#where that is not my intention in the slightest

[olgasaysso]

The biggest lie majority of the fandom believes about Maomao is that she's unaware of how Jinshi feels towards her. That she's "oblivious".

Even some of my favorite creators who make content about tad seem to fall into that trap.

It's not true. Maomao might have been "oblivious" for a short time at the start of the story and it overlaps with Jinshi giving her his hairpin after finding out why she puts on freckles. She thinks "He's being real for once" because it was quite literally the first time when he showed his true self to her. So for a short period of time she's unsure about him and his feelings towards her.

But everything after? She knows. It's not that kind of knowing that's "definite" though. She pushes the possibility down, pretends it's not happening. But she's not oblivious or unaware.

In Light Novel 5 (spoilers, obviously) before he even reveals that she was his choice for a bride, she thinks this:

"The courtesans had a saying: once you know it, it’s hell.

But the men, too, had a saying: to know it was exactly why they went there.

That word, that simple four-letter word with its o and its e, was sometimes called vulgar, and sometimes turned out to be nothing more than a game—but some people said it was impossible to live without it."

No, she was not shocked and surprised or oblivious to what he was doing or how he felt. After she tells him he's good to marry Lady Lishu and the infamous scene, he says this:

"You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.”

So he had been watching them!"

And he's right. I think you can say she's unaware to a point (or rather pretends to be) where she doesn't want to presume anything and pretends like she doesn't understand how he feels towards her. But she's too smart for that. She noticed Jinshi watching her and Rikuson and pushed the possibility of him being jealous down.

Even the hairpin, as much as she acted like she thought it was Lahan who gave it to her, I don't believe she would wear a gift from him. She can't stand that guy and she knows him enough to know that he would be the type to confirm it immediately that the hairpin was from him.

Despite thinking that she's sell it all the time, she was weirdly fond of that hairpin in some moments and she noticed people looking at it. She knew. Or rather, she guessed who gave it to her, she just chose to pretend otherwise, even to herself.

And then again in LN5 before they kiss we have this part:

"They (Jinshis eyes) shone brighter than any star, and yet there was a subtle darkness to them. This was a man who’d had everything in life, and yet sometimes he seemed to hunger for something that he struggled to satisfy.

Why can’t he pick someone else?"

And the "why can't he pick someone else?" wouldn't be here if she was surprised by his intentions towards her. This was frustration. This is "I know whats been happening all this time and that he wants me but I haven't showed him the slightest sign that I want him back, so why can't he just give up already?"

[chestersbraincell]

Now I’ve been pondering the little prince just a little, and the way that if you interpret it right, you could make the rose x prince combo Highschool Genzou and Orlam, and then the fox x prince combo Orlam and Iggy

[heyitsmemel]

hi hello gals and gays. Here is a rare wav from me struggling with the flu. The virus has mainly been in my chest but my entire body is so wrecked I was able to induce super easily. No talking bc I’m literally unable to 😭 Do not listen if you can't stand harsh coughing because it gets a bit rough. If it sounds a bit weird the first half of the recording is from yesterday and the second half is from today, bc the coughing is so much worse in the second half lmao. Ok that's it thankkk you for feeding me so good lately tumblr love u all <3

also personal rant about ableism and intentional contagion in the comments :///

[rosefires20]

Im-

I just finished the final book of the Earthsea Cycle and oh my god. There are no words to describe that ending or how well it fit. It settled so perfectly and so neatly. It went exactly where it meant to go and no I do not have the words to describe what exactly that intent or path was just that it existed.

Genuinely, the Earthsea Cycle is one of my all time favorite series. It's just so curious and so deep but also not at the same time. The lessons of the series are so fantastic and ones that I believe are impactful no matter your age. The exploration of being a woman in a world dominated by men is incredible in this series as well as the process of finding your place in the world and sometimes acknowledging that it isn't what you thought it'd be.

Each book I love more than the last. The Other Wind is so damn good. I love Alder as a character. I love Irian. I love Azver. I love the Kargish princess and her own character development. Lebannenn's character growth as well. Like just. It's so incredible. It also makes me appreciate Tales from Earthsea more because it's shocking how much each of those short stories truly contribute to the world building and conclusion of the series.

The way the story just slowly built up to the events of The Other Wind is also just incredible considering the time between the books being published especially in the second half of the series. The consistency is incredible and you really don't actually know where it is all going until the end yet everything pays off still.

Just god. I love it so much.

[readwritealldayallnight]

18+ MDNI

He was just on the cusp of a restless sleep, about to drift off for the night, when Johnny swore he could hear someone crying from the other side of the barrack walls

Poking his head out the door, squinting at the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, he spots Kyle swinging his own door open at the same time, half asleep himself yet obviously having heard something amiss as well

“Y’hearin’ tha’ too?” Johnny asks as his fellow sergeant nods through a yawn, stepping out into the hall now and shutting his door behind him, certain now that’s it’s you they’re hearing

The pair make their way towards the source of the muffled cries and whimpers, their half asleep minds slowly trying to fill in the blanks, wondering if they’re going to find you in the midst of a nightmare, hoping that’s the case rather than finding you hurt

Turning the corner, the noises have grown louder, more insistent, your sobs sounding more desperate when the duo stumble upon their captain, stood outside your slightly ajar door, casually leaning against the door frame, gaze locked on the sight inside your room

“Cap, what’s happen-”

“Is the lass-”

“Shush.” Price interrupts his sergeants questions, shooting the two younger men a look that has them instinctually standing taller, on alert

“Wha- where’s LT?” Johnny can’t help but to ask, surprised that the man hadn’t come running when your cries began

“Got his hands full at the moment.” Price answers simply, though he can’t help the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth when he tilts his head towards your door, inviting the sergeants a peek inside

Careful not to push the door open any farther than it is, the men take a cautious albeit curious glance in to your room, eyes immediately widening and pants inevitably tightening at the sight

Laying on your back on the edge of your bed, you haven’t a single thing on you apart from the sweat you’re exerting

Well, that and Ghost’s hands on you

Your bare legs are thrown over the lieutenants shoulders, thighs shaking as the man’s large hands grip at your plush skin, relentlessly squeezing and groping your naked flesh

They can easily tell it’s Ghost in there with you, based off his stature alone, though the skeleton balaclava discarded by his feet certainly helps confirm things, seeing as the man’s face is currently shoved against your cunt, with no sign of him coming up for breath any time soon

The three men stood in the doorway couldn’t turn their eyes away even if they wanted to, feet cemented where they stand, shamelessly watching as their lieutenant absolutely devours you

The sounds of Ghost’s sloppy eating, sucking noises, even his own groans of enjoyment against your pussy are hardly heard over the sounds of your pleasure

“Oh my god- please Si- I can’t- oh god!” You moan as Ghost seems to pick up his pace, your hips unconsciously grinding up against him as you edge closer to the precipice

You’ve got one hand gripping the bed sheets for dear life, while the other is snaked in his hair, tugging at his locks with every lick, suck, and kiss he presses against your throbbing clit, feeling as though you couldn’t possibly take any more, while also never wanting him to stop

The sergeants can hardly fathom what they’re seeing right now, bulges pressing uncomfortably against the zippers of their pants as their own arousal grows, wholly entranced by the sight and sounds before them

“Bleedin’ Christ-” Johnny can’t help but to whisper to no one in particular, intent on thanking whoever built the thin walls around here

“Y’either take a seat or take a hike, sergeant.” Ghost’s gravelly voice suddenly booms from within the room, never lifting his eyes off of you. “But y’know better than to interrupt a man’s meal.”

[dissimul0]

SAY IT

remmick x fem!reader

Summary: On your way home from Bible study you run into two boys looking for trouble. Thankfully, Remmick's there to help you out. But he wants some... compensation, for his help.

wc: 4.1k

smut warning: dom!remmick x fem!reader. second-person pov, fingering, manipulation, blood, biting, violence, death, oral (fem receiving), mentions of religion, mild harassment, idk i think thats it

a/n:  before watching sinners i hadn't written anything in MONTHS, and remmick was so incredible fine he cured me of writers block, because after the movie i went home and started writing this. this is also my first time posting on tumbler so, hiii (ignore how the tense doesn't stay consistent, i hate writing in 2nd person pov)

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

The sun was swiftly sinking beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. Its vibrant hues of orange and pink painted the sky, gradually deepening into richer tones as the evening approached. The light dimmed as shades of deep blue and indigo crept across the horizon, enveloping the landscape in a cloak of darkness.

You were heading home from Bible study, which ended much later than you had anticipated. The air was thick with the oppressive summer humidity, one of those evenings where the heat lingered even after the sun had set. As you distanced yourself from the busy part of town, the streetlights became sparser, and the shadows deepened. You hastened your pace, your heels tapping against the rough pavement, eager to reach home.

It was almost kind of peaceful. The nighttime chatter from the town gradually faded into soft murmurs, creating an almost soothing atmosphere. Until, of course, a couple of idiots had to ruin your night.

Two figures stepped out from a dark alley up ahead — and you barely had time to react before they were already blocking your path, grinning like they owned the damn street.

“All by yourself, baby cakes? Ain’t that dress a lil’ short for that?” One of them whistled, licking his teeth all nasty.

You took a step back, holding your Bible tightly against your chest as if it were a shield. “I-I don’t want any trouble,” you stammered.

“Naw, of course you do,” the other sneered, taking a step closer to you. “You over here dressed like trouble.”

Your eyes flickered anxiously as the two boys edged nearer, their strides slow yet certain, their intent unmistakable. You took a step back, and another, feeling the space around you shrink, the world closing in as they advanced without a word. They spread apart slightly, moving to encircle you like wolves to prey.

God, help me.

A voice sliced through the tension like a blade through fog. “There a problem here?”

It came from behind you, sharp and unexpected, shocking the air with its presence and freezing the moment like a flash of lightning. The two boys stopped, surprise flickering across their faces as they cut their eyes in the direction of the sound. You turned, eyes meeting a man standing a few feet behind you.

His hands, nonchalantly tucked into the deep pockets of his trousers, accentuated an air of indifference perfectly matched by his carelessly practical attire. The rumpled shirt, slightly untucked, and the well-worn shoes suggested a disregard for convention. He didn’t seem like he belonged, not in the slightest.

There was something about him, an intangible aura, that sent a shiver of unease through the air. It was as if he carried an invisible weight that pressed heavily on those around him, making them shift uncomfortably without knowing precisely why.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the boys called out, his voice a wavering mixture of uncertainty and defiance. The other shifted awkwardly, unsure of how to size up the strange figure before them, and more unsure of what reaction to expect.

“Why don’t you answer my question first?”

You glanced between your harassers, the adrenaline that had spiked through your veins at the sight of those two creeps faded, replaced by a different sort of tension. Your throat went dry. You wanted to say something, to stop this and just finish your journey home, but you just couldn’t.

When you locked eyes with the unfamiliar man, your stomach twisted in knots. There was something about him—someone familiar but unplaceable—that set off your instincts, urging you to flee.

One of the creeps let out a laugh, a high-pitched, mean-spirited cackle, his mocking grin wide with menace and delight. It was like you were long forgotten, their attention now elsewhere. They crowded around the man, jostling shoulders and nudging elbows, and one of them spat the words like a challenge: “Little white boy thinks he’s got spunk!”

The man’s eyes shifted from the boys to you, slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Now, now. I just wanted to make sure this young lady was alright,” he said, his eyes glinting with a steely resolve that cut through the tension like a knife.

The boys didn’t quit though, repeating their threats like taunts, brutal little chants in the fading light. They surrounded him, shirts loose, untucked, grins mean and prowling the way packs do.

The strange man didn’t seem to be intimidated; In fact, he looked past the boys, giving you an almost…sympathetic look. “You might want to close your eyes, darlin’.”

In a flash, he lunged at the nearest boy, a blur of movement disrupting the circle. The act was savage and swift, his teeth sinking into his soft neck with a feral intensity. There was a stunned silence, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, and then a scream. The boy screamed, high-pitched and frantic, red blooming on his white collar, voice shredding the dusk as he stumbled back.

Blood, hot and streaked, spilled down the boy’s chest as the man held him tight, his face smeared. Frozen by the violence seared through the darkening street, the other boys’ eyes went wide, his shouts dying in his throat. 

The grip seemed relentless, inhumanly strong, the boy’s knees buckling, and then, with a quick flick of his arm, the man sent him crashing to the pavement. The boy writhed, clutching at his neck with a gurgling sob, while the other could only stare in mute horror. It was as if the man enjoyed their terror, a gleam in his eye as he turned his ferocious gaze on him, daring him to fight or flee, hungry for his next move.

The second boy stood frozen, his face a mask of horror as he watched his friend collapse to the ground. For a heartbeat, he seemed paralyzed, caught between flight and fight, his body trembling with indecision. Then, with a strangled cry that was half rage and half terror, he fumbled at his waistband and pulled out a small pocket knife, the blade catching the dim light as it snapped open.

"You—you fuckin’ psycho!" he screamed, his voice cracking with fear. He lunged forward with the knife held out, a clumsy, desperate attack born of panic rather than skill.

The strange man sidestepped the thrust with almost lazy grace, a small smile playing at his bloodstained lips. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted. The crack of bone was audible even over the boy's shriek of pain, the knife clattering uselessly to the pavement.

"Bad choice," the man whispered, his voice almost gentle as he pulled the struggling boy closer, like a lover drawing in for an embrace. "Should've run when you had the chance."

The boy's struggles grew frantic, his feet scrabbling against the ground as he tried to wrench himself free. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat of exertion and fear. "Please," he sobbed, all bravado gone, "please don't—"

His plea was cut short as the man's teeth found his throat.

You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Your lungs seized as if gripped by an invisible hand, the Bible slipping from your fingers and hitting the pavement with a dull thud that seemed impossibly distant. The world narrowed to pinpricks of horrific detail: the blood spray painting the concrete, the wet, tearing sounds as flesh gave way, the gurgling screams that didn't sound human anymore.

Your knees buckled. A wave of nausea crashed through you, bitter bile rising in your throat as you pressed your hand against your mouth. The taste of your dinner threatened to return as your stomach convulsed. The edges of your vision darkened, tiny black spots dancing like static.

"Oh, God," you whispered, the words barely audible even to yourself. Your body trembled violently, uncontrollably, like you were standing in Arctic winds rather than the summer night's heat. The scene before you refused to make sense—it couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. People didn't do this. People couldn't do this.

But he wasn't people, was he?

You stumbled backward, one foot catching on the other, nearly sending you sprawling. The movement seemed to happen in slow motion, disconnected from your will. Your chest heaved with shallow, rapid breaths that didn't seem to deliver any oxygen to your brain. The metallic smell of blood hung thick in the air, coating your tongue, inescapable.

Somewhere in the fog of your shock, a primal instinct screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive, as if the horror had severed the connection between your mind and body.

The second boy's body crumpled to the ground with a sickening finality, joining his friend in a spreading pool of crimson. The stranger straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear across his pale skin. His eyes found yours, and the world seemed to contract to just the two of you standing in the night.

"Yer still here," he remarked, sounding almost surprised. His voice was different now—smoother, more controlled, the earlier tension gone from it. Blood dripped from his chin onto his shirt, blooming like dark flowers against the fabric. His eyes held an unnatural red gleam in the dim light.

Your legs finally remembered how to work. You stumbled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The Bible lay forgotten on the ground between you and the carnage. "Demon," you whispered, the word tasting like ash in your mouth

He laughed, the sound startlingly normal, almost pleasant. “You go on home now.”

You remained frozen, disbelieving of your apparent reprieve.

"Go," he repeated, more firmly this time. "’Fore I change my mind."

Your legs moved of their own accord, carrying you past him in a wide arc. You couldn't help but look at the bodies as you passed, their forms already seeming less human somehow, more like discarded dolls than the threatening figures they'd been minutes ago. You ran, your footsteps echoing in the empty street, not daring to look back again. The night air burned in your lungs, and tears streamed down your face, but you didn't dare look back.

You just kept running. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

 You couldn't sleep that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it all again—the blood, the strength, the way his teeth tore into flesh like it was nothing. Sleep was impossible. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands clutching a mug of tea that had long gone cold, staring at nothing.

The day after felt like hell on earth. The morning light was harsh and unyielding, striking too brightly through the windowpane, but you made no move to get up to close the curtain.

You were too tired, too... worn out. Your legs felt like jelly and your eyes were swollen from crying, and there was a pain in your chest, an ache so deep you could have been bleeding, if only it meant relief.

But you were just numb.

You didn't even go down for breakfast. Just layed in bed. You laid there until the insistent throb of hunger became too much to bear. Only then did you involuntarily get yourself out of bed, muscles aching.

As you made your way to the kitchen, the aroma of breakfast lingered in the air, and your eyes landed on the remnants of the morning meal scattered across the table.

"Thought you'd never come down," Mom remarked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement as she looked over her shoulder from her spot at the sink, hands submerged in soapy water.

"Guess I was pretty tired," you replied, a yawn stretching your lips as you slumped into a chair, reaching for a piece of cold sausage. The temperature was irrelevant; it was the savory flavor of the meat that captivated your senses, grounding you in the moment.

"Where's your Bible?" Mom's voice cut through your thoughts like a knife, her eyebrow arched in that familiar, questioning manner. Her hand poised on her hip, she awaited your explanation with a knowing look.

Your chewing halted, heart sinking as last night's events replayed vividly in your mind. You opened your mouth to respond, but words seemed to falter and die before they could form.

Mom clicked her tongue disapprovingly, disappearing into the living room, only to return moments later. She placed your Bible on the table with a gentle thud, the sound echoing in your ears as your heart plummeted further, eyes reluctantly meeting hers.

"W-where'd you find this?" you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

"Found it on the front porch. You must've dropped it on your way in last night," she replied, her tone a blend of concern and reprimand.

You swallowed hard, the events of last night swirling like a storm in your mind. You hadn't dropped it on the porch; you had left it behind, abandoning it on the ground as you ran, thoughts in chaos. "I guess... I must've," you stammered, forcing the guilty lie out.

"Mmhm. You best be more careful next time. You know this Bible was a gift from the Pastor," she reminded gently, yet firmly, turning back to the sink, the sound of running water a soft backdrop to the tension in the room.

You acknowledged your mother's words with a quiet hum and a nod. Your eyes settled on the Bible lying on the table, and you reached out for it with hesitation.

As your fingers traced over the embossed letters, your mind wandered back to the previous night. The vivid nightmares nearly made you recoil. You closed your eyes tightly, giving your head a slight shake to dispel the dark thoughts.

—————————————————

The day rolled on, hours slipping by in a confused haze. Tasks that needed doing bled into others, all mundane, all repetitively the same. Towels to fold, clutter to corral—each chore like the next, stretching out endlessly. Words were exchanged, hollow, drifting and weightless in the air.

The day felt longer than it had any right to be, its passage still haunting, leaving only a weary fog. A great heaviness set in, like a weight on the eyelids, as evening wore on.

While everyone else slept, you're wide awake. Sitting on your bed's edge, you face the window. The pale, blue moonlight casts its glow on you as you sit there, gazing out at the front yard.

You're unable to tear your eyes away, as if something or someone might be out there. You rise from the bed, cautiously approaching the window. With a finger, you unlock the latch and lift the window, which opens with a slight creak.

Leaning on the windowsill, you peer outside, eyes fixed intently for any sign of movement. But nothing unusual occurs; only the breeze and the rustling trees accompany your breathing.

This is pointless.

You pull away from the window frame and turn to head back to bed, but a snapping branch halts you. Slowly, you turn back, step toward the window, and shut it with frustration.

Resting your head against the cool glass, you close your eyes, feeling its chill against your skin.

After a moment, you reopen your eyes and gaze into the yard once more.

Tiny pinpoints of light flicker among the trees, and you squint, searching the darkness. Still cloaked in the forest's shadows, the two points of light draw nearer, stopping just a few feet from your window. You blink, and the lights blink back.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as those twin points of light remain fixed on your window. They're eyes—you know they're eyes—glowing with an unnatural red luminescence that no human could possess.

Slowly, a figure detaches itself from the darkness. He steps forward, moonlight gradually revealing him inch by inch: first the outline of broad shoulders, then the familiar rumpled shirt, now stained dark with what you know is blood. His face comes into view last, pale and beautiful in its terrible way, those glowing eyes fixed unblinkingly on yours.

It's him. The man from the street. The monster who tore out those boys' throats with inhuman strength and savage teeth.

He stands perfectly still at the edge of your yard, hands in his pockets just as they had been before, casual as if he were merely a neighbor stopping by. But there's nothing casual about the intensity of his gaze, the way it pins you in place even through the glass and distance between you.

A small, knowing smile curves his lips, and he raises one hand in a gesture that might almost be friendly—a little wave, as if acknowledging an old acquaintance. The simple humanity of the gesture makes it all the more chilling.

You want to scream, to call for help, to wake the household—but your voice is trapped in your throat. Besides, what would you say? Who would believe you? And what if your cries only invited him in?

He takes a single step forward, then another, moving with deliberate slowness toward your window. Each footfall is silent on the grass, predatory grace in every movement. The distance between you shrinks with each passing second.

He doesn't stop until he's merely inches from your window, eyes boring into yours. Your breath hitches, and you try to step back, but you can't. It's like you're frozen.

His breath fogs the glass between you, a reminder of the thin barrier separating you from whatever he is. He raises one pale finger and traces a pattern on the window, the squeak of skin against glass making your skin crawl.

"Y'know," he says, voice muffled but still audible through the glass, "there are rules to these things."

You remain frozen, unable to speak, but he continues as if you'd asked a question.

"I cain't come in uninvited." His eyes—those terrible, beautiful eyes—crinkle slightly at the corners, almost amused. "Old magic. Very inconvenient."

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching the glass. "But you could invite me in. Just a few 'lil words. 'Come in.' That's all it'd take."

Your throat constricts with fear, but you manage to shake your head slightly.

He sighs, a surprisingly human sound. "I saved you. Those boys—" he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, "—they had very specific plans fer you. Nasty ones." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "I could've let 'em. Would've been much easier fer me."

The memory of those boys blocking your path flashes in your mind, their leering faces, their threatening postures. You shudder.

"See? Y'know I'm right." His finger traces another pattern on the glass, almost hypnotic. "Just a little invitation. A thank you for my... intervention. That's only polite, ain't it?"

Something in his tone shifts, grows harder. "Or I could wait. I'm a very patient man, sugar. I could visit every night, watchin' you. Waitin' for that moment when you step outside alone after dark, or when you get home late from bible study." His smile widens, revealing teeth that are too sharp, too white. "Wouldn't it be better to just... get it over with? On yer terms?"

You feel a strange pull, a desire to reach for the latch, to open the window wider and speak those fatal words. Your hand even twitches at your side, as if it might move of its own accord.

"Just say it," he whispers, eyes boring into yours. "Invite me in."

Your fingers tremble against your thigh, caught in a war between reaching for the window latch and clenching into a fist. Something shameful and electric pulses through you—a feeling you don't want to name.

There's terror, yes—raw and primal—but beneath it lies something more disturbing. A fascination. A pull. Your eyes can't help but trace the sharp angles of his face, the fullness of his lips now clean of blood, the way his shirt clings to the contours of his body.

"This ain't right," you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

His smile deepens, knowing. "Few worthwhile things are."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you hate yourself for it. How could your body betray you like this? How could you feel anything but revulsion for the creature who tore out human throats before your eyes? The memory of violence should repulse you, drive you away—instead, it mingles with his current gentleness in a cocktail of confusion that makes your head swim.

You close your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only intensifies your awareness of him—his scent somehow reaching you through the glass, something ancient and dangerous. When you open your eyes again, he's watching you with a patience that spans centuries.

"Yer afraid," he says softly. "But not only afraid."

Your cheeks burn hotter. He sees through you so easily, this predator at your window. The worst part is the thrill that runs through you at being so thoroughly seen.

"I don't want this," you say, voice barely audible.

"Ohhh sure you do, darlin." His head tilts slightly, curious. "Your heart says otherwise. I can hear it—racing not just with fear, but with somethin' else."

You press your hand against your chest, as if you could quiet the betraying organ. "You're a monster."

"Yes," he agrees simply. "And yet, here you are. Still lookin'. Still listenin'."

He's right, and you hate that he's right. You should be running, screaming, praying—anything but this strange, suspended moment where you can't tear yourself away from his gaze. "You know I can't..."

He takes a deep breath, clicking his tongue in thought. "Yer really gonna make me beg for it, huh?" He said, his voice dropping to a conspiring whisper. "I can make you feel so good, lampkin. You just gots to let me in."

"I won't."

"You will."

Your hand trembles as it hovers near the window latch. One simple motion, one whispered invitation, and he would be inside. The thought sends shivers of fear and anticipation down your spine.

"What would happen?" you ask, your voice barely audible. "If I let you in..."

His eyes gleam in the darkness. "Aw, don't be coy, now." He continued, his voice low, "Aincha tired? Of playin' the good girl?"

"I ain't playin."

"Then let me inside."

Your jaw clenched, and you pressed your lips together, like if you opened them, you wouldn't know what would come out. But, God, you wanted to. You wanted to just say that one word to let him in and receive all the pleasure and indulgence he was promising. But your silence hung loud. You were afraid.

And you could tell he knew it too.

His hands tightened perilously around the frame of the window, a cage of fingers desperate to pull you in while keeping him locked out. The tendons in his wrists flexed like claws. His breath caught, a raw rasp in the air. When he spoke, his voice was shredded with wanting: "Open this window. And. Let. Me. In."

His words dissolved the fragile armor you had tried to build against him, slipping silently into your gut like a seduction turned weapon. It was over; you knew it then. A warning shrieked from the rational recesses of your mind—run, hide. Yet something deeper, something primal and inexplicable, whispers that perhaps death isn't the worst fate imaginable.

You shuddered beneath the weight of your own surrender, and a tiny gasp escaped your lips. "Come in," you finally caved, voice barely even audible. With a trembling hand, you reached for the latch and started to open the window for him.

He climbed through the window almost as soon as you opened it, his movements quick and jerky. One moment he was outside, the next he stood before you, close enough that you could feel the unnatural coolness radiating from his skin.

His eyes never left yours, that unblinking gaze holding you captive. The red glow had dimmed somewhat, but still flickered in their depths. His lips curled into a satisfied smile, revealing just the barest hint of those terrible teeth.

"There now," he murmured, his voice somehow more intimate, more dangerous in the confined space of your bedroom. "Was that so hard?"

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity as he took a single step closer. You instinctively backed away, your calves hitting the edge of your bed, but there was nowhere left to retreat. He raised his hand slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to flinch away—but you remained frozen, caught between terror and that inexplicable, shameful fascination.

His fingertips brushed your cheek with unexpected gentleness, cool against your feverish skin. The contact was feather-light, almost reverent, yet it sent a jolt through your entire body as if you'd been struck by lightning. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, your body betraying you once again.

"So warm," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I'd almost forgot what it feels like."

His touch traveled downward, fingers trailing along the column of your throat where your pulse hammered wildly against your skin. He paused there, feeling the rhythm of your fear and anticipation beneath his fingertips, a small smile playing at his lips.

Then his mouth was on yours, crushing, demanding. His body crowded yours, a solid wall of desperate need, pinning you against the momentum. Tongues tangled, a frantic, messy collision – less kiss, more claiming. He tasted your surprise, the faint saltiness, a familiar sweetness underneath. He pushed harder, fueled by years of starvation, a blind drive to consume. The world tilted. Balance lost. You went down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the floor with a muffled thud.

SMUT WARNING!!

He landed mostly on top, the impact insignificant. Air sawed in and out of his lungs. Below him, you. Your eyes wide, lips swollen, glistening with saliva – his saliva. The sight sent a jolt straight to his groin, his trousers suddenly, painfully tight. A trace of drool beaded at the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin.

You gazed up at him, eyes shimmering with pent-up desire, chest heaving with each rapid, anticipation-filled breath. "You're droolin'," you ogled.

He smiled.

"It ain't my fault you taste so good." He crawled over your body and caged it under his with his pelvis slotted between your thighs, "I want you to beg for it. Beg for me." Between layers of your nightshirt and his trousers, his cock ground into your mound while his clawed hand slid along the warm skin of your thigh. Your nightshirt rode up, until he reached your hip where the fabric of it bunched, its soft flesh dimpling in his bruising grasp.

"Say it," He crooned into your neck, breathing in your scent, his red eyes dilating beneath eyelids that fluttered closed. "Say, 'Remmick, please give me what I need.'"

Remmick. That was his name?

You let out a whimper, quickly biting down hard on your lower lip in a desperate attempt to muffle the wanton sound. "P-please... Remmick," You begged, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

A sinister laugh rumbled through Remmick, the sound dark and gravelly as it shook against your chest. "Atta-girl," he growled, nipping sharply at your earlobe. His hand, clutching your hip, slipped between your thighs, where he discovered you were bare under your nightshirt, and he hummed delightfully. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder as a groan rumbled deep in his chest when he found you wet and swollen, teeth grazing the skin on your collarbone.

The tip of Remmicks nose skated along your sweat-slick neck until his lips found your ear and brushed against the shell of it as he spoke. "Yer soaked." He whispered, fingers finding your clit and circling it with torturing slowness, rolling the slick bud beneath the pad of his fingers.

You gasped, back instinctively arching on the floor as you craved more of that sweet friction. "S-stop teasin' me," you whined

"Why? Did you need somethin'?" He taunts. You want to snap at him to go faster, but getting irritated would only delay it more. "Use yer words, sugar." He sank his middle and ring fingers inside you, grinning devilishly against your neck, before delivering a sharp bite.

You let out a strangled moan, turning your head to the side to try to escape Remmick's' sharp teeth and scorching breath. "What do you need?" He asked, words muffled as they sawed between his teeth and your flesh. He curled his fingers into the bundle of nerves at the front of your walls. "Say it."

You clenched your thighs together, trying to trap his invading fingers, but the slick heat of you only allowed them to sink deeper. "I need you," you writhed, unable to keep still.

Remmick's fingers never ceased their brutal pumping, plunging in and out of your soaked, clutching heat. As he worked he watched you struggle, your nails digging into the wood floors. For a few minutes there's nothing but the obscene sound of your arousal, mingling with the creaking of the wood floors and your increasingly ragged breaths.

Your spine twisted into knots at the bottom of your back, hips bucking to meet the angle of fingers. The muscles in your stomach clenched, and your head lolled back, eyes closed, unshameful moans of pleasure quietly resonating through the room. Just when you felt the consistent building of your orgasm about to release, insides twitching around his fingers, he withdrew them, lifting his head up just enough to meet your gaze.

Looking up at him in confusion, your eyes followed his fingers as he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a predatory hum. He removed them with a wet pop, grinning wildly as he saw your lips part in protest.

"What? You want'a taste?" He teased, saliva-soaked fingers glinting in the dark light. He brought his hand close to your mouth, stopping when the pads of his fingers grazed over your lips. "Open wide."

The tips of his fingers pushed past your lips, and your mouth parted farther, making space for his digits to wedge further inside. He leaned in lips brushing against your temple and he buried his nose in your hair and breathed. He groaned, fingers pushing deeper into your mouth. You choked quietly, but that didn't stop him. He watched as you struggled to take his fingers, your lips around him.

His cock throbbed at seeing you like this. Quivering and needy. It was almost enough to make him come right then and there.

Remmick slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, smearing the spit across your lips.

He captured your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his smoldering red eyes as he loomed over you. His own gaze was dark with lust and a twisted sort of affection, his pupils blown wide and dilating as he looked at you, drinking in every expression and breath.

HIs other hand slid up from your hip, claws raking lightly over the soft skin of your belly before cupping the swell of your breast. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his palm, could feel the way your nipple pebbled against the thin fabric of her nightshirt. He tweaked the sensitive nub between his fingers, rolling and pinching it until you gasped, back arching off the floor.

"It feels good, don't it?" He murmured, his breath hot against your neck. His lips found yours, claiming your mouth in a demanding kiss. His tongue pushed past your teeth, invading, conquering, laying waste to any resistance you might have left.

He could feel you melting, could feel the fight draining out of you as he touched you, kissed you, filled you.

He broke the kiss, leaving you gasping and panting beneath him. "Now," he said softly, almost gently. "I'm gon make you feel real good."

He positions his arms on either side of you, and lowers his mouth onto your neck. The sudden feeling of his lips made you whimper, and he chased after the sound, trailing down your throat towards your chest... down your stomach... down your thighs.

As he pulled closer to your heat, you couldn't help but squirm under him. He gripped your thighs and lifted them off the floor, getting on his knees and lowering his head between your thighs. He slowly made his way upwards, breath hot against your skin.

When he reached your core, there was a pause before he pressed his mouth against you. You let out a pathetic moan as his tongue licked a warm, wet strip to the center of your cunt. Your head lolled back as the feeling of him lapping at you was so overwhelming you didn't know what to do.

He drags his tongue up your clit, wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking. Hard. You practically scream out in pleasure before slapping a hand to your mouth, remembering where you were.

You feel him grin into your pussy as he sucks harder and you twitch. Your hand flies into his hair, gripping the strands and pushing his head deeper as you chase your climax. He doesn't seem to mind it though.

"I'm gonna - fuck," you said, breathless as you feel your orgasm building inside you. You clench your thighs around his help, but his grip on your hips tightens, spreading them apart again.

"Remmick - wait," you said, but he doesn't stop. He wanted you to come undone in his mouth.

He watched you hungrily, eyes on your throat as your head fell back, restless whimpers falling from your lips. He delivered one finally suck, the pressure driving you over the edge. You let out a ragged cry, legs closing around his head. Your hips shoot upwards, grinding into him as you ride out your orgasm.

You lay, worn out, chest heaving. You stared at the ceiling, eyes heavy, hands falling to your sides. Remmick stayed between your thighs, dragging his tongue around your skin to clean you up. "You alright?"

You let out a drowsy hum in response, eyes following him as he climbed on top of you. You watched as he smiled down at you, lips brushing against your temple tenderly. He kneeled back, observing you lying there. Without warning, he lifted you up.

You murmured in protest, but he hushed you softly, "Shhh, stay quiet." He carried you to your bed and placed you gently on the mattress. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, feeling unexpectedly calm given the... circumstances.

"I've gotta' leave now," he said softly, brushing your hair away from your face.

"And why is that?"

"'Cause I just have to." You let out a small huff, but he merely laughed quietly. "Best you sleep now." He stood up straight, taking a step backwards towards the open window. "But, I'll be back soon enough." 

A shiver coursed through your body, not of fear, but of anticipation. It was as if the very air around you had changed—charged with a new energy. The weight of fear had lifted, replaced by a sense of exhilaration and readiness that warmed your core. Something had shifted within you, and you realized you were no longer afraid of him. Not even in the slightest. 

[rottingpink]

late nights | jason todd

cw; body worship, groping, nursing fetish, fixations (sensory, oral) clingy! jason, missionary, raw sex, breeding, teasing, nastyyyyyy sex, tit sucking, perv jason, mdni

synopsis: jason has a thing for tits. and milk.

main masterlist

jason has a dazed expression on his face. you'd been listening to him recount his day as you lay in your shared bed together, while he lays on you, but he's gone quiet. his head is lifted from your chest just enough to stare very intently at the smooth expanse of your cleavage.

he doesn't even pretend to be subtle, just blinks slowly, like he's half-awake. you coo softly, petting his soft black hair to keep him present, even as his gaze remains locked on your breasts. "you okay, jay?" you murmur, smiling gently.

jason doesn't look away. " 'm fine," he mutters, voice low and soft due to the sleepy tone he always gets when he's this close to you and feels safe. "just thinkin'. "

"mm." you hum in response. "right, you're thinking." you keep carding your fingers through his short hair, having an idea what's on his mind. "bout your tits." he says flatly, not even a trace of shame in his voice. "can’t focus at all when they're like this."

he squishes your tits together in his huge hands so they push up together and look even plumper and perkier. "all soft 'n squished up like this," he mumbles, staring at how you gasp and twitch under him when he squeezes you. "you're just layin' there. expectin' me to have anything else goin' on in my head?"

you pant a little, trying to act normal when you get so sensitive from the slightest touch he leaves on you. "you- mnh!- were mid sentence, jay!"

jason grunts and lowers his head again so his mouth slots over your sternum and then travels lower down to kiss at your cleavage, hands curling around your soft tank top to tug down and expose your tits. "doesn't matter. wasn't important."

jason doesn't even try to hide it anymore. once he's got his face buried in your tits, it's over. he's not budging. big, solid body draped over yours, one arm curled under you, the other hand warm and rough where it settles under your shirt. He palms one gently, holding your tit in his huge hand and brushing his thumb over the soft curve like he's trying to memorize the weight, the shape.

"so fuckin' perfect," he murmurs under his breath like he forgot you could hear him. you squirm a little, breath catching, and he sees your chest rising, soft little noises slipping past your lips that you didn't mean to make. he lifts his head again, eyes flitting up to yours. something shifts in his expression like he discovered something new. "that make you whine?" he says, almost to himself. "just that?"

you blink down at him, flustered. "n-no..."

jason huffs a breath through his nose, not believing you for a second, and presses his palm in a little firmer, thumb flicking, causing you to whimper loudly once more, and he reaches to grip your other breast, fondling them in his hands experimentally. he groans softly and dips his head again, nuzzling you. "could touch you all fuckin' day," he mumbles against your skin.

jason's mouth is hot where it meets the swell of your breasts, plush lips trailing slow, claiming kisses over your skin. he takes his time, nosing along the curve reverently. "softest fuckin' thing I've ever felt," he mumbles, dragging his tongue over the underside. His hand keeps palming you, thumb lazily swiping over your nipple. "you got no idea what you do to me like this."

you squirm and gnaw on your lip to muffle your sounds, hips shifting under him like they've got a mind of their own. "jay," you moan weakly, hands tugging at the soft strands of his hair.

" 'm right here, baby," he says, too calm for how hard he's breathing, too fond for the way his hands continue to squeeze greedily. "you need somethin'?" he watches your throat bob as you swallow, sees your fingers clench around his hair. "want more of your mouth, jason," you plead softly.

jason lets out the most obscene groan, and then he's on you again, mouth hot and wet, tongue swirling around one peak while his hand covers the other, teasing, coaxing every reaction out of you. you gasp, arching into his mouth before you can help it. "fuckin' hell," jason growls against your skin. "that's the sound i wanted."

breathless, you press your thighs together to try and get some friction between your legs, your body giving away how in heat you are each time you twitch or clutch him tighter. he switches sides without warning, sucking the other nipple into his mouth with a groan. The wet drag of his tongue makes you cry out again, louder this time.

his lips seal over your areola with a soft suck, but then he switches sides again, giving the other nipple the same slow, adoring treatment, wet, open-mouthed kisses that bring heat right to your pussy. his hands don't stop kneading your soft mounds.

you whimper his name again, so breathy and soft it makes him shudder, but jason's too far gone to respond. he can't believe he didn't worship your tits like this earlier. his mouth returns to your breast with purpose this time, need pulsing through every movement like a current under his skin.

he drags his heavy, thick tongue along your nipple again before wrapping his lips around you once more to greedily suckle and pull at you while he palms your other breast, heavy hand molding over soft flesh.

jason presses in harder, flattening his tongue before curling it again around the tip and sucking, suckling, so hot and slow you can feel the drool slipping from the corners of his mouth. he doesn't wipe it away. all he cares about is the feel and taste of you, but he still wants more. more of you. something seems to be missing. you can feel his desperation in the way he suckles harder, arms tightening around you and dragging you closer so your breast fills his mouth more completely.

jason's nose is buried against the warm swell of your chest, hips pressing against your soft, puffy pussy and rocking slowly and lazily, an unconscious act meant to alleviate some of the pressure built up in his hard cock. you glance down and see him like eyes closed, lashes low against his cheeks, mouth full and suckling, his hand greedily kneading the other breast like it'll coax something out.

your breathing picks up, soft whines leaving your mouth as you busy your hands with petting his short hair, eyes fluttering at the influx of pleasure. you hear faint groans coming from him while he humps you and sucks your tits a little too hard. "please..." you whisper, voice weak. he doesn't stop, messily dragging his mouth over your nipple, sealing his lips and sucking hard enough to make you cry out. "fuck, jay! ge-gentle, please!"

jason anchors you still to restrict you from squirming away, trying to coax sweetness out of you with his mouth alone, face flushed, lips shiny, cheeks hollowing as he suckles hungrily. he hasn't even touched you anywhere else and you're already soaked. "still not enough," he rasps, dragging his tongue over the swollen tip of your nipple again. "wanna keep suckin' 'til you're leakin' for me."

you go still under him with surprise, even though you can't focus long because his tongue licks a broad stripe over the valley of your tits as he pays more attention to your other breast. "w-what do you mean, j-jase?"

he grunts. "you know what i mean. milk, wan' it warm from you. wanna feel it on my tongue."

his mouth returns to your nipple once more, tongue curling before he sucks deeply, clothed cock still rutting between your thighs. his hands squeeze around your breasts as if he can force something out of you just by willing it hard enough.

his hips rut against you, grinding between your spread thighs in lazy rough thrusts, not even inside you, but his cock is heavy and hard under the sweats he never got a chance to take off. you're soaked through your panties and you can feel the heat of his lower half against you, even through layers. "wanna put it in you," he mumbles, eyes dark and hooded.

he lifts his head just enough to look you in the eyes, like it physically hurts him to stop suckling at your tits. his mouth is wet and flushed. "i have to fuck you," he whispers, reverent, thumb brushing your spit-slick nipple. "right now, sweetheart."

you nod a little too fast, body already arching toward him. you don’t even try to pretend to play coy because jason knows how bad you want him. your panties are soaked through and your whole body is buzzing from how he touched you. "then take me," you murmur, breath hitching.

he groans, then he's dragging the covers down just enough to get to what he needs, your soft, leaky little cunt. his mouth finds your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips, all sloppy, smearing kisses as his hands bunch your tank top higher until it's tangled under your arms and your tits are fully bare to the warm air of your bedroom.

he presses his forehead to yours, panting, making direct eye contact with you as he tugs his sweats and boxers off, heavy, fat cock slapping against his stomach with a wet sound. he grabs it in his marred fist, lining the dewy, flared tip up at your clothed hole before gently pulling the soaked cotton of your panties to the side so he can grind his cock at your entrance. "y'feel that?" he murmurs, hips rolling into the plush heat of your pussy, just barely, before drawing back. "so fuckin' hard for you it hurts."

"jay, no teasing please," you whine, voice gone needy as you move your arms so they're wrapped around his thick neck. "been wanting…"

"shh," he soothes, kissing the side of your mouth, then your chin. "I know, baby. I know." he coaxes you to calm down, but makes no move to sink inside you yet, still rubbing himself against your swollen folds, barely slipping the tip in. his eyes flit back to the way your breasts jiggle with each rock of his hips. "shit," he mutters, "this all from me suckin' your tits?"

you nod, biting your lip hard, and his eyes flutter. you spread your legs a little in an attempt to coax him to fuck you proper, pussy glistening under his gaze. his cock is leaking steadily now, creamy beads of pre-cum spreading at the tip.

jason fists his cock at the base, eyes returning to the swell of your tits as he lines himself up again. but still, he doesn't push in yet. he grips the base of his thick cock firmly in his hand to keep it positioned between your puffy pussy lips, eyes flicking between your face and tits. "look at you," he murmurs, voice condescending. "why're you squirmin' so much, hm baby? haven't even put it in you yet."

you whine loudly, hips moving upwards and rolling against his to get him to stop teasing, but it doesn't work. he slaps the head of his cock against your clit once, slow and deliberate, and your whole body jolts. "yeah, 's what I though." he grits, voice quiet and mean. he presses the tip inside you once more and rolls his hips just enough to make you mewl and squirm as the head of his cock spears into you. he watches your tits bounce every time you shift your body around, and

he reaches down to squeeze at the pillowy flesh again and tug your nipples. you gasp, arching up into him, and he groans deep in his throat. "please," you whisper, voice cracking from how badly you want it. “jay, please.”

he huffs at your insistence, but finally indulges you, pushing his huge, heavy cock past your hole and deep inside slowly, slowly, and then, when hes halfway in, he slams the rest in hard enough to make you jolt, his huge cock splitting you open and filling up your tummy. "oh fuuuuuuuuuuck," he groans loudly, head thrown back. " 's fuckin' tight, baby." you scream, hands clawing at his shoulders, thighs flying up around his waist, and your back arches as he stretches you out, causing your greedy pussy to ache and throb around him.

"don't move yet. 'm serious, lemme just..." he groans and shudders a little, feeling you clamp down around him. "lemme stay in you for a sec." you nod quickly, whining, and jason exhales slowly, resting his weight more fully on you. he drops his face to your chest again, kissing the swell of your breast.

he pulls out just enough to feel your walls drag along his length, then thrusts back in hard, and the sound it makes is obscene, wet and sloppy, your body bouncing against the mattress under the weight of him. you moan loud, head tipping back, and he snarls through his teeth, biting at your nipple now, just enough to sting. “yeah, you like that, you stupid little thing” he mutters. “you fuckin’ love when I’m rough with you, huh?”

your moans grow louder, and you nod, hands scrabbling to grab something, settling on his broad shoulders. your pussy clenches hard around him, and jason grunts, thrusting hard and sloppy inside you. " 's what i thought."

he keeps fucking into you, your tits bouncing so prettily with his force, but he's mostly holding them still with his body splayed on top of yours, his mouth locked on your tits yet again, hands having shifted to your waist. he drags you a little closer, grinding his hips forward in a lazy, heavy roll that encourages another sharp little moan from your lips. you arch up for him, back bowing and breasts pressing into his chest.

jason starts to fall into a rhythm, his cock sinking into you deeply, before he drags it back slow enough to let your walls grip and squeeze onto him, then he pushes all the way back in again, thick length splitting you open until your cunt is stretched to the edge of pain. your pussy's so wet and swollen, walls fluttering around the fullness of his shaft. "goddamn, baby," he grits out, voice rough in your ear as he watches your pussy stretch around him. "y'feel that? grippin' me like you don't wanna let go."

his chest stays pressed to yours, the heat of his skin sticky where it meets yours, but he doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t even give you space to breathe properly. just fucks you deep, body heavy over yours, mouth attached to your tits like he can’t choose which he wants more. "mmh, jason its so good," you cry out way too loud, hands squeezing at his shoulders, your nails cutting into his skin.

your noises get higher and breathier, little whimpers tumbling out of you with every slow thrust, and jason just groans against your skin, lips wet where they drag over your nipple again. he tongues over it, gentle at first, then lets out a soft hiss when a little more slick coats your cunt from how deep he hits. "so swollen and pretty, baby. stuffed full'a my cock and still beggin' for more." his hand smooths over your tummy, pressing down just a little, eyes flicking to the slight bulge he can feel with every deep thrust. "right there, fuck... y'take me so good."

"jason!"

your pussy clenches tighter around him as he shoves his cock in you deeply, your mouth open on a choked moan that makes jason throb inside you. he sucks at your nipple again like he's desperate for something to come out. he really believes he can pull it from you if he just stays latched on long enough, tongue flicking over the puffy bud before he pulls off with a wet pop, then goes right back in.

"keep thinkin' about you drippin' for me, baby. leakin' into my mouth." he rolls his hips deeper, grinding slow as his cock kisses your gummy womb. "wanna suck 'em til you're cryin'. i'll get you so full you start leakin' without me even touchin' you."

he uses his grip on your waist to fuck you in place, thrusts staying slow but deep, as he drags along every fluttering sweet spot inside you until you're shaking under him, and every time his hips slam forward, your tits bounce up into his mouth. "keep thinkin' about you pregnant, knockin' you up so your tits fill up. they'd be leakin' for me while i fuck you stupid." he fucks his cock into you with another slow, grinding thrust, dragging the fat head of his cock along your walls as your pussy pulses and shudders around him.

his hips rut into you faster, balls slapping heavily against your ass as your body bucks every time his cock pushes deeper. you can feel yourself falling apart, as he keeps sucking your chest and fucking you so deeply that it feels like he's trying to mold his shape into your pussy. he starts to lose his rhythm soon after, his hips stuttering, cock dragging harder through your soaked, pulsing cunt. the pressure in his hips shifts from controlled to reckless, wet slaps echoing louder around the room.

"you're squeezin' me so fuckin' tight, shit...this pussy's so wet, doll, you hear that?" he pounds into you harder and the sound your bodies make together is absolutely obscene, slick, messy and so icky, your pussy squelching wet around him. his cock batters your insides with every thrust, hitting deep, deep, deep until your thighs are shaking around him.

then his hand slips between you, and you cry out when he presses two fingers right to your swollen clit, already throbbing. he circles it fast. you sob for him, breath catching in your throat as your body starts to snap, your muscles tightening all at once around his cock, pleasure spiking so hot and sudden your legs seize up around his waist and your back arches. your cunt squeezes hard around him, as you cum, drenching his cock in another gush of slick.

jason groans, thrusting one more time as his cock twitches inside you, then he's spilling into you. hot cum floods your pussy in thick ropes, his hips jerking again as he fucks into you while he cums. one hand stays gripping your waist, while his other hand toys with and pinches your clit to overstimulate you through your orgasm.

he doesn't pull out, staying buried inside you as his cock pulses deep inside your guts as your walls flutter around him. cum leaks out of you as it overfloods your pussy, but it doesn't stop, his cock still rutting into you. his thumb gently rubs your clit, and he leans down to your face to kiss you deeply. "mmh... love you s'much baby," jason murmurs into your mouth.

-

jason todd taglist: @moonlight-dreamer04 @atanukileaf @tcddszn

[shy9-29]

My Voice Stops Where You Begin | 박성훈

“she fell first, he fell harder.” - enhypen campus series

୨ৎ You fell first—loud, chaotic, hopelessly into Park Sunghoon. He barely spoke, barely looked your way… until he did. And when he fell, he didn’t just fall—he crashed. ✉️ wc. 19.7k - quiet 박성훈 x talkative yn | PT2

🏷️ @fancypeacepersona @k1ttyjwon @m1kkso @enjakey @motherscrustytoenailclippings @dearestdreamies @wonuziex @jendeuke-bae @haerni @koizekomi @mariegibeau @sheseung @httpenhoon @sievenderz @rikifever @skzenhalove @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @bloomiize

It was the first day of university, and you were already running late. The strap of your bag was digging into your shoulder, your coffee was lukewarm, and you were half-jogging across campus trying to figure out where “Hall B, Room 204” was. You burst into the lecture hall just as the professor was introducing himself, cheeks flushed, hair slightly out of place. A few heads turned. Some people smiled politely. One guy sitting in the back corner didn’t even glance up.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You were too busy trying to find an empty seat, preferably one not directly in the line of fire for first-day introductions. You settled in the middle row, somewhere between too eager and too aloof. You pulled out your notebook, took a sip of your now-offensively warm coffee, and let out a breath. That’s when your eyes wandered—just casually, no intention behind it. And that’s when you saw him.

Back row. Headphones in. Face like stone. Tall, pale, a little slouched like he was already tired of being here. He wasn’t paying attention to anything or anyone. Just staring ahead like the world around him didn’t concern him in the slightest. And somehow… that made you look again. There was something about him that didn’t match the rest of the room. Like he belonged somewhere else entirely. You didn’t even know his name yet, but for some reason, your stomach flipped.

