched his jaw, muttered something to Benedict, and walked straight past you without a word.

But the tremor beneath the surface?

Unmistakable.

Aubrey Hall Grounds – Late Morning

The lawn behind the west wing had been unofficially commandeered as the pre-games war room.

From the upper terrace, it looked like a strange little festival — four tight clusters of people, circled like plots of land about to be claimed.

Team One: The Trinity of Chaos

(You, Benedict, Eloise)

You had claimed a shaded patch near the rose arbor, your skirts tucked under as you leaned over a pilfered scrap of parchment, eyes locked on Benedict’s scribbled diagram.

“Okay,” you murmured, tapping the paper, “we know Anthony plays to win. Kate hates losing. And Lucien plays like he’s flirting with destruction. So what do we do?”

Eloise sipped her tea — she brought tea to a strategy meeting, of course — and muttered, “We weaponize unpredictability.”

Benedict, sketching a caricature of Simon and Lucien with villain capes, added, “I suggest subverting expectations and targeting Team Doom’s weak point.”

You tilted your head. “Which is?”

He grinned. “Ego.”

Eloise raised her teacup in solemn salute. “To theatrical sabotage and verbal carnage.”

You exchanged glances, and a plan began to take shape — part brilliance, part nonsense, entirely yours.

Team Two: The Honorable Disaster Trio

(Anthony, Kate, Edwina)

Tucked near the hedge maze, the air around them was…tense.

Kate had her arms folded, pacing like a general inspecting troops.

“We play smart. Controlled. No surprises,” she said sharply. “No need for theatrics. We just win.”

Anthony was nodding, overly focused, as if trying to will last night out of existence through strategic excellence.

“I agree,” he said. “Lucien is dangerous. But he overextends. He shows off.”

Edwina smiled, hands clasped sweetly. “I think it’ll be fun! I’m good at croquet.”

Kate and Anthony shared a glance.

“...There might not be croquet,” Kate offered delicately.

Edwina blinked. “But it’s the Bridgertons. It’s tradition.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Not this year.”

Kate added, “Gregory and Hyacinth are involved.”

Edwina paled slightly.

Anthony looked across the lawn to where you were laughing with Benedict. His voice dropped.

“And they’ll be targeting us. We’re the team to beat.”

Kate narrowed her eyes, following his gaze. “Yes,” she said quietly. “We are.”

Team Three: The Flirt, the Duke, and the Goblin

(Lucien, Simon, Hyacinth)

They’d staked out the bench under the biggest oak tree — Lucien lounging like he’d ordered the sun to hit his jawline just so, Simon calmly peeling an orange, and Hyacinth vibrating with uncontainable joy.

“I have an idea,” Hyacinth said breathlessly. “We pretend to be awful in the first round. Lull them into smugness. Then annihilate them.”

Lucien nodded thoughtfully. “A classic long con. I approve.”

Simon raised a brow. “You just want an excuse to monologue mid-round.”

Lucien smirked. “If we’re going to crush their spirits, we might as well do it with flair.”

Hyacinth beamed. “Exactly!”

Simon popped a slice of orange in his mouth. “We’ll win. But more importantly… we’ll rattle them.”

Lucien’s gaze drifted lazily toward you across the lawn.

“She already knows I’m dangerous,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let’s remind the rest.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “I should’ve partnered with Lady Danbury.”

Team Four: The Secret Weapons of Mayhem

(Colin, Gregory, Daphne)

Camped out near the fountain, this group looked… deceptively innocent.

Daphne was adjusting her gloves.

Gregory was building a small pyramid of stones.

Colin was squinting suspiciously at the other groups.

“I’m just saying,” he whispered, “we’re the wild cards. Everyone thinks we’re the leftovers.”

Gregory shrugged. “I am a leftover.”

Daphne smiled sweetly. “No, darling. We’re the trapdoor. They don’t see us coming until they fall.”

Colin nodded. “We hit them when they least expect it. During a monologue. Or while Anthony is making a speech.”

Gregory added, “Or when Lucien’s flirting.”

Colin grinned. “Exactly. That’s our window.”

Daphne, eyes scanning the field, murmured, “Let them underestimate us. We’ll use it.”

Across the Lawn…

The judges — Lady Danbury, Violet, and Lady Mary — stood by the garden gate, robes flowing and arms crossed. Their expressions were unreadable.

Lady Danbury leaned toward Violet. “Your children are feral.”

Violet smiled fondly. “They’re creative.”

Mary looked at her notes. “Do they know what the events are yet?”

