#what's insane about THIS is that it feels like you were about to try to explain to me i do ship them

[andhumanslovedstories]

Something I've been thinking about in regards to the difficulty of writing about my job in the healthcare profession is that there's very different conversations happening at the same time. The first is that this is a job that gives us a lot of power over vulnerable people that is easy to abuse and easier to be passive about. The second is that people will never not bitch about their jobs.

What if a customer service job was high-stakes? That's nursing. It's not the only part of nursing, but cmon, anyone who has worked a public-facing job knows how some people can be. Hospitals are full of people having the worst days of their lives while also being tired, hungry, lonely, and bored.

Plus, it's not just the general population you're dealing with. Hospitals have a disproportionate amount of very difficult people. To draw some examples from my own direct experience: the dementia patient had become too violent to stay at home (unfortunately common), infected chronic wound guy who is so racist that his facility will not take him back, confused patient who screams unceasingly 24 hours a day until she passes out, sexually inappropriate guy who needs two caregivers at all time, another racist patient but this time they're also sexist, banned from multiple shelters for assaulting the staff, etc. Or what might be the most common: person who is too sick to go home alone but no one they know will agree to take care of them. Like, have any of you cut off horrible relatives or abusive partners? People who were in whatever way unacceptable to be around? Would you like to take care of them? And you KNOW they're also not doing any of the stuff that would help them heal so it seems like they will never leave.

I think the gap between healthcare as a Duty versus as a Job contributes to hostile conversations. When you're complaining about your Job ("that moment when you let a call light ring for a while in the hopes someone else answers this time because that patient is annoying as hell"), it's frustrating to get a response that solely looks at the situation through the lens of a Duty ("all patients deserve the same level of care and shouldn’t be ignored.") And it's also frustrating to have these legitimate criticisms ignored or disputed because people are like "it's not that serious, calm down, let nurses vent." And it’s also frustrating to feel so intensely monitored in your free time because of your job. And it’s also frustrating to see people in their free time display qualities that seem like they would have big, negative impacts on their job.

Thinking on this topic, I keep coming back to this one memory. There was a time when I responded to a Code Blue (cardiac arrest, guy’s heart has fully stopped) and was the fifteenth or so person to arrive. The room's full of critical care nurses, I'm not the direct care nurse, the rest of the floor is quiet. So basically, I'm useless to the emergency situation. I ran into a coworker who also responded to the code. I hadn't seen her in a minute, so we caught up. She showed me the new stickers on her water bottle. I don’t remember the exact sticker, but I believe it was a nacho-based pun. It was a pleasant chat.

Meanwhile during this entire conversation, within eyesight of where we are because we’re waiting around to see if we’re needed, people are trying to bring a patient back from the dead. What was happening in that room is life-or-death--to the patient. For me, it was an interlude during a forgettable shift. I only remember that code because the discrepancy between what I was experiencing and what the patient was experiencing was so stark. I don't even remember if the patient survived or not.

None of the patient’s family was there. If they had been, we would have removed ourselves further or not talked so casually. Probably. But if the spouse was there, it would be so insanely insensitive if we tried to include the patient's spouse in our chat about fun stickers. If me and that nurse had been casually in a different hallway chatting, it would be very abrupt for the patient's spouse to walk into our conversation and explain how the patient's death would be so hard on the kids. One of these examples is way more sympathetic and understandable than the other. And I want that spouse to feel comfortable coming up to me and discussing that! That’s part of my job! But also, you can get why that would be a distressing interruption to a moment of downtime.

In both cases, the people in the conversation couldn't be further apart in tone and investment. Neither of us are being bad people. We just should not be talking to each other. And the nature of the Internet and public posting is sometimes talking about my job feels like it's me, my coworker, the spouse, and the revived but severely affected patient in single group chat.

[timbitshockey]

i’ve been thinking a lot about that article that interviewed these rich white 19-20 year old kids who voted for trump and how so many of them said they did it because they were tired of being told what they couldn’t say and wanted to be able to make offensive jokes again. the world we live in is so individualistic and devalues empathy to such an insane degree.

so it’s like, do i think every player who went to the white house is a trump supporter who voted for him? no, probably not. but the league is, by a vast majority, full of rich white men who likely grew up in rich white communities in a sport that devalues empathy and places so much weight on tradition. so they don’t care. going to meet the president is part of the experience of winning the stanley cup and they want the full traditional experience and they don’t care about the current political climate or what being photographed smiling and thanking trump for his time is going to look or feel like to the people who are actually effected the most by what he’s done and what he’s threatening to do. they don’t care. they want to do the fun thing they earned for playing hockey good. it’s just depressing.

and like to be clear this isn’t a way of removing agency from these guys. lots of people grew up in environments like them and managed to break free of those ingrained messages and care about other people. most of these guys just don’t want to. they don’t want to think about politics beyond whether they’ll get fired for saying slurs and if they have to wear rainbow jerseys one night a year. is every player who didn’t use pride tape after travis dermott did homophobic? no. they just don’t care enough.

which is i guess sort of the problem with sports fandom, and something we have to sit with whenever these situations happen. these are real people. they’re not characters on a show who have plot lines and character arcs. and people are often disappointing.

i don’t know if i’m going anywhere with this. i guess maybe i’d like to remind us all to be kind to each other. to be empathetic. we’ve all got our different lines in the sand for what makes players persona non gratas to us and trying to use that as a gotcha for fandom beef can only really come back to bite us. what am i gonna say to a matthew tkachuck fan when sidney crosby did the same thing when the pens won in 2017? id like to think the players i support would be different but realistically they probably wouldn’t. florida fans and tkachuk fans are in the spot they’re in because their team won the cup, not because the team and players are uniquely more evil or more trump-supporting than anyone else. i don’t want to gotcha anyone. we’re all out here trying to have fun in our sandboxes in a world where empathy is a weakness and people who really matter to us disappoint and hurt us, sometimes just by not caring at all.

anyway. i try not to get into real life stuff too much on here and this will likely be the last i say on the subject. love you guys & i hope the world is kinder to us all soon

[l1tw1ck]

Sponsored by Stark

Dom!Bottom!Tony x Sub!Top!Masc Virgin Reader

☆ Word Count: 1,358 ☆

AFAB Language Used | Event Request

CW: Dubious Consent, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Semi-Public Sex,

After retiring from hero work, Tony opened up an academy to teach hopeful heroes, tech lovers, and future entrepreneurs. The academy teaches students starting from age 14 and above. It's a combination of high school and college. There are a lot of campuses all over New York. You finished high school in Midtown High and applied to join the academy. Tony loved your application so much that he awarded you with a special scholarship. It’s only granted to one person every four years. After your first meeting with him, he offered to buy you dinner. You didn't think it was strange. Why would it be?

You look up at Tony with an anxiety filled and hesitantly lustful gaze. He came onto you during dinner and you were afraid you’d lose your scholarship if you denied him. You were also afraid you'd seriously regret giving up the chance to fuck him. So now you're staring at his pussy as he grinds down on your clothed cock. His t-dick is poking out of his bush of hair and the sight makes you worry you’ll come too early.

“Don't worry about getting a job anymore. I’ll pay for everything you need.” He rolls his head back. “Gonna get you a credit card..use it whenever.”

You feel more like a prostitute than a scholarship student.

“Fuck…ever been with an older guy before?” He asks. You can't deny that he looks so fucking sexy like this. The way he's rubbing his pussy on your boner is definitely helping you forget why you were nervous in the first place. Your underwear is drenched with his slick. It's undeniably hot.

“Never…with anyone.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out. “Good. I’ll take the lead.” He stops and leans into your neck, sloppily kissing it and as he removes your boxers. He moves away from your face and leans his body closer to your cock. He points at the part of his stomach where the tip of your cock is. “That's how deep you’ll be inside me.”

He grips your shoulders and hovers over your cock. You gulp. He sinks himself down onto your length, a confident smirk plastered on his face.

“I haven’t done it in so long–” He moans as you completely fill him up, his back arched. He rolls his hips and strokes his t-dick. Seeing a guy like him use you like a toy is too hot for your own good. You never knew you were into this kind of thing. You could probably come just like this. You’ll try not to though, it wouldn't turn out well if you got him pregnant. “You want me to move, baby?”

“I…I wanna see you come first.”

“If that's what you want.” He strokes himself harder. Your heart is racing. You can feel it as he reaches his peak. His cunt is giving you nice, wet hugs. He rolls his head back, his pussy seizing its movements for a moment before resuming. He squirts, his slick covering your face. You lick your lips. You’ve been able to stop yourself from coming this whole time but you're not sure how much longer you’ll last.

He grinds down on you and moves his hand away from his sensitive cock. After a while, he eventually starts riding you. You don't think you’ll be able to last.

“Wa- wait- wait—” You panic. “I’m- I think–”

“It's okay, sweetheart.” He keeps bouncing. “I can't get pregnant.”

You would let out a long sigh of relief if it weren't for your sudden orgasm. You bite down on your lip as he keeps going despite that. It feels good and insanely overwhelming. You can't believe you just came inside Tony fucking Stark. “‘s too- too much-” You moan.

“I’m not satisfied yet. You’ll let Daddy keep bouncing on your cock, won't you, baby?”

You nod. “Ye- yes-”

“Good boy~” He lets out a satisfied sigh. “Letting Daddy use you like a cute little toy.” He loves the way your body is reacting. You're so inexperienced and sensitive, he knows he’ll have a lot of fun with you. He’s glad he changed careers. You stare at your cum spilling out with each thrust. It's so erotic you feel like you're gonna pass out.

Tony notices the subject of your gaze. “You like that? How your cum drips out of my pussy? Hm?” He grins. “Wanna keep filling me up, baby?”

You nod rapidly. “Yes- yes, Daddy-”

His body stutters as he comes again. He stops, his walls flexing around your cock again. Tony leans into your ear. “You know what a mating press is?” He asks.

You shudder. “Ye- yeah-” You grab his waist and manage to flip yourselves over. Sweat drips down your forehead as you grab Tony’s thighs. You move him into position and just looking at him like this makes you come again. Your cock starts to soften. “Sorry-”

“‘S okay, baby. It's cute.” He laughs. “We can keep working on your endurance another time.”

You walk into Tony’s office, wearing an outfit he bought for you. As he stands up, you notice his belt is unbuckled and his pants are unzipped. He leans against the wall and you instantly make your way over to him.

“I’ve been waiting for you all day.” His hands slither onto your shoulders, his soft lips graze your ear. “I couldn’t stop touching myself. I had to cancel my meeting this afternoon.”

Your breath hitches.

“Are you gonna help me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah-” You watch him pull away from you and remove his pants and underwear. He shows the damp spot in his white boxers to you. You're already hard. He motions for you to kneel, making you feel like a dog. You look at his pussy eagerly, excited to see it up close. You already know what he wants you to do.

You wrap your lips around his t-cock and suck it.

“Yes~ like that, baby-” He shivers. You slip two fingers inside him, one at a time, and try your best to finger him properly. Your mouth on his cock is more than enough to distract him from your noob-ness. He doesn't seem to care about the amount of noise he's making either. Given his personality, you don't feel any anxiety over it. No one would dare enter his office when they hear him. “Fuck, right there~!” His hip thrusts involuntarily. You managed to find his g-spot. You do your best to pleasure him with it and by the sound of his voice and the clenching you feel around your fingers, you know you're doing a good job.

“Yes– yes—!” He squirts. This time you get to really taste him. You slowly move your head back, a line of spit connecting you to his cock, then lap your tongue all over his pussy. Tony twitches with pleasure.

You stop, then look at him like a puppy awaiting orders. He curls his index and middle finger, signifying that he wants you to stand up. He quickly frees your boner from your pants. “I still have one more meeting today.” He takes your wrists and has you hold onto his waist. He mouths ‘hold me’ so you pick him up. “But since you come so fast, I’ll let you fuck me.”

You press your forehead onto his shoulder. “Thank you-” You breathe out, sinking into his cunt. “You- you feel so good, Daddy-” He's sopping wet.

Tony wraps his arms around you as you sloppily thrust inside him. Your desperation turns him on so much.

“Can I- fuck- can I come inside?”

“Mhm~” He hums. “‘M gonna keep it inside. Walk around with your cum in me.”

You shudder, your cock shooting ropes of cum inside him. His laugh is breathless and lustful. “You're too cute.” He smiles as you bring him to his desk, laying him in a way to prevent your cum from spilling out as well as you can. You grab his boxers and slip them onto him.

You watch as he stands up and fixes himself up to look presentable. “I’ll see you tonight.” He winks, leaving the room.

[pinkyqily]

IT'S OKAY, WE'RE OKAY, WE ARE DEFINITELY NOT OKAY JUJU WATKINS x READER

Summary: After the losing game against Iowa, you and juju get into a nasty argument that leads to your teammates separating the both of you.

Warning: Angst Angst Angst, swearing, throwing shit around, bad juju and reader

Authors note: The match was something, so that is why we get angst for times like this, anyways happy reading feedback and requests are always appreciated 💕.

Tension within the team was high no one said a word as everyone entered inside the bus. All you wanted to do was sit down next to your girl and comfort each other, but that was a no brainer as she passed by and ignored you.

Her ignoring you kinda hurt but you weren't gonna push past it. You tried sending her texts only for her to swipe them each time, you saw her groan turning off her phone.

A pit was forming down your stomach but you ignored the feeling like a fool.

You knew the type of player juju was when things don't go the way they were supposed to. Right now with the loss she was definitely beating herself up over it. no one likes to lose, especially to a team that wears the ugliest shade of yellow.

Arriving at the hotel felt like you were about to step into a battle zone. Once again you tried getting juju's attention by grabbing her hands, but all she did was yank her hands away from yours like you were some insects coming to disturb her.

You tried one last time by tapping her shoulder until she finally snapped at you, raising her voice, something that she's never does always trying her best to be calm with you.

"Bro what the fuck do you want can you not get the hint that maybe I do not want to deal with your shit tonight". You heard her say which was shocking. Because she never had an outburst likes this not even infront of your teammates or others, so her doing this just made you feel like an attention seeker which made you embarrassed.

"First off, watch how you're talking to me because I do not curse at you whatsoever and all I was trying to do was comfort my teammate who thinks the whole world is on her shoulders when the team has a few bad games but it fuck me right?." You said to her.

a few of your teammates who hadn't head upstairs came to where you and juju trying to calm things down, but that only made things escalate.

"Wow this coming from the player that left the 3 pointer line all wide fucking open and probably cost us the game". The moments those words came out of juju mouth she insanely regretted them but it was to late because you already heard them.

"I'm so sorry that not everyone can be there own fucking Judea watkins that's oh so prefect". You threw back at her tears clearly streaming down your face

It was too late for juju to say anything as kiki and Ray came separating the both of you.

The looks from your coaches were equally heartbreaking because no one wants to witness their best players tearing each other to threads.

A wave of guilt filled juju as everything she said to you hit her like a brick stone she was obviously in her head and wasn't thinking at all but the damage was already done. She made you cry and hurt you're feelings what type of girlfriend and teammate was she?. Was all she wondered now.

You we're already walking off with kiki.

She tried saying something but was cut off by one of the coaches who told her not to.

"It not worth it juju just head back upstairs, we'll be having a serious talking about both of your behaviors ray please help juju up to her room". she heard coach say, heading back the other way with ray, head facing down has she pulled her hoodie strings ashamed of how she acted.

What she didn't see was the way you turned around, hoping for her to say something at all it could've been anything but she didn't.

Only leaving both of you to sleep with heavy hearts having a thin wall separating you once more, you guys were definitely not okay and no one was okay.

[nhlclover]

PUSHING IT DOWN AND PRAYING QUINN HUGHES

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: ever since quinn's confession, the magnetic pull of your ex has lingered in both dreams and waking moments, forcing you to confront emotions you believed were long buried.

warnings: 18+, (not insanely descriptive but) p in v, oral (fem!receiving), cheating (in your head and in person!), kind of toxic behaviour from both you and quinn

wc: 3.54k

notes: based on 'pushing it down and praying' by lizzy mcalpine. technically a part two to my fic last christmas but not necessary to read before this one! this is my first time writing something that actually veers into smut and i kind of liked it 🤫🤭

Quinn was haunting you.

Ever since the holiday party, when he told you he missed you, his presence has plagued your thoughts. You had hoped at first that it was just the encounter that had your mind tangled up in him again. A fluke. An inconvenient memory dredged up by too much wine and the way the Christmas lights had cast a golden glow around his face, making him look as heartbreakingly beautiful as he always had.

But it wasn’t just a one-off. He lingered everywhere. Seeped into everything.

He was in photos your friends reposted on Instagram, him celebrating as he racked up points in what was set to be another Norris-deserving season. You walk down the street and he’s staring down at you from a billboard. Someone at work mentions his name in passing, and you have to grip your coffee cup just a little bit tighter.

Even in the most intimate, protected moments, he’s there.

You’re with Caleb, naked and tangled up in his sheets. His hands and lips take turns tracing patterns down your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back against the pillow, and then suddenly, Quinn is there, hovering in the space between your thoughts, intruding like he always does. It’s his hands gripping down on your thighs, it’s his breath that’s hot over your core. It’s his black locks that your fingers thread through, his tongue that pulls you close to completion.

It’s his name that nearly slips past your lips instead of Calebs.

The second you realize, your entire body goes cold with horror. You feel sick. You feel like you’ve betrayed something, even if you’re not sure what.

It should stop there. It should be enough to shake you, to jar you back into the reality of what you have — what you chose. But it doesn’t.

Quinn lingers.

Like a ghost with a vengeance, he refuses to be exorcized from your mind. You try everything to rid yourself of him, desperate to cleanse him from your system like a sickness. You delete his number from your phone. You block him on Instagram. You unfollow the team’s page, stop watching their games, turn off the TV when his name is mentioned. But it doesn’t matter. You still see him in flashes, in the shadows of your everyday life, in the places you least expect him.

You tell yourself that Caleb is enough. He’s stable, he’s kind. He looks at you like you’re his whole world. And yet, no matter how much you try to convince yourself, you can feel the guilt creeping in, poisoning what should be simple, should be easy. Because Caleb doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve a half-present version of you, someone who is always a breath away from slipping into a memory, a ghost of a love that still has its claws in you.

And you do love Caleb. That’s what makes this worse. You love him, but Quinn is in your blood, tangled in your bones. No matter how many times you try to wring him out of you, he stays.

You don’t mean to let him in, but Quinn is relentless. Even when you spend the rest of the night curled in on yourself, forcing your mind onto anything but him, he lingers in the edges of your consciousness, slipping in through the cracks you swore you sealed long ago.

You fall asleep telling yourself you won’t think about him. But the harder you try to push him away, the faster he finds you.

And then suddenly, he’s everywhere.

His hands, broad and warm, map your body, claiming you like he never lost the right. His mouth, hot and sure, drags across your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, your throat, lower. His voice, low and wrecked with want, says your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

It feels real. Devastatingly real.

You arch into him, gasping when his fingers dig into your hips, when his body presses you deeper into the mattress. His hips drill into you, overwhelming pleasure wreaking your body. You’re close, so close, his hands adding to the pleasure until finally—

You wake up in a sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs, sheets tangled around your legs like they’re trying to hold you down, keep you from moving, from running from the truth that’s finally caught up to you.

The dream was so vivid it may as well have been real. It wasn’t just a memory, wasn’t just another unwelcome reminder of Quinn’s existence — it was something else entirely. Something new. Something that felt so raw, so visceral, so devastatingly consuming that you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the weight of his name thick on your tongue. You swear you can still taste him, still hear the low rasp of his voice murmuring against your ear, still feel the way he held you, worshiped you, and took you apart like he had every right to.

And you wanted it. God, you wanted it so badly.

The realization sits heavy in your stomach like a lead weight, nausea curling at the edges of your consciousness. It’s not just some intrusive thought, not just a fleeting moment of weakness. It’s something deeper, something more dangerous. It’s the kind of desire that threatens to upend everything you’ve built, the kind that makes you question every choice you’ve made since Quinn walked out of your life.

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to block it all out, trying to push the images away. Caleb is sleeping beside you, blissfully unaware, his breathing slow and steady. He’s good. He’s steady. He’s the kind of love that doesn’t set you on fire, but keeps you warm.

But warmth has never been enough to stop you from craving the burn.

You sit up, legs swinging over the side of the bed, toes curling against the cold wood floor as you try to shake the dream from your mind, but it clings to you like a second skin. You know then, in that moment, that something has to give. Something has to change.

You can’t keep pretending that Quinn isn’t still under your skin, still a part of you. You can’t keep pretending that this is sustainable, that you can shove him into the darkest corners of your mind and expect him to stay there. Because he won’t. He never has.

You take a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the sheets. There are only two choices now. You either find a way to finally, truly exorcize him from your life for good — or you give in to the pull that’s been dragging you back to him since the moment he told you he missed you.

The clock on your side table reads a quarter past midnight. You know Quinn’s habits. You know how they used to contradict yours, the way his mind would keep him up until the early hours of the morning. He’s probably up. He’s probably thinking hockey. Thinking about how he can change, how he can improve, how he can lead better. You wonder if maybe his mind slips from hockey. Maybe it slips to you?

So you do something reckless. Something you swore you wouldn’t do.

You get up. You grab your vest and your keys, not bothering to change into proper clothing. You ignore the tightness in your chest as you slip out of Caleb’s apartment, moving through the cold, empty parking garage like a ghost yourself, drawn by something you don’t understand but can’t resist. Your internal autopilot takes you down a familiar route, your heart pounding with every turn you take.

You don’t know what you’re expecting as you approach Quinn’s building, but you hope it’s still the same one. Hope that, for all the ways things have changed, this one thing remains the same. Because if it doesn’t — if you get to his door and find a stranger behind it, or worse, nothing at all — you don’t know what you’ll do.

But when you step inside the familiar lobby, heart hammering against your ribs, your breath leaves you in a rush. It’s the same. The same floors, the same dim lighting, the same quiet hum of the elevator as you press the button for his floor. Your stomach twists as you watch the numbers climb, each one bringing you closer to something you might not be able to take back.

By the time you’re standing in front of his door, your entire body is buzzing with nervous energy, hands clenched into fists at your sides. The reality of what you’re doing crashes into you all at once, but it’s too late to turn back now. You’re here. You’ve already made your choice.

You raise your hand, knocking twice, sharp and decisive.

Seconds pass. Then more. And just as doubt begins to creep in — just as you think maybe, mercifully, he’s not home — the lock clicks. The door swings open, and there he is.

Quinn.

His hair is tousled, dark strands falling over his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it all night. He’s in a hoodie and sweats, and for a brief, excruciating second, you imagine how he must look underneath — imagine the way his body must still move, still feel.

His eyes widen when he sees you, surprise flickering across his face before something else settles there — something heavier, unreadable. His brow furrows as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the obvious signs that you’d been asleep before rushing over. The floral sleep shorts, the hoodie far too thin for the cold, the puffer vest thrown on in haste. The messy, low braid, the fuzzy slippers, the oversized glasses that Quinn always thought were too big for your face — but you looked so damn cute in them.

“What are you doing here?” Quinn's voice is rough, like he hasn’t spoken in hours, maybe even like he’s just woken up, though you know that not to be the case. Or maybe it’s just the weight of the moment settling between you, thick and heavy like fog rolling in over the water.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Now that you’re standing here, now that you’ve actually done this, the words don’t come as easily as they did in your head. But you didn’t come all this way to back down now.

“I—” you falter, inhaling sharply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I needed to talk to you.”

Quinn studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he steps back, pulling the door open wider. The second you cross the threshold, it’s like stepping back in time. His apartment smells the same — clean, but lived in, a mix of laundry detergent and something inherently him. The familiarity sends a pang straight through your chest. You shouldn’t still remember these details. You shouldn’t still care. But you do.

He closes the door behind you, and when you turn to face him, the air between you feels thick, charged. His arms are crossed, his stance guarded, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

“So?” His voice is quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounds like resignation. “What did you need to talk about?”

Your fingers tighten into fists at your sides. You remind yourself why you’re here. Why you needed to see him.

“You shouldn’t have said it.” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

Quinn’s jaw tenses. “Said what?”

“You know what.”

Silence stretches between you, taut and unyielding. He knows. You know he knows. And yet, he just watches you, waiting.

You exhale harshly, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. “At the party. You shouldn’t have told me you missed me.”

Quinn’s throat bobs as he swallows. His arms drop to his sides. “Why not?”

“Because it messed with my head,” you admit, voice cracking slightly. “Because I was fine. I was moving on.”

He scoffs softly, shaking his head. “Were you?”

“I was,” you insist, even though your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. The words sound brittle, as fragile as glass. “I was happy, Quinn. I was growing. Moving forward. And then you—” You break off, shaking your head as the emotions rise, thick and suffocating in your throat. “Then you showed up and dragged me right back to where I was before. Heartbroken over you.”

Quinn flinches, but it’s fleeting. He schools his features into something colder, unreadable. You almost wish he wouldn’t. You almost want him to hurt the way you’ve been hurting.

“I’m with Caleb now,” you say, the name a tether, an anchor you cling to. “And he’s—he’s incredible, Quinn. Everything a girl would ever hope for in a boyfriend.”

Quinn’s eyes darken, but you barrel on, desperate to get the words out before they choke you. “He’s thoughtful. He listens. He shows up. God, he’s everything you weren’t.”

The silence that follows is deafening. For a second, you wonder if you’ve gone too far, if the bitterness in your voice has crossed a line you’ll regret. But then Quinn speaks, and his words slice through you like a blade.

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that he’s enough for you.”

The audacity of it — the sheer nerve — snaps something inside you.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. Quinn doesn’t back down. His gaze is steady, unflinching, and it infuriates you.

“I mean, God! You’re haunting me, Quinn! Like some goddamn ghost with a vengeance.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered. “Ever since that stupid party, you’ve been everywhere. In my head, in my dreams, even when I’m with Caleb—”

You stop yourself, but it’s too late. The truth hangs in the air between you, heavy and damning.

Quinn’s brow knits together, eyes sharp with something knowing. “Even when you’re with Caleb?” he repeats, voice low.

You hate him for that. Hate the way he can see right through you, the way he always has.

“Forget it… You know you’re so goddamn infuriating the way you think you can just walk back into my life and tell me something like that!” you say, your volume raising with every word. You knew it was late and Quinns’ neighbors would probably have some choice words for him in the morning, but right now you couldn’t care less about his reputation as a tenant.

Something flickers in his gaze, something guilty, something hesitant. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, don’t,” you snap. “Don’t fucking say you didn’t mean to. You knew what you were doing.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” You shake your head, laughter bubbling up again, but it’s hollow, bitter. “That’s all you have to say? No genuine apology, no explanation, nothing. Just… sorry. Sorry for what, Quinn? Sorry for being a coward, sorry for being a fucking asshole?”

Your voice cracks as you continue, the weight of your emotions finally breaking through the thin veneer of anger you've clung to. Tears blur your vision, hot and relentless, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Sorry for letting me fall in love with you and then walking away like it was nothing? Sorry for showing up at that party and throwing my entire goddamn life into chaos? Sorry for being in my head all the time, in my bed, in my fucking heart?” Your voice falters, raw and ragged. “Or are you just sorry because I showed up here and ruined your night?”

Quinn takes a step closer, his face tight with emotion, but you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“You ruined me, Quinn,” you sob, the admission wrenching free from your chest. “And I hate you for it. I hate that I can’t forget you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, you’re still here.” You press a shaking hand to your chest, where your heart feels like it’s splintering apart. “I should be over this. I should be happy. I am happy. Caleb is good. He loves me—”

Your voice breaks completely, and the tears come in earnest now, unstoppable and all-consuming. Your shoulders shake with the force of it, all the pain and confusion and longing spilling out in a way you’ve never let yourself feel before.

Through your sobs, you manage to choke out one final, devastating truth: “But I still love you, and I hate myself for it.”

The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the room, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thick, oppressive silence that follows.

And then Quinn moves.

He crosses the distance between you in two long strides, his hands coming up to gently but firmly grip your shoulders. You try to pull away, ashamed of your outburst, but he doesn’t let you. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace that’s as familiar as it is shattering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “God, I’m so sorry.”