Over the next few weeks, you saw him everywhere.

And you were everywhere too—because that’s who you were. Loud. Friendly. Constantly surrounded by people. You liked talking, liked filling up space, liked being known. But every time you were in the same room as him, something shifted. Your words dried up. Your laugh softened. You’d glance over at him and forget what you were even saying. It didn’t make sense. You had no reason to feel nervous—he wasn’t even looking at you. But still, you felt it. That slow, creeping kind of curiosity. That quiet pull.

Sunghoon was tired. Everywhere he went, there was a shadow. And not his—an annoying 5’3 one that followed him everywhere. You were always in his line of sight. Talking to someone, laughing too loud, waving your hands when you got excited about something. You were like color in an otherwise grayscale world. Yet she never spoke to him, not a single word. Just observed him from a distance. He noticed. He just didn’t show it.

You didn’t know it then, but that was when it started—when you first fell. You didn’t fall hard, not all at once. It was quiet. Subtle. The way your heart picked up a little when you spotted him in the dining hall. The way you slowed down just slightly when you passed him outside the library. The way you memorized his schedule without meaning to. You didn’t know him. But you wanted to.

And that want? It grew.

You started timing your days around him—not on purpose, at first. It was just that your 10 a.m. lecture happened to be one he was in, and you figured out pretty quickly that he always got there five minutes early, headphones in, hood up if it was cold. He always sat in the same seat: back row, second from the window. You always sat three rows down, a little to the left, just enough to keep him in your peripheral vision. You told yourself it wasn’t weird. People watched people. That’s what people did.

But you didn’t watch everyone.

You watched him.

Sometimes you’d catch little things. The way he tapped his pen when he was thinking, or the way his fingers curled around his water bottle like he was grounding himself. You noticed how he always had one earbud out during lectures, like he didn’t fully trust the silence. You wondered what he was listening to. You wondered what his voice sounded like when he wasn’t mumbling out answers or mumbling “here” during attendance.

You had about a dozen opportunities to talk to him. You were you, after all—there was always someone asking you something, pulling you into something. You weren’t shy. You never had been. But when it came to him, you just… couldn’t. You’d freeze. Smile too quickly. Look away. And he never made it easier—never looked at you long enough to give you a window, never gave you a reason to think he even knew you were there.

But he did.

Sunghoon knew.

He wasn’t stupid. You were loud. Impossible to miss. Like a radio that never turned off. Like summer in the middle of a dull winter. He noticed how you always seemed to sit near him, always looked like you were about to say something but never did. He told himself it was just coincidence. Just one of those things. But then it kept happening. Over and over. The same girl. The same smile. The same presence that made the air feel different.

And yeah—he was tired. All the time. Not from school, not from work. Just… life. People. Noise. But then there was you. This exhausting, glowing thing that wouldn’t leave him alone. You weren’t trying to, but you were there. In his classes. In his thoughts. In the parts of the day where he didn’t expect to feel anything.

And eventually, something cracked.

But not yet. Not then. Because you had already fallen. Quietly, completely, helplessly. And he hadn’t even started.

You flopped onto your bed with all the dramatic flair of someone who had just survived a war, limbs sprawled out, backpack tossed somewhere near your desk.

“Hes sooo fine,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled but full of conviction. “Like, actually unfair. How is someone allowed to look like that and not speak to a single soul?” From the other side of the room, Stella barely looked up from her laptop. “You mean Park Sunghoon?” she asked, already sounding unimpressed. “I don’t get it. It’s like being attracted to a white wall.”

You lifted your head, offended. “First of all, he’s not a white wall. He’s more like… a minimalist painting. You know, subtle. Mysterious. Expensive.” Stella snorted. “Girl, he blinked at you once and you’ve been writing fanfiction in your brain ever since.” You threw a pillow at her. “You don’t get it. There’s just something about him.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, catching the pillow and tossing it back. “Something emotionally unavailable.” You didn’t argue, mostly because she was right. But also because you’d already started thinking about what Sunghoon’s voice might sound like if he ever actually spoke to you. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to your Sunghoon obsession. “Do you think he even knows I exist?”

Stella let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You sit three rows in front of him. You laugh like a Disney side character. You’ve accidentally tripped twice walking past his seat. If he doesn’t know by now, he’s either legally blind or willfully ignoring you.” You groaned again, dragging a pillow over your face. “Kill me.”

“He’s cute, sure,” she continued, typing something on her laptop, “but he literally said ‘no thanks’ when a girl asked him if he wanted to join their study group. No thanks. Like he was declining an email subscription.” You laughed, muffled by the pillow. “He probably has a really soft voice. Like… barely audible. A whisper. Velvet.”

Stella gave you a look. “You need help.”

“I need him.”

She shut her laptop. “No, babe. You need to talk to him. Say something. Anything. Even just ‘hi.’ Break the curse.” You peeked out from under the pillow, heart already doing gymnastics at the thought. “But what if he looks at me?”

“That’s the whole point.”

You stared at her, horrified. “Absolutely not. I’d combust on the spot.”

“Then enjoy your silent crush from the shadows, weirdo.” You flopped again, dramatically. “Fine. But if I die from unspoken romantic tension, it’s on you.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Put it in your will, Romeo.”

The next morning, you woke up with a mission: to maybe say something to Sunghoon today. Nothing crazy. Not a full sentence or anything. Just a word. A syllable, even. A polite “hey” if the stars aligned and your voice didn’t betray you.

You spent an extra five minutes picking your outfit—something casual but not too casual. Like, “I didn’t try, but also I absolutely did.” Stella noticed, obviously. “You’re wearing the ‘Hot but I’m Not Trying’ outfit,” she said through a mouthful of cereal. “Is today The Day?” You shrugged, grabbing your bag and pretending you weren’t already sweating. “It might be.” Stella clapped slowly. “Godspeed, soldier.

By the time you got to class, your nerves were starting to spiral. Sunghoon was already there, sitting in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, fingers tapping against the desk to whatever he was listening to. He looked unfairly good in a black hoodie and gray sweats, like someone had just pulled him out of a moody K-drama. His side profile was so sharp it should’ve been illegal.

You walked past him, fully prepared to say something, anything—He looked up. Briefly. Just for a second. Eye contact.

And then—back down. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just send your soul into orbit with a single glance.

You speed-walked to your seat and nearly collapsed into it, heart pounding like you’d just run a marathon. You turned around just enough to glance back at him. Still headphones in. Still unbothered. Still so fine.

You opened your phone under the desk and texted Stella:

Me: I made eye contact. I think I’m pregnant.

She responded instantly.

Stella: omg congrats on the baby!!! do u know if it’s a ghost or a shadow????

You had to bite your lip to stop from laughing out loud. You looked up one more time. Sunghoon hadn’t moved. Still in his own world. Still completely unreadable. But you swore—swore—the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost like a smile. Almost.

You spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes while your brain went into overdrive analyzing that one almost-smile like it was a sacred artifact. Had it really happened? Or were you just so far gone that you were starting to hallucinate expressions on his face that weren’t actually there? You tried to sneak another glance at him halfway through class, just to confirm—but he was fully zoned out again, one hand lazily spinning his pen, the other resting against his jaw, headphones still in. Unbothered. Untouchable. Beautiful in the way that made your brain short-circuit if you stared too long.

When the professor dismissed everyone, you packed up slower than usual, hoping—praying—that the universe would throw you a bone. Maybe he’d glance your way again. Maybe you’d make accidental eye contact and he’d hold it this time. Maybe he’d say something. Or you would. But, as always, Sunghoon stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked straight past you like he hadn’t just been living rent-free in your brain for the last three months. You sighed so loudly, the girl next to you looked concerned.

The time you got back to your dorm, you threw the door open with unnecessary force. Stella looked up from her desk. “Well?” You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the floor like the tragic lead in a college rom-com. “He looked at me again.”

She blinked. “…And?”

“And I felt it in my knees, Stella.” She closed her laptop, looking both amused and vaguely concerned. “You’ve got it bad.”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I think I’m in love with someone I��ve never spoken to. Do you think they make support groups for this kind of thing?”

“I think it’s called delusion, girl.” You dramatically flung an arm over your forehead. “Well, I’m the president then.” She tossed a granola bar at you. “Eat something and touch grass.”

You caught it without looking, sighing. “I swear he almost smiled.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think that counts as a conversation.”

She snorted. “Yeah, and I think you need help.” You took a bite of the granola bar and chewed in silence, thinking about the half-second twitch of his lips.

It was barely anything. Almost nothing. But to you? It was everything.

Later that night, you were curled up in bed, halfway through rewatching a comfort show you’d seen a hundred times, when the ping of a new email lit up your phone screen. You glanced at it lazily, expecting another boring newsletter or some campus event you weren’t going to attend.

But then your eyes locked on the subject line:

Group Project – PSY214: Social Behavior & Perception

Your heart stuttered. That was the class. The class with Sunghoon.

You sat up so fast your blanket fell off your shoulders. Opening the email, you scanned the body of the message like your life depended on it. The professor had assigned a project to be completed in pairs—not groups, pairs—and said you could choose your own partner, but you had to submit the name by the end of the week.

The universe had officially spoken.

You practically flew off your bed and ran out into the common area where Stella was on the couch, face half-buried in a bowl of popcorn, watching some true crime documentary with the volume way too high.

“STELLA.” You skidded to a stop in front of her, completely out of breath. She jumped, a kernel of popcorn flying out of her bowl. “Jesus—what?” You gripped the back of the couch like your soul might detach from your body. “Group project. Pairs. In psych. With Sunghoon. This is it. This is the sign. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him.” She blinked at you. “Wait, you’re gonna speak to him?”

You nodded, eyes wide with some mix of fear and determination. “I have to. I’ve been given a golden opportunity by the universe. A gift. An invitation to break my curse of romantic cowardice. This is my moment. This is my origin story.”

Stella stared at you for a second. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I know. But you know what else I am? A people person. I’ve never had trouble talking to anyone. It’s literally my specialty. I can charm strangers in line at Starbucks. I can talk my way out of a parking ticket. I can talk to Sunghoon.” She raised a brow. “Okay, but can you do that without short-circuiting and running away like a squirrel?”

You narrowed your eyes. “…I’m working on it.”

Stella smirked and popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Well, you better work fast. Because every other psych major with eyeballs is probably already plotting the same thing.” You dramatically flopped onto the couch beside her, clutching a throw pillow. “Ughhh. Why is he so fine and so quiet? It’s a dangerous combination.”

“Oh, speaking of dangerous,” Stella added casually, eyes still on the screen, “Did you hear Heeseung and his girlfriend got into a huge argument? Like it was full on hands on.” You blinked, thrown completely off track. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

“Yep. My lab partner saw them holding hands outside the music building. She said it looked… not casual.” You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Okay, one emotionally unavailable man at a time, please.” Stella laughed. “You’re doomed.” You peeked over the pillow and mumbled, “Maybe. But at least I’ll go down trying.” She tossed a piece of popcorn at your forehead. “Godspeed, loser.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. Tomorrow, you were going to ask Park Sunghoon to be your partner. Or die trying.

The next morning, your alarm went off at an ungodly hour, and for once, you didn’t hit snooze. You shot out of bed like you had somewhere important to be. Like this was a mission. Because it was.

You had exactly one hour to mentally prepare yourself for what you were about to do: walk up to Park Sunghoon—aka human silence, aka your academic soulmate and secret crush—and ask him to be your partner. Easy. Simple. Nothing to be afraid of. You’ve talked to professors. You’ve hosted campus events. You’ve literally done improv in front of strangers. But now? Your hands were shaking because you might have to say five words to a man who barely speaks.

You stood in front of your mirror, practicing.

“Hey, wanna be partners?”

“No, that’s too blunt.”

“Hi! So I was wondering if—ew, no, too formal.”

“Yo.”

…Absolutely not.

From the other side of the room, Stella, still wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, cracked one eye open. “If you rehearse any longer, he’s gonna graduate before you speak.” You ignored her. “I’m manifesting smoothness, okay?”

“You’re manifesting cardiac arrest.”

By the time you got to class, your heart was already tap dancing in your chest. Sunghoon was in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, all black hoodie, unreadable face. You stared at him for a full three seconds before you remembered you were standing in the middle of the aisle like a lost tourist. You snapped out of it and shuffled to your seat three rows down, pulse racing. You needed to catch him before class started. That way, if he rejected you, at least you could die quietly while the lecture played.

You kept glancing back at him, trying to time it right. He was scrolling through his phone now, completely detached from the world like he was on another plane of existence. Okay. This was it. You turned around. Took a breath. Stood up. Walked up the steps to his row like you weren’t having an internal breakdown. He looked up the moment you reached him. Direct eye contact. Your brain blanked for a full second.

“…Hey,” you said, voice not nearly as stable as you’d practiced.

He pulled one earbud out, eyebrows raised slightly. “Hi.”

HI. HE SPOKE.

“Um. I was just wondering if you wanted to be partners for the psych project?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to make your confidence start to wither.

Then he replied, voice low and quiet, “I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

Oh.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. You hadn’t prepared for rejection. Especially not this calm, direct kind that somehow wasn’t even rude—it was just… final.

“Oh,” you said quickly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. “Cool! Yeah. That’s—totally fine.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, almost politely, and put his earbud back in.

You turned around and walked back to your seat like someone had just unplugged your entire personality.

When you sat down, you stared at your notes without actually seeing anything. Your ears were hot. Your hands felt weird. You blinked a few times like maybe you could reset the whole moment.

You grabbed your phone and typed furiously.

Me: abort mission. i asked. he said no. he already asked to work ALONE. ALONE stella. like a damn lone wolf. i just got REJECTED by someone who doesn’t even TALK to people.

Three seconds later, the reply came:

Stella: …damn

Stella: okay but lowkey that’s so on brand for him

Stella: also that wasn’t even personal he probs would’ve said no if a supermodel asked

You slumped forward onto your desk.

If this was your origin story, then this was the flop arc.

And you were going to need emotional CPR before class even started.

Class ended with the usual rustle of backpacks and the scrape of chairs, but you sat frozen in your seat for an extra ten seconds, staring at the back of Sunghoon’s head like it had personally betrayed you. He was already standing up, slinging his bag over one shoulder, cool and quiet as ever. Like he hadn’t just shattered your plans and self-esteem into a thousand quiet little pieces.

But something in you snapped.

No.

You were done being shy. Done rehearsing conversations in your head and letting the moment pass you by. You were not letting Park Sunghoon disappear into the hallway without saying another word.

You jumped up, heart racing, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “We’re doing this. We’re not going to shrivel up and die from embarrassment this time.”

You rushed up the stairs after him, catching him just before he reached the door. “Sunghoon.”

He stopped, turning to look at you, that same unreadable expression on his face.

You inhaled. “You’re gonna work with me.”

His brows lifted, just slightly, caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. “I told you—I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

You crossed your arms and raised your chin a little, tapping into your most extroverted, confident self—the version of you that could hold entire conversations with strangers and talk her way out of anything. “Then un-ask him.”

He blinked.

“I’m serious,” you continued, because if you stopped now you’d lose every ounce of courage. “You don’t even know me. What if I’m secretly a genius? What if we make the best team ever and win that bonus point thing he mentioned?”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, still quiet. Still unreadable.

You pointed at him. “You don’t have to like group work. But you’re gonna work with me.”

For a long second, he just stared at you.

The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, not really. But something. He scoffed. Not in a dramatic, mean way. Just… soft. Dismissive. Like you were amusing. Or ridiculous. Or both. And then he turned and kept walking, like you hadn’t just declared war on his solo-project lifestyle. You blinked. Oh, hell no. You shoved your bag higher up your shoulder and stormed after him.

“Seriously?” you said, catching up to him in two strides. “You’re just gonna walk away after that?” He didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

“You’re not even gonna consider it?”

“Nope.”

You huffed, falling into step beside him. “What is your deal with working alone? You allergic to people or something?” He side-eyed you. “You talk a lot.”

“Thank you,” you said flatly. “That’s literally the only reason I might save your grade.” He stopped walking. You stopped too, nearly crashing into him. He looked down at you—tall, pale, sharp-featured and quiet, like some sort of academic vampire who hated sunlight and group activities.

“Why are you so determined?” he asked finally, tone somewhere between annoyed and curious. You met his eyes, chin lifting. “Because I’ve never had someone ignore me this hard and still live in my brain rent-free. It’s annoying. So if I have to suffer through thinking about you all semester, you’re at least going to suffer with me. Equal pain.” His brows lifted just slightly.

“And,” you added quickly, “I don’t lose. So you’re working with me. End of story.”

Sunghoon stared at you for a beat longer. Like he couldn’t decide if you were insane or just persistent. Then he shook his head. And kept walking. But this time? He didn’t say no. You were halfway across campus the next day, trying to decide between skipping your next lecture or just emotionally disassociating through it, when you heard someone say your name.

Quietly. But definitely.

You turned around and almost tripped over your own feet when you saw him—Sunghoon. Hoodie, backpack, hands shoved in his pockets. Standing awkwardly like he wasn’t entirely sure he should’ve called out to you in the first place. Your heart did a full somersault. “Hi,” you said, maybe too brightly.

He blinked at you. “Hey.”

There was a weird beat of silence, filled with campus noise and your loud inner panic.

Then he shifted on his feet and muttered, “Can I get your number?”

Your brain exploded.

Was Park Sunghoon asking for your number? You stared at him, mouth slightly open, and he just stood there looking painfully neutral, like this was the last place he wanted to be.

“Are you—wait, are you asking me out?” you blurted, already regretting every second of your life.

His eyes widened just the slightest bit, like you’d accused him of a federal crime.

“No,” he said flatly. “For the project. So we can… communicate.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes going wide as the heat crept up your face. “Right. Duh. Obviously. Obviously.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie. “…Yeah.”

You scrambled to pull out your phone, nearly dropping it in your panic. “Here—yeah—just put yours in. That’s easier. I’ll text you. So we can… project. Collaborate. Academic synergy.”

He didn’t reply. Just took your phone, typed in his number, and handed it back wordlessly.

You stared down at the contact:

Park Sunghoon

(no emoji. no extra letters. just cold, clinical formality.)

“…Cool,” you said, trying to recover some semblance of dignity.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Then turned to walk away.

You watched him go, mentally facepalming so hard your soul cracked a little.

Your phone buzzed a moment later.

Unknown Number: it’s sunghoon

Unknown Number: let me know when you want to start

You sighed and saved the contact with a little ice cube emoji, because it felt fitting.

Sunghoon Park: cold exterior, barely speaking… and you were so in over your head.

Later that night, you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone balanced on your chest like it owed you something.

You had been so sure he was asking you out. So sure. For 0.3 seconds, you saw your entire future flash before your eyes: couple study dates, matching outfits, walking hand-in-hand through campus while he pretended not to hate the PDA. The works.

But nope.

Just… strictly professional group project business.

You groaned and rolled over, smothering your face into your pillow.

From the other side of the room, Stella looked up from her laptop. “What now?”

“He asked for my number.”

Her eyes lit up. “What? Shut up—did he really?”

You turned your head slightly, muffled. “For the project.”

She stared. “Oh. Ew. Okay.”

You rolled onto your back again, holding your phone up like it personally betrayed you. “I thought he was asking me out. I literally said, ‘Are you asking me out?’”

Stella burst out laughing, no remorse. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And the way he looked at me? Like I just offered to burn down the library. He was so uncomfortable.”

“To be fair,” she said through a cackle, “he always looks uncomfortable.”

You sighed dramatically and stared at his text again.

let me know when you want to start

Simple. Distant. No smiley face. No unnecessary words. He probably sat there thinking about whether three words was too many.

You started typing back:

Me: hey! free tomorrow after 2 if that works? also we could meet at the lib—

Then deleted the whole thing. Too friendly.

Me: hi. library tomorrow at 2?

No. Too dry. You looked like him.

You finally settled on:

Me: hey! are you free tomorrow after 2? we could meet in the library to go over the project?

And then hit send before you could overthink it again.

You dropped your phone beside you and groaned. “This is the most effort I’ve ever put into a man who literally doesn’t speak.”

Stella didn’t even look up. “Honestly, that’s kind of your type.”

You buried your face in your pillow again.

Somewhere, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: ok

Sunghoon: 2 is fine

Two words. No punctuation. Classic. And yet—your heart did a full stupid little flip anyway.

You were ten minutes late.

Not fashionably late. Not oh-no-the-bus-was-slow late. Panicked, sweaty, tripping-over-your-own-shoelaces late.

The worst part? You couldn’t even blame traffic. You had literally just stood in front of your closet for fifteen minutes debating what shirt said I’m smart enough to do a group project but also hot enough to be a distraction.

By the time you rushed into the library, breathless and clutching your tote bag like a life raft, you spotted him immediately—tucked into a table near the window, surrounded by neat little piles of notes, black zip-up hoodie, dark jeans, laptop open, posture perfect.

And glasses.

You froze.

You had never seen Park Sunghoon wear glasses before. They were thin-rimmed and kind of crooked on his nose and, for some infuriating reason, stupidly hot.

He glanced up the second he noticed you, gaze sharp behind the lenses. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a weird, out-of-breath sound that wasn’t even a real word.

“…Hi,” he said, tone flat, but not mean. Just very Sunghoon.

“Hi!” you replied too loudly, stumbling as you dropped your bag into the chair across from him. “Sorry—I—I swear I left on time, but I forgot my charger and then I spilled, like, half a smoothie on my notes, and then I couldn’t find the entrance for some reason even though I come here all the time. It was a mess. I’m a mess. But hi!”

He blinked slowly, adjusting his glasses. “You’re here now.”

You nodded quickly. “I am. Present. Mentally, emotionally, physically—kind of.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with that same unreadable face, like he couldn’t decide if you were hilarious or exhausting.

You shifted in your chair, suddenly aware of how loud your breathing sounded. And your heartbeat. And how you had no idea what to do with your hands. Why did your fingers feel weird?

“So,” you said, pulling out your laptop and trying to act like your brain wasn’t short-circuiting over the glasses situation. “Psych project. Brainstorm time. Right.”

“Yeah.”

He was already back to typing something, eyes flicking over his screen, and you realized he didn’t even seem fazed. Like this was just… normal.

For you, it was a crisis.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. How did he look so composed? So chill? So academically intimidating with that stupid zip-up and those stupid glasses and his stupid, quiet, mysterious vibe?

“…Did you always wear glasses?” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

He paused. Looked at you.

“Only sometimes,” he said simply.

“Oh.” You looked back down at your screen. “Cool. They’re… you know. Fine. Cool. Very… smart.”

A long pause.

“Thanks.”

You wanted to sink into the floor.

It was going to be a long group project.

You had just started to feel semi-normal.

Sunghoon was being quiet—shock—but not cold. You were actually getting into the flow of outlining the project. He listened when you talked. Nodded. Occasionally gave input. It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it wasn’t the awkward apocalypse you were expecting, either.

And for a brief, fragile second, you thought this might be the first chill moment you shared alone.

Naturally, the universe had other plans.

“Oooohhh, what do we have here?”

You looked up just in time to see three people you had never met stroll up to your table like they owned the entire library. One was tall, with dark eyes and a mischievous smile—Jay, though you didn’t know that yet. Next to him was a golden-haired guy with a killer grin, arm slung around girl. Jake. And Jake’s Girlfriend, apparently.

Jay gave you a once-over, then looked at Sunghoon like he’d just caught him in a crime. “We just thought we should come check out Sunghoon’s first date with a girl.”

Your eyes widened. You choked on air.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “It’s not a date.”

Jake’s girlfriend snorted. “At least he’s honest about it not being a date. Unlike my first date.”

Jake groaned beside her, dragging a hand down his face. “How many times did I apologize for that?”

You blinked. “Wait—what happened on your first date?”

She smiled sweetly. “He made a bet with his friends that he could get with me. You know, classic teen rom-com behavior.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw dropped.

Jake threw up his hands. “And I said I was sorry! I was reckless and stupid.”

“You’re still stupid,” she muttered, but leaned into his side anyway.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon just sat there, jaw clenched, radiating quiet murder.

Jay leaned closer, ignoring the tension. “Oh, but she definitely wants it to be a date,” he said, nodding at you with a teasing glint in his eye.

You choked again. “I—What—No?!”

Sunghoon shot him a warning glare. “Jay.”

Jay held up his hands, smirking. “Alright, alright. Just saying. She looks real invested in this collaboration.”

Before you could combust, another voice burst into the mix.

“GUYS.”

You turned in your seat just in time to see a boy with bleached blond hair, glowing skin, and a phone clutched in one hand come skidding to a stop at your table.

“Heeseung and his girlfriend are having another full-on screaming match outside the student center,” he announced like it was breaking news. “It’s getting dramatic. One of them might throw hands. Or a smoothie.”

He finally looked at you. “Oh, hi. Who’s this?”

“Sunoo,” Jake sighed, “this is… uh…”

“YN,” you supplied, feeling very out of place.

“She’s Sunghoon’s group partner,” Jay said, emphasis on partner, like it was code for something else.

Sunoo’s eyes lit up. “Ooooooohhhhhh.”

Sunghoon let out a sharp breath through his nose, practically vibrating with annoyance. “Why are you all here?”

“Checking up on you,” Jay said cheerfully. “You’re weird about new people. We had to make sure you weren’t malfunctioning.”

Jake nodded. “And to be fair, you are being weird.”

“I’m literally sitting,” Sunghoon snapped.

“Okay, yeah, but like. Sitting with a girl,” Sunoo said, raising his brows. “A cute girl. You see why that’s suspicious.”

You stared at your laptop, cheeks burning. The chaos was unreal.

Jake shook his head. “Anyway, back to the drama—how long are Heeseung and his girl gonna keep doing this?”

Jake’s girlfriend crossed her arms. “Maybe don’t make bets about girls and they won’t cuss you out on campus.”

“Babe,” Jake whined, “again, I said I was sorry. Let it gooo.”

Sunghoon stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jay asked.

“Anywhere that’s not here,” he muttered.

You jumped up after him, trying to gather your stuff. “Wait—Sunghoon!”

He didn’t slow down, and you had to basically jog to catch up, face still on fire. Behind you, Jay called, “Have fun on your not-date!”

And Sunoo added, “She’s cute! You better not screw it up!”

You didn’t dare look back.

You finally caught up to him halfway down the library stairs, breath short and hands still fumbling to shove your laptop into your bag.

“Sunghoon—wait,” you called, your voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.

He didn’t stop, but he did slow down just enough for you to trail beside him instead of behind like some kind of out-of-breath gremlin.

You walked in silence for a second. Just the two of you. The air was heavy, thick with secondhand embarrassment and the faint smell of old textbooks.

“…They’re your friends?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. Not that anything about the last five minutes had been casual.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

You bit your lip, half-smiling. “They’re… a lot.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept walking, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands and jaw tight like he was trying to bite back actual rage.

After a beat, you added, “I wasn’t expecting company. Or, you know, being accused of trying to date you in front of half your social circle.”

He stopped suddenly, turning toward you.

You skidded to a halt too, your breath catching a little—not just from the speed, but the way he was looking at you. Glasses slightly tilted, dark eyes unreadable, lips parted like he wanted to say something and hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

Then, very quietly, he said, “You didn’t… seem mad.”

You blinked. “Why would I be mad?”

His brows drew together. “At them. For saying all that. Teasing you.”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I was dying internally. But it’s fine. You didn’t say it. You just… looked like you wanted to strangle all of them.”

“I did.”

A short silence.

And then—you laughed. Soft and sudden, the sound surprising even yourself. “Well, thanks for that.”

His gaze flicked to you, something small softening in his expression. “They weren’t supposed to show up. I didn’t… want to make you uncomfortable.”

You stared at him for a second. Because that? That was the most he’d said to you since the day you met. And also maybe the most thoughtful thing anyone had said to you all week.

“…You didn’t,” you said, voice quieter now. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

His eyes searched yours for a second, like he didn’t quite believe you.

Then he looked away. “Good.”

You both stood there for a moment—just outside the building now, the cold air nipping at your cheeks, the sun sliding low behind campus buildings.

You finally broke the silence, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “So… should we try again? Like, library, take two? Maybe somewhere your friends won’t crash?”

He hesitated.

Then, finally—finally—he gave a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll bring snacks this time.”

He glanced sideways at you. “I don’t eat while I study.”

“Of course you don’t,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You probably highlight in perfect straight lines too.”

“…Sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “God. You’re such a nerd.”

But he didn’t say anything to that.

Just that same tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

And for the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him.

You felt like maybe—just maybe—he was meeting you halfway.

Sunghoon should’ve known they wouldn’t just leave.

He exhaled slowly as he stepped out into the cold, the library door thudding shut behind him—and there he was.

Sunoo. Leaning against a bike rack like he’d been waiting for him since the dawn of time. His bleach-blond hair glowed under the dying sun, and his jacket was entirely too thin for the temperature, but he looked completely unbothered. Smug, even.

The second he spotted Sunghoon, his whole face lit up. “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Sunghoon gave him a flat look. “Why are you still here?”

“Because Jay and Jake went to get smoothies, and I wasn’t about to sit through their disgusting couple energy. Plus,” Sunoo grinned, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Sunghoon didn’t stop walking. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it was!”

“I already know it’s something annoying.”

Sunoo skipped a few steps ahead to block his path, walking backwards now, eyes wide and suspiciously innocent. “So… who’s the girl?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Group project partner.”

Sunoo squinted at him. “Right. And I’m totally just here to study Heeseung and his girlfriend’s dysfunction like a science experiment.”

“She’s not my type,” Sunghoon muttered, looking away.

“You don’t even have a type.”

“Exactly.”

Sunoo hummed like he didn’t buy that for a second. “She’s cute.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

“And funny. And a little chaotic. But in a fun, like, ‘I talk to my plants and lose my keys twice a day’ kind of way.”

Still, no response.

Sunoo leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “Do you like her?”

Sunghoon stopped walking. Just stared at him, unreadable.

Sunoo smirked. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone.” He started to turn, then glanced back. “Actually—wait. Can I have her number?”

Sunghoon blinked. “What?”

“Just to be friends! Gosh. You think you’re the only one allowed to befriend hot, unbothered chaos girls?”

“You met her for like two minutes.”

Sunoo grinned. “And that’s all I needed. I have a sense for people. And she’s my kind of people.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.

“She’s part of our circle now,” Sunoo added, sing-song. “You brought her in. There’s no going back.”

“I didn’t bring her in,” he muttered.

“You literally let her follow you out of the library like a lost puppy.”

“I did not.”

“You didn’t stop her.”

Sunghoon looked away.

Sunoo smiled, victorious. “So? Her number?”

Sunghoon glared at him. “Ask her yourself.”

Sunoo squealed dramatically, spinning around on his heel. “Oh my god, I will. I’ll text her right after I follow her on Insta. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Behind him, Sunghoon muttered under his breath.

“…What was that?” Sunoo called over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Because for some reason, the idea of Sunoo texting you made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

And he didn’t want to think too hard about why.

You sat on your bed that night, still in your jeans and hoodie, your bag half-unpacked on the floor, laptop open but untouched, and brain moving at 300 miles per hour.

Your phone buzzed.

Stella:

Did you die or did Sunghoon kiss you or did you die because Sunghoon kissed you. I need updates.

You groaned, flopping onto your back and lifting your phone above your face.

Me:

None of the above. His friends ambushed us mid-study session and fully acted like I was his girlfriend. In public.

Stella:

WAIT. Which friends. Are they hot. I need names and Instas.

You sighed dramatically.

Me:

Jay. Jake (with his girlfriend). And some guy named Sunoo who said Heeseung and his girl were screaming again.

Also I think Sunoo might be my new best friend. He glows. Like??? How.

Stella:

JAY? As in soccer boy Jay?? Jake the business major? THEY WERE ALL THERE? NOOO I WAS ON THE WRONG CAMPUS TODAY.

Also Sunoo’s TikTok skin care routine is literally witchcraft I’ve seen it.

You laughed quietly to yourself, phone clutched to your chest for a second as your smile slowly faded into something more thoughtful.

Because, honestly?

You’d expected today to be awkward. Maybe awful.

You did not expect to feel… kind of okay.

Actually, more than okay.

Sure, you wanted to sink into the earth and die when Jay said you looked like you wanted it to be a date.

But then Sunghoon had looked actually annoyed—for you. And when you caught up to him, he didn’t walk away. He didn’t ignore you. He let you talk, let you tease him. Even cracked a tiny smile that made your entire brain short-circuit.

He didn’t seem like the type to say much. But he listened. And he noticed things. Like whether you were uncomfortable. Like how loud his friends could be.

That mattered more than you expected.

Your phone buzzed again.

Stella:

Okay but real talk. Did you feel anything? Like when you were sitting next to him? Being in his aura or whatever?

You stared at the screen for a second, then slowly typed:

Me:

Yeah.

He wore glasses.

I’m ruined.

Stella:

…That’s fair.

You rolled over, kicking your legs up and burying your face into your pillow with a groan. This wasn’t supposed to be a thing. You were supposed to get through the semester, maybe stare at him from afar a few more times, graduate with dignity.

Now? Now you were saving a contact in your phone as:

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = my downfall).

And you had a very bad feeling this was only the beginning.

The next morning, you got to class early. Like painfully early. Which was weird, because you were usually a chronic just-in-time kind of student—just enough hustle to not be late, never early enough to raise suspicion. But today? You practically skipped through the lecture hall doors, iced coffee in hand and a hopeful delusion bouncing around in your head like a movie trailer.

You spotted him right away—Sunghoon, in his usual seat near the window, hoodie pulled over his head like a warning sign, eyes glued to something on his laptop. Stoic. Brooding. Beautiful in that intimidating, I-read-whole-textbooks-for-fun kind of way. You took your seat beside him without hesitation this time. Victory, right? You were learning. Evolving. No more fear. Just controlled chaos and denial. He glanced at you as you sat. Said nothing. But you were used to that by now. Instead, you sipped your coffee and let your mind wander—straight into fantasyland.

Scenario One: You two finish the project early. Miraculously early. And somehow, that leaves just enough time for a casual, post-study hangout. Maybe he’s like, “I know this café down the street, wanna go?” And you act totally chill even though you’re internally combusting, and then one drink turns into two, and then next thing you know—

Scenario Two: He starts talking more. Like, actually talking. Maybe even laughing. You learn he’s got this dry, sarcastic sense of humor. The glasses make a comeback. He pushes them up while making some off-hand comment about people-watching or Nietzsche or whatever he reads for fun, and you just melt.

Scenario Three: He thanks you—like, really thanks you—for making the project more tolerable. You say something witty. He says something slightly flirty. There’s eye contact. And maybe, just maybe, he asks you to hang out again even after the project is over.

You blinked, realizing you were smiling into your coffee like an idiot.

“…What.” You jumped a little. Sunghoon was staring at you now, one brow raised behind his lashes, suspicious. You cleared your throat. “What?”

“You were smiling like you won something.” You coughed into your drink. “Oh. Um. No. Just… thinking.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “About?” You hesitated. You. Your stupid hoodie. Your stupid perfect jawline. How good your hands looked when you typed. Us getting married in a cozy bookstore-themed wedding. “…The project,” you lied.

He stared for another second, then looked back at his screen like he didn’t believe you but also didn’t care enough to argue. Your cheeks were burning. You turned toward the front of the room, pretending to listen to the professor. But in your head? The fake scenarios were still playing. And in all of them, Sunghoon never scoffed and walked away again.

You weren’t even sure how you got on the topic of astrology.

One second, you were casually mentioning your moon sign, and the next, you were ten minutes deep into a rant about compatibility charts, birth time accuracy, and how Mercury retrograde was definitely to blame for your chronic inability to meet deadlines.

You were in it—hands flailing, iced coffee half-forgotten, your voice carrying across your little corner of the library like a talk show guest who forgot she wasn’t mic’d.

“And I’m not saying it’s always accurate, but like—come on, I’ve never met a Leo moon who didn’t want attention in the most dramatic way—”

Then you looked at him.

And he was watching you.

Not glancing. Not politely nodding. Not half-focused while typing something on his laptop.

No.

Park Sunghoon was sitting completely still, chin slightly tilted, dark eyes locked on you like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time.

And it hit you all at once: the weight of his gaze. The fact that he hadn’t interrupted you once. The way his expression wasn’t annoyed or bored or even confused.

Just… quiet.

Focused.

Curious.

Your words trailed off mid-sentence. You felt your mouth go dry.

“I, um…” you stammered, blinking hard and glancing down at your hands. “Sorry. I was rambling again.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t respond right away. You peeked up.

He was still looking at you.

For someone who rarely spoke, he really didn’t need words to fluster you.

You quickly turned back to your laptop and muttered, “We should probably get back to the outline.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than usual, but not in a bad way. Just… different.

Like maybe something had shifted. And he noticed it too.

And for once, you were the quiet one.

One week later.

You didn’t know when it happened—if it was the third study session or the way he started waiting for you outside class without saying anything, just casually lingering like he wasn’t—but something had definitely shifted.

He still wasn’t talkative, not by any stretch. Park Sunghoon was still the same quiet, unreadable guy who typed like he was solving a national crisis and stared at his laptop like it offended him. But now, sometimes… he looked at you like you were the more interesting problem.

You noticed it during Wednesday’s library session. You were scribbling notes, brain on overdrive like usual, when you cracked a dumb joke under your breath about Freud being the original red flag. And he—Sunghoon—actually smirked.

Not a full laugh. Not even a chuckle.

But a smirk. Like his mouth twitched and everything.

You were so shocked you nearly dropped your pen.

Now, seven days into being partners, your nerves still spiked whenever he looked directly at you. Which—terrifyingly—he did more often now.

Today, though, you were running late. Again. You’d had a 10-minute breakdown over whether your hoodie looked “accidentally cute” or “accidentally homeless.” When you finally rushed into the same table by the window, Sunghoon was already there—hoodie up, laptop open, long legs stretched out like he owned the entire row.

You skidded into the seat across from him, breathless and messy as usual. “Hi! Sorry—I didn’t mean to be late, I got distracted because I was reorganizing my playlist and then I realized I accidentally put a breakup song on my walking-to-class mix and it ruined my whole mood—anyway, I’m here!”

He blinked up at you.

“You always talk like you haven’t taken a breath in ten minutes,” he said flatly.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—then paused.

Because even though his words were dry as ever, there was a glint in his eyes. A little tease. The ghost of amusement.

You grinned, emboldened. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta fill the silence between us.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he pushed your coffee toward you like he’d been holding onto it.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you—?”

“You always get the same one,” he said, shrugging, eyes flicking back to his screen. “You were ten minutes late. I figured.”

Your stomach did a weird flip.

It was a tiny thing. Barely even a moment. But it was the first time he’d done something unprompted—something thoughtful.

Something soft.

You sat down slowly, hands warming around the cup.

Before, you were a loud girl with a crush and no courage.

Now, you were still loud. Still spiraling. Still catching yourself staring when he wasn’t looking.

But somewhere in the middle of library study sessions, awkward silence, and shared glances that lingered a little too long—

Maybe he was starting to fall too.

Later that night, you were back in your dorm, lying on your bed with your laptop propped on your stomach and your Spotify playing in the background. You were supposed to be finalizing the last few slides of the presentation, but instead, you were deep in the Notes app—typing out possible conversation starters like a 14-year-old girl prepping for a first date.

Which it wasn’t, obviously.

It was just a group project. A graded group project. Which meant this mild obsession with Park Sunghoon was wildly unprofessional.

Still, your brain didn’t care.

He remembered your coffee order.

He smirked at your joke.

He bought your coffee.

You flopped your head to the side with a groan and rolled over, phone slipping out of your hand. “I’m losing it.”

From across the room, Stella didn’t even look up from her phone. “You lost it when you called his handwriting sexy.”

“I never said that out loud.”

She looked at you now. “Babe. You whispered it during your FaceTime call with me while you were editing your shared Google Doc.”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at her. She caught it with a grin and tossed it back.

“So?” you said, burying your face in it. “Is it crazy to think he might kind of like me too? Just a little?”

Stella shrugged. “I don’t know. He bought your coffee. That’s a huge deal for an introvert. It took me three months to get my introvert ex to say good morning first.”

You peeked over the pillow. “You think he’s soft under all that broody quietness?”

“I think he’s already soft,” she said, nonchalant. “You’re just the only person loud enough to poke through it.”

You blinked.

Huh.

It was a weirdly sweet thought.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, your brain doing its usual rom-com spiral. Imagining more coffee. A casual movie hangout after your project was done. Him smiling at you again. Him taking off his hoodie and you realizing he was even hotter underneath it

Your phone buzzed.

You nearly flipped off the bed grabbing it.

Park Sunghoon: Do you want to meet earlier tomorrow? Library’s crowded after 5.

Your heart skipped. He messaged you first.

You scrambled to reply, fingers shaking just a bit.

You:Yeah totally! I can do 3?

Three dots.

Park Sunghoon: Cool.

You smiled down at your phone. Not a date. Not even flirting, technically. But still… something. And it was enough to make your chest feel a little lighter as you sank back into your pillow, grinning like a complete idiot.You were definitely being dramatic.

It was just a study session. Just Sunghoon. Just your project partner.

And yet here you were, standing in front of your mirror like you were about to walk into a k-drama confession scene.

You’d tried to be casual about it at first—grabbed your usual hoodie, pulled your hair into a messy bun, told yourself today would be like any other work day. But then you’d caught your reflection and froze.

Nope.

Not today.

Today, something in your brain snapped—the part that remembered the way Sunghoon looked at you last time. The way he handed you your coffee without saying much but still said everything.

So now here you were, smoothing down the pleats of your white skirt, the fabric light and soft, bouncing just slightly with every step. You’d tucked in a pastel pink top—simple but flattering, cinched at the waist, with a soft neckline that somehow made your collarbones look like they belonged in a Pinterest moodboard.

You curled your hair into soft waves, taking your time with each section like you were preparing for a date—which again, it wasn’t. But your hair looked good, and that was reason enough.

Then came the makeup—just enough to brighten your face. A little concealer, a swipe of blush, dewy highlight, and a soft pink gloss that matched your shirt perfectly. Not too much. Not trying too hard. Just enough to feel… confident.

You stepped back and looked at yourself. Cute, but not overdone.

Like you just happened to roll out of bed this way. Like you totally didn’t spend an hour prepping for a guy who still hadn’t said more than five sentences in a row to you.

You grabbed your bag, gave yourself one last look in the mirror, and nodded. He won’t even notice, you told yourself. But your heart still raced anyway.

You arrived at the library fifteen minutes early.

Which was insane. You were never early. You were barely ever on time. But today, you found yourself practically floating through the entrance with way too much pep in your step for someone heading into a two-hour grind session.

You chose a table tucked near the windows, sunlight filtering in just enough to give you that natural-glow effect you hoped—just a little bit—he’d notice. You pulled out your laptop, opened your notebook, sipped your iced vanilla latte like it was some kind of calming potion and not a way to keep your hands from fidgeting.

Three minutes passed. Then five. Then eight.

And just when you started to spiral, you saw him. Black hoodie, dark jeans, headphones around his neck, glasses on. Glasses again? Was he trying to kill you?

He walked up without a word, dropped his bag in the seat next to you, and sat down like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You swallowed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound breezy. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

You blinked. He noticed?

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you said, smiling before you could stop yourself.

“I notice things,” he said, not looking up from unzipping his backpack.

Your brain promptly short-circuited.

You sat there a moment, trying to reboot your internal monologue, but he didn’t say anything else. Just pulled out his laptop, adjusted his glasses, and tapped a few keys like this was just another Tuesday.

You cleared your throat. “So… should we get started?”

He nodded, eyes flicking to the screen, and you did your best to focus, even though your heart was doing pirouettes in your chest.

Ten minutes in, he finally glanced sideways.

His eyes skimmed over you—your top, your hair, the soft gloss on your lips—and then right back to the screen.

Nothing in his expression changed.

But.

You swore the tips of his ears turned just the slightest bit pink.

It all happened so fast.

One second you were typing away, trying to figure out how to transition from your statistics slide to Sunghoon’s part about correlation, and the next, your phone buzzed with a message that made your stomach drop to the floor.

Mom:

hey—don’t panic. he’s stable. but your dad’s in the hospital. car accident. he’s asking for you.

The panic part, unfortunately, arrived immediately.

You gasped. Shot up from your seat like you’d been burned.

Sunghoon looked up, brows furrowed. “What’s—?”

“I—I have to go,” you blurted, already shoving your laptop into your bag with shaky hands. “My dad—he’s in the hospital—I have to—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t think to explain. Didn’t notice your phone sliding between the cushions of the library couch when you stood too fast. You were gone before Sunghoon could even stand.

He sat there for a while, blinking after you, confused and more than a little startled. But when the shock wore off, he assumed you just needed time. He figured you’d text when you got the chance.

Except… you didn’t. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

The seat next to him stayed empty. And despite the hum of the library, all he could hear was the faint echo of how your voice cracked when you said hospital.

He exhaled slowly and reached for his phone.

Pulled up your contact. You’re just checking. That’s it, he told himself.

He tapped the call button. And then frowned. Because your phone—the one he was calling—was… right there. Left on the couch like a forgotten piece of clothing, glowing faintly with the light from the screen. Missed calls. Texts. And one lockscreen wallpaper of you and your roommate pulling dumb faces at the camera.

He reached for it, reluctantly.

And that’s when he saw it.

Right there at the top of the screen, when the missed call alert faded away, was his name.

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = Downfall)

He stared at it. And blinked. And stared again.

Because it wasn’t just Park Sunghoon. It was “Glasses = Downfall.”

He slowly leaned back against the couch, completely thrown off, a mix of confusion and God, was that amusement?—starting to crawl across his face. Of course you saved his contact like that. Of course. He pressed his lips together, unsure if he was more concerned about you… or the way his chest actually tightened when he realized your phone was still here, and you weren’t.

Sunghoon was still sitting there, completely frozen, your phone in one hand and that ridiculous contact name burning a hole in his brain, when a familiar voice cut through the air like a ray of chaotic sunlight.

“Oh my God, is that her phone?”

Sunghoon looked up just in time to see Sunoo appear at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised and lips already curled into a knowing smirk. His blond hair was perfectly styled, skin glowing like he drank actual light for breakfast, and he was strutting over like he owned the entire building.

“I knew something felt off,” Sunoo continued, stopping in front of the table. “She never leaves her phone anywhere. Last time she lost it for five minutes she had a full existential breakdown and accused Stella of cursing her.”

Sunghoon blinked, still not sure what to do with the phone in his hand—or the smirk that kept trying to tug at the corner of his own lips.

“She left in a rush,” he muttered, eyes flicking back down to the screen. “Family emergency.” Sunoo’s expression shifted instantly, eyes softening. “Wait—seriously? Sunghoon nodded once. “She said her dad’s in the hospital. She didn’t say much. Just left.”

“Shit,” Sunoo said, frown pulling at his mouth. “That’s… crap. Do you know which hospital?” Sunghoon hesitated. “No. I tried calling. That’s when I realized her phone’s still here.” Sunoo sighed and slid into the chair across from him, tapping his own phone screen rapidly. “I’ll call Stella. She might know something. Or at least be able to get in touch with her mom or something.”

Sunghoon gave a slow nod, leaning back again as he watched Sunoo work through his contact list like a professional. The tension in his chest refused to ease, even as help arrived.

“Oh, and by the way,” Sunoo said casually, glancing up with that glint in his eye. “You’re totally blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Sunoo grinned. “Glasses equals downfall? I mean, really? I should’ve known.”Sunghoon cleared his throat and looked away, ears tinged unmistakably pink.

Sunoo smirked. “So… are we finally admitting someone has a little crush?”

“She left her phone,” Sunghoon muttered.

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, completely unfazed. “Mhm. And you’re staring at her lockscreen like it’s a live stream. Just admit it, Hoonie.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“You didn’t say no to the crush part.” Sunghoon sighed deeply, resting his head back against the seat as Sunoo grinned like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing. Silence settled again for a beat—until Sunoo’s phone lit up.

“Stella’s typing,” he said, glancing down. “I’ll keep you posted. You just sit there and keep pining dramatically.”

“I’m not—”

“Sure, sure.” Sunoo winked. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Downfall.” Sunoo’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

“Stella says she doesn’t know which hospital either,” he said, brow furrowed. “But—and I quote—‘I know her lockscreen passcode because we are married spiritually.’” Sunghoon blinked. “That’s… specific.”

“She says it’s her birthday. Not Y/N’s. Hers.”

Sunghoon stared at the phone in his hand. “Why would it be Stella’s birthday?” Sunoo smirked. “Because Y/N is a simp. Obviously.” Sunghoon inhaled, then exhaled like this was already too much for one day. Still, he typed it in. The screen unlocked.

Sunoo immediately leaned over the table like it was a hot gossip vault opening in real time. “Okay, try checking her notes. Or her location app. She has a tracker on her parents, I swear—oh wait.”

He stopped. Sunghoon had paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Because the phone didn’t open to the home screen. It opened to her messages. With Stella.

And the last message sitting right there at the top read:

Y/N:

sunghoon is wearing glasses today i need the ground to take me out respectfully

Sunghoon’s jaw ticked.

He didn’t scroll. He should’ve scrolled. But he didn’t need to. Because Sunoo saw it too—and gasped like he’d just seen a scandal unfold on live television. “Oh my GOD—scroll up. Scroll up right now.”

“I’m not—”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

Sunghoon sighed in defeat and scrolled up two or three lines, just enough for Sunoo to snatch the phone halfway through and start reading aloud in a dramatic whisper:

Y/N:

i swear to god i’m trying to focus

but his glasses. HIS GLASSES STELLA

why did nobody prepare me for this man to look like a kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses combo i’m actually in pain

he said ‘can you pass me the charger’ and i almost proposed right then and there

guys I swear his shoulder look extra broad today

Sunoo smacked the table. “SHE ALMOST PROPOSED.” Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, voice muffled. “Please stop.”

“Oh, I’m never stopping. You’re officially her villain origin story. I can’t breathe.”

Sunghoon reached across the table, retrieved the phone with a blank expression, and locked the screen again. “We’re supposed to be figuring out which hospital her dad’s at.”Sunoo, still giggling, waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m texting Stella for the tracking app now. But I need you to know that she was down so bad she literally contemplated death-by-glasses. That’s… that’s poetry.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. But the tips of his ears were pink again. And this time, he didn’t bother trying to hide them.

Sunghoon was halfway zipped up, bag slung over one shoulder, already mentally mapping the route to the hospital when Sunoo crossed his arms and tilted his head with a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you could save yourself so much embarrassment if you just admitted it.” Sunghoon didn’t pause. “Admitted what.”

“That you like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh?” Sunoo snatched Y/N’s phone off the table with a mischievous grin and unlocked it again. “Then I guess I’ll just keep reading her adorable little breakdowns about your glasses, and your hoodies, and—oh look—your ‘annoyingly attractive handwriting.’”

Sunghoon turned just enough to give him a warning look. “You’re making that up.”

“Sexy handwriting,” Sunoo repeated dramatically, scrolling. “Sexy. She called your handwriting sexy. Who even notices that in a group project? Oh wait—Y/N does, because she’s clearly unhinged about you and—oh my God.”

He stopped.

“Oh my God. She drew little hearts around your name in her notes app.” Sunghoon ran a hand down his face. “Sunoo.”

“I will stop,” Sunoo said sweetly, “if you admit you like her.”

“I don’t.”

Sunoo stared at him. Sunghoon stared right back, completely unreadable, posture cool and relaxed like he hadn’t just heard you almost died over the way he wore his glasses. The silence stretched. Finally, Sunoo groaned and dropped back into his seat, tossing the phone down like it offended him. “Ugh. You’re so boring.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond—just adjusted the strap on his bag, eyes flicking toward the exit. But if Sunoo had been paying attention to the way his fingers curled slightly against his side, or how his ears had gone just a shade pinker again… He might’ve known that silence wasn’t denial.

Sunghoon left the library with your phone in his pocket, steps quiet but fast as he crossed campus, hoodie drawn up just enough to shadow his face. He didn’t want to be noticed. He never did. But today especially—not with your words still echoing in his head like some cursed audio loop.

“kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses.”

It was ridiculous. And yet… somehow, it made the corners of his mouth twitch in the stupidest way. He forced it down, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.

The hospital wasn’t far. He caught the next bus downtown and kept checking your phone every few minutes—not that there were any new messages. But maybe… maybe Stella would text. Or your mom. Or you.

He shouldn’t be this tense. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even your friend, really. Just a group project partner who somehow got dragged into your world like a moth to a sparkly, chaotic flame.

But still—he needed to know you were okay.

And despite everything, despite the teasing and the denial and the unread messages, he didn’t leave that hospital lobby until someone told him where to find you.

Meanwhile, back in your hospital room, you were staring at the blank TV screen, hand curled loosely around a paper cup of vending machine coffee that tasted like burnt regret.

Your dad was stable, resting just down the hall. You were grateful—more than grateful—but you’d never felt so unmoored. Like you were floating outside of your body.And on top of it all… your phone was gone.

You groaned quietly and buried your face in your hands. “Of all days,” you muttered. Your soul was actively leaving your body just thinking about it. The door creaked open.

You lifted your head, expecting a nurse, maybe your mom.

Instead—there he was. Park Sunghoon. Black zip-up, jeans, perfect hair, and those same glasses that had quite literally rearranged your brain chemistry. Holding your phone. And looking… weirdly hesitant.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened. “You—what—how did you—?”

“You left this,” he said, holding the phone out like it burned. “At the library. Sunoo and Stella figured out how to track you. I came to check if you were okay.”

You stared at him. Your phone. His glasses. Your life. All colliding in one surreal moment. And then, quietly, Sunghoon added, “Your dad… he’s alright?” You nodded, still dumbstruck. “Yeah. Yeah, just banged up. He’s resting.” QA small, relieved breath escaped him. You took your phone slowly, your fingers brushing his, and suddenly every single message you’d sent Stella flashed before your eyes in a horror montage.

He had your phone.

He read your texts.

He knew.

You swallowed. “Did you… uh… see…”

He looked at you, eyes steady behind the lenses. Then—just the faintest quirk of his lips.

“You have a really dramatic way of complimenting glasses,” he said.

You made a noise that could only be described as a muffled scream into your coffee cup. And Sunghoon—stoic, introverted Sunghoon—actually laughed. Soft and low.

But real. And it was worse than the glasses. It was so much worse.

You wanted to melt into the hospital bed and never be seen again. Just fully disappear. Cease to exist. Have your body donated to science and your soul banished to another timeline where you never sent those texts and Park Sunghoon never—never—saw the words “sexy handwriting.”

But you were stuck here. In this room. With him. And the phone that had betrayed you.

You forced out a breath and tried to smile through your humiliation. “I was… under a lot of emotional distress. You know. Midterm season. Lack of sleep. Temporary delusion.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You wrote a three-message breakdown about my glasses before midterms even started.”

You blinked at him. “You read that far?”

He hesitated. Too long. Then shrugged lightly, gaze flicking to the floor. “Sunoo was reading out loud. I… couldn’t stop him.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m just going to die right here and haunt this room forever.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet for a second.

Then he said, “I didn’t hate it.” Your hands dropped from your face like you’d been electrocuted.

“What?”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable now, like the words had escaped before he could catch them. His fingers tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, eyes fixed on the floor. “The texts. I didn’t hate them.” You stared at him.

“No one’s ever said I looked like a… kdrama lead before,” he muttered. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You do, though.”

Silence stretched between you. Long and awkward and warm in a way that made your stomach flip. Finally, you cleared your throat. “So… uh… thank you. For coming. Really. You didn’t have to.” He glanced up again, eyes soft behind the glasses. “I wanted to.”

Your brain short-circuited again. Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. A nurse poked her head in. “Visiting hours end in ten, guys.”

Sunghoon gave a quick nod. “Right. I’ll go.” He turned to you, pausing just before the door.

“Text me when you get home?” he said, voice quiet. You blinked. “You want me to text you?” He looked away again, almost shy now. “Yeah. Just so I know you’re okay.” You nodded slowly. “Okay. I will.” He gave a little nod of his own, then slipped out the door. You stared after him, phone clutched in your hand, your entire body buzzing. And you didn’t even care anymore that he saw your texts.

Because maybe… Maybe he didn’t hate it.

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet chime behind him. Sunghoon leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, the cold metal pressing into his spine as he stared blankly ahead.

He hadn’t said much on the walk out of your room. He never did. Words weren’t really his thing—they always felt too heavy in his mouth, too slow to catch up to his thoughts. But somehow, tonight, they’d slipped out easier than usual.

“I didn’t hate them.”

“I wanted to.”

“Text me when you get home.”

He replayed those three lines over and over in his head, each one more revealing than he was used to. More open. Vulnerable, even. It made his chest tighten and something in his stomach twist in a way he didn’t totally understand. And then, before he could stop it—His reflection in the elevator doors caught it first.

A smile. Small. Barely there. But real.

His own face surprised him for a second. Like the muscles had moved without permission. His brows drew together slightly as he looked away, lips twitching back into something neutral. It wasn’t like him to smile over someone. But maybe… you weren’t just someone. Maybe you were starting to be the exception. And he wasn’t sure if that terrified him—or if it made him want to see you again even more.

The next morning, you were exhausted.

You’d barely slept. Between your dad being stable (thank god), the hospital vending machine coffee that had no right being that strong, and the emotional rollercoaster of Park Sunghoon seeing your texts, your brain was absolutely fried.

And yet, there you were—walking into lecture half-dazed with a granola bar in one hand and your phone in the other, scanning the room instinctively.

Your eyes found him instantly.

And you nearly tripped over your own feet.

He was wearing the glasses again.

Same black zip-up. Head down, hair a little messier today. But the glasses were there—slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scribbled something in his notebook.

You froze for a second in the aisle, mid-step, like your brain blue-screened. People filtered around you, annoyed, but you didn’t care. He had to know what he was doing. There was no way he didn’t, not after reading your breakdown in full 4K resolution on your phone the night before.

You finally sat down, heart doing cartwheels in your chest, and tried not to glance back every ten seconds. But of course, your eyes betrayed you. You looked again.

And this time… he looked back.

Just a flicker of his eyes over the top of his notebook. A half-second longer than necessary. Then he turned away. But that half-second? It felt like it lasted hours. And even though you were 99% sure you were hallucinating everything—You swore he was smiling.

You: stella.

You: STELLA.

You: he’s wearing the glasses again.

You: I REPEAT. THE GLASSES. ARE. ON.

You: I am not well. I will not survive this class.

You: If I stop texting it’s because I’ve passed away from ✨visual overstimulation✨

You: and I look like a sewer rat today WHY is the universe like this

You were hunched over your phone like it was sacred scripture, thumbs flying, your screen dimmed just enough to look sneaky, but bright enough to see the disaster you were creating in real time.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you until it shifted. The air moved. Subtle.

“…You text like you’re narrating a crisis.”

You froze. No. No no no no no. That voice. You turned slowly. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Reading your texts. Looking entirely unbothered. Glasses still on.

You stared up at him, every cell in your body internally combusting one by one.

“I—uh—”

He blinked down at you, face unreadable, then raised an eyebrow. “Sewer rat?” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. And then the corner of his mouth tugged up. Just slightly.

“You look fine,” he said, voice quiet. And just like that, your brain did the only logical thing it could in that moment. It short-circuited. Completely.

You were still staring at him.

He’d walked away—already halfway to his seat like nothing happened—but you were frozen in place, still clutching your phone, eyes wide, brain buffering like it needed a software update.

He said you looked fine. He said you looked fine.

You hadn’t even washed your hair last night. You were pretty sure there was highlighter on your cheekbone that didn’t belong there. Your socks didn’t match. And this man—this walking iceberg of introversion—looked you dead in the eye and said you looked fine.

Your fingers finally remembered how to move.

You: STELLA

You: HE SAW MY TEXTS

You: AND THEN SAID I LOOKED “FINE”

You: STELLA I AM NOT OK

You: AM I HALLUCINATING???

You: IS THIS FLIRTING??? OR IS HE JUST… NICE???

Stella: what’s the difference

Stella: actually nvm HE CALLED YOU FINE BYE

Stella: u need to marry him IMMEDIATELY

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the dumb grin threatening to take over your entire face. You were not going to smile like a maniac in class. Not in front of him. You looked up. And immediately made eye contact with him. He was already watching you.

Not in an obvious way. But he hadn’t even opened his laptop yet. Just sitting there, elbow on the desk, head tilted slightly like he was waiting for your next move. You blinked. He looked away first. But the corner of his mouth twitched again. And this time—you smiled.

It was Friday night, and your dorm smelled like kettle popcorn, cheap wine coolers, and the faint singe of a burnt microwave pizza. Stella was sprawled across her bed, wearing fuzzy socks and eyeliner like she was going to war. Sunoo sat cross-legged on the floor with a giant bag of sour gummy worms and a pen tucked behind his ear like he was the host of Jeopardy.

You were halfway through a lukewarm sip of grape soda when Sunoo clapped his hands together like a villain hatching a plan.

“Okay,” he said dramatically, pointing the pen at you. “What if—plot twist—we invite Sunghoon to trivia night?” You almost choked. “What?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “You heard me. Tall, pale, wears glasses, makes your heart do backflips—that Sunghoon.” You immediately waved him off, face heating up. “No, no, no. Trivia night is sacred. It’s for us, and our weird little brains. He doesn’t even talk during normal group work. You think he’s gonna scream out ‘Switzerland’ during world geography?”

“Exactly why it would be hilarious,” Sunoo grinned. “Plus, he already likes you.”

“I—he doesn’t—”

Stella looked up from her phone and cut in, “He said you looked fine when you looked like you’d just rolled out of a 2009 Tumblr grunge blog. That’s basically a confession in Sunghoon language.”

You buried your face in your pillow. “I can’t. He’ll say no. He’ll probably run in the opposite direction and drop the course.” Sunoo shrugged. “So? At least then we’ll know he’s terrified of fun and allergic to joy.” There was a beat of silence. Then Stella said, “Or maybe—he’ll come.” You slowly peeked over the pillow. Sunoo smirked. “Wanna find out?” You didn’t say yes.But you did start typing.

You stared at his text reply for a solid ten seconds.

Sunghoon: I don’t think I’m a trivia night type of person.

Ugh. Of course he wasn’t. He was the study-in-silence, read-complicated-books-for-fun, looks-too-good-in-glasses type of person. You chewed your lip and typed back.

You: it’s not that serious!! it’s just a fun little thing!! u can even sit in the corner and judge us in silence like u always do

You: pls sunghoon

You: pls pls pls

You: I’ll owe u forever

You: like forever forever

You: like I will never ask u for anything again ever unless it’s for help opening a jar or fighting off a ghost

You: pls

The little typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Came back.

Sunghoon: …what time.

You let out a squeal so loud that Sunoo jumped and flung a gummy worm at your forehead.

“I take it he said yes?” he deadpanned. You grinned. “He said yes.” Stella threw her hands up. “THE POWER YOU HOLD.” Sunoo gasped, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest. “Should I prep an extra trivia round titled ‘Things That Make Y/N Weak in the Knees’? Number one: Park Sunghoon in glasses.” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, still grinning like a complete idiot. Trivia night just got a lot more dangerous.

The first round of trivia began, and you were already regretting your life choices.

Sunoo had been insistent about the rules. “If you get a question wrong, you take a shot of grape soju. It’s fun, it’s fair, and it’s how we build character.”

At first, you thought you could handle it. You weren’t a lightweight, and you could definitely stomach a little soju. But after one wrong answer, you could feel the heat of the alcohol creeping into your chest, and that was when you realized: This was going to be a disaster.

The first question was easy enough, something about ancient history, but you got it wrong anyway. You were too distracted, trying to avoid glancing at Sunghoon, who was sitting quietly in the corner, eyes occasionally flicking to your team’s answers.

“Looks like you’ve got a shot coming your way,” Sunoo said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You know the drill.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed the small shot glass filled with the mysteriously purple liquid. You could feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you—probably the first time you were actually hyperaware of his gaze. Your fingers shook slightly as you raised the glass.

“To ancient history,” you muttered, making a face before knocking it back in one go.

The burn was immediate. Grape soju was sweet but deceptively strong, and you felt it hit the back of your throat like a truck. You immediately slammed the glass down, half-choking, trying to ignore the laughter from Sunoo and Stella.

“Alright, next question!” Sunoo was practically bouncing in his seat, enjoying your pain. “What’s the capital of…?”

But you barely heard him. You were too focused on not dying from the aftertaste of the soju. You were about to breathe a sigh of relief when—

“Uh, Y/N,” Sunghoon said softly, his voice cutting through the noise. You snapped your head to look at him, a little too fast, probably. “Huh?” He was still staring at his phone, but there was a flicker of something behind his glasses. “You missed your answer to the last question. It was ‘Rome.’”

You blinked at him. “Wait, really? You’re sure?” He didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Well,” you muttered, “I guess that means more soju for me.” You swore you caught the faintest, most reluctant smile from Sunghoon as he turned his attention back to the trivia board. DBut you were too busy silently dying from the soju to care about that.

Sunoo stood abruptly, grabbing his tote bag with a dramatic groan. “Okay, I love you all, but I have to go deal with my stupid brother who just tried to microwave a fork. Again.”

“That’s the third time this month,” Stella muttered.

“I know!” Sunoo wailed, already halfway out the door. “Natural selection is right there, but he keeps surviving!” Stella stood up not long after, stretching with an exaggerated yawn. “Well, I should probably head out too. I, uh… left my straightener on. I think.”

You blinked. “What? I thought you unplugged it?” Stella smiled sweetly, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Hmm, did I? Guess I’ll go find out.”

She was gone before you could even respond. Now it was just you and Sunghoon. Alone. In a room that felt way too quiet all of a sudden.

You turned slowly to look at him. He was just sitting there, sipping water, looking completely unbothered. Glasses slightly fogged up from the warmth of the room. Zip-up hoodie half unzipped.

You, meanwhile, were sweating through your soul. You stood up too fast. Way too fast. The room tilted. And then, everything spun.

The last thing you saw was his eyes widen in slow-motion before your knees buckled and you collapsed—Right into him. You weren’t exactly the type of girl he expected to pass out on him. But there you were. Full dead weight. Head against his chest, breath shallow, skin warm. His arms had instinctively wrapped around you before you could hit the floor, but now he was just… holding you. And trying very hard not to panic.

“Y/N?” he said softly, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N—hey. Are you okay?” No response. You just… mumbled something unintelligible and curled in a little closer. Sunghoon blinked.

His heart was doing a weird stuttering thing. He didn’t like it.

You smelled like peach lotion and grape soju. Your hair was brushing his jaw. He was very aware of how close your face was to his.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip so you were slumped more comfortably against his side. Then he looked around helplessly, muttering to himself.

“This is what I get for showing up to trivia night.” Still, he didn’t push you off. Didn’t move.

In fact, he pulled his hoodie off and draped it around your shoulders, just in case you were cold. He was still holding you when you stirred a few minutes later. And he hated that part of him hoped you wouldn’t move. Not just yet.

Sunghoon didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t exactly trained in what to do when a girl passes out in your arms and also smells really good and your heart won’t stop doing weird gymnastics. So, naturally, he did the first logical thing:

He picked you up—awkwardly, carefully, like you were made of glass—and marched straight down the hall to Stella’s room. He knocked twice. Then again. Louder.

Stella opened the door a crack, chewing a piece of gum, her brows lifting when she saw you slumped half-conscious in his arms, wrapped in his hoodie like a weird little burrito.

“She’s fine,” Stella said, not even hesitating. Sunghoon blinked. “She fainted.”

“Yeah, from like three sips of soju. She does this. Lightheaded. Dramatic. A menace.” Stella leaned against the doorframe and popped her gum. “Just lay her down on the couch, she’ll wake up in like five minutes and scream about missing a skincare step.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Sunghoon looked down at you. Your lashes fluttered slightly, your cheek pressed against his chest, breath slow and even.

“She’s drooling,” he muttered under his breath. Stella grinned. “Yep. Sounds about right. Before he could argue more, she closed the door with a lazy, “You got this, lover boy.” He just stood there for a second, deadpan. Then turned and made his way back to the living room, still carrying you like you were a drunk kitten. He carefully knelt by the couch and laid you down, adjusting a pillow beneath your head and slipping off your shoes so you wouldn’t wake up with sore feet. You looked… soft like that. Peaceful. Lips parted slightly, hands curled near your chest, still wrapped in his hoodie.

Sunghoon sat back on his heels and sighed.

“This is insane,” he muttered. But he didn’t move away just yet.

You let out a tiny groan, barely awake, before slowly turning over on the couch—and promptly rolled right off. It all happened in slow motion for Sunghoon. One second you were peacefully drooling on the pillow, the next your body was halfway to the hardwood floor with all the grace of a sleepy baby deer.

“Shit—wait—”

He caught you just in time, arms shooting out to stop your head from bonking against the floor. Your face smushed into his hoodie again, limbs tangled awkwardly, and your eyes fluttered halfway open in a dazed blink.

“…mm?”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just sat there on the floor beside the couch, exhaling sharply as he tried to situate you better. With zero idea what else to do—and absolutely no desire to wake Stella again—he gently shifted you, easing your head onto his lap.

You hummed softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and curled in closer, like his leg was your designated pillow. Still barely awake. Still clearly unaware of everything happening. Sunghoon froze. Hands hovering. Brain static.

You looked so… small like this. Fragile. Sleepy and soft and completely unfiltered. The hoodie he gave you slipped down your shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone and the faintest shimmer of glitter from your makeup. A piece of hair stuck to your cheek. He moved it before he could stop himself.

He should’ve moved you back onto the couch. He should’ve gotten up and left. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed still. Letting your breathing settle against his leg. Letting the room fall into a warm, weird quiet. And when you shifted again, murmuring something incomprehensible and curling your fingers around the fabric of his jeans—he didn’t say a word. Just stared down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest, most confused smile.

The first thing you registered was warmth.

Not just the hoodie—though that was still wrapped snugly around your shoulders—but something heavier. Solid. Comforting. Something that smelled like clean laundry and mint and the faintest hint of boy.

And then you blinked your eyes open. Sunghoon. Your head was no longer just on his lap. You were in his lap. Full-on wrapped up in his arms, tucked against his chest like it was a survival instinct. One of his hands rested loosely on your back, the other curled by your waist, his breathing deep and steady, lips parted just slightly.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe.

Oh my god. You were going to die. Actually die.

You could see the headline now: University Student Spontaneously Combusts from Proximity to Hot Introvert in Glasses.

You slowly peeled yourself out of his grip, as delicately as a bomb squad diffusing a mine, heart slamming in your chest the entire time. Somehow, miraculously, he didn’t stir. He just mumbled something low and incoherent in his sleep and adjusted slightly, brows furrowing for a second before settling back into what looked like the deepest sleep known to mankind.

You stared for a second. Just a second. Because what the hell. Then you bolted. You rushed down the hallway in socked feet, practically slammed open Stella’s bedroom door and—She didn’t even look up from her phone.

“I know,” she said, sipping her iced coffee. “And yes, I took a picture.” You froze. “What?!” Stella turned her phone around to show you the screen.

There it was. A full high-def, heart-attack-inducing image of you curled in Sunghoon’s lap, his arms around you, both of you asleep on the floor like a goddamn drama couple.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“No, you don’t,” she grinned. “Now go wash your face. You drooled on his hoodie.”

You groaned and rubbed your face, trying to wipe off the secondhand embarrassment still clinging to your skin.

“Also,” you muttered, already backing out of Stella’s room, “send me those pictures. All of them. I need to know what level of unhinged I looked like.” Stella smirked around her straw. “Oh, babe. You looked whipped.” You pointed at her dramatically. “I will delete your contact.”

“You won’t.”

You didn’t respond, just turned and padded back down the hallway, heart still thumping like a drumline in your ears. You were about to sneak into the kitchen and grab some water to cool yourself down when you paused in the doorway of the living room.

And saw him .Awake.

Sitting on the couch now, hoodie still half-draped on him, hair tousled from sleep, glasses slightly askew. His eyes were on you. You froze. He blinked slowly. “You drool when you sleep.” Your soul left your body.

“No, I don’t,” you said way too quickly, straightening up like that would somehow erase the last twenty-four hours.

“You do.” He yawned into his hand. “A lot.” You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I’m not—” you paused. Cleared your throat. “I wasn’t yelling.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch, eyes squinting like he was still somewhere between dream and reality. “You asked Stella to send the pictures.”

Oh god. He heard that? You stared at him, eyes wide. “Did you—did you hear everything?”

He looked at you. Quiet. Amused. And then—just barely—he smiled.

“I heard enough.” You stared at him, completely still.

“I heard enough,” he said again, softer this time, like he was trying not to laugh. The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly you couldn’t remember a single word in any human language.

“I—” You blinked. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

“I was.” He stretched a little, arms lifting above his head, hoodie riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of pale skin before he dropped them again. “Then I wasn’t. Mainly because someone kept squirming in her sleep like she was fighting demons.” You smacked your hand against your face. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You also talk in your sleep, apparently.”

“I do not.” He nodded solemnly, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. “Something about my glasses being your downfall? Should I be worried?” Your jaw dropped.

You knew that message was on your phone. You knew he saw it.

“I’m gonna throw myself out the window,” you said, already backing away. But before you could flee into the depths of your embarrassment, he tilted his head and looked at you—really looked at you.

“I didn’t hate it,” he said. You froze.

“What?”

He shrugged. “You sleeping on me.” Your heart tripped over itself. His voice was calm. Still low and reserved like always. But something about the way he said it—the almost casual, sleepy honesty—sent your brain into freefall.

“…Are you still half asleep?” you asked cautiously.

“Maybe.”

You swallowed, trying not to combust.

“Well,” you muttered, fidgeting with your hoodie sleeve, “good. Because if you were fully awake, I’d probably be more embarrassed.”

He smiled again. And this time, it reached his eyes.

You didn’t know what to say after that.

Because what could you say when the boy you’d been lowkey (okay, highkey) obsessed with just told you he didn’t hate having you wrapped around him like a human blanket?

Nothing. That’s what.

So you just stood there, blinking at him, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they’d protect you from the way he was still looking at you. Like you were interesting. Like he wasn’t just quiet by nature but quiet because he was thinking and you were the subject.

You were fully prepared to melt into the floor.

“Well,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “I should… probably wash my face. And, like, process… everything.”

“Okay.”

“Right.”

You turned, took one step toward the hallway—and then stopped and looked over your shoulder.

“…Are you gonna pretend this didn’t happen later?” He raised an eyebrow. “The part where you passed out?”

“The part where I passed out on you.” He paused for a second, then stood up slowly, stretching again. The early morning light caught on the curve of his cheek, his glasses slightly fogged from sleep, hoodie still draped over his frame like it belonged there—like you had put it there.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m not pretending.” Then he walked past you, brushing shoulders as he headed toward the kitchen like he didn’t just ruin your whole ability to breathe.

You just stood there. Frozen. And the worst (or best?) part? You were grinning. Like an idiot.

You made it to the bathroom on autopilot.

Face = burning.

Heart = sprinting a marathon.

Soul = temporarily vacated your body.

You splashed cold water on your face like you were trying to reset your entire nervous system. Not pretending. Those two words echoed in your brain like a broken record. Not “it’s fine” or “don’t worry about it.” Not “that was weird” or “forget it ever happened.” He wasn’t brushing it off. He saw you—drooly, embarrassing, possibly cuddly—and didn’t want to pretend.

You were doomed.

You patted your face dry and stared at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, lips puffy from sleep, hair a mess from the couch. And still—still—you were smiling like a middle-schooler who just got asked to dance at prom.

You pulled out your phone with shaking hands.

Me: stella. stella i think im going into cardiac arrest

Me: he was awake. AWAKE. HE HEARD EVERYTHING.

Me: AND THEN SAID HE DIDN’T HATE IT

Me: AND THEN SAID HES NOT GONNA PRETEND IT DIDNT HAPPEN

Me: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE EMERGENCY

The dots popped up almost instantly.

Stella: BREATHEEEE

Stella: girl idk whether to plan your wedding or your funeral

Stella: either way I’m bringing snacks

You snorted and shook your head, trying not to slide down the wall in emotional defeat. Then came another message.

Stella: also you left your lip gloss on the couch and he picked it up and put it in his pocket

Stella: do with that what you will

You froze. Lip gloss? In his pocket? You stared at your reflection again. Yep. Definitely time to plan your funeral.

The days after the project wrapped up had been an emotional rollercoaster.

You’d convinced yourself Sunghoon would slip back into his quiet, introverted world. That after everything, after all the moments you thought meant something, he’d go back to avoiding you and staying distant like before. You had tried to prepare yourself for it—convincing yourself it was fine, that you could handle it, that it was just the project that brought you together and nothing more.

But deep down, the idea that he’d stop talking to you again made your stomach twist. And you couldn’t shake the thought: Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe I was just his partner. And now there’s no more reason for him to even look at me. You avoided checking your phone. You couldn’t bring yourself to. It was easier to stay in the quiet, heart-aching limbo where you could pretend nothing had changed.

But then, as you sat on your couch in your hoodie and sweatpants, watching a rerun of a show you didn’t even like to distract yourself, you heard a soft knock at the door. You froze, heart skipping a beat. You glanced at the clock. No way. He couldn’t…

But when you opened the door, there he was. Sunghoon. Standing on your doorstep, with one hand nervously holding a single, bright white flower. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. His usual quietness surrounded him like a second skin, but this time, there was something else in his eyes. Something unreadable, but so undeniably there that it made your heart pound.

“Hey,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Uh, I… I know school’s over, but, uh… I wanted to ask… if you’d go out with me. Like, outside of the project. Since, y’know, we don’t have anything else left to do.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry or pass out from the sheer shock of what was happening.

Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon, the quiet boy with glasses, the one who you thought would never speak to you again, was standing there with a flower, asking you out. And for a moment, it felt like time froze.

“Are you… serious?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, looking both shy and unsure of himself, a far cry from the usually reserved Sunghoon. “Yeah. I don’t… really know how to do this, but… I’d like to take you out. If you want.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say of course, but your mind kept catching up with your racing heart, trying to process everything in the last few seconds. And then, finally, you spoke.

“Yes.”

His eyes softened as he offered the flower to you, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice more confident now. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

The air between you seemed to hum with a sudden, undeniable connection. You could feel your cheeks heating up, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the undeniable realization that maybe, just maybe, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

You tried. You really did. But every time you looked down at the flower in your hand—a little imperfect, probably plucked from someone’s front lawn or a park bush—you felt it again. That ridiculous, fluttery warmth curling in your chest, refusing to go away.

Sunghoon asked you out.

And not because he had to. Not because of a project or a group grade or a seating chart. But because he wanted to.

You were still holding the flower like it was made of glass, like if you squeezed too hard it might vanish. It was stupid how your brain was short-circuiting over one boy and one flower and one quiet sentence—but you’d been waiting for this. Hoping for it. Fantasizing about it, if you were being honest.

And now it was real.

“You’re staring,” Sunghoon said beside you, voice low and a little amused. You startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Was not.”

“You were.” You looked away, pretending to examine the sidewalk, the cars, the clouds—anything but the smug little smirk on his face. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He didn’t say anything back right away. Just walked beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was wearing those glasses again—of course he was—and you didn’t know if it was on purpose or if this was just who he was now, but either way: you were suffering.

“You like the flower?” he asked after a pause, like he was trying not to sound like he cared about the answer too much. You looked at it again, smiling softly. “I love it. I’m naming it after you.”

“…You’re naming a flower after me?”

“Yup. Park Sunghoon the Second. A little awkward, but sweet once you get to know him.” He let out the smallest laugh. A real one.

And your heart did a front flip.

There was a silence after that—comfortable, not awkward. One of those rare quiets where everything feels calm. You weren’t rushing to fill the space, and neither was he. You were just walking, side by side, with nowhere to be except here.

Finally, Sunghoon said, “So… Friday. 7:00. You and me?”

You turned to him, grinning. “It’s a date.”

And this time, he smiled first.

Sunghoon was stressed.

Not the obvious kind, either. No pacing, no nervous rambling, no frantic texting. No—his kind of stress came in the form of sitting completely still on the edge of his bed, staring at the one (1) decent shirt he owned and thinking, Is this what people wear on dates? Do people even wear shirts on dates? What if I show up and she’s wearing something fancy and I look like a middle schooler going to church?

He hadn’t even put the shirt on yet. It was just… there. Staring back at him with judgment. Or maybe that was just his own reflection in the mirror. Either way, he was spiraling. Silently. But thoroughly. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, it was chaos.

“Okay, gloss or matte?” you shouted, holding up two lip products like your life depended on it.

“Gloss!” Sunoo said immediately. “It’s date night. You want him to think you’re kissable.” Stella raised a brow. “Do you want him to think that, though?”

You stared into the mirror, hair half curled, blush perfectly pink on your cheeks. “…Yes.”

They both screamed.

The room looked like a war zone—outfits scattered across your bed, makeup brushes covering the desk, heels and flats and boots thrown in different corners like a mini tornado had passed through your closet.

Sunoo held up your tiny pastel pink purse. “This one. It’s giving soft girl danger.”

“I second that,” Stella said, adjusting your curling wand temperature like she was your personal glam squad. “Okay, close your eyes, I’m doing the final spray.” You did as told, heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

This wasn’t just any date. This was Sunghoon.

And somewhere across town, Sunghoon was now staring at himself in the mirror, glasses on, hair tousled, that same black zip-up from the library night over a clean tee. He looked… okay. But he felt like imploding. What if I say the wrong thing? What if she regrets saying yes? What if—

His phone buzzed.

Stella: She looks insane. You better bring flowers. Or I will.

He blinked. Then slowly got up, grabbed his keys, and mumbled to himself, “…I need to find a flower.”

You were ready.

Or… as ready as someone who had changed outfits three times, nearly cried over a smudged winged liner, and threatened to cancel the entire date if her highlighter wasn’t even on both cheeks could be.

“Okay,” you breathed, staring at your reflection like she was someone else. “I think I’m good.”

Sunoo clapped his hands once. “You’re more than good. You’re edible.”

Stella popped her head back in from the hallway. “Sunghoon’s outside. I just saw him through the peephole. He’s standing like he’s afraid of the air.” You ran to the door, then paused. “Wait. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Good,” you grinned, grabbing your purse.

You stepped outside and there he was—hands shoved in his pockets, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing that same black zip-up he always wore… but there was something different tonight. A tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze immediately lifted when he heard the door open.

And he was holding something. A flower. Just one.

Small, a little uneven, probably stolen from a nearby bush—but it made your heart lurch anyway.

“For you,” he said, holding it out awkwardly, like he was half-expecting you to laugh at him. Instead, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re lucky I’m weak for stolen flowers.” He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath and looked down. “You look…”

You waited, watching his face turn a little pink as he fumbled for a word.

“…Different,” he settled on. “Good different.” You gave him a teasing smile. “I’ll take it.”He blinked at you for a second longer, like he was trying to memorize the way your hair curled or the way your earrings swayed every time you moved.

Then he opened the car door for you. And just like that, the nerves melted away. You weren’t just you anymore—you were the girl Sunghoon came to pick up, with a flower in your hand and butterflies in your stomach. And you had a feeling this night was going to ruin you—in the best way.

Going on a date with Park Sunghoon had always been one of the fake little scenarios you made up in class when you were supposed to be listening.

It was a regular thing, honestly. You’d be halfway through pretending to take notes on cognitive development, and suddenly your brain would short-circuit and drift off into “What if he asked me out?” territory. Maybe he’d slide you a note during lecture. Maybe he’d wait after class. Maybe he’d say something completely out of character like “I’ve been watching you for a while now.” (That one made you cringe and swoon.)

You never thought it would actually happen. But now here you were—sitting in his passenger seat, clutching a slightly-wilted flower in your lap like it was an Oscar trophy, wearing the outfit you and your best friends had screamed over not even an hour ago.

And Park Sunghoon? He was right next to you. Driving. Quiet. Focused. Glancing over at you every so often like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

You tried not to stare at his hands on the wheel. Or the way his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose every time he checked the mirror. Or the vein on his arm that popped ever so slightly when he turned.

It was weird. Surreal. Like you’d stepped into your own daydream. Except this time, it wasn’t just in your head.

You didn’t know Sunghoon was that rich.

Like, you knew he dressed nice. Quiet luxury vibes. Always in simple but suspiciously well-fitted clothes, like someone who didn’t want attention but still made people look. You knew he had a certain air about him—put-together, unbothered, kind of mysterious in that he definitely has secrets way. But nothing prepared you for this.

The restaurant he brought you to wasn’t just fancy—it was the kind of place that didn’t even have prices on the menu. The kind where water came in a crystal bottle and the waiters bowed when they spoke to you. The lighting was soft, the chairs were plush, and the bread basket looked like a Pinterest mood board.

You sat there, blinking around like a tourist while Sunghoon just casually sipped his water, completely unfazed. You leaned in across the table, whispering, “Do you… own this place?”

He blinked. “No.”

“…But like, do you know the owner?”

He paused. “Kind of.” You stared at him. He stared back. You narrowed your eyes. “Park Sunghoon. What is your life?” He shrugged lightly, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Normal.” You looked down at the gold-trimmed menu.

Normal, your ass.

Your whole life you’d been daydreaming about going on a date with Sunghoon, and never—not once—did the fantasy include sitting in a place that probably had a Michelin star and a dress code for its bread.

And yet somehow, even with all the fancy things around you, the thing making your heart race was still him.

Still the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking. Still the way he asked, quietly, “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure what kind of place you’d like.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “This is… perfect.”

And when he relaxed just a little—just enough for his shoulders to drop and his fingers to uncurl from the edge of the table—you knew.

“I really like you,” Sunghoon said, voice soft and a little shaky.Your heart stopped.

“I mean, really like you. You’re… you’re so pretty it’s hard to look at you sometimes. And I

I’ve actually liked you this whole time. Even back in class, when you wouldn’t stop talking and I was trying not to laugh. I didn’t know how to say anything. But I want to now. I want to say everything. I want to spend my life with you.”

And then—he leaned in. His hand brushed against yours. You leaned in too, heart thudding, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut—And just as his lips touched yours—The entire restaurant erupted into applause.

Chairs scraped, people stood, a waiter dabbed his eyes with a napkin. Someone in the back shouted, “True love is real!” The pianist transitioned into a soft romantic ballad. Rose petals fell from somewhere—somewhere.

You were glowing. Floating. Kissing Park Sunghoon, the boy you’d once been too scared to talk to, while the world quite literally clapped around you.

“Yn?” a voice said.

You blinked.

“Yn, are you… there?”

You snapped out of it, back in your seat, staring at your half-eaten appetizer. Sunghoon was looking at you, head tilted. “You zoned out for a solid two minutes. Did the salmon offend you or something?”

You blinked again, cheeks warming. “I—uh. No. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You quickly took a sip of water. “Nothing important.”

Just, you know. The fake proposal-level confession and restaurant-wide standing ovation that just happened in your head. No big deal. Meanwhile, Sunghoon went back to eating his food like he wasn’t the main character in your delusions.

And you sat there, trying not to smile. Because, who knows? Maybe the real version wasn’t that far off.

For a normal person, this date would kind of be boring.

Like, objectively speaking—Sunghoon wasn’t exactly chatting it up. He wasn’t telling wild stories or cracking dumb jokes or even attempting to carry the conversation when it hit a lull. He was quiet. Subtle. His responses were short, sometimes just nods or hums. There was a moment when the silence between courses stretched so long, you were certain even the waiter felt secondhand awkwardness. But somehow… you didn’t hate it.

Maybe because even in the quiet, Sunghoon felt present. His gaze stayed on you like you were something worth listening to. Like your rambles about Sunoo’s latest crush and Stella’s failed DIY bookshelf actually mattered. He wasn’t loud, but he was tuned in—like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

Still, halfway through the meal, you sat back with a crooked smile and said, “You know, I think I’ve spoken more in the last thirty minutes than you have all semester.” Sunghoon glanced up from his plate, blinking behind those stupidly attractive glasses. “That’s probably true.” You narrowed your eyes. “Are you ever gonna say anything that makes my heart race?”

A beat. Then, casually, without even looking up: “You’re really pretty.” You choked on your drink. He didn’t even flinch—just kept cutting his steak, a small twitch at the corner of his lips giving him away.

You stared at him. “You menace.”

He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. “You asked.”

And suddenly the quiet didn’t feel boring at all. It felt dangerous. Like every second he wasn’t saying something, he was thinking it—and one day he’d say it all at once and knock you flat.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, so you actually think I’m pretty? What’s pretty about me?” you asked, a bit of teasing lacing your voice. You were trying to play it cool, but your heart was already picking up pace, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. Sunghoon, however, didn’t skip a beat. He set his fork down, his gaze lifting slowly from his plate to meet yours. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just that steady, almost unsettling focus on you.

“Everything.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t expecting that. The way he said it, so simply, so sure, like there wasn’t a single thing about you that didn’t deserve to be admired—it hit you right in the chest.

It was one of those moments where your entire world seemed to pause, just for a second, and all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the soft clink of silverware around you.

You didn’t know what to say. How could you? You’d spent so long trying to work up the courage to even talk to him, to make him notice you. And now he was here, not just noticing, but seeing everything—and everything meant more than just your smile or your laugh or the way your hair fell over your shoulders. It meant the little things, the things you never thought anyone would care to notice.

You swallowed hard, your voice almost a whisper. “Sunghoon…” His expression softened just a little. “You’ve always been… easy to notice.” And just like that, the room felt smaller, like the two of you were the only ones in it.

For a second, you forgot about everything—about the quiet dinner, about the fact that Sunghoon had been so silent most of the night. All that mattered was this moment. The way you had finally caught his attention. The way he’d fallen.

Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, soft and unassuming, but there was a certain edge to it. “What about me?” he asked, looking at you with that same steady gaze. “Why do you like me?”

The question hung in the air, and you felt your pulse quicken. He was asking you about him. Sunghoon, the person who had always been so distant, so hard to read, was now waiting for you to give him an answer. An answer that felt so much more complicated than you had ever prepared for.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a little too exposed under his gaze. “I—I don’t know,” you stammered, trying to find the words. “It’s just… from the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. You didn’t talk much, but you… felt like you were always thinking, you know? Like there was something more behind the quiet.”

You leaned forward, trying to get your words right. “And it wasn’t just because you were… well, you. It was the way you didn’t try to fit in, the way you didn’t care what people thought. You’re… real. And, I guess, I’ve always liked people who don’t hide who they are.”

Sunghoon stared at you, those eyes of his intense, almost searching, like he was trying to figure out whether you were being completely honest or not. And then he sighed softly, as if something in him had relaxed just a little.

“And when did you start liking me?” he asked again, this time more quietly.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to pin down when the shift had happened—the moment when you stopped just noticing him and started feeling the things you couldn’t control. “I think it was when you… when you let me in. I never thought you’d actually be willing to work with me on that project. And even though you barely said anything, you still… listened. That was when I realized I had feelings for you.”

Sunghoon let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. “I never thought I’d be the one to make someone feel this way.” His lips curled up in a faint smile, something almost shy about it.

There it was again. The softest vulnerability peeking through his usually composed exterior. And in that moment, you knew it wasn’t just you who had fallen.

He had fallen harder.

Enhypen campus series | part 2

[screampied]

if requests are open, can we see nanami x breeding kink? i know he would be the perfect daddy 💕

❤︎ ໋𓈒 husband nanami finding out he has a breeding kink.

warnings. fem! reader, mating press, breeding kink, praise, soft dom nanami, mdni.

breeding.

he wouldn’t even know he had such a kink until afterwards, finishing inside of you for about the third time with hot puffs of air running from his lips.

his eyes, dark brown pools that intently stared into yours, he’s in utter love with you and only you. your current position was supine—your legs would be perfectly sprawled and spread for him. mating press, such a deep and thorough angle. so deep to where you were practically seeing stars.

“… you drive me crazy, you know that?” he’d huff out lowly between rough breaths. you stare at him with glossy eyes, a hand softly clinging onto his wrist. he was always so gentle, deep yet precise strokes to make you feel every inch. such eyebrows of his curl up and furrow as he intakes a single sharp breath, the feeling of such thick ropes spewing inside your walls makes him groan. “always s—so good at milking me.”

sloppy hips thwack and drill into you, and that’s when he leans right up close to you—you’re met with lust filled fawn eyes and a needy smile.

“ah. eyes up here, wanna see that pretty face,” and his tempo was so unhinged. you glance up at him and he mutters off a soft, “hi my love,” and you could have just melted right there. nanami lightly presses a hand against your tummy, a thumb swiftly tracing near the exact spot where he was reaching you inside. so full, you moan before he leans in to kiss you, yet instead, he conceals his own whine into the crook of your neck. “this—tummy would look so pretty if it was nice ‘n round for me like last time.”

the very corners of your lips tugs, it outlines into a sweet pout before you whimper, “make me fuller then, kento,” you’d heave out. he was jackhammering such merciless yet tenderly passionate thrusts into your cunt, effortlessly smacking back against you. “wanna f-feel fuller.”

you had the white bed sheets bawl into the palms of your hands. everything felt so warm, his hips just continued to rotate and jerk and jerk and jerk. it was hypnotic, he knew just where to prod the head of his cock right against you.

you’re nearly drooling. just imagining such lengthy ropes of his pump you full. you wanted it, no—you needed it. desperately, you were practically being fucked into the mattress—the mattress in question creaked and sang in such harmony it was hard not to ignore its sounds.

the entire feeling, you were clamping down on him so tight that his jaw tenses. a simple sight like that was oh so sexy in the slightest, nanami lightly bites down on his lip. a cute flushed expression slowly painting over his face once he catches you still staring. he was chasing his own breath, giving you slow yet perfect full vivacious thrusts.

“k-kento,” you’d moan with a slight gasp, he brings a hand to slide your arms all the way up. it’s almost teasing, the way he makes you hold your hands high, a soft simper rests against his lips the entire time. your legs quaver, feeling how easy it was for him to stretch you out. his touch, it was blisteringly hot, blisteringly tender.

he made sure to delicately trace his fingers all over your skin. he wouldn’t dare miss a spot. not with a body as perfect as yours. that’s what he saw in his eyes anyway. “so—so goooood, don’t s-stop baby.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he huffs out, and his voice was so raspy and rich. a subtle coarse of baritone hidden underneath his deep tone. you peer up at him and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. “if my princess wants to feel more full, i’ll do just that. give her anything she wants.”

you whimper, feeling him hit such a sensitive angle, he hit it just right too.

the crown of his dick made its way through every crevice of your walls. he reached in spots that you didn’t think he’d reach — not at all, you failed to hide your moans by this point and he thought you sounded so cute. knowing he was the one to make you sound like this, feel this way, it made him happy. that’s all he wanted, your pleasure was his pleasure.

every. single. spot.

whilst your toes curled, you feel your back start to seemingly arch on its own before even more sweetened whimpers fly past your sheeny lips. “give m-me,” you started to speak. he raises a brow marginally, brushing a thumb against your lower lip before feeling himself about to bottom out. at that point, he was fully inside, you felt it and you only mewled out a candied, “give me another baby kento. please.”

“oh,” he softly murmurs, and his tongue playfully licks against your neck—a sweet lap, he savored your taste before teasingly starting to nibble.

“gonna give you triplets this time,” and he brings a hand down your chest, then towards your stomach, real slow. you moan once he gingerly lifts up your leg before giving your ankle a kiss. “this what you want, sweetheart? more of this? more of … me?”

“yes,” you pout, feeling your cunt just swallowing his hefty shack, his base smacks back and forth against you to where you’re almost giddy. you felt like you were on cloud nine, nanami’s strokes, his thrusts hell, his enticing rhythm had you nearly speechless. you let off a soft meek once the shivering cold metal of his watch band slithers against your skin.

the more he touched you, the more close you became to making yet another mess on him. of course, like the good husband he was, nanami would happily clean you up.

“y-yes, kento,” you repeat in a honeyed voice, by this point, your legs were well wrapped around his waist. fully having him in a secure lock, not ever thinking to let go, you couldn’t nor did you want to. he drove into your gummy walls so good that you let off the sugared most melodic moans right up against his earlobe. “want…..another baby.”

“i know you do,” he hushes, bringing a chaste kiss towards your collarbone. you swallow a thick imaginary lump that grew into your throat. only tiny squeaks would come out — you moaned, tightening your legs hold around him before you started to picture such fanciful things.

fanciful things like nanami pouring yet another a thick load into you, and as you’re deep in thought he’s doing just that. a gasp gets caught in his lips before he leans up close to you. his broad chest presses up against you before he groans. out of all the notorious enemies he’s had to fight, he was simply no match for your pussy. its grip had him being the one with his eyes nearly rolling back.

“f-fuck,” and you felt yourself throb, making direct eye contact with him. it was rare, yet hearing nanami swear was so infrequent.

it was the way he swore, spewing out such filthy words underneath his breath. long ruffled strands of messy hair nearly occluding his view of vision. he reaches to move some of his hair away from his face, just so he could get a good glimpse of you—a good glimpse of his wife.

“look at me,” he says in a soft tone, he was buried so deep within you, you saw how his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. he made his hips come to a halt completely before he leans in to gift you with another kiss. “mwah,” he smooches near your jawline, “mwah,” near your chin, and a final kiss near your lips.

your heart, it fluttered.

nanami felt warm all over his body, as well as the sheer warmth that coated him from being inside you. “i—i love you,” you’d whine, feeling such massive velvet ropes of cum going all inside of you. he merely lets off a purr at the way the back of your heel skims down his back. “so much.”

“i love you,” he returns it. his mouth briefly opens, and he was about to say ‘more’ but he pauses. nanami’s weight was still hovering over you before he brings a same big hand down towards your tummy. “now, we wait. you’re such a good mommy for me, sweetheart.”

[bluepurplepinklock]

"You know I care..."

Itoshi Rin x reader, where you distance yourself from him thinking he has no interest in you, only for him to come running to you.

Rin didn't care. It pained you to accept that, but he really didn't care.

You were always there with him- talking, laughing, teasing and enjoying every moment. But when you realised how he never initiated any of it, you questioned yourself.

Do you annoy him? Is he really not interested? If you somehow disappear, would he even notice?

Given his resting bitch face, irritated eye rolls and annoyed sighs, the answer was clear. And so, you decided with a heavy heart that in order to preserve the little self respect you had left, you will do what is most logical- start distancing yourself from him.

As much as it hurt to not be around him, it was the best course of action to prevent your heart from loving him more only to be told he could never love you back.

You thought Rin wouldn't even notice your absence. The way you no longer attended his matches, or wait for him after class, or walked home with him, or sent him memes in the middle of the night, or steal every second to just be with him a little longer.

You thought he wouldn't bother, you were almost convinced he didn't- until he grabbed your wrist, yanking you away from your group of friends in the corridor.

"What's wrong?" he inquired, pulling you towards the lockers. His eyes bore deep into yours, like he might find the answer swirling behind your startled eyes if he stared intently.

"What?" you blink, taken aback.

"Don't act dumb," he spat, restlessly tapping his finger against his crossed arms, "why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm not," you shrug, trying your best to be nonchalant.

"Don't fuck with me, y/n" he breathed, his sharp gaze pinning you to your spot.

After picking through your words, trying your best not to show your own desperation to just give up on distancing and latch onto him again, you speak, "Stop acting like you care."

Rin's eyes widened, pure unfiltered confusion plastering his face. He blinked a couple times before clutching his head, "Gosh, what's wrong with you."

"Nothing," you shrug, sounding as confident as ever, "you know you never cared, so let me be. Besides, you must be delighted I stopped clinging onto you, annoying you to no ends."

You pivot on your heels, walking away until Rin's strong grasp holds you back and before you know it, he has you pinned against the locker.

His palms plant on either side of your head, into the locker behind. Rin's cold eyes stare right into yours, a blend of hurt and silent rage boiling in their depths, as his lips hover inches away from yours.

"Stop," his voice cracked and you felt his hot breath on your lips, "stop putting words in my mouth. I might have never said it out loud, but you know I care."

You gulp as heat rises to your cheeks when you feel his knee between your legs. He inches closer every second, caging you in yet still giving you enough time to break out if you want.

But you don't. You shove your plans of distancing yourself away because right now, all you want is to be impossibly close to this man.

Rin's lips press against yours, hot and impatient, and you totally give in to the desire in your heart. You drape your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he envelopes you in his arms.

When you break apart, you are shocked to find his eyes damp with the slightest hint of tears.

Rin knew his cold exterior costs him too much. But the moment he felt it would cost him losing you, he couldn't help but smack himself in the head and reach out to you. You knew it. All of it. Just by looking into his wet eyes, the fear of losing you still lingering in them, you knew.

"Don't ever think of leaving me again," he whispered against your lips before capturing them into a kiss once again.

©bluepurplepinklock (Do not copy, steal or translate my work)

[anantaru]

— doing his eyeliner while sitting on his lap

including. xiao, neuvillette, zhongli

genre. fluff, gn! reader, slightly suggestive

— xiao

"hey, you're shaking xiao, i can't focus."

"tzzz, i'm not," xiao rasps— ugh, you're just so pretty, you know? with a faint dusting of light clinging to your eyes, delicate yet indifferent, as if the universe itself had carelessly bestowed it upon you. he believes there was something unsettling in your gentleness, a quiet radiance that seemed to exist beyond the confines of this world— beyond reason, beyond him.

his hands grip around your waist like you might disappear if he ever dared to let go of you as his ears were dusted a telltale red, to be fair, xiao cannot keep his hands of you, and in his opinion it should always be like this, never too far from each other— forever as he snuggles himself a little closer towards you.

you shift slightly, adjusting your position on his lap as he tenses like a tightly wound wire, his thighs firm beneath you, muscles twitching as if resisting the urge to latch onto you with his soft lips.

you bite back a smile, dipping the tip of the pencil against his lower lash line as his breath shudders, yet this wasn't fear, don't misread xiao for his reaction, it was not from discomfort— just something inside of him reacting almost fragile, tenderly beautiful yet he didn't quite know how to name such emotions.

"hah xiao, you're holding onto me like i might fall," you tease him, brushing your thumb under his eye to soften the colored line.

xiao swallows thickly, his gaze flickering, searching yours as his arms tighten around you, a quiet plea, a contradiction? "i wouldn't let you," he responds quietly, his words alone turning your heart aflame.

it was racing so fast to the point that it might rupture through the shape and flesh of your body. it's almost laughable how dearly you two adored each other— how the conqueror of demons, fierce and untouchable alike, was now just a man beneath your firm hands, coming undone over the slightest trace of your body moving atop.

his warmth seeps through his clothes, one by one, through yours, yes, burning into your skin where his hands grip your waist like he's afraid you'll slip away. he needs you, xiao does, and you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers as you press the liner to his other eye, his breath uneven, his body an open book— tense, passionate, but leaning into you like you're the only thing keeping him tethered.

"there," you whisper, pulling back slightly to admire your work.

xiao doesn't let go of you yet, instead he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shuddering breath warm against your heightened skin, his touch a quiet fire, burning through your flesh and sinking deep into your very bones— although not with pain, but with the kind of warmth that made you realize you have always been cold without him.

"…do the other eye, please," xiao's voice was barely a muse, but you knew what he meant by it,

"stay,"

— zhongli

"I feel like you're enjoying this a little too much," zhongli finds it almost comical on how fast you could determine his mood as you accused him of the obvious— and the next smile he returned towards you felt slow as his hands easily rest at your thighs.

he tilts his head ever so slightly, offering himself up like something meant to be worshipped, when in fact, such was the case considering who he truly was.

"how could i not, love?" he exhales, his voice rich like aged wine dripping down the tip of your tongue— or honey, yes, now we got it, the sweetest of them all— spilling, slow and golden, from the corners of your mouth whenever you kissed him. as if even your lips cannot contain such excess, as if the world itself conspires to make you taste too much, feel too much, drown in the deep pleasure of it.

"my love, perched on my lap, so close, so intent, how could any man resist?"

you roll your eyes at him in order to hide your boiling all the more flustered expression, but the way your fingers tremble just slightly as you drag the liner along his lower lash line ultimately betrays you.

zhongli's amber gaze watches you, unreadable, indulgent as you bite down your lower lip, "hold still," and warn, ignoring the heat curling at the base of your spine.

"as you wish," he responds cheekily.

and yet, his voice descends— lower, smoother, as if sinking into the very marrow of the moment, curling like smoke in the hollows of your ribs, "though i wonder—" zhongli continues confidently, unraveling something unseen, something inevitable.

his hand slides up slowly, fingers curling at the nape of your neck, the touch featherlight, barely there, but you feel it like a brand, searing into your very being, leaving a mark of endless pleasure.

"—is it i who needs to stay still," his thumb brushes over your pulse,

"or you?"

your breath hitches as his lips curl at the edges with a slightly amused demeanor— an expression not quite a smile, not quite anything at all.

oh, he knows.

"i should stab you in the eye."

zhongli chuckles as his grip tightens, his chin slightly tilted, just a fraction, just enough that your noses almost brush, "if you must."

he winks, "though, i’d much prefer if you kissed me instead."

you swear the next line you draw on him will be just a little uneven.

— neuvillette

the storm groaned against the windowpanes, a ceaseless murmur like the whisper of some distant, unnameable grief as beneath you, neuvillette sat in stillness, his breath deep and steady— like an anchor against the restless howl of the wind.

his hands, resting with an almost absent-minded lightness upon your hips, betrayed neither urgency nor hesitation, only a quiet inevitability— the controlled rise and fall of his chest beneath your touch was steady, as if the weight of existence itself laid upon him and yet he bore it without complaint.

"you're very patient with me," you hum at him, your voice barely above the hush of the rain as your fingers find his chin, tilting his face with a careful adoration.

his skin was cool beneath your touch, smooth like polished marble— an artifact of restraint, a monument to something vast and unknowable, "and you're very careful," he replies, his voice low, "i find it… comforting."

you smile at him as your fingers trace slow paths along the delicate sweep of his lashes, the elegant lines of his face as the patience in him was almost sorrowful, an acceptance of longing as though he has lived with it for too long to protest.

then, without warning, he moves— a shift, so fluid and inevitable, and before you could catch your breath and register what was happening, neuvillette's face was buried in the curve of your neck, his lips barely parted against your skin.

an immediate warmth spreads through you, a heat that knots itself into the quiet places between your ribs.

although you freeze, your breath catches on something unnamed, something trembling between desire and disbelief;

"n-neuvillette?"

your voice sounded like a question, yet your body revealed an answer— your fingers curled at the nape of his neck, the press of his lips a silent confession.

his arms come around you at last, gathering you in, as though he has finally allowed himself this.

his nose brushes along your pulse, "mh? what were you saying?" as his arms tighten around your waist just slightly, holding— not trapping, just holding.

"you're supposed to sit still," you chide playfully, but your voice came out softer than you originally meant to.

he exhales, lips ghosting against your throat. "forgive me," he murmurs, "you are warm, i find myself comforted by your presence."

"—and you take such care of me."

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[winxanity-ii]

SINS OF DEVOTION [2/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v ; fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: wasn't planning on expanding the one-shot, but here we are. i literally stayed up 7+ hours to write this just cuz i got a bunch of praise in the notes 😩 i'm weak... anywho this is a continuation of my previous one-shot, '𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.' If you haven't read that yet, I recommend starting there to understand the progression of their relationship….final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Ever since that night, you couldn't look Father Charlie in the eyes. How could you, when the man—the symbol of the glory of the Father above—had been buried between your thighs like a man starved?

Just looking at him brought back all the feelings, the emotions that twisted and churned inside you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

Every time you saw him in the chapel, his gaze lingering on you from across the room, your heart would race, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

You would try to focus on your duties, your prayers, but the image of him kneeling before you, his mouth claiming every part of you, would flash in your mind, making you falter. Your hands would tremble, your voice would break, and you would feel heat rising in your cheeks, knowing he was watching you.

And he was always watching you.

His eyes would find yours whenever you entered a room, his gaze dark and intent, filled with a hunger that hadn't diminished in the slightest since that stormy night.

You could feel it even from a distance—the way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, as if he was marking you as his. It made your breath catch, your body reacting in ways you couldn't control, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through you.

It was a regular Sunday mass when he finally cornered you; a neighboring pastor was visiting, giving a sermon, while you were cleaning out one of the confessionals.

The faint sound of the sermon echoed in the background, the low, rhythmic cadence of the visiting pastor's voice carrying through the church. You were kneeling on the ground, scrubbing the tiles, your sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the soapy water.

The scent of cleaning solution hung in the air as you worked, your humming soft, almost absent-minded, a gentle hymn that you barely even noticed yourself singing.

You were so absorbed in your task that you didn't notice the shadow fall over you until it was too late. You looked up, startled, your eyes widening as you tried to regain your composure.

"I'm sorry, this confessional booth is out of commission at the moment, I'm cleaning—" Your words trailed off as your gaze traveled upward, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized who was standing there.

It was Father Charlie.

His presence filled the small space, and you could feel the air grow heavy around you, your pulse quickening as his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way he looked at you—something dark and knowing—that made your heart pound, your hands freezing where they rested on the damp cloth.

The brush slipped from your fingers, falling back into the soapy water with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the floor and your habit, snapping you out of your daze. You stuttered, "F-Father Charlie," quickly standing up, giving a short bow. "Blessed Sunday morning, Father."

Charlie's lips twitched up into a smile as he stepped further into the cramped confessional booth, the door closing with a soft click behind him. "Blessed Sunday to you as well, Sister ____."

Your eyes flickered to his lips, your breath catching as your mind flashed back to how he had used that very mouth to bring you to the brink of pleasure—his lips, his tongue, every sinful movement etched into your memory. You swallowed hard, your face warming at the thought, your hands fidgeting as you struggled to look anywhere but at him.

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out small. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you, Father?"

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, taking another step closer until he was right in front of you, the space between you almost nonexistent.

Your gaze dropped to his chest, the black fabric of his cassock filling your vision, the scent of him overwhelming—something warm and clean, with a hint of incense. You could feel your heart pounding, your breath hitching as he spoke, his voice low and deep.

"There are many things you could do for me, Sister," he murmured, his tone shifting, darkening, as his lips curled into a smirk. "We could pray... or perhaps," he paused, his eyes glinting as his voice dropped even lower, "you could help me find a different kind of release."

Your eyes widened at the crude implication, your gaze shooting up to meet his, only to find him already watching your face, his eyes hooded and dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach twist.

You felt heat pooling low in your belly, the tension in the small space between you almost unbearable. You shook your head slightly, your voice coming out in a whisper, shaky and unsure. "Father Charlie, we shouldn't... we can't..."

Charlie didn't answer, not with words. Instead, he took another step forward, his body pressing against yours as he used his arms to cage you in, one hand bracing against the wall of the confessional beside your head. His other hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tilting your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You could feel his breath, warm against your skin, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw, something that made your knees feel weak.

He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice a whisper, almost pleading. "Do you know what you do to me, Sister? How you push me to sin, how you make me want things I shouldn't?"

His hand left your cheek, moving down to grab your wrist, guiding your hand between your bodies, pressing it firmly against the hardness straining beneath his cassock. Your breath caught in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt him, your eyes widening, your entire body tensing at the sensation.

"Feel that?" he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "That's what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look at me with those innocent eyes... you make me lose control."

You felt your heart racing, your mind spinning, a mix of fear and something else—something dark and thrilling—coursing through you as Father Charlie's hand held yours in place, his gaze locked onto yours, unrelenting, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, waiting, coaxing you to give in.

Your thoughts raced. So many times since that night, you had fantasized about him, dreamed about him fully taking you, about giving in to the desires that had been eating away at you. But now, with him right in front of you, so desperate, so wanting, it made you dizzy.

You were a nun, a devoted daughter, a wife to the Lord—yet here you were, on the verge of surrendering. Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to cling to the last shreds of your faith.

But then you licked your lips, and you saw how his eyes immediately zeroed in on the movement, darkening with something almost primal. His gaze was intense, unblinking, and you felt the pull, the weight of his need, and it made something inside you snap.

With all the bravery you could muster, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

It was soft, a gentle peck, barely more than a brush of your lips against his, but it was enough to make your heart race like you were running a marathon.

For a moment, you thought you could pull back, that this brief kiss could be enough to satisfy whatever it was burning between you.

But then Charlie groaned, the sound deep and raw, and before you could pull away, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His tongue slipped between your parted lips, invading your mouth, exploring, tasting.

The kiss was nothing like your timid attempt—it was fierce, overwhelming, consuming.

You felt his tongue caressing the inside of your mouth, tracing the shape of your teeth, stroking your own tongue, coaxing it to move with his. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was savoring every second, every taste.

You felt your head grow light from the lack of air, your body trembling, but still, you were locked in the kiss, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but respond to him.

Your hands moved of their own accord, one of them gripping the front of his cassock, the other reaching up to tangle in his hair. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his body seemed to hum with tension, with need.

Charlie's other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your habit. It made you feel like you were drowning in him, in his touch, his taste.

You whimpered against his lips, the sound muffled by the kiss, and he responded with a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, his lips moving more insistently against yours.

Charlie pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he panted, his breath hot and heavy, mingling with your own. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw and unrestrained, and he let out a low groan, his voice rough with desire. "I wish so badly to mark you up, to strip you down right here and lose myself in you," he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. The explicitness of his words made your cheeks burn, your face flushing as you pressed it into his neck, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he wasn't done. He tilted your chin back up, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek, his eyes searching yours. "But it's too risky," he whispered, his voice filled with regret, and something almost feral. "So I'll settle for something much quicker."

As he spoke, his hands moved down, fingers traveling lower, bunching up the fabric of your tunic around your waist. His touch was frantic, almost desperate, his hands squeezing and kneading every inch of you he could reach, as if he couldn't get enough.

You could feel his fingers digging into your thighs, your hips, pulling you closer, pressing you against him, and it made your head spin, made your body ache with a need you didn't quite understand.

Your hands trembled as they found their place on his shoulders, your fingers hesitating, curling slightly in the fabric of his cassock. You wanted to touch him the way he was touching you, to let your hands explore, but you were too shy, too overwhelmed.

The intensity of his presence, the way his body felt against yours, it all left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

Charlie's gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes dark and filled with something raw, something that made your pulse quicken. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low murmur, almost a growl. "You don't have to be afraid... just let me take care of you."

Your breath hitched, your body tensing as you felt his hands venture lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but it was quickly swallowed by Charlie as he covered your mouth with his own, his lips moving against yours, silencing your small cries and whimpers.

His fingers moved with purpose, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow circles against your clit. The sensation made your knees go weak, your body trembling against him as he worked you with an expertise that left you breathless.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, to catch your breath, but he wouldn't let you, his mouth insistent, his tongue coaxing yours to move with his, swallowing every sound you made.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric as you felt his fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before slowly pushing inside.

A muffled whimper escaped your throat, your body tensing at the intrusion, the sensation both strange and thrilling. He moved slowly, his fingers stretching you, coaxing your body to relax, to accept him. You could feel every movement, every inch as he filled you, his touch deliberate, patient.

His lips never left yours, his kiss growing deeper, more demanding, as if he could feel your hesitation and was trying to coax you further, to draw you into the darkness with him. He pulled back for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke, his voice a low whisper, thick with desire. "You feel so good, Sister... so perfect. Just let go for me."

Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, his hand moved to your thigh, his fingers curling around your leg as he lifted it, wrapping it around his waist.

The new angle made everything more intense, his fingers sinking deeper, his thumb brushing against your clit, drawing a shuddering moan from your lips.

The warmth in your belly grew, turning into a small flame that licked at your insides, consuming every thought, every hesitation; your body responded to his touch, your hips moving against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving you.

Charlie's breathing grew shallow, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his gaze roaming over your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted, the soft gasps escaping your throat.

Your thighs trembled, your body growing tense as you felt the pressure building, the sensation coiling tightly in your core, threatening to snap at any moment.

But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, just as the first waves of your orgasm began to crest, Charlie stopped. He pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, the sudden emptiness almost painful.

A soft, desperate whimper escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering open, wide and confused as you looked up at him.

He met your gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste of you. "You taste so sweet, Sister," he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "I could spend all day between your thighs... but right now, I need something more."

He shifted, his hands moving to the waistband of his robe, shuffling the fabric around as he freed himself. You couldn't see anything, the fabric obscuring your view, but you felt it—the hard, heavy length of him brushing against your inner thigh, the sensation making your breath catch, your leg twitch involuntarily at the contact.

Charlie moved with a practiced ease, his hands gripping your hips as he shifted you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

Your back pressed against the wall of the confessional, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body. He adjusted his hold on you, his arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting them until both of your legs were hooked around his waist.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, the position leaving you completely at his mercy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, something in his eyes that made your heart race, made your body ache for more.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your breath hitch, your fingers clinging to his shoulders as he held you up, pressing you against the wall. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "You drive me mad, Sister... Forgive me, I can't hold back any longer."

He adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you up against the wall with ease while his other hand moved beneath the ruffled fabric of your habit.

Your legs hitched open wider, instinctively allowing him more access as you felt the warmth of his hand trailing up your inner thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin. The anticipation made your breath catch, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, your body aching for his touch.

You gasped softly as you felt something blunt press against your clit, moving up and down your slit, the sensation different this time—firmer, hotter. You thought it was his fingers again, but then Charlie let out a soft sigh, a quiet, breathless "fuck" that made your eyes widen, the realization hitting you all at once.

He wasn't using his fingers. It was him, the hard length of him brushing against you, spreading your slickness as he moved, the pressure making your head spin, your body growing even wetter at the sinful, blasphemous intimacy of it.

His movements were slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away, to deny what was happening. But you couldn't—your gaze was trapped by his, your lips parted as soft whimpers escaped, the sound swallowed by the heavy air between you.

Charlie's breath grew more ragged, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Do you feel that, Sister? Do you see what you do to me?" His voice was thick with lust, his words a mixture of reverence and something far more depraved. He moved his hips, sliding himself against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body, making you moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he began to push inside you, his voice low and shaky as he muttered a scripture, the holy words twisted by the desire lacing his tone. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." His voice trailed off into a deep, guttural groan as he sank deeper, the stretch almost too much, a sharp burn that made you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as your body struggled to adjust to him.

Charlie paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours once again, his breathing heavy, his eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. But you were too lost in the sensation—the way he filled you, the way your body seemed to mold around him, the burn slowly giving way to something else, something that made your toes curl, your breath hitching as you nodded, a silent plea for him to keep going.

He smiled, a dark, almost tender smile, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, "Perfect." His hips moved again, slowly at first, his movements careful, deliberate, as he began to build a rhythm, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, the feeling overwhelming, all-consuming.

And as you clung to him, your body trembling, you knew there was no turning back, no escaping the hold he had on you.

The two of you got lost in one another, the heat between you burning like a fire, desire crackling like embers, growing hotter with every movement. Charlie's pace quickened, his breaths coming out in harsh pants, his groans muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn't get close enough.

The rhythm of his thrusts grew more erratic, each one more desperate than the last, the intensity making your head spin, the pleasure building until it was almost too much.

You could hear him, his voice a mix of groans and soft, needy whines, his lips brushing against your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he moved, the friction, the pressure, everything pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body tensed, your muscles clenching around him as the band inside you finally snapped, the pleasure washing over you in a blinding wave. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut as your entire body trembled, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, riding out the high.

Charlie shuddered in your arms, his own body tensing as he felt you tighten around him, his movements growing sloppy, desperate, until he finally stilled, his hips pressing against yours as he let out a low, guttural groan.

You felt the warmth of him spreading inside you, the sensation almost surreal, the realization that you had pushed him to this point, that you had made him lose control, making your heart pound even harder.

He stayed like that for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you, something almost soft in his gaze.

Slowly, he pulled away, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your flushed cheeks as he leaned in, his nose bumping gently against yours, a small, tender gesture that made your heart swell.

Charlie's eyes held yours, his gaze intense, filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice still thick with the remnants of his desire. "Pleasure is deceitful... as it was for the harlot, yet I cannot resist you."

A/N: alright guys, chill with the praise and notes or i won't be able to get rest 😔🫶🏾🫶🏾jkjkjk keep them coming i'm a whore for them 🥴

[heich0e]

"so... how's work?"

you accidentally click the edge of your wine glass against your teeth as you tip it back, jarred by the strange question from the man standing at your side. you swallow the tiny mouthful of wine you manage to sip, turning to look at suna in bewilderment.

"work?" you ask him incredulously. "why are you asking me about work?"

suna rintarou doesn't care about what you do for work. truthfully speaking, you're not sure he even knows what you do for work—you certainly don't remember ever telling him, and the memory would stand out quite starkly considering all you ever seem to do when you run into him is bicker with him uselessly.

suna is a friend of a friend. or a friend of some friend's ex. or something. all you know is that every so often the two of you end up at the same social event, and there's something about the guy's face that just... makes you want to pick a fight.

and he has yet to turn down your instigation.

your friends all think it's funny—like you're some kind of comedy duo, and this is your special bit—but you don't see the charm in the slightest. you suspect they've started inviting you both to events just to have some entertainment.

"what?" rintarou asks, fiddling with his cellphone in his hand—pinching it between his thumb and his ring finger while he twirls it with his index. "i'm not allowed to ask about work? isn't that normal small talk for a christmas party?"

you're a little taken aback by his words. first of all, because he's right (which you hate). second of all, because he seems strangely defensive about it.

"normal for other people, maybe," you mutter, more to yourself than anything, before taking another tiny sip of wine. you swallow it, but somehow it doesn't help the dry feeling in your mouth. you're not sure you like this particular wine, you think, as bitterness clings to your tongue. "work is... fine."

suna perks up beside you at that, and you feel his eyes on your profile like he's waiting for you to go on.

"things get, uh... things get slow this time of year, so I'm mostly just answering stupid emails and ordering gifts online while i sit at my desk." you swirl the glass of wine in your hand, watching the way that the light catches in the deep red surface. "my section chief has kids and loves the holidays, so she's been pretty checked-out lately, herself. makes it easy to get away with slacking off."

you risk a glance over at him, and are somewhat dismayed to find him listening intently.

"must be nice to get a little break," he offers.

"yeah, i guess," you reply. your words are in agreement with him, but still your brow furrows.

what the fuck is going on?

you look around the room, as though checking for a hidden camera, or some other sign that might give away what the hell this guy's motives are. but around you is simply a room of friends enjoying each other's company—sipping drinks; eating finger foods the hosts had been carefully set out to graze on; chatting amongst each other about their lives, their holiday sweaters, their work.

everything seems totally normal, other than what's transpiring in the quiet corner where you and suna rintarou find yourselves standing side by side.

"how is... your... work?" you manage to ask, though it sounds as though the question is pulled from you with considerable effort. stiff and strained in every way a question so innocuous doesn't have any right to be.

suna laughs a little under his breath, masks it with a clearly fake cough, and then rests his hand over his mouth. he's smirking. you know he is. he's revelling in every second of your discomfort like the twisted little freak he is.

you're about to tell him as much, but he cuts you off.

"it's good," he replies to your pained question with an unexpected sincerity. "we're coming up to the half-way point in the season, so training is still pretty intense. we do get a day off for the holiday though."

right, he's a volleyball player. you'd learned that upon your first meeting, before your opinion of him was quite so hostile. you remember thinking at the time that he looked like a volleyball player—tall, lean, with big hands that made the beer can he'd been holding look almost laughably small in comparison.

you glance down at those hands again, still idly fidgeting with his cellphone. he's not drinking a beer tonight, and you wonder if maybe it's because he's in the middle of his season.

you think about asking him.

but you don't.

suna seems to be waiting for you to say more, but when you don't, he continues on the conversation himself. "i thought about taking the train to hyogo for the day, but it wouldn't really make sense just to go visit for a few hours."

you take another sip of your wine. you decide that you do not in fact enjoy it.

you hum a bit, ditching your mostly full glass on the edge of a table that rests within reach. "tough to just make a day trip, especially since the weather's so..." you trail off, gesturing vaguely with your now empty hand in a way that's supposed to indicate the unreliability of the winter climate.

suna laughs.

you look at him in confusion.

"the weather?" he asks you, rubbing at his mouth again like he trying to hide the expression underneath his fingertips. it might work if his eyes didn't crinkle at the corner when he smiles. "we're talking about the weather now?"

your lips part indignantly at his jibe. he's the one who'd initiated this hellscape of small talk, and now he had the nerve to chide you for it?

"oh, i'm sorry," you guffaw, feigning remorse, "is there some pressing matter you'd rather discuss?"

rintarou dips closer to you from his greater height, and the fact that he's so much taller than you are only irritates you more.

"there is actually," he says with a nod.

"oh, yeah?" you roll your eyes, gearing up for a fight. you turn to face him properly, tilting your chin up to meet him eye to eye without wavering. "and what's that?"

"are you aware that we've been standing under mistletoe for the entirety of this conversation?"

you slowly look overhead.

like something out of a horror film, you find that for once in his life (or at least the few months you've known him) suna's chosen to say something factual. overhead, a little bundle of mistletoe has been affixed to the ceiling with a piece of tape that seems to barely be hanging on—the decoration at risk of falling at any moment.

you feel sick.

"so what?" you ask him, swallowing down that feeling of dread and maintaining (what you hope is) an air of indifference.

"so that means we're supposed to kiss," he tells you matter-of-factly, almost a bit pointedly, like he can't believe you didn't know.

"i'm aware of that," you hiss. "i don't, however, bend to the whims of plants, as a general rule."

"weird rule," he remarks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

you feel a throb of irritation behind your eyes.

"you're the one who came over here to bother me," you point out. "if you knew there was mistletoe hanging up there, that means this is your fault."

suna shrugs a bit.

you keep going, your pulse thrumming beneath your tongue and fanning the flames of irritation churning in the pit of your stomach.

"if anything, that makes you the weird one for coming up with some scheme to trick me. we're not children. if you wanted to kiss me so bad you could have just aske—"

"can i kiss you?"

what?

"i asked if i can kiss you," rintarou says, and you're not sure if that means you voiced your thought aloud or it was just plainly written across your face. he inches closer to you, and though you would usually shift away to accommodate for the intrusion, the table where you'd discarded your glass of wine keeps you mostly trapped in place. pinned. cornered. "you said that if i wanted to kiss you, i should ask. so, i'm asking if i can kiss you."

why?

suna sighs after a moment of contemplating the look of abject shock on your features, slumping forward and resting his forehead on the wall beside your head, caging you against the wall with his lanky frame. you can't breathe with him this close—too startled by the proximity and the warmth radiating from him to even think about drawing air into your lungs. too confused by this entire situation to meet your basic human needs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he asks quietly. he's so near that you feel his words more than you hear them—especially since they were spoken so quietly just next to your ear.

"get what?" your own voice sounds distant—sounds strange—to you when you finally manage to speak.

suna pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, and you're shocked to see just how pink his face is. he looks mortified—and desperate—as his eyes find yours. he tilts his face towards you, and when he speaks again you feel the warmth of his breath break against your lips.

"you're the only person in this room who i'd enjoy listening to talk about the weather."

and it's not until much later, when the lingering bitterness from the wine has been replaced by something much sweeter (though entirely unexpected) on your tongue, that you realize rintarou was the only person in the room tall enough to reach the ceiling.

a/n: for nana, who forced me to write this entirely against my will but whom i love dearly in spite of it

[redlinespeedster]

A FAMILIAR TOUCH !! ☆

lando norris 𝒙 best friend fem!reader

[summary] You like taking risks, you crave danger, yet he is your everyday routine… and somehow, that excites you too. You’d been friends for so long that his touch on your skin feels like a familiar whisper: his hands steady on your shoulders, his fingers slowly tracing your hips. You can recognize the warmth of his body from a distance. But when he finally slips between your legs for the first time, all that familiarity shatters into a rush of new sensations — an intense, addictive pleasure you never expected to feel with him.

[warnings] Smut !! car sex, oral sex & fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes. (2.5k)

[notes] Just writing this ‘cause I know deep down Lando would be the kind of friend like “you’re my best friend… but I’d totally wreck you if I got the chance” 🙃

He wasn’t in love with you, or anything like that.

Or maybe he was? He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he’d wanted you pretty much since the day you met in school. Even back when his preteen brain couldn’t fully grasp what desire or attraction even meant.

He didn’t know if it was your personality, how kind you were to everyone, the sun-kissed blush on your cheeks, or just how pretty you were—but he wanted to be close to you. And maybe that alone was enough to make you inseparable. Best friends. Almost like siblings? No, that was something your mom said once, and it made Lando’s stomach turn with disgust.

What truly mattered was that it wasn’t until his desire began to awaken that he realized what he actually felt for you. Intense fantasies and lust-filled dreams ambushed him at all hours, and you were in every single one of them—whether you were riding him in desperation or lying beneath his body, utterly surrendered. The position or place didn’t matter; what drove him mad was having you there, so vivid in his mind, pushing him to the edge even in the moments he tried hardest to stay composed… especially when you walked around in that summer pajama that barely covered the essentials.

You didn’t even try to make it easier for him. You’d sit on his lap, brushing up against him without realizing it, as if he weren’t a man, as if he couldn’t feel every one of your movements or sense what they were stirring inside him. For years, you never understood why he had to distance himself from you—you thought maybe you were crossing a line, taking advantage of his trust. But as you got older, you remembered it clearly and finally understood.

Still, you never spoke of it again.

It had never crossed your mind that he might be attracted to you—not even after everything that had happened. Sure, you’d noticed that constant need he had to hug you, to cuddle you, to run his fingers through your hair. You also remembered the times he’d move you off his lap because he was getting hard and his pants were too tight—but you figured it was just a natural physical reaction. Maybe his body just responded to the slightest touch, because in adolescence it’s common to get aroused from something as simple as a bit of contact. You were a complete idiot for not realizing what was really going on.

Because as you grow older, things become clearer—and the sexual tension between you becomes unbearable. To the point where neither of you really knows what you’re feeling… or how to define it.

Lando can’t stop imagining himself inside you, losing himself between your legs. And you’ve started to crave his touch—the one that used to be just warm and friendly—hoping he lingers longer, hoping his hands start to explore you with more intent and desire.

But despite it all, the two of you keep pretending in front of the world that you’re just best friends, both convinced that you’ll never be anything more than that.

That discomfort resurfaces every time you’re alone with him again. Even now—coming back from a party you didn’t want to go to and he didn’t want to leave, but did anyway, just because you asked him to. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly you can tell even without looking at him, because your eyes are lost in the car window.

He looks at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes, shamelessly, staring especially at the part of your thighs you left exposed. You feel that gaze—heavy, filthy—and a chill runs down your spine. Because you know he thinks you don’t notice. Like you’re naive. And that’s what pisses you off the most: that he’s such a coward. That he doesn’t have the guts to look you in the eye and admit he’s dying to fuck you.

You squeeze your thighs together just because you know he notices. You do it slowly, deliberately, like a silent challenge. What used to be an awkward tension between teenagers is now a game you play to perfection. You can almost hear him clench his jaw, feel his whole body tighten. And the best—or the worst—part is, he knows you’re doing it on purpose. To provoke him. To drive him insane.

His eyes don’t leave the road, determined not to get distracted—though the temptation you represent is nearly unbearable. He tries to convince himself that the sexual thoughts consuming him now are just a consequence of the alcohol he had earlier at the party. But he knows that’s not true. Those burning, forbidden desires have always been there, every time he’s with you. And not even alcohol can justify all these years of obsessive fantasies, of the deep urge to hold you in his arms.

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

But Lando pretends not to understand. He thinks you’re talking about the party you just left, or about the fact that he’s driving at a snail’s pace after a few too many drinks.

But it’s clear that’s not what you mean.

“What d’you want me to say?” he asks. The car stops across the street, and he lets go of the wheel to focus all his attention on you.

The tension between you is almost unbearable.

You stare at him intently, and he notices a different sparkle in your eyes, something he had never seen before, almost as if it were new. He doesn’t know how to describe it because he was never used to you looking at him that way. It’s a gaze full of desire, intense and almost tangible, as if you longed to have him so close that you wanted to move until you were sitting on his lap, in the driver’s seat, invading his space and his skin.

His pupils dilate. Only he can decide when to kiss you, how to do it, and how much he’s going to leave you trembling afterward. Maybe that’s why his hand grips the back of your neck tightly, forcing you to lean in until his lips crash against yours with fierce need. The kiss is anything but gentle: it’s intense, clumsy, desperate. He bites you, licks you, invades your mouth as if it were his own. As if he had been holding back for years, when in reality it was only half a lifetime.

No one had kissed you like that before. No one had made you feel that a kiss could leave you breathless, without pride, without control. He kisses you as if he wanted to mark you, break you, tear your soul out with his tongue. As if with that kiss he could devour you alive and still be hungry.

You want to move toward his seat, but he’s the one who lunges at you, pinning you against the closed car window. His body presses against yours urgently, and your hands clutch his jacket, squeezing it hard to pull him even closer. He kisses you hungrily, as if what’s making him drunk isn’t the drinks he had but the taste of your mouth, your tongue, your hot saliva mixing with his.

His hands roam over your clothes with a slow touch that gives you goosebumps, as if he wants to memorize every curve through the feeling. He kisses you with desire while his fingers explore the sequins on your dress, stopping intentionally at your neckline. There, he strokes firmly and precisely, and for a moment, you feel your breath catch, as if his touch could ignite you from within.

Your heart pounds hard, almost painfully fast. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and the heat pooling low in your belly becomes an urgent need. You’re so wet you can feel it clearly, soaking through the fabric between your thighs. Lando notices—he drinks in the sight with his eyes. Without hesitation, he pushes your dress up to your waist, leaving you exposed to him. A desire-filled smile spreads across his face as his fingers trace the edge of your underwear slowly, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before taking it off.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice rough. “So fucking wet for me.”

And then he lowers his head, dead set on tasting you.

His lips press against your pussy, still covered by your clothes, licking and kissing with an intensity that seeps through the fabric. His hands grip your thighs firmly, forcing you to open up for him, exposing you, wanting you vulnerable beneath his mouth. You feel him move right where you need him the most, his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles, but everything is still filtered by the fabric, and it’s driving you insane. You want him with nothing in between—raw, skin to skin—but he just smiles against you, savoring the power of making you beg without a single word.

“Why are you so fucking desperate, baby?” he whispers. “You want my tongue to ruin you? Drive you insane?” He lifts his head slightly, and his eyes burn with a lust that mirrors your own, igniting the fire between you.

You nod desperately, and Lando leans back down until his warm breath grazes your underwear again. The fabric slides to the side with a single movement of his fingers—not taking it off, just shifting it enough. Your legs tremble on either side of his head, open, exposed. Then his tongue begins to slowly glide over your pussy, tracing soft, deliberate lines—so slow it feels like sweet torture. Each stroke pulls a muffled moan from your lips, while he clings to your thighs like he has no intention of letting you go.

And then, when he hears you moan with a broken voice, writhing beneath his tongue and begging for more, he sinks between your legs with an almost feral devotion. He sucks you, licks you, devours you like the world ends there—like your body is the only drug capable of making him lose control. His tongue moves with precise rhythm, soaking in you, savoring every part of your sex, stopping to suck your clit until you’re trembling. He doesn’t let up: he spreads you open with his fingers, explores you, takes you to the edge again and again. Your back arches uncontrollably, your moans fill the car, your legs shake and your fingers tangle in his hair while your hips move on their own—seeking more, demanding more. You’re completely his, undone with pleasure, lost between his mouth and your gasps.

“Lando… fuck,” you whimper through sobs, voice trembling and your body utterly given to him. You’re so on edge that every touch, every thrust of his fingers, pulls you closer to the brink. You feel them pushing in and out of you with a steady, deep rhythm, then curling inside, rubbing that spot with a precision that makes your back arch and his name fall from your lips like a prayer. The heat between your legs is unbearable, and every move he makes leaves you wetter, more desperate, more his.

He hadn’t realized just how long he’d craved having you like this—completely surrendered. It didn’t matter if it was in the car, his place, or your bedroom. He had only dreamed of seeing you like this: breathless with every lick, moaning with pleasure while his eyes glazed over with desire—never stopping, tracing every inch of you with his tongue until you were trembling, soaked, and drained of all strength.

He could spend hours between your legs, but he knows you won’t last much longer. Not like this—not with his tongue plunging deep inside you, exploring every spot with shameless hunger. There’s no resisting it. He feels the way you shudder and twist beneath him, right on the edge, seconds away from coming all over his face. His grip tightens around your thighs, ready to take the heat of your complete surrender.

“Bet you fuckin’ love my tongue inside you, huh? Didn’t even stop to think this shit might be wrong—that maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

You feel his eyes locked on you, unblinking, as his fingers drive into you without mercy, going deep until you can’t take anymore—until the pleasure overwhelms you and you have no choice but to give in.

His smile is wicked, not a trace of guilt in sight, fully enjoying the mess you’ve become under him. He loves how you let go, how you lose your mind with every touch, whether it’s his fingers or his tongue in control.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess—all wrecked and humiliated, you know that? Yeah, you fuckin’ know it. And you love every second of it.”

His fingers thrust into you with a steady, deep rhythm, until pleasure overwhelms you and your vision goes blurry. You gasp, breath ragged, back arched against the seat, heart pounding. It’s too much. More than you thought you could take. More than anyone had ever made you feel.

You can’t understand how something so spontaneous —fifteen minutes in a car, half-drunk, on an empty road— could make you lose control like that. It’s beyond any previous experience, beyond anything you ever expected sex to be.

And it’s with Lando. Your best friend.

Even thinking about it feels unreal… but the heat between your thighs and the trembling in your body are far too real to ignore.

“Hey, you good?” It’s the first thing he asks.

But you can’t even speak clearly; your body is still trembling from the orgasm, from the shiver that ran through you and hasn’t completely faded. It felt fucking amazing… and at the same time, something inside you twists, because you both know exactly what just happened, even if you didn’t technically have sex. It was just foreplay, sure—but it felt like something more.

His fingers—the same ones that were buried deep inside you just minutes ago—still glisten with the wet trace of your pleasure. His mouth, the one that devoured you like he was addicted to your taste, is still marked with your desire. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, like your body has completely surrendered, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to stand up anytime soon.

You’re satisfied. Not completely full… but deliciously sated. Though you know you’d need much more from him—more of his body, more of his strength—to feel truly complete.

You nod with a faint smile, and barely manage to whisper, “Yeah.”

Lando tries to put his clothes back in place with slow, almost distracted movements, because his eyes never stop watching you. His hands keep roaming over you, but no longer with the urgency from before. Now he caresses you calmly, with a softness that feels almost reverent. And in that touch, you recognize something familiar, something your body hasn’t forgotten. Because he has touched you like this before, and the way he does it still lingers on your skin like a living memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he lets his fingers gently sink into your sweat-damp hair. “I want you to keep touching me like you did today…”

He doesn’t answer with words, only nods with a slight smile, heavy with desire.

And you know he will. That he will touch you again with that same devotion every time you let him, until your body belongs to him by memory.

[bonniepop]

"what's that?"

you look up at kuroo, who stares down at you intently.

"that," he says with intention, tipping his chin.

you look down, on you and around you, assessing the mess of water bottles and towels (that you begrudgingly note you have to pick up, you have to remind the boys to clean up after themselves) littered around the break area of the gym, patting your body down for good measure. when you find nothing, you look back up at him with a frown. "what?"

he leans the slightest bit closer, eyes narrowing. "that."

"where?!" you say exasperatedly, "is it on my face?!" you fish out your phone to look closer.

when you find nothing yet again, your frown turns into a scowl. "what are you talking abo—"

you nearly jump back when you put down your phone and his face is so nearly in front of yours.

his mouth is spread into a grin, and before you can react, he leans closer to place a peck on your lips.

he walks away cackling before you can even think to respond.

[appocalipse]

no pilots allowed • bradley bradshaw

Rooster and his teammates are frequent patrons at your aunt's bar, the Hard Deck, while they're training for a dangerous mission. When he asks you out on a date, the two of you jokingly agree to keep it friendly, never cross certain lines…but Rooster has other ideas.

"Do you ever sleep?"

You don't look up from the glass you're polishing, but your mouth twitches into a faint smile...the same way it always does when he shows up at the Hard Deck this early.

"We're not open for, like, another few hours," you tell Rooster, as if he doesn't know that already. You can hear him approaching the bar from behind, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, making his way through the quiet, mostly-empty room.

You're not supposed to let people in before hours, technically. Especially not good-looking naval aviators who will inevitably distract you a little more than you'd like to admit, but...

"Then what are you doing here?" he asks.

You look up at him. He's taken off his aviators, his dark eyes watching you rather intently. His posture is casual, his tall frame leaning against the counter.

You set down the glass you've been polishing and reach for another one, returning your attention to your task. "Someone has to make sure everything's ready before we open."

He gives you a slow, easy smile. "Mind if I help?"

"Help?"

"Yeah." He looks around the bar as if trying to figure out where to start. "What do you need me to do?"

"Aren't you tired from training?"

"I'm fine," he says, not convincing you in the slightest. "Seriously. What do you need?"

You set down the glass. A small part of you can't resist the chance to keep him around longer.

"I'll feel bad if I make you work," it sounds like you're reasoning with yourself.

Rooster grins. "Then don't make me work. It's my idea."

"My aunt will kill me if she catches you in here, especially if you're working."

"She won't know."

Well...there are some heavy crates that need to be brought in from the storage room, bottles of alcohol that need to be placed on the shelves, tables that need to be wiped down...

The heavy ones. Oh, the heavy ones are tempting.

"You're a menace," you tell him, though it comes out sounding more like a compliment than an insult. It's hard to offend him anyway, you've found; he seems to take everything you say in stride, regardless of whether you mean it or not.

He smiles at you, unfazed. "Is that a yes?"

"What are you doing here so early anyway? You and your team don't usually show up until well after dark."

"Do I need a reason?"

"It's early. You can't be that bored already."

"Maybe I just wanted to see you."

Boy, is he good.

Not falling for it is a challenge every time. You wonder if Rooster knows that, if he gets a kick out of it the way Hangman does when he flirts with every pretty girl who crosses his path. The difference is, Hangman's flirting is playful, an intentional provocation that you can take as a compliment or blow off with a laugh.

Rooster's flirting is different. It's always delivered in that same deep, mellow voice of his, a warm baritone that reminds you of dark whiskey on a cold night, and he has a way of saying things that makes you think he might actually mean them.

"...you don't have to sweet-talk me," you tell him. "I already let you in."

He grins at you. "Who says I'm sweet-talking?"

You turn back to your task of polishing glasses so he won't see the smile you can't contain. That's it, you think. New rule: no more letting him in early. He's too distracting.

"Am I being kicked out?" Rooster asks, amused.

"Yes."

"Really?"

You try not to laugh. "No. But you really don't have to help."

He straightens up from the bar and stretches his arms, yawning. "Where's Penny? Did she leave you here to do all this by yourself?"

"Visiting her mother with Amelia. She'll be back later. I offered to cover while she's gone," maybe out of boredom or some desperation for human contact, but it sounded like a good idea at the time, you just didn't realize it would involve so much work. "The other waitresses will be here, um, soon, I guess, once it gets closer to opening time."

You don't want to admit you're a little intimidated by the responsibility. You've only been working at the Hard Deck for a few months now, having moved here from halfway across the country, and most of that time has been spent behind the bar or taking orders on your notepad, doing the tasks Penny asked you to do, and nothing more. Now that she's away for a few days, you're starting to feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of work that needs to be done.

"You look tired," Rooster observes.

"Thanks."

"I mean it in a good way."

"It doesn't sound good."

"You always look nice," he clarifies, to your mild embarrassment and surprise. "I just mean you seem like you could use some help."

You don't meet his gaze because, no, you're not going to be distracted by those brown eyes again, it's bad enough already. "I...okay. The delivery truck is supposed to arrive soon, so...there are a lot of crates that need to be brought inside. And some in the storage room that I need to bring here to the bar. Some of them are really heavy. I'm not even sure how Penny brings them in by herself."

"Let me take care of that for you."

Let me take care of that for you, says he, like it's no big deal.

"There are some boxes of liquor that need to be taken out of the storage room and brought in here, too," you continue, despite your better judgment, still watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He gives you another slow smile. "Okay. Where is this storage room?"

"There's a door behind the bar. To the right. I'll help you carry them."

"You don't have to."

"I'll show you where they are. And it's gonna be easier if there are two of us."

He looks at you with a knowing smile. "Is that why you want to come along? So you can make sure I don't get distracted and break anything?"

"Exactly."

"I think you're just making excuses to spend time with me."

Does he really have to keep looking at you like that?

"Rooster," you say, as firmly as you can manage.

"Yes?" It doesn't seem to bother him that you're trying to scold him. In fact, you think he's enjoying it.

You walk backwards behind the bar to lead him toward the storage room, pausing when you reach the door. You let out a sigh. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

"Really?" He grins at you, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought I was being very nice."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Yeah."

"Crates," you say, gesturing to the storage room and changing the subject before he can talk his way into any more compliments. "In there, by the wall. The smaller boxes on the shelves are for the bar. We'll bring them in after we move the big crates. The ones with the heavy bottles inside."

Rooster pauses. "'We'?"

"I can't let you carry all of those by yourself. They're heavy."

"That's cute. But I can handle it."

"No. Not by yourself."

He gives you a confident grin. "Watch me."

The moment he disappears into the storage room, you start to regret saying anything at all. You're not entirely sure what possessed you to let him help you with this; he must have gotten to your head. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now while he's out of sight, and yet...you decide to stand there in the doorway, watching him take inventory of the room, squinting in the dim light and trying to decide where to start.

It's not like you can just leave him to it. It would be too embarrassing if he hurt himself and you did nothing. The best way to keep an eye on him is to stay close by.

Right?

Rooster lets out a groan as he heaves one of the large crates up off the floor. "You weren't kidding," he mutters. "These are heavy."

"Let me—"

"I've got it."

He doesn't let you help him. He lifts the crate off the ground with another grunt, and you're distracted for a moment by the sight of his muscular arms flexing under the strain, the tight white t-shirt he's wearing pulled even tighter across his chest, the—

"Y/N?"

"Hm?" You look up quickly. "What?"

He grins at you. "Want to open the door for me?"

Fuck, you think, not for the first time that day, stepping out of the way to let him through.

You grab a smaller crate for yourself. It's not as heavy as the one Rooster is carrying, but you still strain a little under the weight of it, and Rooster still gives you a disapproving look when he notices.

"I told you," he says, slightly out of breath from his own effort, "you don't have to help."

"It's literally my job to help," you mutter. "Actually, it's my job to carry them all myself, so—"

"I got it."

"Yeah, but I can—"

"You can relax," he tells you, letting out a small groan as he heaves the crate up a little higher. "And go back to what you were doing."

It would be easier to protest if he didn't make it look so effortless. He carries the crate out of the storage room and sets it on the floor near the bar with a thud, barely breaking a sweat.

Your fingers dig into the rough edges of your own crate, which seems ten times heavier all of a sudden. You set it down next to his, more carefully than he did, glancing over at him to see if he noticed.

He looks down at the crate you just set on the floor, then over at you with barely concealed amusement. "Not bad," he says. "You could handle that all by yourself?"

"Shut up."

"No, really." He's not trying to hide his smile anymore. "Impressive."

The laugh you let out is entirely involuntary, equal parts embarrassed and amused. "Okay, fine, I get it," you say. "You're strong. You go get the rest of them while I finish wiping down the tables."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"Any time."

It's fine, you tell yourself as he heads back into the storage room. Rooster being in here won't distract you. It's fine. Everything is fine.

The delivery truck arrives shortly after Rooster has brought in the last of the crates to the bar, so you spend the next hour opening the boxes and sorting the bottles, filling the shelves behind the bar with whiskey and rum and vodka, gin and tequila and other liquors...and totally not stealing glances at Rooster as he carries the crates from the truck into the storage room.

You've found a rhythm by the time he returns from the truck for the final time, wiping your hands on your apron as you watch him approach the bar.

"I think that's all of them," he says, letting out a groan as he stretches his arms above his head.

The nerve, you think, resisting the urge to stare. The absolute nerve.

"Thank you."

He lowers his arms. "I never said it was for free."

"What?"

Rooster leans forward and props his elbows on the bar, the same cocky grin from earlier playing at his lips. "There's a price for my help."

"A price?" you ask, still polishing the same glass you've been working on since he arrived. "And what's that?"

"...a drink."

Well, that's easy.

"A drink? You want me to pay you a drink?"

"Ah, no, no," he says with a laugh, waving his hand like the idea is ridiculous. "I want you to let me buy you a drink."

Oh.

"Oh."

"And something to eat, too," he adds, and by the time you recover from the initial shock of what he's suggesting, he's already standing up straight again. "What time do you get off work?"

"No."

"No?" He looks at you in surprise.

"I can't," but you're only barely resisting.

"You can."

"Rooster."

He frowns. "What?"

"I..." Why is this so hard? "I can't go out with you. It's—I can't."

"Why not?"

You feel tempted. Boy, are you tempted. You're smiling even as you shake your head, trying to focus on polishing the glass in your hands. "Because I actually...like you."

Rooster pauses, his smile returning. "You can't go out with me because you like me?"

"This heart," you tap your fingers on your chest, smiling still, "is off limits, okay? No pilots allowed."

The tables are clean and the bar is stocked and organized, but you need to do something else, anything else, if only to avoid Rooster's gaze. You slip the cloth you've been using into your apron pocket and look around for another task. There must be something you missed. Anything.

Tables, yeah. You can wipe down the tables again.

"Okay," he says slowly, clearly not convinced, "so let me get this straight: You like me, therefore you're not allowed to go out with me?"

You nod. "Exactly."

"Are you kidding?"

You take the cloth out of your apron pocket again and glance around the bar, searching for any traces of dust on the tables or chairs that might need to be wiped down.

"Y/N?"

You've already gone over the tables once...

Rooster steps closer. "You know that makes no sense, right?"

You're not distracted by the sight of his hand sliding onto the countertop next to you. You're not distracted by the sudden proximity of him as he leans in closer. It's fine, it's not a problem, you can deal with this.

"So...you're saying you do want to go out with me," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself, "but you won't?"

He's so close. He smells good, like pine and leather. You glance over at him, realizing how little space there is between you now, and quickly look away.

"That's—I don't..."

"Because you like me."

"Shut up."

His gaze drops to your mouth. "Make me."

You swallow. Hard.

It takes a monumental amount of willpower to step away from him, to resist the temptation to touch him or get closer, but you manage. Barely. You make yourself focus on the task you've found for yourself, pretending that Rooster isn't standing behind you watching as you wipe down the tables a second time.

"I think we should go out," he says again, obviously not taking your silence for the no it's supposed to be. "There's a place downtown that I think you'd like."

You chuckle, which probably doesn't help matters, but...it's really hard to say no to him.

"Would I?"

He must have sensed weakness because he follows you around the bar as you continue your pointless cleaning. "Today is one of the last days we have off," he tells you. "Maverick has us in the air all day tomorrow, and most of the day after that. If we don't go out tonight, who knows when we'll have another chance...or how long it'll be before I see you again."

"Rooster..."

"Come on," he says, more gently this time. "One drink. Or maybe dinner. Nothing too fancy. I promise."

You pause and glance over at him. He really doesn't know when to quit. "But it's not a date."

"No. Totally not."

You don't like how much it sounds like he's laughing at you.

"Really?"

"Not even close," he says, like he's serious. "It's a totally not date between two friends."

He follows you, like a puppy, around the bar, until you pause again, thinking it over for what feels like the millionth time in the last few minutes. One drink, he said.

Not a date.

...just two friends hanging out.

No feelings involved.

You sigh, letting the cloth in your hand drop to the table, giving in to the inevitable. "Fine," you say, turning around to face him. "But it's not a date."

"No."

"Or a first date."

"Right."

"And it's just one drink."

"I swear."

"And we can't—we can't..." You can't help but notice the way he's looking at you, his brown eyes full of mischief, a hint of that playful smile on his lips again, and you're suddenly worried he might get the wrong idea about this whole thing. "No...you know."

His eyes linger on your mouth again before meeting your gaze with a sly smile. "No...what?"

"You know."

"I really don't."

"It's not a date."

He chuckles softly at your obvious distress, clearly enjoying this. "Okay, it's not a date."

"Exactly. So don't do anything you'd do if it was a date."

He steps closer, grinning, the space between you evaporating again. "And what is it," he asks in that deep voice of his, a low rumble that resonates somewhere in the pit of your stomach, "that you think I would do on a date?"

The table behind you feels like it's digging into your back.

"No kissing."

"Got it," he says, resting one hand on the table behind you, "no kissing."

"Or any other...date stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like..." You glance at his mouth.

Rooster smiles. "You want to make a list?"

You duck under his arm before he can do something that will get you in trouble. "I'll meet you after work," you tell him over your shoulder as you walk back toward the bar, desperate for some space before you lose your resolve altogether. "Just...stop talking. You're distracting me."

He turns and watches you, amused. "Okay. Pick you up at seven?"

You wonder if it's too late to back out of this, or if he's going to show up here at seven with that stupid smile of his and his ridiculous mustache and ruin everything anyway.

"You don't have to pick me up," you mutter, wiping your hands on your apron one more time, unable to hide your smile. "It's not a date, remember?"

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

Oh, he's impossible.

"It's not a date!"