Lady Danbury’s smile was sharp. “No.”

And across the field, the players were ready.

Friendships braced.

Rivalries sharpened.

Tension crackled like a storm in the grass.

The lawn had been transformed.

A stretch of green had been roped off with velvet cords stolen from the music room. Benches lined the edges like seats at a royal execution. A hastily crafted podium stood near the marble fountain—clearly one of Benedict’s old art tables, now draped with a lace tablecloth and flanked by two stern-looking garden gnomes.

And gathered before it…

Every guest. Every Bridgerton. Every rival. Every romantic entanglement with a hair-trigger temper.

Let the chaos commence.

The Judges Take Their Places

Lady Violet stood tall and radiant, the picture of serene grace—until Gregory knocked into her robe while skipping toward the makeshift torch.

Lady Danbury, as always, looked like she was preparing to sentence half the lawn to social exile. Her cane gleamed in the sunlight. Her eyes did, too.

Lady Mary was the calm in the storm, arms folded neatly, amused but composed as she watched her daughters eye their competitors like military scouts.

Behind them: the Torch.

A wrought-iron garden stake wrapped in ribbons, topped with a brass teapot spout, and—God help them—somehow smoking.

Gregory hovered nearby with a match. His grin was entirely too wide.

Eloise’s Opening Speech

Violet stepped forward, lifting a hand for silence.

“My dears,” she began, her voice carrying with practiced ease, “welcome to the first-ever Bridgerton Olympics. In honor of your... collective energy, the traditional Pall Mall match has been expanded. Team-based. Unpredictable. And, I am told, inspired by ‘the need for flair.’” She gave Hyacinth and Gregory a long, meaningful glance.

Lady Danbury stepped beside her. “You will compete. You will scheme. You will most certainly embarrass yourselves. And at the end of the day… one team will win.” She paused. “And everyone else will be mocked.”

Polite applause.

Lady Mary nodded, “In the spirit of good sportsmanship and very bad ideas, we now invite Miss Eloise Bridgerton to give the official opening address.”

Eloise climbed the podium with a dramatic sigh and cleared her throat.

“My fellow inmates,” she began, “and the unfortunate judges watching this circus unfold, I stand before you not as a competitor, but as a survivor of familial nonsense.”

Hyacinth cheered.

“You will be pitted against friends, lovers, siblings, and sworn enemies. Some of you may weep. Some of you may scheme. And some of you,” she looked at Anthony, “may lose your mind entirely.”

Anthony folded his arms.

Lucien grinned.

Edwina blinked.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

“This is not just sport,” Eloise declared, arms flung wide. “This is warfare. But with lemonade breaks.”

Gregory clapped so hard he dropped the match.

“And now,” Eloise concluded, stepping down with flair, “light the torch and let chaos reign.”

The Torch Lighting Ceremony

Gregory pounced on the match like it was a relic of destiny.

The crowd parted.

He struck it dramatically. It fizzled.

“Wait, wait,” he muttered. “I’ve got another—”

The second match sparked. He leaned close to the ridiculous construction.

For a beat—nothing.

Then the entire top of the makeshift torch flared up in a burst of smoke and sparks, shooting a puff of glitter into the air.

Colin leapt back. “Dear God, he weaponized a teapot!”

Lady Danbury didn’t flinch. “At least he’s passionate.”

Lucien leaned in toward Simon. “Are we sure this isn’t actually an assassination plot?”

Simon smirked. “Too theatrical. Not enough poison.”

Gregory stood beneath the flaming torch with arms wide. “LET THE GAMES BEGIN!”

Hyacinth whooped.

The crowd applauded.

The chaos was official.

Across the lawn, your eyes met Lucien’s—his brows raised in mock solemnity, but his smile said bring it on.

You smiled back, the tension from last night slipping just slightly under the sun.

On the other side of the field, Anthony was already rolling up his sleeves.

Kate cracked her knuckles.

Daphne whispered something to Colin that made him gasp and yell “That is NOT within the rules!”

Lady Violet stepped forward once more.

“The judges will now retire for tea. The first event begins shortly. You’ll be called when it’s time to embarrass yourselves. Good luck.”

She turned, regal and efficient, robes swaying behind her as she swept toward the garden terrace.

Lady Danbury paused, looked over her shoulder at the gathered competitors, and smiled slowly.

“I expect drama,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

And with that—

The field was set.

The crowd dispersed.

And the Bridgerton Olympics… were officially underway.

Still on the field, just before the first event

Now, the teams lingered in loose circles, pretending not to size one another up like wolves in waistcoats and ribboned bonnets. Silence should have descended, perhaps—something civilized. But this was a Bridgerton-hosted event.

Which meant chaos came first.

It started innocently enough. A dry comment from Simon, directed at Team Anthony.

“You do realize,” he said, eyes glinting beneath the brim of his hat, “that chivalry doesn’t count as a sport?”

Anthony turned slowly, Edwina and Kate flanking him like matching caution signs. “And what exactly counts in your book, Hastings? Flirting your way through the obstacle course?”

Simon didn’t flinch. “I was rather counting on charm. That, and Hyacinth’s unparalleled ruthlessness.”

Hyacinth beamed beside him, already bouncing on her heels. “I plan to weaponize both cuteness and emotional manipulation.”

“You were born to compete,” Lucien said approvingly.

Kate crossed her arms. “Funny. I thought you two had already won something — the title of Most Likely to Cause a Scandal Before Noon.”

Lucien gave a short bow. “We do like to set the bar early.”

Your team, huddled to the side, were watching with vague amusement.

“Should we intervene?” Benedict asked lightly, sketchpad in hand, as if already illustrating the battlefield. “Or just let them exhaust each other?”

“I say let them,” Eloise muttered, arms folded. “They’re all posturing. Besides, Anthony getting bested by Simon is the kind of performance art I’ll never tire of.”

You leaned in, voice low, half a smirk on your lips. “We haven’t even started playing and everyone’s already sweating.”

“Is it intimidation?” Benedict mused. “Or just heat-induced hysteria?”

“Both,” you said, watching Lucien tip his head toward Simon with the kind of slow grin that made Anthony visibly bristle.

Across the lawn, Team Four made their entrance.

Colin tossed an apple in one hand, chewing thoughtfully. “Are we late, or just fashionably underestimated?”

Daphne smirked. “You could arrive on time and still be underestimated, dear brother.”

Gregory offered a dramatic bow. “We’re the sleeper threat. The chaos no one sees coming.”

Eloise shouted across the lawn, “No one’s sleeping on Gregory. He once tried to bribe a judge with jam tarts.”

Hyacinth clapped her hands. “I liked those tarts. That was strategy.”

Lucien leaned toward Simon. “I like how we’re being discussed as though we’re not standing right here.”

“Let them talk,” Simon said, adjusting his cuffs. “It’ll make their defeat feel personal.”

Anthony rolled his shoulders back. “You say that with a lot of confidence, Hastings. But I have Edwina and Kate. Intelligence and precision.”

Kate arched a brow. “Did you just call me precise?”

Anthony blinked. “It was meant as a compliment.”

“Mm,” Kate said, unconvinced. “Let’s see if you still say that when I beat you.”

“Again,” Eloise cut in, “teammates, not opponents. Do try to hold your alliances together for at least the first event.”

Lucien looked over at you then, all quiet confidence and veiled flirtation.

You raised an eyebrow. “Say what you’re thinking.”

“I was just admiring your poker face,” he said. “So calm. So composed. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when you lose.”

You stepped closer, smiling too sweetly. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Benedict raised a hand between you like a referee separating prizefighters. “Let’s keep the flirting below a simmer until after the opening bell.”

“And what will you be doing during these events, brother?” Colin called out. “Sketching us into your war diary?”

Benedict shrugged. “Depends who bleeds first.”

Lucien leaned in toward Simon. “Is this what war looked like in your dueling days?”

“Wittier,” Simon murmured. “Better dressed.”

Gregory cleared his throat dramatically. “If I may offer a serious suggestion—”

“You may not,” said three people at once.

Gregory continued undeterred. “We should all remember that this is meant to be a spirited, team-building, family-oriented event.”

“Spoken like someone who has something dangerous planned,” muttered Anthony.

“And I,” said Hyacinth brightly, “volunteered the term ‘Olympics.’ Do you think I did that for unity?”

Silence.

Then, faintly, Lady Danbury’s cane tapped once against the wooden floor of the judging platform.

Lady Mary tilted her head toward Violet. “Should we be worried?”

“Almost certainly,” Violet said with a sigh.

Down on the grass, Lucien looked toward the three judges and grinned. “They’ll enjoy this more than they admit.”

You bumped shoulders with Benedict, voice light. “Ready?”

He glanced toward the battlefield. “Born ready.”

Eloise cracked her knuckles. “Let the games begin.”

And just like that — they turned toward the first event.

Smirks in place. Alliances set.

The teasing may have ended.

But the real war?

Was about to begin.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach