#when he says “...it's worth it” and his jaw moves...

[st7rnioioss]

BUNNY!READER x SHY!MATT

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... smut, fingering, pet names (baby, bun, pretty thing), kissing

it had only been a suggestion.. not anything matt was sure he’d bring to reality. the thought alone made him shudder, bringing a pink tint to his cheeks and stumbling over his words.

you were laid over matt’s lap between his legs, hips digging into his thigh while resting your elbows on the mattress beneath you. nervously, you looked over your shoulder, letting your hair drape over your back.

“are- are you sure?” your tone was uncertain, but you knew you wanted it. you just weren’t sure if matt could bring himself to do it, already blushing from just the recreation of the position he had in mind.

he sat there, on the edge of the bed, his trembling but soft hands caressing your inner thighs he had gently spread apart.

“yeah- yes. im sure, please just- let me try?” he looked back at you, eyes wide and pleading, stilling his movement for a moment. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, giving him a hesitant but firm nod.

“okay then. go ahead..” he almost cheered, offering you a soft smile, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze. “i’ll make it worth it, i-i promise,”

slowly, his hands pushed your skirt up your hips, out of the way, his breath hitching in his throat by just the look of your pretty panties, nearly freezing—but with an exhale, he hooked his fingers under the elastic waistband of the soft fabric, bringing it down your thighs.

you squirmed under his touch, feeling yourself grow more needy with his deliberate effort. heat rose to matt’s face and neck, carefully running his thumb across your glistening folds, making you choke on a breath. “fuck..” you whispered, managing to wiggle your thighs further apart to silently tell him to keep going.

matt’s heart was thumping at the sight, watching your soaked pussy and the way his thumb got all sticky. “you’re- you’re so.. wet..” oh, you could just kiss him silly, nearly too afraid to say the words as he panted while running his thumb over your bud.

carefully, he started to leisurely rub circles on your clit, making your jaw fall slack, and though he couldn’t see your face, he could tell by the way you clenched around nothing that you liked it just as much as him. maybe this whole thing wasn’t a terrible idea at all.

“pretty thing..” he spoke weakly, the pet name making your mind reel, nails digging into the sheets of your bed. his free hand was gently groping the soft skin of your thighs, running across to gently dig his fingers into your plush ass.

“m-matt.. keep going, please..” your pretty pleading only fueled his desire to continue, reluctantly withdrawing his thumb from your clit, replacing it with his index finger to run through your wet entrance.

cautiously, he eased his finger inside of your soppy pussy, his eyes stuck to the sight of his digit disappearing inside of you. “holy shit..” he mumbled, bringing it back out, just to plunge back inside of you.

quiet moans fell from your lips, eyes fluttering shut when he curled his finger up inside of your walls. when he then eased another finger inside your hole, a pathetic whimper slipped from your mouth.

”shiiittt.. you take them so well..” his voice sounded, picking up the pace of his movements, listening to the soft squelching his index and middle finger elicited from your pussy. his head was spinning, eyes still stuck to the sight of his fingers disappearing so easily into you.

“fuck! matt- keep going.. please..” his eyes finally moved from your cunt to the image of your hands balling the sheets into a fist, a sense of pride swirling through his body. gosh, if he could do this every day, every hour, every minute, he would. “you’re so, so gorgeous,” he cooed, only making the pool of heat in your tummy bigger, clenching around his fingers. you’d never ever guessed your own, let alone anyone else’s fingers could reach this far, leaving you a rambling mess, his name being the only thing you remembered in the moment.

he felt the way you squeezed around him, his free hand snaking its way to your pussy. delicately, his thumb continued its previous circles on your bud, making your hips pathetically buck into his thigh, along with a needy moan. he intently watched his fingers, all slick from his ministrations inside of you, your dripping hole coating them in the sticky substance.

“oh- oh.. that feel s’good..” you whined with a moan, grasping for the sheets when he continued to curl his fingers inside of you, your sweet moans nearly harmonizing with the lewd, wet noises from your pussy.

“are y’gonna cum? i can feel you squeeze around me..” he whispered, his thumb still circling your clit, but now at a faster pace. hair stuck to your sticky, glossed lips, where dirty and pornographic moans slipped from. “please,” you rasped, eyes pinched shut and nails digging into the mattress as you came over his digits, wailing on a moan.

“fuuuck, fuck.. you’re- you’re so pretty like this bun, holy fuck..” matt was just as much of a mess as you, his fingers slowing down but not stilling, enjoying the way you only coated his fingers more, glistening and wet.

“matt, no- no more, please..” by now you were a blabbering mess, wiggling your hips in a poor attempt to stop him from continuing.

reluctantly, he slowly withdrew his fingers from your soaked hole, watching the slick that stuck to his fingers. the sight alone made his face turn pink once again. you managed to get onto your palms, looking over your shoulder to shoot a soft and dazed smile matt’s way, your cheeks just as pink as his.

he reciprocated it, but nervously avoided your gaze. “i’ll uh, i’ll help you..” his soft voice sounded, smoothly pulling your panties back up your thighs, giving your ass a gentle pat making you giggle shyly, awkwardly turning around to leave a sloppy kiss to his lips.

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: sighhhh... me whenn??? i apologize if this sucks asssss, i've been so sick for the past few days and literally couldn't think when i wrote this lol. anyway, i hope those of u who celebrate christmas had an awesome day<3 ilysm!!

more bunny!reader x shy!matt here!

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @forgottxen @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @urmomlovesme12

© ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023

[undercoveravenger]

Criminal Intent

Criminal!Soap x Detective!Male!Reader

A/N: Okay, first time writing for COD and it’s an AU with a probably very out of character Soap. This is potentially a continuing series with an option for poly!141 if you guys’re into it. Feel free to send requests for the 141 or for this au in the meantime

-----

It’s the silence that bothers him, really. He’s been in plenty of interrogation rooms with plenty of detectives sitting across him. He’s had officers beat him and bribe him and try to weasel information out of him a dozen different ways, but he’s never had someone quite like you.

The first thing that crosses his mind when you close the heavy door behind you is that you’re fine as hell. All strong jaw and pretty eyes and a white button up shirt stretched tight across a thick chest and broad shoulders and he just knows you could fold him in half if you wanted to. The next thing he notices is that you’re quiet. You settle into the seat across from him with spread legs and an open case file without so much as glancing at him and if he didn’t know you were trying to put his whole goddamn organization behind bars-

“Can we get this over with?” he finally says, if only to get you to look away from the fucking paperwork for a moment. 

Your eyes are almost bored when they meet his and Johnny’s just decided they’re his new favorite color when you speak and his brain about short circuits at the sound of your voice. “Oh,” you say, though you don’t sound surprised. He definitely does not think about the other ways he could get you to say that. Definitely not. “Ready to squeal?”

He swallows thickly, knows you want him to give up Price and Gaz and Ghost. “I’m no rat,” he says, lips curling up into that charming smile he’d put to use hundreds of times over as he leans in, “But I bet there’s plenty a’ other things you could do that’d get me squealin’.”

“Pass.” You don’t seem affected in the slightest as your eyes drop back to the folder in your hands, deft fingers flipping pages and his mouth waters at the thought of those fingers fisting into his hair. “I told them you wouldn’t be worth my time,” you said, tipping your head toward the one-way mirror that lined one edge of the interrogation room. “Too damn stubborn to get yourself a good deal in exchange for a little information.” 

He huffs, a little petulant from your disinterest, “Stubborn’s one word for it. Loyal’s another.” He puffs his chest out a bit. He knows he’s good looking, been told so all his life, so you’re either not into blokes, or you’re lying. “‘S a good trait for your future husband to have, ain’t it?” There it is, he thinks with a grin as your eyes shoot up to meet his, thrown off for the first time since you set foot in the room.

“Wha-” you cut yourself off, schooling your surprise back into that boring deadpan expression and Johnny almost pouts as you do. “That’s rather inappropriate.”

Johnny shrugs, leans forward to rest his forearms against the table, handcuffs clinking as he moves. His voice lowers to nearly a pur, “Could do some other things that’re inappropriate if you want? Wouldnae even have to take these off,” he jingles the cuffs pointedly. He tips his head toward the mirror, “Doubt you’d want your supervisors here for that though.”

Your pupils are slightly dilated when you look at him and he can see how tempted you’d be by him if he’d met you anywhere else. God, the things he’d do to you if you’d just wandered into the bar above the safehouse downtown - He shakes it off, knows he can’t let himself get distracted. Knows he just has to stall for time ‘til Price has his bail paid and he can disappear again. But the idea of getting closer to you? Of having you to himself, even for a little while? Oh, that’s a chance he can’t pass up, even if Ghost and Price’ll be pissed at him later.

“I’d think about a deal,” he finds himself saying, the words foreign on his tongue and he’s almost as shocked to be saying them as you look to be hearing them. “My time for yours. I won’t give you my boys, but I’ve got plenty more information that’d help you lot out that I could pass along if you agree to meet me when I’m out.” He continues, hand jerking forward to catch your chin and keep you from looking to the officers behind the mirror for guidance, to keep you looking at him and him only. “Just you. No backup, no wires, nothing. Just the two of us.”

He can feel your tension against his fingertips, can feel the way you ache to get approval from your higher ups before responding, a foxhound not used to being pursued by the fox without so much as a huntsman to guide you, can see the way your fingers tighten against the folder in your grip, knuckles nearly going white with the pressure. Can see the moment when your resolve cracks and you nod. It’s small and barely there, but you agreed all the same whether or not your superiors would’ve approved it.

You’re up out of your seat and crossing to the door as soon as he releases you and he knows what mess’ll be waiting for you but all he can think about is what it’ll take to draw you to him, to bring you close to his side and keep you there and how helpful it’ll be to have a soon-to-be former detective working for Price and his syndicate and how he’s going to have so much fun breaking you.

[morningsharksworld]

Oh my goodness I can't believe I didn't say this before but I just saw your piercings headcannon for Haz and oh man 😮‍💨 just THINKING of his dick piercings I'm weak. I'm imagining he's like "ye wanna see what else I got?" *wink wink nudge nudge* when talking about his piercings with him

Pin Cushion PT.1

Hazard x Reader [NSFW WARNING]

A/N: The amount of piercings that I put on this guy is insane he probably looks like a pin cushion, SHIT his pp also might look like a pin cushion. BUT AM I COMPLAINING???? No, not at all :], part 2 may be my first AO3 post.

Summary: you got curious about Hazards piercings…a little too curious…

“You’ve been starin' at me all night” he teased, one brow quirkin’. “Somethin' ye wanna get off yer chest?”

You hesitated, fiddlin’ with the hem of your shirt before blurting, “How many piercings do you even have?”

Hazard’s grin widened. “Aye, so that’s what ye’ve been wonderin' about, eh? Buckle up, Love. Ye’re aboot to get the full tour.”

He reached up to tap his ears first. “Let’s start simple. Got the lobes done when I was a wee bairn—thought it made me look tough.” He laughed, shakin’ his head. “Turns out I was just a wee punk wi’ bad decision-makin’ skills.”

Then, without hesitation, he added, “Oh, and I’ve got these too.” He pointed to his lower lip, where two piercings rested—snake bites. “These were more for fun than anything else. Bit o' a rebellious streak, y’know?” He grinned, the piercings catching the light.

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before he lifted his hand to the bridge of his nose. “And this one” he said, tapping the thin bar of metal across the bridge of his nose. “Thought it added a bit o' character. Not exactly comfortable, but it suits the vibe, right?”

Hazard let the information hang in the air for a moment before he tugged at the hem of his tank top, pullin’ it up just enough to expose his toned chest—and the metal glintin’ from his nipples. Your eyes widened, and he chuckled at yer reaction.

“These?” He grinned as he let the tank top fall back into place. “Bet gone wrong” He chuckled. “The piercin' part sucked, but they’re surprisingly fun. Just don’t yank on ‘em, or we’ll both be in trouble.”

Ye were still recoverin' from that reveal when he pulled down the waistband of his pants just a little, showin' off the piercings on either side of his hips. “Lost another bet for these” he admitted with a shrug. “Apparently, I’m really shite at poker. But hey, they add to my charm.”

Before ye could respond, he leaned closer, stickin' out his tongue. That’s when ye noticed it—split right doon the middle. He flicked one side, then the other, the movement so precise it left ye momentarily speechless. Then, ye caught sight of the piercin' glintin’ on one side of the split.

“This one?” He clicked the piercin' against his teeth, smirkin’ as yer jaw dropped. “Got the tongue split just for the hell of it. The piercin’? That’s just the cherry on top. People never expect both, but that’s kinda the point.”

Ye stared, yer words stuck in yer throat as he flicked his tongue again, the piercin' catchin’ the light.

“Oh, and ye missed these.” Hazard grinned, running his hand over his collarbone, and sure enough, there were two surface bars on either side, the metal gleaming under the light. “Got these a while back. Had a bit o' fun with the placement. Kinda a pain to heal, but totally worth it.”

Then, his eyes twinkled as he gave a mischievous smile. “Oh, and there’s one more thing I’ve never told ye about.” He leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. “A Prince Albert. Ever heard o' it?”

You blinked, confused. “A… what?” You stammered, trying to make sense of what he had just said.

Hazard chuckled, clearly enjoying the confusion on your face. “A Prince Albert, mate. It’s… well, a bit much to explain here. But hey, if yer curious, I wouldn’t mind showin' it to ye later.” He winked, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Your face flushed as you quickly tried to move past it. “Uh… yeah, maybe later” you muttered, not quite sure how to respond.

=====

after lying awake thinking about what he’d said, you finally decided you couldn’t let it go. You knocked softly on Hazard’s bedroom door, your heart pounding with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

“Who’s knockin’ at this hour?” Hazard called from inside, his voice muffled.

You swallowed hard. “It’s me” you replied, trying to sound casual. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

The door creaked open, and Hazard stood there with a raised eyebrow. “What’re ye doin' up this late, mate? Somethin' on yer mind?”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “I was thinkin' about what you said earlier” you started. “About the… Prince Albert thing.”

Hazard’s smirk returned immediately, and he leaned against the doorframe. “Oh? Ye finally curious, eh?”

Your face burned, but you pushed through, trying not to let the awkwardness get the best of you. “Yeah… uh, I was wondering… if ye wouldn’t mind showing it to me, like you said.”

Hazard’s grin widened, clearly amused. “Oh, ye want the full tour, huh?” He stepped back, gesturing for you to come in. “Alright, mate. If ye’re up for it, come on in.”

You stepped into Hazard’s room, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly lit space. Hazard was still leaning against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you closely.

“So, ye really want to see it, then?” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You nodded, still unsure if you were entirely ready for this, but something about the casual way he was handling it made you feel a bit more at ease. "Yeah, you mentioned it earlier, and now I'm curious” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Hazard chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth. “Alright, love Just don’t blame me if it leaves ye a bit flustered, yeah?” He grinned, clearly enjoying the situation.

He walked over to the side of the room, pulling off his shirt and revealing the tattoos that lined his torso. With a quick, almost theatrical movement, he unbuttoned his pants just enough to reveal the piercing. You could see the faint outline of a small metal ring through the waistband of his boxers, but it was clear he was waiting for you to take the initiative.

“Go on then” he said with a wink, “Take a closer look.”

[hooked-on-elvis]

September 4, 1972: Elvis during press conference. It's been 52nd years since the announcement of the Aloha from Hawaii concert (January 14th, 1973).

[ebodebo]

Tough As Nails—Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… MDNI | part one |

next ->

He had become a nuisance. A pest, a headache. Every single adjective you can think of to describe a pain in the ass he was.

Your father's ranch hand, whom he hired all of six months ago, had become something of a bother, an inconvenience to you. He was annoying and stubborn. Narrowed his eyes at you too often for your liking. Scoffed when you would correct him. And scolded you when you would have people on the property when your parents would leave town—even going so far as to kick your guests off the property altogether.

But tonight would be different; it was the Fourth of July. You would happily throw your party in the barn your family owns, on the property they own. You weren't going to let him order you around tonight.

"What the hell is all of this?" Simon seethed, taking in the concrete floor covered in empty beer bottles and spilled grain. His booming voice caused some partygoers to straighten up, though no one dared to speak.

He clenched his jaw at the lack of cooperation. "Huh?" He paused, his fists clenching so hard they began to turn white.

"So, no one can speak?" He walked over to a guy sitting on a bale of hay, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the hay tossing him aside.

"Get the fuck off my hay." He gritted to the guy.

"Where is she?" All he could think about was the little pain in his ass who was responsible for this. The guy he pulled off the hay immediately pointed towards an old wooden outhouse away from the barn.

Simon rolled his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. "If I come back and any of you are still here." He looked over everyone.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you for trespassing."

Safe to say, everyone in the barn scrambled out of the barn at that very second. Simon turned on his heels and stalked over to the outhouse, where he saw you leaning up against the outside with a guy's hands roaming your body, making out.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" You jumped at the sound of his voice, pushing the guy on you off your body.

"Sim—"

"Don't." He moved closer, standing directly in front of you, pointing his finger at you. "Don't Simon me."

"It's the Fourth of July, Simon. Lighten up."

"Do you realize your idiot friends spilled hundreds of dollars worth of grain and fucked with your dad's equipment?" All he had to do was glance at the guy just kissing you for him to go scurrying off.

"Shit, I shouldn't have left them alone. I wasn't thinking." You curse, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

"Ya, you're right." He stepped closer.

“You don't think." He gritted out before continuing.

"You're impulsive. Reckless."

Your eyes widen at his words. Who does this guy think he is? "Don't forget you work for me."

He lets out a deep, dry chuckle. "Actually, I work for your dad." 

"Whatever." You scoff as you take a step to walk past him.

"We are not done talking." He reaches out to grab your wrist; you swiftly turn your head to look up at him.

"I'm done listening to you." You grit out, eyes full of anger.

"Oh, is that it?" He scoffs out as you take a step away, only to trip over a wide hole in the ground, making both of you topple over, him falling on top of you. He's quick to plant a hand on the ground before, so his entire body weight isn't on you.

After you recognize the pain from the fall, you look up at Simon, who's on top of you, eyes boring into yours. Your pulse increases at the proximity, and your breath becomes more shallow.

His eyes blazed with fury, yours full of irritation. You can't help but glance at his lips, hovering not too far away from your own. This little action made him lose it. His self-control was already hanging on by a single thread, and the look you gave was what finally cut through. His lips crashed onto yours with such force that it took your air away.

It wasn't gentle or tender. It was desperation, months of built-up vexation. It was downright sinful.

You gasp once his lips meet yours but quickly return the sentiment. Your hands move to glide through his light hair, gently tugging on the roots, making him groan.

He yanks his cowboy hat off as he grips your waist to flip you so you are now on top of him, straddling his waist as he sits up.

"I thought you didn't like me." You smugly remark as he connects his lips to the side of your neck, and his hands start undoing buttons on your top.

"Like has nothing to do with this." He murmurs into your neck, lightly nipping at your sensitive skin, making you sigh.

"Keep telling yourself that, Cowboy." You jest, grabbing the back of his neck bringing him back up to your lips, already greedy for another taste of him.

He continues working on undoing your top buttons as his tongue collides with yours, and your teeth graze his own.

He cups your breast over the fabric of your bra as soon as he gets the buttons undone, making you whimper. His hand slips down to grip the fat of your ass as he leans in so his lips are lightly grazing your ear.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" You could feel the roughness of his voice so close to your ear. You leaned into his lips grazing your ear.

"Do what?" You breathe out as his hand roams from your ass to the front of your belt, gently unclasping your belt buckle.

"You playin' dumb now?" He questioned, gently nipping at your ear lobe. The sensation made you let out a low moan before roughly grabbing his face and connecting your lips back to his.

He matched your hungry kiss, reciprocating an even hungrier one of his own as he tossed your belt off to the side and slid off your pitiful excuse for jean shorts down past your thighs.

He quickly undid his belt buckle and threw it off to the side, sliding his jeans down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." You breathe out, reaching between the two of you to release him from the confines of his boxers.

His mouth went dry at your touch. "Do what exactly?" He choked out as you carefully pumped him up and down.

"Ride you." You casually said as you slipped your already-soaked thong to the side to accommodate him. He could have come at your words. He almost did, but a quick relay of the steps to clean an AR-15 suppressed the urge. 

You grip him and slip him inside your dripping cunt, hissing at the contact. He grips your hips and gently sinks you lower, groaning as you grind into him. 

He brought his face closer to plant deep, wet kisses on your lips before groaning into your mouth as you continued your movements. "Fuck. Just like that." 

Your entire body erupted with goosebumps, and your nipples hardened at the sentiment. You grip his shoulders tightly, but before you pick up your pace, you hear a familiar truck pulling up to the gate of your family's ranch.

"Is that—" You begin before he thrusts into you, making you moan and throw your head back.

"So fuckin' sensitive." He leaned into your exposed neck and licked a strip up to your lips that were slightly parted. 

"Better come quick, sweetheart." He pants, gently bouncing you up and down on his cock, fingers digging into the tender flesh on your hips. 

"Wouldn't want your parents to see you riding me. Would you now?" You let out a pathetic whimper, bringing your hand down to swirl circles on your aching clit, while he wraps a strong arm around your waist to hold you in place as he drills himself into you.

Each thurst, each swirl of your finger, made you feel a sense of nirvana you didn't even know was possible to get to. It was pure bliss. That and his dirty tongue were spewing such filthy words that were making you wetter than you ever knew was possible.

"Tell me you're about to come because—” His pleading voice sends a final wave of heat through you.

"Fuck. Yes, I'm coming." You yelp, slipping your fingers through his hair and pulling on the light roots again. He silently curses as he comes, gripping you tighter and pressing your chest against his own.

By the time both of your orgasms subside, he silently and gently eases you up to assist you in pulling your thong and jean shorts back on. Then, he casually fixes his jeans and grabs his belt to put back on.

You glance at him, picking up his cowboy hat from the ground and carefully wiping off some dirt that had gotten on it. Though he doesn't slip it back on his head, as a shock to you, he places the hat on your head. It was a little big on you, so it fell a bit more in the front, slightly covering your eyes.

"Keep it.” He says, bending down to pick up your belt and buckle, gently slipping it around your waist and clasping it. He gently pats the buckle clasped in the front, then looks down at you before speaking.

"You earned it."

a/n: who the fuck even wrote this

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[littlelamy]

heartbeats with rafe

author's note: i wanted to lean more into a softer, vulnerable side of rafe; it was scrapped because i thought it was a little corny, but i'm still in love with the idea of rafe being calmed down by something as simple as his partner's heartbeat.

rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to relax after a fight. anger simmered in him like a storm that couldn’t pass, whether it was a screaming match with his dad, an argument with his sisters, or some run-in with the pogues. he carried it with him, his fists clenched and his jaw tight, until it burned itself out.

but then there was you.

you were different. with you, the fire in him didn’t rage out of control; it softened, flickering into something gentler. you had a way of grounding him, of pulling him back when he felt like he was spiraling.

tonight, though, the storm followed him home.

he slammed the door behind him, his chest heaving as he stood in the middle of your shared room. his hands were shaking, his mind still running wild from another fight with ward.

you looked up from the bed, your expression calm, even though you could feel the tension radiating off him. “rafe,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the haze in his head.

he shook his head, pacing the room. “i can’t—fuck, i can’t do this,” he muttered, his hands raking through his hair.

you stood slowly, your bare feet silent against the floor as you walked over to him. when you reached him, you placed a hand gently on his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“breathe,” you murmured.

his eyes locked on yours, wide and almost desperate. “i can’t—i don’t know how to calm down,” he admitted, his voice cracking.

you guided his hand to your chest, pressing it flat over your heart. “then listen to me,” you whispered.

he froze, his fingers trembling against your skin as he focused on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. ba-dum. ba-dum. it was soft, sure, and unshaken, the complete opposite of how he felt.

“your heart,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “it always calms me down.”

you smiled faintly, your other hand brushing his cheek. “then let it.”

he exhaled shakily, his hands sliding to your waist as he guided you backward toward the bed.

“can i...?” he asked, his voice quiet, unsure.

you nodded, understanding what he needed without him having to say it. when the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he eased you down slowly, his hands warm and steady.

kneeling beside you, his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt. “i just need to feel closer,” he murmured, almost like he was afraid you’d push him away.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft but reassuring.

he tugged your shirt over your head with careful reverence, his touch never rushed or forceful. when his hands found the clasp of your bra, he paused, his gaze searching yours for permission.

you gave him a small nod, and he unhooked it slowly, letting it fall to the floor before leaning down to press his ear against your chest.

his arms wrapped around you as his hands moved gently to cup your chest. his palms were warm against your skin, his touch soft and careful, not possessive but grounding. he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, syncing his breaths with the steady rhythm of your heart.

subconsciously, his thumbs began rubbing slow, soothing circles on your skin. the motion was absentminded, but it made your heart ache with tenderness.

“this,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “this is what keeps me together.”

you ran your fingers through his hair, your own heart swelling at how vulnerable he seemed in that moment. “i’m not going anywhere,” you promised.

he tightened his hold on you, his thumbs continuing their gentle movements as he exhaled again, slower this time. “you make me feel like I’m worth something,” he said, his voice breaking.

“you are,” you said firmly. “to me, you’re everything.”

he stayed like that for a long time, letting the steady beat of your heart and the warmth beneath his hands pull him out of the chaos in his mind. when he finally looked up, his blue eyes were clearer, softer.

“thank you,” he said quietly.

“always,” you replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

he smiled faintly, his hands never leaving you. his thumbs stilled their motion, but his palms remained warm against your chest, grounding him. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” he said.

“you don’t have to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft but steady. “you just have to let me love you.”

his lips curved into a small smile, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “i’ll try,” he said.

you kissed him then, slow and gentle, a reminder that he didn’t have to face everything alone.

later, as you lay together on the bed, his head resting against your chest, you traced lazy patterns along his back.

“rafe?” you murmured.

“hmm?”

“i love you,” you said softly.

he tilted his head up to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “i love you, y/n,” he said, his voice quiet but certain.

he pressed a kiss to your chest, right where your heart beat steadily beneath your skin, and for the first time that night, he felt at peace.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[poguelandiarafe]

thinking about reader being horny and making rafe go down on her but telling him to hurry up cause she’s in a rush to leave for lunch with sarah <3

masterlist

————

“come on, rafe” you huff out when he slowly drags his fingers through your folds, “only got ten minutes.”

he looks up from between your thighs, brows furrowed in confusion, “ten minutes till what?”

“till i need to leave for lunch with sarah. so, hurry up, baby. please.”

his jaw clenches at the mention of his sister, and also the realisation he won’t be getting the best head of his life after going down on you.

“oh, okay… so you’ll get an earth-shattering orgasm out of this exchange and i get left at home basically blue-balled? wow thanks.” he mutters.

you can’t help but roll your eyes, “promise i’ll make it worth it when i get back. just need something now.”

“you better.” rafe mumbles before pushing two fingers into you.

you whimper at the intrusion, his thick fingers stretching you out as he starts quickly thrusting them in and out. he’s muttering under his breath in annoyance, and you’d laugh if he didn’t have two fingers inside you.

“fuck,” you whine, the pad of his thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit, “s-slow down.”

“can’t, sorry sweetheart,” he turns his head to look at the time on the clock, “only got five minutes left. gotta make it quick haven’t i?”

your manicured nails fly down to grip at his shoulders, digging into his skin. a strangled moan escapes you as you feel yourself getting close.

“gonna cum, huh?” he taunts, feeling the way you clench around his fingers.

you nod your head desperately, “please, rafe!”

he leans closer, burying his face into your pussy and sucking your clit. overwhelmed, you can’t stop your legs from tightening around his head and hips bucking up. he brings his elbows to rest on your thighs, effectively pinning you down so you won’t move as much.

the coil in your stomach tightens, and with a particular brush of your g-spot, it snaps. your orgasm takes over your body. your head’s thrown back against the pillows, your nails digging so deep into rafe’s shoulders you’re surprised you haven’t drawn blood and hips uncontrollably bucking against his face as he lets you ride out your high.

“one minute to go,” he says standing up with a light smack to your thigh, “better get moving.”

legs still trembling, you accept rafe’s outstretched hand, pulling you up until you’re on your feet. his hands on your hips keep you steady while you smooth out your outfit and tame your hair.

“thank you,” you press a kiss to his lips, slightly tasting yourself, “promise i’ll make it worth it.”

and with that, you reapply some lipgloss and are out the door, leaving him to jerk off alone.

[alg3a]

auspicious (pt. 2)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x reader

3k words, MDNI

description: After confronting the boys and teasing them for long enough, you finally get what you want.

warnings: nsfw content, full complete total smut, MMF threesome, f!receiving oral, double penetration, all characters are sort of switches i suppose, double creampies! hooray!

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!!! it was entirely unexpected, but i loved hearing that all of you enjoyed it. it was my first ever tumblr fic, but there will be plenty more and my request box is VERY open.

Something in their eyes turns dark when you utter those words. Not utter, exactly, they were more of a proclamation. Maybe it was your confidence that threw them off so intensely, but how could you not be confident in a dress like that, after two glasses of wine, and knowing that the two most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on have been wanting you for months?

It made all the late nights and restless mornings worth it to be sprawled out on their cozy lab couch wearing practically just a strip of fabric, watching them eye you like dogs.

“What is it with you two? Do I need to write you a formal invitation?”

Surprisingly, Viktor moves first. When he gets to the couch he drops his cane as if it was a crumb off his coffeecake. Then Jayce follows, filling the spot behind you as you face Viktor on the other end of the couch. Jayce’s calloused hands wrap around your waist, feeling every inch of the delicate skin exposed by your low hanging dress. Viktor’s delicate hands cup your jaw.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” Viktor says, his voice raspier than you’ve ever heard before.

“Hey–” Jayce squeezes your hips firmly and pulls you back into his chest. His fingers trace the long slit up the side of your leg and brush the fabric to the side, exposing your thighs. “How long we have been waiting for this.”

“Did you ever talk about me–about this–with each other?” You have a million dirty questions to ask them now that you have them at your disposal, and this seems like a good place to start.

“It’s hard not to,” Jayce says. “Every time you would come into the lab in that little skirt…”

“Things as small as lingering touches when passing tools…” Viktor added, his mouth dipping low to kiss your exposed collarbone.

“Anytime you did anything vaguely exciting… let’s just say the thought of sharing you is very familiar to us.” Jayce’s low, rough voice mutters against your neck. He punctuates his sentence with a nip at the soft skin as Viktor pulls away from your clavicle.

“Would you like that?” Viktor asks, his fingers delicately wrapping a strand of your hair around his long, slim finger. “For Jayce and I to share you?”

And suddenly they’ve monopolized this interaction. So much for all that confidence–thrown out the window as soon as they show a sliver of dominance.

“Speak up,” Jayce says, grasping your chin firmly and lifting it so that your face is flush with Viktor’s.

“Yes,” you finally utter. “I’d like that very very much.”

“Good,” Viktor says, his accent thicker and his voice raspy.

His thumb traces along your jaw until his hand seats itself on the back of your neck. His fingers slide into your hair. You’d never realized how big his hands were until then, as one wrapped around the back of your head, tugging softly at your hair as Jayce rubbed your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling gently downward to part your pretty lips. They really were fantastic partners, aiding each other in research. And there you were, their perfect little assistant, providing them with something to study.

You don’t realize how heavily your heart is thudding against your ribs until Viktor’s lips are exploring yours and your heart is the loudest thing in the room, second only to your little whimper as you realize Jayce is doing some exploring of his own. His calloused fingers brush your bare thigh beneath the slit of your dress and dip between your legs as his chest presses against your back. With the hand that once rested on your chin, he pulls the apex of the slit higher, so that your lacy black panties are exposed to the cold air of the lab.

“Fuck,” Jayce mutters at the sight of them. You feel as his hardening cock twitches against your back, eliciting a moan from your mouth that vibrates against Viktor’s lips.

You whine as he pulls away from the kiss to take a look at what Jayce has discovered.

“Don’t everyone look at once,” you joke, but your breathlessness and heaving chest don’t exactly contribute to the punchline.

Viktor smiles for a moment, but his eyes drift to your shoulder. More specifically, the fallen strap of the dress which leaves your shoulder exposed.

“You’ve been in this dress all night,” Viktor says, smiling as he looks at Jayce over your shoulder. “I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable…”

“Do you often imagine how uncomfortable my clothes are, Viktor?” You ask, returning his smirk as Jayce slips the remaining strap off of your other shoulder.

“All the time,” he says, taking the next step off of Jayce’s hands and sliding the bodice off your dress downward, then letting Viktor return to pushing down the remnants of the dress so that it pools around your ankles.

“And much more, it would seem…or sound, rather.” Jayce laughs in a low tone, the vibrations of his chest against the bare skin of your back causing your stomach to flutter. “Loudest housemate ever.”

“Oh really?” You ask, mouth agape as Viktor slides off the couch with a smirk on his face, bringing your legs with him. He pivots you so that you’re sitting with your back against the cushions now, and he’s kneeling between your parted legs. Only your cute little panties separate his face from your best kept secret.

“Hearsay,” Viktor rolls his eyes as he kisses up your thigh. “And from the man who doesn’t even close his door when he thinks of you…”

“I close it. The walls are just…thin.” Jayce replies, placing his hand on your chin once more to turn your face to his. “And I can’t help how much noise I make.” His voice lowers and his eyes flutter shut, preparing for his turn with your lips.

Jayce is a much rougher kisser than Viktor. Handsier, too. His hand slides up your waist, grazing your chest, before finally landing on the expanse of your tilted back neck. If he choked you to death right now, you could die happy. But he won’t. He just squeezes gently as his tongue explores your mouth, his grip a reminder that he’s been wanting you for three long months. You can imagine how it must have felt for both of the boys to have you within arms reach, pushed away only by their own semblances of professionality. Actually–you can taste it, too. And you can feel it as two fingers press against your clothed cunt and you let a moan echo into Jayce’s persistent mouth.

Viktor lifts a leg onto his shoulder, and you feel two of his calloused fingertips pulling aside the lace of your panties. With only the tip of Viktor’s tongue, you’re a whining mess against Jayce’s. Jayce pulls away from you with a condescending laugh, wanting to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s meal.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I never thought my lab partner and I would have our tongues on the same girl at the same time.”

“Don’t lie,” Viktor looks up, a grin on his glistening lips. “I’ve heard my name through those thin walls, too.”

“Shut up,” Jayce groans, and guides Viktor’s head back to your cunt. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to utter, miraculously. You’d heard Jayce tease Viktor time after time about his inexperience with women. You’d be surprised that Viktor was this good at eating you out if you weren’t familiar with what a meticulous learner Viktor was. A true perfectionist.

As Viktor sucks on your clit, Jayce lowers his head and sucks marks onto your neck, one hand still on Viktor’s head, feeding you to him.

“Please…” you whimper, not sure exactly what you’re even asking for until you feel your impending release.

Viktor laughs against your core. “Please what, my love?”

“Please, I’m gonna… mmph! I–” The leg that rests on Viktor’s back bends so that he’s pulled closer.

“Don’t stop, Vik, she’s close.” Jayce’s grip on your jaw tightens and he pulls you ever so slightly downward to watch Viktor. “Is that right, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You nod emphatically, opening your lips but fuck it’s so incredibly difficult for you to form words when there isn’t an adjective on the planet that can describe how he’s making you feel. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, please, please don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jayce says, his grip loosening as he goes in to kiss you again while your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Jayce feels the impact of it against his mouth in the form of your own, needy, whimpering moans.

Your legs begin to shake, but Viktor’s hands wrap around your thighs, holding you still as he shows no signs of stopping. He’s going to grant your begging wishes and ride this out with you, his tongue dancing along your clit, his fingers spreading you wide so it’s certain he won’t miss a spot.

Once you’ve settled, Viktor pulls away, wiping the arousal from his lips with the back of his hand. You’ve seen him exhausted, aching, and messy, but you’ve never seen him with such a powerful glint of desperation in his eyes.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” Jayce asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

Viktor seats himself on the couch again, drawn to your collarbone again, this time using his fingers to navigate the delicate clavicle.

You nod, but it takes every ounce of effort you have to lift your head up repeatedly.

“We’re not done with you just yet,” Jayce says, getting up off of the couch, “if that’s alright with you.”

The request is almost rhetorical. Of course it’s alright with you. He knows that. If the wanton, needy little noises you were still making in agreement were any sign of the pleasure you derived from this arrangement, you could go on until morning.

“Viktor, take your pants off,” Jayce demands, standing over the two of you.

“Who decided you’d be calling the shots for tonight?” Viktor asked, breathlessly, raising one eyebrow.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll gladly take your pla–”

Viktor rushed to take his pants off. You helped him with the belt buckle and in sliding them down his legs. As you do, Jayce fully removes your panties. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now that the two men have seen every inch of you.

As Viktor’s pants come off, you see the impressive imprint of his cock underneath his boxers.

“Can I?” You ask gently, lowering your hand to hover over his cock.

“We’re past that,” Viktor says, grinning as he takes your hand and guides it to his length. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pull them downward so that they pool at his thighs.

Wow.

You’d always sort of assumed that since Viktor was so skinny that he couldn’t be hiding much. How wrong you were. Your lips part slightly, already salivating for him. You begin to stroke his cock, ready for him to push your head onto his shaft until you can’t breathe, but you hear a tongue clicking behind you.

“No need for that,” Jayce says. “I think we’ll save that treat for the workday. For now…”

Jayce’s strong hands find their grip on your waist on your right leg, pulling you to straddle Viktor’s lap.

“I don’t think either of us can wait any longer for this,” you look back at Jayce as he speaks, watching as he unbuckles his own belt and shed his pants along with his dress shirt.

Now this one, you expected. With the amount of female “advisors” you’ve seen watching Jayce in the forge, there’s no way he wasn’t packing.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Viktor says, his hands falling at either side of your waist and lining you up with the wet tip of his cock, already ruined with precum.

“I should start preparing you back here…” Jayce says as his large hands find purchase on the round of your ass.

“Are you ready, my love?” Viktor asks with a kiss to your wrist as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, swiping it a few times to ensure you’re wet enough for his entry. You’re beyond wet enough. “It would seem you are…” He laughs as he pushes your hips down on him.

Even though you hadn’t taken your eyes off of Viktor’s cock since you took it out, the size still surprised you as he pressed into your wet cunt.

“Fuck…” Viktor groaned as his neck fell back against the couch cushions. “You feel…even better than I imagined.”

You can’t even form a sentence to reply. The stretch is so intense you’ve forgotten every word in the English language. You can’t even move, paralyzed on his length. Luckily, Viktor solves that problem for you, thrusting up into you suddenly, so that all you can do is let out a strained squeal. Your hands grip his shoulders but you can’t even worry about how your nails might be hurting him, although if his grin is any consolation, he might even be enjoying the pain.

Jayce trails a line of kisses down your spine and when you look back, he’s kneeling on the ground, spitting on two fingers. You barely have time to process what that might mean before those two fingers plunge into your unfilled hole.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, the first word that you can remember in these trying times. The pain lasts only a second before the feeling sends flutters into your stomach, and elsewhere. With renewed vigor, you begin to let yourself bounce on Viktor’s cock, eliciting a lovely little whine from him.

“Tell me how he feels, baby,” Jayce says, removing his two fingers.

“So…so good.”

“I know you can be more descriptive than that,” Jayce laughs as he gets up to stand, wiping some spit onto his plump tip and stroking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” you say, the truest sentence in your head the first full one you can form. “So long… it’s so long…” Okay, back to putting the “senseless” in “fucked senseless.”

The boys laugh, but Viktor’s is a strained, breathless laugh.

“Please Jayce…” you beg, looking back at him over your arched back. “I want both of you…”

“Whatever you say,” Jayce says with a crooked grin as he wraps his hands around your waist, just above Viktor’s, who finds it in him to stop you from bouncing to allow Jayce his entry.

With a full, unexpected thrust, Jayce is completely in you. The stretch burns like Hell at first, but God you’ve never felt so full before.

Jayce lets out a desperate groan, not moving for a few more seconds. When Viktor thrusts into you, Jayce reacts with a moan.

“Fuck, I can…I can feel your cock, Vik,” Jayce says, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Lucky you,” Viktor laughs as he continues to lift his hips to meet your cervix.

With a dismissive scoff, Jayce finally finds the will to thrust again, even if it just results in more wanton, wasted little moans from his mouth: noises you didn’t even think he could make.

With both of them inside you at once, thrusts alternating and hitting spots within you that make you scream their names, it won’t be long until your second orgasm of the night.

Jayce’s hand reaches for your hair, taking a cluster of it and pulling you so that your back arches and your shoulders are flush with his. He cheeks your cheek with a contrasting delicateness and whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she the best, Vik?”

“Better than our hands, absolutely,” Viktor jokes as his chest heaves and his forehead contorts. He’s close, you can tell.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jayce says, releasing your hair and focusing all of his efforts onto your tight little hole, stretching you impossibly wide.

“I-I don’t think I can take much more,” Viktor utters.

“Me neither,” you whimper, pressing your head into the nook between Viktor’s head and shoulder. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum for us, baby,” Jayce says, squeezing your ass cheeks as his last few thrusts are used up. It’s not long before you feel his cock twitching, sending spurts of hot cum into your bottom. “Gods! Fuck, baby!”

The sight of the two of you losing your composure above Viktor is enough to send him over, and as you fall onto the full length of his cock after riding out your own orgasm, he pumps you full of his seed as well, whimpering like a wounded puppy as he ruts into you helplessly one final time. You’re all a pile of spent, sweaty, fucked out messes.

Jayce reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving a splatter of cum falling from your hole onto Viktor’s lap.

“Sorry,” he laughs as he collides with the couch beside Viktor.

You try to pull off Viktor's cock to provide him some relaxation, but he holds you still. “Please, don’t…don’t move yet. I want this to last as long as possible.”

“Feeling sentimental, Vik?” Jayce teases, running a hand through his lab partner’s sweaty hair.

“Feeling…like I’d like to memorize this feeling before I go to bed tonight.”

You laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose before resting your head on Jayce’s neighboring shoulder. “I should’ve put ‘handling two cocks’ on my resume. Maybe then you two would have actually read it.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to list us as references on future resumes,” Jayce laughs, rubbing your hand softly as the three of you come down from your shared highs. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. To the gala, I mean.”

You and Viktor both laugh.

“Next time, you won’t have to deal with crude men asking you to dance,” Viktor says as he kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be busy at our side the whole night.”

“I’m never going to move past the pretty little lab assistant allegations, am I?” You smiled into Jayce’s sturdy, shuddering shoulder.

“Maybe not,” Viktor said. “But why should you? You are our beautiful little lab assistant.”

@jeromeslilhoe @justaproudslytherpuff @onyxistired @sseleniaa @clearlycaffeinated-blog @darknessbyme @shoyofroyoyoyo

(pretty much just tagged everyone that commented asking for part two)

[itneverendshere]

it's all you're good for, right? - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

rafe knew you wouldn’t take his disrespect lightly.

you never did.  

he’d expected you to blow up the second he pulled that ignoring shit at the dinning. he was ready for it—your texts coming in hot, maybe you showing up at his house, ready to tear into him like you always did when he pushed too far. he'd never say it out loud, but a part of him almost liked it, the way you’d get all fired up, spitting mad. it was hot.

but you didn’t call. not a single text. you didn’t show up to the party that weekend, and when he tried to hit you up, just looking for a booty call—because fuck, he was so hard thinking about you—it went straight to voicemail. he stared at his phone like an idiot, calling again. blocked.

you? block him? nah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. rafe was the one with the power here, or at least, that’s how it used to be. it was always this push and pull, but he was the one pulling the strings, right? no fucking pogue was ever going to order him around. right?

wrong. the next weekend rolls around, and there you are at one of his parties, looking good as ever, laughing with your friends like nothing happened. and still, not even a glance his way. for two weeks now, you’ve been completely ignoring him, and it’s starting to get under his skin. more than it should.

he watches you from across the yard like a fucking creep, sipping his drink and trying to act like he doesn’t give a fuck, but inside, he’s low-key losing it. he half-expected you to walk right up to him and give him hell like you always do. but no, you’re just... doing your own thing. 

but what’s really making his head spin is what you're wearing. the outfit is pure trouble—skin-tight and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. a barely-there black mini skirt, riding up just enough to make his jaw clench, paired with a tiny top that’s more like a bralette than an actual shirt. it’s low-cut and clings to your curves, thin straps barely holding it in place, and the way it hugs your body?

yeah, he’s fucked. the way the skirt moves when you walk, teasing just enough thigh? it’s like you knew he’d be watching.

he hates how much it turns him on.

every guy at the party notices. he can see the way their eyes follow you as you move through the crowd, laughing, like you don’t even care. but it’s the way you’re ignoring him that’s really pushing him to the edge. normally, rafe loves the attention despite the look of disgust he always greets you with when you show up. loves knowing you’re secretly going to end up in his bed. but tonight? he’s not so sure and it’s killing him.

by the time he corners you, all he can think about is tearing that outfit off. the silent treatment? that shit was way worse than anything you could've said. 

“alrigh’, i get it,” he starts, throwing his hands up like he’s already done with this conversation. “jesus christ.”

you just blink up at him, completely unfazed, like he’s not even worth a reaction. his words might as well be bouncing off a wall. the fact that you’re standing there looking so fucking good, and acting like he doesn’t even exist, is messing with his head more than anything you could’ve said.

he’s pissed, yeah, but more than that, he’s desperate. desperate for a reaction. for anything. but you just brush past him, your body touching his for the briefest second, like you’re doing it on purpose just to make him snap.

rafe stands there for a second, blinking in disbelief. did you just really blow him off like that?

before he even realizes it, he's following after you, shoving through the crowd like a man possessed.

“are you serious right now?” he hisses when he catches up, grabbing your wrist lightly but firm enough to make you stop. the emotion in his voice is undeniable, and everyone nearby is pretending not to watch the little scene. “you're really just gonna walk past me like that?”

karma’s a bitch.

you finally turn to him, but the look in your eyes isn’t anger—it’s indifference. that cold, detached stare that fucks with his head more than any of the shouting matches you’ve had in the past. you pull your wrist free with ease, like his grip is nothing.

“’m over it,” you say coolly, like you’ve already moved on from the whole thing, “whatever this is? it’s not worth my time.”

that does it.

he’s used to the back and forth, the fire between you, but this, you acting like you don’t care at all—it’s new, and it pisses him off more than he thought possible. he steps closer, dropping his voice lower so no one else can hear.

“bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re pissed, i get it. but don’t act like you’re done with me. you aren’t.”

the smirk that curls on your lips is almost cruel.

“watch me.”

you turn and walk away, leaving rafe standing there. he knows he should let it go, but every time he tries to convince himself of that, the way your body looks in that outfit, the way you shut him down so easily, keeps replaying in his head.

and instead of walking away, he’s right back where he started, chasing after you like he can’t stand the idea of not having you anymore.

before you even get two steps away, he snaps.

his patience has run out, and all that pent-up frustration? yeah, it’s got him seeing red. he doesn’t even think about it—just moves. his hand wraps around your arm, and in one swift motion, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, slinging you over his shoulder.

“what the fuck, rafe!” you shout, your fists pounding on his muscular back, but he doesn’t stop. eyes burning, jaw clenched—he doesn’t give a shit who’s watching. not his friends, not anyone at the party. right now? he’s too pissed off and turned on to think straight. 

you wriggle in his grip, your legs kicking, but he holds you tight, marching through the party like it’s no big deal, even though everyone’s definitely staring. he’ll deal with the fallout later.