His words are a balm and a blade all at once. You press your face against his hoodie, the fabric dampening your tears, and you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back, grounding you in the midst of your chaos.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, the comfort of his presence erasing everything else. His warmth seeps into your bones, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to pull away, you stay. It's dangerous, how easy it is to fall back into this, how simple it feels to let him hold you like he used to.

“I tried to move on too,” he admits quietly, his voice low and raw. “But it’s you, it’s always been you.”

His words tear through the walls you've built, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You want to push him away, to tell him to shut up, but your body betrays you, leaning closer instead. It's infuriating, this pull he has on you, this gravitational force that drags you back no matter how far you run.

Then his lips find your temple, lingering there as if he's testing the waters, asking permission without words. You shudder against him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. His lips move down, pressing soft kisses along the apple of your cheek, until he hits the corner of your mouth. His hand tightens at your waist, and before you can think it through, his mouth is on yours.

It's everything you remember and more.

His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own. The anguish melts away, replaced by a desperate, aching need that leaves you breathless. His hands trace up your torso, holding your chest against his, and you let out a sound you can’t contain as he deepens the kiss.

It's intoxicating. Familiar and yet completely new. He tastes like everything you miss, everything you swore you didn't need but always craved.

And for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it.

But then the weight of reality slams into you.

You break away, gasping for breath, your chest heaving. Quinn's eyes are dark and dazed, his lips red and swollen, but you don’t let yourself linger on the sight. You push him back, putting space between you, your heart pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demand, your voice shaking with anger and confusion. “You can’t just— God, Quinn, you can’t just kiss me and expect everything to be okay!”

He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him. “No. Don’t. Just… don’t.”

The tears are back, blurring your vision, but you blink them away. “You don’t get to ruin me and then kiss me like it fixes everything. That’s not how this works.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with tension. Quinn looks like he wants to say something, but you don’t give him the chance. You’re already moving toward the door, your hands trembling as you reach for the handle.

“Wait,” he says, his voice desperate. “Please— don’t leave like this.”

You pause, your back to him, your shoulders stiff. “I can’t do this, Quinn. I just… I can’t.”

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back as you walk down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps echoing in your ears. Your chest feels like it’s caving in, your lungs struggling to take in air. But you keep moving, keep walking, because stopping would mean facing the truth you’re not ready to confront.

That no matter how much you hate him for complicating your life, for breaking your heart, for being the chaos in your carefully constructed world — you can’t fully hate him.

Because deep down, you still love him.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

[xobunni0]

𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃’ 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➵ ℳ𝓔𝓝𝓤

- DAY 2 💌 , friend!shadow, confession, fluff, wc-1537

Shadow loved being in control; in control over his emotions, his actions, his thoughts. but when it came to you that control crumbled completely

and that was unacceptable.

you were his friend. nothing more. nothing less. someone who had somehow wedged into his life

yet here he was, standing outside your apartment door hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders tense. the cold night air cooling against him, but he barely felt it. his pulse could be heard in his ears

he had been standing here for at least five minutes. maybe longer.

it was ridiculous. the idea of knocking on your door left him paralyzed

it was just you. his friend.

but that was the problem wasn’t it? you were just his friend. and he was just a coward who couldn’t say the words that would make you see him as anything else.

his fingers twitched toward the door then curled back into a fist. you had invited him over, for what reason? he wasn’t sure of.

it was just going to be you. him. and that terrified him.

he exhaled sharply forcing himself to knock. once. twice. a second later he heard footsteps. then the door cracked open and there you were hair slightly tousled, wearing a loose sweater that looked too soft for your own good eyes blinking up at him in confusion before softening.

“perfect, you're here to help me make cupcakes!” you said, this what you invited him over for…

cupcakes?

he stared at you, trying to piece together how that was relevant to whatever this was.. this weird, nervous feeling coiling in his chest the reason he had been standing outside your apartment debating whether to knock in the first place

with a quiet exhale, shadow followed

your kitchen was small but cozy, the counters cluttered with bags of flour, sugar, and other baking essentials. a recipe on top of the counter though you didn’t seem too concerned about following it exactly. you handed him a whisk.

“Alright you’re on mixing.”

Shadow eyed the whisk like it was a foreign object.

“I don’t bake.”

“you do tonight!” you said, dumping ingredients into the bowl. “It’s just stirring. you can handle that right?”

he scoffed but took the whisk, moving it through the batter.

the room was quiet except for the soft scrape of the whisk against the bowl. it should have been comfortable but Shadow felt restless. his mind was screaming at him to say something anything

god he couldn’t stop staring. even if we wanted to he couldn’t.

you were humming to yourself as you spooned cupcake batter into the tray, completely unaware of what was going in in his mind. the way a few loose strands of hair framed your face perfectly, the way your sweater hung a little too loosely over your frame, the slight flour that had gotten on ur temple. it was all so you. and it was driving him insane.

because all he could think about was what would happen if he just said it.

if he turned to you right now and admitted what had been clawing at his chest for months. if he just told you how you made him feel, how sometimes he just wanted to kiss you badly, how sometimes he found himself wanting to hear your voice when he was alone.

how would you react?

would you laugh? brush it off as a joke? or worse would you look at him with that soft, apologetic expression that told him you didn’t feel the same?

the thought made his stomach twist.

“You’re quiet again” you noted, glancing at him as you slid the tray into the oven. “What’s on your mind?”

you. always you.

but instead, he just shrugged leaning against the counter fingers drumming lightly against the surface. “Nothing.”

you sighed, unconvinced. “one day, you’re actually gonna tell me what’s on your mind, you know.”

he huffed, looking away. “Doubtful.”

either way, he was infuriating.

because no matter how obvious it was, no matter how many times you caught him staring when he thought you wouldn’t notice, no matter how he always found excuses to be near you he still wouldn’t say it.

and you were getting tired of waiting.

you stole a glance at him now, leaning against the counter arms crossed lost in thought. his eyes had that faraway look again, like he was lost in thought, you wanted to shake him to tell him to stop overthinking and just say it already.

but instead, you sighed and grabbed the two frosting containers. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

Shadow blinked, pulled from whatever internal debate he was having. he eyed the options then shrugged. “Chocolate.”

“you sure are slow when it comes to making decisions.” you remarked, popping open the container.

something changed in his expression just for a second. then it was gone. “I don’t make decisions without thinking them through.”

you leaned against the counter beside him, crossing your arms. “And how long does it take before you finally do something?”

Shadow tensed just slightly. maybe it was your imagination, but you swore his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for something. for you.

you held his gaze, waiting.

his jaw clenched. then, just like always he looked away.

of course he did.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you grabbed a spoon and started stirring the frosting with more force than necessary. “you are so frustrating, you know that?”

Shadow didn’t respond. but out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers curl into a fist.

you were both too stubborn to say first.

after all friends didn’t ruin things. friends didn’t make things complicated. right?

you didn’t know what possessed you to do it. maybe it was the tension that had been growing between you two for months. maybe it was frustration. maybe it was just him the way he was always so composed, so impossible to read.

for whatever the reason, before you could second-guess yourself, you swiped a dollop of chocolate frosting onto your finger and smudged it right onto Shadow’s cheek.

for a moment, he didn’t move.

he just stared at you, his red eyes wide with something unreadable.

then, slowly, he reached up, swiped a finger across his cheek and examined the frosting like he couldn’t quite believe you had actually done that.

as he turned toward the sink, you scooped up another bit of frosting and without hesitation again smeared it across the back of his neck.

you let out a startled laugh, shadow had lunged forward. before you could make it two steps, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back toward him. the sudden shift in weight threw you off balance, and you tumbled backward taking him down with you.

you landed on the kitchen floor, Shadow landing directly on top of you

for a moment, neither of you moved. the only sound in the room was the distant ticking of the oven timer, and the shallow rise and fall of your breaths

you blinked up at him.

Shadow hovered just inches above you, his hands on either side of your head, his chest pressed lightly against yours. his breath was warm against your cheek and you could feel the warmth radiating from him his entire body locked in place as if one wrong move would send him over the edge.

your own breath hitched. your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it

this was closer than you’d ever been. too close. and yet… not close enough.

Shadow’s gaze flickered to your lips.

just for a second.

you saw it. you felt it..

say it.

you didn’t know if you were pleading with him or yourself but the words were on the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill out and break whatever existed between you.

Shadow swallowed hard. his jaw clenched.

his voice was low, strained like the words had been clawing at his throat for too long.

“I like you.”

your breath caught.

“I’ve liked you for a long time” he admitted, eyes never leaving yours. “but you’re my friend. and if I said anything if I ruined what we already had I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I wasn’t willing to risk it.”

Shadow searched your face like his entire world depended on your next move. like he was waiting for rejection, for you to laugh it off or tell him this was all some mistake.

but you didn’t.

Instead, you smiled the kind of smile that made his chest tighten in ways he still didn’t fully understand.

then without hesitation, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek

Shadow froze.

he let out a slow breath, his mind still struggling to catch up. your lips had been warm against his skin, soft, real. you were real. And you weren’t pushing him away.

you actually… wanted this.

his crimson eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching for any hint of doubt. any hesitation. but there was none. only you.

day 3 out this friday!💌

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[valkyriexo]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Late night thoughts 006☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

note: Requested fluff<3

The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the city. The moment you step inside, the first thing you do is sigh, heels kicked off haphazardly as you set the gleaming trophies on the entryway table. The weight of the night is still settling on your shoulders—so many awards, so many people congratulating you, and yet... deep down, a small voice whispers that maybe you don’t deserve it.

What if people were just being nice? What if they expect more from you now—more than you can give?

What if you disappoint them?

The thoughts claw at you, wrapping around your chest, making it hard to breathe. You stare at the gleaming trophies sitting on the entryway table, but instead of pride, all you feel is doubt.

And before you even realize it, you’re sinking into it—into the familiar spiral of not enough, not enough, never enough—

Then suddenly, warmth.

Strong arms wrap around you from behind, firm and grounding, pulling you close against a steady heartbeat.

"Nope," Chan says, voice firm but so gentle, as if he knows exactly where your mind was headed. "None of that."

You let out a soft laugh, though it wobbles at the edges. "What?"

He doesn’t let you go. Instead, he holds you tighter, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Not tonight. Not ever."

He turns you in his arms, hands cupping your face as his thumbs brush your cheeks. His eyes—warm, full—hold so much emotion it makes your breath hitch. "I know you," he murmurs. "I saw it in your face every time they called your name. Like you couldn’t believe it was real." His grip tightens, yet its still gentle. "But it is real. And you deserve every single second of it."

Your gaze drops, overwhelmed. "I just... I don’t know.."

Chan makes a sound—part disbelief, part something achingly tender—before suddenly scooping you up, ignoring your startled squeak. He carries you straight to the couch, sitting down with you cradled in his lap like it’s where you belong. His hands find yours, lacing your fingers together. "Look at me."

You do.

"Do you have any idea how insanely proud I am of you?" His voice is so full of love, so earnest, it nearly breaks you. "Like, I swear, I thought my heart was gonna explode watching you up there. You are amazing. No—" He shakes his head, eyes shining, "—you are more than just that."

You open your mouth, wanting to argue, to tell him that maybe it was all a mistake, that maybe people just had their expectations too high—but Chan doesn’t let you. He shakes his head before you can even speak, his hands warm and steady against your cheeks.

“Nope,” he says again, softer this time, his thumbs brushing against your skin. “I know that look. I know exactly what you’re about to say, and I’m not letting you.”

Your breath stutters. “But Chan, what if—”

“There is no what if.” His voice is firm, but his eyes are so gentle, so unbearably full of love that it makes your chest ache. “You didn’t just get lucky. You worked for this. I saw you.” His fingers curl slightly, like he’s trying to will his belief into you. “I saw every late night, every time you doubted yourself and kept going anyway. I saw you fight for this.”

You swallow hard, blinking up at him. “But five awards in on—”

“No buts,” he cuts in, pulling you into him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His lips press against your forehead, lingering there as he whispers, “You are incredible.” Another kiss, this time at your temple. “You are brilliant.” His arms tighten, his voice almost breaking with how much he means it. “And I am so, so, so proud of you.”

Something in you crumbles. The tension, the doubts, the weight of your own mind...it all shatters in the warmth of his love.

You clutch at his hoodie, pressing your face against his chest, and suddenly, you don’t feel so small anymore.

He just holds you, swaying the two of you slightly, his heartbeat steady against your ear. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” he murmurs. “You’d never doubt yourself again.”

You sniffle, letting yourself melt into him completely. “I love you.”

His breath catches, and then he’s laughing softly, full of something warm and endless. “I love you more.”

The trophies still sit on the table, gleaming in the soft glow of your home, but now—wrapped up in his arms, his love drowning out the voices in your head—you finally let yourself believe you earned them.

And with Chan by your side, you know you always will.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[partoffantasy]

Fool's Heart - Liam Mairi

summary: reader has always brushed off Liam’s flirting, knowing he never stays with one girl for long—but when she finally admits to herself that she wants more, she finds him with someone else. Heartbroken, she avoids him until he confronts her.

pairing: liam mairi x fem!reader warnings: angst word count: 1.8k

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

Y/N sat on her bed, staring blankly at the stone wall across from her, her mind a tangled mess of emotions. She hadn't meant for this to happen. Falling for Liam Mairi was never part of the plan. He was a flirt, a charmer, someone who never stuck with one girl for long. And yet, here she was, her chest tightening at the thought of him with someone else.

Y/N had never cared about Liam’s reputation. At least, that’s what she told herself. He was the golden boy of their squad—brilliant in battle, effortlessly charming, and infuriatingly attractive. But he was also a flirt, one who never lacked new romances. Twice a week, without fail, another girl would slip into his room, and twice a week, Y/N would bury herself under her blanket, pretending she couldn’t hear the muffled giggles or the sound of a door shutting a room away.

Earlier that day, they had been in the training yard, catching their breath after sparring. Liam leaned against the wooden post, his shirt damp with sweat, a lazy grin playing on his lips. "You know, Y/N, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you like what you see." Y/N rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Liam, I could be blindfolded and still land a hit on you. Maybe focus on your footwork instead of flirting?"

Liam let out a dramatic sigh, pushing off the post to step closer. "You wound me, truly. Here I am, offering you the privilege of my undivided attention, and you just throw it away." She smirked, shaking her head. "Undivided? You were flirting with that second-year cadet not even five minutes ago." Liam chuckled. "Jealous?" Y/N scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. "Please. I just think it’s funny that you recycle the same lines. You should at least try to be original."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I am. See, the thing is, none of them get the same treatment as you.” She felt her stomach flip at his words but masked it with an unimpressed expression. "So, what you’re saying is, I’m special?" Liam leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "Very." Y/N stared at him for a beat before shoving him again. "Go shower, Mairi. You stink." His laughter echoed as she turned on her heel and walked away, but she couldn’t shake the warmth spreading in her chest.

A knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts. "Y/N? You in there?" Violet’s voice was gentle, but firm. Y/N hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, come in." Violet stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She took one look at Y/N’s expression and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, spill." Y/N groaned, running her hands over her face. "It’s nothing." Violet snorted. "Bullshit. You've been weird around Liam for weeks. And before you say anything, I've seen the way you look at him. What’s going on?"

Y/N bit her lip, hesitating. Then, before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "I think—I know—I have feelings for him. And it’s driving me insane because he’s Liam. He’s never serious about anyone." Violet nodded slowly, as if she had already known. "What changed? You guys have always been close, but something’s different now." Y/N exhaled sharply, her mind flooding with memories. "It’s always been there, I think, but I just ignored it. I didn’t want to acknowledge it because I knew it wouldn’t matter. He flirts with everyone. But lately... lately it’s been different."

Violet crossed her arms. "How so?" Y/N let out a humorless laugh. "It’s the little things. The way he always makes sure I have my favorite seat at the table. How he somehow remembers the exact way I take my tea, even though I only drink it when I’m sick. The way he teases me, but it’s never too much. He always knows when to stop, when to be serious."

She swallowed hard before continuing. "A few weeks ago, I was freezing after drills, and he just—he just wrapped his jacket around me without saying a word. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, didn’t expect anything in return. And then there was that night after sparring when I was exhausted, and he just sat with me in the common room, letting me rant about how much I sucked. He told me I was strong, that I was getting better. He said he believed in me." Y/N let out a shaky breath. "It’s stupid. I’m being stupid. He is just a friend."

Violet shook her head. "It’s not stupid, Y/N." "It is," Y/N insisted. "Because at the end of the day, he still has a different girl in his bed every other night. And I’m just another cadet in his squad." Violet studied her best friend for a moment before sighing. "Look, I won’t pretend to know exactly what’s going on in Liam’s head, but I do know one thing—he cares about you. I see it. We all see it. And maybe, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to see it, too."

Y/N shook her head. "And what if he hasn’t? What if I go to him and he laughs in my face? Or worse, what if he doesn’t even care?" Violet grabbed Y/N’s hand, squeezing it. "You’ll never know unless you try." Y/N hesitated, her heart hammering in her chest. And then, with a deep breath, she stood. "Okay. I’m going to talk to him."

By talking to Violet, she had found the courage to do something about it. To go to him. To knock on his door and tell him that she—The sight of him stopped her cold. Liam was leaning against his doorway, shirtless, his pale skin illuminated by the flickering hallway torches. And in front of him, pressed against his chest, was a girl.

Blonde, beautiful, draped in nothing but one of his shirts. His hands rested on her waist, his head dipping close as he whispered something that made her giggle softly. Y/N’s stomach twisted violently. She should move. She should run. But her legs refused to work. All she could do was stand there, helpless, as Liam’s lips found the girl’s neck, as she curled into him, as his door clicked shut behind them. And just like that, everything shattered.

A sharp inhale burned her lungs. She pressed her fingers against the cold stone wall, willing herself to breathe, to stay upright. But it was impossible, because the truth had never been clearer. It had never been her. Not really. She had let herself believe in something that was never hers to have. That she was somehow different. That the way he looked at her meant something. That she wasn’t just another girl who could be so easily forgotten in the morning.

Gods, she was an idiot. A broken laugh escaped her lips, bitter and self-deprecating. Of course this was how it would end. Of course she would be the fool who thought Liam Mairi could be anything other than what he was. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned on her heel, her vision blurring as she walked away. She would be fine. Eventually. But tonight, she let herself grieve the fantasy she had so stupidly let herself believe in.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Y/N spent the next week and a half avoiding Liam like the plague. She skipped meals when she knew he’d be in the dining hall, trained at odd hours to avoid crossing paths, and stuck close to Violet or Rhi whenever she had to be in the same room as him. But it was impossible to avoid him forever, especially when they were in the same squad. 

Liam noticed. At first, she thought he might not. He had enough distractions—flirtations, fights, responsibilities—to keep him occupied. But by the end of the second week, it was clear he had run out of patience. His stares had become more pointed, his usual teasing remarks absent, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

That evening, as she tried to slip out of the training hall before he could catch her, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, but she forced herself to stay rigid, unreadable. “Alright,” Liam’s voice was low, rough, tinged with irritation. “What the hell is going on?” Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to face him. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers, full of confusion, frustration, and something else she couldn’t name. Her pulse pounded, her instincts screaming at her to run, but his grip on her wrist—firm, steady—held her in place.

“Nothing,” she muttered, attempting to tug her hand away. He didn’t let go. “Bullshit.” His voice sharpened, his brows drawing together. “You’ve been avoiding me for days—weeks, actually. You barely look at me, you leave the second I walk into a room, and don’t even try to deny it because I see it every damn time. You won’t even spar with me anymore. What did I do?” His voice softened just slightly at the end, the frustration laced with something dangerously close to hurt, and that nearly broke her. But she refused to let him see how much this was tearing her apart.

Y/N clenched her jaw, anger bubbling up—not at him, but at herself. Anger for feeling this way. Anger for thinking she had been special. Anger for hoping. “You didn’t do anything, Liam,” she snapped, her own voice betraying the turmoil inside her. “That’s the problem.” His brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly as he tried to piece her words together. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. “It means I’m an idiot,” she bit out, her chest tightening with every word. “It means I let myself think—just for a second—that maybe you were different with me. That maybe I actually meant something to you.” Liam’s grip on her wrist slackened slightly, his expression shifting from frustration to something raw—something she couldn’t bear to see.

“Y/N—” “I saw you,” she cut him off, her voice cracking despite her best efforts. “That night. With that girl. And I felt like a fucking idiot because I actually thought—” She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head at herself. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Liam’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. And that silence, that hesitation, was worse than anything he could have said.

Her throat burned as she swallowed against the lump forming there. “I have feelings for you, Liam,” she admitted, the words barely more than a whisper. “And I hate myself for it.” Then, before he could say anything, before he could see the tears welling in her eyes, she yanked her wrist free and turned away, walking off before the weight of her own words could crush her completely.

[lesbianherald]

so i know you're trying to process Coming Home being the top fic now but bestie are you aware that you hit 30k kudos?

ok. ok ok okok.

As a warning, I'm going to get really weird and personal here.

I got these this morning. Just like with the last one I have no idea what to do with this or how to appropriately deal with it lmao but to everyone who has been so nice - thank you. so much? this is a number so unfathomable to me that I've been trying to sit with it all day and simply cannot process it as real.

I don't want to care about numbers. I want to be super cool and chill and above that. but this is a really big one. and I think it also is really reflective of how big this community has grown. I've decided it would be odd not to acknowledge it.

This is one of the craziest, kindest, most lovely things that has ever happened to me. It feels so incredible and validating to know my work reached some people. That is quite literally all I want to do with my life. And now it feels like I might be able to with my own stuff. But its a lil deeper than that too. All the comments and support have genuinely been such an amazing balm during a really dark time in my life.

At the start, this fic was always a method of escapism for me. I've been under so much pressure in my real life. I'm in a really weird, really competitive transitional point. everything I write irl may make or break the rest of my career. It is a type of pressure I'm incredibly grateful and privileged to have, but still stressful nonetheless.

But then, as i was writing this fic, it became way more of a lifeline. Not to get too personal, and idk if people paid attention to my end notes, but if you did you'll note I fell victim to the ao3 curse last October in a really big way. I lost a dear friend of mine very suddenly.

Starting coming home was a way for me to write something just to write it, knowing that I could be myself and do whatever I want and just throw shit at the wall without worrying about anything. after my friend passed away, the escapism of it became that much more valuable. (btw I would not post about it were I not in a much better place with it so don't worry about me <3)

I feel like maybe it's important at this point to explain the meaning of all the support because I've genuinely been unable to express it in a way I find appropriate. every piece of art every sweet comment etc. etc. helped get me through this really weird, sad, shocking time. As "cringe" as it might seem... fandom and fanfic can be really meaningful, powerful, and connective.

All this being said. coming home was definitely released in the right time for this to happen. A multichapter released right before and during season 2 as well as in the months after? Like. It was primed for this a bit (not intentionally but still) So many fics that get posted now deserve the same amount of love and support.

I really hesitate with numbers. sharing them, abiding by them, gaining value from them. I also get nervous about how people will feel entitled to treat me because of them. But this is so insane it feels weird not to say a bigger thank you.

[bodythiefsblog]

"The Suit and the Spell"

Ethan had always been good at blending into the background. He wasn’t unpopular, exactly—just forgettable. The kind of guy who sat quietly in class, answered when called on, and never made waves. But beneath his unassuming exterior, Ethan harbored a secret so intense it consumed him. A secret he could never, ever share with anyone.

He was in love with Mr. Calloway. Not just any Mr. Calloway—*the* Mr. Calloway. His classmate Liam’s father. The CEO of some high-powered company, the kind of man who wore suits so impeccably tailored they looked like they’d been painted onto his body. And that body… God, that body. Ethan had never been more aware of his own heartbeat than when Mr. Calloway walked into a room, his tie slightly loosened, his voice a low rumble that made Ethan’s knees weak.

It was ridiculous. It was impossible. It was never going to happen. But Ethan couldn’t stop himself. He’d tried. He’d really tried. But every time he saw Mr. Calloway—dropping Liam off at school, picking him up, leaning against his car with that effortless confidence—Ethan felt like he was drowning. He needed to be closer. He needed to *be* him.

That’s how he found himself on the dark web at 2 a.m., scrolling through forums about spells and possession. It sounded insane, even to him, but desperation had a way of making the impossible seem plausible. He found it eventually: a spell to possess someone’s body. The instructions were vague, written in broken English, but Ethan didn’t care. He gathered the ingredients—a black candle, a lock of hair (he’d swiped one from Mr. Calloway’s coat during a school event), and a drop of his own blood. He waited until his parents were asleep, then lit the candle and began the incantation.

The room grew cold, the air thick with static. Ethan’s heart pounded as he chanted the words, his voice trembling. He could feel it working, the spell pulling him out of his body, into the void. He focused on Mr. Calloway—his sharp jawline, his broad shoulders, the way his suit pants clung to his—

And then, everything went wrong.

There was a flash of light, a sound like shattering glass, and Ethan was thrown backward. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in Mr. Calloway’s body. He wasn’t even in his own. He was… in Liam’s.

Liam. His classmate. Mr. Calloway’s *son*. Ethan stared at his reflection in the mirror, his stomach churning. Liam’s face stared back, wide-eyed and panicked. But Liam wasn’t there. Not really. Ethan could feel it—Liam’s consciousness was gone, dormant, like a computer in sleep mode. And in its place were Liam’s memories, flooding Ethan’s mind like a dam had burst.

He saw snippets of Liam’s life: childhood birthdays, family vacations, arguments with his dad. He felt Liam’s emotions—his frustrations, his insecurities, his quiet admiration for his father. It was overwhelming, invasive, and yet… fascinating. Ethan had never been close to Liam. They weren’t friends, barely even acquaintances. But now, he knew everything about him. Every secret, every thought, every memory. It was like stepping into a movie halfway through and realizing you already knew all the characters.

Ethan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He’d wanted to be Mr. Calloway, to feel what it was like to be him, to wear those suits, to command that presence. But now he was stuck in Liam’s body, with Liam’s memories and Liam’s life. And Liam… Liam was gone. Or at least, he wasn’t here. Ethan was alone in his head.

He sat down on the edge of Liam’s bed, running a hand through Liam’s hair. It felt strange, foreign, but also… familiar. Like he’d been doing it for years. He glanced around the room, taking in the posters on the walls, the clutter on the desk, the faint smell of cologne lingering in the air. This was Liam’s space, but now it was his.

A part of him felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to take over Liam’s body. He hadn’t meant to erase him, even temporarily. But another part of him—a darker, more selfish part—was curious. If he couldn’t be Mr. Calloway, maybe being Liam was the next best thing. After all, Liam was close to him. Closer than Ethan could ever hope to be.

He stood up, smoothing out Liam’s shirt. He could do this. He could pretend to be Liam, just for a little while. He had all the memories, all the knowledge. No one would suspect a thing. And maybe, just maybe, he could get closer to Mr. Calloway. Not as Ethan, the invisible classmate, but as Liam, his son.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But the temptation was too strong to resist.

Ethan took a deep breath and walked out of Liam’s room, heading downstairs. He could hear Mr. Calloway’s voice in the kitchen, deep and warm, sending a shiver down his spine. This was it. This was his chance.

He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

Ethan had always been good at adapting. It was a skill he’d honed over years of blending into the background, of observing without being noticed. But this… this was different. This wasn’t just adapting. This was *becoming*. And as he settled into Liam’s life, he found himself slipping into the role more easily than he’d expected.

The first few days were a whirlwind of adjustment. Ethan had to learn how to act like Liam—how to talk, how to walk, how to laugh. It wasn’t hard, not with Liam’s memories guiding him. But it was strange, like wearing someone else’s skin. And then there was Mr. Calloway. Liam’s father. The man Ethan had been obsessed with for so long.

Living under the same roof as him was both a dream and a nightmare. A dream because Ethan was closer to him than he’d ever been. A nightmare because he had to constantly remind himself not to stare, not to linger, not to give himself away. But it was hard. So, so hard.

It started small. Ethan would linger in the hallway outside Mr. Calloway’s bedroom, pretending to be on his phone while he listened to the sound of his voice on a work call. He’d catch glimpses of him through the crack in the door, his suit jacket slung over a chair, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Ethan’s heart would race, his palms sweating, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn’t risk getting caught.

Then it escalated.

One evening, Mr. Calloway came home late from work, looking tired but still impossibly handsome. He dropped his suit jacket on the back of a chair and headed upstairs to change. Ethan, sitting on the couch with a book he wasn’t really reading, waited until he heard the bedroom door close before slipping upstairs. He paused outside the door, his breath catching as he heard the soft rustle of fabric. Mr. Calloway was changing.

Ethan’s pulse thundered in his ears as he pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear every sound. The slide of a zipper, the thud of shoes hitting the floor, the soft sigh as Mr. Calloway pulled off his shirt. Ethan’s imagination ran wild, his face burning with a mix of guilt and desire. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to be close to him, even if it was like this.

When Mr. Calloway opened the door a few minutes later, dressed in a casual t-shirt and sweatpants, Ethan nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly stepped back, pretending to be heading to his own room.

“Hey, Liam,” Mr. Calloway said, his voice warm but tired. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, forcing a smile. “Just… heading to bed.”

Mr. Calloway nodded, ruffling Ethan’s hair as he passed. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he had to fight the urge to lean into it. “Get some rest, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Ethan watched him walk away, his heart pounding. He waited until Mr. Calloway was downstairs before slipping into his bedroom. The room smelled like him—like cologne and something uniquely *him*. Ethan’s eyes fell on the pile of clothes in the corner, the suit Mr. Calloway had been wearing earlier. He hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room and picked up the shirt, holding it to his face. It still smelled like him, like sweat and aftershave and something earthy. Ethan’s knees went weak.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. But he couldn’t stop himself. He buried his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply, his mind spinning with fantasies he knew would never come true.

Over the next few days, Ethan found himself pushing the boundaries further. He started volunteering to do the laundry, just so he could get his hands on Mr. Calloway’s clothes. He’d bury his face in the pile of dirty laundry, breathing in the scent of him, his heart racing with a mix of guilt and exhilaration. He’d carefully fold the clean clothes, lingering over each piece, imagining what it would be like to wear them, to *be* him.

And then there were the hugs. Mr. Calloway was a tactile man, always quick to pull Liam into a hug or ruffle his hair. Ethan had never been on the receiving end of that kind of affection before, and it was intoxicating. He found himself seeking out excuses to be close to him—lingering in the kitchen when Mr. Calloway was cooking, sitting next to him on the couch while they watched TV. And when Mr. Calloway hugged him, Ethan would hold on just a little too long, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But he couldn’t help himself. He was in too deep.

One night, as Ethan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he realized he couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep living this lie, couldn’t keep stealing these moments. He needed to find a way to reverse the spell, to give Liam his body back. But the thought of leaving, of going back to being invisible Ethan, was unbearable.

He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that he was in too deep, and there was no easy way out.

Ethan had gotten reckless.

It wasn’t enough anymore to simply *smell* Mr. Calloway’s clothes. He needed more. He needed to feel closer, to dissolve the line between himself and the man he’d obsessed over for months. And so, late one night, he found himself in the laundry room, the door locked behind him, kneeling in front of the hamper with trembling hands.

The house was quiet. Mr. Calloway had gone to bed hours ago, exhausted from another long day at the office. Ethan had waited until he heard the soft, rhythmic breathing of sleep through the bedroom door before creeping downstairs. Now, he sifted through the pile of dirty laundry—shirts, socks, trousers—until he found what he was looking for.

*The underwear.*

His heart pounded as he held them, the fabric soft and slightly damp with sweat. He brought them to his face, inhaling deeply, the scent flooding his senses like a drug. It was intoxicating, shameful, *electric*. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the fantasy—

**THUD.**

Ethan froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, coming down the stairs.

*Shit. Shit. SHIT.*

He scrambled to shove the underwear back into the hamper, his hands shaking. The footsteps grew louder, closer. The doorknob rattled.

“Liam?” Mr. Calloway’s voice, thick with sleep, called through the door. “You in there?”

Ethan’s mind raced. He grabbed a random towel from the hamper and threw it into the washing machine, slamming the lid shut just as the door unlocked. Mr. Calloway stood in the doorway, squinting in the dim light, his hair mussed and his t-shirt rumpled.

“What’re you doing down here so late?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Ethan forced a laugh, hoping it sounded like Liam’s. “Uh… laundry? You always say I never help out, so…”

Mr. Calloway raised an eyebrow. “At 1 a.m.?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d be… productive.” Ethan gestured awkwardly at the washing machine, where the towel spun in a pathetic, lonely circle.

Mr. Calloway stared at him for a moment, his gaze sharpening. Ethan’s blood turned to ice. *Could he tell?* Did he sense something off about his son’s sudden midnight diligence?

But then Mr. Calloway sighed, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Look, kiddo… if this is about yesterday, when I snapped at you for forgetting to take out the trash, I’m sorry. Work’s been stressful, but that’s not your fault.”

Ethan blinked. *Liam’s memories* flickered—a fight over chores, slammed doors, silent dinners. He swallowed. “It’s… fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Mr. Calloway stepped into the room, his presence filling the small space. Ethan’s throat went dry as he caught the scent of his sleep-warm skin, the faint trace of bourbon on his breath.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Mr. Calloway said quietly. “Hanging around more. *Staring.*”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. “I—I haven’t—”

“It’s okay.” Mr. Calloway cut him off, his voice softening. “I know things have been tense since your mom left. Maybe I haven’t been around enough. But you can talk to me, Liam. You know that, right?”

The guilt hit Ethan like a punch. He nodded, staring at the floor.

Mr. Calloway reached out, squeezing Ethan’s shoulder. The touch burned. “Get some sleep, okay? We’ll… we’ll figure this out.”

He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. “And Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you do laundry… maybe use detergent?” He nodded at the washing machine, where Ethan had forgotten to add soap. The towel sloshed sadly in plain water.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, his face flaming.

Mr. Calloway smirked—a rare, tired smile—and disappeared upstairs.

Ethan slumped against the washing machine, his legs trembling. That was too close. *Way* too close. He needed to be careful. He needed to stop.

But later, as he crept back to Liam’s room, he paused outside Mr. Calloway’s door. It was slightly ajar, the sound of deep breathing drifting into the hallway. Ethan hovered, torn, before slipping inside.

Moonlight spilled over the bed, illuminating Mr. Calloway’s sleeping form. Ethan’s breath caught. He looked younger like this, his guard down, one arm thrown over his head. Ethan inched closer, his heart hammering.

He shouldn’t. He *knew* he shouldn’t.

But then he saw it—the discarded t-shirt on the floor, the one Mr. Calloway had been wearing earlier. Ethan snatched it up and pressed it to his face, inhaling greedily.

*Just one more time*, he told himself. *One more time, and then I’ll stop.*

He didn’t notice Mr. Calloway’s eyes flicker open.

[ghostgirl-22]

Idk why I did this. But since I wrote it yall have to see it (if you choose to read it of course!). Blame my beloved agegap!anon I fear <3

CW: 18+, NSFW, AGE GAP, teacher/student, power dynamics, semi public sex, jealousy, mild possessiveness, super mild D/s

—-

Original.

Pt 2.

Art can’t really help himself. If he could stop he definitely would… Maybe. He wasn’t a virgin before he had sex with his tennis coach, Patrick Zweig. He’d just never been with a boy before. Now that he’s done it, and done it, and. done. it. All over Patrick’s house. He feels a little more confident in his sexuality. And it’s weird. Because now he’s suddenly getting even more attention.

He’s not a slut. Not really. He doesn’t always give it up. But he likes to tease. And he likes the attention.

A lot.

Probably what he likes even more than the attention is the way it seems to break away at Patrick's ever present cool and calm demeanor.

Art was barely flirting, honestly. Kneeling on Chase Roberts feet so he could do sit-ups. Chase has these really pretty brown eyes that sparkle in the sunlight, and Art wasn’t really straddling him, he was just crawling between his legs to get a closer look. He didn’t expect Chase to sit up and kiss him. Or the other boys to tease and jeer when Chase did it. Chase is smirking at him and Art shoves him back down on his back, licking his lips. “You’re such a freak.”

Chase laughs. ”You can’t blame me for wanting a little taste pretty boy.” Art sits up properly, when he hears Patrick blow his whistle. Conditioned for it by now. Patrick’s looking at him but it’s only for a second before he’s yelling at everyone.

“Enough messing around,” he shouts, “since we’re all in a silly mood without the silly skills to accompany it, we’re all doing fucking drills. He says. “Come on…get up. Line up behind the baseline, middle court. Roberts in front.”

Everyone gets up. Patrick bends over leaning in to whisper in his assistant coach, Meg’s ear. His little purple shorts, forming to his ass, riding up so Art can see more of his muscular thighs. Thighs Art has sat on, that he’s felt hot and warm beneath him while taking the full length of Patrick’s cock. He never felt more grown up. He bites his tongue trying not to get hard.

Coach Meg gets up and pulls on her baseball cap. “Okay everyone we’re doing baseline, mid court, center shots.” She shouts. “For every ball you miss or hit out of bounds you run a lap and get back in line.”

There’s some irritated mumbling as Art gets in line but no one gets too loud for fear it will get worse.

“Donaldson, come with me,” Patrick says. Grabbing his clip board and walking towards the locker rooms. Art looks around and some of his teammates are smirking. Roberts makes a kissy face at him.

“I hope you’re all paying attention,” Coach Meg says, whacking Tyson Wahler with her clipboard when he mimics a sloppy make out. Art grins and hurries to catch up with Patrick.

Art is breathless when they get into the facilities building. “Am I in trouble, coach? Art asks playfully, but Patrick doesn’t really give him anything. Just keeps up his breakneck walking pace.

He approaches his office and pulls open the door, holding it for Art. Art walks in and looks around. He’s probably only been in here once, with a teammate to ask about switching doubles partners because they were both left handed.

Art turns back around to face him. “So what’s the big—“

Patrick covers him mouth and walks him backwards up against the closed office door. “Mm Donaldson, you talk too much.” He’s all in Art’s face. Art’s heart rate speeds up quickly, blood furiously rushing to his cock. “Did you fuck him?”

Art raises his eyebrows.

“You can nod, yes or no. Did you and Roberts fuck?”

Art shakes his head.

“Did you fuck any other boys since the weekend?”

Art shakes his head again. He’s actually falling apart for how fucking hot this feels. Patrick going insane over a little kiss. He licks at Patrick’s palm just to get a taste of him.

Patrick presses his forehead against the wall next to him. “Mm…you have to fucking stop.” He whines and pulls his hand off of Art’s mouth.

“Did you fuck your girlfriend since the weekend?” Art says, grinning as he tries to catch his breath and settle down.

He can’t settle down.

Patrick pushes up against him and he can feel. Fuck. He can feel it. “You’re such a fucking brat,” Patrick whispers in his ear.

“And you’re a pervert, all over me and I’m barely out of high school.” Art breathes as Patrick’s rubbing up against him. “Won’t even let me fuck a boy my own age.”

“No one your age knows how to do it properly,” Patrick whispers.

Art starts sucking kisses into his throat.

“You… fuck… you know you make me crazy. Sitting on my court, showing off that body, crawling on boys laps and letting them… oh fuck it…“ Patrick grips Art by the waist, taking his mouth in a bruising kisses, all while walking him up against the desk and bending him over. Art is pushing back on him while he’s rummaging in his desk drawer. He pulls out a condom and then he’s pumping lotion out to use as lubricant. Art feels his mouth watering. As hot as he was earlier he’s going insane now.

“I knew you’d be this fucking tight still,” Patrick groans as he’s filling Art, big hand covering his mouth to keep him quiet. Or muffled at least. Art licking, talking, moaning against his palm. Fucking in Patrick’s office while the rest of the team is running around the court. Patrick, so frantic and desperate to claim him. Ramming his prostate over and over and over till Art is spilling all over the desk, muscles trembling, head dizzy. God. He can’t believe it took him so long to start. It feels so good getting full on Patrick’s cock. Art wants it every fucking day.

“Holy shit,” Patrick sighs as he’s tying off the condom and easing his shorts back up.

Art’s all dizzy and in love with him. And now he smells a lot like cherry almond lotion.

Patrick settles on his desk chair, manspreading as he pulls out his pack of cigarettes. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Fuck. I’m gonna get caught and get fucking fired.”

“Have you ever done it with a player before?” Art asks, lightly.

“Are you kidding? I’ve done fucked up shit before. I’ve done stupid shit before, but never anything this stupid and fucked up.”

Art sits on the desk, he’s all sore and it feels so good he wiggles just to feel the ache and he puts his foot between Patrick’s thighs.

“If you give me your number, I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fuck anyone else,” Art says.

Patrick takes a deep breath and pops a cigarette in his mouth before playing with Art’s shoe laces. He then takes the cigarette out of his mouth like he’s just realized he’s still inside. “No you’re a kid. You’re gonna be calling me and texting me at insane hours asking for things that I’m gonna fucking do because I have no self control. And I’m gonna end up seeing them blown up on a board in front of the school ethics committee.”

”I won’t say anything bad. I swear.” Art says. “If I’m horny I’ll just send you an eggplant emoji. Like 39 times. Isn’t that how old you are? Or is it one for good luck?”

Patrick snorts. “Get up and go back to practice, you little shit. And tell Megan we were in here talking about that recruiter that was here last week.”

Art shrugs and pushes himself off of the desk. “Can you come with me?”

“I’ll be there in 5 minutes… I promise.”

Art sighs and lingers to the point where Patrick just smiles. “Fine, come on. You get so fucking clingy after.”

“No I don't," Art says, defensive and a little warm because it’s true… Art does want to be around him. Though he doesn’t think clingy is the word.

Patrick straightens his office and Arts hair and checks himself in the mirror before they leave. He lights up as soon as they get outside. Art falls into lock step with him. “Try to relax— cause as soon as we get up there, you’re not sitting around me, it’s gonna be laps. And no more fucking kissing Roberts or anyone else.”

“I’ll try not to,” Art says grinning, knowing that if this is his punishment he might just kiss everyone on the team.

(Btw…Other anon with the brilliant ask in this au I can’t resist — I’m totally coming to that! A thousand percent! Trust!)

[reveriebae]

Loyalty

pairing(s) : Jeong Yunho x f!reader

word count : 8457

synopsis : You had always kept things light, until a certain someone changes the rules. With a game of chase, tension builds between you and him, leaving you questioning where the lines truly are. What happens when control slips and the heat becomes too much to ignore?

genre : smut

warning(s) : possessive! Yunho, unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex. Let me know if I missed anything!

Part of Songfic

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

It was a regular Saturday, one of those nights where everything seemed laid-back, just a bit of adrenaline in the air from the thrill of a race. Mingi had dragged you along to watch his friends compete, even though you weren’t too interested in the whole racing scene. Still, it was a chance to get out, and you weren’t gonna pass that up. Besides, Mingi always had a way of making it sound more exciting than it really was.

You leaned back against the railing, watching the cars rev their engines on the starting line. Mingi’s voice echoed from beside you, his usual grin plastered across his face as he talked about how “insane” Yunho, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and San were behind the wheel.

“Just wait. Yunho’s gonna win tonight,” Mingi said, nudging you with his elbow. “Dude’s got a need for speed. You might wanna watch closely.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just try not to fall asleep.”

Mingi laughed, but you weren’t listening to him anymore. Your gaze had shifted to the racers on the track. Yunho was talking with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, his attention flickering over to you for a second. His eyes locked with yours, and something about the way his lips curved into that playful smirk made your heart skip a beat.

You weren’t stupid—you knew exactly what kind of guy Yunho was. Charming, confident, and always surrounded by girls. He had a reputation for being the fun one, but you weren’t looking for fun. You had your own rules, your own way of handling things. Casual. No strings attached. You didn’t do loyalty—not after everything that had happened before.

But still, as you watched him approach with that easy swagger, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was a little different. He was already too close before you even realized it.

“Y/N,” Yunho called your name, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s up? Didn’t know Mingi was bringing a cute girl to watch the race.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just here to watch. I’m not really into all the hype.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it exciting for you,” Yunho said, stepping a little closer. He was a little too close, but you didn’t back away. Don’t fall for it, you told yourself. He was just a guy—another one of Mingi’s friends, another person you could keep at arm’s length.

“Who’s your money on?” he asked, still watching you with that intense gaze.

You gave him a dismissive smile. “Not a fan of betting on things I know I won’t win,” you replied, teasing him a little. “But I guess if I had to pick, I’d go with the guy who looks like he has the most fun.” You nodded toward Seonghwa, who was smirking, chatting with San.

Yunho chuckled, leaning against the railing beside you. “You know, I don’t mind taking that challenge,” he said, voice low and a little too serious for your liking. “But you should be careful with your bets. You might just end up losing something you didn’t plan on.”

You didn’t respond, giving him a quick side glance, but you couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck. Don’t let him get to you. But there was something about the way he said it, that dark promise in his voice, that made your stomach twist.

Mingi appeared beside you, flashing a grin at you both. “You two getting cozy already?” he teased, eyeing Yunho and then you. You shot him a look that was meant to silence him, but Yunho just laughed, unbothered.

As the race started, the cars took off, the roar of engines filling the air, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren’t paying attention to the race at all. Every time you glanced over at Yunho, there he was, his focus locked on you like he was trying to figure you out.

And you hated how much you liked it.

The race went on, but you could barely concentrate. The engines roared as the cars zoomed by, but your eyes kept flicking back to Yunho. He wasn’t paying much attention to the race either. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, his expression a little too intense for your liking. It was like he was studying you, gauging every little reaction.

You tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He was standing too close, his presence like a weight pressing down on you. Every time he leaned in to speak, his breath was warm against your ear, his voice smooth and deep, sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you sure you don’t want to place a bet? I could show you how exciting it gets when you’re in the game,” Yunho said, his words laced with something dangerous.

You shook your head, trying to shake the feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the race. “I’m good. Not really into gambling.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “It’s not gambling if you know you’re gonna win,” he whispered, his lips just inches from your ear.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly, but you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let him win that easily. “Maybe. But I’m not so sure about that.”

Yunho pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and focused. “You don’t think I can win, do you?” he asked, a playful challenge in his tone, but there was something deeper, more possessive hidden behind it. He was pushing you, seeing how far he could go.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied quickly, though your voice was a little shaky. Focus, Y/N, you reminded yourself. He was just another guy, another player in this game. You weren’t about to get caught in his trap.

Before you could say anything else, Mingi slapped Yunho on the back, pulling his attention away. “Quit messing with my sister, man. She’s not here to fall for your charm,” he said, looking between the two of you.

Yunho just laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just keeping things interesting. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has a good time.”

You shot Mingi a thankful look, but it didn’t quite ease the tension Yunho had stirred up. It was like he was testing the waters, seeing just how much he could make you squirm before you gave in. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep your distance.

As the race wrapped up, Yunho leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll be around, Y/N. Don’t think you can avoid me forever.”

You couldn’t tell if he was challenging you or warning you, but either way, something told you he wasn’t done with you.

And just like that, you found yourself wondering if you were playing with fire.

The race ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Seonghwa pulled ahead to take the win. His car, sleek and dark, had crossed the finish line first, and everyone was congratulating him, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. Yunho’s red car had finished second, and though he looked a little disappointed, the way he carried himself showed that he wasn’t about to let it bother him.

As the others made their way toward Seonghwa’s place to celebrate, Mingi turned to you with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you later. You’re gonna be fine on your own, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you assured him, trying to hide the tight knot in your stomach.

But as Mingi started walking away, you noticed Yunho lingering near his car. He caught your eye, offering a small, almost knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll see you off,” Yunho said smoothly, walking toward you. “I’ve got something else to do, so I’ll skip the party tonight.”

Mingi, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you’re seeing her off? She can take a cab.”

You saw Yunho’s smirk grow just a little. “It’s nothing. I just want to make sure she gets home safely. Don’t worry about it.”

Mingi hesitated, looking between you and Yunho. His protective instincts flared, but after a moment, he just shrugged and muttered something about trusting you. “Fine, whatever. Just… don’t keep her out too late.”

You rolled your eyes as Mingi walked off, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the time. It was about Yunho. And you were starting to feel like Mingi was more worried about you getting tangled up in whatever game Yunho was playing than anything else.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of Yunho’s red car, the engine hummed to life. The ride back to your apartment was a quiet one at first. Yunho’s presence beside you was overwhelming, the tension in the air thick and unspoken. His grip on the steering wheel was firm, his jaw set in that way that made him look so damn serious. But you could still feel his eyes flicking to you every now and then, as if he were testing you, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“So,” Yunho’s voice broke the silence, smooth and almost casual, “Seonghwa definitely earned that win. But you were watching me, right?”

You let out a breath, trying to act casual, but there was something about his question that felt almost like a dare. “I watched the race. What’s the big deal?”

He laughed softly, but there was an edge to it. “Right. The race. Sure. But you were looking at me, weren’t you?”

You shot him a glance, but his focus remained on the road. You wanted to brush it off, to deny it, but the way he was acting made it hard. Every inch of you felt like it was being pulled into his orbit, and the more you fought it, the more you found yourself getting tangled up in his game.

“I wasn’t,” you said, your voice faltering just enough that you knew he caught it.

Yunho’s lips quirked into a satisfied smirk, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if you were watching me. I like it when you’re paying attention.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, so casually, that made it feel like it wasn’t just a comment about the race anymore. The unspoken tension between you two was building, thick and undeniable.

The car slowed as you neared your apartment, the sound of the tires against the pavement almost too loud in the quiet. Yunho pulled into the parking lot, but he didn’t park right away. Instead, he took a moment, his eyes catching yours. It was brief, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“You don’t have to be so distant, Y/N,” he said, his tone low and coaxing, “I’m not like the others. I won’t hurt you. But you’ve got to trust me if we’re going to keep playing this game.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need any of this, that you didn’t want to fall into whatever he was offering, but the truth was you weren’t sure anymore. With him so close, with the way he looked at you, it was hard to hold on to your walls.

Instead, you just said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Yunho didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Just remember… I’m always here if you need me, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words hung in the air, even as he shifted the car into park. As you stepped out, his gaze lingered on you, almost too intense, like he was waiting for something.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just leaving you with a ride. He was leaving you with a promise. And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

The next day came faster than you’d expected. The lingering tension from the night before still clung to you like a shadow, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it was there—right at the back of your mind, like a soft hum that refused to be ignored.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way Yunho looked at you when he dropped you off. There was something in his eyes, something possessive, like he was claiming a piece of you without even trying. And you hated how much you liked it.

As you made your way to the café that morning, trying to push thoughts of him away, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You reached for it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a message from Yunho.

Yunho: “You left in a hurry last night. Didn’t even let me walk you up.”

You scoffed, fingers hovering over the screen as you debated how to respond. It wasn’t like you had anything to hide. But the way he’d said it… it felt almost like a subtle accusation. Like he was reminding you that you didn’t let him in.

You: “I’m fine. I didn’t need you to walk me up.”

A few seconds passed before the reply came.

Yunho: “Mhm. Sure you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your phone screen with frustration. You had no idea why you were getting so caught up in this. It was supposed to be casual, right? No strings attached. Just like everything else.

But something about Yunho was different. You weren’t sure what it was, but you couldn’t help but be drawn to him in a way that was harder to ignore.

Before you could think too much about it, you heard footsteps approaching. Turning your head, you saw Wooyoung walking over to you, a grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well, look who’s out here so early.” Wooyoung greeted you with a teasing smile. “How’s the ride back home last night?”

You glanced away quickly, trying not to make it obvious that you were still feeling the heat from the night before. "It was fine," you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray you.

“I bet,” Wooyoung smirked, clearly noticing the shift in your mood. “Yunho looked pretty serious about giving you a ride home. You know he doesn't do that for just anyone.”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “He’s the type of guy who likes to keep things casual, but I’ve never seen him so... invested before. Just a heads up, Y/N. Don’t get caught up. You’re his next target. And once he’s got his sights on you…” Wooyoung trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Your heart skipped. You knew what he meant. But part of you didn’t want to believe it. Part of you wanted to believe that Yunho was different. But another part—maybe the part that still feared getting hurt—couldn’t help but wonder if Wooyoung was right.

“I can handle myself,” you replied coolly, trying to sound unaffected by his words.

Wooyoung just smirked again, obviously not buying it. “Sure you can. But just remember… there’s more to Yunho than what he shows you.”

Before you could respond, Wooyoung was already heading inside the café, leaving you standing there with a mix of frustration and confusion swirling in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to get a lot more complicated.

You spent the next few minutes pretending Wooyoung’s words didn’t bother you. You ordered your coffee, found a quiet corner, and scrolled mindlessly through your phone, but nothing could shake the way your stomach twisted at his warning.

You’re his next target.

It shouldn’t have mattered. You’d been through this before—casual, no strings, nothing deep. If anything, Yunho was your target, not the other way around. But something about the way Wooyoung said it… like he knew something you didn’t… it got under your skin.

Your fingers tightened around your cup just as a shadow loomed over your table.

“Morning, baby.”

You looked up, pulse skipping. Yunho stood in front of you, his broad frame cutting out the light from the café window. He looked effortless, like he didn’t even have to try—just a simple hoodie, messy hair, and those damn dark eyes pinning you down.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, trying not to react. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Yunho pulled out the chair across from you, his lips quirking up in amusement. “That makes two of us.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over you, slow and assessing, like he was searching for something.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You shrugged. "Why wouldn’t I?"

His smile widened just a little, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "No reason. Just wondering if I kept you up last night."

Your breath hitched. You hated the way he said things like that—so smooth, so controlled, like he knew exactly what kind of reaction he was pulling from you.

You forced yourself to look unimpressed. "Not at all. I slept just fine."

“Good,” Yunho murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wouldn’t want you distracted.”

The tension between you thickened, unspoken but very present. You had the sudden urge to look away, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you smirked. “Didn’t expect you to care so much.”

Yunho chuckled, low and deep. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like messing with you."

Your fingers tightened around your cup. His words were playful, but there was something lurking beneath them, something deeper than just a game.

"Then don't get attached," you said, your voice light but laced with meaning. "I like keeping things casual."

For a second, something flickered in Yunho’s eyes—something unreadable. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual smirk.

"Casual, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the table, nearly brushing against yours. "Funny. You don't seem like the type to play it safe."

You raised a brow. "And what type do I seem like?"

Yunho tilted his head, studying you. "The kind that likes danger."

You felt your breath hitch before you could stop it. His voice was soft but firm, like a promise. Or maybe a threat.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed, glancing at the screen before standing up.

“Duty calls.” He tucked his phone away, then gave you a long, unreadable look. “See you later, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a racing pulse and a head full of thoughts you really didn’t want to have.

Maybe Wooyoung was right. Maybe you were playing with fire.

But for some reason… you wanted to get burned.

The next evening, Mingi was already dragging you out of your apartment before you could protest.

"Another race? Didn’t we just go to one?" you groaned, but Mingi just grinned, practically shoving you into his car.

"This one's different," he said. "And you had fun last time, didn’t you?"

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. The truth was, you did enjoy the rush of it—the adrenaline, the roaring engines, the smell of burnt rubber. It was dangerous, reckless, but exciting. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see a certain someone again.

By the time you arrived, the crowd was already buzzing with energy. The night was electric, neon lights casting sharp glows against sleek, polished cars.

Mingi parked and led you toward the starting line, where the racers were getting into position. Your eyes flickered over to Yunho’s car—a sleek, fiery red beast that looked just as fast as it did dangerous.

He caught your gaze as he climbed into the driver’s seat, sending you a smirk before revving his engine.

You quickly looked away, ignoring the way your stomach flipped.

The race started, and just like that, they were off—tires screeching, metal groaning, speed blurring everything together.

And this time, Yunho took first place.

The moment he stepped out of his car, the crowd erupted, girls flocking toward him like moths to a flame.

You watched as they threw themselves at him—hands on his arms, fingers grazing his chest, sweet voices giggling in his ear. Yunho didn’t seem particularly interested, but he didn’t push them away either.

Not that it mattered to you.

You sipped your drink, looking completely unbothered.

Wooyoung, standing next to you, chuckled under his breath. "Cute act."

You frowned. "What act?"

Wooyoung smirked, leaning in. "The whole ‘I don’t care’ thing."

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, shaking his head. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Before you could respond, Mingi clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I was thinking," he started, grinning. "You and San would look good together."

You nearly choked on your drink. "What?"

Mingi turned to San, who had just walked up. "Don’t you think Y/N’s your type?"

San, always one to play along, grinned. "Oh? You tryna set us up, Mingi?"

"Why not?" Mingi shrugged. "She could use a guy like you."

You rolled your eyes, about to shut it down when you felt someone watching.

And when you turned your head, you met his gaze.

Yunho was staring—no, glaring.

His jaw was tight, his eyes dark as he watched the interaction unfold.

Then, without warning, he was walking straight toward Mingi.

"You know I’m interested in your sister," Yunho said, voice low but firm. "So why are you trying to push her toward San?"

Mingi blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Wait, what?"

Yunho stepped closer. "I’m not playing with her, Mingi. I want her."

Mingi scoffed. "You? The same Yunho who always has girls hanging off of him? You really expect me to believe that?"

Yunho didn’t back down. "I don’t care about them." His gaze flickered to you, intensity burning behind his eyes. "I care about her."

For a moment, Mingi just stared, his expression unreadable.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Damn it, Yunho." He exhaled sharply. "If you’re serious, prove it. ‘Cause I swear, if you mess with her—"

"I won’t," Yunho cut in, his voice unwavering. "I’ll show you."

You stood there, speechless, as the weight of his words settled in.

This wasn’t a game. Not to him.

And maybe… not to you either.

The tension from Yunho’s words still lingered in the air, but you weren’t about to entertain it.

Not now.

Not when you knew exactly how this story went.

Men like Yunho—possessive, intense, all-consuming—were dangerous.

So instead of addressing the weight of his words, you just huffed, forcing a smirk as you folded your arms.

"You care about me?" You raised an eyebrow, amusement lacing your tone. "That’s cute."

Yunho’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly, but you just turned to Mingi with an exaggerated sigh. "I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m suddenly helpless, Min. I don’t belong to anyone."

San, sensing the tension, let out a whistle. "Damn, should I be offended?" He grinned playfully. "Feels like you just rejected me and Yunho at the same time."

You gave him a wink. "Oh, baby, I don’t reject anyone."

Wooyoung let out a sharp laugh, and Mingi groaned, rubbing his temples.

"You are so annoying," Mingi muttered. "Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

But Yunho?

Yunho wasn’t laughing.

He was still watching you, still processing your words, that dark, unreadable look settling into his features again.

"Noted," he finally said, voice calm but heavy.

And the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

---

Later that night, your phone buzzed.

Yunho: You wanna act like this is a game? Fine.

Yunho: Let’s see how long you last.

You stared at the messages, heart skipping a beat.

Then, with a smirk, you typed back.

You: Challenge accepted, baby.

But what you didn’t realize…

Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

---

The next few days felt like a silent war.

Yunho wasn’t the type to chase openly, but he was always there.

Whenever you turned around at the races, his eyes were already on you. Whenever you laughed a little too hard at something San said, he’d be right beside you—close, possessive, radiating heat like a warning.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you.

But you weren’t about to fold.

So you played along.

When another racer—some guy named Jisung—offered to take you for a ride in his car, you accepted with a smirk, knowing damn well Yunho was watching.

But the second you went to open the door, a firm hand caught your wrist.

"Not happening," Yunho muttered, voice low and final.

Jisung looked between you two, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Uh—?"

Yunho didn’t even spare him a glance.

"I’ll take her home," he said.

Your lips curled, amusement flickering through your expression. "Oh? I don’t remember asking."

Yunho’s grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either.

"You didn’t," he said. "But you will."

That struck something in you.

But before you could call him out on it, Mingi’s voice cut in.

"Bro, let her do what she wants," Mingi sighed, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked like he expected this. "She’s not gonna listen anyway."

Yunho’s jaw ticked, and for a second, it seemed like he might argue.

But then he looked at you.

And you could feel the warning in his stare.

A promise. A threat.

This wasn’t over.

And somehow, you knew…

You would be asking him to take you home soon.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it yet.

The tension only got worse after that night.

You could feel it everywhere—every time Yunho was near, every time his gaze settled on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. He wasn’t the type to throw a fit or make a scene, but that only made it worse.

Because you knew Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

And yet, you kept playing.

The next race came faster than expected. Mingi dragged you along as usual, talking about how tonight’s lineup was going to be intense. Apparently, some big-name racers from out of town had shown up to challenge Yunho and Seonghwa.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not until Yunho showed up.

Dressed in all black, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

Something dark flashed across his face.

Then he smirked.

And just like that, the game was back on.

You pretended not to care, shifting your attention to San instead, laughing at whatever stupid joke he had just made. Mingi seemed pleased, clearly trying to push you closer to his friend, but you didn’t miss the way Wooyoung gave you that same knowing look.

"You’re really gonna keep playing with fire, huh?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, just low enough for you to hear.

You just smirked, shrugging. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Wooyoung huffed a laugh. "Sure you don’t."

Then the race started.

And Yunho won.

It wasn’t even close. He cut through the track like he was born for it, weaving between cars like a shadow, his red car a blur against the night.

And when he crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted.

You watched as girls swarmed him immediately, their hands all over him, their voices high and sweet. He let them. He even smiled, that cocky grin of his sharp as a knife.

You forced yourself to look away.

"You’re really unbothered, huh?"

Wooyoung’s voice was laced with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "Why would I be bothered? Yunho’s got a lot of options. It’s not that deep."

Wooyoung just hummed, unconvinced. "You’re his next target, you know."

That made you freeze for half a second.

But you covered it up quickly, tilting your head. "Oh? That what he told you?"

Wooyoung just smirked. "Nah. He doesn’t have to."

You scoffed. "Yunho's got girls hanging off him every night. You think I’m dumb enough to take him seriously?"

"Maybe not," Wooyoung said, "but Yunho’s not like the others."

That made you pause.

But before you could ask what he meant, you caught sight of Yunho again.

Only this time, his attention wasn’t on the girls.

It was on you.

His smile was gone.

And the look in his eyes?

It wasn’t just playful anymore.

It was a warning.

The night seemed to drag on after that, with the races winding down and the crowd thinning out. You found yourself lingering near the edge of the lot, still pretending to be uninterested, chatting with San as he nudged you playfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of Yunho’s eyes on you.

He wasn’t among the group of girls anymore.

You hadn’t noticed when he slipped away from them, but now, as you stood there, a low growl of an engine hummed in the distance, and you knew. You knew it was him.

You turned, but before you could even take a step, Yunho was already standing in front of you, his presence like a force of nature.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, the playful edge replaced by something darker, something demanding.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back casually. "What’s up, Yunho?"

"I thought we had an understanding." He didn’t even waste time with pleasantries. His eyes searched yours, daring you to look away. "You’re not here to play games with me, are you?"

You tried to keep your cool, but something in the air was different now. It was thick with tension, and you could feel your heart picking up pace. "You’re the one playing games, Yunho. Last I checked, you were busy with those girls."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling overwhelming. His lips curled into that signature smirk, but his eyes weren’t playful anymore. "You really think I care about them?"

You didn’t answer, trying to keep your deflection up, but Yunho wasn’t having it. He took another step forward, cornering you against the side of a parked car. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating.

"You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?" he muttered, his voice rough, low—like a whisper just for you. "You keep pushing me away, keep acting like it’s just casual, but you know exactly what this is."

You swallowed hard, not able to bring yourself to look away from him. You couldn’t—he was pulling you in, inch by inch, like gravity.

"Is that so?" you asked, voice steady despite the tension coiling in your chest.

"Yeah." Yunho’s smile faded, replaced by something darker, possessive. "I’m not like the rest of those idiots who go after anyone and everything. But I’ve made my interest clear. So what is it, Y/N?"

You tried to step away, but he held you in place, not with force but with that unspoken* pressure, like the weight of his words was enough to keep you rooted where you were.

"I told you," you started, voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound confident, "I’m not looking for anything serious. Just something casual, nothing more."

Yunho’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but there was no humor in it—only something dangerous.

"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?" His hand moved slowly, brushing against your cheek, his touch burning. "Why do you keep pretending you don’t want me to want you?"

Your breath caught in your throat, heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. You could only feel the intensity of the air between you, thick with desire and challenge.

"You don’t have to do this, Yunho," you whispered, voice betraying you with the crack in it. "It’s never going to be more than this."

"Don’t lie to me," Yunho said, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re not fooling anyone."

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against yours, and you couldn’t escape him. His presence swallowed you whole.

"You want me," he whispered in your ear. "And I’m not letting you go until I have you. Loyalty."

The moment Yunho’s lips brushed against your ear, his touch sending a shock through your body, you knew there was no escaping it. His words were dangerous, thick with promise, and you could feel them vibrating in your chest. Your breath hitched, but before you could think of pulling away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip.

"No more games," Yunho growled, voice low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the fire behind it. His hand tightened around you, practically dragging you towards his car before you could protest.

"Yunho—what the hell are you doing?" You tried to pull your arm back, but his grip was iron, and he didn’t even look at you, his focus completely on getting you into the car.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You knew.

You tried to resist, but the instant the door slammed shut, you were trapped. Yunho’s eyes, dark and unwavering, met yours, and you could see that same dangerous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he slammed the car into gear and sped off, the engine roaring as he pushed the car faster, harder, like he was trying to outrun the world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of panic and something else—something dangerous that you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to argue, to keep pretending that you didn’t want this, that you weren’t drawn to him in a way that you couldn’t control.

But the heat of his touch on your wrist, the way he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he drove, made it impossible to deny.

"You’re not even going to ask where we’re going?" Yunho asked, voice rough as he turned the wheel, pushing the car even faster. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his grip as possessive as the one he had on you just moments ago.

You tried to look away, acting like you didn’t care, but you knew he could see the way your breath caught in your throat. You knew he could feel the tension between you.

"I don’t care," you said, though it came out softer than you intended.

He smirked, his eyes flashing with something wild as he pushed the car even faster. "Good. Because you don’t need to care. I’m the one in control here, Y/N. You don’t get to decide how this plays out."

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you didn’t answer, instead crossing your arms and trying to hide the way your body betrayed you—how much you were feeling everything about this. The way his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he looked at you like he was just waiting for the right moment to take.

When you pulled up to his place, it was clear that he didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about anything but the two of you. He parked the car with precision, the engine cutting off as he reached over, grabbing your wrist again with that same firm grip, dragging you out of the seat and toward his door.

Before you could even process, you were inside, the door slamming behind you.

Yunho didn’t waste any time. He backed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours in an instant, trapping you between him and the door. His lips crashed against yours, hot and demanding, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, wanting it just as much as you.

His kiss was fierce, urgent, and he didn’t give you a chance to pull away, his hands exploring, touching, gripping you like you were his to claim. You could feel the heat building between you, an undeniable magnetism pulling you both closer, until you couldn’t tell where his body ended and yours began.

Yunho’s hand slid into your hair, gripping it with just enough force to tilt your head back, his lips trailing down your neck as he kissed his way down, leaving a path of burning skin in his wake. Your breath caught in your throat as he whispered against your skin.

"I told you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, "I’m not letting you go."

You tried to keep up your front, to push him away, but his touch was addictive, and everything about him was pulling you in, making you forget what you even wanted. The game you’d been playing with him, the one where you pretended you didn’t care, didn’t stand a chance.

His lips found yours again, kissing you hard, deep, like he was determined to make you feel just how much he wanted this. And for once, you didn’t fight it.

Yunho was right—he was in control now, and you were his.

Yunho wasn’t wasting a second. His hands were everywhere—pulling you closer, one hand at the back of your head, pushing you into him, the other down to your waist, gripping you like he owned you.

You could feel the hardness of him against your body, and the way your pulse raced in response only made things worse. He smirked against your lips when he felt the shiver run through you.

"Don’t try to act like you don’t want this," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "I don’t need to act. You’re the one who—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Yunho shoved you hard against the wall, his mouth crashing down on yours with a wild urgency. You gasped, but he didn’t care, his tongue slipping inside your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. His hand slipped under your shirt, finding the bare skin of your stomach, rough fingers brushing against your ribs as he moved to pull it off.

You tried to keep your hands at his chest, to push him away, but he was relentless. The moment you tried to shove him off, he lifted you, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the cool, unforgiving wall.

"Stop fighting me, Y/N," Yunho warned, his voice deep and breathless.

But you couldn’t. Your body was already betraying you—your chest heaving, your breathing ragged.

He let out a frustrated growl, and with one swift move, he tore your shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His hands went straight for your pants, unbuttoning them quickly before pulling them down with no hesitation.

"Y/N," Yunho panted, lips trailing down your neck, "I can feel it, you want me just as bad." His lips found the sensitive spot right below your ear, sucking hard, sending a pulse of heat through your entire body. His hands moved between your legs, fingers brushing against the waistband of your panties.

"Yunho," you gasped, barely able to keep it together, your body on fire as his hands teased your skin, leaving marks wherever he touched. He didn’t give you a chance to react before he was kissing you again, harder this time, dominating your mouth as his hands found their way back to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to join your pants.

The moment he heard the sound of fabric tearing, Yunho grinned, and that made you feel something dangerous crawl through your veins. He wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was taking it.

"All mine," he muttered, voice rough and hoarse, fingers slipping inside you with barely any warning, stretching you wide.

You gasped, your body tensing up at the sudden intrusion, but Yunho didn’t care. He pulled you closer, his lips back on your neck as his fingers moved, fast, rough, precise—like he already knew exactly what you needed. His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "You wanted to keep things casual, but you’re mine now, Y/N."

You couldn’t even form words, too lost in the haze of heat and sensation. You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body responded to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pressure was building, your body betraying every word you said about keeping things casual.

"Say it," Yunho demanded, his voice a low growl. "Say you want me."

You could barely catch your breath, but when his fingers found that sweet spot inside you, you had no choice but to surrender.

"I want you," you gasped, your voice coming out ragged and desperate.

He smirked, pleased, and didn’t waste another second. He pulled his fingers out of you, taking off his own clothes, the sound of fabric hitting the floor sending a thrill through your body. Without saying another word, he lifted you up again, holding you effortlessly against the wall, lining himself up at your entrance.

"I told you," he growled, his lips brushing against yours one more time. "You don’t get to play games anymore."

And then, in one swift movement, Yunho was inside you, filling you completely, his pace brutal and fast from the start. Your nails dug into his back, and you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at how good it felt.

Yunho didn’t slow down, his hands gripping your hips, pushing you harder against the wall, his body slamming into yours as if he was marking you, taking you in every way he could. His breath was heavy, his grunts and growls turning into something primal as he fucked you like he was the only one who could give you what you needed.

You couldn’t think anymore—only feel. Feel the way his cock moved in and out of you, the way your body tensed with every thrust, the way his hands gripped you with enough force to leave bruises. You were his now, and the realization hit you like a wave, making everything inside you spiral.

"Fuck, Yunho!" you cried out, the pressure building, your body starting to shake as you neared the edge.

"Yeah, baby, that’s it," Yunho hissed, his pace relentless, pushing you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N. Let me see how much you need me."

And with that, you shattered.

Your body trembled, your nails scratching down his back as you came undone, screaming his name as pleasure coursed through you in waves. Yunho wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing sloppier as he finally found his release, his breath ragged in your ear as he came inside you with a growl.

He didn’t let you down, not even when you were both left panting, bodies tangled together in the aftermath.

“You’re mine now,” Yunho murmured against your skin, his hand still gripping your waist as you tried to catch your breath.

You knew it wasn’t over. He wasn’t going to let you go. And deep down, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

Yunho’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling against yours, as you both caught your breath. The weight of what just happened settled in, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. He pulled out gently, keeping you in his arms as he guided you to the couch nearby.

You felt a little shaky, but Yunho was steady as always, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He helped you get comfortable, pulling a blanket over your body, still keeping you close to him. His hands were soft now as they traced over your skin, the tenderness a stark contrast to the roughness of moments ago.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but still laced with concern.

You nodded, still processing everything that just happened. “Yeah... I’m good.”

Yunho’s fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he looked at you, his gaze serious but gentle. "I didn’t mean to rush you, Y/N. I just... I couldn’t hold back anymore. You’ve been driving me crazy, and I needed to know where we stood."

You swallowed, shifting slightly to face him, your hand finding his. "You... really want this?" You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face the truth, but you needed to know. “I thought you just wanted to keep things casual like me.”

His jaw clenched at that, and he exhaled slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Y/N. At first, I thought I could keep it casual too. But when it’s you? I can’t. I won’t.” His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, his eyes softening. “You’ve been acting like you want to keep your distance, but I know you feel it too. You feel what I feel, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you just stared at him, taking in his words. He wasn’t looking at you with anger or impatience, just a deep intensity. “Why me, Yunho?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are so many other girls, you know. Why do you want me?”

Yunho’s hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, tender, like he was trying to soothe the doubt in your mind. "Because I don’t want anyone else," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You think I don’t see how you push me away? How you try to keep it light, like you’re not affected by all this? But I see through that. I see how you’re always right there when I need you, how you look at me when you think I don’t notice."

You felt your heart race, the warmth of his words sinking in. “But I’ve been trying to keep it casual... I don’t know how to let go of that fear, Yunho.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his voice low and raw. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not like the others. I’ll show you. If you let me, I’ll prove it to you every damn day.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. It was hard to believe after all the heartache you’d been through, but with Yunho, it felt different. He made you feel seen.

"How can you be so sure?" you asked quietly, your voice barely audible. “How do you know I won’t just run again?”

Yunho sighed, pressing his lips against your forehead, the gesture so soft it almost made your heart ache. “Because I’m not giving you a choice,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for you. I’ll make you see that what we have is real. You won’t have to run. Not from me.”

His words made something inside you click. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers. Maybe you weren’t sure how to take that leap just yet. But with him, there was no more pretending, no more games. It wasn’t just the heat and the mess that made it real. It was how he cared—even when you pushed him away.

You took a deep breath, turning your face into his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I don’t know what this is yet,” you whispered, “but I’m not going anywhere either, Yunho.”

And in that moment, the uncertainty didn’t feel so scary. You could trust him. He wasn’t going to let you go.

The night stretched on, quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. You stayed nestled in Yunho’s arms, his warmth surrounding you like a protective shield. He didn’t try to rush anything, simply content to let the silence speak for the both of you. His hand gently played with your hair, the softest of touches, as if he was savoring every moment.

You felt the weight of the world lift, just for a moment, like everything outside of this room didn’t matter. It was just you and him, and that was enough for now.

Yunho kissed the top of your head, his voice gentle when he spoke again. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to keep pretending. I’m here. For real.”

Your fingers curled around his, squeezing lightly, feeling the truth of his words sink in. You didn’t have to have all the answers tonight, or even tomorrow. For once, you didn’t need to figure everything out. All you needed to do was trust him.

And, for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

I love YINGDU as it is

I don't think I'll read these interviews everyone is talking about :/ I thought hard about it, I've read the general points of it, but I don't think reading them will make me enjoy YINGDU more. Quite the opposite actually.

Me: thank you but no thank you. Later maybe. Love you, still.

I don't understand why they had to get interviewed to clear things up. By why, I mean, this situation is fucked up and I don't get how things got like this in this industry.

First. Can't the fans just wait and see? We're grownups, stop treating us like children who cried to get a lollipop. We'll still be here next year. Trust your fanbase.

Second... in what kind of world were the animators under pressure to the point they created plot holes and new timelines by accident? I'm extrapolating but, for real, how fucked up is it that they decided to rush a show that popular for the sake of airing it early? I'm sorry, was the money we spend on merch every few weeks not enough? I'm just mad at the production, honestly. Because they made a big mistake.

They're rushing in like bulls in a china shop. The character PVs were a mistake as well. They should have been released after YINGDU, to manage our expectations on characters that were yet to be introduced. I used to think it was an actual teaser, a window on how Lu Guang saw them or what they will become because of Lu Guang's meddling with the timeline. Now, I'm starting to think they needed strong marketing to get people's attention.

The whole thing makes my viewer experience less than optimal. So I'll keep writing meta but I won't take these interviews into account. 🧩Meta is for fun🧩, mere interpretation, only fanon, and that's okay. Meta is gamble. Meta is character study and theories on plot twists.

✨And that's okay✨

We're not suppose to write season 3 in advance. So it makes sense to me to keep having fun on what the show and the official content bring us. But as far as I'm concerned, the interviews didn't happen. It's not denial, just-

When I was studying cinema in university, my teacher once told me a very harsh truth: if you have to explain the sequence you filmed, then you didn't film it right. Sadly, in this context, production limitations were at fault but the lasting impression is the same.

Do you realize how insane it is that a creative team has to spell their work out to their fans? How humiliating it must be? There's revealing easter egg, teasing next season, spilling spoilers on accident, and then there is whatever that was. I feel for the creators and animators who worked themselves to exhaustion to bring something as beautiful as YINGDU to life. Because this season? It isn't perfect and it's inconsistent and different but no one can call it ugly. I would lick my screen because the image does look tasty lmao. My heart bleeds for all the people involved in this season.

Meta is trying to understand and noticing easter eggs, honouring the writers and animators' work X

Of course, that's only my stand on the topic. I might take different directions in my interpretation than others, that's all. Aaaaaand? Yes. That's okay 🥰

As an artist myself, I feel like the situation is kind of disappointing for the people who worked on YINGDU. That's why I'll take the canon as it is. I don't want to mourn what could be or should have been. I want to enjoy what is.

Meta is diving in the depth of symbolism X

As a fan, I get that we're happy with every nugget of information on what's coming next. The lore in Link Click is still blurry and while I honestly want to believe it is an artistic choice and will stay under control, I can't help but fear it's the result of bad writing. But. What if it is? Meh, I'm still here, enjoying myself. Because I love this show as it is, I see the flaws and the beauty in it. I'll be there.

Meta is love and each of us expresses it differently X

[greengoblinswifey]

Nanny Knows Best II

pairing— Nicholas Chavez x bimbo!nanny!reader

summary— Your ‘relationship’ with your boss has progressed, leading to jealousy from his wife and him inviting you to an award ceremony. After the ceremony, you celebrate in the best way possible with the dam finally breaking after close calls and stolen moments,

warnings— age gap(reader is 19, nicholas is aged up to be 40), infidelity, virgin!reader, lots of flirting, ass grabbing and groping, fluff, slight angst, jealousy, praise kink, fingering, finger sucking, cunnilingus, oral(m), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, L bomb.

a/n— Last part(?) but requests for bimbo!nanny!reader x nicholas are open <3 Please note, this is just fanfiction and I don’t condone cheating of any kind irl. w.c— 7.4k

Part I

Nicholas had kept his word—he didn’t act weird like he did after the kiss. He was as composed as ever, stealing long kisses when no one was looking, his hands sometimes wandering to your ass and boobs, groping you like he couldn’t get enough, leaving breathless before pulling away like nothing happened. But he hadn’t gone further than that, and you knew why.

Victoria had been pissed lately. At first, it was the time he spent with you, but even when he tried to fuck her—unfortunately or even spend time with her, she accused him of thinking about you. She wasn’t wrong, though.

You weren’t mad that you hadn’t gone all the way yet. If anything, you enjoyed dragging things out, watching Nicholas struggle to keep his composure. You teased him relentlessly, brushing up against him when you passed, wearing skirts that made his gaze linger too long on your ass, pressing a finger to his lips when he looked like he might lose control.

You had him wrapped around your finger, and you both knew it.

One afternoon, you were in the kitchen making a bottle for Madison and grabbing juice for Alexander. You hummed to yourself, swaying slightly as you reached for the top shelf. You didn’t hear Nicholas step in until his hands were on your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You like torturing me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin.

You let out a breathy laugh, arching to feel how hard he was behind you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said sweetly, though the way you pushed against him said otherwise.

Nicholas exhaled sharply, his grip tightening, his lips dragging down your neck. “You drive me insane,” he muttered.

Before you could answer, small footsteps echoed down the hall. You barely had time to push him away before Alexander ran into the kitchen, his little hands reaching for his juice. Nicholas took a step back, adjusting his shirt as if nothing had happened, while you handed Alexander his drink with an innocent smile.

Close call. Again. Kids always talked and you didn’t need to scar him or have him blabber to his mother about what he saw.

Later that evening, when Victoria was out for one of her shoots—or whatever she did when she wasn’t home, you and Nicholas found yourselves alone in the living room. The kids were distracted in their playroom, giving you a rare moment of privacy. You stretched lazily on the couch, your skirt slipping up just enough to show the soft curve of your thigh and peeking to show your thong barely covering your pussy. Nicholas sat across from you, gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Something wrong?” you asked, your voice filled with false innocence.

Nicholas exhaled, shaking his head. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” you giggled.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was one second away from crossing the room and ruining you. But before he could even try, Madison’s cries echoed from upstairs.

You smirked, slipping off the couch and brushing past him on your way to the playroom. As you passed, you leaned in just enough to whisper, “Better luck next time, Mr. Chavez.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know he was watching you walk away, frustration rolling off him.

God, you loved this game.

The house was quieter than usual today, with Nicholas and the kids out. You had a moment to relax when you heard the sound of Victoria’s heels clicking against the floor. You didn’t even need to turn around to know she was heading your way. When she spoke, her voice was laced with irritation.

“You think you can keep up this little act?” she said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. Her eyes narrowed in your direction. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

You took a breath, turning around slowly with a small, innocent smile. “What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious but with a subtle hint of challenge in your tone.

Her gaze flickered over you, clearly looking for any sign of weakness. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on between you and Nicholas. The way you act, the way you look at him, its obvious you want my husband.”

You laughed lightly, a little too sweetly for her liking. “Look, Victoria, I’m just here to do my job. If you’ve got a problem with it, I suggest we talk to Nicholas about it. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the extra help.”

She scoffed, clearly not buying it. “You think he doesn’t notice? I know you’ve got some kind of charm working on him. But don’t think you can fool me. I see right through you.”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “Oh, I don’t need to fool anyone. And I’m not dumb, just because I like to have—fun.” You let the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “I graduated university early with a degree that you don’t have, not that it’s any of your business. And with honors, might I add.”

Victoria’s lips pressed together as she looked at you, clearly stunned. For a moment, she was silent, her eyes searching yours, but you were already a step ahead.

“You may think you know everything, but I’ve got a lot more going on than you realize,” you said with a sly grin. “I’m not just the dumb, pretty face you think you can dismiss.”

Before she could say anything else, you turned away, walking past her and leaving the tension hanging in the air. You weren’t about to waste any more of your time on her. What you would use your time to do though, was fuck her husband and get a one up over her. She’d see who really ran things.

As you moved to the kitchen, you thought about how she was probably stewing over the conversation but there wasn’t anything she could do. Nicholas was your boss, she couldn’t fire you. But then, just as you grabbed a glass of water, you heard the door open, and Nicholas stepped in, looking a little worn out from the time with the kids.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted you with a smile that made your heart skip a beat. You returned the smile, and for a moment, the air felt electric between you two.

He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on your ass as he passed you. You caught a hint of his aftershave, the familiar scent that always seemed to draw you in. Your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your ear. “You look gorgeous today,” he murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure, but the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the heat between you two intensifying. “You're just saying that to distract me,” you teased softly.

Nicholas chuckled, and for a brief moment, his hands lingered at your ass, his hands caressing the plump flesh. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of warmth straight to your core. “Maybe I am,” he said his eyes locking onto yours. “But does it work?”

Just as you were about to speak, you heard the sound of footsteps, and in that instant, you both quickly pulled apart, trying to act casual as the kids walked into the room. But the energy between you and Nicholas hadn't dissipated, it lingered in the air and all you wanted to do was pounce on him.

Later, with the kids busy playing, you found yourself alone with him again. You could feel him near, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was hard not to let your guard slip. You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “We’ll have to be more careful next time,” you whispered, knowing the game was far from over.

Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a second, his breath hitching slightly as he met your gaze. “I can't promise I'll be able to stay away,” he murmured. “I need you so fucking bad, sweetheart.”

Just as you both leaned in, about to lose yourselves in another heated kiss, the sound of a door opening caused you to pull away quickly, your heart racing as Victoria’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“The kids are looking for their snacks,” she said, her tone laced with something that you couldn’t quite place—annoyance? Maybe. She glanced over at you and Nicholas, her eyes narrowing.

You smiled sweetly, trying to act innocent. “I’ll be right there,” you said, offering her a wave as you stood up. You glanced back at Nicholas one more time before heading towards the kitchen, your mind already thinking about the next close call. But that next close call thought was shattered.

Something was off, and Nicholas could feel it. It wasn’t anything obvious—just small shifts in your usual demeanor. No lingering glances, no soft smiles, no lighthearted giggles whenever he teased you. You were polite but distant, your usual bubbly energy dulled to something restrained.

And it had everything to do with this morning.

Victoria had always been affectionate with him in front of you—little touches here and there, arms wrapped around his waist, fingers tracing over his jaw, but today had been different. This time, she had kissed him, pressing her lips to his with a kind of ease that came with being his wife. She had pushed herself against him, fingers lacing in his hair, and she had looked right at you as she did it.

Like she was reminding you exactly where you stood.

It shouldn’t have bothered you. Nicholas wasn’t yours. No matter how much he said he wanted you, no matter how many times he found an excuse to keep you close, he still went into bed with her at the end of the day.

But it stung.

And now, hours later, you were still in your own head about it, stirring the sauce on the stove without really paying attention. You didn’t even hear Nicholas come in until you felt his presence behind you, his hand going over your hip before stopping himself.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His voice was low.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the pot. “No.”

He sighed, stepping closer. “You’ve been acting weird all day. Did I do something?”

“No,” you repeated, softer this time.

He didn’t buy it. You felt him reach for you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. And then, before you could step away, he leaned in, lips parting, about to kiss you. But you turned your head at the last second, letting his lips land against your cheek instead.

He froze. You felt the way his breath hitched, the way his hand lingered against your jaw like he was trying to figure out what just happened. Slowly, he pulled back, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Okay, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice more urgent now.

“It’s nothing, really. I should finish dinner before the kids get home,” you said as you exhaled sharply.

“No,” he said immediately, stepping in front of you. “Talk to me, honey.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t like you to tell him how you felt, not when you assumed this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. But the way he was looking at you now, searching your face like he genuinely cared, made it impossible to brush him off.

You sighed. “This morning. With her.”

His expression flickered, realization dawning. He pressed his lips together, nodding like he understood exactly what you meant. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I should’ve—” He exhaled. “I didn’t think. I didn’t want to make you feel like, like you don’t matter to me.”

Your chest tightened. “I know I don’t have a right to be upset. She’s your wife.”

“But you mean something to me, too,” he said quickly, reaching for you again, his hands cupping your cheeks. “You mean so much to me.”

Your resolve cracked. The way he was looking at you, the warmth in his touch, the sincerity in his voice, it was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You melted against him, letting him wrap his arms around you, inhaling the familiar scent of him.

“How?” you mumbled against his chest, your voice small.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This weekend.”

“What?”

“Victoria’s flying out with the kids for that wedding,” he reminded you. “You’re supposed to go, but she made it very clear she’d rather struggle alone than have you there.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh at that. “She really hates me.”

“She’s jealous,” he corrected, smirking. “Not that I blame her.”

Your cheeks warmed, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I have the Golden Globes Friday, but tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping,” he said, smoothing his hands down your hips. “Whatever you want. All weekend, you’re mine.”

“Really?” you asked, a slow, giddy smile spread across your face.

He nodded. “Really.”

You bit your lip, your usual bubbly energy returning as you swayed on your heels. “I do love shopping.”

“I know you do.”

And just like that, the jealousy and frustration from earlier faded into something warm and sweet. Because maybe, for just a little while, you could pretend that you were his. And maybe, for just a little while, he could pretend too.

The next morning, Nicholas kept his promise. You had expected something simple, maybe a quick stop at a store before he had to rush off to film. But no, he was serious about spoiling you. He had a car pick you up, a sleek black one with tinted windows, and when you slid inside, he was already waiting, his arm stretched across the back of the seat like he had all the time in the world for you.

“You ready?” he asked, smirking as his eyes dragged over your outfit. “You look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach fluttered at the compliment. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nice,” he said simply, nodding to the driver.

You tried not to overthink what somewhere nice meant. You tried not to wonder if he had done this before, taken Victoria shopping, picked out things for her, spoiled her the way he was about to spoil you.

But as soon as you arrived, stepping into the first high end designer store where the sales associates practically tripped over themselves to greet Nicholas, all those thoughts faded.

Because this? This was for you.

And he made that clear.

“What about this?” you asked, holding up a red dress, expecting the usual nod of approval.

But Nicholas shook his head. “Not you.”

You blinked. “Not me?”

He took the dress from your hands, replacing it with another—softer, sexier, something that hugged you in all the right places.

“This,” he murmured, running his thumb over the fabric. “This is you.”

Your breath caught.

And it continued like that—him choosing things for you, watching you try them on, leaning back in his seat as he took you in. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel.

But it was dangerous too.

Because at the end of the day, he still wasn’t yours.

And as much as he wanted you to feel special, this wasn’t real.

Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

Nicholas had certainly followed through on every word, after, he made sure to take you from one designer store to another, never once flinching at the price tags. Gucci, Chanel, Cartier—if you wanted it, it was yours. He helped you pick out the perfect dress for the ceremony, something elegant but undeniably you, pairing it with Louboutin heels that made your legs look even longer. You had even restocked your makeup with Charlotte Tilbury, layering yourself in luxury.

But the best part? He let you indulge in your favorites. Juicy Couture, where you picked out sets in every color. Victoria’s Secret, where you didn’t hold back, tossing lace and silk into your shopping bags without a second thought.

Nicholas didn’t complain once. He only watched, entertained and amused, as you treated yourself like the princess he claimed you were. It wasn’t until you were in the dressing room, slipping into a plush pink robe, that things took a turn.

You were adjusting the belt in front of the mirror when the lock clicked behind you.

Your breath caught.

Nicholas.

He had slipped inside, shutting the door behind him, his presence instantly making the small space feel even smaller. His gaze dragged over you like he had all the time in the world to admire you.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

“Mr. Chavez, you’re not supposed to be in here.”

His lips twitched. “You’re right.” He stepped closer, pressing a hand to the curve of your waist, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Because, being in here makes me wanna fuck you right here, right now.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You turned to face him, eyes wide. “Mr. Cha—”

“I know,” he cut in, his fingers tracing the belt of your robe, his voice soft but insistent. “I can’t. But I can do something else.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he dropped to his knees. Your stomach flipped. “Nicholas—”

“Shh,” he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs. His eyes lifted to yours, dark. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitched.

Outside, the store was filled with people—other shoppers, sales associates, people who had no idea what was happening behind the locked door.

You shouldn’t. But when Nicholas pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, your resolve crumbled.

And as his hands slowly spread your pussy open, as he whispered soft praises against you, you realized something dangerous.

For the first time all day, it wasn’t the diamonds or designer labels that made you feel spoiled.

It was him.

You pressed a hand to the wall, the other gripping the belt of your robe like an anchor, your knees threatening to give out as Nicholas ravished your pussy with his mouth.

He had always been good with words, but now? Now he spoke in a way that made your head spin—soft groans and whispered praises against your core, each one sinking into you.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured. “So perfect, baby.”

You whimpered, biting down on your lip to stay quiet, but the pleasure was overwhelming. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as you trembled against him, your body betraying you, giving in to everything he was pulling from you.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “We—we can’t—”

His lips curved against you, amusement in his next words. “Then be quiet.”

But how could you? How could you when he was so relentless, when every stroke of his tongue made your breath hitch, made heat coil in your stomach until you were seconds away from breaking apart?

And then—a knock.

Your heart jumped into your throat. “Everything okay in there?” A voice—feminine and concerned. An employee.

Nicholas didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, dragging his hands up your legs, pulling you closer, deeper into his mouth like he wanted to see you panic, like he loved the idea of you barely holding it together.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a whimper as you forced out a breathy, “Y-yeah! Everything’s totally fine!”

The pause outside the door felt endless.

Then, finally—“Alright, just let me know if you need anything.”

Footsteps faded, and you sighed in relief, only to gasp as Nicholas gave you one last, devastating pass of his tongue.

That was it. That was all it took.

Your whole body tensed, shaking as the pleasure crashed over you, silent but all consuming. Nicholas held you through it, his hands steady, his mouth working you through the aftershocks until you were barely standing.

Only then did he finally pull away, his breath heavy, his lips slick and shining as he looked up at you with that signature smirk. His chin was soaked. And the worst part? He knew exactly what he had done to you.

“You should see yourself right now,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over his lips. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your legs still felt weak, your head foggy, but couldn’t speak.

Nicholas carried your bags, all of them like it was nothing, his arms stacked high with luxury shopping bags as you both stepped outside. The flash of cameras caught your attention, a few paparazzi managing to snap some photos before security ushered them back.

You didn’t think much of it. You were too dazed, still floating from earlier, your legs still wobbly in your heels.

Nicholas opened the black car door for you, helping you in before tossing the bags into the trunk. Once he slid in beside you, he didn’t stop looking at you.

That smug, self satisfied look. “Stop it,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Stop what?” he smirked.

“Staring at me like that,” you pouted, crossing your arms. “It’s weird.”

His grin widened. “But I made you cum, didn’t I?”

Your whole body burned. “Mr. Chavez!” You smacked his arm before burying your face in his chest, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “You’re too cute.”

You huffed, refusing to look at him. But the way he was holding you, stroking circles against your hip, made it impossible to be truly mad.

By the time you reached the mansion, you had regained some of your composure. Nicholas let you breathe, retreating to his own space while you packed away your new things.

You still couldn’t believe it. A rich, married man. Your rich, married man. It was wrong. And yet, here you were.

You were admiring a new diamond bracelet in the mirror when he appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with that same smirk.

“Pretty,” he murmured. “But not as pretty as you.”

“You’re such a flirt,” you said as you turned, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist. “Only for you, baby.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, tilting your chin up before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into it, hands sliding up his muscular chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He kissed you harder, guiding you back toward the bed, his hands slipping under your crop top, pushing it aside. You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, his touch igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.

Clothes came off, piece by piece, heat building until you were naked beneath him, your body arching against his. And then—he stopped.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Nicholas?”

He sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “Not like this,” he murmured.

You pouted. “But—”

He kissed you again, soft but firm. “I want your first time to be special,” he said, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Not rushed.”

Your heart was aching at how genuine he sounded. “But,” he smirked, “I can still make you feel good.”

Before you could respond, his hand slipped between your thighs, drawing out a gasp as he touched your pussy that was already dripping wet for him.

He took his time, watching every reaction, whispering sweet praises, coaxing you to the edge.

His finger thrusted inside your pussy, curling and finding your g spot as you moaned freely beneath him. Finally you didn’t have to worry about being caught.

He look at you, his eyes moving from your lips to your pussy gushing for him. “Those sweet moans. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

You pressed your forehead against his, grinding against his hand so his palm calm in contact with your clit.

“Good girl, now it’s time to cum for me,” he said, voice low and rough.

Your pussy clenched around him and you cried out, a release so intense it made you squirt all over his fingers. He held you close as you trembled, pressing kisses to your forehead.

By the time you came down, trembling and breathless, he was holding you close, stroking your back.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed, melting into him, eyes fluttering shut as you fell into slumber.

The next morning came quicker than expected. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred slightly, still tangled in the sheets with the events of the previous night in your mind. Nicholas had slept in your bed and it was a wonder how he managed to keep his dick in his pants.

The Golden Globes was that night, and he was up early, making sure everything was in place. You, however, took your time getting ready, ensuring every detail of how you looked was perfect.

Just as you were slipping into your dress, a soft knock sounded at the door.

“Are you ready?” Nicholas called.

You took one last glance in the mirror before stepping forward and opening the door. Nicholas stopped breathing.

His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch, the dress hugging your figure perfectly, the way your makeup highlighted your best features, your hair perfectly curled, the effortless way you carried yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled. “You look—” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

You gave him a twirl, the fabric of your dress catching the light just right. “You like it?”

“Like it?” He scoffed, stepping closer, his hand grazing your waist before he caught himself. “Sweetheart, I love it. You look absolutely breathtaking.”

His words made your body warm, but before you could reply, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

With a small smile, you looped your arm through his, and together, you stepped out, ready for the night.

The moment you arrived at the Golden Globes, all eyes were on you. The flashes of cameras were overwhelming and reporters and photographers called out Nicholas’ name. But then, to your surprise, they started calling you too.

You instinctively held onto Nicholas’ arm, nerves creeping in. He felt it immediately, his hand covering yours, reassuringly.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Just give them that beautiful smile.”

You did.

Together, you posed for pictures, his hand resting securely at your waist. But then, a few photographers started asking for solo shots. You hesitated, glancing at Nicholas.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged softly.

Taking a breath, you stepped forward. The photographers gushed over you, snapping pictures from every angle. Compliments came from all angles, how elegant you looked, how cute you and Nicholas were together. It was overwhelming, but Nicholas never took his eyes off you, standing just a step away.

Meanwhile, he was pulled into an interview, and of course, the questions about you came. “And who is this stunning young woman with you tonight?"

He laughed, his gaze flickering to you as you clutched his arm, still smiling.

“A very special woman,” he said vaguely. “She’s been my biggest supporter.”

Before they could press further, the ceremony began.

The night went on but nothing compared to the moment Nicholas’ name was announced as the winner for Best Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama.

The second it echoed through the hall, you both shot to your feet. His first instinct was to turn to you, his hands finding your waist, his face so close, his lips brushed yours before he remembered. His wife was watching.

He stopped himself just in time, but you didn’t care. You threw your arms around him instead, jumping up and down, screaming in excitement.

“You did it!” you squealed. “Mr. Chavez, you won!”

He hugged you tightly, holding onto you for a minute longer before he finally made his way to the stage. The applause was loud as he accepted his Golden Globe, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude.

“Wow,” he exhaled into the mic. “This—this means everything.”

He thanked his team, the cast, his family, his kids. And then—

“I want to thank a special woman,” he said, his voice steady. His eyes flickered to you.

You stilled.

“Yeah, you know who you are,” he continued, lips twitching into the smallest smile. “You were the one who pushed me to audition for this film. You told me the role was mine before I even believed it myself. Without you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You’re my biggest supporter.”

Your heart clenched.

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you held them back, shaking your head in disbelief, hands clasped over your mouth.

The moment he stepped off stage, you were in his arms again, holding on tight.

As the ceremony wrapped up, you leaned into Nicholas, your hand slipping into his. “We should totally celebrate,” you whispered.

He smirked, holding up his award. “The best celebration?” he murmured, leaning closer, “would be with you in my arms.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

The car ride home was quiet and very intimate. Nicholas held his award in one hand, his other resting over yours. At one point, he lifted the Golden Globe, pressing a kiss to it before turning to you, brushing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, reaching to straddle him, fingers threading through his hair, but the car stopped. You had arrived home.

He exhaled a laugh, his hands slipping to your waist as you both pulled away, breathless. “Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Hand in hand, you stepped into the mansion like you were his wife. He had been gushing over you all night, and now was no different. He stopped you in the grand hallway, taking a moment just to admire you. “You have no idea how perfect you are, how perfect you look,” he murmured.

Then, he smirked. “I have a surprise for you.”

Curious, you followed him up the stairs, only to freeze at the sight. The entire staircase was lined with rose petals and pink flowers, leading up to his bedroom.

“Nicholas,” you gasped.

He pushed the door open, revealing the room filled with candlelight. Roses were scattered everywhere, the soft scent filling the air.

You turned to him, stunned. “Is this for me?”

His expression softened. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist. “You deserve it.”

Before you could say another word, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered against your skin. “So beautiful. Flawless.”

His lips brushed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw and then finally, your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—he was in love.

Nicholas backed you toward the bed, his gaze dark. His hands were gentle as they trailed down your arms, fingertips going over your skin as if you were something precious.

“You have me at your mercy,” he murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched as the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, and before you could fully process it, he was kneeling before you, his large hands smoothing over your thighs. His touch was savoring every inch of you, his lips pressing kisses along the path his fingers traced.

His hands found the hem of your dress, gathering it slowly, sliding it up your legs as his lips followed. A kiss at your knee, another at the inside of your thigh, each one sending a shiver through you. He held you firmly, his breath warm against your skin as he murmured, “You’re perfect. So beautiful, so sweet, my perfect girl.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a desperate attempt to hold onto something as his lips and touch gave you overwhelming pleasure. He hummed in approval, his hands spreading your legs, squeezing gently, savoring the feeling of you beneath him. His kisses against your pussy turned hungrier, his voice a quiet worship between them.

“So goddamn wet for me, you taste so good.”

You arched under his devotion as his tongue explored you and he took his time, as if memorizing you, drawing out every moan with precision that came with being with an older man. Every brush of his lips, every press of his thumb against your clit built, heightening the pleasure until you were trembling, breathless, gasping his name.

He didn’t stop. He soothed you through it, whispering how good you were, how proud he was, how no one else could ever make him feel the way you did. His hands caressed you, his touch never leaving you, even as you came down from the high he had so effortlessly brought you to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked with your juices. He tilted his head up, watching you with satisfaction, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh before pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. Then, rising slowly, he brushed his lips against your temple, then your cheek, before finally pressing a deep, slow kiss to your lips.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” he murmured against your mouth.

You could only nod, still lost in his touch.

He smiled, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Good. Because I’d do it again and again if it meant seeing you like this.”

Nicholas held your gaze, his fingers replacing his mouth in your pussy, working slow thrusts as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Have to get this tight pussy ready for me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

His free hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips trailed over your chest. His finger curled inside your wetness as his thumb rubbed rough, but gentle circles on your throbbing clit, “You’re so good for me,” he praised, watching every reaction, every tremble. “My pretty girl.”

Your fingers dug into his arms, breath hitching as warmth built deep inside you. “Nicholas—” you whimpered, your body arching into his touch.

“That’s it, my love,” he coaxed, kissing you deeply, his hand never faltering. “Cum for me, I’ve got you.”

You could barely hold back, gripping his shoulders as your body responded to the deep strokes of his fingers, finally reaching an orgasm that had you gasping as you squirted all over his fingers. He knew exactly how to make you feel good.

“Taste yourself,” he murmured. You held on to his hand, sucking your juices off his fingers before you took them in deeper.

“So obedient,” he praising, rubbing his thumb on your lip. “What a fucking mouth.”

“And I know how to use it,” you said, finally speaking.

“Are you sure you want to, sweetheart? Tonight’s about you,” he retorted.

“Tonight’s about you too, we’re also celebrating, remember,” you pouted and that did it for him.

His gaze was fixed on you, as he shrugged his pants and the rest of his suit off. Your fingers brushed over him in all his glory, and his breath caught when you made contact. He was hard, long and full of girth, feeling weighty in your hand. The tip was pretty, pink and leaking, pre cum oozing and slowly dripping down his shaft. As you looked up at him through your lashes, you could tell by the look in his eyes how badly he wanted this, and that only made you want him more.

God, you were almost jealous. Victoria used to get that dick every night. But then your jealousy turned into pride—it was yours now. She was stupid to be neglecting him.

His hands wrapped in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

As you took him into your mouth, each motion drew out quiet sounds from him. You took him deeper and deeper, swirling your tongue as you did and using your hands to rub his bare thighs then to caress his balls.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Everything about you is perfect.”

His praises made your pussy throb and you started deep throating him, using as much tongue as you could to make it sloppy just the way you knew older men liked it.

“Sweetheart, if you keep taking me like that—fuck, I’m gonna cum, you’re so good at this.”

You moaned around his cock, then took it out of your mouth to spit on it. Sticking your tongue out, you looked up at him as you slapped his cock against it and he moaned in response, his head tipping back.

He gently placed a hand on your cheek, caressing as your movements caused salvia and his pre cum to drip down your chin. You were a sight for sore eyes and he was ready to see you swallow his cum.

“H-holy fucking shit baby, I’m gonna cum down that throat,” he moaned, his voice breaking.

You took him as deep as you could, then gliding your mouth and your tongue across his shaft as you felt his warm cum shoot down your throat. You swallowed every drop and smiled up at him.

“Good girl,” he cooed, pulling you up to him, “I’m so proud of you.”

Nicholas stood in front of you, his hands gentle but firm as he carefully took off your dress, his gaze never straying from you. His eyes were filled with admiration, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t want to take off the beautiful dress you’d been wearing all night but you somehow looked even more beautiful underneath.

“You're absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. “I can’t even begin to explain how gorgeous you are.”

You felt your cheeks heat at his words, but his tone was so comforting and warm that any nervousness quickly faded. His hands were tender as they glided over your skin, slowly removing your undergarments from your body, piece by piece.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment, checking if you were still comfortable.

You nodded, feeling a sense of trust as he continued. “Yes, I'm okay.”

Nicholas took a deep breath, visibly trying to steady himself. He reached out and held your hand, squeezing it gently as he spoke again.

“I want you to know that this is all about you,” he said softly. “And I’m here with you every step of the way, okay? If you need a moment, we can stop. Just tell me.”

You nodded again, your heart fluttering, feeling a mix of excitement and comfort with his reassurances.

“This might be a bit uncomfortable at first and once again, if you want me to stop, let me know.”

He lined his raw, hard cock with your entrance, his movements slow and thoughtful, making sure everything was gentle. He kept his promise, holding your hand tightly and keeping his focus entirely on you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. “You feel like Heaven.”

His thrusts stilled when he felt your barrier, and he slowly leaned down, your hand remaining in his as he kissed you softly. He pushed against the barrier and you bit down on your lip, the discomfort unmistakable but soon fading into immense pleasure. Your hot married boss was taking your virginity.

He rubbed your clit as he moved inside you, his thick cock only managing to go half way in, yet it felt so good. His muscles flexed as he was above you, his abs glistening under the candlelight.

He continued to check in with you, asking if you were okay, his affection unwavering. You felt safe, cherished, and respected as he made sure to only move forward when you gave him the go ahead each time he checked if you were fine.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You're taking me so well,” he murmured. “I knew you would.” His words and steady thrusts built you up and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. Your pussy clenched around his cock even tighter, your moans growing louder.

“I know baby, I know. Cum for me, cum on my cock,” he encouraged.

He pressed his forehead against yours, and your fingers dug deep into his back, leaving a trail of fire as an intense orgasm washed over you. Your legs shook and you cried out as you came, his touch comforting and grounding you through it all.

He caressed your cheek, moaning as a rush of liquid soaked his cock. “That’s it. Good girl.”

When your breathing slowed, he gently flipped you onto your stomach, his touch delicate as he continued thrusting slowly, tracing kisses along your shoulders and down your back. “You’re so beautiful, from this angle.”

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements on his cock as the sensitivity made you feel the tension build again, his whispered words filling you with warmth and reassurance.

“Rub your clit for me, sweetheart” he panted, cock pulsing inside you.

Doing as you were told, you rubbed your clit, jolts of pleasure shooting through you. His thrusts increased but still gentle and each time he pulled out leaving only the tip in, his cock was covered in your cream and juices.

“Cum again for me, baby. Cum with me while I cum inside this perfect pussy,” he breathed. “Best fucking pussy I’ve ever had.”

With one final thrust, he groaned, a low and guttural sound—almost primal spilling inside you as you clenched down on his cock and squirted. You milked him of all he had, ropes of his hot cum lodged deep inside you. He stilled, tracing his fingers along your spine. “You have the most perfect ass,” he teased, making you smile as you both caught your breath.

The warmth of Nicholas’ embrace putting you on your back made reality slowly settle around. He held you close, his lips pressing against your forehead. His breath was still a little uneven, but his focus was entirely on you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, tilting your chin so he could meet your gaze. His eyes were full of concern. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, a shy smile on your lips. “No,” you whispered. “That was amazing.”

Something in his expression softened even more and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb on your cheek. “You were perfect,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m honored you trusted me with this.”

The exhaustion was beginning to settle deep in your bones and Nicholas noticed immediately, shifting to sit up, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You’re tired, I’ll take care of you.”

Before you could protest, he had already lifted you into his arms, carrying you through the candlelit room and into the bathroom. The scent of roses was still in the air, mixing with the faint cherry aroma of the bath bomb he poured into the warm water. Steam came around you both as he stepped into the tub, settling in first before guiding you between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

His arms circled around your waist, holding you securely as the warmth of the water enveloped you. His lips brushed against your shoulder, trailing soft kisses up to your neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. “And you did so good for me. I hope you know how much you mean to me.”

A deep warmth spread through your chest and you leaned into him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as he ran a washcloth over your skin with delicate care.

By the time he had you wrapped in a plush towel and carried you back to bed, sleep was already pulling at you. He slipped in beside you, tucking the covers over both of you before pulling you into his arms once more. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his fingers tracing light patterns along your spine.

“You mean the world to me,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your hair.

As sleep began to take you under, you barely registered his next words, soft, almost like a breath against your skin.

“I love you.”

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Tags: @blackynsupremacy @hoffmansgirl @emluvsuxo @hopefully-saturn @iamsebastiansstan @chavezhoe @jennieonline @girldisrupted @nicholaschavezslut69

[suhnflowerstay]

game night pt 2

taglist: @j-onepostzz @lovesunshinefelix @straykeedz @skzbangchanniee

bang chan x afab!reader, lee minho x afab!reader

wc: 10.9k

tags: toxic situationship vibes, high emotions, light angst, smut, fluff, love triangle

part 1

----------

minho: yo so is your friend single

Your eyes open, and Chan's still not awake. Chan typically wakes up before you do, but your brain was so restless thinking about the text from Minho and what it could mean. Chan being deep in sleep has to be a sign, you tell yourself, and your heart starts racing all over again. A large part of you knows that the man sleeping next to you would purposefully sabotage any potential fling with Minho over the weird possessiveness he feels and the double standards he holds. Luckily, you both know each other’s phone passcodes. While that knowledge typically leads to arguments and broken hearts, this time it can lead to something good. (for you at least)

In a burst of impulsivity, you grab Chan’s phone and unlock it to reply, acknowledging in your heart that there will be a fight that happens as a result of going through Chan’s phone to give your number to someone else. That, however, is a problem for future you to deal with. 

chan: yeah, y/n’s single why do you ask

You bite your lip, (im)patiently waiting for him to reply, hoping so desperately that he’s also awake right now. To your surprise, the bubble pops up to show that he’s typing, and you internally squeal, looking over to ensure that Chan is still asleep.

minho: well after last night, i just couldn’t stop thinking about how y/n’s really funny and so insanely pretty it’s crazy 

minho: and i figured if you two aren’t dating, why don’t i give it a try?

Fighting the urge to throw the phone across the room, you send Minho your number before setting Chan’s phone back on the nightstand. You already know that when he sees the messages, it’ll start another fight, but by that point, it won’t matter since you just received a text from Minho asking how you’re feeling after last night’s drinking.

Chan wakes up an hour or two later and finds the bed empty. He assumes you’re in the living room and groggily reaches for his phone, squinting while trying to read the notifications on his screen. He sees the group chat has been blowing up, and when he opens his messages app, Chan notices something weird. In his thread with Minho, your phone number is the last text sent. Chan’s positive he’s not the one who sent that, which means you must have, and he feels sick. He tries to suppress the anxiety rising from the pit of his stomach and opens up the group chat. Where everyone is talking about how hot his friend was. Cool cool cool.

hyunjin: bro chan

hyunjin: next time you bring a baddie to game night please give me a heads up

hyunjin: i was in no way ready to talk to someone who was both hot AND funny

changbin: no seriously

changbin: i also held myself back because i really thought you two were dating

changbin: i didn’t realize i missed my chance until minho yelled from across the room asking if you were dating and then whispered dibs

minho: you snooze you lose

minho: y/n is single but not for long

Chan immediately shoots into panic mode, his worst fears realized. Minho is going to ask you out. You’re going to say yes. He’s going to be amazing, and you are going to fall in love with him and get married and have 12 kids and a farm and like puppies and kitties too probably. Okay maybe he’s spiraling but…

How the hell is he supposed to compete with that and what the fuck is he going to do about it?

“You went through my phone and gave Minho your number???” Chan storms into the living room.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you say casually, looking back down at your phone to text Minho like you’ve been doing since you woke up.

“Are you going to respond at all, bro?!” Chan asks, bewildered, “Why would you text him your number from my phone? What happened to ‘I’m never gonna see him again’?”

“Well… that was before he asked if I was single, and like I told you last night, I am,” you say matter-of-factly.

Chan cannot believe what he’s hearing. His ears are ringing and he feels the blood draining from his body, especially from his face. He's sure he’s about to die because he has no idea what to do, but he knows he has to sabotage it somehow. Maybe he’ll tell all of his friends that you and he are secretly dating or maybe he’ll tell them you have an STI or that you torture animals. One way or another he has to make sure that not a single friend of his wants anything to do with you at all. He wishes so badly he never took you to game night and that they had no idea that you existed.

Three of Chan's most attractive and charming friends all want you, and you’re clearly interested in at least one of them. If you knew the rest of his friends all had some sort of interest in you, would you also be interested in them? He’s spiraling and lost in the fear of what could possibly happen that he doesn't even realize you’re calling out his name. He looks up and he’s now sitting on the couch. How did he get here?

“Chan! Channie, are you okay?” your voice slowly fades in. You look so concerned. Have you always looked so beautiful in the mornings? Chan thinks.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t say anything for a bit, and then you straight up looked like you were about to collapse onto the floor! Your face is so pale- are you okay? Do you have alcohol poisoning?”

Chan’s face turns red, and he can’t believe he just almost fainted in front of you at the thought of you going out with Minho. He needs to learn how to hide his feelings better, and he needs to do it fast.

You make sure he’s okay and that he’s eaten before you let him know you have to head out to do homework. This, of course, is a clever lie so that you can text Minho all weekend without an extremely jealous and possessive man peering over your shoulder, watching your every move. 

What you don’t know is that Chan knows you’re doing this, or at least assuming you are, which is enough, and it’s making him progressively spiral and further lose his mind. He is overthinking every possible outcome. What if you’re talking about him? What if you don’t actually like how he is in bed and you tell his friend and now his entire friend group thinks he’s bad at sex? What if you say you don’t think he’s funny? What if you send Minho nudes? What if you send Minho nudes that he will never get? Chan doesn’t think he can handle that, and the room starts spinning again. 

What if Minho does ask you out, and what if you say yes? The yes feels like a guarantee to Chan. Not for nothing, but Minho is a super good looking guy. He’s super sweet and exactly what you would describe as your type, so there is nothing stopping you from saying yes. What happens next? Will you be Minho’s girlfriend? Will he have to stop sleeping with you and jacking off to your nudes on the nights he doesn’t see you? Will you even still consider him your friend after everything you two have done? Is he going to lose you forever to a man who can’t tell if two people are dating or cousins?

---

You’d been texting Minho all weekend, getting to know each other, and as you walk up to campus on Monday morning, you’re honestly disappointed that he hasn’t alluded to any plan to see you or take you out on a date. As you walk towards your first class, a boy with purple hair suddenly pops up in front of you.

“Hi, beautiful,” he smiles.

“Hi, Minho” you respond, surprised.

“How was your weekend?” he asks, now apparently accompanying you on your walk to class. You find yourself feeling so grateful this is not the class you have with Chan because you aren’t mentally prepared for that drama right now. It is way too early for that.

“It was great. I actually met this really funny guy. He was about yay high,” you say gesturing and putting your hand at his height, “kind of crazy hair and eyes… oh! and says fucko a lot.”

“Oh wow,” he says laughing, “That sounds like a super interesting and hot guy that you should seriously consider asking to marry you. Truly sounds like a keeper,” he kids.

“I don't know that I'm thinking about marriage right now,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Boo!” he jeers, before asking, “Well if you aren’t thinking about marriage, could I interest you in thinking about a date?”

Your brain shuts down.

“YES!” you say a little too quickly, “Uh yes, yeah. For sureeee, dude. Definitely. That sounds great! I’m so down-” you ramble

“Say yes one more time, and I'll be convinced,” he jokes

“I could change my answer to no,” you warn.

“Fine, fine, fine-” he concedes as you pull up outside your classroom, “I’ll text you the details, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you smile.

“Perfect,” he smiles back, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek.

Internal screaming ensues

Safe to say that your heart is racing for the rest of the day, and you might as well not have gone to class because you were not mentally present and learned nothing. The only thought in your mind is Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho-

“Y/N!!!”

Your thoughts are interrupted as you turn around to see Chan jogging up to you.

“Hey, baby,” he says, kissing you.

“Hi,” you reply softly, a little worried that someone (Minho) might be around but melting into his arms anyway.

“How were your classes? Ready to go to the library?”

In the midst of the Minho flash mob going on in your head, you had completely forgotten about your usual study date with Chan on Mondays. How were you supposed to act normal when you were patiently waiting for whatever details Minho was going to send you related to your date?

Chan could sense something was off with you, so he said, “Let’s call off studying for the day and take a drive. What do you think?”

“Sure, sounds fun!” you said thankful to hopefully have more of a distraction than your usual table at the library would give you. You had no clue where he was taking you until you wound up at the beach.

“Hello? What are we doing here?” you laugh.

“Well clearly you’re feeling overwhelmed about something, so I figured a walk on the beach would help since it always does,” he takes your hands into his, looking down shyly. Chan’s behavior is throwing you off, and it feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. It all feels so intimate, making your heart do cartwheels. He knows something’s wrong, so he took you to your favorite place to try to help. You nearly melt.

“Awwwww, Channieeeeee! You love me, how cute,” you softly pinch his cheek, trying to play it off. Instead of joking back, however, he slides his hand to the back of his neck with a little smile and deflects, “Let’s go get you something to eat before we take a walk, and maybe… if you want, you can talk it out, o-only if you want though.”

Talking it out isn’t really an option for you, seeing as your inner turmoil is coming from potentially being in love with Chan and definitely having a crush on Minho. You do, however, feel stress-free spending time with one of your best friends, just listening to the sounds of the ocean and giggling at whatever dumb jokes Chan makes. The familiar feeling comes creeping over you again, as you fall back into comfortable silence alongside Chan.

You are definitely a little bit in love with Chan, and there’s really no doubt now. You’ve been in denial for a very long time because… it’s Chan. He is probably your best friend in the whole wide world, and you refuse to be one of the many people that just fell in love despite him being very clear about his disinterest in relationships. It’s also not something you’re proud of. You were supposed to be totally cool and distant, and it’s entirely too late now. Both of you may have been wrong when you thought it would be simple transitioning from being best friends with someone to having sex with them without some sort of romantic feelings developing.

Even though you know Chan will never want anything other than something casual with you, seeing him in the sunset, smiling and laughing, makes your heart yearn for him even more. You think about how easy it all is and how right it feels. It's him. It just sucks that you are not the one for him... that you aren’t enough. Not enough to get him to want to commit, at least, because otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

The sound of your phone buzzing throws you out of your depressive spiral, the screen lighting up with texts from the man you’ve wanted to hear from all day (and the only man who might be able to help you get over Chan).

minho: hi beautiful how was your day?

minho: are you free tomorrow night?

You smile a little at your phone, and Chan takes notice. He does his best to not look suspicious as he peeks over at your phone screen to see what Minho texted you, and his heart sinks.

“Who's that?” he asks, defeated.

“Oh, it’s just Minho,” you say, looking at your phone, unaware of the frown Chan is now wearing.

“What does he want?”

You look up and see Chan clearly not doing so well, and you begin feeling defensive and ready to remind him that he’s the one that doesn’t want to commit.

“He asked me out on a date earlier and texted me just now to see when I’m free,” you reply, waiting for whatever angry or annoyed response you’re about to get.

“Oh…”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, oh…” the boy looks down, “Did you want me to say something else?”

“No...” Yes! I want you to ask me not to go! you think. I want you to tell me you’re in love with me too and that you will never want anyone but me and that no one else could possibly be me. I want you to tell me that you want me just as much as I want you!

The two of you continue your walk in the sand after you let Minho know that you are indeed free. There is far less laughter, and there is no longer a carefree feeling. Chan drops you off at home, and you feel a bit sad over the shift that’s happening with him but hopeful and excited about your date with Minho.

---

Minho does not tell you what you two are doing on the date, so you have absolutely no idea what to wear. You decide to go for something casual enough that you wouldn’t feel too overdressed if you wound up at the movie theater but not so underdressed that you’d feel uncomfortable at a higher end restaurant. At least that’s how your best friend and roommate Haechan tells you to dress. He lends a helping hand by telling you if you look absolutely horrible or like you’re trying too hard. It may seem like it’s harsh, but he is tired of watching you cry over Chan on a weekly basis.

Being your roommate and best friend means that he hears about every fight with Chan and every girl you see Chan with. He sometimes even hears your fights if they happen in your shared apartment. He wants this to go well as much as you do, for your sake. You deserve someone sweet and caring who is serious about you, and from what Haechan has heard so far, Minho seems like he might be all of those things. This sentiment is reinforced when Minho picks you up.

Minho shows up to pick you up, but he picks you up. He doesn’t just text you that he’s outside. This man actually walks up to your door with flowers, and you are completely shocked. He's dressed in a button down shirt and some black pants, so you definitely feel comfortable with your choice of outfit.

“Wow, your place is really nice. It definitely feels like you,” he says, taking time to look at all the pictures of you and your friends, while you put the flowers in a vase. Then, he sees a picture of you with Chan.

“How long have you been friends with Chan?”

Taken aback by his question, you nearly drop the vase.

“Um- a few years. We met while both our families were on vacation, so we had a long distance friendship for a while before we decided to go to the same university,” you say, finally putting the vase down with the flowers arranged nicely. 

“Well that’s lucky. I'm glad you did because now I get the pleasure of getting to know you,” he says, grinning as he walks back up to you. 

Your cheeks warm, “H-how long have you been friends with Chan?”

“Oh, since childhood, like basically my entire life-“ he laughs, “I was always closer with his cousin Felix because we had similar interests, but Chan was always around as well. It’s actually super lucky that we met because I actually wasn’t going to go to the game night at all, but when I heard Chan was going, I knew I could get him to help me with the homework.”

“Oh wow, so we only met so that you could cheat on your homework?” you fake pout. 

“Nooooo! Don’t say it like that! We met because fate wanted us to meet,” he smiles dreamily.

“Whatever you say, Minho,”  your cheeks warm as you both make your way out the door to his car. 

He opens up the door for you like a true gentleman and slides over to the driver's side. 

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“I do not!”

“Okay, perfect!” he responds, as he speeds off. 

You chat a bit on the drive, just getting to know each other more. You learn that he’s obsessed with hip-hop dancing, which feels crazy considering his being a STEM major. He tells you about his cats and how in love with them he is and how much he loves his family. The ride to your unknown destination is basically never silent and filled with lots of teasing and giggles. 

Finally, you arrive at your destination, and you look up to see you’re at the beach, once again. 

“I remember you mentioning in one of the messages that the beach is really relaxing and a safe space for you, so I thought it would be a good idea for a first date to quell any nervousness” he says, looking unsure of whether you are happy with his choice or not.

“Minho… this is so sweet. This is a great idea, thank you-” you hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. He blushes lightly and leads you on your way. 

Minho planned for you two to have dinner at this small restaurant with a perfect view of the sunset. The meal was amazing, and the company you had was even better. Dinner was just an extension of the conversation you were having on the drive over, and after dinner, you then walked around the pier and decided it might be nicer to walk along the beach to avoid the crowds and have a more intimate and private date. 

Minho made you feel so secure, and he made you feel so heard and validated. You never ran out of things to talk about. This dynamic isn’t something you’ve experienced before, and it’s a refreshing change of pace. In fact, it’s such a change of pace that it’s kind of making you…

Is basic affection and respect making you horny?

You are suddenly hyper aware of your body and its proximity to Minho’s body. Your hands keep drifting closer to each other as you walk alongside each other, lightly touching but never making that connection. Your eyes move to his lips as he talks, and you can’t believe how gorgeous his smile is. He probably has the softest looking lips you’ve ever seen on a man. He must use a lot of lip balm, you think. Men usually don’t have such moisturized lips. Then, you realize that the lips you’re looking at are no longer moving and neither is the body they’re attached to. 

“Can I interest you in anything?” Minho asks smugly once you finally look up at his eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I can't believe I zoned out like that,” you reply, mortified.

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what you were thinking about,” he smirks.

“I was thinking about how soft your lips must be,” you say matter-of-factly.

Minho’s facade crumbles a bit as he wasn’t expecting you to be so direct, and he looks down at your lips before looking back up into your eyes.

“Would you like to find out?” he asks and you immediately smash your lips against his. He has no idea where to put his hands. All he knows is he wants them all over you before finally landing on keeping them on your face. You finally part for air, and Minho has a hungry look in his eyes. 

“So my place or yours?” you say, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

“Definitely yours.”

Thank God Haechan decided to give you the apartment.

You tumble into your little apartment with Minho, hands grasping at each other, desperately needing to feel each other. One by one, articles of clothing are getting strewn about on your path to the bedroom before you finally land at your final destination, and the two of you are basically naked. He lays you back in bed and leaves kisses as he makes his way down to where you need him most. You haven’t really had sex with anyone but Chan for a while, so having a new set of hands and lips on you is making you more sensitive than you thought you’d be. You shiver at every light touch and Minho notices. 

“What’s wrong baby? Been a while?” he smirks. You decide to ignore him and instead say, “Please-”

“Please what, sweetie? I need words.”

“Please touch me-”

“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I will- I’ve been wanting to taste you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He finally makes it down to where you need him, and he licks a stripe over your underwear, groaning.

“Fuck, you smell and taste so good, and I haven’t even gotten the real thing yet,” he says, more to himself than anything.

He tears off your underwear, needing to get to the real thing immediately and starts messily licking and sucking at your core. Chan never really goes down on you as you usually just skip to the main event, so, it has definitely been a while since you had this. You can’t stop all the noises escaping you, and they only make Minho even more feral. He is obsessed with hearing you, and he thinks he could honestly die like this and feel completely content. You taste that good. He swears he’s never had pussy this tasty, and he’s officially whipped without even being inside you yet. 

He doesn’t even have a strategy as he eats you out- he’s more just being selfish. He just wants to get as much of your taste as he possibly can, and if you happen to cum in the process, then that’s a win in his book. His unpredictability in the way he licks and sucks and moans against your cunt is making you quickly approach your high, and the second you mention any word of being close, Minho proceeds to tongue fuck you while his nose rubs against your clit. The combination immediately tips you over as you chant his name. Even after you start to come down from your high, he's desperate to keep going down on you, and you have to pull his hair to get his attention. When you do pull his head up, the look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. He looks starved and desperate to taste more, pupils dilated, his mouth slightly open as he’s panting, waiting for the second your hand gives so he can go back to the task at hand.

“I need you inside me, baby," you say slowly. Minho almost throws a fit but decides there’ll be more time to eat you out later. He peels off his boxer briefs, and his member slaps up against his stomach. You’re shocked to say the least. You didn’t expect him to be so… big. He was definitely bigger than Chan. I should not be thinking about Chan right now. But it’s true! Not that Chan’s small, but he’s definitely not this big. You’re practically drooling watching him stroke it.

“You can have a taste later,” he smirks, reading your mind, “I need to feel that delicious pussy suck me in.”

He rubs the tip up and down your slit, groaning, coating it with every drop of wetness he can get. He thinks he could probably get off on just rubbing up against you with how wet you are. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?”

You can only nod in response, since you’re sure you’ll start whining if you open your mouth.

He thrusts in just a little bit, and your body is already overwhelmed in the best way. Your body has to be at peak sensitivity right now because the way his cock feels entering your tight hole is otherworldly, and you’ve barely begun. When he finally fills you completely, his face can’t help but show how amazing you feel. “Fuck,” he gasps, his eyes shut, mouth open, and eyebrows knit. He might’ve been joking when he said you should propose to him, but he feels 100% serious that he would marry you right now. 

“God, please move,” you moan, barely able to keep it together.

“Whatever you need, baby.”

As he starts to move, you see stars. Your body is completely overwhelmed, and you're grasping at the sheets, trying to ground yourself. You wrap your legs around him desperate to feel all of him all over you, and he gets the hint, leaning down to kiss you while continuing to plow into you. He starts kissing your neck and groaning in your ear and saying the dirtiest things. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking tight, and you’re taking me so well,” he says, continuing at a brutal pace, “You’re being so loud, too- I bet the neighbors can hear how loud you are. I bet you love that you’re putting on a show for them- probably want them to watch, huh?” he feels you clench and he slows down, lifting himself back up to be able to see your face.

“Oh- you like being watched, huh, baby?”

You shake your head, your face getting hot knowing how turned on you were by the thought of someone seeing how good Minho is fucking you. 

“No? Are you sure because that’s not what that slutty pussy is saying, is it? I think you love being watched, and you’d let me take you in front of all my friends, huh? Hyunjin and Changbin wanted a piece of you- maybe I’d let them watch.” You clench again, unable to keep yourself from babbling and moaning. You’re almost at the edge as Minho keeps ramming into you at the same pace, hitting the perfect spot everytime.

“Fuck, baby- you’re squeezing me so fucking tight- just a little slut wanting to get passed around by my group of friends, aren’t you?” he says as he wraps his hand around your throat, “You wanna get fucked over and over, baby? That it? You aren’t satisfied with one dick?” 

“Daddy, please,” you whine, feeling yourself nearly over the edge. He leans back down to kiss you, hard. The intimacy of the close proximity, the dirty talk, the new angle he’s hitting inside of you. It’s all getting you closer and closer to your high. Then, he goes and whispers in your ear.

“Just a desperate, needy, little slut-” nibbling on your ear. This light stimulation is enough to send you over the edge, as you cum the hardest you have in a while, leaving scratches all over Minho and practically screaming his name. Minho is rapidly approaching his orgasm as your pussy tries to milk his cock for all it’s worth.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby- where do you want it?” he says, getting ready to pull out. You wrap your legs around him tighter and say, “Inside.” 

“Fuck- oh my god. Shit- fuck, oh my god,” he says, releasing inside you, unable to stop himself as he continues to pound his cum deeper into your pussy. Finally, when the overstimulation is too much to bear, he pulls out, watching his cum trickle out of your hole in awe. He cleans you up before lying alongside you and wrapping his arms around you. 

“I promise I don’t usually do this on first dates,” he says, kissing you on the cheek.

“Don’t worry- I won’t slut shame you,” you joke.

“I can be a slut,” he admits, “But this is not that. I really had a good time with you today, fully clothed, and I'd like to see you again- if that’s okay with you.

Wow. He fucked you, and he still wants to see you again. In public. On a date. With the intent of something serious developing between you two…

“I would actually love that,” you smile.

---

It's now been over a month with Minho, seeing him nearly every day. You always have a good time, and he always eats you out at the end of the date. He's so into you, and it’s a really refreshing change of pace. (But that hasn’t stopped you from seeing Chan on the days that you aren’t with Minho). 

You aren’t exclusively dating Minho yet, but he has made it abundantly clear that he is okay with taking things slow, per your request. He’s so sweet- he even (re)introduces you to his friend group. 

“This is Seungmin, who was at the game night,” Minho says as the boy shyly waves. “Then there’s Chan and Felix, who you already know.” Chan gives you a tight lipped smile. “There’s also Jeongin- he couldn’t be at game night because he had a music assignment to do.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” you say, and Jeongin just smiles in return. 

“Then, there’s the troublemakers,” he jokes, and it makes you giggle a little bit which Chan notices. Chan actually notices everything. How Minho has his arm around you like it’s where it belongs. How you’re looking at him with stars in your eyes. How he is introducing you to his group of friends like you’re his girlfriend, which you definitely aren’t because he was deep inside you 2 nights ago, making you beg for his cum. 

“There’s Hyunjin who you met,” Minho starts as Hyunjin pulls you in for a hug and whispers just loud enough for Minho to hear, “There’s still time to leave him.” 

You giggle as Minho pulls you away and glares at Hyunjin. 

“Hey! This is not why I’m doing these introductions… This is Changbin,” he says, turning back to you, “He was at the party, but I don’t think you two spoke.”

“No, we did not, and that was a big mistake on my part,” Changbin says, going in for a shorter hug than Hyunjin. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands on your waist.

“Nice to meet you officially, gorgeous. I second what Hyunjin said- it’s never too late to pick the better member of the friend group.”

You are now officially flustered. Did Minho tell them about the comment he made the first night you slept together? (and several nights after that) 

You look around the group and a few of them are looking at you like they’d also like a taste… except for Chan who is glaring at Felix for staring.

“Yah! Stop it! I didn't bring them here for you guys to all stare and latch on. They’re here so that you all can meet the person I'm going to marry,” he jokes. Chan chokes. Why did Minho have to say that while he was drinking water? Now all of the attention is on Chan, everyone trying to figure out what happened. Finally, Chan is able to properly breathe again and Minho says, “Okay, well, moving on. I saved the best for last. This is my best friend Jisung!" 

The boy smiles big and gives you a hug, just like the other boys (minus the suggestive comment) and says he’s happy to finally meet you, and apologizes for being so shy previously. The boys go on having independent conversations in small clusters, and you stick by Minho’s side listening to his conversation with Hyunjin and Changbin, that is, until you feel like someone is trying to make your head explode with their stare. You turn and look over to see none other than Chan who is not giving any attention to what his cousin has to say. He is instead trying to make not your head but Minho’s head explode. He thinks that if he hopes and prays enough, Minho’s head will just roll right off his body.

“I’m gonna go catch up with Chan,” you say, and the boys let you go but not without watching you leave. Minho slaps both Changbin and Hyunjin and says, “Hey! Stop it! You’re gonna scare them away!”

“Listen, you might have called dibs, but you aren’t married yet,” Changbin says.

“I have to agree,” Hyunjin adds.

“Guys, this isn’t funny anymore- don't even look at them!” They both immediately turn to look at you and Minho sighs, exasperated.

“Hey Chan,” you say, interrupting Felix’s rant about god knows what, “Can I talk to you about that thing?” You grab Chan’s arm and walk out of earshot before saying:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“What are you talking about?” Chan asks, knowing all too well what you’re talking about.

“Chan, don’t play dumb- you’re looking at Minho like you want to kill him!”

“Am I not allowed to look at people?” he says, nonchalantly.

“Not when you’re looking at them like you want to kill them!” you whisper-yell.

“It’s just funny to me that he’s introducing you to everyone as if I wasn’t in your guts basically any day you weren’t with him.”

“Shhhhhhut the fuck up,” you hiss, looking back to make sure no one heard you two. “We aren’t official yet, but I like him, Chan- and you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

“Dude, he’s corny like- does he even know how to fuck you right?” he says in a cocky tone.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that, Chris, stop doing this.”

“What I can’t ask about your sex life with one of my friends?”

“No, actually. You can’t. Because you’re just going to start a fight, and look we’ve been on a few dates now. Talks are getting more serious and him introducing me to his friends is serious,” you respond.

“Minho is never serious about anyone-” he deadpans.

Your heart kinda breaks at hearing that, but you won’t let Chan know that so you throw it back on him. 

“Okay well, that’s even more of a reason for you to not be concerned and to remember that it’s none of your business. If he’s not serious, then why is it a problem- how does it affect you?”

“It doesn’t- I’m just letting you know,” he mumbles.

“Well, I didn't ask for your input. You are going to have to act normal and not be a dickhead out of spite-”

“It’s not out of spite,” he interjects, “It’s-”

“It’s? It's what, Chan?” you ask, officially heated from this conversation.

“Hey, is everything ok over here?” Minho says, coming to your rescue and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Yeah, we were done actually,” Chan says before walking away.

You nearly roll your eyes. You look back to Minho, smiling, and wrap your arms around his neck. You stay like that, talking about anything and everything while Chan glares from afar.

---

You've been spending a lot of your days waking up in Chan’s bed and then going to sleep in Minho’s. All this juggling has you feeling all sorts of things, but also, a pro is you have never been fucked so good and consistently. It would almost be worth it if it weren’t for all of the emotional turmoil and distress you’re feeling. Minho is so incredibly sweet and he fucks you so good, but the second you get a text from Chan, you’re down bad all over again. 

For example:

3:25pm

minho: are you free tonight, beautiful?

3:25pm 

channie: babyyyyy

channie: you’re coming over tonight right?

No! Enough is enough. You decide it’s time that you fully give yourself to Minho. If you’re still sleeping with Chan, there’s no way you’ll ever be fully focusing on Minho. 

you: we need to talk

Chan's heart drops to his ass. This can’t be happening. He knows exactly what you’re going to say, and he actually thinks he will collapse this time. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but what’s he supposed to do about it now?

You show up at Chan's door, feeling like you’re going to puke out your heart. It’s just sex, right? You’re just friends who have sex, and so, this will be nothing. This will be a super easy conversation that will go so smoothly, and neither of you will feel any differently. You try to convince yourself all of that’s true and knock on the door. 

“Hey, baby,” he greets you, already looking like something’s up. 

“Hi Channie, how was your day?” you respond, walking in.

“Oh, it was pretty good. The same old shit. Hyunjin was nagging me about our group project, but it’ll be fine. What did you want to talk about?” he asks, cutting to the chase. You take a seat on the couch right next to him and try not to think about your knees touching and how you desperately want to touch more of him.

“So… as you know… I’ve been seeing Minho, and we’ve been on several dates…” Chan’s jaw clenches, “and things are going really well, honestly…” you smile genuinely. Minho has truly given you butterflies and is constantly making you feel like you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. You have never ending conversations, and you truly have insane sexual chemistry. He's just not…

“Chan… we have to stop sleeping together. We always said if one of us needed to end it, we would- and I really like Minho, and I don't really want to be sleeping with anyone else while he’s trying to start a relationship with me-” you ramble, looking at the ground on that last part. “Is that okay?”

“Oh yeah- of course that’s okay! You know I can always get sex somewhere else, Y/N. It’s not a big deal,” he comments.

Well, that stings.

“Oh- okay. Great! Well… are we still friends?”

“Yeah, of course we’re still friends,” he smiles.

---

THAT WAS A LIE 

It has been two weeks since your talk with Chan, he hasn’t so much as looked at you. He hasn’t been around his group of friends, and he’s been ignoring your texts. The only time you see him is at school with his arm around random girls or one time, at a party walking up to his room with- you’ll never guess- a random girl. You try not to let it bother you, but you’re failing miserably. You’re currently at a party glaring at him with a girl sitting on his lap when Minho comes up. Minho who you have been seeing for two months and who you still haven’t let be your boyfriend.

“Hi, baby,” Minho says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. You turn around and see he’s a little pink. He's definitely drunk. 

“Minho- honey, how much have you had to drink?”

“Like- literally nothing? I had like 4 shots of vodka,” he says, holding up 2 fingers. “Oh! And I only had a few hits off Jisung's bong,” He smiles. He's so cute. You can’t believe how cute this grown man can be. 

“Okay, maybe we should go home- how does that sound baby?” you say in your sweetest voice because you know the cuteness overload will get him to listen to you.

“Aw- I can’t say no to youuuuu,” he smiles, booping your nose.

You walk him through the crowd as he has both arms wrapped around your shoulders so as to not lose you. He decides he isn’t ready to leave just yet and pulls you in the direction of dancing bodies. 

“Minhoooooooo-”

“Come on, baby, just one dance? Please?” he pouts. You may know his weaknesses, but he knows yours too. 

“Fineeeeee,” you sigh. “Just one,” you say, holding a finger up to let him know you’re serious.

Chan sees you two dancing and fights every urge to not get up and steal you away from Minho. He hates how happy you look and how close the purple-haired boy is to you. He hates knowing that you’ll be in his bed tonight or maybe he’ll be in yours, but either way you’ll definitely be with Minho and not with him. He wishes once again that he would’ve never taken you to that stupid game night. He thinks about how he lost his chance as he watches you full of joy with a man who is giving you everything you’ve ever asked for.

---

You luckily were able to get Minho home safely and stayed the night at his place to make sure he was taken care of. You wake up to the smell of him making breakfast, and you walk into the kitchen absolutely gobsmacked at how normal and not hungover he seems. 

“I don’t understand how you just never suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“Someone up there really wants me to make you breakfast without being hungover- I don’t know what to say,” he laughs before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “How’d you sleep, gorgeous?" 

Everything is so domestic with him. It just works. So why does it feel like something’s wrong? All of a sudden you’re hit with so much emotion, and you start crying in Minho’s kitchen. 

“Whoa, are you okay? What's wrong? What did I say?” he asks, concerned, pulling you in for a hug.

You start crying harder because it’s not Minho’s fault, and it could never be Minho’s fault. All this time, you’ve been repressing your emotions, and this is how they boil over. Over a forehead kiss from the sweetest, hottest, best man because you know you can never truly belong to him. 

“It's Chan, isn’t it?”

“Wha- huh?” you look up and Minho isn’t mad or angry, but he gives you a look of compassion and understanding.

“I mean, it is Chan, right- like it’s not Hyunjin or Changbin or something? I’d be pissed if it was either of them,” he shakes his head, keeping his arms around you.

“Minho, I'm so sorry. I really do like you- I just- I'm a mess, and I thought I was over Chan and being with you made me feel like I could get over him, but it wasn’t fair to you- and it didn’t even help-” you cry a few more tears into his chest before looking back up at him, “How did you know?”

“If I’m being honest… I knew from the day I met you. That’s why I had to double check you two weren’t dating. You looked at each other with stars in your eyes. I'm definitely interested in you, but it was clear to me that something was going on between you two, and that I, more than likely, wouldn't be able to tie you down.”

“I’m sorry, Minho. I’m so sorry. I mean, I know I have feelings for Chan but I doubt he feels that way about me-”

“Oh. He definitely does. He has not been able to stop staring at me like he wants to rip my head off in class. He’s definitely jealous,” he laughs

“Yeah, but jealousy doesn’t need to involve feelings,” you retort.

“Trust me, it does. I've known Chan for a while, and he has never been so upset or jealous over someone. And he has never targeted that jealousy at me. Not to be crass, but… we’ve sort of shared before.”

Your jaw drops. “WHAT? What do you mean shared??”

“Why? Are you interested?” he smirks. 

“Minho,” you deadpan (though you definitely are interested, but that’s not the priority right now). 

“I mean that we have actually shared… you know, been in the same bed? Tunnel buddies? Crossing streams? But we’ve also found out that we slept with the same people and sort of… compared notes once we realized.”

“Ugh, Minho, ew! Why would you do that?”

“Listen, it was just out of curiosity! In my defense, I am not typically interested in relationships and usually just sleep around. And also to be fair, we only compared like twice, okay?? But regardless, we have shared and also slept with the same people, and he has never had an issue with me going for anyone he’s ever slept with.”

“Okay…” you respond, skeptical.

“Okay. So that means you’re special, duh” he rolls his eyes.

“Minho, I just really don’t think that Christopher Chan Bang likes me the way you think he does.”

“I don’t think he likes you. I know that he loves you, but I think I know a way to help you out and prove it,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“What are you going to do?”

---

Another day, another party. Chan shows up with Felix and looks around the room, not really interested in seeing anyone but you. He's really hoping you’re not near Minho right now- but well, there’s Minho, surrounded by their group of friends, and he looks awfully smug. 

“Dude, I can’t believe you’ve been playing them this whole time! It looked so real,” Jeongin looks incredulous. 

“Wait, but do you think I have a chance? What was it like?” Changbin asked, desperate to know more.

Minho sees Chan come up and says, “They tasted so good,” provoking the already annoyed older man. “No wonder you kept Y/N around for so long,” he says, now making direct eye contact with Chan, “but they just never. stop. yapping. Like sometimes, I just want to stick my dick in their mouth to get them to shut up.” 

Jisung knows that these aren’t Minho’s real feelings at all and is very confused as to why Minho would say these things in front of his friends. He’s ready to stand up for you when he sees the look on Chan’s face and suddenly understands what’s going on.

Chan is fuming. He can’t believe his ears. This is the guy you chose over him? This is the guy that’s going to sleep in your bed every night? He’s fighting every urge to rip Minho’s head off until Minho makes a pointed comment:

“That’s all Y/N’s good for. Am I right, Chan?”

Chan is not in control of his body when he swings at Minho’s face, hitting him square on the nose. Felix and Jisung have to physically pull Chan away as he continues to try to swing at him.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Minho screams.

“Y/N’s too good for you-” he hisses, thrashing against Felix and Jisung.

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“Fucking- let go of me!” he pushes the younger boys off and storms off.

There is only one thing he can focus on right now: finding you. He sees you off in another corner of the frat playing beer pong with Hyunjin by your side and fights the urge to punch another one of his friends for being within 2 feet of you.

“I need to talk to you-” he grabs your arm, dragging you away from the game.

“Wait, I was playinggg,” you whine.

“Don’t care.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, now extremely confused.

You finally make it to one of the bedrooms, looking around at the decor, this must be Felix’s room if the gaming setup is telling you anything.

“I'm with Minho,” you say indignantly as a reminder to Chan, knowing full well you aren't with Minho. His plan must have worked if Chan is in such a fuss over needing to talk to you.

“He’s a bitch, and you need to break it off with him.”

“Um… are you going to elaborate? You being pissed that I’m not fucking you anymore is not a good enough reason to end things with Minho.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about you, Y/N!” he responds, frustrated that you aren’t listening.

“Oh and you do? You haven’t even talked to me since I ended things with you, Chris!”

This is it. He’s going to say it, and it is in fact even scarier than he could have ever imagined.

“Yes, actually, I do- I’m in love with you and I give every shit about you and you’re the only person or thing in the world that I actually give a shit about!” he almost screams.

He sits down on the bed, unable to deal with the silence as you stand there shocked. You heavily doubted but thought maybe he harboured some romantic feelings for you, similar to a crush. Love? That is not what you were prepared for.

“I’m sorry he just- he talked about you like you were a piece of meat… and- and he’s not good enough for you! And I know I'm not either but… please,” he says, not even knowing what he’s asking for, “Just- please. I’m sorry it took me so long and I know it doesn’t seem genuine because of everything that’s happened but-” He stands up and takes your hands in his.

“I promise that I have felt like this the whole time. Since meeting you on that stupid vacation, I have not been able to control how I feel about you, and when we started sleeping together- it was like I was in heaven. But I was scared of losing you. Minho coming into the picture scared my ass into taking action after realizing how close I was to actually losing you. I promise I love you even if you don’t love me… and even if you don’t love me, please don’t be with him because he-” you kiss him to end his little rant. 

Having his mouth against you again is better than anything you could’ve imagined. He’s hesitant at first, completely shocked at what’s happening, but immediately, he’s kissing you harder than he ever has. You can feel the desperation and every built up emotion he’s been holding back. Not even fireworks are enough to describe the atomic explosions going on inside you.

“Huh?” he says, completely dazed after you break apart, “Um, what was that? I-uh, I thought you were with Minho.”

“I’m not, actually,” you smile awkwardly.

“Bro, wh- what do you mean?” he asks, completely disoriented.

“Minho and I aren't together, and he was convinced that you had real feelings for me but I didn't believe him, so-”

“So, he said something that would make me want to punch him in the face,” he sighs.

“You punched him in the face??” you stop, your eyes wide.

“He was asking for it, quite literally, if what you’re telling me is true.”

“Oh wow. I really owe him big time.���

“Ummm… I don’t think you owe him anything. In fact, maybe you just never perceive Minho ever again. Sound like a good plan? I sure think so,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“So… does this mean you have feelings for me? Real feelings?”

“Yes, dummy!” you say, nudging his shoulder, “I thought that would’ve been clear to you- you’re the one that was always out of reach.”

“I know, I know. It was like I was trying to avoid my real feelings for you and ended up self sabotaging.”

“How about now?” you ask softly, “Are you still trying to avoid your feelings?”

“Are you joking? There is absolutely no way to deny it anymore- I just punched my friend! Oh my god, I just punched my friend,” Chan repeats, in shock at the realization of what just happened. 

“It’s fine, I'm sure he’ll forgive you. I'll put in a good word for you,” you joke.

“Actually, executive decision- starting now, you can never see any of my friends ever again, you’re too hot.”

“What? They’re literally my friends now!” you argue.

“I don’t care! They think you’re hot, and now after Minho’s little stunt, they know you taste good.”

“They know WHAT?”

“Let's not think about that right now. I'm going to make love to my baby without any interruptions,” he says, tugging your hips to be flush against his.

“Oh? Your baby huh? I don’t remember you asking me to be in a relationship,” you tease.

“Baby, beautiful, love of my life, will you please let me be your boyfriend?”

“I guess,” you sigh, pretending not to care before pushing him on the bed and straddling him. “This has been a long time coming, Channie. I can't believe you made me wait so long,” you say grinding down on him. “That's not very fair to me, huh?”

Chan is unable to think, feeling you rub against him for the first time in a long time. God, he’s missed you.

“Now tell me. Do you have a condom?” 

“Wait, why would I need a condom?” he sits up, confused, way too distracted by how good you feel against him. 

“Chan, I know you’ve been sleeping with other people,” you stop your maneuvering on his lap, anticipating an argument.

He whines, “No, baby, I haven't.”

He's tried to fuck other people, but he hasn’t been able to follow through with sleeping with anyone since you left. 

“I wasn’t able to stop thinking about you. There was no interest for me. I couldn’t fuck someone else even if I tried.”

“But- you had girls on your lap and you’d take girls upstairs?”

“That was like one time, and it was just to make you jealous” he sinks. “I never did anything with her. I couldn't. She wasn’t you…” he trails off, looking embarrassed. 

“Look at me, and tell me you didn’t sleep with anyone else.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else, my love. I couldn't. I only want you. I have always only wanted you. I love you.”

Finally.

You kiss him, and it’s the explosions all over again, but it’s even more emotion-filled this time. You were ready to experience what you always have: a passion filled desperate kiss. However, that isn’t the kiss you get. You can feel the love through the softness in the way he kisses you. He really wasn’t lying when he said he was going to make love to you. This lovestruck boy is going to make up for lost time. 

He gently takes you off his lap, making you stand up, so that he can get you completely naked before laying you down. He moves his lips down to your jaw, kissing down to your neck and shoulder. He removes your shirt and leaves your torso completely bare before continuing to kiss down your body. He’s on his knees when he takes your bottoms off and looks at you in awe.

“God, I’ve missed this.”

He spreads your legs and kitten licks at your slit, immediately groaning at the taste he has craved for weeks. You’re so wet and he’s barely started touching you. You whine, and he realizes that keeping you standing is probably not ideal for what he’s trying to do. He gently lays you down, kissing you softly once again before going back to where you need him most. He doesn’t lick lightly this time, and he immediately captures your clit in his mouth. He begins to eat you like a man starved, as if he’s in a desert, and you are the last glass of water. The man cannot get enough of you, messily making out with your cunt, groaning and making the dirtiest sounds. You can hear how wet you are from the squelching sounds he’s making and if it wasn’t for how insanely good it feels, you might feel embarrassed. Chan has never eaten you out like this- it’s something you didn’t even know was possible from him. He almost never went down on you before, but now it’s like he needs your pussy to survive.

Chris cannot get enough of you. He is so lost in your cunt that he doesn’t realize that you’re telling him you’re close. You start grinding against his face chasing your high, and he decides to help the process by harshly sucking on your clit. You throw your head back and swear you see stars because you’ve never cum so hard from head before. You have to pull on Chan’s hair to get his head away from your core, and when you do, his face is covered in your slick. The way he looks at you is completely animalistic and it takes everything in him to not go right back into eating you out.

“Daddy, I need you- please,” you beg, as he moves his hands up and down your thighs, wanting to feel and caress all of you.

“Sweetheart, I have been thinking for weeks nonstop about how I needed to taste you again. You can give me one more orgasm, right? You’re gonna let me stretch you out on my fingers and tongue fuck that pretty pussy, right?”

You almost whine, but he’s never been so eager to go down on you. As much as you’ve missed his cock, this new side of Chan is turning you on so much. He sees the look on your face and knows you’re giving in, causing him to dive right back in. His digits slide into you with ease, slick from your first orgasm. Your walls are already clenching around his fingers, sensitive and still reeling from cumming so hard. It turns him on so much- he starts moaning into your pussy. Chan is so desperate to rip another orgasm out of you before finally getting to feel you around his cock.

“God, yes, just like that, Daddy,” you writhe underneath him, already close.

“Play with your tits for me, baby-”

You tweak your nipples, arching your back, but Chan presses his hand onto your lower abdomen, making the sensations even more overwhelming. Chan’s fingers curl perfectly against your g-spot and your whole body feels like it’s on fire. This orgasm feels like it’s radiating even more than the last one. He eats you through your high, not stopping until you’re pushing him away. 

“How was that?” he checks in, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you okay? Do you still want me inside you, baby?” “Yes, Chris, please- need to feel you,” you pout.

He immediately gets up and gets naked as fast as is physically possible.

“How do you want me?” you ask, still fuzzy from your two intense orgasms. He puts you in missionary, without answering, before lining himself up with your hole.

“I’m not going to last very long, sweetie. Eating you out nearly made me cum untouched.” You almost moan at this admission. “Wanna look at you when I fill you up with my cum,” your boyfriend states. 

He thrusts in, filling you to the brim, and both of your mouths fall open into a gasp. The sensation is so overwhelming, you can hardly breathe. 

“Baby- please,” you beg, needing him to move. 

“Feels so fucking good, pretty,” he grunts.

He begins to slowly thrust in you and bends down to attach his lips to yours. Once your lips smash together, he begins to roughly and desperately ram his hips into yours as he chases his high. Chan keeps his lips on yours, swallowing all your moans. He slightly changes the angle and his tip begins to hit your sweet spot, already bringing you close to cumming again. Chan can tell from the way that you’re sucking him in that you’re going to cum with him, and he needs just one thing from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleads, eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure. He’s so close, and he needs these 3 words from you to tip him over the edge.

“I love you, Chan. I love you I love you I love you,” you moan, not stopping. I love yous flow out of your mouth in every breath and soon Chan is filling you up, the sensation ripping one last orgasm out of you.

Chan pulls out of you, not caring about the mess that would definitely be left on his cousin’s bed. The two of you lay there, panting messes. He feels like he’s dreaming, and he’s in disbelief that he has you back. Upon the realization, Chan immediately wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you.

“What are you doing?” you laugh. He responds but it’s muffled. “Channie, I can't hear a thing you’re saying.”

“I’m just so happy to have you back and so happy that I get to be your boyfriend,” he responds looking up at you, and would you look at that- he has stars in his eyes.

---

It's the first game night since you started dating Chan seriously. 

“Babe, do we have to go?” your boyfriend groans, sitting on your bed. He’s looking at you through the mirror as you get ready for a return to the friend group. He has made it a point to walk you to every class since you became official, and he told you it was to make sure you know he’s proud to be your boyfriend. (But if you actually ask him, he did it so that none of his friends would be able to talk to you for more than 30 seconds.)

“Yes, of course we have to. Literally, everyone has been asking for us to go. We’ve missed 3 weeks already.”

“Yes, but everyone includes people who want to fuck you, and that’s not really people I want to be around,” he whines.

“Channie. They don’t all want to fuck me.”

-

“Thanks a lot, Minho. You could’ve let us know they were gonna end up together, so we could’ve had a shot before it happened,” Hyunjin groans.

“Listen, I would've, except I think that it’s way funnier to watch you thirst for Y/N from afar,” he laughs.

“Do you think Chan would be down to share one time for the one time?” Changbin asks.

“Listen… never say never, but if anyone is going to convince him first, it’s going to be me,” Minho winks before walking up to greet you and Chan.

“Hi, Y/Nie!” he says, giving you a big hug that lasts longer than Chan would like.

“Hi Minho,” you smile.

“I hope you know that everyone here wants to fuck you,” the mischievous purple-haired boy loudly whispers.

You slap him on the shoulder, “And whose fault is that?”

“Listen, I wasn’t going to lie about my personal experience at the Y/N establishment,” he says, hands up.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to say all that. Now everyone knows how they taste,” Chan butts in, grumbling.

“Well listen, I have to keep you on your toes, Bang Chan. Now you know that if you slip up, Y/N has several guys waiting desperately to swoop in and save the day.”

“And now you know,” Minho says looking at you now, “if he ever fucks up, I can fuck you real good and make you forget all about it.”

“We’re going to go now,” Chan says, dragging you away. “I told you they all want to fuck you-” he groans.

“Okay, I didn’t think it would be this bad. Lucky for you, I’m ending up in your bed tonight and every night til you get sick of me.”

“Lucky for me, that’s never going to happen,” he says, giving you a wet sloppy kiss.

----------

a/n: lol it only took me a year to complete pt 2. sorry! since the first part was based on my real life it was hard to decide where part 2 should go. this was genuinely like a therapeutic exercise lol i wasn’t sure if i wanted the mc to end up with chan or minho because i wasn’t sure what made the most sense. i ended up choosing chan over minho because i thought that might be the best idea for what most people would want. plus i think creating a story where the person does change and does become the guy you deserve is very sweet and hopeful. while in real life i think the minho character makes more sense, i think chan being endgame is romantic. i also SUCK at writing smut i think i just don’t have the creativity for it- it was SO HARD however i did entertain the idea of writing a side bit where chan actually does allow minho/hyunjin/changbin a shot to sleep with y/n because i love 3some/4some/5somes hahahah but anyway thanks for reading this far i hope you have/are having a beautiful day!! <3

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 4) ────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer @bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar @letmeapologise @amrx1

Lille was going to be tough on Thursday, but Trent's mind wasn't on tactics. His thumb hovered over his Raya profile - all those matches, all those posh girls with their perfect smiles and calculated moves.

Delete.

Some girl from Chelsea had been messaging him about drinks. Block.

That Instagram model who kept sending eye emojis. Block.

His phone buzzed.

April: Getting checked today.

April: Better not keep me waiting too long.

His stomach did that flip thing again.

April: And I hope you followed my command last night.

April: Would hate to start our arrangement with a punishment.

Christ. She was already getting in his head and they hadn't even started yet.

Trent: Got my appointment at 2

Trent: And yes, I behaved

April: Good boy.

Those two words shouldn't affect him like that. But here he was, grinning at his phone like some simp.

"Someone's in a good mood."

Mo dropped his lunch tray next to him, Virgil sliding in across the table. The canteen was busy, everyone loading up before afternoon training.

"Just having a good day innit?"

"Nah." Virgil pointed his fork at Trent. "This is different. You've been weird lately - all quiet. Now you're sitting here grinning at your phone like it's Christmas."

"Maybe I'm just happy?"

"The old Trent's back then?" Mo's smile was proper infectious. "No more moping about?"

Was he back though? Felt different this time. With April... it was like she wanted him to be more himself. Even if that self liked things a bit... different.

His phone buzzed again.

April: Been thinking about what I'm going to do to you.

April: Once you're cleared of course.

Fucking hell. In the middle of lunch?

"Earth to Trent!" Mo was waving his hand. "You're gone mate."

"Just..." he shrugged, trying to hide his grin. "Feel better, you know? Like I can be myself again."

"Good." Virgil nodded. "Was getting tired of that posh act anyway. Didn't suit you."

Mo clapped him on the back, nearly sending him face-first into his pasta. "Whatever it is, I'm happy for you bruv. Just don't go getting distracted before Lille yeah?"

Another buzz.

April: First lesson when you're cleared - teaching you how to kneel properly.

April: Been thinking about those footballer legs of yours...

Distracted? Him?

Too late for that, wasn't it?

"You sure you're alright?" Virgil was giving him that look. "Looking flushed."

"Never better," Trent grinned. And for once, he actually meant it.

Lunch with Mo and Virgil felt normal again - like before all this image reinvention nonsense started. Before Sophie and her posh friends and trying to be someone he wasn't.

Back on the training pitch, they were running shooting drills, but Trent's mind kept drifting to last night - to leather outfits and spiced vanilla and promises that made his head spin. Tyler's text didn't help his concentration either.

Tyler: Just seen the raw shots from April

Tyler: These are INSANE bruv

Tyler: Proper art these

Tyler: Even Virgil's gonna be jealous

"Trent!" Slot's voice cut through his thoughts. "That cross was nowhere near Darwin. Focus!"

The afternoon session dragged on, his mind a mess of tactical instructions and April's text messages. By the time they hit the showers, he was ready to bolt.

"Oi Trent!" Dom called over the noise of the changing room. Robbo was telling some mad story about his kid's hamster while everyone rinsed Darwin's new haircut. "Few of us heading to that new spot in town. You in?"

"Can't, got plans."

"Plans?" Dom's eyebrows shot up. "You feeling alright mate?"

"Just busy innit."

In his car, he pulled up Google, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Female dominatrix. BDSM basics.

He should probably know what he was getting into, right? But just seeing those words made his face heat up.

He closed the browser.

The private clinic was one of those discrete places footballers used when they needed things handled quietly. He pulled his hood up, slipped his sunglasses on despite the grey sky threatening snow.

The waiting room was dead quiet - just him and some girl staring at her phone like it held the secrets of the universe. The paperwork they handed him felt like an interrogation:

Last sexual encounter? 5 weeks ago. Sophie. Just head though - does that even count? Better write it down just in case.

Number of partners in last 6 months? Sophie mostly. Plus that one night with some random during their "break"...so 2?

Previous STI tests? Team physical, but... yeah, him and Sophie weren't exactly careful those last few times. When she'd show up at his place at 2am talking about "missing him"...

Speaking of Sophie - better block her now. She always came sniffing around when she was bored, wanting to "talk things through." Couldn't have her messing up whatever this thing with April might be.

His thumb hovered over Sophie's profile. All those couple photos, playing perfect power couple for the cameras. Delete. Block.

What even was this thing with April? She still had his photo contract to finish - at least one more shoot. Then this... arrangement. But would they be properly dating? Did dominatrixes even do relationships?

The thought of her with other guys made his jaw clench. Having them kneel for her, call her Madam, letting her mark them up like she'd done to him...

"Mr. Alexander-Arnold?"

The nurse's voice yanked him back. She handed him a plastic cup once they arrived at his examination room. "Just need a sample. Then change into the gown - opens at the back."

Fucking hell. These paper gowns were proper violation. Might as well be naked.

His phone lit up as he struggled with the paper gown ties.

April: Can't wait to ruin you properly.

His hands weren't exactly steady as he typed back.

Trent: Just you though yeah?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

April: Jealous already?

April: Don't worry pretty boy.

April: You'll be more than enough to handle.

Something in his chest loosened. Before he could reply, there was a knock.

"Ready Mr. Alexander-Arnold?"

His phone buzzed one last time.

April: Besides...

April: When I’m done with you, you won't want anyone else.

Thank god for paper gowns hiding what that message did to him.

The doctor was middle-aged with kind eyes that probably seen everything. She went through her questions quick while Trent tried not to die of embarrassment.

"Sexually active?"

"Yeah."

"Multiple partners?"

"Not recently."

"Any symptoms?"

"No."

"Using protection?"

"Usually." His face burned thinking about April's no-condom rule.

Blood drawn, swabs taken, more questions that had him squirming in that paper gown. The doctor didn't even blink when he mentioned getting tested for a new partner.

"Results in 48 hours," she said, already typing in her computer. "We'll send them directly to your phone. Any questions?"

About a million, but none he wanted to ask a doctor old enough to be his mother.

His phone buzzed as he changed back into his clothes.

April: All done with my tests.

April: Been a while since I've had someone new to train.

He nearly dropped his phone.

Trent: Train?

Trent: Like a dog?

April: More like a pet project 😈

April: But if you're into puppy play...

What the actual fuck was puppy play?

No, don't Google that. Some things you can't unsee.

April: Just teasing.

April: Though you would look good in a collar.

His brain short-circuited completely.

The drive home was a blur of overthinking. What had he gotten himself into? This was fucking crazy - him, Trent Alexander-Arnold, about to let some photographer he barely knew take complete control of him. Do things to him he'd only seen in dodgy porn videos late at night when he couldn't sleep.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? He did know her, in a way that felt deeper than knowing someone's favorite color or what they did on weekends. She saw right through him from that first night at the bar. Saw past the footballer façade, past the scouse wonderkid image, right to the part of him that wanted... this.

His phone lit up at a red light.

April: Having second thoughts?

April: We can always keep things professional.

April: Though that would be such a waste...

Trent: No second thoughts.

Trent: Just nervous I guess.

April: Good.

April: A little fear makes things interesting.

April: But remember...

April: I'll never do anything you don't want.

April: You just might not know you want it yet.

Christ.

By the time he got home, his head was spinning with possibilities. Things he'd never even considered before. Never allowed himself to think about.

April: Sweet dreams pretty boy.

April: 48 hours.

April: Then the real fun begins.

He fell into bed still fully dressed, mind racing with what exactly April had planned for him.

His phone buzzed one last time.

April: And remember...

April: No touching.

April: I'll know if you do.

It was going to be a very long 48 hours.

The results hit his phone during morning training. All clear. He couldn't send them to April fast enough.

Her results came through minutes later - a screenshot showing her own clean bill of health. His eyes caught on her details at the top of the form:

GOODPLENTY, APRIL TANISHA-MARLEY

DOB: 14/11/1997

Scorpio. Of course she was a fucking Scorpio. That explained... well, everything really. Most freaky sign in the zodiac, according to that astrology stuff his sister-in-law was always on about.

April: Dinner tonight? Need to chat.

April: I'm in Manchester seeing a friend but I'll be around after.

His stomach twisted. What friend in Manchester?

Trent: Yeah sounds good.

Was this it then? Would tonight be when they... His mind wandered to leather outfits and commands and that room on the third floor.

Training couldn't end fast enough. He was walking out with Ibou and Virgil, both of them cracking up at a video of Virgil's youngest "terrorizing" their German Shepherd, when a whistle cut through the air.

All three men stopped dead.

There she was, leaning against a red Ferrari like some Sons of Anarchy fantasy come to life. Leather motorcycle jacket, skin-tight pants that should've been illegal, and Doc Martens. Her curls were going mental in the January wind.

"Is that you, T?" Ibou's voice was shaking with barely contained laughter as he pointed at April.

"Yeah." He couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

Virgil smiled - actually smiled. "I like her."

Coming from his captain, that was massive. Virgil hadn't rated any girl Trent had been seeing lately.

"Come on you scouse! We're gonna be late!" April called out, smacking her gum like she owned the place.

"Oh I like her a lot," Virgil nodded. "This why you've been smiling lately?"

Well yeah, that... and other things.

"Uh..."

"Look at him, he cannot talk!" Ibou laughed, nudging Virgil's shoulder. "Let's say hi to her."

Before Trent could stop them, they were practically sprinting over to April. He watched, frozen, as she shook their hands with that easy confidence of hers, somehow making his teammates look like excited puppies.

By the time he made his way over, they were chatting like old mates. He cleared his throat, but Virgil and Ibou's dopey grins told him the whole team would know about this by tonight. Their group chat was probably already blowing up.

April shot him a look that made his stomach drop.

Oh fuck.

Was he in trouble?

"Bout time," she said, voice carrying that edge he was starting to recognize. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah."

"Good. What about Almost Famous?"

"Sounds good." His eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. The fuck was wrong with him?

"I could use a milkshake too actually," April said, turning back to Virgil and Ibou. "Nice meeting you guys. Thank you for making me feel so welcomed."

"Of course, April," Virgil said, smile genuine. "You should stop by for a match."

"Oh well–"

"You should come watch us kick Lille's ass!" Ibou practically bounced.

Trent shot him a 'what the hell' look, but April just flashed that devil's grin of hers.

"I would love to, but I have to check my schedule."

Ibou actually cheered - proper full-volume celebration - before they headed off to their cars, leaving Trent and April alone.

"I like your teammates, they're sweet."

"Listen, you don't have to–"

"You want to drive it?" She interrupted, dangling the Ferrari keys. His hand reached out automatically because fuck yeah, who wouldn't want to drive that?

She pulled them back. "You haven't been touching yourself, have you?"

"No."

Her eyebrows raised. "No...?"

"Ma'am... madam," he spluttered.

"Ma'am works too, you know." She chuckled. "Good boy. You get your reward."

The keys dropped into his palm, and Trent had never felt happier.

Though something told him this was just the start of April's rewards... and her punishments.

His Range Rover could stay in the Anfield parking lot - he'd grab it later. Right now, all he could think about was the Ferrari's engine purring to life under his hands.

"She likes to be handled firmly," April said as he pulled out onto the main road. Her hand found his thigh as he hit the accelerator, testing what this thing could do.

The engine growled as he shifted gears, probably breaking about six traffic laws. But with April's hand on his thigh and that much power under him? Worth it.

"You like it?" she asked, watching his face as he revved the engine.

"Yeah–" His answer dissolved into something embarrassingly close to a squeak as her hand squeezed his inner thigh, coming dangerously close to touching his hardening dick.

"It's the power, huh? Does things to you. Endorphins. Adrenaline." Her voice had gone low and dangerous. "Makes you feel alive."

He focused on the road, desperately trying to ignore how the rest of him was feeling. The Ferrari responded to every touch like it was made for him, but April's hand on his thigh was making it hard to keep it together.

"Have you ever gotten head while driving?"

Jesus motherfucking Christ.

"No ma'am." His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Interesting." She removed her hand and he could finally breathe again. "Something to think about."

The rest of the drive was torture - April alternating between casual chat about football and comments that made his brain short-circuit. By the time they pulled into Almost Famous, he wasn't sure if he was hungry for food or... something else.

The hostess led them to a corner booth, April sliding in, her leather jacket came off, revealing a crop top that had his mouth going dry.

"So," she said once they were settled. "Ground rules."

He nearly choked on his water. "Here?"

"Where better?" That devil's smile again. "Nobody's paying attention to us. We can talk freely."

She wasn't wrong. The place was busy, music playing, everyone focused on their own conversations.

"First rule - honesty. Always. If something's too much, you tell me. If you want something, you ask for it."

He nodded, trying to look like they were having a normal dinner conversation.

"Second - you follow my commands without question. In and out of the bedroom."

His face felt hot. "Like the no touching thing?"

"Exactly. Good boy for following that, by the way." The praise shouldn't have affected him like it did. "Third - you're mine. Exclusively. No other girls, no hookups, nothing without my permission."

Something in his chest tightened. "What about you?"

"Jealous again?" She smirked. "Don't worry pretty boy. I won’t have other toys to play with."

Christ.

"Questions?"

About a million, but their waitress chose that moment to appear. April ordered for both of them - some fancy burger for him that wasn't even on the menu, two cookies and cream milkshakes, and sweet potato fries that she said they'd share.

Once the waitress left, April leaned forward. "You're thinking too hard. I can see it on your face."

"Just... what are we? Like, outside of all this?"

"We're whatever we want to be. The dom/sub thing? That's just one part."

"You'll be coming to my matches?"

"If you want me there." She tilted her head. "Though I might make you earn it."

His imagination went wild with possibilities.

"Focus," she smirked. "Food first. Then maybe... if you're good... we can find out what that Ferrari can really do."

The look she gave him promised all sorts of trouble.

And fuck him if he wasn't ready for all of it.

Their food arrived - his burger looking like something that should be in a museum, milkshakes piled high with whipped cream, and her sweet potato fries arranged in a basket. She pushed the fries between them, a clear invitation to share.

"So like," he started, trying to sound casual, "what more should we do? Outside of... you know."

April's eyes lit up with amusement. "You really want the girlfriend experience, don't you?”

He took a long sip of his milkshake instead of answering.

"You have to answer me." Her voice carried that edge again.

"Just feels weird, doesn't it? Doing all this freaky stuff behind closed doors but nothing outside of it. Doesn't feel right."

April rolled her eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck. "I usually don't date my toys. More of the have fun then go our separate ways type of girl."

"What if I'm a real good boy?" He reached for her hand, giving her his best pleading look - the one that usually got him out of extra training. "I'll do anything you want, ma'am."

"Oh... look at you acting like a sub."

"Is it working?"

She pulled her hand away, but he caught the hint of a smile. "You made my heart soften a little, I'll give you that. But I still need convincing."

"I can be proper convincing." He ate one of the fries.

"Eat your burger before it gets cold."

The burger was actually delicious - whatever she'd ordered for him was perfect. They fell into easy conversation between bites, talking about everything and nothing.

"So what friend were you seeing in Manchester?" He tried to sound casual.

"Jealous again?" She took a fry from the basket. "Old uni mate. She's a photographer too."

"Just a friend?"

"Getting possessive already?" But her eyes softened slightly. "Yes, just a friend. Though..." that devilish smile returned, "she did teach me a few interesting techniques back in the day."

His brain short-circuited again.

"You're too easy to wind up," she laughed. "But seriously - this thing between us? It only works with trust. Complete trust."

"I trust you."

"Do you?"

"I know a lot to trust you on." He met her eyes. "Know you see me. The real me, not just..." he gestured vaguely at himself.

"TAA, Liverpool's golden boy?" She reached over, wiped some sauce from the corner of his mouth. The gesture felt strangely intimate. "Yeah, I see you. That's what makes this interesting."

"So..."

"So maybe," she sighed dramatically, "we can do normal stuff too. But don't think that means I'll go soft on you."

His whole body felt warm. "Wouldn't want that."

"No?" She leaned forward, voice dropping low. "What do you want then?"

Everything. Anything. Whatever she was willing to give him.

"Want to be yours." The words came out before he could stop them. "Properly yours."

Something flashed in her eyes - something that made his heart race. "Careful what you wish for, pretty boy. Once I properly claim something... I don't let go easily."

"Good."

They finished their food in charged silence, both aware of the shift that had just happened. This wasn't just about sex anymore. This was... something else entirely.

"Should get you back to your car," she said finally, but her eyes promised more. "Early training tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah but..." He hesitated. "When will I see you again?"

"Miss me already?" She stood up, sliding her leather jacket back on. "Thursday night, after the match. My place. Pack a bag - you're staying over."

His stomach did about sixteen flips.

"And Trent?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear something... accessible."

Christ.

As they walked back to the Ferrari, her hand found the small of his back. A casual touch that somehow felt more possessive than anything they'd done before.

He was so fucked.

And he couldn't wait.

The bench at Anfield was freezing, but Trent barely felt it. Ibou kept nudging him every time he checked his phone, teasing him about his "hot date" later. The rest of the lads had been giving him knowing looks all day - seems like the Ferrari incident had made its way through the group chat faster than Mo on a counter-attack.

When Mandi got sent off for that mental tackle on Darwin in the 23rd minute, the whole stadium erupted. Mo's goal in the 34th minute was pure poetry, the kind of finish that reminded everyone why he was still the king. The way he sent their keeper the wrong way before kicking it in the bottom corner? Magic.

Harvey's goal in the 67th was just showing off really, leaving three Lille players for dead before curling it in. Kid was having the season of his life, and Trent couldn't help but grin watching him celebrate with the Kop. Reminded him of himself at that age - all raw talent and pure joy.

Slot finally called him over in the 80th minute, just as the "We are Liverpool" chants started rolling through the stadium. "Quick touches, control the game," was all he said before sending Trent on.

Fifteen minutes of football had never gone by so fast. Every touch, every pass felt automatic - his mind already somewhere else, in a flat in East London with a girl who'd scrambled his brain.

He was out of the stadium like his ass was on fire, barely stopping to high five the kids by the tunnel. A few of the lads tried calling him back for post-match analysis, but he was gone before they could finish saying his name.

His bag was already packed - had been since morning if he was honest - but he triple-checked everything anyway. Clothes for tomorrow, training kit, toiletries. Felt weird packing an overnight bag for… whatever this was going to be.

Train was quicker than driving, even if it meant going full 'mandem' with the Moncler puffer, boots, and balaclava. The platform at Lime Street was packed with match-day crowds heading home, but not one person recognized him. Amazing what a bit of roadman fashion could do.

April kept sending him pictures that had his face burning behind the balaclava. Each one more suggestive than the last - close-ups of leather straps, silk ties, things that made his imagination run wild.

April: Hope you're ready for tonight. April: Been shopping. April: Got some new toys to try out.

Christ.

He tried to focus on anything else - the landscape flying past the window, the couple arguing about pizza toppings across the aisle, the kid playing some game with the volume too high. But his mind kept wandering to what was waiting for him in London.

April: Almost here? April: Getting impatient… April: Don't make me start without you.

The tube to her place felt endless. Had to change twice, studying the map like some tourist. East London looked different at night - all neon lights and people heading to bars, different vibe than Liverpool. More edge to it, like everyone was playing a part in some urban drama.

Her building looked the same though, all exposed brick and industrial lighting. The converted warehouse vibe felt fitting somehow - like April herself, a mix of rough edges and expensive taste.

The doorman - different one from last time, younger with a knowing smile - held the door open without asking for ID. Guess he was expected. Trent yanked off his balaclava in the lift, trying to sort his hair out in the reflection. The concrete floors echoed his footsteps as he walked down that familiar hallway.

His knuckles had barely touched her door when it swung open.

There she was, holding that cat like some Bond villain. Pussy Galore gave him what felt like a judgmental meow, like she remembered him from last time and wasn't impressed.

"Look who finally made it," April smirked, looking him up and down like she was deciding where to start. Her curls were wilder than usual, like she'd been running her hands through them. "Ready to earn your reward?"

Something in her tone made his stomach flip. Whatever was about to happen in this flat - whatever she had planned for him - there was no going back after tonight.

The flat looked the same as last time - art everywhere, books stacked on surfaces, that vintage record player spinning something low and jazzy. But now there were… additions on the dining table. Things that made his throat go dry - leather cuffs in different sizes, silk ties in black and red, something that looked expensive and slightly terrifying that he couldn't quite identify.

"Sit," she nodded toward the sofa.

He sat. She settled next to him, and he finally properly looked at her outfit. No leather dominatrix gear tonight - instead, she wore this soft-looking robe with lace details at the sleeves and hem. Proper feminine. Different. The silk looked expensive, catching the light when she moved.

"Cute, isn't it?" she caught his stare. "Not my usual thing, but I thought something to ease you in."

"I-I love it."

She chuckled at his stammering. Pussy Galore chose that moment to insert herself between them, tail wrapping around her body as she fixed Trent with those unsettling yellow eyes. Like she was judging his worthiness or something.

"I've emailed you something," April said casually, reaching out to scratch behind Pussy's ears.

"What?"

"Well, it's from my lawyer." She gestured to his phone like this was completely normal. "Have a look."

Sure enough, there it was in his inbox. A legal document titled "Arrangement Agreement and Terms" with real letterhead and everything. Mad how official it looked.

His eyes scanned the contents, face getting hotter with each section. Under "Dominant's Preferences" was a list that made his imagination run wild:

Bondage (rope, silk, leather)

Impact play

Marking/biting

Sensory deprivation

Temperature play

Edging/Orgasm control

Discipline/punishment

Creampies/Breeding

Under "Submissive's Interests" were things he'd mentioned, plus some he'd only hinted at:

Choking

Being marked

Light bondage

Following commands

Praise/reward

Being controlled

Light pain play

Breeding

Edging/Orgasm Control

Voyeurism

Light cock and ball torture (CBT)

Light degradation

There was a whole section about their mutual kinks and boundaries, with a note about only exploring new territory after explicit discussion and consent. Everything was laid out in legal language, like some mad corporate merger.

Then came their promises to each other. Hers as a dom - to always respect limits, provide aftercare, maintain open communication, ensure safe play, check in regularly about comfort levels. His as a sub - to be honest about his needs, follow her rules, use their agreed safe word if needed, communicate any discomfort or concerns immediately.

But it was the appendix titled "The Girlfriend Experience" that almost made him laugh out loud. Trust April to turn dating into a proper contract.

TERMS OF ENGAGEMENT:

Match attendance: Maximum 10 per season (choose wisely)

Holidays: 2 annual trips (Alexander-Arnold responsible for all expenses including accommodation, flights, meals, and excursions)

Social engagements: 6 meetings/hangouts with friends (recent Virgil/Ibou encounter not included)

PDA: Only with mutual consent and within established boundaries

Family/loved ones meetings: 2 maximum (if required/requested)

Public appearances: Subject to prior discussion and approval

Social media: No obligation to appear in or acknowledge posts

Media coverage: No comment on relationship status if asked

Duration: One year from signing, unless terminated early due to:

Loss of interest from either party

Infidelity

Breach of contract terms

Violation of established boundaries

Mutual agreement to end arrangement

Additional notes:

All activities to remain private and confidential

Both parties retain right to terminate at any time

Regular review of terms/boundaries every 3 months

Modification of terms requires mutual written agreement

Professional relationship takes precedence over personal

"Well?" April's voice cut through his reading. "Questions?"

The overachiever in him wanted to read every clause. The footballer in him wanted to know how she'd calculated exactly 10 matches for the entire season, did this include international breaks? But mostly, he just wanted to know…

"Did you really get a lawyer to draw this up?"

"Of course." She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Everything I do is professional."

"Even this?" He gestured between them.

"Especially this." Her voice dropped lower. "I take very good care of my toys, Trent. But I also make sure everyone knows exactly what they're getting into."

After reading through every clause twice, Trent clicked the signature box and signed his name. His phone made that little whoosh sound of an email sending, like he'd just signed for a transfer instead of a sexual arrangement.

April's phone pinged. She clapped her hands together, face lighting up. Then something shifted in her expression - her whole demeanor changing in an instant.

"Great." Her voice dropped into that tone that made his stomach flip. "Now we can get started. Strip to your boxers."

His hands moved before his brain could catch up, tugging off his clothes until he stood there in just his Calvin Kleins, feeling more exposed than he did in just a towel in the locker room.

"Kneel." She demonstrated the position with fluid grace - back straight, hands resting palms down on thighs, head bowed slightly. "Like this. Shoulders back, chin down."

He copied her, surprised by how natural it felt. Like his body had been waiting for these instructions all along.

"Perfect," she murmured, and something in his chest warmed at the praise. "We need a safe word," she continued, circling him slowly. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor. "Something you'll remember even when you're… distracted."

"Anfield?"

She laughed - a real laugh, not her dom voice. "Of course that's what you'd pick. Proper footballer through and through." Her fingers brushed his shoulder, feather-light. "Anfield it is. Use it anytime you need to stop or slow down. No questions asked, no judgment."

His knees were starting to ache against the hardwood floor, but something about the position, about following her commands… it settled something in him he hadn't known needed settling. Like finally exhaling after holding his breath too long.

"Come to the bedroom."

He started to stand.

"Did I tell you to walk?"

His stomach flipped. "No ma'am."

"Good. Crawl."

He followed her down the hallway on hands and knees, feeling slightly mental but also… right? Weird how good it felt, taking orders from someone nearly a foot shorter than him. Like his body knew something his brain was still figuring out.

Maybe this was what he'd been looking for all along - someone to take the weight of control off his shoulders, even if just for a little while.

Her bedroom was a bit different too - candles everywhere, giving everything a soft glow. The sheets were changed - black silk instead of the white cotton from New Year's. Some of those toys from the dining room table had made their way here, arranged neatly on her dresser.

"Stop there," she commanded when he reached the foot of the bed. "Kneel up, hands behind your back."

His body responded automatically. Mental how quickly he was learning.

"Good boy." Her fingers traced his jaw, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. "You're a natural at this."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Already so polite." She circled him slowly, fingertips trailing across his shoulders. "Sure you've never done this before?"

"Never."

"Mmm." She stopped behind him, so close he could smell that spiced vanilla. "Tell me how it feels."

"Different," he managed. "But good. Really good."

"Using your words like a good boy." Her hand found the nape of his neck, gripping just tight enough to make him gasp. "But I think you can do better than that."

"Makes me feel… free?" The words tumbled out. "Like I don't have to be in control all the time."

"There it is." She released his neck, moving back into his line of sight. "That's what I saw in you that first night. All that pressure, all that control… sometimes you just need to let it go, don't you?"

He nodded, throat tight.

"Words, pretty boy."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." She smiled - that dangerous smile that had his heart racing. "Now… let's see just how well you follow instructions."

April moved to the dresser, picking up one of the silk ties. "Close your eyes."

The silk was cool against his skin as she wrapped it around his eyes, tying it with practiced ease.

"Can't have you thinking too much," she murmured. "You footballers are always in your heads."

Without sight, everything felt heightened - the brush of her fingers, the sound of her movements, that spiced vanilla scent growing stronger as she leaned close.

"What's your safe word?"

"Anfield, ma'am."

"Good boy." Her voice came from behind him now. "Hands out in front."

Something soft - another silk tie - wrapped around his wrists. Not tight enough to hurt, just enough to remind him who was in control.

"How does that feel?"

"Good." His voice sounded different to his own ears. Rougher.

"Tell me properly."

"Good, ma'am."

"Better." Her hand found his neck again, sending shivers down his spine.

The next hour was a blur of sensations - silk against skin, April's voice guiding him through positions, praising him when he followed perfectly, correcting him when he didn't. Nothing too intense, nothing that pushed too far, but enough to leave him breathless.

"You're a natural submissive," she said later, removing the blindfold. "Like you were made for this."

Maybe he was. Maybe all those years of being in control, of carrying everyone's expectations… maybe this was what he'd needed all along.

April placed the silk ties back on her dresser with that same precision she brought to everything. Each movement deliberate, calculated.

"Want to continue?" Her voice had that edge again, the one that made his skin tingle.

"Yes ma'am."

"On the bed then." Not a request - a command.

He moved his body to the center of her bed, those black silk sheets cool against his heated skin. His heart was hammering now, watching as she shed that lace robe to reveal her naked body. She was way more beautiful than what he'd imagined - soft toffee-colored skin, heavy breasts that will fit perfectly in his hands, stomach taut, and wide hips leading to a bare vagina. Her clitoris peeked out between her labia lips and he was in awe at how wet she already was.

The mattress dipped as she crawled toward him with that predatory grace of hers. When she straddled him, the world narrowed to just this - April above him, curls wild, eyes dangerous.

April’s nails dragged lightly over his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Trent’s breath hitched, the anticipation coiling tight in his stomach. She sat back on his thighs, her hips pressing down just enough to remind him of her authority.

"You like what you see, Trent?" Her voice was low, teasing, a challenge in every syllable.

"Yes, ma’am." His response came without hesitation, his voice husky with need.

"Good." Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made his pulse race.

April leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as her fingers traced the waistband of his boxers. She didn’t rush. Instead, she took her time, savoring his reactions — the way his body tensed, the way his hands clenched into the sheets, the way his eyes stayed locked on hers.

"You’ll learn something tonight," she murmured, her lips hovering near his ear. "Every touch, every sound, every movement — it's mine to give. Understood?"

"Yes, ma’am."

She kissed him then, soft at first, before her teeth nipped at his bottom lip. The sharpness made him gasp, and she took advantage, deepening the kiss, her tongue slithering inside his mouth. Her hands explored his chest, her nails scraping lightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

Her lips left his mouth, trailing down his jawline to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He shivered, her name tumbling from his lips in a whisper.

She pulled back, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Good boy," she murmured, her approval making his chest swell.

April’s hands moved lower, her fingers teasing his nipples. She shifted her hips, her bare skin brushing against him, a tantalizing preview of what was to come.

"You’re doing so well for me," she said, her voice soft but firm. "But we’re just getting started."

Trent swallowed hard, his entire focus on the woman before him. The world outside faded away. There was only April, and her deliberate, intoxicating control.

Her nails danced down his abdomen, and Trent’s breath came in shallow bursts, his focus entirely on her and the maddeningly slow path she was taking. She paused at the waistband of his boxers again, her fingers slipping just beneath the fabric.

"You’re trembling," she observed, her lips quirking into that dangerous smirk.

"You’re making it hard not to," he admitted, his voice rough with restrained need.

"Good." She tugged at his boxers, but not enough to pull them down. Instead, she let them snap back into place, her laugh low and sultry when he groaned in frustration.

"Do you want these off, Trent?"

"Yes, ma’am," he said, almost a plea.

She arched a brow, sitting back slightly, her hands still resting on his hips. "You’ll need to ask properly."

"Please," he said, meeting her gaze. "Please take them off."

The corner of her mouth twitched in satisfaction. "That’s better."

Finally, she slid the fabric down, exposing him inch by excruciating inch. Her eyes never left his face, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed it — anticipation, nervousness, pure want.

When the boxers were gone, she took her time, running her fingers along his thighs and deliberately avoiding where he wanted her touch most. His hips jerked involuntarily, and she pressed them back down with firm hands.

"Patience," she chided, her voice smooth as silk.

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his stomach, just below his navel. Then another, lower this time. Her lips were soft, teasing, a contrast to the sharpness of her nails grazing his skin. Trent’s fingers twisted in the sheets, every nerve in his body lighting up under her touch.

"April," he breathed, his voice strained.

"Shh," she murmured against his skin. "I’m enjoying myself."

Her kisses trailed further, her breath warm against him, but she stopped just shy of where he ached for her. Her tongue flicked out, tracing lazy patterns along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh instead.

"Do you like this?" she asked, her voice a mix of sweet and sinful.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his voice a rough whisper.

She hummed in satisfaction, her nails scraping lightly along his hipbones. "You’re doing so well for me, Trent," she murmured, her words washing over him like a reward.

April’s control was absolute, her teasing calculated, and Trent was helpless against the storm she was creating. Every touch, every kiss was a well thought move, driving him further toward the edge while keeping him firmly in her grasp.

Her lips and tongue worked him into a frenzy that felt almost otherworldly. Every time he thought she would give him the relief he so desperately craved, she pulled back, her chuckle low and devastating. Her hands roamed over his thighs, her nails scraping lightly against sensitive skin, grounding him in the moment even as he floated further away from reason.

When her lips finally wrapped around him to take him fully, Trent’s head fell back, his own lips parting in a silent gasp of gratitude. But his reverie was short-lived. His gaze flicked forward, and that’s when he saw it.

The mirror.

He hadn’t noticed it before, perfectly placed in front of the bed like it had been waiting for this moment. From his vantage point, the reflection offered a full, unfiltered view of April — bent over him, her curls wild, her body a vision of soft, supple curves. And below, her bare pussy glistening with her arousal, catching the dim light like a beacon. Her clitoris was engorged and directly in his view. It was pretty – just like the rest of her and he wanted a taste so badly.

"Ma’am…" he whimpered, his voice breaking.

She didn’t stop. If anything, his reaction seemed to spur her on. Her hands gripped his testicles, firm but careful, the pressure igniting something primal within him.

"You like seeing how my pussy looks, Trent?" she asked, her voice sultry, tinged with just the right amount of mockery to make his face burn.

"Yes, ma’am," he managed, his breath hitching. "You’re so beautiful."

"I know I am," she replied, her confidence rolling over him like a tidal wave. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, her gaze locking him in place. "Do you want to fuck me?"

"Yes, ma’am," he said, the words tumbling out of him without hesitation.

"Do you want to be buried deep inside of me?"

"Y-yes, ma’am."

"What about cumming, Trent?" Her tone was almost sweet now, like she was asking about his favorite dessert. "Are you going to cum inside me?"

Holy. Hell. On. Earth.

His throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to find his voice. "Y-yes, ma’am," he stammered, his whole body trembling under her touch.

April’s smirk deepened, her satisfaction evident. "Good," she murmured, her lips brushing against his skin. "Because I plan to take everything you’ve got. Every. Single. Drop."

She moved away from him, leaving him to catch his breath — or so he thought. The cool air brushing over his heated skin was the briefest of reprieves before she swung a leg over him, straddling his waist.

Trent barely had time to react before she reached down, gripping him at the base with practiced ease. His dick throbbed in her hand, her touch enough to make his hips jerk instinctively. She lined herself up, teasing him with her warmth, and then she sank down, taking him inch by inch.

He let out a guttural groan, the sensation of her tight, wet heat engulfing him nearly overwhelming. She was so snug, so perfect, that for a moment, he wondered if this was some kind of divine punishment for sins he hadn’t even committed yet.

April didn’t wait for him to adjust. She started to move, her hips rolling with deliberate precision, the bed creaking beneath them in time with her thrusts. Trent’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides. Usually, he’d hold a woman’s waist, guide her movements, but with April, he hesitated. She was in charge, and he wasn’t about to ruin this. Not now.

Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure coursing through him, his body trembling with the effort to keep himself in check. He was already so pent-up from her rules, from not touching himself for a week, that every second felt like torture and bliss all rolled into one.

"Open your eyes," April commanded, her voice cutting through the haze of his pleasure.

He obeyed immediately, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She looked devastating — wild curls framing her flushed face, lips parted as she rode him with unrelenting purpose.

"You feel so good, you know that?" she asked, her voice low and almost tender.

He nodded, but it wasn’t enough.

"Use your fucking words," she said, slowing her movements to an infuriating crawl.

"Thank you, ma’am," he breathed. "You feel good too."

"I do?"

"Yes, ma’am."

Her smirk widened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Then let me know how good this pussy feels."

He stumbled over his words at first, but the more he spoke, the easier it got. He listed everything — how tight she was, how warm, how wet. How he’d dreamed about this moment, and now that it was happening, it was better than he’d ever imagined. How badly he wanted to cum inside her.

April’s movements grew erratic, her nails digging into his chest as she ground against him with reckless abandon. Trent was right there on the edge, the familiar coil in his stomach tightening with every thrust.

"Look at that," she teased, her voice breathy. "You’re gonna cum?"

"Yes, ma’am," he choked out, his body twitching beneath her.

"Hold it," she said sharply, her hips still rolling. "I’m not done with you yet."

Fucking hell.

"Please, ma’am," he begged, his voice raw. It had been too long, and he was still new to this. How could she expect him to hold back when she was doing everything in her power to drive him insane?

And then it happened. His body betrayed him, the coil snapping as he spilled into her with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

April slowed to a stop, her expression shifting as she looked down at him. The pleasure that had softened her features just moments ago was replaced with a look of utter disdain.

"I told you not to cum," she said, her tone icy.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," Trent whispered, letting out a shaky exhale as he felt some of his cum leak out of her pussy to trail down his length. "I’m so sorry."

Her face hardened, her voice cutting through his apology. "No more apologies, Trent," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear as she added, "Now, you get to have your first punishment."

Training felt different with April's marks hidden under his kit. Every movement reminded him of last night - how she'd punished him for cumming without permission in round one ("Bad boys need to learn control," she'd purred before denying him release in round two), the way she'd marked him as hers with teeth and nails. His "homework assignment" was still ringing in his ears: practice edging, get better at control, earn his next reward.

His skin was a map of their night - bite marks scattered across his chest, scratches down his back from when he'd finally earned his release, bruises from her grip when he'd tried to rush things. Each mark a reminder of how she'd taken him apart piece by piece, only putting him back together when he'd properly begged for it.

He kept checking his phone between drills. Nothing from April yet. Was she disappointed? Had his lack of control put her off?

Tyler's texts were going mental though:

Tyler: Bruv these photos are INSANE Tyler: Timeline's gone crazy Tyler: Look at these quotes 😭

The thirst tweets were something else: "Trent Alexander-Arnold looking like a SNACK" "Whoever suggested this shoot deserves a raise" "Those EYES though 👀"

When Slot called time on training, every muscle in Trent's body was aching - and not just from football. April hadn't exactly been gentle after he'd disobeyed her first command about waiting for permission.

The changing room was rowdy as usual, everyone taking the piss about his photos. He tried stripping off carefully, but winced as the fabric caught on the deeper scratches - the ones she'd left when he'd earned his third release after what felt like hours of teasing.

"Yo what the FUCK?" Ibou's voice carried across the room. "Your back brother!"

Too late to hide the evidence - bite marks, nail tracks, proper artwork of them. Some still angry red, others already turning purple.

"Shit bruv," Darwin whistled. "She's wild!"

"Proper freaky one you've got there!"

"Lucky bastard!"

"Trent's finally found someone to put him in his place!" Robbo called out, cackling.

"Nah but for real," Curtis grinned, "she must be something special. Man's got a proper glow about him."

"More like proper marks about him," Joe added, making everyone howl.

"Oi," Trent cut in, something protective flaring up. "Show some respect yeah?"

"Aww, look at him defending his girl's honor," Robbo teased. "She got you proper whipped already?"

You have no idea, Trent thought, but said nothing.

"Please tell me she's coming to the PSV match," Ibou said. "Need to see the woman who's turned our Trent into a lovesick puppy."

"I'm not–"

"Mate," Mo cut in with that knowing smile of his, "you've been checking your phone every two minutes waiting for her text."

More laughter, more jokes of exaggerated cat noises and pretending to scratch each other. Even Virgil was grinning, which was rare enough to make Trent's face heat up more.

In the shower, hot water stinging his marked skin, Trent couldn't help grinning. Let them joke. They had no idea what April was really like - how she could switch from dominatrix to soft girl in seconds, how she'd held him after everything, whispering praise until he fell asleep.

His phone buzzed as he was getting dressed.

April: Been practicing your edging? April: Good boys get rewards… April: Bad boys get denied again.

Fucking hell.

.................tbd