“put me down!” you’re practically growling, and maybe under any other circumstances, he would’ve listened. but not tonight. tonight, he’s done playing nice, done pretending like he’s not obsessed with you or your body, done trying to act like he’s got control over this situation when clearly, you’re the one pulling all the strings.

his grip on you is tight, and possessive, and you’re too furious to care about how turned on you secretly are. he doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, kicking the door shut behind him with one solid thud. the sound of the lock clicking is loud in the tense silence. then, he throws you onto his bed, like you're nothing more than a ragdoll.

you bounce once, staring at him with wide eyes.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!” you snap, sitting up on the bed, glaring at him.

he’s pacing now, running his hands through his hair, wild-eyed, like he’s trying to calm himself down but can’t. he turns to you, his face twisted in frustration, like he’s been holding something in for way too long. and when he speaks, his voice cracks just enough to show how on edge he really is.

“you!” he explodes, pointing at you like you're the only thing in the room. “you’re what’s wrong with me!”

his pacing slows down, and suddenly he stops. he turns back to you, both his hands shooting up to his temples, fingers pressing into his head.

“you get in my fucking head,” he admits through gritted teeth, jabbing his fingers into his temples like he’s blaming you for every thought he's had for weeks. “i can’t think straight because of you. every fucking time, you crawl into my head and just—won’t—leave.”

instead of letting his little meltdown get to you, you lean back on your hands, with a bratty scoff. “how is that my fucking problem?” you snap, crossing your arms like you couldn’t care less about his breakdown. “that’s on you, not me. maybe you should try, i don’t know, leaving me alone.”

rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight, “you think this is a joke?” he growls, stepping closer, closing the gap between you two, his presence almost suffocating. “you think you can just sit there and act like none of this is your fault?”

you give him a fake sweet smile, leaning forward just enough to be in his face, “maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me in the first place, hmm? god forbid your friends find out you’ve been slumming it with a pogue.”

it’s the fake docility in your smile that makes him want to break something. he steps even closer, his breath hot and heavy as his eyes lock onto yours, blue and furious.

"that’s what this is?" His voice is low, almost a growl. “you seriously don’t get it, do you?" he leans in, his face inches from yours, his expression almost daring you to keep pushing. "this—whatever the fuck this is between us—this isn’t about them. it’s about you." his hand shoots out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into from the beginning."

you yank your chin free, rolling your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's getting to you. “right. you ignoring me at the dinner? guess i was supposed to just sit there and take it, huh? maybe you wanted me to be a good little bitch and not make any noise.” 

you might be pissed, but you're not just angry—you're hurt, and that fucks with his head more than he cares to admit.

rafe huffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “what the fuck do you want from me? huh? you want me to call you my girlfriend? you want me to fucking introduce you like this is some kind of relationship? be fucking serious.”

"be fucking serious?" you repeat, "you gave me a 200$ tip, you fucking asshole!" you shove him hard in the chest, catching him off guard. “like ’m some kind of fucking whore!”

rafe's eyes widen as he stumbles back a step, “wait—what? no, no, no. that’s not what it meant.”

you glare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “of course, it fucking was!” you shout, shoving him again, harder this time. “what else would it mean, huh? you throw money at me like it’s supposed to make everything okay, like ’m some kind of... some kind of pogue you can pay off and keep quiet.”

he looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “that’s not—fuck, that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t thinking about it like that, okay? i was trying to help you!" he blurts out, his tone defensive, like he can’t believe you’re twisting his intentions into something they weren’t.

you laugh, but it’s sharp, biting. “help me?” you stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “oh, please. shut the fuck up. why would you ever want to help me, rafe? be real.” he tries to speak, but before he can you’re already stepping back. “if you want to fuck me, just get on with it. i need to leave. so, make it quick.”

what?

“is that what you think this is?” he doesn’t move to touch you, but the tension is strong enough to feel suffocating. “you think ’m just here to—”

“to fuck me? yeah. that’s what this has always been about,” you cut him off, “and you know what? it’s okay. let’s not drag it out. do what you do best—take what you want and leave me the fuck alone.”

he’s not ready to admit that this feels more than just a hookup. he’s not sure if he will ever get there. rafe’s chest heaves as he stares at you. he’s done trying to explain himself. 

“fine,” he snaps, stepping closer until his chest is almost brushing yours. “if that’s what you want.” 

your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t back down. not when you're this annoyed. “yeah, it is. stop wasting my time.”

in one swift motion, rafe pulls you to him by the waist, with his usual roughness that makes you drip between your thighs. his lips claim yours with a bruising force. it’s not soft or sweet—this is raw, messy, all tongue and teeth. his hands are everywhere, gripping your hair, your ass, pulling you flush against him like he can’t have any space between you. you’re both moving with frantic, desperate eagerness, like this is less about desire and more about proving a point.

“is this what you want?” rafe snarls against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank your top over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room. “to get fucked stupid and leave? that it?”

you let out a breathless laugh, but it’s overflowing with venom. “that’s all you’re good for, right?”

so much for making peace.

TAGLIST: @drewstarkeys-world @maibelitaaura @maybankslover @jkrafe @willowpains

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Trinkets

Five presents Jason brought you back from his adventures and one you asked for. (+ one) ~1.2k words of fluff

Jason Todd brings you home gifts from his missions, which wouldn't be a problem, but he never really explains what they are.

The first time it happened, you had laughed at the green ring with a lantern symbol in the middle. It looked cheesy, like one of the fake ones you can buy from the superhero merch stores littered around malls and outlets.

You'd kissed his cheek in thanks, put it on your shelf, and never gave it a second thought.

At least you didn't, until a bright green glow woke you up from your sleep. You'd sat up immediately, jaw practically dropping to the sheets as the ring lifted itself off your shelf and flew out the window.

Jason barely budged, his arm still thrown over your waist. He let out yawn and cuddled closer before speaking, voice groggy and heavy, "Huh. Didn't think they noticed that one was gone."

"They," You half yell, voice pitching as you stare at his outline, hidden in the shadows of the room.

"The Guardians, babe," he yawns out, "They're in charge of the space cops. Just go back to sleep."

Naturally, you do not go back to sleep. You drag him to the kitchen, make tea, and demand he explains why a Green Lantern ring was in your apartment. (He's very happy to)

The second time it happens, you're much more wary of the gift he brings home. But to be fair, he can't really pass off an Amazonian steel sword as something he just picked up.

It doesn't take as much convincing as it should for you to let him mount it on your wall. But it's a sword! No one can blame you for thinking it looks cool in your living room.

It turns out keeping it around is pretty useful, because a few weeks later, your boyfriend crawls through your window, dressed head to toe in armor.

"Hey, doll," he drawls, "Can I borrow your sword?"

"Sure," You chirp back, more preoccupied with your book as he saunters over to the sword, "what for?"

"Artie's got confiscated, and we haven't gotten to steal it back yet," he supplies, stopping long enough to pull his helmet up and kiss your head.

"Oh, that sucks," You answer, offhandedly, "Give her and Bizzaro my love."

"You got it, babe," he chirps already halfway out your window.

He does bring your sword back, covered in green blood, but no worse for wear. It still looks great on your wall.

He brings you a box next. It's kind of ugly looking, but you thank him nonetheless.

"Be careful with it," he tells you as you flip it over in your hands, "It opens boom tubes."

You almost drop it, and if you hadn't already experienced the power ring, you would have shrieked at him. Instead, you manage to put it down very carefully and calmly ask, "It does what?"

"Open boom tubes," he answers, which clears absolutely nothing up, "I figured we could use it to country hop for our next date night. You know, dinner in Paris, drinks in Dubai, dessert in LA."

"Okay," You answer slowly, as if that makes complete sense.

It turns out, it does. Date night is lovely, and making out with your boyfriend on a random beach in Spain is very, very nice.

Batman waiting in your apartment to take back the boom box isn't so nice, though.

Jason tells you it was worth it. He's absolutely right.

The third thing Jason brings you is a plant. Flowers aren't a rare show of affection from him, but ones that move are.

"Uh, thank you, Jason," You start, prodding at the moving petals, they nuzzle your fingers the same way a kitten would, "But I don't know how to take care of these."

"Same way you take care of any other plant, water, fertilizer, nutrients, all that fun stuff," he says fondly, stroking a few of the petals.

"What if it gets sick," You ask, uncertain.

"We'll call Ivy," he says, unbothered.

"Right. Ivy. Poison Ivy. Who you know," You mumble, but the little plant is already worming its way into your heart. (You affectionately name it Daisy, for no other reason then it sways happily when you say that name)

The fourth thing Jason brings you makes you laugh because you know exactly what it is, "Jason, we can't keep this."

"Why not," he pleads, shaking the bright green quiver filled with arrows at you.

You giggled harder, smiling wide as you shake your head at him, "We don't even know what those do. Don't some of those explode?"

"So what," he huffs, practically pouting, "We can ask Roy. And it's not like I don't know my way around explosives."

"I guess so," You relent, trying to stifle your laughs as you inspect the bright green arrows, "How did you even get this?"

His eyes light up mischievously, "Do you really want to know?"

You stop short and narrow your eyes at him, "I would lose my plausible deniability."

"But you wanna know," he says, sly and playful.

You do. (It involves mutated chickens, tar, and one distracted Oliver Queen. You hang the quiver next to the sword)

Jason's getting ready to leave, bags packed and helmet lazy held under his arm, "Can I bring you back anything specific, doll" he asks, his free hand resting comfortably against your cheek, "Lasso of Truth? Maybe something with magic?"

You grin at him, leaning into his touch, "I actually do have something in mind."

"Oh," he prompts, eyes glinting with excitement.

"I want to complete my batarang collection."

He falters, "Your– what?"

"No one has," You exclaim, pulling away to showcase your collection, "I have Nightwings, Batgirls, Batmans, yours, of course, one of Robin's. But I'm missing Spoilers, Batwomans, Signals, and Red Robins."

He blinks at you, "That's– if that's what you want."

You giggle at how dumbfounded he looks, practically bouncing back over to him to kiss him, "Thank you, Jason."

He catches your waist and pulls you back in for another, longer kiss that leaves you both breathless and panting. His voice lowers, like it's a secret, "I'll bring you back some batarangs. See you in a few days?"

"See you in a few days," You echo, and he winks at you as he tugs on his helmet, leaving out your window.

Sure enough, you get your batarangs when he gets home. It takes some convincing, a few kisses that leave you senseless, but you get Jason to help you mount your batarang collection alongside the sword and quiver.

"I should get you a plasma rifle next," he drawls, admiring your growing wall of weapons.

"I think I'd fall over if I tried to shoot one of those," You point out, all smiles.

"I'll teach you," he tells you, hooking an arm around your waist to draw you closer.

Jason's a man of his word, and sure enough, he brings you home a plasma cannon after his next mission.

You only destroy most of the shooting range in the batcave when he lets you try it out.

[httpsserene]

Jealous sex with Charles 🤩

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔

summary: there’s no reason for charles to be jealous of men who are stupid enough to think they have a chance with you. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. jealous sex. tennis. monte carlo masters winner stefanos tsitsipas used as a plot device. porn with a side of plot. mildly possesive!charles leclerc. jealousy. reader’s kindness is misunderstood for flirting. no infidelity. vaginal sex. unprotected sex(don’t do that!). fingering. missionary & cowgirl. rough(ish?) sex. the clothes stay on. uhm, reader gets railed stupid, lowkey. cumplay (i’m so sorry). pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bpoc!reader word count: 2.8k words.

from serene: surprised i finished this when i said i would. to make a long story short, i’m breaking up with my boyfriend 🤪✌🏽ANYWAYS, i listened to the beauty behind the madness and my dear melancholy albums by the weekend to lock in the smexxy vibes. idk if it worked, it took me two days to write less than 3k words 🙂 y’all lmk if you think the wait was worth it, and enjoy reading lovelies x

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The car ride home was quiet. You figured it was post-tennis exhaustion keeping your boyfriend quiet; the entire match was viewed with the Monte Carlo sun radiating down on the stands. Secondarily, the silence could’ve been induced by a little social exhaustion even though Charles thrives in crowds—the two of you spent a couple of hours before the match chatting to anyone who approached him, which felt like every person at the event had to have his attention for a brief moment. Then after the match, the two of you spent another hour speaking with the Master’s Winner, Stefanos, and the Prince, before you were able to take your exit.

So, you attributed his low energy to being sun-tired and talked-out. In retrospect, you should’ve known that it was more than fatigue from how Charles failed to put his hand on your thigh as he drove, and how he sat through slow-crawling traffic without ever moving to turn on music or talk. Your weariness prevented you from prodding further when the Monegasque responded with a nearly inaudible hum when asked if he was tired—the lack of presence in his answer felt like confirmation.

Yet, you realize it wasn’t an answer at all when you entered your home.

Your comments and questions about the match and dinner plans were met with one-word answers and off-timed hums of indifference in response. It’s not until the two of you are in your bedroom getting unready that Charles speaks more than a single word.

“Stefanos was nice, wasn’t he?” 

You pause in your action of taking off an earring, a puzzled tilt to your brow at the odd tone his words took, eyes examining him in the reflection of your vanity’s mirror. He stares down at his forearm as he unclasps his watch, his expression unreadable from his side profile. 

“Yes…he was,” you answer slowly, your confusion growing as you see Charles’ jaw clench, “I didn’t imagine him to be so, normal, I guess? After winning the Monte Carlo Masters, of all things. And, he’s done it three times! I mean, that’s incredible, no? For him to be so friendly and relaxed after was nice, I think.”

You rambled endlessly, the feeling that you’ve talked yourself into a corner flaring at the base of your skull. Charles turned to face you fully, shrugging his suit jacket off and calmly placing it on top of the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt before he leaned to rest against the furniture as well.

“Ah,” the hair on the nape of your neck rises at the sound, you continue to remove your necklaces with hesitant fingers, “Did he charm you into being your favorite tennis player today, mon amour?”

A humorous scoff escapes your lips, “You know I’m not a fan of tennis. But, if there happens to be a match playing within my view, and he’s playing, I suppose I would want him to win. I wouldn’t say I was ‘charmed,’ I just think he’s a nice man.”

“I think you were too nice to him.”

You slowly place your diamond-studded, golden tennis chain away before your eyes flicker back to meet Charles’ in the reflection of the mirror. You raise a brow, unsure how to respond to his statement. Intelligently, you’ve deduced that he’s jealous, which is odd—considering he’s Charles Leclerc, the prettiest, sweetest, and kindest man on the face of the Earth, in your humble opinion. Stefanos doesn’t hold a candle compared to your boyfriend. Your fingers struggle to undo the clasp of your final necklace; the gold, diamond-paved, Cartier necklace with Charles’ name carved on the back—it was expensive enough that he refused to tell you the price when he gifted it, only saying that “the cost was nothing compared to the love he has for you,” the smooth-talker.

“Arrête,” he speaks firmly, pushing off the dresser and making his way towards you, his dress shoes clicking on the floor sending your heartbeat racing. He stops mere centimeters behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back.

“Leave it on,” he murmurs, darkened eyes running over your form in the mirror indulgently. 

You do as he says, arms shakily lowering to rest at your sides, fingers tugging at the hem of your sundress as your heart skips and body flushes with heat. The Monegasque reaches around you to center the necklace on your clavicle, the sensation of his fingertips barely ghosting across your brown skin has your mouth parting with an inaudible gasp.

“If only he knew that you wear my name locked around your neck,” the brunette pondered aloud, “Maybe then he would remember that your pretty eyes, sweet giggles, and flirty words are for me—since you seemed to forget.”

“I was not f-flirting with him!” You stutter over the word as if it were an insult.

“You were not,” Charles sounds like he agrees, “But, you know very well that people mistake your kindness as more than that. It’s happened before, no?”

It has happened before. More than you can count. The number of men who mistake politeness and your overall niceness for interest is frightening; you don’t want anybody but Charles.

“What was I supposed to say to Stefanos? Nothing? Should I have just ignored him? And stood at your side quietly like I was just there for decoration?” Your tone peaks with annoyance, heated at the idea of being reduced to an accessory.

“No,” his voice cuts through your train of thought, “You should’ve agreed with me when I mentioned we needed to leave after he said ‘the only thing he’s missing to celebrate is a beautiful woman’ as he stared directly at you—instead of forcing me to stay for another twenty minutes to talk.”

Your mouth drops open disbelievingly, a scoff following a few moments later when you slowly realize that Stefanos wasn’t interested in being set up with one of your friends as he asked. You should’ve known when he asked if you had a twin sister he could meet.

“Okay, in hindsight, I can see that he was flirting,” you clarify, “But, I definitely was not. You know in that entire conversation, I was just being polite—and I made you stay for longer because the Prince wanted to talk to you. Not because I was entertaining a man who doesn’t respect my relationship with you!”

“You were being polite when he kissed your hand?”

“Yes! I thought that was just him laying it on thick?”

“He’s not royalty,” Charles snorts, “The only person allowed to put their lips on you is me.”

“You keep talking about who’s ‘allowed’ to do anything to me and you’ll very quickly find out that I’m ‘allowed’ to reconsider this relationship if you continue speaking about me as if you own me.”

“I don’t own you,” Charles pauses, and a smile spreads across his lips, dimples deepening in his cheeks, nearly forcing you to forget your previous statement as you admire them in the vanity mirror, “But—you own me.”

You turn around quickly at the words, breath stuttering at the lack of space between you two. Tilting your head upwards, you examine your boyfriend’s face with narrowed eyes and cheeks burning so hot the red flush is apparent. His smile has softened to a smirk, his eyebrows laced with a smug undertone, his pupils blown wide enough for you to have to focus to see the green ring around them. You languidly raise a hand to trace a finger across the edge of his jawline, then cupping your hand along the side of his face, gently resting your thumb in the indent of his dimple. Your chest tightens when Charles leans into your palm, slowly shifting to press a kiss on your wrist before nudging you back to holding his face.

Sighing gently, you shake your head, “What do you want from me?”

“Je veux que tu me laisses baiser ma jalousie sur toi, s'il te plaît.”

“S-say it slower please,” you request meekly, “I think I heard you wrong.”

“I want you to let me fuck my jealousy out,” Charles emphasizes each word slowly, his tone becoming teasing as he sees you fluster with each added syllable, “Ple–”

Your lips meet his desperately, your other hand flying upwards to grasp at his shoulder when you feel his laughter through the kiss. You’re sure his amusement is multiplied as you try to dominate the kiss, even as you rise on the tips of your toes and arch your body towards his. Needily, you whine into his mouth as he refuses to meet your rushed rhythm, digging your nails into the meat of his broad shoulders to convey your urgency.

The Monegasques’ hold on your waist turns rough and you pull backward with a gasp when he pinches the skin of your arm. You glower at him in displeasure but it’s quick to fade as he guides you back to his lips with a heavy hand on the nape of your neck. His thumb and pointer finger are weighted from their position at the base of your skull, directing the tilt and movement of your head as he licks into your mouth and bruises your swollen lips further with pressure and stings of teeth.

He walks himself backward, one hand firm on your hip to guide you with him, the other rucking up the skirt of your sundress and sliding underneath to tug your panties down your legs with ease. You kick the fabric off your ankles distractedly, falling to straddle Charles’ lap as soon as he sits on the edge of the bed. His hand slips between the cradle of your thighs, cupping along your warmth and toying within your folds.

“Wet for me already,” he discovers delightedly, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into the sensitive skin behind your left ear and peppering more nips and teases of teeth down the stretch of your neck. Hisses of pleasure slip from your parted lips and you slant your hips forward to guide Charles’ fingers inside. You exhale breathily at the slide of a single finger in your cunt, rolling down onto his hand when you deem his pace too slow.

“Another, please,” you beg, moaning throatily when your boyfriend fulfills your plea without hesitation.

Two fingers turn into three, and three fingers turn into Charles flipping you over and pushing you into the bed so he can hover over you. With rushed hands, you both shove the zipper of his slacks and the hem of his briefs low for him to slip his cock out and press into you. The brunette shudders as he sinks within your depths, falling to his elbows, your moans and gasps of breath spilling into the same pocket of air when his hips rest against the back of your thighs. 

“M-move, please, Cha,” you cry, knees pressing into his sides and body rolling upwards to get a glimpse of friction during his stillness.

Charles drops his head to quiet you with a chaste kiss before matching the rhythm of your rocking hips, his rumbling groans quieted by your lips. He holds himself steady on one arm while he uses the other to reach above your head and drag a pillow downwards, tapping your ass briefly to wordlessly command you into rising upwards as he slips the cushion underneath you. As soon as the pillow is properly positioned, Charles’ slow grinds are exchanged for slamming thrusts, sharp flares of pain-dipped pleasure shooting up your spine and tightening the knot in your navel. Your breath is lost quickly and you struggle to recover, eyes screwing shut and exhales of expletives and whimpers of encouragement are all you can offer.

The Monegasque roughly slides his hand down your leg and grasps you by the ankle digging into the small of his back to keep him close, moving it to rest over his shoulder, and letting his hand fall to squeeze at your thigh for purchase as the change of position tightens the fluttering channel of your cunt around him. This angle feels like he’s digging deeper inside you; one of your hands scrambling to drag your nails down his toned back while the other fists in his hair as you shriek high-pitched into the heated air between your bodies.

“All mine,” you can feel the possessive lilt to his tone rumble through the thin skin of your throat as he sucks along the rapid beat of your pulse. Your nails decorate his back with red scores and it has Charles biting out sharp putain’s and rabbiting his cock into you forcefully, yet remaining conscious enough to realign his thrusts as he bullies his way inside of you to pound against your g-spot. His leaned forward position stretches the limits of your comfortable flexibility, but it allows his pelvis to barely scrape against your clit, sending a wave of overstimulating pleasure to your brain, your eyes rolling as the sensation knocks any form of rational thought from your brain.

He pauses to tug the front of your dress down, the hem tucked under the spill of your breasts. His fingers flick teasingly over a pebbled nipple while he folds himself lower to drag his tongue against the other and nip small marks around your areola. You fight against the assault on your chest; arching your back towards and away from him—chasing and running away from the pleasure simultaneously, yet you continue to grind onto his cock.

“Charles, f-fuck, lemme–uhuh—lemme ride ‘ou,” you whine out incoherently, pushing at his shoulder with a closed fist, hoping he’ll understand your slurred words as your tongue begins to feel heavy.

Your boyfriend pulls away from your breasts in question, panting roughly as he stares up at you to see a pure look of want in your dampened eyes,  lashes clumped together and brown skin flushing deeper when the eye contact is held unendingly. You know that Charles debated denying your request, or at least thought about making you beg for it, but he decides to kneel and drag you upwards into his lap without a fight. He allows you a brief respite to adjust your legs and anchor your arms over his shoulders, then tightens the hold of his hands on your waist, fingertips sure to leave indents as he assists your first upward motion, before solidly dragging you back down. 

The strength you regained in your legs from the short break disappears, knees weakening and body slumping into Charles’ chest, your head drooping to rest in the crook of his neck. 

Charles steadies your head and tilts you back gently, checking in, “Is this too much, mon amour? We can stop.”

“No,” you murmur, “You fucked the feeling out of my legs, Cha.”

He laughs warmly, situating his hands on your ass to direct your motions, the tone of his voice light as he coos, “‘s okay, mon coeur—I’ll do all the work.”

You brush your nose along his, moaning softly at the sweetened drag of his cock. Charles chases your bitten lips, groaning lowly as he deepens his thrusts, fingers dipping to circle your clit—always ensuring your release is prioritized. Your thighs begin to shake and his thrusts skip beats as he begins to near the precipice as well. Shuddering, you gasp into his mouth, attempting to alert him to your nearing orgasm but you’re unable to speak the words.

“It’s okay, mon amour,” your boyfriend soothes, “Cum for me—I’ve got you.”

“yesyesyes,” you babble mindlessly, Charles continuing to pound into you, not slowing the search for his release now that you’re orgasm is imminent. A few well-angled jabs of your g-spot and you’re gone; release frying your nerve endings and vision blurring as your boyfriend continues to ride your high to its very end. 

The Monegasque pulls out the moment your hips fight his hold, dropping his hand drenched with your pleasure from your clit to grab his cock, and with one stroke, he spills. Charles paints your navel and inner thighs white with whimpering moans, and lilted French. He milks himself into over-sensitivity, only stopping when the orgasmic relief shifts into pain. He kisses you on the cheek as he drags a finger through his cum pooled between your thighs. His hand rises to your mouth and he hums approvingly as your lips part and suckle his spend clean off.  

“Hm,” Charles sounds, staring down at the claim he’s spilled, his free hand rubbing his cum along your navel, “All mine.”

© httpsserene2024

[entitled-fangirl]

Lady Hightower.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: the reader is approached by Criston Cole. Gwayne doesn't like the look in Cole's eyes.

A/n: this is a drabble to keep the writer's block away 😅 I'm still sick, but it's getting better slowly

Masterlist

.............................................

"Lady Hightower," Criston Cole approached the woman.

Y/n turned, her 6 month son in her arms. Her brows furrowed, "Yes?"

He stepped to her, and only then did he realize he wasn't sure why he did it. 

She noted his hesitance and a worried expression came over her face, "Is my husband alright?"

"Yes," he quickly reassured. "He is fine. Just fine."

She nodded and let out a relieved sigh, "That's wonderful. Thank you."

He nodded too, an awkward silence overtaking them. 

She shifted the baby in her arms. "I thank you," she finally said, "For your service to the crown."

Criston moved a step closer to her, "It is worth fighting for."

Her brows furrowed as she noticed his movements. "You've recently been promoted to the Hand of the King, I've overheard."

A smile came across his face, "Indeed. His grace truly blesses me."

Her patience began to turn to annoyance. "My father-by-law should be in Old Town by now. Hopefully with Daeron."

"Lord Hightower is a wise man. The crown shall miss his guidance."

Her head tilted as she studied him, "Indeed, it will." She forced herself to calm down, adjusting the baby against her shoulder once again.

As she did so, Criston took a breath, beginning to enter close proximity to her.

She looked up, his face closer to Criston's than she would've liked. "Ser Criston?"

"My lady."

"You're a loyal man, aren't you, Lord Hand?"

His eyes flickered over her face, "Yes."

She took a large step back and let out an annoyed sigh, "Quite loyal indeed." She looked around, "Where is my husband?"

Criston released a sigh of his own at his failure, "He should be coming back from the stables."

Gwayne did indeed step into the courtyard, a curious look coming to his eyes at the sight of his wife with the knight. The curiosity turned to worry when his wife immediately approached him when he came into her line of sight. 

"Dear husband!"

He reached out and took his son from her arms, wrapping an arm around her waist. He leaned down to her ear, "What did he say to you?"

"I'm glad to see you is all."

He looked past his wife to glare at Cole. "You're sure?"

She reached up and caressed his face, pushing his messy red hair from his forehead and speaking with a soft voice, "Gwayne."

He forced himself to take a breath and calm himself. The baby in his arms let out a soft whine. He looked down at his son, gently rocking him back and forth. "Did you scare the bad man away, my son?"

Y/n smiled, "Well, having him surely helps."

"Not enough," Gwayne smiles. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Perhaps I need to give you another."

Her cheeks flushed. "Gwayne," she scolded.

A bright smile came over his face. He continued his teasing behavior, "Shall I?"

"This is improper to discuss here."

"I am not offended," he said with his infamous smirk.

She feigned offense, "Give me my son."

She reached out to take him, but Gwayne turned away from her, keeping the baby close. 

His wife giggled lightly, reaching out further, "Gwayne, give me my son."

"He is my son as well."

She playfully huffed. "Then we shall both pray to the Seven that he does not become as teasing as his father."

"Keeping a son from his mother, Lord Hightower?" 

Gwayne lifted his head up, seeing Criston Cole walking to them. He cursed under his breath, "Lord Hand."

"You didn't answer my question."

Y/n sighed, stepping next to her husband and resting a hand on the baby in his arms.

Gwayne shook his head with a clenched jaw, "I wouldn't dare, Lord Hand." A satisfied smirk came over his face, "She knows I would never break apart a family."

Criston smiled in slight offense as he tried to laugh off the man's digs. "Yes, you're a perfect man. Aren't you, Lord Hightower?"

The two stared at one another for a while as the tension grew.

"Excuse us, Lord Hand," Y/n finally interrupted, "But I'd like to welcome my husband back properly."

Criston forced a fake smile to his face, "Of course, my lady. How rude of me." He looked at the two, then the babe, his eyes studying the child longingly. He let his smile drop as he began to step away.

They watched him leave, a bold smile coming across Gwayne's face at his wive's boldness. He leans down again, "Welcome me properly?"

She grins, "Perhaps after the sun sets."

A shiver of lust ran down his spine, "Why only then?"

"We must wait until our son sleeps, Gwayne."

He wraps his free arm around her waist, placing a soft kiss on her lips, "Perhaps he can find sleep before the sun does."

She giggled lightly, "How so?"

"In the arms of his father," he stated as if obvious, "How else?"

She shook her head, "He wouldn't possibly-"

She froze, seeing that the baby in her husband's arm was already asleep, slumbering peacefully.

He looked up at her with a smirk. "Let us lay him down. I have a reunion to enjoy."

His wife grinned, dragging the man indoors.

......................................

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing— uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

[criminalamnesia]

Stay

warnings: enemies to friends, hinted enemies to lovers, Tyler’s sister!reader, mean!scott, bickering, very real tornado danger, mentions of a car crash and physical injuries, not proofread, f!reader

summary: the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.

author’s note: look at me, finally writing something again! I’ve been extremely busy and, truthfully, in a writers slump. I started writing this after seeing twisters, and I just got the motivation to come back and finish it. I’ve been obsessed with this man since that movie, and good lord do we need more fics of him. anyways, enjoy! (also, for my traitor fans— I haven’t forgotten about you! I hope to work on the next part soon!)

the first time you’d seen scott, you’d wanted to break his jaw, and you hadn't even gotten his name.

“get lost on the way to the hillbilly convention?”

his tone is snarky, his eyes full of disdain as he watched you slide out of tyler’s truck.

your eyes had widened, your spine straightening as you registered his unprovoked hostility.

“the fuck is your problem?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you come back to your senses. you look him up and down, huffing a laugh at his clothes.

“you look like you’re going to a fuckin’ business meeting.” you say, coming to a stop in front of him. your cowboy boots dig into the dirt, and the sun beats down on your face.

perfect day for storm chasing, as your brother had said. darkening clouds rolled in the distance, and the wind was steadily picking up. according to lilly's drone data and tyler's instincts, your first chase would occur sometime within the next few hours.

you had been away at college when tyler’s tornado-chasing YouTube channel took off. you’d always loved the thrill of being close to the storms, but even when you came home to visit during summers, tyler refused to let you tag along.

until now, that is. now that you’ve graduated with a degree in meteorology, just like him. he had always accused you of wanting to follow in his footsteps.

“don’t mind storm par over there,” comes your brother’s drawl as he appears beside you, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “the stick up his ass seems to have been lodged a little deeper recently. you’ll get used to it,” tyler grins, barking a laugh at the brunette's scowl.

"haven't seen you before," another man moves to stand beside the brunette. he's also wearing storm par gear, and you watch as him and the taller man share an unreadable glance.

"she's new," tyler responds for you, his wide grin still present as he acknowledges the shorter man with the tip of his hat.

"i'd run while you can, sweetheart," the taller one says, a look of pity in his eyes as he looks back to you. "fucking him isn't worth dying over."

you stare at the man for a moment before bursting into laughter. the storm par pair's eyes both widen, their stares moving from your hysterics, to tyler's rolled eyes, and then to each other.

"you two are supposed to be scientists, huh? the guys who are gonna 'tame tornadoes?'" you throw the last two words in air quotes as your laughter subsides.

the shorter of the two men nods, while the taller opens his mouth once more. "that's right. while you morons are out trying to get yourselves killed, we'll be busy doing shit that actually matters."

"right, right," you nod along, glee shining in your eyes as you stare at the taller one. "you must be so smart, then. where'd you get your degree?"

"MIT," he says smugly, popping the gum in his mouth.

"MIT, wow," you whistle, your eyes finding your brother's. tyler just shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

"you got a degree from MIT, and you're too stupid to tell that he-" you jab a finger towards tyler. "is my fucking brother?"

the man's smug grin instantly falls as his eyes scan you, then tyler, and then fall back onto you. tyler steps forward, smacking a hand on the man's shoulder with a laugh.

"meet my little sister, storm par. may not have gotten a degree from MIT," he says, tipping his cowboy hat to you. you mime tipping an invisible hat back at him. "but she seems to be a hell of a lot smarter than you."

the second time you see scott, you still don't learn his name.

"jesus christ, this thing is huge!" you yelp as tyler swerves the truck back onto the dirt road. he scowls as the storm par truck ahead of him jerks back and forth on the path, blocking his approach.

"how's the wind lookin'?" he asks, his words clipped as his hands grip the wheel tighter. wheat fields ripple on both sides of the road, an ocean of tan as the sky continues to darken.

"pickin' back up," you tell him, glancing down at the laptop in your lap. it was displaying real-time data of the atmospheric conditions. the software had cost a pretty penny, but had been worth it. plus, it had been more than covered by tyler's t-shirt sales. cheesy or not, tyler’s face on a shirt was worth his weight in gold to his followers.

tyler groans as the white truck in front of him cuts him off again.

"ty, just go around!" you yell at him, your eyes widening as you stare out of the passenger side window. the clouds overhead were beginning to swirl.

"i'm tryin' to drive nice," he tells you through gritted teeth. "don't wanna make you sick-" he begins, but you roll your eyes and reach over, jerking the wheel. the car swerves off the road and into the ditch beside it, and tyler scrambles to avoid hitting a wire fence as he swats at your hand.

"what the fuck?!" he yells at you, his eyes cutting to you for a second before focusing back on the road.

"stop tryin' to baby me!" you tell him. "show these storm par pricks what we're made of."

tyler falls silent, clearly debating his next move. you're about to grab the wheel again when his foot slams down on the gas and the truck lurches forward. you cheer, throwing a fist in the air as you laugh with glee.

"just don't tell mom!" he says to you, laughing along.

as the truck speeds forwards, tyler lets off the gas just enough to keep speed with the storm par truck. you lean past him to get a look into the cab, and there's the brunette you'd had the displeasure of meeting a few days ago.

you can see his scowl from here, and your grin is wide as you hold your middle finger up, waving it around to make sure he couldn't miss it. his scowl deepens, and before he can even think of responding to the gesture, tyler hits the gas again.

"what was that for?" your brother asks as you lean back into you seat.

you shrug. "just havin' fun."

the third time you see scott, he saves your life.

it's a week after the middle-finger incident. although storm par and your brother's wranglers have been following the same storms, you haven't had the pleasure of bothering the tall brunette, much less seeing him. you’d caught glimpses, but he seemed to be keeping his distance. you supposed he’d finally grown tired of your constant teasing.

you don't know why you find yourself caring. he's an asshole. an asshole who hates you, your brother, and everything the two of you stand for. who constantly underestimates and looks down on you.

and yet you miss his scowl and the unmistakable pop of his bubblegum.

"hey, you okay over there?" boone asks as he leans over the center console, his head peeking out between the two front seats. you know the question is directed at you, as boone is watching you like a hawk.

"yeah, fine," you shrug, your eyebrows furrowed as you lean down, getting closer to the screen of your laptop.

"ty, turn the music down for a sec," you tell him, and he listens without protest. a rare occurrence, but now wasn't the time for bickering.

what had first appeared to be a measly EF1 had begun to grow. it wasn't dying out, and things were starting to get scarily real as moisture kept feeding into the funnel miles ahead of you.

"this thing isn't stopping," you tell the two men. "you need to tell the rv to turn around. hell, we should turn around."

boone shakes his head, leaning further into your space. his eyes scan your computer screen, and although he's learned a lot from tyler, he still doesn't see what you see.

"nah, it's gonna be fine. ty said it's gonna die out anyways, right? we just need to get in it before it does."

"boone," you warn, turning in your seat to face him. "love you, but shut the fuck up right now." you reach out a hand and grip tyler's arm.

"ty, I mean it."

rain starts pelting the windshield. you can hear the wind howling outside of the truck, and you shudder as hail begins to pound against metal.

tyler mumbles something under his breath as he kicks the windshield wipers up to maximum speed. "you sure?" he finally says.

he turns to look at you as you nod, and those precious seconds are all it takes for the world to spin on its axis.

a fence post slams through the windshield as rain and hail continue to obscure the world around you. you scream and tyler jerks the wheel out of instinct. the truck turns sharply, running off the road. your stomach drops as the truck drops and rises again- your own personal rollercoaster from hell.

"tyler!" you yell, gripping the straps of the harness holding you in.

"workin' on it!" he responds, jerking the wheel the other way. the truck rights itself back on the road, and you close your eyes as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

fuck, the others-

"boone, tell the others to turn around now!" you yell at him, and he's nodding frantically from his seat in the back, his hands fumbling for the walkie talkie in the floor.

"so much for an EF1!" tyler says, and although his tone sounds easy, his face betrays him. you can see the glimpse of fear in his eyes. it mirrors your own.

"yeah, ri-" you begin, but the sentence never fully forms.

you black out as another car slams into the passenger side of the truck.

"c'mon, get up!"

everything feels fuzzy. your head is pounding, and your ears are ringing. pain shoots through your body, engulfing every inch of skin. you think something has to be broken, judging from the numbness you feel on the right side of your body.

"get up!"

your eyes begin to crack open, but your vision is blurry. someone is a few feet in front of you, but you can't make out who it is.

"for fuck's sake-" the voice growls, and you can just hear the faint crunching of glass before your hearing comes back in full force.

the wind is an unbearable howl, and the rain and hail pounding down around you make hearing your own thoughts almost impossible-

your thoughts. what had happened? one second, you're driving and then-

fuck. tyler. boone. where were they?

your eyes shoot open, your body jerking against the harness still keeping you strapped to the leather passenger seat.

you look to your left- to the driver's side- but tyler isn't there. you try to turn you head to see into the back, but a sharp pain in your neck quickly stops you.

"tyler?!" you yell, but your voice is carried off by the wind. you can't even hear your own words.

"boone?!"

"they're fine!" a voice calls to you, and your gaze shoots back to the driver's side. you can see a man crouching by the driver's now blown-out window— which is upside down.

you were upside down. the truck had rolled with the impact of whatever had hit you. everything comes back with devastating clarity, and even though adrenaline pumps through your veins, the pain is beginning to become unbearable.

“can you move?” the voice says. you can’t tell who it is through the spots in your vision and the sheets of rain still coming down.

“I-” you start, pushing your chest against the harness. “I think so.”

“good,” you recognize it as a man’s voice. “then hurry the fuck up and get out!”

under different circumstances, you would’ve scoffed at the order, but now wasn’t the time for defiance. your life was literally on the line, and if you didn’t get to shelter before the tornado engulfed you—

well, you didn’t want to think about that.

you force your brain to gather itself, directing your thoughts toward moving your aching limbs. your left arm is the only one that responds, coming to fumble with the metal buckles of the harness.

the first one unclasps and you swear you could cry from relief.

“any day now!” the man calls, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. you reach your left hand across your torso, working at the clasp on your right side.

“im trying!” you call back. once you get it undone, your arms fall downward as gravity claims them. you groan in pain as your right arm shifts. something is definitely broken, but you can’t afford to give into the pain at the moment.

you reach for the lap belt, tugging at it with a shaking hand. the wind continues to howl around you, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. hopelessness begins to eat away at you as you try and try again to undo the lap belt, to no avail.

“it’s stuck!” you call out, hoping the man can hear you. “I can’t get out!”

your breathing is picking up. your chest feels tight, and the feeling you still have in your left hand ebbs as you begin to panic.

you don’t want to die. you know that. it scares you shitless.

but you don’t want anyone else to die, either.

you’re stuck. whoever is outside of the truck isn’t. he should run while he can—

“hold on!” you’re jarred from your thoughts as a figure begins to crawl through the hole left by the blown-out window, and that’s when you register your savior.

it’s him, the brunette from storm par. the man who belittled you, who rolled his eyes at every sentence you spoke, and who you somehow found yourself missing.

he’s crawling into the cab, his arms no doubt suffering cuts from the shattered glass littering his path. “I’ve got you,” he calls to you, and when your eyes meet his, there’s no look of disdain. there’s thinly veiled terror.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him, and you can’t tell if the wetness on your face is from your tears or the rain that’s now blowing sideways into the destroyed truck.

“shut the fuck up,” he tells you, groaning as he slices his forearm on a jagged piece of metal.

“im serious,” you reply, your left hand still fumbling with the belt restraining you. “I can’t feel my right side—”

“will you shut up? please?” he heaves out, his face inches from yours now as he reaches for the lap belt.

you fall silent, but not because you’re heeding his demands. no, you’re too busy examining his face. he’s never been this close to you, and you’re taking in every little detail before death comes to sweep you up.

can’t blame a girl for wanting to gawk at a handsome man in her final minutes, can you?

“stop staring at me,” he grits out, his forearm flexing as he tugs at the lap belt. something has the fabric trapped, and although he’s freeing it inch by inch, you’re not sure if—

the belt gives, and his arms leave your lap to cushion your fall, protecting your head from slamming into the metal below you.

he doesn’t say anything, but you watch as his gaze flits over your right side. stone cold as ever, his expression gives nothing away regarding your physical state. you can’t bring yourself to look down.

“im gonna pull you out, okay?” he says, and you absently nod your head. the pain is heavier now— harder to push away. your vision swims as he hooks his arms under yours and shuffles back on his knees.

agony spreads through your thoughts as the numbness gives way to excruciating pain. your eyelids flutter, but the man doesn’t stop. he grunts as he pulls you forward again, slowly but surely removing you from the truck.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him again, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to stifle a scream of pain. “im not going to be able to walk. I’ll just slow you down—”

“jesus christ, you don’t listen, do you? im not leaving you here to die.”

he finally makes his way out of the wreckage, pulling you with him. once you’re free of the ruined truck, he stands on shaky legs— fighting to maintain balance as the wind whips across his figure. he reaches down, scooping you up in his bloody arms, and starts to run as best he can. the rain is so thick you can’t even see a foot in front of you, let alone where he’s taking you.

lightning cracks overhead, followed by thunder so loud it shakes your shattered bones. your head tilts up to the sky, and you watch in horror at what was once an EF1 tornado races toward you. it’s got to be an EF4 by now— maybe even a 5 based off its sheer size.

“drop me!” you screech, your working hand clutching the soaked fabric of his storm par shirt.

if he hears you, he pays you no mind as he continues to struggle against the wind.

with your eyes focused on the impending doom behind you, you don’t even realize when he reaches his destination. he jumps down into a deep ditch, and you hear him groan as his feet hit the ground. he must be hurt, too.

“is she alright?” a voice calls, and your eyes widen as boone comes into view, a large cut across his forehead that looks like it definitely needs stitches.

“not the time!” the storm par man shouts, ducking behind your friend. your eyes catch boone’s over his shoulder, and you give your fellow storm chaser a weak wink. boone’s lips crack into a wide smile, even amidst this horrible storm.

the brunette carrying you falls to his knees, laying your back against muddied dirt. he refuses to let you go, his arms cradling you against his chest as he shelters you with his own body. there’s nothing to hold onto except for him, and you know if the tornado gets any closer, you’ll both be goners.

you close your eyes tightly, welcoming your end despite your overwhelming fear— but it never comes.

you pry your eyes open as the sounds of wind and rain finally begin to subside. the body above yours still clutches you tightly.

“are we alive?” your voice comes out a whisper. your left hand flexes against the man’s chest, and sure enough, it meets a solid body. he’s not an imagination— he’s real. you’re still here.

“yes,” his chest rumbles with the words, and his arms slowly snake out from under you as he sits back on his haunches. his eyes are locked on yours, his icy blues unreadable as he watches your face.

you don’t say anything for a moment. and then,

“you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

his eyes widen in surprise, and his stern facade cracks for the first time— at least, that you’ve seen— and he chuckles.

the bubble surrounding you two quickly pops as tyler’s voice meets your ears. you turn your head and there he is— your brother, running towards you with relief written all over his face.

“oh, thank god,” he says, throwing himself to his knees and scooping you up in a hug. you hiss in pain and he pulls back, his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down with a grimace.

“you took the worst of it. those storm par pricks—” his eyes cut to your savior, who is still sitting nearby, watching the two of you. “hit us. you and boone were knocked out, and you were stuck, so I got him first and was coming back, but—”

“ty,” you interrupt, your left hand landing atop one of his. “it’s okay. im okay. we’re okay.”

tyler takes a deep breath and nods, his eyes flitting back down your body, focusing on your right leg. you follow his gaze, grimacing at the unnatural twist of the limb. no wonder it had gone numb.

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, taking notice of your limp, lacerated right arm.

“now’s not the time to play hero,” your brother chastises, standing up before reaching down and picking you up. your eyes meet your savior’s once more. he’s standing now, too, his arms crossed over his chest as he matches your gaze.

“guess we owe you a thanks, clipboard. and you owe us a new truck.” tyler says, to which the brunette rolls his eyes.

“ty,” you roll your eyes, too, as you keep your gaze locked with the brunette’s. “ignore my brother. thank you for saving my life….” you trail off, realizing, truly realizing for the first time that you don’t know his name.

“scott.” he tells you. you nod.

“thank you, scott.”

he nods back, turning his back to you as he starts to limp back to the road your vehicles had been abandoned at. you doubted they would still be there.

just as you’re about to look away from his retreating form, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a true, sweetly small, smile.

maybe storm par isn’t so bad after all.

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

FINAL PART.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

Chapters: Part I / Part II / Part III

Synopsis: When a new fuckboy, Minho, moves into the building, Chan’s sense of security is shaken. Minho’s flirtatious confidence and bold claim to win you over rattles Chan, igniting a rivalry. As Chan struggles to defend his relationship, he’s forced to confront his insecurities while proving his worth to you. (18,1k words)

Author's note: It's been fun writing this series. Thank you for enjoying this "fuckboy". Hope you enjoy this one too, my darlings ♡

The early morning light filters through the window, painting the room in soft hues of gold. You blink awake, your senses still heavy with sleep, and it takes a moment to realize where you are—wrapped in the warmth of Chan’s bed, tangled in the sheets that carry his comforting scent.

Turning your head, your gaze falls on him. Chan lies next to you, his face relaxed in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. His soft curls are a tousled mess, a few strands falling over his forehead. He’s snoring lightly, the sound barely audible but undeniably endearing.

You can’t help but smile as your heart swells with affection. Careful not to wake him, you reach out, your fingers brushing his curls gently, marveling at their softness. The light touch doesn’t disturb him; he shifts slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again.

Your hand trails lower, tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the slight bump of his nose. He looks so peaceful, so utterly beautiful, that for a moment, you’re content to simply watch him.

You know you should wake him, ask if he wants to come with you to the farmer’s market like you’d planned. But seeing him like this, so serene, you can’t bring yourself to disturb him. Instead, you lean down and press a feather-light kiss to his lips, his soft breathing tickling your skin.

With a final glance, you slip out of bed and quietly gather your things. Pulling on yesterday’s clothes, you tiptoe out of his apartment, careful not to make a sound.

As you step into the hallway, the door closing gently behind you, you nearly jump when you see Minho standing a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall. He’s dressed for the day, a small smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

“Morning,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, shyly hugging yourself to hide your rumpled clothes. “Good morning, Minho,” you mumble, offering him a small, embarrassed smile.

“You're a morning person, I see,” he adds with a playful lift of his brow, his eyes flicking down from your head to your toe.

Your face burns hotter, but you muster a weak laugh. “Why are you even awake this early?”

Minho shrugs, his smirk softening into something closer to amusement. “Wanted to check out the farmer’s market. Fresh produce, you know?”

Your eyes light up, relief washing over you at the change of subject. “Really? I was actually heading there too.”

“Perfect timing,” he says, straightening up. “Want to go together?”

You nod, grateful for the distraction. “Sure, just give me a minute to change. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As you move past him, hugging yourself tighter, you catch Minho’s amused glance lingering. It’s clear he’s enjoying your flustered state, but he doesn’t say anything more.

Safely inside your apartment, you lean against the door, exhaling deeply. You glance down at yourself—messy hair, wrinkled clothes—and groan softly, vowing to make yourself presentable before facing Minho again.

You can still feel the warmth of Chan’s bed, the softness of his curls beneath your fingers, and the image of his peaceful face stays with you as you quickly get ready. It’s a walk of shame, sure—but you can’t find it in yourself to regret it.

-

Chan stretches out on the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for the space beside him. It’s empty, but the faint warmth still lingering on the sheets tells him you haven’t been gone long. The sunlight filtering through the curtains reminds him it’s Saturday—your farmer’s market day.

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair as he sits up. Saturday mornings are quiet without you. Your trips to the farmer’s market are a ritual he admires, though he can’t help but miss waking up to your smile.

Throwing on a hoodie, he pads into the kitchen. The apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the fridge. He pours himself a glass of orange juice, sipping it while glancing at the clock. You should be back soon.

As if on cue, the sound of your laughter echoes through the hallway. Chan perks up, moving to the door just in time to hear another voice—deeper, smooth, and unfamiliar.

Curious, he cracks the door open. You’re standing there, balancing bags filled with fruits and vegetables, laughing at something the man beside you has said.

“Let me take that,” the new neighbor, Minho, offers, easily grabbing one of the heavier bags from your hand.

“Thanks, Minho,” you say with a warm smile.

Chan’s chest tightens as he opens the door wider. “Hey, you’re back,” he says, keeping his tone casual.

He leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek and you subtly dodge away again by turning your head, beaming. “Chris! Look who I ran into at the market.”

Minho looks up, flashing Chan a confident smile as he extends a hand. “Morning, Chris.”

“Morning,” Chan weakly replies with a faint smile.

“We bumped into each other,” you explain. “And he’s new to the area, so I showed him around a bit.”

“That was kind of you,” Chan says, the words sharper than he intends.

Minho doesn’t seem fazed. “She's got great taste. She picked out the best peaches I’ve ever seen.”

Chan’s jaw tightens as he opens his mouth to reply, but Minho shifts his attention back to you before he can. “Here, let me carry this for you,” Minho says, gently brushing your hand as he takes another bag from your arm.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” you reply, though your smile stays warm.

“Too late. Can’t let someone as lovely as you strain herself,” Minho says smoothly, winking.

Chan’s stomach churns, his grip tightening around the doorframe. “I think she’s stronger than she looks,” he mutters, his tone laced with a subtle edge.

Minho turns, a smirk playing on his lips as if he hears the challenge in Chan’s voice. “Maybe. But I’m just trying to be neighborly.” His eyes flick to Chan’s, sharp with a silent taunt, before he turns back to you.

“Well, I’d better get these inside,” you say, oblivious to the tension. “Thanks for helping with the bags, Minho.”

“No problem,” Minho replies, stepping back toward his apartment. “See you around, neighbor.” His voice is light, but as he passes Chan, his shoulder brushes just enough to feel deliberate.

Chan watches as Minho disappears behind his door, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Nice guy, huh?” you say, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

“Yeah,” Chan mutters, following you in. But deep down, he knows Minho isn’t just being friendly.

As you step inside, you nudge the door open wider, motioning for Chan to follow. "Come on, don’t just stand there."

He steps in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The moment it’s shut, Chan’s frustration bubbles to the surface.

“So,” he starts, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, “why do you always dodge me when I try to kiss you outside?”

You pause, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” he says, his tone half-playful, half-serious. “I went in for a kiss earlier, and you just… turned away. Again.”

You exhale, pulling a carton of eggs from one of the bags and placing it in the fridge. “I’m just not comfortable with public displays of affection, Chris. It’s not you—it’s me.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard not to take it personally,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You walk over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel like that. It’s not about you. It’s just how I feel. I promise it’s not because I don’t care about you.”

He glances at you, his frown softening slightly. “I just… I like showing the world you’re mine, you know?”

You smile, cupping his cheek. “I know,” you murmur, brushing your thumb against his skin, “but in here, you can kiss me as many times as you want.”

His face lights up at your words, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you so close there’s barely any space between you.

His lips find yours, soft and eager, moving with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. You kiss him back, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling him relax under your touch.

The kiss deepens, Chan’s hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips grow hungrier, and his grip tightens as he starts to lose himself in you. Sensing the shift, you gently pull back, your lips lingering on his for a moment before parting.

“Easy there, tiger,” you tease softly.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re killing me.”

You laugh, stroking his hair. “Come on. Let me make you breakfast.”

He sighs dramatically but steps back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But only if I get to watch.”

“Deal,” you say, heading toward the kitchen, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

As you start pulling ingredients from the fridge, Chan takes a seat at the table, watching you with a soft smile. Moments like these remind him why he doesn’t need the validation of public displays—this, right here, is what matters.

-

It’s one of those rare weekends where neither of you has work pulling you in different directions, and Chan insisted on making the most of it.

“Just a normal date,” he’d said, grinning like a kid as he scrolled through movie listings.

Now, as you step out of the restroom, the smell of buttery popcorn fills the air. You spot Chan at the concession stand, leaning slightly against the counter as he waits for the popcorn and drinks. He’s smiling, that warm, dimpled grin you’ve come to adore.

But it’s not for you.

The girl behind the counter, probably a college student, is laughing at something he said. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze lingering a little too long on him. You know that look—girls are always drawn to him like moths to a flame.

You don’t even feel a pang of jealousy anymore; it’s practically routine. Still, you’re not about to let her think he’s single.

Walking up beside him, you clear your throat. “Got the tickets?” you ask casually, your voice cutting through their little bubble.

Chan startles slightly, his grin faltering before he turns to you. “Uh, yeah, got them right here.” He pats his pocket like a man trying to prove he hasn’t lost his wallet.

The girl’s expression falters, and she quickly hands over the popcorn and drinks. Chan fumbles with his wallet, hurriedly paying as if he can’t get away fast enough.

Once you’re walking toward the theater, his shoulder brushing yours, he exhales and glances at you sheepishly. “You could’ve let me hold your hand, you know. Then everyone would’ve known I’m with you.”

You roll your eyes, the corner of your mouth quirking up. “I never said you couldn’t hold my hand, Chris.”

His face lights up with a grin, and before you can react, his hand slides into yours, warm and secure. “You’re right,” he says smugly, giving your hand a squeeze. “You didn’t.”

Shaking your head, you let him lead you into the dim theater, his thumb brushing against yours. As the movie starts, Chan leans closer, whispering, “Next time, I’m holding your hand the whole time, no excuses.”

You bite back a smile and focus on the screen, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. Some things about Chan might drive you crazy, but moments like this make it all worth it.

-

The movie is halfway in, but Chan's attention is barely on the screen. Instead, you catch him watching you out of the corner of your eye. His hand stays in yours, his thumb idly tracing circles against your skin, but his gaze keeps flickering your way.

You nudge him gently. “Chris, the screen is that way. You’re missing the movie you wanted to see so badly.”

He grins, unapologetic. “Yeah, but I kind of regret taking you here now.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He shrugs, leaning closer so his voice doesn’t carry. “If we were watching this at home, I could actually cuddle you... maybe kiss you a little.” His grin turns teasing. “Or a lot.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “This whole thing was your idea.”

“I know, I know,” he admits, squeezing your hand. “But I can’t help it. You’re right here, looking all cute, and I’m supposed to just sit here and watch the movie?”

You glance at him, warmth blooming in your chest despite his antics. You’ve always appreciated how much Chan respects your boundaries. One of those boundaries being your aversion to public displays of affection.

But right now, sitting in the darkened theater with no one paying attention, you’re tempted to bend the rules. You put your bucket of popcorn aside, turning fully to face him. Gently, you cup his cheek, drawing his attention to you. His eyes widen, and you can see the curiosity sparkling in them.

“It’s dark in here,” you whisper, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I think we can make an exception just this once.”

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in immediately, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, almost testing. But as you respond, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

It’s as if he’s been waiting all day for this, and the world outside the theater melts away. The movie becomes background noise as the two of you lose yourselves in the moment.

By the time you both pull back, slightly breathless, the movie is already well past its climactic scene. You glance at the screen, then back at Chan, who looks utterly content.

“We missed most of it,” you point out with a low laugh.

“Totally worth it,” he murmurs, his fingers still entwined with yours.

He leans in again, clearly aiming for another kiss, but you grab a piece of popcorn and pop it into his mouth instead. His lips close around it, his expression shifting to surprise before softening into amusement.

You laugh quietly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Focus, Chris. At least pretend to watch the ending.”

He chews the popcorn, grinning as he leans back into his seat. “Fine, but just know I’m only staying for you, not the movie.”

You shake your head, trying to hide your smile as you settle back beside him. Chan might be incorrigible, but moments like this make you fall for him just a little more.

-

The elevator hums quietly as it ascends, but Chan barely notices. His attention is entirely on you—your hand in his, the faint smile playing on your lips, and the soft glow of the overhead lights casting shadows over your features.

He feels giddy, almost buzzing from the events of the night. The movie had been fun, but honestly, he can barely remember the plot. What he does remember is you, and how you made the entire evening feel like something out of a dream.

Unable to help himself, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. You turn your head, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow, and he grins mischievously.

“So... Your place or mine?” he teases, his tone light but with a playful edge.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Neither. I’m going to my place to sleep because I’m working tomorrow.”

His grin fades into a dramatic pout, his shoulders slumping. “What? No fair. I thought we were having a date night, not a goodnight.”

The elevator dings softly as it reaches your floor, and before he can protest further, you tighten your grip on his hand and pull him along toward your apartment.

Once you reach your door, you turn to him with a sly smile, one that makes his heart skip a beat. “You’re staying at my place tonight, Chris.”

His pout vanishes instantly, replaced with a boyish grin. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

The moment you unlock the door and step inside, Chan pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as his lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but restrained. All the affection he’s been holding back spills out as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

His hands wander to your lower back, pressing you flush against him, and he groans softly when you respond with equal fervor. The scent of your perfume lingers between you, mingling with the faint warmth of the apartment.

Chan smiles against your lips, murmuring, “I don’t care how early you have to wake up tomorrow. I’m not letting you go.”

And for now, it seems, you’re just as unwilling to let him go either.

-

"Are you going to be my girl tonight?"

Chan's voice is husky, teasing, as his lips capture yours in a deep, heated kiss. He doesn’t wait for an answer—not with the way your body responds to him. His hands glide down your sides, firm but tender, pulling you closer, despite you already being laid bare before him.

He finally breaks the kiss, only to continue down your body, his lips leaving a burning trail on your skin. You're sprawled across the bed, your legs dangling off the edge, and the way Chan looks at you feels like he’s savoring every second.

“I know you like it when I call you that,” he murmurs as he parts your legs, kneeling before you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. You giggle softly as he places a teasing kiss on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“You are my girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with reverence. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss closer and closer to where you need him most. You barely have time to prepare before he surprises you, tugging your body toward the edge of the bed and positioning himself closer, deeper. Your breath catches as he throws your legs over his shoulders and dives in, his mouth working magic that has you squirming in seconds.

Chan’s skill is unmatched—his nose pressing against your most sensitive spot, his tongue exploring with precision and intent. Your hands find their way to his curls, your toes curling, your body writhing under his ministrations. The sound of your moans fills the room, sweet and breathless, as he pushes you closer to the edge.

And when you finally unravel, shattering in his hands and on his lips, he doesn’t let up. Instead, he lingers, soft kisses marking your thighs, his tenderness grounding you in the aftermath of bliss.

Hovering above you now, Chan takes in the sight of you, your chest rising and falling, your face radiant with pleasure. His dimples appear as he smiles, brushing stray hair away from your damp forehead. He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle, it feels like a promise.

“Hey,” you tease, your voice light and playful as you encircle his neck with your arms. “Your girl wants you to put it in now.”

His brows raise, his grin widening. “My girl wants it inside?” He presses his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now?”

You nod, your sly smile making his chest tighten with affection. “Mm-hmm.”

With deliberate slowness, he drags his lips down your jaw, leaving a trail of heat on your skin. “Only if you say please,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Baby, please,” you coo, and the way the pet name falls from your lips has him grinning, his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.

Chan doesn’t need more encouragement. He shifts lower, positioning himself at the edge of the bed. One hand holds your leg open while the other guides himself to your entrance. As he pushes in, his eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the way your expression shifts—the way your lips part in a gasp, the way your body arches to meet his.

Fully sheathed, he pauses, his chest rising and falling as he takes in the sensation of you. With a satisfied smile, he begins to move, the angle perfect thanks to the bed’s height. Each thrust is measured, deliberate, his focus entirely on you. Your hands glide over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling every inch of him. They trail lower, cupping his ass with a playful squeeze that earns you a breathy chuckle.

He leans down, teasing you with a slow kiss before pulling back just enough to ask, “Impressed?”

Your gaze is locked on his, unwavering, and you nod firmly. “Very.”

Your moans mix with his quiet groans, the room filled with the sound of shared pleasure. Chan’s eyes never leave you, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He’s close—he can feel it, and with the way you’re tightening around him, he knows you are too.

“Where do you want it, hmm?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.

But instead of answering, you pull him into a kiss, hot and heavy, your tongues tangling as if the world outside doesn’t exist. The kiss steals his breath, and the moment takes him over the edge.

With a groan, Chan pulls out at the last second, climbing onto the bed and positioning himself over you. His hand moves quickly, chasing his release as your hands rest on his thighs, your gaze locked on him in anticipation.

Moments later, with a shudder and a raw moan, his release spills over your chest, painting your skin in streaks of white. You gasp softly, the sight of him undone above you leaving you breathless.

Chan collapses onto his elbows, framing your face with his arms. He kisses you deeply, his lips lingering as he brushes your hair back with tender fingers.

“Stay, yeah? I’ll grab a cloth,” he whispers against your skin, his tone filled with affection.

You stop him with a soft kiss, smiling. “Okay.”

After a quick cleanup in the bathroom, he returns to find you sitting up on the bed, your hair swept back, your skin glistening wet in the aftermath of passion. With gentle care, he wipes you down, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

When he’s done, you reward him with a kiss, your lips soft and full of promise. “Thank you,” you say with a grin.

“Time to cuddle.” He eagerly moves to his side of the bed, ready for his favorite part of the night.

You hold a hand to his chest, stopping him from pulling you in. “Hold that thought,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I have to pee.”

Chan laughs, watching you saunter off to the bathroom, and admiring how beautiful you are with your skin glowing under the soft glow of your bedroom lights.

“That’s my girl,” he delightfully sighs, his smile full of adoration.

-

Chan is already smiling when you step out of the bathroom, his head resting lazily on the pillow, the sheets pooling around his waist. The way he looks at you, with an easy grin and a softness that doesn’t quite match the image he projects to the rest of the world, almost makes you forget to breathe. But his smile drops the moment he notices you pulling on a t-shirt.

"Hey," he whines, propping himself up on his elbows. “Take that off. It’s illegal to wear clothes in bed when I’m here.”

You roll your eyes, tugging the hem of the shirt into place. “I’m cold.”

“Excuses.” He opens his arms wide, an irresistible invitation. “Come here. I’ll warm you up.”

With a small shake of your head but a smile on your lips, you crawl into bed beside him. He helps you taking the t-shirt off and aggressively tosses it onto the floor after. His arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close until your head rests on his chest. His hand finds its way to your hair, idly brushing through the strands while his other arm holds you securely against him.

For a while, there’s just comfortable silence. Chan’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath your cheek, and you let yourself relax into the comforting rhythm.

Then, out of nowhere, Chan breaks the quiet.

“Why aren’t we dating yet?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean, think about it,” he says, his voice contemplative as his hand stills in your hair. “We like each other, right? That much is obvious. And the… uh, sexual chemistry?” His lips curl into a sheepish smile you can feel more than see. “It’s off the charts. So why aren’t we just… together?”

You lift your head to look at him, raising a playful eyebrow. “What happened to the guy who used to hide in my apartment to avoid having these kinds of conversations with the girls he was seeing? Huh?”

Chan chuckles, the sound low and warm. “That guy grew up, okay?”

You hum, pretending to think. “Who are you? And what did you do to the fuckboy next door?”

He laughs outright this time, shaking his head. “He retired. Sold the title. But seriously...” His voice softens as he meets your gaze again. “I want this. I want us. So why not just make it official?”

His earnestness leaves a slight ache in your chest, but you press it down. Instead, you offer him a soft smile, reaching up to brush his cheek with your fingertips.

“I think,” you begin carefully, “that we shouldn’t rush it. Relationships are a big deal, and I don’t want to mess this up. We’ll know when it’s the right time, Chris. I promise.”

He searches your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he sighs and nods. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

But you can feel the tension lingering in his shoulders as he pulls you close again. You know what’s bothering him, even if he doesn’t say it. Minho. That bold, smug smile. The little comments that he probably thinks are harmless but dig under Chan’s skin like splinters.

And for all his charm and newfound earnestness, Chan is still afraid. Afraid of losing you before he even truly has you.

-

The bed shakes, pulling Chan from the light doze he’s been enjoying. He cracks an eye open, disoriented, and watches as you bolt out of bed, mumbling something about being late. The slam of the bathroom door jolts him further awake, and he groans, dragging his hand down his face.

A quick glance at the clock confirms it—you’ve overslept. Knowing how rushed you must feel, Chan forces himself up despite wanting to stay cocooned in the sheets a little longer. He stretches, yawns, and heads to the bathroom. The sound of water rushing in the shower drowns out any chance of conversation, so he settles for a quick wash at the sink before leaving you to it.

In the kitchen, he moves on autopilot, pulling ingredients from the fridge and setting the coffee machine to brew. Within minutes, the smell of toast fills the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Chan prepares a cup just the way you like it and grabs a plate with a buttered toast before making his way to the bedroom.

When he enters, you’re perched in front of the vanity, expertly applying your makeup in quick, efficient motions. You glance at him in the mirror and flash a grateful smile as he sets the coffee and toast down beside you.

“Thanks, baby,” you murmur, pausing briefly to take a sip of coffee and a bite of toast before resuming your routine.

Chan smiles hearing you used a petname for him and then he leans against the wall, watching you with a fond smile. “Want me to help dry your hair while you do that?”

You glance at him and nod. “That’d be great.”

He picks up the hairdryer and begins carefully running his fingers through your hair as he dries it, making sure not to disturb your makeup process. It’s a small thing, but he loves moments like these—helping you in the ways he can, being part of your busy mornings.

When you’re finally ready, you sit on the bench by the foyer to put on your shoes. Chan hovers nearby, watching as you lace them up.

“Want me to pick you up at the bus stop later?” he asks.

You glance up, slipping your second shoe on. “I’m working on a photoshoot today. I’m not sure when I’ll be done.”

Chan nods, already mentally preparing to wait up for your call regardless of the hour. You stand, heading for the door, but Chan stops you with a light tug on your arm.

“You’re forgetting something,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You blink and smirk, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. “There.”

Chan laughs, holding up your phone. “Not that, genius.”

Your cheeks flush, and you laugh along with him, snatching the phone from his hand. “Thanks. Again.” This time, you cup his face and give him a longer, lingering kiss, leaving him momentarily breathless.

The two of you exit the apartment together, and just as the elevator arrives on your floor, you step inside, waving goodbye with a rushed smile.

Chan stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the doors close with a content grin on his face. He couldn’t ask for a better way to start his day.

The elevator doors slide shut, and Chan stands in the hallway for a moment, a warm smile lingering on his face. He stretches, ready to head back inside for a quiet, lazy morning. Just as he turns to his door, a voice cuts through the peaceful silence.

"Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?"

Chan looks up to see Minho leaning casually against the doorway of his apartment, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face.

“Good morning, Chris. Or should I call you ‘Neighbor Boyfriend’ now?” Minho teases, his voice laced with mock amusement.

Chan’s grin falters slightly, replaced by a frown. “Morning,” he half-heartedly replies, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Minho straightens up and steps into the hallway, his smirk only widening. “Gotta say, you two are quite the sight. She’s so... composed, and then there’s you, acting like a lovesick puppy.”

Chan exhales sharply through his nose, willing himself to keep his cool. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Minho chuckles, casually leaning closer. “I mean, I’ve only been here a few days, and it’s already obvious. You’re head over heels, but her?” He shrugs, feigning innocence. “Hard to tell.”

Chan clenches his jaw but forces a smile. “Thanks for the unsolicited opinion, Minho.”

Minho chuckles again, stepping back toward his door. “Just calling it as I see it. Enjoy your day, Chris.”

He gives a mocking little wave before disappearing into his apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar as if to taunt him further.

Chan stands frozen for a moment, hands curling into fists at his sides. He lets out a deep breath, shaking his head as he steps back into his own apartment, Minho’s words still echoing in his mind.

Ugh. So much for a peaceful morning.

-

Chan wipes the sweat off his forehead as he steps into his apartment, dropping his gym bag by the door. His phone buzzes, and he checks the screen to see a message from you:

Almost done with work! Heading to the bus stop soon.

A grin tugs at his lips, and he glances at the time. “Perfect,” he mutters, making his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He knows you’ll appreciate him being on time, especially after how hectic your morning started.

Minutes later, Chan is freshly showered, towel-drying his hair as he scans his wardrobe for something decent to wear. Settling on a simple hoodie and jeans, he slips into his sneakers and grabs his phone, ready to text you that he’s on his way.

Before he can type a word, there’s a knock at the door. His brows furrow. It’s too early for you, and he’s not expecting anyone else. When he opens it, the sight on the other side is the exact opposite of what he wants to see.

Minho stands there, a sly grin plastered across his face.

“Chris! Just the guy I was looking for,” Minho says, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Chan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Minho?”

Minho straightens up, his grin widening. “Oh, nothing much. Just here to show someone where you live.”

Before Chan can question him further, Minho steps aside, and someone else comes into view. His stomach twists as he sees her. Sue.

The familiar face catches him off guard. Sue, with her perfectly styled hair and charming smile, greets him warmly.

“Hey, Chris,” she says, her tone light and casual, as if no time had passed since they last spoke.

Chan’s hand tightens on the doorframe, his mind racing. Of all the people to show up here, Sue is the last person he expected—or wanted—to see.

“...Sue,” he finally manages, his voice clipped. He shoots a quick glare at Minho, who’s now leaning against the hallway wall, looking far too pleased with himself.

Chan forces himself to meet her gaze, bracing for whatever reason she’s here—and for whatever game Minho thinks he’s playing.

-

Chan sets the glass of juice on the coffee table in front of Sue, trying to balance politeness with the unease creeping up his spine. He forces a small smile as she thanks him, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him again.

“Nice place, Chris,” she says, her tone light, her lips curving into a warm smile. “It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” he replies curtly, sitting down on the armrest of a nearby chair instead of joining her on the sofa. He fiddles with the hem of his hoodie, feeling the seconds stretch awkwardly between them. “So… why are you here, Sue?”

Sue’s expression brightens as if she’s been waiting for the question. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tie, holding it up.

“This,” she says, a playful tone in her voice. “I believe it’s yours. From that wedding we were at a while back. You left it behind.”

Chan stares at the tie for a moment before taking it from her. It’s familiar, all right—the tie he wore the night they reconnected. He thanks her, though the gesture feels unnecessary. A tie isn’t exactly something worth returning.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way for this,” he says, placing it on the coffee table.

Sue shrugs, crossing her legs. “I thought it’d be nice to stop by. And I figured it’d give us a chance to catch up.”

She leans back, her gaze softening. “It was such a surprise seeing you again that night. It brought back so many memories, you know?”

Chan nods, his smile tight as he feels her words start to linger in the air. He’s polite but cautious, sensing the subtle shift in her tone.

Sue continues, her voice lowering slightly, as though sharing a secret. “And if we're being honest, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since then.”

Chan freezes, the implication behind her words settling heavily between them. His heart sinks as he realizes where this conversation is heading.

Clearing his throat, he straightens his posture. “Sue,” he starts, his voice measured. “I think I wasn’t clear enough the last time we talked.”

Sue tilts her head, her smile faltering ever so slightly.

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” Chan continues, his tone gentle but firm. “And I really don’t want to lead you on.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m seeing someone right now. It’s… getting serious.”

For a moment, Sue doesn’t say anything. Then, her expression shifts, disappointment flickering in her eyes as she processes his words.

“Oh,” she murmurs, lowering her gaze. “I… I’m sorry, Chris. I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Chan interrupts, his tone softening. “Really. I’m flattered, Sue. You have no idea. If anything, I feel like my teenage crush has finally come full circle.”

Sue blinks, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “Teenage crush, huh?”

Chan chuckles, feeling the tension ease between them. “Yeah. I mean, come on, you were way out of my league back then. And still.”

Her laugh is genuine now, and she shakes her head. “I guess timing was never on our side.”

“Guess not,” Chan agrees, a warmth settling in his chest as they share a moment of mutual understanding.

As the laughter dies down, Sue rises from the sofa, smoothing her skirt. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for the uh... juice and the honesty, Chris.”

Chan stands, walking her to the door. “Take care, Sue.”

She gives him one last smile before stepping out into the hallway. As the door clicks shut behind her, Chan exhales deeply, feeling a strange mix of relief and gratitude. Timing really wasn’t on their side—and for once, he’s perfectly okay with that.

-

Chan’s knuckles rap softly against your door, the sound almost drowned out by the racing of his heart. He adjusts the hem of his hoodie nervously, rehearsing his apology in his head. When the door opens, your bright smile greets him, and all of his words evaporate on his tongue. Without a second thought, he steps inside, cups your face, and kisses you.

The kiss lingers, soft and apologetic, before he pulls back just enough to speak. “I’m sorry about last night,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “I meant to pick you up, but something—”

Before he can finish, a figure emerges from your bathroom. Minho steps into the living room, his white t-shirt clinging to his chest, soaked through as though he’d just been caught in the rain.

Chan freezes, his words dying mid-sentence. Minho runs a hand through his damp hair, offering Chan a sly smile before addressing you. “Hey, the shower head’s fixed, but it might still leak a little. You’ll probably want to check it later.”

Your smile falters slightly as you glance between them. “Thanks, Minho. Let me grab you a towel.” You disappear down the hallway, leaving the two men alone.

Chan shifts uncomfortably, glaring at the floor while Minho leans casually against the wall.

“Rough night, huh?” Minho starts, his tone far too conversational. “Must’ve been, with your guest and all.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, his gaze snapping to Minho. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Minho shrugs, feigning innocence. “Oh, nothing. Just thought it was interesting helping your friend return your tie. You know, the one you left in her hotel room?”

Before Chan can respond, you return, handing Minho a towel. “Here,” you say with a warm smile. “Thanks again for helping with the shower.”

“No problem.” Minho takes the towel, winking at Chan. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

As the door closes behind Minho, Chan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His gaze moves to you as you sit down on the sofa, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay,” he says, standing in front of you. “I need to explain something.”

You nod, but your attention drifts almost immediately. Your eyes flicker downward, then linger a little too long.

“Are you listening?” Chan asks, noticing your distracted expression.

You blink and meet his eyes, caught off guard. “Yeah, of course,” you say, though your gaze quickly strays again.

Chan follows your line of sight and catches on, his cheeks flushing as he realizes where you’re looking. “Hey, my eyes are up here,” he teases, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Are you even listening to me?”

You finally snap out of it, sitting straighter. “I am,” you insist, though your shy smile betrays you. “It’s just…”

Chan raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You hesitate, then admit, “It’s hard to focus when you’re wearing those grey sweatpants.” Your cheeks heat as you gesture vaguely toward his lower half. “They’re… distracting.”

The flush on Chan’s face deepens, and he stumbles over his words. “What? These? They’re just—” He glances down, clearly self-conscious now. “I wasn’t—this wasn’t—”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “I don’t have much time before work so…” You let the sentence hang, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Can we talk about it in the shower?”

Chan’s breath hitches, his brain short-circuiting at your suggestion. The apology he had so carefully crafted is long forgotten as you take his hand, pulling him toward the bathroom.

-

The steamy mist envelops the bathroom as Chan steps in, his heart racing the moment his eyes land on you. Warm water cascades down your body, tracing paths he longs to follow with his hands and lips. He stands there, momentarily stunned, feeling like he’s witnessing something ethereal.

Unable to resist any longer, Chan moves closer, slipping his arms around your waist. The heat of your skin against his sends a shiver through him, and he presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger on the beads of water glistening there. His mouth trails up to your neck, the salty-sweet taste of your skin driving him wild.

You turn in his arms, your hands resting firmly on his chest. The mischievous glint in your eyes makes his pulse quicken. Gently but insistently, you push him back until his back hits the cool tiles of the shower wall. Chan’s breath hitches as you lean into him, your wet body pinning him in place.

Your lips hover tantalizingly close to his, and he instinctively leans forward, only for you to pull back, teasing him with a sly smile.

“Patience,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry.

He groans softly, his hands finding purchase on your waist as you finally close the gap, kissing him deeply. Chan melts into the kiss, his arms pulling you impossibly closer, the warmth of the water surrounding you both like a cocoon.

You move your lips down to his neck as your hand glides down his front, not stopping until your hand meets his hardening member. He's helpless as you're kissing his sensitive spot and your hand wrapped around his length, and the warm water does nothing but contribute to the rise of the temperature.

As you slowly stroking his cock, you press your mouth to his ear. “Mmh... so big.”

Chan drops his mouth on your shoulder, drinking in the scent and beads of water on your skin. His hand snaking down your back, kneading on your ass cheek.

“Want to feel it getting bigger in mouth,” you whisper and with that, you put your knees down on the bathroom floor.

Your hand keeps stroking his cock while your eyes fixated on him, you tease its head by circling it with your thumb. You begin teasing his tip with kitten licks and you hold his cock slightly upward to land a lick along his length, earning a raw groan from him.

You slyly smile seeing him losing focus of you but you surprise him by cradling his balls in your hand while your mouth starts taking his length. You take and keep on taking his length until it fully disappeared into your mouth.

Chan lets out a deep growl as you close your lips around his length and sucking at it, your tongue feels hot around him, oh... he knows he's about to lose it soon.

While keeping the eye contact, your head bobbing as you pull away and take more of him, twirling your tongue around it, sucking him harder and using your hand to compensate the rest that you can’t take.

Next thing he knows, Chan is teetering on the edge, it's the way you're looking at him, your eagerness to please and just how good you are with your mouth. He tangles his hand in your damp hair, breathlessly he says, “I'm about to cum, baby.”

With your mouth full of him, you can exactly respond to him but ypu blink your eyes, signaling that you hear him. You slowly pull away, replacing your mouth with both hands now, continuing building the tension that's about to burst soon.

You tilt your head upward, watching him falling apart at the seams as you tirelessly pumping him with your hands. A smile tugging at your lips ad you wait for him to come undone before you.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he says with a rushed tone.

You close your eyes to brace yourself to receive his load on your face and you gasp as the first streak of his seed lands on your cheek and some more landing on your chin and around your mouth. When you think he's done, another one lands across your eyelid.

“Chris, not my eye!” you grumble with a playful laugh. You keep your eyes closed and freeze, unsure on what to do.

Chan pulls you up so he can help you with it, he collects some water from the shower and gently, he washes your eyes with it and eventually all over your face.

“There. Done,” he announces as he wipes the last of his cum on your chin and gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

You slowly open your eyes and smile at him. “That was fun,” you teasingly comment.

Chan shyly smiles and pulls you close. “I think that was hot.”

Your arms slide up to rest around his shoulders, and you look at him with a playful yet expectant expression. “Alright,” you say with a grin. “I’m ready to listen now.”

Chan blinks, momentarily disoriented, before the memory of why he came over resurfaces. “Right… Sue,” he begins, his voice slightly breathless. “She stopped by yesterday to return a tie I left behind. That’s all it was.”

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. And why’d you leave your tie at her place in the first place?”

“It was from a wedding I went to, remember?” he explains hurriedly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your hips. “I didn’t even realize I left it. She just… used it as an excuse to show up.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “Chris, you could’ve just told me that. No need to make it a big deal.”

He sighs, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I know, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not… like that anymore.”

You chuckle, your fingers brushing through his damp hair. “I know you’re not. But for the record, if you get into trouble again, you might want to hide your ties better.”

Chan laughs, his heart feeling lighter as he kisses you again, this time slower, savoring the moment. All his earlier worries melt away under the warmth of your touch and the water cascading around you both.

-

The soft hum of conversation fills the lobby as you step in, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. Your eyes scan the space and quickly land on Minho, standing by the mailboxes, sifting through a stack of letters. He looks effortlessly put together, dressed casually yet sharply, and you can’t help but smile as you approach him.

“Morning,” you say, catching his attention. He looks up, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk.

“Morning. Shower still working?” he asks, setting the mail aside.

You nod, feeling a bit sheepish. “Yes, perfectly. Thank you for fixing it this morning. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he says with a wave of his hand, as if it were no big deal. Then his gaze flicks to your bag. “Heading to work?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a small smile.

Minho tilts his head slightly, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “Want a ride?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that far, and I don’t want to trouble you—”

“Trouble me? Please,” he interrupts, his smirk widening. “It’s literally on my way. Just say yes.”

You hesitate for a moment, but Minho raises an eyebrow, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Come on,” he urges. “Unless you want to be late?”

With a soft laugh, you relent. “Okay, fine.”

The ride starts off light, the radio playing softly in the background as Minho drives. He’s casual, one hand on the wheel, the other draped over the gear shift. It’s comfortable, easy—until he glances over at you and breaks the silence.

“So,” he begins, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “You and Chris. What’s the deal?”

Caught off guard, you blink at him. “Uh… what do you mean?”

“I mean, are you guys… serious? Casual? Still figuring things out?” He spares you a quick glance before returning his focus to the road.

You shift in your seat, feeling a flicker of nervousness. “We’re still getting to know each other better,” you answer carefully. “It’s… new.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, and you can tell he’s not convinced. “You sound like you’re hesitating,” he observes, his voice soft but perceptive.

“I’m not hesitating,” you counter quickly, meeting his gaze briefly. “I’m just… being careful.”

“Careful,” Minho repeats, the word hanging in the air. Then his tone turns playful. “Is that because Chris has a bit of a, uh… reputation?”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his bluntness. “No, it’s not that,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s because… I like him. A lot. And I don’t want to ruin this—for either of us. Like I did with my last relationship.”

Minho’s teasing demeanor softens slightly, and he gives you a sidelong glance, a flicker of understanding in his expression. “Ah, I get it. You’re serious about this one.”

“I am,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I just want to do things right.”

A beat of silence passes before Minho’s smirk returns, albeit gentler this time. “So, you’re saying I don’t have a chance?” he asks, feigning disappointment.

You laugh, the sound genuine and light. “Sorry, Minho. I’m very much taken at this point.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, playfully smacking the steering wheel. “Chris is a lucky bastard,” he grumbles, though his tone is laced with good-natured envy.

You shake your head, still laughing softly. “He’s… something else,” you admit, warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Chan.

Minho glances over at you again, his smirk softening into a smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re happy, neighbor.”

As Minho pulls up in front of your workplace, he shifts the car into park and turns to you, a teasing smirk already forming on his lips. “Well, here we are,” he says, gesturing grandly like a chauffeur.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say with a grateful smile, reaching for the door handle.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. Then, just as you’re stepping out of the car, he adds with a mock-serious tone, “But don’t think I’m fixing your shower again.”

You freeze mid-step and turn back to him, laughing softly. “What? Why not?”

“Because next time, I’m charging you,” he quips, leaning back in his seat. “Or better yet, I’ll let Chris deal with it. He can pick up a wrench for once.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling. “Noted. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Minho grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Good. Now go have a nice day at work. And tell Chris he owes me for this ride, too.”

Shaking your head, you step out of the car, shutting the door behind you. “Thanks again, Minho,” you call out with a wave.

“Anytime,” he replies, winking. “But seriously—no more broken showers.”

You laugh, turning toward your workplace as Minho drives off, his playful words lingering in your mind and leaving you with a lighthearted smile for the rest of the morning. You can’t help but feel a little more certain of the path you’re on—with Chan, and maybe even with Minho as a good friend by your side.

-

The evening air feels warm and easy inside Chan’s apartment. You're perched on a stool next to his DJ setup, your fingers hovering uncertainly over the turntable as Chan stands close, guiding you through the basics. His voice is soft but enthusiastic as he explains how to cue up tracks, mix beats, and create seamless transitions.

“See? Just like this,” he says, demonstrating the movement with fluid precision. His hands brush against yours, and you feel the slight buzz of electricity from his touch.

You bite your lip, pretending to concentrate. “So, what happens when a girl comes into your DJ booth?” you ask teasingly, glancing up at him with a playful smirk.

Chan grins mischievously, his dimples deepening. Without missing a beat, he takes you gently by the waist, pulling you into the open space of his living room.

“This happens,” he replies, starting to sway with you to the beat of the music.

You laugh, a little awkward as you try to follow his lead. “You know I’m terrible at dancing, right?”

“There’s no such thing,” Chan counters, spinning you around playfully before demonstrating a goofy dance move, making you burst into laughter. “See? Now you’re better already.”

Shaking your head, you try to mimic his move, but it’s hopeless. He chuckles and takes your hands, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Alright, let’s make it simple,” he says, lowering his voice. “Just follow me.”

Despite the upbeat track playing in the background, Chan slows his movements, leading you into a slow dance. The contrast feels silly and intimate all at once, and your heart beats faster as he gazes at you with a soft, unguarded look.

He leans in, his lips brushing yours, and you melt into the kiss. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, anchoring you as the world shrinks to just the two of you and the music in the background.

When you pull back, you tilt your head and narrow your eyes playfully. “Do you do this with every girl who comes into your booth?”

Chan smirks, his dimples making another appearance. “Absolutely not,” he says smoothly, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “I’m very selective about who gets into my booth… especially who gets to touch my turntable.” He pauses, his grin turning cheeky. “And let’s be honest, no one handles my knobs like you do.”

Your jaw drops as you laugh at his lewd joke, swatting his arm. “Chris!”

He laughs along with you, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What? It’s true,” he says with a wink, pulling you back into his arms for another dance, the music now forgotten as the two of you move to your own rhythm.

The music hums softly in the background as Chan’s lips move with yours, his hands firmly holding your waist as the two of you sink into the plush sofa. The warmth of his body against yours, combined with the way he kisses you—urgent yet tender—sends shivers down your spine.

Chan’s fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your sides as the kiss deepens, pulling you closer. His breath hitches as your hands tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

Then comes the knocking.

Chan stiffens slightly but doesn’t stop, his lips still lingering on yours. When the knocking persists, you reluctantly pull back, breathless. “Chris,” you murmur, your lips still brushing his. “Someone’s at the door.”

He groans audibly, his forehead dropping against yours. “Ignore it,” he mutters, his voice heavy with frustration.

The knocking grows more insistent, and you nudge him lightly. “You can’t just ignore it forever.”

With a resigned sigh, Chan pulls himself up, running a hand through his messy hair as he trudges to the door. He swings it open, already prepared to send whoever it is away, but freezes when he sees Minho leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Chris,” Minho greets with a smirk, his tone infuriatingly casual. “Nice party you’re having. Could hear it from my place.”

Chan narrows his eyes and lets out a sigh. “What do you want now, Minho?”

Before Minho can reply, you appear behind Chan, peeking over his shoulder. “Minho,” you say with a smile. “What brings you here?”

Minho straightens up and gives you a polite nod before turning back to Chan. “I actually need a favor,” he starts, leaning just a little too casually against the doorframe. “There’s this heavy piece of furniture I need to move from my old apartment, and I figured Chan here could help me out. It’s too much to handle on my own.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, clearly unimpressed by the request. Deep down, he’s looking for an excuse to say no, but when you glance up at him with an encouraging smile, he knows he’s already lost.

“That’s so nice of you to ask Chris,” you say warmly. “He’s always so helpful.”

Chan exhales sharply, knowing he can’t refuse in front of you. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone begrudging. “When do you need help?”

“Tonight,” Minho replies, his grin sly and victorious. “I’ll swing by to pick you up in... 15 minutes?”

“Okay,” Chan replies just so the conversation ends quickly.

“Thanks, man.” Minho gives Chan a quick pat on the shoulder before sauntering off, clearly pleased with himself.

Chan closes the door a little harder than necessary, turning to you with a pout. “You know I didn’t actually want to do that, right?”

You laugh softly and loop your arms around his neck. “I know,” you tease. “But I like having a boyfriend who’s nice and kind. It’s very attractive.”

Chan pouts deeper, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t like him.”

You nudge him playfully. “Come on, Chris. We didn’t like each other at first either, remember?”

He crosses his arms, his pout unrelenting. “This is different. I’ll never, ever be in love with Minho.”

Laughing, you pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest. “Good,” you murmur with a smirk. “One reformed fuckboy is enough. I don’t think I could handle another one.”

He softens under your touch, his arms coming around you as he mumbles, “I told you, I’m not that anymore.”

You lean back just enough to meet his eyes, a teasing smile on your lips. “Exactly. That’s why I’m keeping you.”

He grins despite himself, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his earlier frustration melting away entirely. He sighs as he pulls away, knowing he has to get ready.

“I'll go get changed.”

You playfully slap his butt as he walks towards his room. “Now, that’s my good boy!”

-

The car ride to Minho’s old apartment is tense. Chan sits in the passenger seat, arms crossed as Minho keeps throwing questions his way.

“So, you and her... it’s serious?” Minho asks, eyes flicking between the road and Chan, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Chan sighs, looking out the window. “How far are we from your apartment?”

Minho ignores the deflection, his grin widening. “You’re dodging the question. Come on, it’s me. You can tell me. Is she ‘the one,’ or is this just a phase?”

Chan keeps his gaze firmly outside, biting back his frustration. “Are we there yet?”

Minho laughs, clearly amused by Chan’s silence. “Touchy subject. Got it.”

When they finally arrive, Chan follows Minho up the stairs, carrying a dull sense of hope that this errand will be quick. Minho unlocks the door, and the sound of music and chatter spills out. The apartment is crowded, with people milling about and laughing loudly. Chan frowns.

“I thought we were here for a table,” he says, glancing at the scene unfolding before him.

“We are,” Minho says nonchalantly, stepping inside and greeting his friend.

Chan hesitates at the door before reluctantly following. Minho is already chatting away, and before long, a drink is being pressed into Chan’s hand.

“Relax,” Minho says, grinning as he sips his drink. “The table’s in the kitchen, but look at it—it’s holding up all the drinks. Can’t exactly take it now, can we?”

Chan’s eyes narrow as he spots the dining table in question, completely covered in bottles and snacks. He exhales sharply, already regretting agreeing to this. “So this is a party. Not a quick errand.”

Minho shrugs, his grin unrepentant. “Two birds, one stone. Come on, have a drink. Socialize a little. You used to be great at this.”

Slumping into a seat, Chan takes a reluctant sip from his drink, more out of necessity than enjoyment. He knows Minho well enough to realize there’s no rushing this.

As the evening drags on, Minho leans back in his chair, eyeing Chan with a mischievous glint. “You ever miss it?”

“Miss what?” Chan asks, his tone clipped.

“The lifestyle,” Minho says, spreading his arms. “No strings, no commitments. Just fun. You were the shit back then. Why’d you give it up?”

Chan takes another sip, avoiding the bait. He knows what Minho’s doing.

Minho smirks, leaning closer. “Me? I don’t get it. Settling down when you could have this.” He gestures around the room. “You’re still young. Still good-looking. You could have it all. Why lock yourself down?”

Chan keeps quiet, his grip tightening on his glass.

Moments later, a group of girls approaches their table, all bright smiles and curious eyes. Minho grins, clearly in his element, and introduces himself—and Chan.

“This is my boy Chris,” Minho says, slinging an arm over Chan’s shoulder. “He’s a legend. Used to be the life of every party.”

The girls giggle, their attention now focused on Chan, who shifts uncomfortably. Leaning in close, Minho whispers in Chan’s ear, his tone low and tempting. “You can have fun, you know. No one’s going to find out. I won’t tell her.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, the words cutting through him like a blade. He sets his glass down, staring at the table. This is what Minho wants—to see if he’ll crack, to see if he’ll slip back into old habits.

But Chan knows better. He’s not that person anymore. And he’s not about to prove Minho right.

-

The moment Chan leaves, you find yourself wandering around his apartment. Though you've been here countless times, something about being alone in his space feels different. It’s like you’re seeing it through fresh eyes—the meticulous way he keeps everything in order, the slight personal touches that reflect his personality.

You run your fingers along the edge of his desk, smiling at the neatly stacked papers and perfectly aligned pens. His living room is spotless, not a cushion out of place. Even his shoe rack catches your attention, with every pair arranged in perfect color coordination.

When you peek into his bathroom, you can’t help but chuckle softly. His toiletries are lined up like soldiers on parade, everything from his toothbrush to his cologne standing in perfect order. It’s so Chan—practical, disciplined, and oddly endearing.

As you wander further, you pass by the laundry room and pause. A small pile of clothes spills out of the dryer. Without thinking, you step inside, deciding to fold them for him.

You reach for the first item, a hoodie you’ve seen him wear so many times before. Lifting it to your nose, you inhale deeply. The scent of fabric softener mingles with the faint, familiar smell of Chan himself—clean, warm, and comforting. An unexpected ache blooms in your chest, a longing for him even though he was right here just hours ago.

Smiling to yourself, you finish folding the clothes and set them neatly on the counter. You glance at the clock, realizing it’s later than you thought, and decide to wait for him to come back. You make your way to his bedroom, lying down on the bed that smells just as much like him as the hoodie did. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim you.

-

As the night drags on, Chan finally decides he’s had enough. He stands, leaving his half-finished drink on the table, and starts making his way toward the door. The noise and chatter fade into the background as his only focus is getting out of this suffocating situation.

“Leaving already?” Minho’s voice cuts through the din, and Chan turns to see him catching up, his grin still infuriatingly smug. “What’s the rush, man? We haven’t even moved the table yet.”

Chan sighs, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not wasting any more time here. You didn’t need me for this. You just wanted an excuse to drag me into your mess.”

Minho laughs, stepping in front of him to block his path. “You’re so obedient these days. Might as well put a leash around your neck and hand it over to her, huh?”

Chan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Move, Minho.”

Minho tilts his head, mock curiosity in his eyes. “What’s the rush? Afraid she’ll get mad at you for staying out too late? Or is it guilt because you know I’m right?”

Chan glares at him, but doesn’t respond. Instead, he pushes past, his hand already on the doorknob.

But Minho isn’t done. “You know, relationships like yours don’t last long,” he says, his tone deliberately casual. “Guys like you? You get bored. You might not want to admit it, but I know you, Chris. You’ll start to crave what you gave up. And her?”

Chan freezes, his grip tightening on the doorknob.

Minho takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a mockingly sympathetic tone. “She doesn’t even address the relationship, does she? Never flaunts it publicly. Almost like she’s already bored of you. But hey, maybe that’s a good thing. Makes it easier for you to go back to your old self.”

Chan exhales sharply, his knuckles white as he grips the doorknob. He turns his head slightly, just enough to meet Minho’s gaze. “I’m not the same as you, Minho.”

With that, he steps out, slamming the door behind him. The cool night air hits him, but it does little to cool the frustration simmering in his chest.

As he walks away, Minho’s words echo in his mind, planting seeds of doubt he desperately doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Is Minho right? Would you get bored of him? Would he?

Chan shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to him like shadows, following him all the way home.

-

The sound of the front door opening wakes you. Disoriented, you scramble out of bed, brushing your hands through your hair as you hurry to greet him.

Chan steps inside, his jacket slung over his arm and a weariness etched into his features. His eyes meet yours briefly, but there’s none of the usual warmth in them.

“Hey,” you say softly, approaching him. “You look exhausted. Was the furniture that heavy?”

He doesn’t respond, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the back of the couch. His silence makes you hesitate, but you press on. “How was it? Did you—”

“Do you even think of me as your boyfriend?” he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp and filled with frustration.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, leaving you momentarily speechless. “What?”

Chan steps closer, his eyes searching yours, his tone a mixture of anger and vulnerability. “Do you? And if you do, why don’t you ever talk about us? Why don’t you ever want anyone to know? Do you want this relationship? Or are you already bored with me?”

You stare at him, completely thrown off by the intensity of his words. You’ve never seen him like this before—so raw, so unguarded. It’s clear something is bothering him deeply, but you can’t figure out what triggered it.

“Do you even want to be with me?”

“Chris…” you begin, but your voice trails off when you see the exhaustion in his eyes.

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair and turns his back to you, avoiding your eyes. “I’m not feeling well tonight.”

You take that as your cue to leave him alone. Nodding, you grab your things, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight,” you whisper before slipping out the door.

As you walk back to your apartment, your mind races. What happened tonight? Why was he so upset? You replay his words over and over, trying to piece together what might have caused such a drastic change in his mood. Something feels off, and you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just about tonight.

-

The next morning, you find yourself standing in front of Chan’s door, your knuckles poised mid-air. You’ve been replaying last night’s events over and over, trying to make sense of his sudden outburst.

You knock softly once, then twice. On the third knock, you pause, lowering your hand. Maybe he’s still sleeping. He probably needs the rest, you think to yourself, chewing on your bottom lip as you hesitate to disturb him further.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, the door across the hall creaks open. Minho steps out, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he greets casually, leaning against his doorframe as if he’s got all the time in the world.

You offer a polite smile and greet back. “Morning, Minho.”

Deciding not to linger outside Chan’s apartment, you turn and make your way toward the elevator. Minho follows, his footsteps echoing lightly in the hallway.

As you press the button to summon the elevator, you glance at him. “So, did you manage to get that furniture back to your place last night?”

Minho’s smirk widens slightly, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, something like that.”

His vague answer doesn’t sit right with you, but you choose not to press further. Instead, you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking again.

“Minho, can I be honest with you for a second?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Sure.”

You turn to face him fully, meeting his gaze with calm determination. “I like you. I think you’re a great guy, and I really appreciate how friendly you’ve been. But I just want to make sure we’re clear about something.”

He tilts his head slightly, his smirk faltering just a little.

You continue, your voice steady. “I’m with Chris. We’re building something together, and he’s been working really hard on leaving his old habits behind. I know it’s not always easy for him, but he’s trying, and I want to support him in that.”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change much, but there’s a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe—behind his eyes.

“I’d really appreciate it,” you say, your tone firm but not unkind, “if you could stop… whatever it is you’re doing to him. I want us all to stay friendly neighbors, but I need you to respect that Chris and I are in this together.”

For a moment, Minho doesn’t say anything, his smirk fading into a neutral expression. Then he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You step inside, glancing at him one last time.

“Thanks for understanding, Minho,” you say, offering a small smile.

As the doors close, you can’t help but wonder if your words got through to him. You don’t know what exactly happened last night, but you’re determined not to let anything—or anyone—get in the way of what you’re building with Chan.

-

Chan heard your knocks this morning. He was sitting on the sofa, debating whether to open the door. He wanted to. He even stood up, reaching for the handle, but then your voice carried through the door.

You were talking to Minho.

At first, he tensed, expecting some kind of casual banter, but what he heard instead made him freeze. You were telling Minho off. Not angrily, but in a calm, respectful way that had him smiling despite himself.

Chan leaned against the door, listening to every word, and for the first time in a while, he felt lighter.

Now, as the hours tick by, he waits for you to come home. His ears are tuned to every little sound in the hallway, and when he hears the chime of the elevator, his heart jumps. Without thinking, he scrambles to the peephole. There you are, stepping out of the elevator, looking just as calm and composed as you did this morning.

Chan feels a surge of emotions he can’t quite untangle. Guilt for the things he said last night. Gratitude for the way you stood up for him. Relief that you’re still here.

He retreats back to the sofa, sitting down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t have a plan. Part of him wants to rush out and hug you, to thank you. Another part reminds him of the way he hurt you last night, and the words that might have planted doubts.

His thoughts spiral until a knock at the door snaps him back to the present. He’s on his feet in an instant, heart racing. When he opens the door and sees you standing there, smiling softly, it takes everything in him not to collapse into you.

“Hey,” you say gently. “Just want to check if you're feeling any better.”

Chan doesn’t respond with words. He steps forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug. His face buries in the crook of your neck, and he breathes you in, letting your presence soothe the storm inside him.

You don’t hesitate. Your arms circle his back, your hand rubbing slow, comforting circles. “Aw, poor baby,” you coo playfully, your voice warm and teasing.

Surprisingly, Chan doesn’t mind. He lets himself melt into your touch, holding you as if you’re the only thing anchoring him. Because right now, that’s exactly what you are.

-

The room is dimly lit, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows as Chan curls into you on the bed. His head rests against your neck, his arms securely wrapped around your waist as if you’re the only thing tethering him. He sighs softly, comforted by your fingers threading through his curls.

Every now and then, you press a gentle kiss to his head, and Chan feels his heart swell. Moments like these are rare, and he’s determined to soak up every second.

You take his hand, your fingers lightly tracing the rough calluses on his palm. “Where did these come from?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

“Deadlifting,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against your neck.

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “And how much can you lift?”

“Three-fifty,” he answers casually.

You gasp, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Three-fifty? You can lift that much but crumble like a baby from a slight fever?”

Chan pouts, his lips jutting out adorably as he buries his face deeper into your neck. “That’s different,” he grumbles, voice tinged with mock indignation.

You laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Aw, is my big strong man pouting?” you coo, planting a soft kiss on his pout to make it disappear.

For a moment, everything feels lighthearted and easy, but Chan knows he can’t avoid the topic forever. He exhales deeply, adjusting slightly to look at you. “I need to talk about last night.”

Your fingers pause in his hair, and you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, your eyes filled with understanding. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Chan hesitates for a moment before speaking. “It wasn’t about Minho. Not really. I mean, he has a way of... getting under my skin, but that’s not why I blew up.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s me. My fears, my insecurities. I’ve spent so much time trying to change who I was—trying to be better for you—and sometimes I worry I’m not enough. Or that... you’ll realize I’m not worth it.”

You frown, your hand cupping his cheek. “Do you really think that?”

He nods reluctantly. “Last night, when I said all those things... I didn’t mean them. Not really. I was scared. Scared that maybe you don’t see this—us—the same way I do. And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

You soften, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry too—for anything I’ve done that made you feel like that. I want you to know that you are enough, Chris. More than enough.”

His chest feels lighter at your words, and he leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around him. “Always.”

As you settle back into the embrace, Chan feels himself relax completely. The warmth of your touch and the reassurance in your words lull him into a sense of peace. His breathing slows, and before he knows it, sleep starts to claim him, safe in the comfort of your love.

-

The sound of soft breathing fills the room as you glance over at Chan, still fast asleep. His features are peaceful, his chest rising and falling steadily. You carefully slide out from under his arm, pressing your knuckles gently to his neck to check his temperature. It's lower than before, a relief that makes you smile softly. Quietly, you adjust the blanket over him, tucking him in snugly before stepping out of the room.

Your mind races as you head to your apartment. Dinner time is approaching, and you remember Chan once mentioning his favorite comfort food. It’s been a while since you’ve cooked, but for him, you’re willing to try.

Gathering ingredients from your fridge, you return to his apartment, silently letting yourself in. The kitchen is as neat as always, but it doesn’t take long for it to be filled with the sounds of chopping, sizzling, and the occasional clatter of a utensil. You hum softly as you stir the curry, hoping it will turn out as close as possible to what he likes.

You’re so focused on your task that you don’t notice Chan until you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind. His warmth and familiar scent surround you, and his voice, soft and a little groggy, breaks your concentration. “What you doing?”

You glance over your shoulder, smiling at him. “Making you curry. Thought you might want some comfort food.”

His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “You remembered?”

“Of course,” you say, turning back to the stove. “But don’t thank me yet—it could be inedible.”

Chan leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms still loosely around you. “I’m thanking you anyway,” he murmurs.

You try to act unfazed, brushing him off with a teasing smile, but the warmth in his voice makes your heart flutter.

When the curry is finally done, you serve it with some rice and set the plates on the table.

Chan takes a bite, his eyes widening slightly as he chews. He grins, shoveling in another mouthful before looking at you with exaggerated enthusiasm. “This is amazing! Like, Michelin-star worthy. No, better!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re just saying that because I made it.”

“No, I mean it! This is comfort food and happiness in one bite,” he says, still grinning as he digs in.

Watching him eat so heartily makes you momentarily forget your own plate. He looks so genuinely happy that you can’t help but feel a warm glow in your chest.

“Do you like it?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Like it? I love it,” Chan replies, his voice bright and sincere.

As he finishes the last bite, you remember something important. “Oh, by the way, I have to go out of town for work tomorrow. I’ll be back Friday.”

Chan’s expression falls into a dramatic pout. “Who’s going to take care of me while you’re gone?”

You chuckle at his reaction. “Minho can,” you tease, watching as his pout deepens.

“I’ll starve,” he mutters, slumping in his seat.

You roll your eyes and lean closer, gently patting his cheek. “You’ll survive.”

As Chan finishes the last of his curry, he leans back in his chair, looking content and drowsy. His cheeks are slightly flushed, probably from the warmth of the food and the lingering effects of his fever. You watch him quietly, a smile tugging at your lips as he gives you one of his bright, boyish grins.

“What?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Nothing,” you reply softly, shaking your head. “Just glad you liked it.”

But it’s not nothing. Not really. As he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand and watching you with those warm, chocolate-brown eyes, something inside you feels steady, sure. This isn’t just a fleeting feeling, a passing infatuation. It’s deeper than that.

In Chan, you see someone who works tirelessly, who loves with everything he has, even when he’s afraid. Someone who has his flaws but owns up to them, who’s willing to grow and try harder. He’s not perfect, but he’s real. He’s kind, patient, and someone who makes you feel safe just by being near.

You reach out, placing your hand on top of his. “You know,” you say softly, your voice carrying a weight of sincerity, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this certain about anything before. About how I feel about someone.”

Chan blinks, caught off guard by your words, but the way his face softens tells you he understands. “Yeah?”

You nod, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re the person I want to be with, Chris.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a shy but radiant smile, he squeezes your hand. “I’m glad. Because… I feel the same.”

The moment feels still, like the world has quieted around the two of you. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and when you pull back, the look in his eyes is one of pure affection.

“Now,” you say, breaking the quiet with a teasing grin, “finish your curry so I can clean up and start packing for tomorrow.”

Chan laughs, the sound light and happy, and as he dives back into his plate, you can’t help but think that, with him, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

-

Chan wipes his forehead with the towel slung around his neck as he steps into his apartment, still catching his breath from his gym session. The familiar hum of quiet greets him, but his first thought isn’t about the silence—it’s about you.

Grabbing his phone off the counter, he unlocks it with quick swipes, scrolling through to see if there’s a text from you. Nothing. His brows furrow slightly as he opens the messaging app, his thumb hovering over the screen to type. Where are you? he begins, but the sound of a knock at the door stops him mid-sentence.

Setting his phone down, he walks over to the door and opens it, and there you are. Leaning against the doorframe, you look up at him, your eyes wide but glittering with a playful edge. His heart gives an involuntary thump against his ribcage.

“You didn’t text me you were here,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual, though his mind is already spinning at the way you’re looking at him.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, your gaze drops, roaming over him like you’re savoring every detail. He suddenly becomes hyperaware of himself—his black compression top clinging to his chest, the sheen of sweat on his pale skin, the way his grey sweatpants hang on his hips.

“Hey! Eyes are up here,” he teases lightly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You blink, snapping yourself out of it with a slightly sheepish but unapologetic grin. “Right. Sorry.”

You straighten up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I just came by to remind you—it’s pajama party tonight. Be ready by 9.”

“Got it,” Chan replies with a nod, though he can’t help noticing the way your eyes still linger on him, making him feel like he’s under a spotlight.

You flash him a sly smile, leaning in close enough for him to catch a hint of your perfume. “I can’t wait for tonight,” you murmur, and before he can say anything else, your lips press against his in a slow, lingering kiss.

When you pull away, your eyes sparkle mischievously, and with one last glance—one that travels shamelessly from his head to his toes—you turn and start walking back to your apartment.

Chan leans against the doorframe, watching you go. You glance back just before closing your door, flashing him another teasing smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race.

He closes the door with a soft click, leaning his back against it as he exhales slowly. His pulse is still racing, and it has nothing to do with his post-workout adrenaline. The way you looked at him just now—the glint in your eyes, the sly smile, the lingering kiss—was enough to leave him completely disarmed.

He glances at the clock to check how much time he has until he has to go to your place. His lips tug upward in a small smile as he thinks about it. Pajama parties with you were always something to look forward to, a mix of playful banter, laughter, and quiet moments where the rest of the world seemed to fade away. But the way you'd just looked at him… He had a feeling tonight would be different.

“Cold shower,” he mutters to himself, already heading toward the bathroom. "Definitely need a cold shower."

Shaking his head, he pushes off the door and heads inside the bathroom. The memory of your lingering kiss makes his lips tingle, and he absentmindedly touches them as he grabs a towel.

“You’re really gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles to himself, stepping into the shower and letting the cold water wash over him. It doesn’t do much to cool the warmth that spreads across his chest, though.

As he dries off and changes into something comfortable, his mind drifts back to you—your smile, your voice, the way your eyes seemed to linger on him. He can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Tonight, he tells himself, will be another reminder of just how much you mean to him.

And honestly, he can’t wait.

-

Chan inhales deeply before knocking on your door, his nerves already getting the better of him. He tries to keep calm, shaking out his shoulders and muttering under his breath to steady himself. When the door finally clicks open, and he sees you standing there with that soft, welcoming smile, it’s like the air is stolen from his lungs.

“Hey,” you say gently, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual as he walks into your space.

The scene you’ve set hits him instantly. The lights are dim, candles flicker softly around the room, and the scent of something sweet and warm lingers in the air. You’ve transformed your sofa into a makeshift bed, complete with blankets and pillows, all perfectly angled toward the TV.

It’s obvious you’ve gone all out tonight, and that realization makes Chan’s pulse quicken. He knows where this could lead if he lets it, but he silently resolves not to give in so easily.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you tell him, already heading toward the kitchen.

He nods, sitting on the edge of the sofa and rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to steady his thoughts. You’re just here to watch a movie. Keep it together, Chan.

When you return, balancing a tray of snacks in your hands, Chan smiles at the sight of you—until you set the tray down and shrug off your silk robe.

His throat goes dry.

You’re wearing a silk slip dress that clings to your figure in all the right ways, but what nearly makes him lose composure is the white stockings you’ve paired with it. He swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re standing.

You sit next to him, curling your legs up on the sofa as you flash him a teasing smile. “Ready?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, clearing his throat as he fixes his attention on the TV.

The movie starts, and Chan leans back slightly, trying to focus on the screen. But then you shift closer, snuggling into his side, your warmth seeping through his clothes.

“So, how was your day?” you ask casually, your fingers grazing his arm.

“Good,” he manages, his voice steady despite the way his heart is hammering. “Spent most of it at the gym.”

“Is that why you're so tense?” you murmur, your hands sliding to his shoulders. Before he can respond, you’re massaging the knots in his muscles with deliberate care.

Chan sucks in a breath, closing his eyes briefly as he mutters, “I–I'm fine.”

You hum softly, but from the corner of his eye, he notices you’re barely watching the movie. Your gaze is on him, studying him with an expression that’s both mischievous and affectionate.

“This is a good movie,” he says, desperate to break the tension.

“You’re a good movie,” you tease back, your tone light but laced with heat.

Before he can protest, your lips brush against his neck, slow and deliberate. Chan’s breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his resolve wavers.

“Focus,” he whispers to himself, gripping the edge of the blanket tightly.

You don’t make it easy for him, planting more soft, heated kisses along his neck, your hands tracing slow patterns over his chest.

Somehow, by sheer willpower, Chan makes it to the end of the movie, though he has no idea what happened onscreen. His thoughts were too consumed with resisting the endless temptations you threw his way.

As the credits roll on the movie, Chan exhales a long breath, his muscles tense from an evening spent in quiet restraint. He feels like he’s been holding his breath the entire time, caught between wanting to let himself relax and staying vigilant.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, standing up and heading to the bathroom.

Once inside, Chan splashes cold water on his face, gripping the edge of the sink as he stares at his reflection. Get it together, he tells himself. You’ve made it this far.

He dries his face, takes a steadying breath, and steps back into the living room. The sight waiting for him freezes him in place.

You’re lying on your side, one arm propping your head up, the hem of your silk slip dress riding high up your thigh. His eyes trail down, catching a glimpse of the garter encircling your leg—a detail so provocative it sends his resolve teetering on the edge.

Chan swallows hard, forcing his face to remain impassive as he approaches the sofa. “So,” he says casually, his voice steady despite the way his heart races, “what movie are we watching next?”

You smirk, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Instead of answering right away, you reach out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down beside you. Chan lets himself be tugged into the space next to you, your warmth immediately invading his senses.

You lean in closer, your voice low and teasing as you finally reply, “What you’re watching next… is me.”

Chan freezes, his breath catching as your words sink in. For a split second, his mind goes blank, and then he feels the corner of his lips curve into a smile, his carefully constructed resolve cracking just slightly.

“That’s it! I give up,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with a mix of amusement and surrender. He takes you by the waist with force, sending the two of you collapsing onto the mattress.

-

A triumphant smile spreads across your face as Chan finally gives in, his whispered declaration of defeat filling the quiet air between you. Before you can say a word, his lips find yours, urgent yet tender, his hands gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you. Though you're already straddling him, he pulls you closer, closing any remaining distance as if afraid of letting you slip away.

His lips wander to your neck, brushing soft, tickling kisses that make your shoulders twitch in delight. You can’t help but giggle, the sound light and airy in the warmth of the moment. When his head tilts up to meet your gaze, you gently cradle his face in your hands, his flushed cheeks warm beneath your palms.

“Chris,” you begin, voice steady yet filled with quiet conviction. “I’m ready. Let’s do this. You and me.”

Chan freezes, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat too long. The silence stretches thin, but then he pulls you into another kiss. This time, it’s different—deep, deliberate, and brimming with every emotion he can’t put into words. Your hand presses to his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you feel the frantic, erratic rhythm of his heart.

It gives you pause. You pull back slightly, just enough to study his face. His breathing is shallow now, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Concern prickles at the edges of your joy. “Are you okay?” you ask softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

“I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice is barely above a whisper, and it doesn’t convince you.

His heartbeat only quickens, thundering against your hand, and a flicker of panic crosses his eyes. “Chris,” you murmur, your worry rising. You start to slide off his lap, intending to get him some water or give him space, but his arms tighten around your waist.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as he holds you close. His lips part, struggling to form the words. Finally, with a quiet, almost trembling breath, he confesses, “I love you.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice makes your chest tighten. The weight of his words lingers in the air, fragile and unguarded. Suddenly, everything makes sense—his uneven breathing, his racing heart. It wasn’t fear, but the overwhelming intensity of his feelings for you.

Relief floods through you, and you let out a soft sigh, cupping his face gently. “Gosh, you worried me,” you murmur, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Pressing your forehead to his, you let out a slow, steady breath, grounding both him and yourself in the moment.

Gathering your courage, you lean in and press a feather-light kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Chris. So much,” you whisper, your voice trembling with sincerity.

His eyes search yours, wide and hopeful, his emotions laid bare. As the tension melts from his body, he exhales deeply, a sound filled with relief and quiet joy. You stay like that, foreheads touching, your breaths mingling in the shared stillness.

Gradually, the wild rhythm of his heart begins to settle, syncing with the steady cadence of your own. In that moment, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you—connected, understood, and wholly in love.

-

Chan towers over you, his eyes dark with want as he works with practiced ease, removing each piece of clothing until there’s nothing left but the soft white stockings clinging to your legs. You feel the heat of his gaze, the weight of his admiration, and it sends a thrill coursing through you.

Your lips curl into a sly smile as you meet his eyes. “This isn’t fair,” you say, your voice low and teasing. “Take it off.”

He doesn’t argue. With a grin that makes your breath hitch, Chan reaches behind his neck and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled perfection of his chest and abs. The sight steals the air from your lungs—it always does. No matter how many times you’ve seen him like this, it feels like the first, like you’re witnessing something sacred.

You sit up slowly, your gaze locked on the hard ridges of his torso. Your fingers lift almost instinctively, tracing the outline of his muscles, the way his body shifts and flexes beneath your touch. His skin is warm, smooth, and alive under your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his abs, soft at first, letting them linger for a moment before moving to the next spot. You taste the faint salt of his skin, the heat of him, and it makes your pulse quicken. His breath hitches as your kisses turn bolder, your tongue flicking out to trace along the defined lines.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you gently nip at his skin, your teeth grazing just enough to tease. The sound is playful, dripping with mischief, and you feel a rush of satisfaction when his body tenses in response.

You glance up, catching his gaze. His smile is tender yet filled with unmistakable desire, his dimples deepening in a way that makes your heart flutter. There’s something intoxicating about the way he looks at you, like you’re his entire world.

You let your lips trail lower, your fingers continuing their journey, savoring every second. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, a silent declaration of your adoration. You linger, taking your time, committing the feel of him, the taste of him, to memory.

And as you feel him relax under your touch, you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s completely and utterly yours in this moment.

You brace your hands against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. With a sudden surge of boldness, you push him down, catching him completely off guard. He falls back onto the bed with a soft grunt, his sly, mischievous grin spreading wider as he looks up at you.

You straddle him, your thighs framing his waist, and his gaze darkens with anticipation. There’s nothing between you now, and the heat radiating from his body only fuels your desire.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” you confess, your voice low and dripping with intent. “Of riding your abs.”

His brows lift, and his dimples deepen as he lets out a low, amused chuckle. “Yeah?” His voice is a rich hum of approval, laced with arousal. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

He props his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing as he settles back to watch you. “Do whatever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m all yours.”

You feel a rush of exhilaration as you scoot forward, positioning yourself so that your core hovers above his perfectly sculpted abdomen. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself, your wetness meeting the firm ridges of his abs. His body tenses beneath you, muscles hardening, and you gasp softly as the sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you.

Chan flexes beneath you intentionally, giving you exactly what you need, and the friction only heightens the thrill coursing through your veins. You begin to roll your hips, dragging yourself along the hard contours of his body, painting him with your essence.

Your head tilts back as a moan slips from your lips, the sensation unlike anything you’ve felt before. His hands remain where they are, but his eyes follow your every movement, dark and heated, his mouth slightly parted as if he can feel every wave of pleasure you’re experiencing.

“Look at you, baby. So perfect,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire.

The way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world—makes your pulse race even faster. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath your palms, but there’s a tension in his body, a barely contained restraint that tells you he’s just as affected as you are.

You grind harder, your movements becoming more erratic as your pleasure builds, and the sound of your moans fills the room. Chan watches you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his tone low and reverent. “Take what you need, baby.”

And you do—letting go of everything else and losing yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of your body against his, feeling completely and utterly alive under his gaze.

-

Your body is a vision before him, a masterpiece of curves and softness that Chan could never tire of admiring. As you settle onto your hands and knees, the arch of your back catches his breath in his throat, the way it flows so naturally into the curve of your hips. He's already buried deep inside you, but the way your body welcomes him only fuels his desire to savor every single moment.

His hand glides down your spine, his touch reverent as though he's committing every dip and line to memory. The softness of your skin makes him whimper—a sound he doesn’t try to hide—his fingers trailing upward until they reach the nape of your neck. Without hesitation, he tangles his hand into your hair, gently tugging to tilt your head to the side, baring the column of your neck for his lips.

He dips down, pressing hot kisses along the sensitive skin, each one deliberate and full of hunger. The way you shiver under him only spurs him on, and he tightens his grip, tugging your head back further. Your lips part slightly, just enough for him to claim them in a rough, demanding kiss, the kind that leaves no room for doubt about who you belong to in this moment.

Without warning, Chan begins to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm that has you gasping into his mouth. The way your body reacts to him, the way you’re already melting under his touch, sends a rush of satisfaction through him. He grins against your lips, knowing he’s in complete control, playing with the balance of gentle and rough in a way that keeps you guessing.

“God,” he groans, his voice deep and strained. “You’re so perfect like this. Do you know what you do to me?”

Your moans grow louder, and Chan feels your body start to tremble. He knows you’re close, and it only drives him to push you further. His lips trail back to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “Bite the pillow, baby. I’m not holding back anymore.”

With that, he releases your hair, letting your head fall forward onto the pillow. He watches as you follow his command, sinking your teeth into the fabric while your hands clutch the sheets. The sight sends a fresh wave of arousal through him, and he plants both hands firmly on your hips.

Then he lets loose. His thrusts become harder, faster, each one drawing a sharp cry from your lips muffled by the pillow. His grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you with relentless intensity. Sweat beads on his forehead and runs down his chest, but he doesn’t slow down—not until he feels you clench around him, your body trembling violently as your release washes over you.

“That's it,” he growls, his own pleasure building to its peak. “Let go for me. Come for me, baby.”

The way you pulse around him is almost too much to bear, but he keeps going, determined to give you everything before letting himself fall over the edge. And when he finally does, it’s with a guttural groan, his body shuddering as he pours himself into you completely, lost in the overwhelming sensation of having you in every possible way.

Chan watches as your body shudders beneath him, the aftershocks of your climax slowly ebbing away. He gives you a moment to recover, his hands gently tracing soothing patterns over your hips and lower back. Carefully, he pulls out of you and rolls you onto your back, his movements tender as though handling the most precious thing in the world.

His eyes search your face, concerned yet soft. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead.

You meet his gaze with a weak but contented smile, nodding. “I’m okay.”

Chan leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek, and finally to your lips. “Good,” he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of relief and affection.

He gives you another moment, letting you bask in the afterglow. His lips pepper soft kisses along your collarbone and shoulders, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, grounding you in the tenderness of the moment. You let out a small, blissful sigh, and he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

When you start shifting under him, signaling that you're ready, Chan positions himself between your legs again. He kisses you deeply, his lips molding to yours as if trying to convey everything he feels but can’t say. Then, he enters you once more, this time with infinite care, his movements slow and deliberate.

His thrusts are unhurried, every roll of his hips designed to make you feel cherished. His lips barely leave yours, his kisses deep and consuming. When he pulls back to breathe, he whispers sweet nothings against your lips, his voice a soothing melody.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze locked with yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Your hands find each other amidst the tangle of sheets, fingers lacing together as you share this quiet intimacy. Chan feels something new, something deeper—a connection that goes beyond the physical. For the first time, he feels like he’s truly becoming one with you, not just in body but in soul.

The sheen of sweat on your skin doesn’t matter. The messy sheets don’t matter. All that exists in this moment is you and him, moving together in perfect harmony.

When the two of you finally reach your peak, it’s as if time slows, the world narrowing to the shared rhythm of your breaths and the racing of your hearts. He presses his forehead to yours, groaning your name as you both shatter together, your bodies trembling in unison.

After a long moment, Chan shifts slightly to look at you, his expression soft and full of adoration. “How you doing?”

You let out a tired laugh, your voice teasing. “Remind me to send a thank-you note to your personal trainer.”

Chan blinks, then bursts out laughing, his chest shaking as he collapses beside you. “Oh, gosh,” he says between his shy laughs, pulling you into his arms.

You nestle against him, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you add. “That if my hand can ever grip a pen again.”

Chan shakes his head, still laughing as he presses a kiss to your temple. “I think I’ll keep that note for myself,” he murmurs. “After all, I’m the one who gets to make you feel this good.”

You hum in agreement, your smile softening as you drift into the comfort of his embrace. And as the two of you lie there, tangled together, Chan feels a deep sense of contentment, knowing this moment is one he’ll carry with him forever.

-

The movie is long forgotten, a faint hum in the background as Chan lies sprawled on top of you, his body perfectly molded to yours on the makeshift sofa bed. His head rests just above your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat grounding him. Your fingers weave through his curls, gentle and soothing, while he trails soft kisses across your chest, his lips brushing against your skin like whispered confessions.

He’s elated—completely and utterly elated. The words you said to him, “I love you too,” keep replaying in his mind, wrapping around his heart and filling him with a joy he can hardly contain.

He lifts his head slightly to look at your face, illuminated softly by the glow of the room. You’re so beautiful, so perfect, and it feels like this moment is too good to be true. His chest tightens with emotion, and for a fleeting second, he wonders if he needs to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you ask, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers trace his temple.

Chan hesitates for just a moment before answering, his voice low and earnest. “I’ve been thinking about the future. About you being in it. And how… happy that makes me. For the first time, I can’t wait to live that future with you.”

Your lips curve into a playful smile. “Oh yeah? What kind of future are we talking about?”

His cheeks flush slightly, but the words come naturally. “A house. A family. Seven kids. And a dog, of course.”

Your eyes widen, and you gasp in mock horror. “Seven kids? Are you serious? You’d better find another girlfriend if you want seven kids because I’m not doing that.”

He grumbles, a mix of amusement and protest, and buries his head into your neck. The scent of you, the warmth of your skin—it’s all so grounding.

“Too late! You can't back out now,” he mumbles against your collarbone as he possessively holds you. “This fuckboy is yours.”

Your laughter vibrates through him as you wrap your arms tighter around him, holding him close. You press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he feels himself melting further into your embrace.

Chan closes his eyes, sinking deeper into your warmth. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s standing at the beginning of his happy ending—and he’s never felt so sure about anything.

-

As Chan watches you sitting at the vanity, carefully applying your makeup, he still can’t believe this is his life now. This is his morning—seeing your face illuminated by soft daylight, your focused expression softening whenever you notice him watching. It feels surreal, like the culmination of every quiet dream he’s ever dared to have.

You catch his gaze in the mirror and smile, and Chan’s heart squeezes. He walks over, placing a cup of coffee on the table in front of you, and leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Thanks, baby,” you say, turning to press a quick peck on his lips before going back to your routine.

As you finish getting ready, Chan busies himself, making sure your bag is packed and you’ve got everything you need for the day. When it’s time to leave, he walks with you to the door.

At the elevator, you pull him into a kiss, your hands resting gently on his chest. He savors the moment, every second a reminder of how deeply he’s fallen for you. When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice soft as he asks, “Want me to pick you up at the bus stop later?”

You shake your head, slipping a spare key into his hand. “Or you can wait at my place instead.”

Chan stares at the key in his palm, overwhelmed by what it means. It’s not just a key—it’s your trust, your willingness to let him into your life even more deeply. His chest tightens with gratitude and joy, and he leans in for another kiss, slow and lingering, pouring all of his emotions into it.

The sound of a door opening down the hall interrupts the moment. Chan pulls back, turning his head, bracing himself for one of Minho’s sarcastic remarks. But instead, Minho’s door swings open to reveal Sue stepping out.

Chan freezes as Sue says something to Minho, who smirks and leans down to kiss her. The shock must be written all over Chan’s face because Sue looks startled when she notices him.

Minho, on the other hand, is his usual unbothered self, raising a hand in a casual wave. “Morning!” he calls out with a sly grin.

Sue walks toward the elevator, her steps hesitant, and exchanges an awkward smile with Chan. “Hey, Chris.”

“Morning, Sue,” Chan replies with a smile.

“So... This must be the girl you’ve talked about,” she says, glancing at you.

Chan’s cheeks burn as he nods and glances at you. “Yeah. This is my girlfriend.”

You smile warmly, looking between Sue and Chan. “Oh, is this Sue? The one you had a crush on when you were a teenager?”

Chan groans, embarrassed, as Sue’s eyes widen before both you and Sue burst into laughter. Thankfully, the elevator comes and saves Chan from further embarrassment.

“Good taste, Chris,” Sue teases, giving him a wink before stepping into the elevator.

You press a quick kiss to Chan’s lips before joining Sue in the elevator. “See you later!” you call out as the doors close.

Chan stands there for a moment, the absurdity of it all sinking in. His first love meeting his current girlfriend—and laughing together, no less. Added with the fact that Sue is also hooking up with the neighbor he hates so much, Minho. He shakes his head, chuckling softly to himself as he walks back to your apartment, amazed at the twists life throws his way.

Back inside your apartment, Chan locks the door behind him, letting out a deep sigh as he leans against it. He turns the spare key over in his hand, still marveling at how much his life has changed.

The morning had been a whirlwind, but somehow, it left him feeling more grounded than ever. Watching you confidently interact with Sue—teasing him like it was the most natural thing in the world—only solidified his feelings. It struck him that while his first love had been a naive dream, you were his reality, and everything about it felt right.

He makes his way to the sofa, the scent of your perfume lingering faintly in the air. Sitting down, Chan stares out the window, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Life had a funny way of surprising him, weaving paths together in ways he couldn’t have imagined. And now, holding the key to your apartment, it feels like a metaphor for more than just trust—it’s an open door to the future you’re building together.

Chan leans back, running a hand through his curls. His phone buzzes on the table, and he picks it up to see a text from you.

“Miss me yet? ;)”

He shakes his head, grinning as he types back:

“Always.”

As he hits send, Chan realizes he’s not just happy—he’s completely at peace. For the first time, the unknown doesn’t scare him. He’s not caught up in what might have been or what could go wrong. Instead, he’s focused on what’s in front of him and what’s to come.

And he knows, without a doubt, that it’s you.

-

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[suguae]

tell me....will we still fuck ?

જsynopsis after huge argument you and sukuna decided to make up, only under one condition.

જpairings Ryomen Sukuna x F. Reader

જcontent MDNI! fucking.

"Are you even fucking listening!" You asked, raising your voice as Sukuna just sat back with a beer in hand and scrolling on his phone with his other hand. Not a single care about what you had been complaining about now, "Ryomen Sukuna!" You crossed your arm strutting closer to him.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked up from his phone lazily, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another sip of his beer. "Oh, I'm listening," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Just not sure if what you're saying is worth my attention."

Your jaw dropped at his audacity. "You're fucking ridiculous," you exclaimed, unable to believe his attitude. "Listen to me when I'm fucking talking to you!"

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by your outburst, "Throwing a tantrum won't get you anywhere." Your fists clenched at his nonchalant demeanor. "This isn't a tantrum, Sukuna. This is me demanding the respect I deserve."

He set his beer down with a sigh, his expression hardening. "Respect is a two-way street," he said coolly. "You want me to listen? Fine. But don’t expect me to bow down to your every demand."

Your anger flared at the thought, and you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "And what the fuck do you know about respect! Leaving drooling emojis on another bitch's post is not fucking respect!"

Sukuna's expression hardened, but he didn't look away. "It's just a joke, Y/N. You're blowing it out of proportion."

"A joke?" you repeated, disbelief coloring your voice. "You think disrespecting me like that is a fucking joke?" He shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I don't see why you're so upset. It's not like I'm actually cheating on you.”

The tension in the room was palpable as you grabbed the keys to your car, your hands trembling slightly with a mixture of anger and hurt. "Okay," you muttered, your voice strained. "Okay, Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say."

Sukuna's eyes widened as you made your way to the front door. "Where the fuck are you going?" he demanded, his tone bordering on desperation as he stood up quickly.

"Out," you replied tersely, your voice cold as you swung the front door open and stormed out, the slam echoing through the room behind you.

You froze in your tracks as Sukuna's voice cut through the night air, "If you fucking get in that car, dressed like that... it's over, Y/N," he demanded, his voice laced with anger and frustration.

You looked down at yourself, the short, skin-tight dress hugging your curves, your breasts threatening to spill out. You knew you looked good, maybe too good for just a night out. 

With a surge of boldness, you turned to Sukuna before slamming the car door shut, meeting his stunned gaze head-on. "Eat my pussy," you said defiantly.Then, without waiting for a response, you started the car and drove off into the night, leaving Sukuna standing there, speechless and stunned.

Sukuna's whispered curse hung heavy in the air as he watched you drive away, his frustration and anger evident in the set of his jaw. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the house, his mind already calculating his next move.

Grabbing his helmet and keys, he made a beeline for his motorcycle, his movements swift and purposeful. He knew he had to find you.

With a quick glance at his phone to track your location, Sukuna revved up the engine and tore out of the driveway, the roar of the motorcycle echoing through the night as he sped off into the darkness, determined to catch up to you. 

As Sukuna raced through the night, his mind buzzed with a mixture of emotions. He knew he had been mean, perhaps even cruel at times, but he had never seen you unleash your anger with such intensity before. It was unexpected, raw, and strangely exhilarating.

Despite the gravity of the situation, a smirk tugged at the corners of Sukuna's lips as he thought about the fire he had ignited within you. He had always been drawn to your passion, your intensity, but seeing it directed at him in such a fierce way stirred something primal within him.

Sukuna pushed his way through the crowded nightclub, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you. The music thumped loudly, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, making it difficult to navigate through the throng of people."Of course she would," he muttered to himself, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

Sukuna's eyes landed on you amidst the chaos of the nightclub, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background. He couldn't deny the rush of attraction he felt as he took in your appearance, the way the dress hugged your curves in all the right places.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold before him. A man approached you with a smirk, holding two shots in his hands. He expected you to turn down the drinks, as you usually did when strangers approach you at the club. But to his surprise, you didn't.

Without hesitation, you took the drink from the man's hand and quickly chugged the shot, a playful grin on your face as you slammed the glass back down on the bar. Sukuna's jaw clenched at the sight, a mixture of jealousy and anger bubbling up inside him.

Sukuna's steps were purposeful as he closed the distance between himself, you, and the stranger who dared to encroach upon his territory. His jaw was set, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and possessiveness as he reached out and pushed the man away from you.

"Back the fuck up," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's with me."

The stranger's smirk faltered for a moment before he recovered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he cocked his head to the side. "What, I can't offer a pretty girl a drink? Besides, what are you gonna do about it?"

Sukuna's fists clenched at his sides, his patience wearing thin. "Fuck around and find out," he shot back, his voice a low rumble.

Sukuna's demand was firm as he insisted, "Let's go." But you merely rolled your eyes in response, seemingly unfazed by his authoritative tone.

"This is not a fucking joke, let's go," he barked, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

You couldn't help but smirk at his sudden change in demeanor. "Oh, now it's not a joke, huh?" you retorted, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Sukuna's jaw clenched at your remark, his eyes narrowing slightly as he fought to keep his temper in check. "You know what I mean," he muttered, his voice low.

But you remained defiant, refusing to back down. "Do I?" you teased, enjoying the way you had rattled him.

With a frustrated sigh, Sukuna reached out and grabbed your hand, his grip firm as he pulled you away from the bar. "Let's go," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As you followed him out of the nightclub, a smirk played at the corners of your lips. Despite the tension between you, there was an undeniable thrill in pushing Sukuna's buttons, in seeing the raw, unfiltered emotions he tried so hard to conceal. 

As you entered the house, a heavy sigh escaped your lips, the weight of the night's events pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. "Baby..." Sukuna began, his voice soft with concern.

But you cut him off with a scoff, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "Don't fucking baby me, Ryomen," you snapped, refusing to use his first name. The use of his full name was a clear indicator of your irritation.

Sukuna's eyebrows lifted in surprise at your tone, but he wisely chose to remain silent, sensing that now was not the time to push your buttons further.

Your heels clicked against the floor as you stormed away, heading towards the bedroom you two shared. Sukuna watched you go, a knot forming in his stomach as he realized the extent of the damage he had caused.

As you began to undress, Sukuna watched you quietly, the weight of his earlier actions heavy on his mind. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the guarded expression on your face, and it only served to deepen the knot of guilt in his stomach.

"Come here," he said softly, his voice gentler than usual, as he settled on the corner of the bed.

You paused, hesitating for a moment before you replied, your voice tinged with skepticism, "Ryomen..."

"Y/n, just stop being so damn stubborn and come here," he insisted, his tone firm but laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard from him.

"What?" you sighed, feeling a mixture of surprise and disbelief as you stood in front of him.

Without hesitation, Sukuna reached out, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. As he held you close, he reached for his phone, his movements deliberate as he began deleting every social media app from his device.

"You can even take my phone away, if that helps bring back my sweet girl," he mumbled against your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Sukuna's attempt to make amends, even though a part of you appreciated the gesture. Grabbing his phone, you tossed it onto the bed with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "Yeah, okay," you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you let out a sigh.

"Let me make it up to you, in bed," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

Sukuna's smile was like a wolf's grin as he gently guided you towards the bed, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. "Lay that pretty body of yours on the bed, hmm?" he murmured, his voice sending a rush of heat through you.

"Sukuna, I'm not letting this go that easily, you know..." you said, your voice trailing off with a hint of mischief.

Sukuna's eyebrows raised in surprise as your legs wrapped around his torso, effectively pinning him down as you hovered over him. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and arousal dancing in his eyes as he met your gaze.

“You pissed me off today more than you can imagine.” You huffed as you traced your finger down his chest, tracing over the black ink of his tattoos. “We can have sex.” You smiled, “The catch is, you can look…but you can’t touch.”

His brows furrow, “No…” 

“Hmm yes.” You leaned down whispering into his ear, leaving a soft coat of warm air on his ear, “If you don’t want to do that, then we can just simply stop. I’m tired anyway.” You backed up faking a yawn. 

“How long.” He says, closing his eyes, 

“Whenever I say.” Now he was up for a challenge, a hard one. He opened his eyes, getting a good look at you. Your breast now fully in view as you unhooked your bra, that was the first thing he wanted to grab.

Another hard thing for Sukuna was that you being dominant was rare, really rare. If he were in charge tonight, he’d have you face down and ass up, pressing against your asshole as he thrusted deep inside you, but that wasn’t gonna be the case tonight. 

With a sultry gaze, you press your breast against each other, causing a whispered moan to grace the air. You bite down on your lips as Sukuna’s entrancing eyes meet yours, a fire flickering within them as you tease your nipples into hardened peaks.

Your hands slip down to your covered center, where you gently massage your sensitive clit through the fabric of your delicate undergarment. “ngghhh.” A soft whimper escapes you as you feel Sukuna’s body respond beneath you, his cock growing rigid with a hunger only you can satisfy. 

Your hands move stealthily to the waistband of Sukuna’s pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier at each delicate touch. Carefully you unbuttoned them, sliding them down. In an instant his massive, girthy cock springs free, eager for your attention. “ride me like you mean it, yeah?” He huffs as you just watched him basically squirming under you. 

“how about you shut your damn mouth.” You blurted out audaciously. Gracefully you descend down Sukuna’s body, arching your back with your ass in the air teasing him as you approach his throbbing cherry-red tip, savoring the taste of precum as it drips onto your waiting tongue.

 The tender kitty licks of your tongue against Sukuna’s tip causes him to squirm, “st–stop fuckin’ teasin.” He groaned, as he was fighting his primal urge to grab that pretty little face of yours and force you down his girthy cock. “Tell me how bad you want it, kuna.” You batted your eyelashes as you wrapped your soft hands on his length. 

He closed his eyes in frustration, never had he ever wanted to submit to you, “I want you, to fuckin suck me good.” He groaned, bringing his hands up to his face, trying his best to resist the urge. Your soft hands take control, slowly and sensually gelding along Sukuna’s throbbing veiny cock as you continue to tease him with your sultry, “mmm look at my good boy.”

“oh shut–ahh.” Sukuna couldn’t help but softly moan as your plush mouth expertly descends, enveloping his entire cock in warmth and wetness as you suck him gracefully. “mmm” You moaned, sending vibrations down his dick. His fat tip constantly coming in contact with the back of your throat, “jus’ like that baby.” He huffs taking in the euphoric feeling running through his body.

Meanwhile your hand cruises down your clothed cunt, sliding your hand into your undergarments with a lew glint in your eyes you begin rubbing your clit in time with your sucking motion, the growing warmth in your cunt building as you take his throbbing cock more and more. 

You throw your head back, letting the drool run down your mouth. “look at my pretty girl.” He whispered as his hands rested behind his back, and his face plastered with a smirk. You crawled back up, leaning closer to his face. You plant wet kisses all over Sukuna’s lips, a few stray saliva mixing with his as you two moan together softly, tongues intertwining with passion and lust. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” He murmurs breaking the kiss, “I want to fuck you so hard right now.” he sighs leaning his head back as you sit up. Your knees sinking into the soft cushion as you slowly slide yourself onto his cock. With each passing inch, you feel yourself getting stretched out and filled to the brim, a soft moan escaping your lips, “ahhh fuck…s–so big kuna’”

He winces in the pleasure, bucking his hips, “come on baby, fucki–ah fucking faster.” With each downward thrust, your ass rhythmically bounces atop Sukuna’s cock, the sensation driving him wild with pleasure, “jus’ like fu–like tha’ doll.” Your breast bouncing and swaying with every movement, “please ba–baby let me touch.”

Too deep in trance, you throw your head back lost in the pleasure. “nnnghh kuna’” you whimper, feeling his tip pulsating inside you. “Fuck this.” He muttered gently, grabbing your face, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Stop looking away," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I want to see your pretty face while you ride me so well." you continued to move, each movement bringing you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. Sukuna's grip on your face softened, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek as he watched you with a mixture of desire and admiration. 

“nn-no m’ tired.” you whine, as you moved slower and slower, trying to catch your breath, Sukuna's eyes remained locked on yours. 

"let me do it then, okay?" Sukuna huffed out, his voice strained with a mix of desire and concern as he watched your exhausted, limp body. You nodded slowly, trusting him completely.

With a gentle but firm touch, he helped you off of him, guiding you onto the pillow beneath you. Your body responded instinctively, positioning yourself with your ass up, ready for him to take you in. 

He couldn't help but smirk as you quickly gave in, a knowing glint in his eyes. Sukuna had anticipated that your dominant streak wouldn't last, and seeing you surrender so completely only fueled his desire further.

"turn around for me, doll," Sukuna murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I want to look at your beautiful face while I fuck you so nice."

You complied, shifting your position to face him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, filled with both raw need and a deep-seated admiration. With a gentle touch he positioned himself over you.

“kuna’” you moaned, each thrust was deliberate,the pleasure for both of you. Sukuna's expression was a mixture of concentration and passion, the sight of you beneath him driving him wild.

"that's it," he breathed, his words barely audible over the sound of your shared breaths. "jus like that." He moaned as your arms wrapped around his neck, “mmnn, gon’ cum kuna..” 

“let it all out baby,”

"That's the last time you ever take charge," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. "You couldn't even last." You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. Your legs intertwined with his. "Maybe," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. 

He sighed, "Baby, I'm sorry for today..." His voice was soft, filled with a rare vulnerability. You gently caressed his cheek, your touch tender and reassuring.

This softer side of Sukuna was fleeting, you knew that well. But in this moment, you cherished it, soaking in the warmth and sincerity he offered.

"It's okay," you whispered, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin.