#you know they all pretend �� task | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makoodles · 1 year ago

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ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups.

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you.

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now.

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly.

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway.

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy.

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it.

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head.

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock.

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you.

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly.

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling.

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying.

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving.

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented.

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria.

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve.

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife.

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off.

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you.

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again.

Well. Okay, then.

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk.

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go.

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things.

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?”

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words.

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice.

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused.

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee.

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry.

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure.

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch.

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing.

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged.

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs.

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return.

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming.

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else.

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily –

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face.

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him.

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs.

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy.

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious.

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering.

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy.

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static.

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent.

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside.

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is.

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you.

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him.

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in.

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much.

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today.

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach.

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness.

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest.

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him.

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies.

“Thank you.” You mumble.

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod fic #141 x reader #daddy issues price

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alexiroflife · 3 months ago

Text

jjk men calling you annoying...

"hi! ik u have a few reqs to do and ur going on vacation but i was reading some of ur works and saw u did a headcannon for calling jjk men annoying. i was thinking what if u did the opposite w the jjk men calling reader annoying? if u dont decide to do this thats okay! cant wait to eat up your other upcoming fics <3" -anon

some angst, jjk men being assholes (except for nanami)

satoru, suguru, kento, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo:

normally, satoru is the one that is considered to be annoying. every higher up, coworker, and student of his alike would agree that satoru’s personality is pestering on its own, for his behavior doesn’t align with the severity of the jujutsu world in the eyes of others.

satoru has never cared how others judged him, for he often takes to picking on others for the sake of getting a reaction. he enjoys lightening the mood of drab situations, therefore he’s tossing around inappropriate jokes during meetings, teasing utahime for the umpteenth time, or trying to force megumi into spending quality time with him while the sixteen year old does his best to pretend he doesn’t know him in public.

and with you, he’s far worse. satoru can not bear being away from you or your attention being focused into anything other than him for longer than two minutes, and he’s always making an excuse to abandon whatever he’s doing to be by your side. satoru is the very definition of clingy, and while everyone finds it annoying, you can not deny that you adore how the strongest glues himself to you as though he can not bear for the two of you to be parted.

those around him believe it’s impossible for someone as annoying as gojo to actually be annoyed by anything, but you know what pisses him off. you know that he can not stand the jujutsu higher ups and how they antagonize children who were given no choice but to live the lives they lead. he can not stand the way they order him around to carry out unfavorable tasks with no regard for his past experiences or the experiences of the students that he is meant to monitor. he can not stand the lectures, the judgmental tones, the expectation of respect when it is not given in return.

and he can not stand when he is forced to attend hearings or meetings with them, where he has to listen to them drone on and on about how irresponsible he is when satoru is the only one truly looking out for the good of all groups. they demand so much of him, yet treat him like trash in return. nothing peeves him off more.

he knows that you understand this about him as a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, but you have the tendency to be more tolerant of injustices than he is. what he means is that you know how to save face for the sake of your own sanity and pay the elders no mind whilst simultaneously making them think that you are in cooperation with them. you know how to feign manners and respect, which satoru does not bother to do.

consequently, when you tell him that the upcoming meeting that he has scheduled with the higher ups is one he should attend instead of skipping due to its level of importance, he can’t help but be irritated with you.

“i’m just saying, satoru,” you say into the speaker with your phone pressed to your ear. the blue eyed man is on his way to said meeting after you practically forced him to attend, and he’s not at all happy about it. “once you’re in there, you’ll be out in no time.”

“(y/n), somehow those pricks make a half an hour feel like two,” your boyfriend complained into the phone. you place your hand on your hip and look up to the ceiling.

“you’re being so pessimistic about it,” you sigh. “it’s gonna be worse the worse you talk about it.”

“no, it’s gonna be bad regardless because these higher ups don’t know up from down or left from right.”

you can tell he’s growing aggravated, which was the opposite effect you wanted this call to have. you lower your head and attempt to shift, to reassure him in a different way.

“it’s gonna be okay, toru,” you tell him. “you’re above these people anyway, no matter what the hierarchy at this school is-“

“if you really thought that, you wouldn’t have made me go.”

you frown. “you didn’t really have a choice with this one, you know that right? whether you like the assholes or not, the meeting itself is important. you need to be there.”

“i really wish you’d stop saying that,” he exhales, agitatedly.

“stop saying what?” you scrunch your face, hand falling from your hip. “that it’s your responsibility?”

“yeah, actually,” he snaps. “hell, you’re starting to sound just like everyone else.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you scoff. “satoru, i’m just trying to help you. sometimes you just have to suck it up and deal.”

“suck it up?” he repeats incredulously. “i suck it up every day of my life. everyone wants me to do something for them, but expects me not to have my own opinions in return and that shit doesn’t make any sense.”

“that’s not what i’m trying to say-“

“then what are you trying to say? to just go along with all the messed up shit the higher ups want me to do?”

“no.”

“then what?”

“to just attend a meeting for the sake of your job, satoru. my god, that’s all.”

he tchs, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes on the other line. “fine. whatever.”

“what’s with your attitude? i’m genuinely just trying to look out for you, like…?”

“you’re not helping, (y/n). you’re being annoying.”

his words sting, and you stand still in the hall to your classroom as you register satoru’s tone and accusation. there’s silence, and satoru knows that when you say nothing more, he’s crossed a line.

even so, he’s too heated currently to own up to it in this moment, so he lets the silence swallow you both as he walks.

“okay,” you mumble apathetically after a while. “bye, satoru.”

you hear him prepare to say something, but your thumb is already hiding the end call button.

throughout the next half and hour, you try your best to focus on teaching your lesson to the second years, but you find yourself struggling.

you understand satoru’s frustrations with the higher ups, but to take that frustration out on you is completely uncalled for.

and to call you annoying? for ensuring that he doesn’t further endanger his already shaky position with the the authorities over him? how ungrateful is that! how could he label you as a disturbance to him when all you’ve ever done was try to lighten his load?

you don’t understand it. and it hurts to know that one little thing in comparison to the plethora of clingy annoyances that satoru has the habit of displaying that you don’t even find aggravating is enough to send him over the edge.

you’re aggressively erasing your chalkboard at the end of your lesson when you hear the sound of air flushing and papers fluttering behind you. immediately, you feel satoru’s presence much to your displeasure.

“baby?” he calls you tentatively, though you already know full well that he is there in your vacant room. you don’t reply, continuing to swipe your eraser over the chalk. “baby, please don’t ignore me,” he sighs guiltily. “can i… can we just talk?”

“get out, satoru.”

you can physically feel Satoru’s mannerisms droop behind you, but you do not fall for it. he deserves your standoffishness, your unwillingness to engage.

“i just wanna talk, (y/n)… just five minutes?”

you clench your jaw, brows angling tensely as his earlier words run through your mind again and again. your pace picks up and your movements grow harsher.

before you know it, you feel the white haired man brushing behind you inches away, reaching a hand to your shoulder. “(y/n)?”

“stop!” you rip away, stepping back. satoru retracts his hand quickly, crystal eyes blown wide as he watches you. you slam your eraser down onto the ledge and hold your hands up. “just stop! you don’t get to be rude to me and then just come back around as if everything’s okay. what if I don’t want to talk to you?”

having removed his blindfold before coming here, you can see the pain and remorse circling in his gaze. “pretty, i didn’t mean to say what i said,” he starts again slowly. “i-i’m sorry, i was just overstimulated and angry- not even at you, and you were telling me to do something I didn’t want to do but had to do, then i…” he huffs. “i’m so sorry.”

you fold your arms and stare harshly at the board, brows twitching as satoru’s smooth, genuine apology flows through your ears.

when you still don’t say anything, satoru’s mouth tugs downward and his lashes fluttere prettily over his cheek. “it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to me or see me right now. i was being shitty, and i didn’t mean it, baby. i just had to come and tell you that as soon as the meeting was over… and you were right. i needed to be there.”

you close your eyes. “why don’t you ever listen to me?”

satoru practically jumps when he hears you speak. “what did you say?”

“you never listen to me, toru,” you look at him desperately. “you always do what you want to do, and when i have to make you do something, you pout. is what i say really that unimportant to you?”

“no,” he rushes out, swooping in to stand before you so he can meet your eyes up close. “no, no, no. no, that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“i listen to you, baby. i do, i just struggle when you give me suggestions about work because we have completely different approaches. you play by the rules more and i do what i think is best even if it’s not what I’m told is best. which is okay. i’m not saying that either way is better than the other, it’s just that difference between us clashes sometimes.”

you hum.

“but that doesn’t mean i don’t listen, or don’t respect you, (y/n). i respect you more than anyone i know.”

“then you should act like it.”

“i know,” he pushed out his bottom lip, taking your forearms in his hands. “i know, i can be all over the place sometimes. i’m sorry pretty girl.”

you wish you could stay angry, but satoru’s touch almost instantly melts away the tension in your body. almost.

“please don’t call me annoying like that again,” you look over him. “seriously, that wasn’t nice.”

“never,” he swears. “i promise, never again. i don’t even know why it came out in the first time. please forgive me, baby, I’m sorry.”

you exhale, and before you can respond, satoru is ducking down and suffocating your face with a plethora of kisses from your forehead to cheeks and down to your jaw. murmurs of apologizes slip through as he attacks you, and you squeal as you try turn away.

“okay!” you shout, pushing at his chest. “i forgive you, get off!”

“i love youuu,” he lands a particularly long kiss to your nose. “so much. let me take you out tonight to apologize properly, pretty. will you let me?”

you stifle a smile, keeping your hands to your chest as you glare up at him when he pulls away with a grin. “fine.”

suguru geto:

suguru loves you dearly, truly he does, but he notices that the longer he is in a relationship with you, the more entitled you become. granted, he spoils the hell out of you because you’re his one and only, therefore he only feels it is appropriate to shower you with the unconditional love that he has for you.

you know that suguru rarely ever says no to you. hell, he doesn’t want to deny you of the things you ask of him because he should be the person that you always come to for anything. along with his girls, you’ve stolen his heart, and his love language is taking care of you - making you rotten.

so when suguru can not abide by what you demand, you pout and poke and prod and pester. in some ways, you remind him of how satoru used to behave in his company, so commanding of what you want from him in the most combative, brattiest way that it has him rubbing the space between his forehead with angled brows.

and the attitude on you is criminal. suguru knows he can not necessarily talk because his attitude is just as bad, but the moment suguru disagrees with you about something, you make it a point keep pressing the matter sassily.

there are a million things that suguru finds to be more of a pain to his peace than you, but he can not deny that when you get on his nerves, you truly tick him off.

suguru is known to have very little patience in general. he chalks it up to his occupation, having to deal with idiotic human beings all day to the point where it wears down his capacity for bullshit. he needs things to resolve themselves at his pace in order to feel as though he can go about his day, but when they don’t, it frustrates him to no end.

that is why when you fail to give it a rest after suguru has told you no four times now to getting lunch with you because he has business to take care of, he is beginning to lose his cool.

“(y/n),” suguru exhales your name in exasperation. he’s on his way out of the front door. “angel, you know i’m busy today. you’re usually a lot more understanding when it comes to my schedule, i don’t know where the disconnect is right now.”

you’re growing upset, for you’ve never enjoyed watching suguru leave, but for some reason you are feeling all the more sensitive to his departure today. the dark haired cult leader has been so busy lately that you and the girls have hardly been able to catch him for longer than five minutes when he’s home. you want to sit and talk with him, to at least have a quick thirty minute meal together, but he’s still refusing you, and you never fair well with being refused by geto.

“but suguru,” you curl your brows and gaze at him sadly. “I’m just asking for one day. that’s all, we don’t even need to be out long. i already have a place in mind that’s right around the corner from the group- i can even pick you up. you won’t have to worry about a thing. please, just this once?”

the hazel eyed man can not stand saying no to you, even more so when you look at him with such pleading in your eyes, but he’s told you a hundred times that he can’t do what you please today. as much as he’d love to go to lunch with you, there are no exceptions. he’s already pushing himself behind by trying to reason with you.

“the answer is no, (y/n),” he tells you with soft sternness. your frown deepens leading Suguru to walk over to you. he guides his hand to your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead in an attempt to make you feel better. “i’m sorry. i know things haven’t been the best lately with me being home, but i’m trying my best.”

you want to be more supportive, but you miss suguru. you do, and to feel like a second priority to a cult he doesn’t even like makes you upset.

you grumble incoherently under your breath and cross your arms. suguru feels your stature shift, and he pulls away to eye you. you avoid his gaze purposefully, and suguru instantly knows what’s going on with you.

“don’t start,” he advises as a warning. you don’t take well to the comment, the muscles in your face tightening as you go to ease away from suguru’s grasp. he doesn’t have time for this right now. “i mean it.”

“i’m not even doing anything,” you murmur, looking down as suguru examines you closely.

“you’re sulking.”

“okay, and maybe that’s because i don’t want my boyfriend to leave?” you snap.

“i know, (y/n). you’re acting like i want to leave too, but this is work.”

“and clearly work’s more important now,” you roll your eyes.

suguru shakes his head and pulls away with narrow eyes. “you’re being incredibly irritating right now.”

you freeze, geto’s words stabbing you through the chest like a stake to the heart. “what?” you repeat weakly, your grit having gone.

“you aren’t listening to me. it’s getting old and it’s irritating,” he says again, this time as he turns away and walks back to the door.

you stare at his back blankly. your heart hammers against your chest, and your face falls. normally when you behave a certain way that suguru doesn’t appreciate, he spends his time either circling back and trying to reach and understand or punishing you. but now, he’s just walking away with no intention of doing either. you expected more, and you hadn’t expected for him to outright call you annoying.

sure, you push a little too much sometimes, but annoying? all you want is him. is it annoying to desire such a simple thing?

“i’ll be home later, alright? we can talk about this when i get back,” he tells you, pulling the door open and allowing the sunlight to peer in. when you do not respond, he speaks again in annoyance. “alright?”

you still don’t answer, and this time he turns over his shoulder to see what is keeping you from giving him a verbal affirmation.

his face relaxes, however, when he says you standing silently with your hands at your sides. your gaze has turned to one of subtle embarrassment as you frown, mulling over suguru’s emotions in a less stubborn, more deflated manner.

despite suguru’s irritation with you, the moment he sees your discomfort, he’s flipping the switch in an instant.

slowly, he shuts the door again without a word. he figures it won’t hurt anyone to be another five minutes late, for he is the founder of the religious group after all. what he says goes, and he will not leave until this mild conflict with you is sorted out.

he walks over and takes your head in his hands, tilting your face up to reveal your big, shiny eyes. with another quiet sigh, he’s taking one hand and rubbing your shoulder as he holds your stare.

“i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he tells you gently, immediately knowing what is plaguing you. “i’m just frustrated.”

“…frustrated with me?” you ask slowly.

he presses his lips together. “yeah, angel. i am a little bit,” he confesses honestly. while this isn’t the response you wanted, geto knows it’s the response you need to hear… even if you struggle to accept it, your head nodding stiffly but your eyes telling a story of humiliation. and he hates it. he hates how unhappy you look, but no good has ever come from partners lying to one another about how they feel.

“but,” you start as suguru’s swipes a thumb over your brow lovingly. “suguru, all i wanted was to have lunch with you. is that such a crazy thing? you’re hardly around anymore.”

“i know, (y/n), and no it’s not, but you’re not respecting the fact that while i want to more than anything, i can’t. not today,” he says once more. “i do this for you and the girls too, you know. it’s not just for me. any money i make is yours, and if i need to work my ass off to provide for you and our future, i will. and it’s not fair for you to throw a fit when i can’t drop all of that when you ask me to.”

it’s a hard pill for you to swallow, but you know that suguru’s point is more than valid.

you inhale and exhale deeply, his touch swarming you tenderly despite how he feels. “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “im sorry for pushing. i just want you here. it gets hard sometimes, you know?”

“I know.”

he pulls your face in to kiss your cheek softly, your hand going to cradle his wrists.

“and i’m sorry if you’ve felt neglected in any way, and for calling you irritating. there was probably a better way for me to say that.”

“it’s okay,” you mumble as pulls away. “i probably was being annoying anyway...”

geto smiles softly. “you were,” he chuckles, and you gap at him.

“suguru,” you frown and he laughs again.

“sorry.” the hazel eyed man leans in to capture your lips in a soft kiss before you can pour any longer, eyes gleaming kindly when he draws back. he at least does not look aggravated any longer, his features much calmer than before. “how about a day out this weekend? you, me, and the girls.”

your eyes light up. “really? you’re sure?”

“yeah, angel,” he nods. “i miss you all too, you know. you’re all i think about when I’m dealing with those monkeys all day.”

“…can we maybe go to the farmer’s market?” you suggest. “i wanna get some stuff to make a big dinner for us, and the girls want to get some flowers.”

“absolutely we can. sounds great.”

“thank you,” you smile, wrapping your arms over his neck and tugging him down into a tight hug. suguru laughs gently, sliding his arms around you. “i hope you have a good day today. i won’t pester you about work anymore.”

“okay, baby,” he rubs your back. “I gotta go now, okay? i’ll try not to be out late. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

kento nanami:

despite kento’s remarkable talent in serving you as your partner, he is still a human being subject to human emotions. when he’s annoyed with you, he doesn’t make it your problem. he simply makes it known that he is beginning to be plagued by the feeling, and though it hurts your feelings, you understand and give him the space he needs.

kento does not get irritated with you often at all. you are a gift upon his stressful life, and it’s difficult for you to pose as a source of stress when the rest of his life is already so anxiety-inducing. you’re his everything, and even when he does get ever so slightly annoyed with you, it’s never at the same level as other factors - like gojo. you don’t even begin to compare.

the only time nanami finds himself growing upset because of you is when you choose not to listen to or communicate with him.

nanami works hard to put your needs before his own and he is more than happy to do so. he feels it is the only way things should be, for as long as you are happy and well cared for, he is content.

however, there are moments when he does so that can come off to you as a tad overbearing. he cares for your physical and mental wellbeing, so that also comes with constant check ins about whether you’re eating properly or how much sleep you’re getting. it’s sweet, his persistent doting, but you don’t always fair well with how often he’s interrogating you about your lifestyle when he literally witnesses every second of what you do as your fiancé.

and of course, when you react poorly by getting even the slightest hint of an attitude or portray your own annoyance in a poor manner, nanami, who always tries his best to find a solution to problems if you are bothered by something, is bothered himself when you do not cooperate.

nanami is incredibly patient with you, and he tries his best to practice patient with you when he internally feels you are being unreasonable.

so he resorts to silence as he ponders what to do next. you’re both sitting at the kitchen table as tension swirls about. your knee is frantically bouncing as you glare ahead. you don’t like when kento does something to bother you, for everything he does is so perfect you feel like you don’t have a right to be bothered, and you rarely ever are. and you may try to hide when you’re upset, but nanami sees you so clearly. he knows you like the back of his hand, therefore, there is no hiding.

and of course, nanami would never grow annoyed with what you feel… it’s how you communicate with him when you feel a certain way. you shut down and make it impossible for him to talk through it, and as someone who likes to work through things while they are occurring, it’s a bit of a pain when you go quiet and refuse to give him anything.

now, you both sit rather annoyed with one another, for that is likely the only instance nanami will feel some sort of irritation sparked by you. the blonde taps his finger against the table with his legs crossed, unsure of how to move forward. he’s tried calling your name, tried asking you what’s wrong, tried suggesting anything he can do to fix it, but you, afraid to even further speak truth into your emotions, reply with shrugs and mute shakes of your head.

it takes at least another few minutes for nanami to rise slowly, fixing the collar of his shirt and clearing his throat you look up and see by his rigid posture that he is not in the happiest of spirits, and when you finally notice, you realize that he had been silent along with you for quite some time now, his series of questions having ceased.

“i am going for a drive,” he announces formally. you blink up at him, your knee still bouncing. his chocolate eyes meet yours with a hefty sigh. “i won’t be longer than forty minutes.”

forty?!

“…okay,” is the very first word you have said in a while, and nanami nods curtly. though he appears indifferent, his shoulders are tense, his jaw is taut, and a dent creases the space between his brows. you can tell by these signs that he has grown to match your previous feelings. “where are you going?”

“to clear my head. i don’t believe anything productive will come from the both of us sitting here like this.”

you furrow your brows. “are you angry with me now?”

“no,” he gathers his keys. “i am not angry. only, admittedly, a bit perturbed,” he says without looking at you.

you know that nanami had annoyed you first, but to hear him tell you so is humbling nonetheless. what reason does he have to be annoyed? what did you do?

“um,” you stumble. “why…?”

the prospect of you now trying to interrogate him after he had spent so much time trying to get through to you, or at least a word out, does very little to ease the man.

he lifts a hand, guiding his palm out to ease the conversation before it can escalate. “(y/n), i’m not in any state to talk about this right now. give me a bit and i will be back.”

his eyes find yours to ensure that you see that earnest in his brow hues, and your shoulders slump, your knee stilling completely.

“is that alright?”

you nod slowly. “yes. that's alright.”

kento nods again, swiping up his jacket from the back of his chair before stepping out of the door, clicking it shut behind him.

you reel in his absence, sitting in the aftermath. maybe you reacted poorly… but you couldn’t help it. you don’t always enjoy being overwhelmed with a series of questions from your boyfriend as though he is your doctor or father. sometimes you just wish to be.

you know he only does so out of concern. you know he loves you, better than anyone has ever loved you, but your reaction had been involuntary.

the look on nanami’s face only proved that you should have handled the situation differently. you hate when he’s upset, but that way of thinking alone is unfair. he likely hates when you’re upset too, and you shut down when he was trying to help.

as guilt swarms you, you retreat to the living room where you mindlessly flip through the tv channels, your focus elsewhere.

kento ends up returning hardly twenty minutes later. you look in surprise to the door as he enters with takeout in his hands. he looks up, his face a bit more relaxed as he enters.

neither of you speak as he kicks his shoes off at the door and makes his way toward you. he sets the bags of food down on the coffee table before you and slowly sits down next to you, hands to his thighs.

“i got us dinner,” he says as you shuffle to make room for him. the aroma of your favorite thai food fills your senses and makes you become rather aware to your hunger, for you haven’t eaten in a while.

kento sits with his forearm resting on his knee, his body facing you. you look away, embarrassed to even speak to him, though you do whisper a ‘thank you’ that is only audible to nanami because he is seated right beside you.

he reaches a hand out to hold yours, his other sliding over top to caress the back of it. “honey,” he starts softly. “I don’t want this to go on longer than it should.”

“you’re back earlier than you said,” you mention, looking down at his hands over yours.

“i didn’t need to be gone long to want to sit down with you about this again.” you nod. “are you okay?” he asks you, and you nod again.

“yeah, are you?”

“i’m better,” he answers. “my intention was not to leave on a bad note so abruptly. i just needed a moment to myself.”

“no, i understand, ken. i don’t blame you for taking a step back.”

“are you okay with me telling you why i was upset?”

“of course i am.”

he gives a gentle smile before proceeding. “it seems that every time i try to work through something with you, you do not wish to cooperate. if you were to tell me that you need space before explaining, i would understand better and give you time, but you say nothing. you barely even look at me, and i try my best to give you the patience you deserve but you do not do the same for me.”

“it’s not that- I wasn’t trying to be impatient with you, it’s just that sometimes i don’t want to talk about things.”

“then I would prefer it if you’d say that instead of shutting me out, because then i’m left to pick up the pieces with nothing to go off of,” he pleads. “and it’s unhealthy for you to harbor everything that bothers you inside. you could get sick doing that, and it hinders our communication.”

you can tell he is about to give you another lecture, which is what led you here in the first place. you take in a deep breath and try to regulate yourself, glancing down. “yeah, i hear you,” you mutter. “i just get… i don’t know, it feels weird to tell you when something you’ve done bothers me.”

“why, sweetheart?”

“because you’re so good to me,” you frown. “you don’t deserve to hear that i’m upset with you for probably no reason.”

“look at me, honey.” you oblige, locking eyes with his once again shyly. “as good as i am to you and you are to me, getting angry or upset or irritated with one another is normal. it’s healthy. no relationship is free of trials, and if this is our worst problem, i’d confidently say that we are doing quite well.”

you listen to him carefully, taking in his words as you look over his face.

“now, will you tell me what it was i did to upset you earlier?”

“it’s so stupid, ken.”

“your feelings are not stupid. please. i need to know so i don’t repeat my mistakes.”

you huff and eventually give in. “well, sometimes... you do this thing… where you lecture me… and i appreciate you looking out for me all the time, but sometimes when you ask me a hundred things at once about stuff that I’m more than aware of as an adult, it makes me feel like you’re patronizing me.”

a stern look of realization crosses the blonde’s features. “i had no idea.”

“i mean… i never told you, so i was getting upset with you for something you weren’t even aware of,” you exhale. “i’m really sorry, kento. I struggle with communicating certain things, and i shouldn’t have allowed myself to get so irritated in the first place.”

“there’s no need for you to apologize,” he dismisses. “i apologize for making you feel as though I’ve been speaking down to you. i only check in so often because i care.”

“i know,” you lean in. “and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“but i can see how it may be a bit overbearing,” he admits. “i’ll try to mind myself in the future.”

“oh, it’s okay, ken,” you lift your hand to his cheek, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone. “you’re perfect, baby. i’m sorry if i made you feel otherwise.”

“i am far from perfection, my love,” he kisses your inner palm. “i make plenty of mistakes.”

“so do i, clearly,” you chuckle.

he smiles again, and this time it reaches his warm eyes. “yes, but the way i see it, you would not be perfect without them.”

choso kamo:

choso, bless his heart, has never found anything you do to be even remotely close to what he could find annoying. everything you do in his eyes is perfect, flawless, and he clings to you so much that he finds it impossible to think of your actions or words as something that poses as an aggravation to him.

what he finds irritating is when yuji will borrow his shirts without asking and fail to return them for days, or when he’s been assigned on a mission and it lasts far longer than he intended to be there, the task cutting into time he could be spending with you, or even when other people serve as a nuisance to you. you have never, ever been on the list of things that get on his nerves, and he doesn’t think you ever will be.

that’s why he feels such guilt when he starts to feel that familiar sense of annoyance bubbling in his chest when you keep asking him to let you know about his plans for the weekend.

you’ve asked him numerous times at this point, and he has given you the same answer: he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing with his brother or when he’ll be home, and that he’d let you know as soon as he figures it out. but you know that by the time he ‘figures it out’ it will be past the time you need to plan around his absence.

you’re an organized person, and you like to know in advance what is happening in your boyfriend’s life so that you can either prepare to spend some time with him or not waste the effort looking forward to doing so if he will be out late. this is especially a big deal to you because choso tends to get carried away when spending time with his little brother. the brunette loves his family so dearly, and you have always admired how fiercely he cares for those close to him, but his tendency to just go along with whatever yuji’s hyper mind thinks of on the spot without having the sense to think of how it will impact his brother’s girlfriend yet always gets to you.

you want choso to spend time with his brother, you do, but you just wish that he would have the decency of letting you in on what he plans to do on the days they are together more often.

therefore, it is friday and you continue to ask him to let you know what the plans are, and choso, still not completely understanding of what you want, is growing tired of the nagging.

“i already told you, love,” he reasons as best as he can with you, his voice dipping lower. “i don’t know how long we’ll be out. i promise you i’ll let you know.”

you’re moving about the kitchen while choso stands at the corner, eyes heavy as he watches you. he’s trying his hardest to mask his growing agitation, for he knows that you are very keen on picking up on his tells that reveal his emotions. when he’s aggravated, his brows angle ever so slightly and his lids weigh over bored vision, his lips curled in a frown.

you haven’t looked at him yet. your back is to him as your rummage through your fridge. “yeah, cho, you said that already, and you say that every time you go out,” you close the fridge door, carton of eggs in your hand for you to prepare lunch.

“and i always come back,” he says, shrugging slightly. “I don’t understand what the problem is… i’d never stay out all night without coming back.”

“it’s not about you coming back or not, it’s about when you come back,” you try to explain, placing the eggs on the counter to turn and reaching to grab a bowl. “i’ve definitely talked about this before, right? sometimes i stay up for you or want to hang out with you when you get back, but you never give me an estimated time when you’re with your brother so i can plan around it.”

choso exhales through his nose slowly, looking down. “the point is that if i knew, i’d tell you…”

you look up, catching the dipped pitch in his tone, and tilt your head to the side upon taking in his stature. he’s pouting.

you stop what your doing, pressing your hands to the ledge of the other side of the counter and leaning over with a suspicious look.

“are you alright?” you ask slowly.

choso meets your eye, a hint of a deer in in headlights look capturing him. “yes,” he says stiffly, quickly, and you are not convinced whatsoever.

“you sure? because your face says otherwise,” you nod toward him.

conflict is pretty foreign to the two of you within your relationship. neither of you ever want to upset the other, so in tiptoeing around certain issues, a lot of them are either brushed over and pent up. choso specifically things it’s damn near a sin to be upset with you, and you him, for he still does not understand certain inner workings of human connections.

he does not want to ruin what he has with you, and he does not comprehend why he is growing annoyed with someone he cherishes so much. he still loves you, but he can’t help this feeling. it burdens him with guilt, and he does not know how to respond once you catch him.

“is something bothering you?” you ask carefully. “are you upset because i keep asking about this weekend?”

choso doesn’t respond. he feels like it’s a trap, for he would never lie to you but to admit that he’s annoyed is an entirely different ball park that he is horrified to step into. he looks at you shamefully, face still tense but he’s trying hard to relax, to mask the way he truly feels.

you raise a brow. “…choso?”

“i’m fine,” he tells you. once again, he’s answering far too quickly.

“okay,” you exhale, shifting on your feet. choso watches you anxiously, keeping incredibly still as though moving will make the earth shatter. “I know you really well, cho. clearly the conversation is bothering you.” after another moment of silence from your boyfriend, you continue. “you can be honest with me, or else you’ll just be carrying this around with you all day.”

“…i don’t wanna upset you,” he eventually murmurs.

“I understand, but that’s not realistic,” you say with subtle sternness in your tone. “just like it’s not realistic to pretend like you aren’t upset right now when i can clearly tell you are. we both have rights to feeling whatever we feel, so just… come on, tell me what’s going on.”

with a pensive expression, choso slowly allows himself to give in. “it’s just that…” he begins hesitantly. “i’m not really sure what you want me to tell you anymore. about my plans.”

“i'm not asking anything out of the question, i just want you to plan more for my sake.”

“but i keep repeating myself when i tell you that yuji and i don’t plan… it’s a little…”

“it’s a little what?”

“just… kind of… annoying.”

you reel, staring at choso incredulously. you never thought you would have seen the day where your sweet significant other, horrified of touching you the wrong way, would call you annoying. admittedly, you’re a little wounded. you haven’t done anything wrong, and yet choso is aggravated by your desire to simply know what time he’s coming home. you’re not asking for too much. you hardly believe you’re asking for anything at all. you know that choso can be irrational, but never with you. never like this.

you nod to yourself slowly, pursing your lips. choso eyes you carefully, uncertain of how his own words have landed. you wanted him to be honest, and this is how he’s feeling. should he have just lied? should he have kept it to himself anyway?

suddenly, you resume what you are doing and turn away from choso wordlessly. the violet eyed man’s eyes widen as you go searching for a pan, and air of intensity about you.

“(y/n)?” he says your name cautiously after a while of you shuffling about. “you okay?”

“it’s cool,” you respond shortly, and choso shrinks.

he moves to round the counter to approach you slowly, but you do not slow yourself when you notice him moving into the kitchen beside you. “i don’t think it is…”

“choso, i know how you feel now and that’s that. i’ll leave it be.”

you sound mad. choso doesn’t like it at all, and he’s unsure of how to even speak to you this way. he doesn’t want to further ruin your mood, but he has to make sure you’re alright… that he didn’t cross some sort of line.

“i’m sorry,” he hastily apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

“don’t apologize for what you feel,” you strictly say, moving to the other side of the kitchen the second choso gets close to you.

he stops, his traces of annoyance having completely washed away. “but you’re mad now.”

“i’m not mad, i just- i’m a little annoyed too now.”

he deflates. “oh,” he mumbles, hands falling to his sides. “then, what do what do now?”

you exhale, taking a moment to pause and turn to face choso from the other side of the space. “i wanna talk about why i’m irritated.”

“okay… and that won’t make it worse?”

“no, because i’ll at least be getting my point across.”

he nods dejectedly. “alright. why are you upset?”

“because you won’t take a second to put yourself in my shoes and understand that planning for my sake now that we live together will help ease my anxiety,” you explain, your hand moving about as you emphasize your stance. “i don’t care how long you and yuji are out. that’s not the point, and i know you don’t plan, but I’m asking you to at least start to, because i get tired of falling asleep waiting for you because i don’t know when you’re coming home. if i knew in advance, i wouldn’t have to stay up or get my hopes up about you coming back at a certain time. and then you tell me that i’m annoying you because i just want to be informed. like, that’s a little rude, choso. it’s basically like you saying you don’t care what i ask for.”

“i do care,” he cuts in passionately, brows knitted with a look of guilted sadness. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know it was like that for you.”

“because you never bothered to ask.”

“i’m sorry,” he says again. “i shouldn’t have called you annoying. that was mean. you just… told me to be honest, so i said what i was thinking.”

“that’s another thing, choso, we’re not perfect. we’re people and we react to things differently. this isn’t the last time we’ll be annoyed with each other.”

“i don’t like that,” he grumbles.

“we don’t have to like it, but that’s just how things are. it doesn’t mean we love each other any less, and we’re not always going to agree on why we’re annoyed with one another.”

“…are we fighting?”

you scoff a slight, tired laugh and shake your head. “no, we’re not fighting. we’re just talking.”

“okay,” he nods. “well, i’m sorry. i am. i’ll try to do better about planning for you. and you’re not annoying, (y/n). i love you.”

you soften. “i love you too, cho, just please be more mindful of how you react sometimes.”

“i will,” he mumbles. “…can i… i mean, is it wrong to ask you for a hug or do you need some time?”

“come over here,” you beckon him over. the brunette is quick to comply, stepping heavily over to you and burying his face in your neck. you wrap your arms around his frame as he holds you, murmuring numerous apologies to you over and over in your ear.

“maybe i’ll just stay home,” he suggests, mumbling into your skin.

“you don’t need to do that, cho, that’s not what i was asking of you.”

“i know, but i’d rather stay in with you anyway. or maybe we can make it a group thing if you want to come with.”

“i’ll see how i feel this weekend, but that’s sounds great, baby. thank you.”

toji fushiguro:

toji has a habit of getting caught up in his stress accumulated from the day. he’ll return home grumpily, muscles twitching and lips tight in a scowl. his back aches and his head hurts, and all he wants to do is crawl up into bed with you and snooze for the rest of the night.

of course, this isn’t always plausible. life presents its daily interferences that throw off his plans of laziness with the woman he loves, and sometimes, the woman he loves herself is the very thing standing in the way of his tranquility.

you don’t do so on purpose. while toji leads his life of chaos and crime, you busy yourself with your own less illegal tasks, and those tasks and your desires by the end of the day don’t always match his. and toji, despite how wholly he loves you, has the unintentional tendency to be selfish, for it’s how he’s lived his whole life before meeting you.

and that tendency especially shines through when his mind is clouded by exhaustion. if he wants you to lay still with him for the rest of the night, why can’t he? why the hell do you have to run out to the store instead? or finish up an assignment that takes an extra hour and a half to complete? or try to talk to him about your day when he just wants peace and quiet in your wordless physical presence?

it ticks him off, and he’s already moody enough before he comes home to realize that he is not going to get what his mind and heart have been set on for hours. he tries his best not to take things out on you when he is in a healthy, normal conscious state, but he can not help it at the worst of times. before he knows it, he’s snapping at you all because you wanted to show him an album of pictures you came across during your visit to your parents today.

“oh!” you gasp excitedly, leaning into toji’s shoulder as you lounge with him on the bed, your phone presenting itself to his face. you’re propped up with your back to the headboard while toji is laid flat against the pillow with a sour expression. “and this one is from halloween when i was eleven! holy shit, look at my braces! damn, they really threw off the whole costume. i still look cute though, don't i?"

toji doesn't know how you haven't noticed his lack of response as you swipe through photo after photo, your voice a blabber of nonsense in his ear as he closes his eyes in vexation. he can feel himself nearing his last straw as you shift your entire conversation enthusiastically, diving into some story about your family that is hardly related to the pictures you have been sharing.

the dark-haired man is so tired, so fed up with noise and the questions you ask him that you do not even wait for him to respond to before you're cutting in and rambling on again - not that toji even would have responded.

he just wants to sleep... you're still going on, and he wants to sleep.

"and then there was the time that i-"

you're interrupted by a loud groan and the run of toji's large hands down his face. you falter, lowering your phone and furrowing your brows at him slightly, your smile dwindling upon finally taking note of toji's body language.

silence stills the room while toji keeps his hands concealing his face and you simply watch him, stunned.

"uh..." you start pensively, confused. "...why did you just-"

"for the love of christ, girl, can you be quiet for one second?" he interjects once more with the tear of his hands away from his face and the strike of his weary, tense eyes into yours.

you jump. "what?" is all you can ask, awed by the way your boyfriend just spoke to you.

"i had a long day, (y/n). the fuck don't you understand about that?"

your face is scrunching in offense now, your body retracting and your energy transitioning into dejected anger. "toji, why the hell are you talking to me like that?"

"cause you've been workin' my last nerve since i got home," he grits out, tense hands swiping the air. you stare at him with wide eyes. "i'm fuckin' tired. i don't wanna come home to you talkin' my ear off about shit i don't care about. just let me sleep, alright?"

you clamp your mouth shut, a lump forming in your throat and a pit swirling in your chest as you take in toji's hurtful words. his face is hard as he awaits a response from you, and you can do nothing but look at him pathetically, completely torn apart by how swiftly he had made you feel as though you are a burden to him.

you had not meant to interfere with his rest time. you thought he was resting by sitting cozily in bed with you. you thought that he would enjoy seeing pictures of you from the past, hearing about old memories that you revive for the sake of his enjoyment. hell, you would have enjoyed it if the roles were reversed and toji was sharing his childhood memories with you after a long day (if of course, his childhood had been a bit more positive).

you understand that you may have misread the situation, but there was no need for toji to be so cruel to you about it. you hate when he gets like this, so rigid and ruthless with his tone and his words that it makes you feel as though he wants nothing to do with you.

you fight the urge to cry, your body tensing as you swallow hard. you tear your eyes from toji's face, the vision alone scarring you as his words seep in. the green-eyed man watches you shut off your phone swiftly and tuck it carelessly into your pocket with a scoff.

he quirks his brow in befuddlement now as you push yourself off the mattress and cooly whisk yourself around the furniture and to the bedroom door. he pushes himself up, for he didn't want you to leave. he just wanted silence.

"where're you goin'?" he asks as though you have no reason to storm off. you halt in the doorway, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare at him with glassy eyes.

"to give you your space," you hissed. "after all, i don't want to 'work your last nerve' any more than i already have."

toji can tell by the glossiness of your gaze and the tremble of your voice that he fucked up. he sighs heavily, swiping a hand over his hair. "i ain't mean it like that-" he tries to defend himself, but you have none of it.

"sure you did, toji. or else you wouldn't have said it," you growl. "it's fine. really. you can be an asshole all by yourself while i'm gone. maybe you'll be able to sleep now that your girlfriend is out of the way."

you leave with a slam to the door, the walls shaking in your wake, and toji stares at the wall harshly. the overwhelming silence now envelopes him, the silence that he had been longing for since you started talking, and now that he has it, it doesn't feel right.

he curses to himself, scratching the back of his head. he shouldn't have snapped at you. all you had been doing was sharing something close to your heart with him, and he completely blew you off. it wasn't as though you were the source of his stress - it was his job, yet he reacted in such a way to make it feel as though you were the problem.

fuck. toji knows he has issues with regulating his anger, but he continues to swear that he will work on leaving you out of it, and yet here he is again, mulling over the after-effects of dragging you into his acidity once more.

he's not even tired anymore. he tries to doze off, but all he can think about is your face and how he hurt you.

when he steps out of his room, he finds that you are nowhere to be found in his apartment. he tries calling you, but you don't pick up. he resorts to texting you, asking where you are. you read the messages, but refuse to answer, ensuring that he knows you're pissed off.

he shakes his head and goes to check your location instead, which he is grateful to find that you haven't shut off. he knows you too well. you want him to chase after you and apologize, to put forth the effort that you at times feel he would not extend for your sake.

toji finds you at a bar around the corner, your chin propped in your hand as you stare ahead over the counter emptily with an untouched drink before you. you're slumped in your seat with your phone tucked under your hand, appearing so sad before him, and toji feels his heart ache knowing that he's the reason you look like this.

"go away," you grumble when you see his bulky figure approaching you out of the corner of your eye, not even bothering to look his way. the fushiguro leans his forearm against the counter beside you with his other hand propped on his hip. he tilts his head down to try to catch a glimpse of your face, and you simply turn away stubbornly.

"c'mon doll," he attempts to coax. "don't be mad."

"don't fucking tell me not to be mad, you dick."

toji drops his head. bad start. "listen," he begins, unsure of how to proceed. he has never been good with finding words in these situations. "i shouldn't've said what i said."

you turn to scour at him. "no shit."

he wants to chuckle at how angry you are, for you start cursing up a storm the way toji does on a daily basis, and he finds it rather endearing how quick you are to violate him with your language when he gets on your bad side.

toji doesn't realize that the skin beneath his eyes is creasing a the corner of his lip is tugging upward, for you're gaping at him and smacking his chest rather aggressively. "you think this is funny?"

"no, (y/n), i don't think it's funny," he chuckles, and you fume. you go to slam a few bills onto the table before jumping up from your stool and storming away. toji panics, reaching out and snatching up your arm in his grasp. you're tugged back to him against your wishes, fiery (e/c) hues seething into him as though you seek to kill him with your gaze. "stop, i'm tryna talk to you for a second."

"clearly you think my feelings are a joke to you, toji."

"i don't think that, doll, you know that."

"do i?" you raise your brows. "i wasn't so sure when you talked to me like i was nothing but a nuisance to you."

you go to tug away, but toji holds you to him, looking into your eye intensely. "you ain't a nuisance."

"then why talk to me like that?" you frown. "i wasn't even doing anything to hurt you, i was just trying to share something with you."

"i know baby," he softens, hand coming to cup over your neck. you turn away, leading him to smooth his hand over the back of your head instead as you look off to the side bitterly. "it wasn't you, it was my day-"

"i don't care," you huff. "you can't blame the way you treat people on shitty days - especially the way you treat me! i'm the person in this world who loves you, toji. if you need me to reel in on something, then just say that respectfully, but don't you dare go yelling at me the way you just did. it hurts my feelings."

toji sighs, looking over your face and caressing your hair. "i know, doll, m'sorry," he mumbles. "shouldn't be taking my shit out on you. you ain't ever done a single thing bad to me."

"yeah, you prick," you bite, and toji lets himself smile. "and stop smiling," you push against his chest. "nothing's fucking funny."

"you're right. nothin's funny at all," he agrees. "m'just happy i got a girl who knows how to fight back when i'm bein' an asshole."

"oh, what the fuck ever," you roll your eyes. "you're lucky i don't chop your balls off and hang them on display in the living room."

"nah, i much prefer you gettin' mean with me." he moves to cup your neck again, and this time you allow him, a pretty pout still on your face. "i deserve it."

"you sure as hell do..."

he chuckles, smirk spreading. "c'mere, doll," he pulls you into him, securing his arms around your frame and pressing you to his chest. you ease into him reluctantly, glowering off to the side as your check squishes into his pectoral. you don't hug back, for toji's biceps crush over you and trap your arms within his embrace as he rocks you slowly. "what can i do to make up for it?"

"go jump off a bridge," you mutter, body relaxing into his warmth as his chest rumbles with laughter against you.

ryomen sukuna:

sukuna belittling you with his words has never been anything new to you. while you understand that you withhold a space of softness in his heart that is reserved for you and you only, at times his comfortability with insulting you can go a bit far.

and of course, you’re used to it. he calls you “brat” and “woman” as though you are a nuisance to him when in reality, you are the only person on this planet he has bestowed those names upon with his own definition of affection. he clicks his teeth and rolls his eyes at you when you talk about something that he wants you to believe is of little interest to him, when he is taking mental note of the things you enjoy talking about so that he can suffocate you with your desires long after you have presented a specific like to his attention. and of course, he tells you you are an aggravation to his soul every damn two seconds, as though loving you brings him stress after eons of having lived so freely and ruthlessly - though he still does, your presence does more to ease him into a state of mellowness than anything has prior to his commitment to you.

he very clearly welcomes the feeling and connection to you, but masks so by calling you annoying. all the time. so of course, when he does normally, you are completely desensitized to it.

unless you’re already irritated.

occasionally, there is only so much of sukuna you can handle. you love him to death, but the two of you butt heads so often due to your stubborn natures and unwillingness to allow the other to win that it tends to wear you down after a while. sukuna calls you disrespectful for even talking back, yet allows you to continue to do so as if he gets off on the way you get snippy with him.

it’s entertaining to the lord, after all. why would he spend his time doting on someone boring?

nevertheless, if you’ve had a long day and are in no mood to deal with sukuna’s rather wide range of complex reactions to even the smallest of things that you do, his habits tick you off - especially so when he calls you annoying for something that you feel is anything but.

so as you complain to sukuna about how he needs to be mindful of how many sheets he’s running through by staining them with blood when he carelessly returns to your shared bedroom from yet another colorful expedition, you're peeved by the way he stares at you so carelessly. you’ve been begging him forever to be more mindful of how he treats his belongings, especially now that you share the same things, but he always brushes your concerns aside by saying that he can just get more. but god forbid someone else were to stain his sheets, then he’d be out for blood.

his arms are crossed as he stands before you, eyes rolling over the ceiling as he makes his agitation rather evident. you’re a little thing in comparison to him, yammering on about the tenth set of sheets he has stained this month, but he wants to hear none of it. why is it such a big deal to you anyway? he has thousands of servants and limitless access to resources, so it shouldn’t matter to you whatsoever. besides, you’ve stained numerous sheets of his over the years with your arousal and he’s never complained. why does it all of a sudden hold importance to you what state his belongings are in now?

“would you quit your moaning, woman?” he snarls, overpowering voice speaking over you. his eyes are hard and slim as they stare over you, and you’re bubbling with rage the moment he cuts into what you’re saying. “it is not of relevance to me, so why is it of any relevance to you?”

“because it is, sukuna! why do you only hold value to the things you care about? we share a bed, obviously i’m affected by this too!” you argue.

“you are not a servant. servants concern themselves over such things.”

“oh, so now i’m beneath you for talking about this?”

sukuna groans. “i did not say that, brat.”

“yeah, but you insinuated it!” you retort. “i’m tired, sukuna, i wasn’t trying to make this a big thing.”

“yet you are attempting to by persisting so irritatingly.”

you throw your hands up, at your wit’s end. why does he never listen to you when there is something on your mind? why does he always push aside what you feel matters when he decides it doesn’t matter to him? why is he always so cold with you, so steely and headstrong as though he remains above you like you haven’t been by his side all this time?

you know how sukuna is, and yet him calling your opinions irritating riles you up in this moment. everything has to turn into an argument, and it weighs you down. nothing can ever run smoothly without sukuna taking offense or scoffing at the idea of you coming to him with something you feel should be fixed. you can’t win.

"seriously?" you plead. "i mean, really, i'm irritating because i don't want to sleep in blood every night?"

"christ, you don't sleep in blood. the sheets are changed before you come to rest!" he barks. "that is why i find this so annoying. you are complaining for nothing."

"you know what? you're annoying!" you point a finger to his broad chest. the king of curses lifts a brow, looking down at where your finger prods into him.

"i beg your pardon?" an amused, low chuckle ripples through him as though the sentiment is unheard of, which only pisses you off even more.

"you heard me. you're the fucking annoying one. you're always going on about how i shouldn't talk back, or how everything i feel doesn't make sense, or how the things i want don't matter because you don't want them! you act like you're so far above me, when i'm the only one sleeping in bed with you, sitting on your throne, supporting your psycho-ass ambitions - but i'm the irritating one, right? your girlfriend is such a pain in the ass, isn't she? for caring about your wellbeing and loving you when nobody else will?"

the salmon-haired king's eyes go dull as you shout at him, fury raging in your eyes as you continue to poke at him. you're playing with fire, but you don't care. you're fed up with the pretending, with the sly comments about your intelligence as a human being and the value of your interests.

"woman-"

"shut up! i'm not done."

oh. you've really lost it now, haven't you?

normally, sukuna would have made it a point to silence you and teach you a lesson by now, but for some reason, he's feeling generous. slightly intrigued by your outburst, he lets you go on with a domineering smirk.

"i don't care of you're the king of curses, or if you could kill me with the snap of your fingers, or if you've got thousands of people who bow down to you without a second thought like mindless sheep-"

"you are not those people."

"exactly!" you agree without thinking, and sukuna's smirk brightens. "i'm not! so stop- stop treating me like i am! stop talking to me like i'm unimportant and like i get on your nerves more than i do anything good for you! stop blowing me off because you don't know how to empathize! i'm your girlfriend. i care about you, and i also care about the state of your things which you always make a point to say are mine too- and fucking sue me if i'm tired of walking into your room after a long day to see blood stains from random ass civilians while your servants work to replace them in the next hour! what if i wanna lay down before then, huh? ever thought about that?

"god, i just wish you'd care! is that so hard for you to do, sukuna? to care about me and what i care about? i didn't wanna argue with you, but you make it so damn hard for me not to lose my mind! you never hear me talk about how much you drive me crazy, and you drive me crazy every damn day of the week!"

"is that so?" he pries, slyly.

"yes!"

"i implore you, tell me more about how i drive you crazy."

"have you not been listening to anything i've-?!" you freeze, reconnecting with the moment to look in sukuna's eye and see how he is enjoying listening to your rant. you stop, stepping back and lifting your finger from his chest. you breathe in and out deeply, worked up by your own emotion, and you finally take a second to realize what you have been doing. "you're mocking me," you conclude.

"i am doing no such thing."

you scoff. "whatever, sukuna. just forget it. sorry i'm so irritating to you."

you go to walk off, but sukuna is already wrapping a set of arms around you, tugging you back to his chest. you grit your teeth, peering up over your shoulder to look back and find the demon grinning down at you teasingly.

"you need to relax," he muses.

"don't fucking tell me to relax, sukuna, i'm already pissed off."

"mm. i can see that, and in feeling so you have forgotten who you are speaking to."

"see, this is what i'm talking about! i'm not your servant-"

"yes, yes, i know. it was hard not to catch what you were saying during your little tantrum."

"fuck you," you groan, moving to push away. sukuna tightens his grip, winding his arms securely over your stomach and pressing you to his chest. "sukuna," you whine.

"stop taking everything so personally," he ducks down to speak into your ear over your left shoulder. you jerk, turning your head in the direction of his voice. "you are fully aware that you are not the same as everybody else. if you were, you would not be so mouthy."

"yeah, well it's hard to tell what you think sometimes when you call me annoying all the damn time. if you want me to leave you alone, just say that and i can stop wasting my time."

"enoughhh," he hisses. "you must stop taking things so far."

"and you must stop being so mean," you mimic his speech.

sukuna snorts. "do not worry about the sheets. i will retreat elsewhere after massacres if it while cease your whining."

"oh, how lucky i am," you click your teeth.

"quite so," he turns in to press his lips to the space under your jaw. "if you were anyone else-"

"i'd be dead," you finish, involuntarily leaning into him though your face is still tense. "no one else should be in your bed anyway, you know."

"that is why no one ever will."

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sleepymarimo · 5 months ago

Text

❝𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐩!❞

synopsis: you're tasked with waking up zoro for dinner, but it's hard to make him budge.

pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: more tooth rotting fluff for my favorite swordsman :) wc: ~1.6k an: i had a dream about this and added some even more fluff because why not. ty all i hope you enjoy <3 also i realized i have a decent chunk of zoro fics about napping lol maybe this is why im sleepymarimo i just love that sleepy lil guy

"Where the hell is that shitty swordsman?" Sanji grumbles, cigarette hanging from his lips as he sets a hefty plate of rice on the dining table.

Even though you're acutely aware that the marimo is missing, you pretend to peer over shoulders and swivel your head to give the impression that you're just as clueless as everyone else. You're already sat at the table, utensils neatly resting beside your plate.

Everyone else is already in the dining room, Luffy practically on the brink of perishing as the food is placed before him. Chopper and Usopp are close behind, their forks glinting in the light.

Robin is patient, smiling at the sight before her, the one she's grown to love. "I believe he said something about taking a nap," she reveals, her fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. "He might be holed up in the boy's room."

"You mean the men's room?" Franky speaks up in an attempt to lighten the mood, the cola bottle in his hand hissing as he pops the cap.

Nami shakes her head, not in the mood to entertain the hooligans she calls her crewmates- her family. When Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper start to chant for their food, the navigator's last straw cracks into a million pieces.

Her chair slides back with a screech as she stands, planting her hands on the table. "Ugh, I can't believe that guy, sleeping through dinner!" The sigh she gives is intentionally dramatic, her charm working its magic as Sanji quickly offers to knock some sense into the green-haired swordsman.

It all comes to a halt when a pair of hands sprout from the table, tugging at the cook's shirt in a silent command to stay put. All eyes go to Robin, her knowing gaze easily hiding whatever ploy is running through her mind.

She calls your name and you immediately feel your cheeks warm, though you still feign obliviousness even if it seems like she's peeking right into your brain.

"Why don't you get Zoro?" she suggests, yet deep down you know you don't have an option.

Even if the thought of protesting crosses your mind, the chorus of growling stomachs and pleas for you to hurry have you standing and scampering up the stairs and to the deck.

Standing in front of the door to the boy's cabin, you feel your stomach drop a bit. You're quite literally entering a tiger's den, into the willing jaws of a beast who has been known to treasure booze, swords, and naps above all else.

The air inside the room is significantly more warm, heavy, compared to the cool breeze blowing outside. It's dark, your eyes adjusting to the lack of lighting as you carefully step over shoes and dirty clothes.

For a moment the beds seem empty and you wonder if he's even inside, yet the massive figure atop one of the bunks makes you quickly reconsider that thought.

His bare back rises and falls at a leisurely pace, his arms sprawled over the sides of the bed while he lays on his front. Cheek pressed comfortably into his pillow, Zoro naps away without much care for anything else.

After gawking for a second or two, you step toward the bunk, mentally cursing, and steel yourself for what feels like the millionth time. The wooden structure is a bit too tall for you to get a look at him, so with a small grunt you step onto the bottom bunk and grip onto the rails to hoist yourself up.

As soon as you take a glimpse over the top bunk's railing, you feel the warmth of his exhales across your nose and cheeks. It makes your face warm, your own breaths stalling as you take in the sight of him looking so… serene.

His face is softened, relaxed, a stark contrast to the pinched brows and scowls he usually wears.

Imagining the exasperated faces of your hungry crewmates, you get on with your small mission. Even though you're there to wake him, you're considerate enough to keep mindful of your tone. "Zoro?" comes his name from your lips, a murmur not quite suited for waking a beast.

The most you get out of him is the slight wrinkling of his nose, like a fly had perched there for a second before buzzing off. In a way it's expected given that he's slept through storms and whole marine attacks.

Your tone is louder the next time you call his name, more firm, his silhouette becoming pronounced as your eyes adjust to the dark room. "Zoro," you call again, arms starting to ache from how you're pulling yourself up to the top bunk.

Again, nothing. It's almost comical at this point, really.

You resist the urge to groan in frustration, your options becoming more limited. Time really isn't on your side here, not when the odds of a hungry pirate barging into the room increases by the second.

Taking a big breath, you decide that this is going to be the last try. This is going to be the one to wake the marimo, whether he likes it or not.

Unfortunately, the sea has other plans for you.

The ship hits a patch of rough water, the violent movement causing you to lose your grip on the railing tethering you to the top bunk. Your breath also catches when the sudden jolt makes your feet slip off the mattress belonging to the bottom bed, your heart skipping a beat when you feel yourself starting to fall back.

You're fully prepared to brace yourself against the harsh floor, your muscles tensing and jaw tightening, but you don't even have the chance to fall back a single inch.

A strong arm, previously hanging limp over the bed, curls around your waist and holds you steady. It supports all your weight, even as your legs kick out in an attempt to find solid ground. With your face suddenly squished into the junction of his neck, your own arms act on instinct and wrap around his shoulders.

Zoro's awake now, steel-grey eye open and aware as if he hadn't been knocked out cold just seconds ago. His senses have a unique threshold, not bothering to pick up on the calls of his name but always managing to be ready when his crewmates need him most- especially you.

His skin is warm, a tell tale sign that he'd probably been napping for hours. Tightening his grip on you, he sits up, pulling you with him. You're still disoriented, wondering why you haven't hit the floor, but he's as sharp as ever.

"The hell are you doin'?" he grumbles, voice still heavy from his rest, carrying that delightful rasp. His irritated tone is a facade, more of a light chide than anything. "You tryin' t'break your neck or something?"

You feel like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing a couple times while you're still dangling from the top bunk. It's hard to not get in a few mumbled apologies, not knowing if he's ticked from being stirred from his sleep.

"Dinner is ready," you reply, managing to find your words, your hold on him not letting up due to fear of falling once more. He feels so warm, the definition of a guilty pleasure, and you're left to exert as much self-control as possible.

He lets out a scoff, amused, then grunts as he finally realizes you're still hanging over the bed. His hand moves, sliding across your waist to grab at the back of your shirt. While Zoro's strength is known throughout all the seas, it always leaves you in awe. With nothing more than a bicep curl, he hoists you up and onto the top bunk with him.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you sink into the soft mattress, the bunk creaking with the added weight and how Zoro shifts into a seated position. Legs crossed over one another, he stretches his arms over head, unintentionally showing off his physical prowess.

Your eyes find the ceiling out of respect, but mostly because you're another second away from bursting into flames.

He yawns, then rubs at the back of his neck. "Dinner, huh?" he repeats, finding the answer satisfactory enough and shrugging his shoulders. "They sent the right person. I don't need that shitty cook hurling a kick my way."

You nod and even get out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure waking up to me almost falling is a lot better," you joke, looking over the bunk to see the drop to the floor.

"It's no problem," he assures, his gold earrings catching in the slivers of moonlight entering through the window as a lazy smirk grows on his face. "I got ya."

While you'd be willing to skip dinner to stay with the swordsman, your stomach protests with a hefty grumble. Zoro's stomach follows suit, making it's need for food known. The timing of it makes another laugh slide past your lips, a sound that makes his smirk soften into something more genuine.

With a small grunt, he hops off of the top bunk and lands on the floor with a solid thud. "Alright," he starts, stretching his back out a bit more before lifting his head to meet your gaze. "Let's go eat." His arms raise, ready to help you down from the bed. Whether you want to take the ladder or propel yourself into his embrace, he silently vows to be there to offer support. Although Zoro could be stubborn, gruff, and brash, he'd never let you fall, not ever.

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro fluff #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

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writersdrug · 2 months ago

Note

I NEED waitress!reader accidentally letting it slip that she’s got a date after her shift and so when bartender!simon overhears, he suddenly has a list of things she needs to do after work, causing her get to stay late ))): missing her date ))):

ANGST TIME

He's been watching you like a hawk for the past two hours - and rightfully so. You've been rushing through your tasks, rolling more than enough silverware, keeping your tables happy and stocked - you somehow managed to convince Soap to mop front of house for you. He doesn't like it. Why are you trying to get away?

"Got a date tonight." You tell him, skimming through your receipts as you sit at the bar and calculate your tips. You're not off the clock yet - you still have thirty minutes left. But the restaurant's empty, and all your tasks are done. Your makeup is a little nicer today, softer and less "morning after a deftones concert".

Simon's thankful for the mask, or else his frown would be impossible to miss. Is he dumb? Haven't you been flirting with him all week? Was this another one of your games, pretending to act innocent and coy, messing with him, then announcing you're going out with someone else?!

He feels his shoulders tensing as he watches you tap away at your phone's calculator. He shouldn't be so bothered by this - some things just need to be let go. But he can't. He wants to keep you in his back pocket, or in an empty whiskey bottle on his liquor shelf - not the one behind the bar, but the personal collection in his room on the third floor.

"That's nice," he grumbles, slicing through a lime. "Jus' make sure you finish your chores 'fore you head out."

"Already did!" You chirp at him with a smile. "Just need to do my tips, and I'll be done."

"Did ya clean the ice bins?" He asks.

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

He jerks his head to the whiteboard on the wine fridge - sure enough, your name is scribbled in, right next to "drain and wash/sanitize ice bins + buckets", along with today's date.

You look back at Simon, your expression now crestfallen. Your date is in an hour, and you still have twenty minutes on your shift. "Don't you usually do it?"

Truthfully, he does. He could do it today, in fact. But his brain is acting on thoughts before he has the chance to consider the consequences. "Can't today, luv. Preppin' for a bigger crowd tomorrow."

Your shoulders slump. "How long does it take?"

"Well, you got to turn 'em off - one by one, I can't have two empty ice bins durin' a shift - then ya dump the ice, wait for 'em to warm up, then ya go in there with soap n' a rag, rinse 'em out, then-"

"God, can this please wait until tomorrow? I'll come in early and do it, I promise."

He looks at you sternly, and you suddenly feel ashamed for asking. "Wot, so I can pay you overtime?"

"Simon, please - if you do them, I'll give you half my tips for today."

"Now y' dumpin' your work on me?"

"I've got a date!"

"I've got my own shit too!"

You snap your mouth shut. He's never been this stern with you, but you know it's well deserved. It's your chore, after all. You'd been wrong to assume he would do it himself, despite that being the usual. You quickly hop out of the barstool and make your way behind the bar, unplugging the first icebin.

Simon watches as you scurry around, running to and from the ice bin into the kitchen, filling up bucket after bucket of ice and dumping it into the sink in the back. You pace as the machine warms up, glancing at your phone every few minutes, then touching the inside of the ice maker to check the temperature. After a few minutes, you're scrubbing the machine as fast as you can with a soapy rag and a bucket of sanitizer eater next to you.

Twenty minutes have gone by. You're supposed to be on your way to your date, but you're biting your lip, staring angrily at the ice machine as it cools down again. You need to wait for it to be cold before you refill it with ice, and only then can you start on the other machine.

You make another attempt towards Simon. "If I just do one tonight and do the other in the morning-"

"No." Simon snaps, his eyes angry as he drops a container of sliced fruit onto the bar. "This is part of havin' a job."

You look away from him, tears stinging your eyes now. You're so frustrated you want to snap back at him - but he's right, isn't he? Maybe you could ask him if you could just call Max and let him know you'll be running late - but the thought of asking Simon for anything right now (other than more chores) makes you queasy.

Simon doesn't know where the anger came from, but it's still simmering. He watches as you continue to run back and forth, filling up the old ice bin, unplugging the second one, dumping the ice in the back... he's refilling the bloody Mary mix and restocking the bitters. Simple things. He's got nothing to do after this besides go up to his flat and sit in front of the telly, or maybe chat with Soap before he heads home. Why didn't he just do it? Because you had a date, and that was a problem for him. Why? Now you're upset, and it's that knowledge that makes him finally feel the shame that he'd been swallowing down.

You finish dumping the last bucket of ice into the second machine. It's forty minutes after your shift ended. You still have to get to the restaurant you and Max were meeting at, which is a twenty minute walk. You were supposed to be there ten minutes early - now you're going to be an hour late. Frustration mingles with anxiety and burns in the forefront of your mind. But you can't be mad. You should've done your job.

Simon doesn't say anything when you run to the back, your phone pressed to your ear and tears in your eyes. You barely manage a wave to Soap as you grab your bag and jacket and flounder back into the restaraunt. You don't look at Simon.

"I'm leaving now, I'm so sorry- I had to finish up at work and it too longer than I-" you slowed to a walk, then a stop, standing in the middle of the floor. Simon was frozen, watching your shoulders shake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had-... it's not an excuse, I promise I'm-... listen, we can go for a walk or something, right? Or go get fast food, someplace still open, just you and me, and we can try again another-"

His eyes burn in his skull as he watches you stand there for a few more seconds, staring at your phone as the call disappears from the screen. He wants to say something - but what can he say? He's already fucked you over. And he doesn't feel any better than when he first discovered your little date. He feels worse.

You stuff your phone in your back pocket, unable to hide the single, choked sob that escapes your throat. You shoulder your bag and stomp your way out of the restaurant, door clanging behind you. Your bike is still in the alley out back, and your unfinished tips are still on the bartop. He wouldn't be surprised if you never come back to collect them.

Soap emerges from the kitchen breaking Simon from his thoughts and wiping his hands on a rag. "Real feckin' kind of ye, Ghost. Never seen such a right cunt." He glares at Simon, before slapping the rag on the table and heading back into the kitchen. His shift was over, too.

Simon has three more hours left to deal with himself before the bar closes.

#bartender ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader

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amiableness · 9 months ago

Text

Little Lies

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

Summary: James asks Sirius and Y/n to pretend to date after he blurts out they are to Lily.

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: smut 18+, male masturbation, oral fem receiving, fingering, unprotected sex (pls be so careful!), reader wears a bikini top, and jealousy

A/N 💌 Hope you all enjoy this; it's been my baby for a while!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I may have severely fucked up.” James sighs, his features tight with guilt as he stands before you. His chest is heaving like he has run all the way to you—it’s a likely theory.

Remus glances up from beside you; the two of you had been buried in your homework in the common room when James came racing in. He’s disappointed that James has disrupted the productive atmosphere. There’s no way that you or Remus will be continuing to work on your essays.

His admission doesn’t surprise you; James has come to you countless times seeking assistance after making a mistake. Being best friends since you were born, you’ve grown accustomed to being the one to untangle his messes.

Your parents were best friends, which meant that you and James were also raised to be. There wasn’t a memory that you could recall that James wasn’t in. It ended up working; to both of your mum’s excitement, you and James were inseparable. As the levelheaded one between you, you often found yourself trailing after James, tasked with picking up the pieces.

It was in the aftermath of pranks spiraling out of control, times when he impulsively voiced things he really shouldn’t have, or instances when he procrastinated excessively on his work, inevitably turning to you for help with his essays. Surprisingly, it’s become almost amusing to you, a reliable routine in your friendship.

You undeniably held the title of James Potter’s best friend.

Your eyes narrow skeptically, folding your arms over your chest, “Define severely.”

His demeanor turns sheepish as he nervously rubs the back of his neck, his gaze drifting away from you. He looks incredibly uncomfortable, “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“You’re not starting off strong.” You snark, an amused smile finding its way onto your lips. Remus chuckles next to you.

“Y/n.” James sighs, his expression urging you to stop your teasing.

“James.” You mimic.

He shoots you a glare, eyes narrowed in mock irritation, “Lily and I were chatting, like really chatting,” He begins, sighing obnoxiously as he settles into the chair opposite you, his expression a grimace. “She told me why she hasn’t taken me seriously when I flirt with her.”

You pause, confusion etching into your features, “And where exactly did you severely fuck up?”

"She thought we were a couple." He says, his hands gesturing wildly between the two of you, his expression a mix of incredulity and amusement. "Can you believe that? You and me?”

You can believe that, actually. You and James have been mistaken for a couple more times than you can count. Even your parents were convinced the two of you would end up together. While you had told them it wasn’t going to happen, you were convinced they were still holding out hope.

You furrow your brows as you watch him a tad uneasy, “Okay, and where did you severely fuck up in this?”

“I panicked, okay?” James looks guilty when he blurts this out. He nearly shouts it, and Remus hushes him. “She said it wasn’t fair for me to flirt with her because of you. She didn’t want your feelings to be hurt and wouldn’t listen when I said we were just friends. And I panicked.”

“Mate, get to the bloody point.” Remus huffs out, tired of James dragging out the story. Nothing bothered Remus more than when James or Sirius took an eternity to get to the point of their story.

“I told her you’re dating Sirius.” James grimaces, shifting nervously.

“What?” You hiss, your palms smacking onto the table, causing James to flinch, “Have you taken too many hits to the head? James, we are not dating!”

James protests, panicking, "But Lily doesn't know that! If you two could just pretend-"

"No, absolutely not! That is going too far." You snap, sending James a frustrated look, while Remus is chuckling to himself next to you.

"Y/n, please. This could be it! My chance with Lily!" James pleads. He’s desperate to try and salvage the plan he had put all his hopes on.

"Starting your new relationship with a lie, are we?" You snap, massaging at your temples. Most of the stress is from spending too many hours studying, but James is undoubtedly making it worse.

James shrugs, a mischievous smirk starting to form, "Well, not really. You and Sirius already flirt a lot. It’s not that far off from the truth."

James was well aware of your feelings for Sirius; he had watched how you nervously stumbled over your words the first day you met Sirius. He had never seen you like that before, eyes lit up with inflation at first glance.

While he occasionally teased you about it, he understood that what you felt for Sirius was deeper than just a crush. Though you would never admit it out loud.

Your frustration grows, "It absolutely is far off from the truth. Lily probably didn’t even believe you! There's no evidence for her to believe the idea that we are together.” You cry, disbelief evident in your voice. James's casual attitude only adds to your frustration. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Remus interjects, an amused scoff escaping him, “There's evidence to believe it."

"Are you joking?" You deadpan, your voice full of incredulity. Remus sends you a teasing smirk. He considers how Sirius flirts with you more than anyone else, but he doesn’t want to deal with Sirius furious at him.

Ever since you met Sirius, you have had a crush on him. Realistically, you knew it was pointless; Sirius had a fan club of admirers. So, you counted yourself lucky that you were one of his closest friends. Being his friend was manageable, and quite honestly, kept your expectations in check.

But Sirius acting like he had feelings for you? You wouldn’t handle that well.

James interjects, "Lily believed it. She even said she wasn't surprised."

"But she thought you and I were together?" You ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Your tone was snippier than you intended, but you could feel the stress building. The mere thought of pretending to be with Sirius made you feel nauseous.

"She might've just been jealous, wanting to know if you had feelings for James before she finally goes for him." Remus says casually, and James' eyes light up in excitement.

James is positively giddy as he leans forward, “You think she was jealous?”

"Does Sirius even know?" You interrupt, catching James's eye. He glances at Remus, clearly hoping to hear more about Lily’s supposed jealousy.

James shakes his head, and you scoff, opening your mouth to enlighten James on why you think this is a bad idea. Before you can say anything, Remus cuts you off, “Here’s your chance to tell him.”

You glance up to see Sirius walking through the library, and you resist letting out a lovesick sigh at how effortlessly handsome he is.

Your stomach plummets at the sight of a stunning girl effortlessly chatting with him. His laughter rings out, causing unease to settle in your stomach.

If he was close enough, you probably would’ve tried to eavesdrop.

Despite not knowing her name, you know she’s a Gryffindor; you’ve seen her in the common room. James nudges you, and when you glance at him, he sends you a knowing look.

"Glad to see you guys are having study dates without Peter and me." Sirius calls, settling into the seat next to James and patting him on the shoulder in greeting.

Relief washes over you as you notice that the girl who was with him a second ago is long gone. He glances over at you, and pauses in surprise at your disgruntled expression, "You okay?"

Remus chuckles at the question, finding the harsh look you shoot James hilarious. It’s clear that he’s finding this entire situation entertaining.

“Ask James about what he told Lily.” You say, voice strained with irritation. James sends Sirius a nervous smile, and Sirius looks at him oddly.

"What'd you do?"

Sirius asks, his eyes darting back to you, taking note of your frustrated expression. Your stomach tightens with nerves, scared of Sirius’ reaction. Remus leans back in his chair, excited to see how this will all play out.

"Lily and I were talking today," James sighs, "and she wouldn't stop going on about how she thinks Y/n is in love with me and that it's not fair for me to flirt with her because I could be hurting her."

"She thinks I'm in love with you?" You shriek, oblivious to the barely visible flinch on Sirius' face at James' words. Remus catches it, his grin getting bigger.

James ignores you, “Anyways, I said that it’s not a problem because you and Y/n are dating.” James finishes cautiously, his gaze locked on Sirius, curious for his reaction. Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes fixed intently on Sirius, awaiting his reaction as well.

"You told Lily that Y/n's my girl?" Sirius inquires casually, causing your stomach to somersault at his words. You force yourself to focus on James instead of the warmth creeping into your skin.

"I panicked, and that's what came out. So, if you guys could pretend you're madly in love, that would be great!" James claps his hands together, and you feel the urge to wack him. You're prepared to snap at him, to explain why asking this of you both isn’t right.

But then Sirius shrugs, "Sure, shouldn't be too hard, right, sweet girl?" He says, and your legs feel like jelly.

You're floundering, not having expected Sirius to agree. He’s never maintained a steady relationship, so pretending that he’s dating you is a big ask. His agreement sends your mind spiraling with different scenarios. For a brief second, you wonder if he agrees so easily because he has feelings for you. But you quickly shut down that thought.

You’re delusional. You truly are.

"Sure, that shouldn't be too bad." You agree, hoping you appear casual about this.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"I need you two to amp it up. Lily is eating breakfast with us today." James directs, causing you to glance up from your breakfast, disbelief etched into your features. He takes a bite of bacon and casually observes you as though his request is perfectly normal.

"We've switched spots, is that not enough for you?" You ask sarcastically, and Remus shakes his head, wearing an entertained smile as he continues eating breakfast. He can tell you're panicking about pretending to be with Sirius; it’s painfully obvious to everyone at the table.

You're usually seated between James and Peter, but when you attempted to slide into the seat this morning, James slammed his hand down on the seat and instructed you to sit next to your boyfriend, wearing a smug smile. Peter snorted softly but quickly replaced it with a sympathetic smile, silently apologizing for his reaction.

"I mean, we all know Sirius is into PDA, and you look terrified to even be sitting next to him." Peter points out, and you find yourself scrabbling.

Were you two supposed to be super affectionate? Would Sirius find it weird if you initiated it? Questions are flooding your mind leaving you feeling overwhelmed.

"I am not terrified. I just don’t know how to act." You insist.

"Act like you’re in love with him; it shouldn’t be too hard, right?" James quips, earning a glare from you. He responds with a playful wink.

"The boys are right. You need to sit closer to me.” Sirius declares as his arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You squeak his name in surprise, flustered at how easily he moves you. The boys chuckle at your bewildered expression, finding your embarrassment hilarious.

You feel disappointed when he releases you. Even more so when he doesn't pull you flush against him. Instead, your shoulder to shoulder, the distance between you both feeling more pronounced than ever.

"I'm still waiting on the PDA." Remus says with a playful smirk; his eyes are full of mischief when you glance at him.

You elbow Remus in the side, and he playfully nudges you back, causing you to bump into Sirius' side. Sirius surprises you by wrapping his arm around you, keeping you against him while playfully calling out, "Oi, back off, mate." Being pressed against his side causes warmth to spread through you as you lean further into him.

James watches as Sirius's cheeks flush, a soft smile on his face as he gazes down at you. You appear flustered but content, being so close to him, and James can't help but grin at the two of you.

"We're not going to be all over each other." You say, attempting to distract yourself from the fact that you’re pushed up against Sirius.

"Why not?" James leans forward with a grin, clearly finding everything about this entertaining. “That is what most couples do. Plus, Sirius openly flirts with everyone. But he won’t kiss his own girlfriend? It’s not believable.”

“Merlin, we should have talked about this last night.” You mumble under your breath, and Sirius chuckles beside you. He's entirely at ease. It doesn’t seem like he has any worries about pretending to be your boyfriend. With that observation, you try not to let your worries spiral out of control.

"Listen, we can do whatever you're comfortable with. If you don't want to kiss, then we don't have to," Sirius tells you gently, "but it would be sort of odd for us not to be somewhat affectionate."

The last thing he wants to do is make you feel uncomfortable. But there's a rush of exhilaration at the thought of holding you close and calling you pet names that were once off-limits. And the thought of possibly kissing you?

Surviving that would be inconceivable for him.

"You're right," You nod. “Let's just start off slow. It will be weird if we're all over each other today when we didn’t even sit together yesterday."

"Yeah, yeah! Flirt, be a little touchy, throw some cute pet names in here, will you, Sirius?" James calls out with great enthusiasm. You send him a look that you hope he understands as shut the fuck up. He doesn’t acknowledge your discomfort. Instead, he makes a heart shape with his hands, which adds to your annoyance.

Sirius presses a quick kiss to your temple, “Fuck off, mate. I know how to flirt with my girlfriend, right baby?” You freeze, your eyes widening in disbelief, while the boys laugh at your reaction. How exactly were you supposed to survive this?

You fall into a comfortable silence, happy to enjoy your breakfast as James issues his warnings to the boys, ensuring they behave themselves. Remus, with a subtle eye roll, acknowledges James's words while Peter nods emphatically in agreement. While, Sirius simply outlines every embarrassing memory he plans to share with Lily.

“Y/n, get your man in check.’ James complains in mock irritation, throwing a grape at Sirius, who dodges it.

"Good morning." Lily greets quietly. You all turn to see her approaching, her expression a mix of embarrassment and hesitance, as if she's debating whether to turn around and go to her usual spot down the table.

James abruptly stands up, his hip thumping into the table. He stifles a wince, trying to maintain his composure as he greets Lily, who tries unsuccessfully to suppress a smile at his reaction. Remus cringes and turns back to his breakfast, unable to look at James.

"Y'ready for this?" Sirius leans in, his voice lowered to a hushed tone meant only for you, effectively pulling you away from eavesdropping on James and Lily's conversation. You glance up at him, surprised to find you’re a mere inches away from him.

You're so close that you could individually count each of his eyelashes if you wanted.

You still feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, creating an intimate connection between the both of you.

It feels like a magnetic pull draws you closer, tempting you to tilt your head forward and touch his lips with yours. The urge to kiss him is so strong that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You clear your throat, attempting to push the thought from your mind. "I think so. We're newly dating, so don't go overboard with it." You remind him, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“When have I ever gone overboard with anything in my life?” The smile he gives you is teasing, and it makes your heart pound to have him this close, his eyes sparkling as he smiles at you.

You hum softly in response, “I can think of quite a few times.”

His voice carries a flirtatious tone, “Can you?”

“Good morning, Lily.” Peter's gentle voice steals your attention away from Sirius. Disappointment and longing settle in his stomach as he watches you pull away and turn to greet Lily, that sweet smile now directed at her.

Lily settles between Peter and James. For a quick second, you feel a pang of jealousy because that's your spot. But when you notice James's pink cheeks and flustered expression, you forget all about it. All you want for James is for him to be happy, and having Lily near seems to do just that.

Breakfast goes smoothly. Lily fits seamlessly into your group, and you can tell it makes James giddy. He doesn't even mind not getting to talk to Lily much. He simply enjoys seeing the girl he's so hopelessly infatuated with getting along so well with his best friends.

You and Sirius aren't acting much differently than you normally do, just sitting close to each other and chatting. However, when Lily turns to you and Sirius, a wave of nervousness washes over you.

“I was so excited to hear you guys were together!”

"Oh yeah? So you can finally go for James with a clear conscience?" Sirius grins, teasing Lily, who looks thoroughly embarrassed. You nudge Sirius in the side, and he responds by giving your hip a gentle squeeze. James sends Sirius an incredulous look, which he pointedly ignores. While Remus and Peter chuckle at the playful banter.

Lily tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and clears her throat; her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "Uh, no, just that you two have obviously had feelings for each other for years. Everyone knew."

You're at a loss for words. Is that really what people thought? Clearly, they read you right, but you weren’t sure what to think about Sirius having feelings for you. Maybe he did, or maybe they were mistaking it for how he constantly flirted with you. But that was just how Sirius was; it didn’t necessarily mean he had romantic feelings for you.

"Haven't gotten her out of my head since the day I met her." Sirius says casually, his right elbow resting on the table as he pops a piece of bacon into his mouth. His other arm remains securely wrapped around your waist, holding you close to his side with a gentle yet firm embrace.

You look at him in shock, your eyes widening at his unexpected confession. Even the boys look slightly startled at Sirius' words, their eyes darting between you and him.

“That’s so sweet.” Lily says softly, her eyes glowing with genuine happiness as she sends you a warm smile. The sight tugs at your heartstrings but also stirs up guilt in the pit of your stomach. Lying always made you feel uneasy like a weight was pressing down on your chest.

"Sirius, I can't believe you thought that she—" Lily begins, her voice trailing off as James interjects, his interruption tinged with a hint of urgency.

"Okay, love! I think I should walk you to class, don't y' think?" James stands up from the table, extending his hand towards Lily.

Lily looks slightly confused, but she takes his hand nonetheless. As they walk away, James glances back and sends a wink in Sirius' direction. Your attention immediately shifts to Sirius, curiosity written all over your face as you’re about to ask about Lily's interrupted comment.

Sirius cuts you off before you can ask, shaking his head with a gentle smile and flushed cheeks, "Don't even bother asking; I’m not telling you what she was talking about.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re curled up next to Peter on the common room couch, both of you chatting quietly together. For the last twenty minutes, he has been feeding you details about the Ravenclaw girl he has a crush on. He's sworn you to secrecy. Hoping for your advice on asking her out without enduring the teasing of the rest of the Marauders. Your gasp of excitement nearly gives away the secret, but you quickly compose yourself, offering a reassuring smile to Peter.

"Who is she?" You ask, excitement laced in your voice, but Peter sends you an apprehensive look.

"I'm going to keep that to myself. Your squeal almost let the boys know.." He teases, though his tone also carries a note of seriousness.

A laugh escapes you, "I promise when you’re ready to tell me I’ll be so careful about keeping it a secret."

"Oi! Are you two sharing secrets over there?" James calls out, his voice immensely curious. He’s sat with his back to the flickering flames, his palms flat against the floor as he leans back on them. Peter tenses beside you, but you maintain an easy smile. Remus and Sirius are lounging in the armchairs nearby, their attention piqued by the exchange.

"All my deepest darkest secrets." You tease, flashing James a grin. He furrows his brow and sits up, clearly riled up by your response.

“Y/n, as your best friend, I better know all these secrets.” James lips are pouted, his expression tinged with a hint of concern, as if he's genuinely worried that you and Peter are sharing secrets that he doesn’t know.

James has always been fiercely protective of your friendship. Despite being close to the boys, your bond with James was stronger. There was nothing that the two of you didn't confide in each other; he honestly did know all your secrets.

“You do.” You smile reassuringly, and James's expression breaks into a satisfied grin.

The boys continue their soft conversation by the crackling fire, the warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room, while you and Peter sit in comfortable silence. Both of you are lost in thought as you relax in the cozy atmosphere.

After stifling a good five yawns, you glance at the time and decide it's probably best to head to your room, the quiet of the common room signaling just how late it had gotten.

You inch closer to Peter, before finding the courage to lean over and envelop him in a friendly hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

He's momentarily taken aback, his body tenses at your touch, but soon he relaxes, reciprocating by wrapping you in his arms. It's a gesture that feels somewhat out of character for you, but after he trusted you with his secret, it seems like the most natural thing to do, a silent affirmation of support for him.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." You tell him softly, "But I promise we'll talk more tomorrow."

“I’d like that.” He smiles at you as you pull away. You grab your bag and make your way in the direction of the stairs.

“Goodnight boys!” You call out softly over your shoulder before disappearing up the stairs. Sirius watches you go, his gaze lingering on your figure, his thoughts full of you long after you've left the room.

Ever since you moved to hug Peter, his eyes have been on you, curiosity and jealousy settling in his stomach.

"Why the hell did you get a hug?" Sirius asks, his tone laced with bitterness as his gaze shifts to Peter, who appears taken aback by Sirius’ sudden question. Remus and James exchange amused glances, before they refocus their attention on Peter, waiting expectantly for an explanation to ease the tension.

“I don’t know, she just hugged me.” Peter squirms uncomfortably in his seat, his confidence quickly dwindling as he's put on the spot.

Sirius nods slowly, his lips pursing in contemplation. His carefully measured tone betrays the longing and a hint of possessiveness that he struggles to conceal, "What were you guys talking about over there?"

Remus interjects with a teasing tone, "Careful, Pads. You sound jealous." A playful glint dances in his eyes as he notices Sirius' furrowed brows and the discontent on his face.

“He’s got the boyfriend role down.” James quips, and Sirius sends them both a glare.

“I’m not jealous,” Sirius repeats quite grumpily. “I just don’t understand why Peter got a hug, and we didn’t.”

James barks out a laugh while Remus shakes his head, a chuckle escaping him in sheer disbelief.

"You're jealous because you have feelings for her." James states matter-of-factly.

Sirius begins to shake his head in denial, but Remus promptly interjects, his voice firm and unwavering, "’Haven't gotten her out of my head since the day I met her.’ What the fuck was that then?” Remus repeats Sirius’ words from the other day, perfectly mimicking his tone.

James bursts into laughter, the sound hearty and infectious, while Peter offers a small smile, observing Sirius as he struggles to respond.

“Not to mention, you’ve been staring Peter down ever since Y/n touched him.” Remus remarks while Sirius gazes blankly at him, his expression unreadable as he nervously chews on his bottom lip.

“You really have.” Peter adds with a grimace.

“You like her, mate.” Remus concludes, his words carrying a sense of finality that lingers in the air.

Sirius sighs heavily.

The conversation weighs heavily on him as he sinks down in the armchair, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The boys’ words replay in his mind. He was jealous, and he did like you. He already knew all of this. But he had always been cautious around you, mindful of the unspoken boundaries because of your friendship with James. A nagging worry in the back of his mind that James would be against any relationship between the two of you. James was his greatest friend, and he worried he could lose him if he attempted to go for you. The idea of James being unfazed by a romantic relationship between you and Sirius threw him off balance. It vastly differed from the scenarios he had envisioned, where James would react with fierce anger upon learning of Sirius' affection for you. The realization left Sirius feeling torn. Did that mean he could actually go for you?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

As the air is warm and balmy, birdsong emanating from the trees while the leaves rustle in the gentle breeze. The sun casts everything in a golden haze, letting you know summer is near. The boys are certain of their decision: today is the perfect day to spend at the lake.

Laughter and chatter echo across the shimmering waters as the boys swim around the lake, reaching where you’re draped over a soft towel next to Lily. You have been trading gossip back and forth for the last couple of hours. It’s refreshing since usually you’re glued to the boys’ sides. You were constantly in the company of at least one of the four.

You feel a twinge of regret in your chest, realizing you haven't made an effort to have a close friendship with the girls. And you really should have. It wasn't a deliberate choice; James had always been your go-to person. Then, when you met the boys, you naturally formed close bonds with them, too. The thought of branching out and making more friends never really crossed your mind.

Though you value your friendships with the boys, you decide you desperately need to spend more time with the girls. The possibility of James and Lily getting together has you hopeful.

“You realize Sirius can’t take his eyes off you, right?” You choose to remain silent, only giving a shrug, fully aware that Sirius is merely pretending to be in love with you. To his credit, he's played the part convincingly throughout the entire week. There have been moments when you've found yourself questioning the authenticity of his actions, wondering whether his affection is genuine or merely his acting skills.

For someone who hasn’t had much practice with relationships, he possessed an innate ability to treat you like you were the only girl in his world. Whether it was a reassuring hand on your lower back as you maneuvered through the crowded halls, a tender kiss planted on your forehead when you parted ways, or the subtle exchange of flirty smiles whenever your eyes met across the room.

Sirius' laughter drifts over from the lake, reaching your ears, and a subconscious smile graces your lips. Lily must have seen your reaction, “Merlin, you really like him, don’t you?”

It was driving you to the brink of obsession. If this was the experience of being Sirius' girl, you wanted it more than before.

Despite your efforts to contain it, a sigh slips from your lips, "Yeah, I really do."

Confessing this feels uncomfortable. You've never talked to anyone about the depth of your feelings for Sirius, and now you're doing so under the guise of a fake relationship. You had come close to telling James, but you really didn’t need to. He had an uncanny ability to read you like an open book. Guilt churns in your stomach once more as you think about lying to Lily. What will her reaction be when you reveal that you and Sirius were never actually together?

The silence lingers for a few moments before you gently break it, "What were you about to say at breakfast the other day? Before James interrupted?"

Lily's expression shifts from confusion to excitement, her eyes lighting up, “Oh, in Charms! I finally wrangled it out of Sirius that he had feelings for you. But he insisted that nothing was ever going to happen because you didn’t like him back.”

It feels like you've been plunged into a tub of cold water. Your mind goes momentarily blank, a surge of disbelief flooding your senses as you struggle to comprehend Lily's words. Your body freezes in place, grappling with what this could possibly mean. There’s no possible way you heard her correctly.

“What? When was this?” Your voice escapes breathless and startled, yet Lily appears oblivious to it.

“Just a couple of weeks ago! I’m so glad he finally told you how he felt.” Lily smiles sweetly before laying back on her towel. If she notices you’re in a state of shock, she doesn’t say anything.

You hear a whistle, and no surprise, your best friend throws himself between you and Lily, “Don’t you two look pretty!”

Lily gasps as James leans down, playfully pressing his lips against her cheek, his hair dripping water onto her. Though she protests, you both can tell she doesn't truly mind it.

As James and Lily become wrapped up in their own world, you find yourself drifting back to the conversation from a moment ago. Your mind spins, still muddled by Lily's words. Sirius had feelings for you. Why hadn't he spoken up? Did he not want anything to come of it?

Your heart nearly stops when Sirius drops down and hovers over you, his hands propping him up on either side of your head. You barely register that he's shirtless and above you just before icy water cascades from his hair onto your skin. A startled cry escapes you as the cold droplets trickle down your cheeks, tracing a chilling path along your neck and chest.

“Sirius Black!” You had intended to sound angry, but laughter slips past your lips, betraying your emotions. Sirius grins at your reaction, his eyes trailing down from your eyes to shamelessly check out the bikini top you have on.

The boys had been teasing him relentlessly after witnessing how he practically fell to his knees when you walked into the common room wearing a bikini top and tiny denim shorts. You were oblivious to his gaze, heading straight for Lily and conversing about who knows what.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from you all day.

He feigns ignorance as you whine at him, responding with a sweet smile instead, “What, sweet girl?”

"Get off!" You squeal, though your tone lacks any real irritation. Deep down, you’re secretly enjoying having him so close, enveloping you in his presence.

“Whatever you want, sweet girl.” He mutters as he rolls off of you, repositioning himself so he's sitting behind you. With a gentle tap on your shoulder, he prompts you to sit up, then guides you until your back hits his chest. Once you're settled, he loosely wraps his arms around your shoulders before placing a kiss on your head.

Remus catches your eye as he and Peter make their way to their towels. Unlike Sirius and James, they hadn't hurried over to you and Lily. Instead, they took their time, chatting lazily while the sun warmed their skin. Remus sends you a sly, suggestive glance, and you respond by narrowing your eyes at him playfully.

Sirius and Remus engage in their own conversation, their voices blending into the background as Peter gestures for you to follow him. Sirius protests lightly, his eyes following you as you pull away from him to walk down to the lake with Peter.

You're gone for no more than twenty minutes, offering Peter advice on establishing a friendship with the girl he likes, perhaps making it easier for him to ask her out in the future.

Despite Remus' attempts to draw him back into the conversation, Sirius remains preoccupied, his gaze fixed on you until you eventually return and settle onto the towel beside him, seeking the familiar comfort of his presence. Only then does Sirius relax, draping his arm around you protectively.

He despises the twinge of jealousy that creeps in every time Peter has you to himself.

“Mate, you’re fucked.” Remus chuckles, and you assume it's due to something amusing said during their conversation. Sirius simply rolls his eyes and playfully extends his middle finger in Remus' direction, a gesture of mock annoyance that elicits a smirk from both of them.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wrapped up in Sirius as you chat with your friends and bask in the sun.

You spend the remainder of the afternoon draped over Sirius, basking in the warmth of the sun as you chat with your friends. It's been a while since you've felt so at ease.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After lounging by the lake all afternoon, the thought of cleaning up for a party you had little interest in attending felt like an unnecessary chore. However, after an hour of James' persistent pleading, you eventually gave in and agreed to go. You were confused about why he insisted on your presence, especially when he'd be busy spending the evening with Lily. You couldn't help but think you could have been snug in bed with a good book instead.

“How long do you think it will take before they get together?” You turn to Remus, who is leaning against the wall next to you. He wasn't thrilled about coming tonight, either. The full moon was approaching, and he could already feel the effects beginning to take hold.

You scan the bustling room, eager to catch a glimpse of James and determine Lily's proximity. Impatience simmers within you as you wait for them to get together. Their relationship seems overdue, and you’re desperate for it to happen, bringing an end to the relationship you and Sirius are forced to maintain. Though being Sirius' girlfriend has its perks, the artificiality of the situation weighs on your conscience.

After a lazy afternoon enveloped in Sirius' arms, you had returned to your room feeling unsettled. The comfort of being held by Sirius felt genuine, yet it was all fake, and that realization deeply unsettles you. The longer this relationship goes on, the more you worry about your heart being left in pieces at the end.

“Probably any day now. Why? You aren’t having fun being Sirius’ girl?” Remus asks, casting a knowing smirk in your direction. You huff and give him a playful nudge, causing his drink to slosh around in his cup. He chuckles in response, amused by your reaction.

"It's not that, and you know it." You respond, frustration evident in your tone.

Remus turns towards you, a genuine smile on his face this time, "You guys are doing quite the job of looking infatuated with each other."

You shoot him a warning look, sensing where the conversation is headed.

But Remus persists, his gaze steady, "You should consider telling him how you feel."

You scoff. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? What have you got to lose?"

You meet his gaze, incredulous, "Our friendship, for starters."

Remus shakes his head, "Do you really think Sirius would end your friendship? I doubt you could get rid of him if you tried."

You meet Remus's gaze, your brow furrowed with uncertainty, "Okay, maybe he wouldn't end our friendship. But things would definitely get awkward, and who knows where it could lead."

Remus offers a small smile, "Or it could go well. You could end up together."

You remain silent, the weight of Remus's words sinking in as you contemplate the idea of confessing your feelings to Sirius. Your stomach churns with anxiety at the mere thought of opening up to him. The fear of rejection and the potential fallout from confessing weighs heavy on your chest.

But Lily had shared with you that Sirius had opened up about his feelings for you. Maybe there was a possibility that confessing your own feelings might not be as far-fetched as you had assumed. Maybe being with Sirius wasn't entirely out of reach.

Remus observes the slight furrow in your brow as you chew on your bottom lip, a clear indication of your spiraling thoughts. The dim light of the common room highlights the unease on your face. "Do you want a drink?" He offers, his voice gentle and reassuring.

You pause, considering his offer, grateful for the distraction, "Yes, please." You respond with a small smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

As Remus leaves to fetch you a drink, you're left alone with your thoughts, the chatter and laughter of the crowded common room serving as a backdrop to your contemplation. Your eyes wander over the sea of bodies, each occupied with their own conversations and activities, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere.

“Y/n, hi!” You startle as Max Townsend stands beside you, his sudden presence catching you off guard. You recall being partners in Charms a couple of weeks ago, but beyond that, your interactions had been limited.

"Hey, Max." You greet with a soft smile, noticing how his shoulders relax slightly at your acknowledgment. He settles against the wall, his posture casual yet attentive, as if genuinely interested in chatting with you.

"I know we haven’t talked much since Charms, but I’ve been meaning to catch up with you." Max says, his voice earnest as he breaks the silence between you.

You're surprised by his remark, "You have?" You ask, genuine curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah! I enjoyed spending time with you." Max admits, his voice slightly shaky as he offers you a shy smile. You notice the faint blush coloring his cheeks, a sign of nervousness.

"I enjoyed spending time with you too! I don’t think I could have passed the last exam without your help." You respond sincerely, returning his smile with warmth. His face lights up at your words, visibly relieved.

He regains some confidence and continues, "Actually, Y/n, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade sometime?"

Your smile falters, and you feel a pang of guilt. You have the excuse of having a boyfriend, at least. It makes things a little easier for you. For a second, you debate if you should say yes, go on a date, and move past your feelings for Sirius. But then you think about Lily‘s words and how he might possibly like you back. Not only that but you’re supposed to be in a relationship right now.

You can't bring yourself to say yes; truth be told, you don't really want to, anyway.

"That’s really sweet of you to ask. But I’m dating Sirius." You reply though the words feel heavy on your tongue, wishing they were true.

Max looks taken aback, "Sirius Black?"

"Yes." You confirm, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over you; turning someone down is always an awkward and uncomfortable experience.

Max shakes his head, looking confused, "I didn’t know Sirius-"

"You didn’t know what, Townsend?" Sirius looks hard at him, slipping his arm around your waist and handing you a drink. "Here, baby, Rem said you wanted a drink."

You thank him quietly, settling into his side with ease. Glancing up at him, you notice Sirius isn't looking at you; his gaze is fixed on Max. His jaw clenches tightly, and his usual friendly smile is absent. The message to Max is clear: back off, she's mine.

Max looks uneasy, eyes darting from you to Sirius, “Uh, I didn’t know you and Y/n were together.”

“And why were you talking about that?”

“Uh,” Max looks at you briefly, his expression tinged with panic. He lets out a sigh, reminiscent of a child caught in the act and resigned to confessing. “I asked her out.”

Sirius' entire body tenses, his tone laced with mock curiosity, “Did you?”

He feels sick at the thought of you going on a date with another guy. Images flash through his mind – Max holding your hand on a walk through Hogsmeade, flirting with you over dinner, and the possibility of him kissing you goodnight before you head back through the portrait at the end of the night.

A surge of intense emotion floods him, an overwhelming desire to lash out, to throw a punch and convey the unmistakable message that you are off-limits.

But then the reality hits him: you're not off limits. You're perfectly single, and maybe you actually wanted to go out with Max. The realization sinks in, gnawing at him from the inside, intensifying the ache in his chest.

“But look, man, I didn’t know she was your girl! Honest.”

"Max, it's okay. Really." You interject gently, offering him a reassuring smile. Max nods frantically, clearly relieved, before hurrying off in the opposite direction and disappearing into the crowd of Gryffindors.

“What the hell was that?” You turn to Sirius, but he refuses to meet your gaze. Instead, he drops his arm from your waist and leans back against the wall, taking a long sip from his drink, his expression unreadable

“Playing the part of your boyfriend. You should go find James, he was looking for you.” His mutterings reach your ears, and your stomach clenches with irritation as hurt flashes over your features. He's never shut down before you, and it hurts your feelings deeply.

You don’t bother saying anything; instead, you scoff and walk away. Sirius’s eyes follow you the second you leave, watching as you walk away with a heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

Maybe he did need to express his feelings to you. There might be a chance that you felt the same way. And if you didn't, at least he would know and could attempt to move on from you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I think you need to check on Sirius.” James murmurs into your ear as you stand in the common room, waiting for Lily to join you. You're flanked by the boys, but Sirius is conspicuously absent.

You glance over at him, confused, “Why? Is he not coming down?”

“He bailed, said he isn’t feeling good.”

“He isn’t coming to Hogsmeade with us?” You all had meticulously planned your trip to Hogsmeade during the lake outing yesterday, discussing the shops you wanted to visit and the Butterbeer you couldn't wait to taste.

“Oh,” You mutter, “I’ll check on him and catch up with you guys then.”

You still harbor concern for his well-being, a lingering sense of care that remains despite the the frustration you feel about last night. You ascend the stairs, faintly catching Peter's inquiry about your destination and James' response that you won't be joining them anymore. You contemplate turning around, half-tempted to inquire with James about his statement, but decided against it, choosing not to waste your energy.

You're so deeply immersed in your thoughts as you walk through the hall that you don't even notice the sound at first.

The muffled noise filtering through the boys' dorm door catches your attention, causing you to pause in front of the door. You briefly entertain the idea that Sirius might be genuinely unwell, but skepticism lingers in your mind. The persistent groans don't quite fit the pattern of someone who's just sick.

You were on the verge of turning around, genuinely considering it, until you caught a muffled moan that distinctly sounded like your name.

You pause, questioning the authenticity of what you just heard, wondering if it was a figment of your imagination or if you truly heard your name. But then you hear it, “Fuck, Y/n. Feels so good.”

Your legs turn to jelly, the words coursing through your veins like an electric shock, leaving you feeling stunned and breathless.

Without a second thought or even a plan forming in your mind, you find yourself knocking on the door. Inside, you hear a muffled curse followed by shuffling before Sirius swings the door open nearly a minute later, clad only in pajama pants. His hair is tousled, his cheeks flushed, and he's breathing heavily. The surprise on his face is evident as he takes in your unexpected presence.

“What were you just doing?” Your words spill out more confrontationally than you intended, catching Sirius off guard. The surprise flickers across his face, evident in how his eyebrows knit together and his eyes widen slightly.

“Uh, I-” He glances back into his room, searching for a believable excuse among his belongings. Flustered, he struggles to come up with a convincing lie.

"Sirius," You press, and his eyes flicker back to you. He appears guilty, aware that you've caught on. "I just heard you." You add, your tone that is firm but not accusatory.

“Merlin, Y/n. I’m sorry I-” He stammers, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of you possibly feeling disgusted with him or worse, refusing to remain his friend because of what he’s just done.

“What were you thinking about?” You ask instead, taking a deliberate step closer to him. The room feels charged with tension, and you can sense Sirius's unease. His breath hitches as your presence draws nearer, his eyes flickering with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

He glances over your shoulder, his gaze flicking to the empty hallway outside before he answers, “You.”

“Me?” You take a tentative step closer, your voice barely a whisper compared to before, its tone huskier, laden with curiosity and perhaps a hint of intrigue. You fix him with a daring look, a glint of challenge in your eye, as if silently daring him to take action.

He remains silent, his gaze fixed on you for a fleeting moment before he takes action, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the dorm without a word.

As soon as the door shuts, he presses you against the door, his movements swift and urgent. You let out a gasp in surprise, feeling the sudden shift in atmosphere as Sirius's intensity envelops you. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, now bore into yours with a mixture of seriousness and vulnerability.

“Y/n. Why did you knock on the door?”

You don’t answer at first, your eyes locked with his for a few heartbeats before you let out a sigh, “Because I heard you say my name, and now I know you want me the same way that I’ve always wanted you.”

Sirius doesn’t hesitate, his lips meeting yours with a sense of urgency that sends a shiver down your spine. The moment his touch connects with yours, you exhale softly, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. With gentle pressure, you draw him closer, your arms wrapping around his shoulders while Sirius’ embrace envelops you, pulling you closer as if he never wants to let go.

He initiates with a tender kiss on your lips, then gently nibbles on your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp. Seizing the opportunity of your parted lips, he intensifies the kiss, pressing forcefully into your mouth. Sirius kisses you as if each moment is the first and last time, molding you into pliancy. You willingly surrender, allowing him to kiss you into a state of blissful oblivion.

As he withdraws, a soft whimper escapes your lips in protest. He casts a questioning glance your way as he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you respond with a nod of affirmation. Slowly, he peels it off of you and lets it drop at your feet. Shamelessly, he admires your breasts and how they sit so pretty in your black bra. For a moment, the thought of apologizing for the simple garment crosses your mind, but the way his gaze lingers on you halts any inclination to do so.

He leans down, pressing kisses and nipping at the exposed skin on your neck and trailing his way down to your chest. It steals your breath away, prompting you to weave your fingers through his hair as you tilt your head back, reveling in the sensation. He's murmuring praises against your skin, ranting about how beautiful you are, how sweet your moans are, and how you drive him crazy. Your heart pounds within your chest, and for an instant, you fear its thunderous rhythm might betray you, considering how near he stands.

“Take it off.” In a hushed tone, you speak, prompting Sirius's gaze to swiftly rise and lock with yours.

He encircles you with his arms, quickly undoing your bra, and you deftly push the straps down, allowing the garment to cascade down, unveiling your skin. Swiftly, you toss it into the growing pile that appears to be taking shape by the door.

Sirius gazes intently, his bottom lip captured between his teeth, and a subtle furrow forms between his eyebrows, “Fucking hell, y’have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

Before you can utter a word, his mouth is on your breasts. Pressing the softest kisses onto your nipple before gently biting it, causing your breath to hitch. He bends down, mirroring the gesture with the other one.

His hands, possessively grip at your hips, act as anchors, momentarily keeping you in place. However, a growing restlessness takes hold, and you start to squirm, a subtle plea for more of his attention. Silently comprehending your unspoken desire, he wordlessly responds. A gentle tug on your hand is all the communication needed, and without a moment's hesitation, you obediently follow his lead.

Guiding you, he directs you to settle onto his bed, a silent request you readily heed. Your legs dangle over the edge of the bed as you rely on your elbows to bear all your weight.

Sirius kneels in front of you, easily slipping off both of your shoes and tossing them to the side. He reaches up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your skirt before tugging it down and off of your legs. You’re left in a pair of gray panties that easily show how soaked you are for him.

He pushes on your knees until your legs are completely spread for him, and he can get a clear view of your soaked underwear. A hushed curse escapes his lips, the words slipping out quietly as his gaze lingers on you.

“You’re fucking stunning. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.” You bask in his words, your body thrumming with warmth and delight as his sweet sentiments wash over you.

He glances up at you, and he nearly loses it right then and there. You’re watching him through hooded eyes, your pupils dilated wide, a silent reflection of your anticipation and desire. He doubts he could ever erase the image of the way you're gazing at him, etching it into his memory with the fervent wish to witness it for the rest of his days.

He caresses his hands along your thighs, fingers gently squeezing and kneading with each pass. Occasionally, he leans down, planting tender kisses on your sensitive skin, each one a whispered promise of affection. The closer he gets to your core, the more you squirm and let out soft whimpers.

“Can I take your panties off?” He asks, glancing up at you from between your thighs. The pad of his thumb brushes against your clit, and you jolt in surprise.

A gasp escapes your lips as you're overtaken by the sensation, yet swiftly, you find yourself nodding frantically in response, “Please.”

Overrun with desperation, Sirius pulls at them with such fervor that they nearly tear as he tugs them off. You can't help but giggle at his fervor, amused by his frantic actions and the unmistakable look of pure desire written across his face. He wouldn't be surprised if he was drooling, staring the sight of your glistening pussy.

“I want to be inside of you.” He declares, standing up from the floor, leaning over you to firmly grasp your jaw before capturing your lips in a heady, intoxicating kiss. The moan that escapes you sounds so foreign, so unlike yourself, that it catches you by surprise, leaving you momentarily taken aback. You don't bother vying for dominance, allowing him to take control of the kiss. He withdraws from you leaving your chest heaving and breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Take your pants off.” You demand, reaching desperately for the band of his pajamas to shove them off. Sirius beats you to the task, swiftly shoving them off himself in a display of impatience.

“Sirius.” Drool pools in your mouth at the sight of him. Long, thick, and pretty. Your lips part slightly, and you look up at Sirius in surprise, caught off guard by him. For a fleeting moment, you sit there, eyes locked, contemplating whether you'll be able to take him or not. He’s bigger than anyone you have ever been with before.

Sirius doesn’t let you stare for too long before his fingers are sliding through your soaked folds and brushing over your clit. Whimpers and moans tumble past your lips as Sirius rubs firm circles over you to get you adjusted before dipping down and pressing two fingers into you. A cry escapes you at the intrusion, and your hand instinctively reaches down to grip his bicep firmly.

Sirius startles you by leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your clit, before licking you the bundle of nerves softly. Your body tenses with pleasure, hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” He confesses a surge of heat courses through your body, igniting every nerve ending as you absorb his words. He doesn’t waste another second before leaning down and gently sucking on your clit.

"Please don't stop." You plead softly, and Sirius complies, continuing with unwavering determination. He nips and sucks, licking through your folds and holding your thighs open for him. His fingers continue to slide in and out of you; the sounds you’re making are obscene.

You’re struck by the thojught that this doesn't compare to any other times that you’ve been eaten out. But maybe it's not just his technique that feels good; it might be the fact that its Sirius who’s between your legs.

Your thighs tremble, and a euphoric sensation begins to build up in your stomach, making it feel like you are floating on a delightful high.

“Sirius, I need you.” You gasp sharply, your fingers instinctively tugging on his hair, signaling for him to ease up. You wanted to come together for your first time, as cheesy as it may have been.

As he rises to his feet, your eyes meet, and contagious, goofy smiles spread across both of your faces. In this shared moment, a mutual understanding passes between you—acknowledging the absurdity of the situation yet reveling in the fact that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

You watch as he wraps his hand around himself, dragging his hand up and down a few times. He whispers for you to scoot back until your head rests against the pillow, and with a gentle nod, you comply. He follows suit, settling on his haunches before you, creating a comforting, intimate space between you both.

“Y’ready?” He asks in a hushed tone, leaning in to hover over you, and at that moment, a rush of memories floods your mind, reminiscent of yesterday by the lake. You're convinced you must look rather pathetic with the speed of your nod, but Sirius only responds with a sweet smile.

With a grip on his cock, he slides the tip through your slick, both of you sucking in a breath at the sensation. He gently pushes at your entrance. Sirius steals a glance up at you, silently seeking reassurance, and you respond with a simple nod and a warm smile, letting him know that everything is perfect. Sirius catches you off guard as he leans down, tenderly pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips, a gesture filled with unexpected sweetness.

His gaze shifts, watching as he pushes his cock inside of you, letting out a string of curses as your pussy grips him tight, pulling him deeper inside.

“Fuck,” Gritting his teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, determined to regain control and prevent himself from losing composure. He’s sitting fully inside you, and he has to take a breather because you feel better than he could have ever imagined. The last thing he wants is for this to end as soon as it begins.

His voice sounds utterly shattered, “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You entwine your fingers in his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingertips as you pull him closer, urging him to meet your lips with his own. The anticipation builds as his warm breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate connection before the gentle press of his lips against yours. Parting your lips, you deepen the kiss, and Sirius eagerly reciprocated.

“Sirius. Fuck me, please.” You exhale softly against his lips, and Sirius responds with a low, guttural groan of longing and desire.

He doesn’t waste any time before dragging his cock along the sensitive walls of your pussy, before thrusting back into you, “God, your pussy feels incredible.” The cry that escapes you resonates loudly in the room, and you're immensely grateful that everyone is out at Hogsmeade. The absence of others allows you the freedom to be as uninhibited as you are, knowing that the full dorms would never afford you the same level of privacy and volume.

“Feels so good.” You gasp, head rolling to the side, your cheek resting against the pillows. Sirius’ hands rest against the back of your thighs, holding your legs against your chest, giving a clear view of the way his cock is so seamlessly slipping inside of you.

He watches you, transfixed on the way your brows pinch together in pleasure, lips parting to let moans slip past. It's as if a dam has burst within Sirius, an unstoppable torrent of words and emotions pouring forth as he finds himself unable to contain everything he's been holding back.

“Fuck, you sound s’pretty, sweet girl,” The groan that leaves his lips is downright sinful. “Thought about this pretty pussy all day. Pretended to be sick just to get off to the thought of you.”

“Sirius.” You whine, reaching out to thread your fingers through his hair and pull him down to you. You’re soaked and aching, desperate for Sirius to fuck you faster. However, much to your disappointment, he remains insistent on maintaining a slow, teasing pace.

“Pictured, tugging that fucking bikini top down. Watching your tits bounce while I fuck you. Fuck, cumming all over them.” The whine that escapes you feels pathetic, and under different circumstances, you would've been embarrassed by it. However, given the situation you're in, embarrassment takes a backseat.

“I know, baby. I know.” He complies, adjusting his position so that his right arm supports him above you while his left hand gently traces your skin. Brushing over your nipples, trailing up and over your tits, before placing his hand loosely around the base of your throat.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He grunts, admiring how ruined you look for him. Your mascara smudged beneath your eyes from tears, and your lips swollen from his earlier kisses. He loved seeing you like this. Being the one to ruin you, to smudge your makeup and bring you to tears. “Taking my cock s’well.”

You’re incoherent, begging for Sirius to go harder, to fuck you faster. Hands pawing at his ass, desperately trying to bring him closer.

His hand squeezes your throat gently, “Tell me you want me to fuck you harder. C’mon love, wanna hear you beg for it.”

A smug grin tugs on Sirius’ lips as he watches you struggling to form words. You’re getting close if the way you’re squeezing him so tight and rolling your hips is any indicator.

But then a desperate, needy whine with the words he so badly wants to hear slips past your lips. Babbling about needing his cock and wanting him to ruin you. The second he hears your pleas, he thrusts into you harder, setting a brutal new pace that has you crying for him.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, m’love.” He speaks so sincerely that you feel a surge of emotions welling up inside, an overwhelming urge threatening to bring tears to your eyes.

Overcome with your emotions, you reach for Sirius’ hand and interlace them together before Sirius presses your clasped hands into the sheets. His headboard thumps against the wall rhythmically.

“Need you to fill me up. Please.” You plead desperately, and Sirius curses, his voice rough and strained.

“Shit, that’s my girl. Want me to fill you with my cum?” It's the praise that pushes you over the edge. Your back arches, pressing your breasts into Sirius’ chest and your legs tremble.

“Doing so good f’me.” He’s close behind you. Your tight, wet walls clenching around him is what does it for him.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna cum. Fuck.” Sirius moans, burying his head in the crook of your neck as his hips stutter and you cry out at the feeling of his warm cum filling you up. You clench his hand tightly, your nails likely leaving imprints on his skin. A sob escapes your lips, and your fingers weave through his hair, a desperate attempt to draw him closer.

You both remain entwined, lost in each other's embrace as you gradually come down from the euphoric highs. The room resonates with the sound of your intertwined breaths, each one heavy and labored. Your body feels utterly slack, every muscle loosened, and you're so relaxed that you could easily doze off at any moment.

Sirius presses a couple of tender kisses against your neck, eliciting a satisfied hum from you. When he withdraws from you, a wince escapes you as you feel the separation, and Sirius’ eyes dart up to you in concern.

“Y’okay, sweet girl?”

“I’m okay, just sore.” You grace him with a sweet smile, and Sirius leans in, gently pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Gonna get a towel, one second.” He assures you, rising from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. You listen to the faucet running and the faint sounds of the cupboard opening and closing. Lying back, you gaze up at the ceiling, absently nibbling on your thumbnail until a smile breaks across your face at the thought of what just happened.

“Here, love.” Sirius says, sitting on the edge of the bed holding a washcloth in his hand. He’s got a fresh pair of pajama pants on, you didn’t even notice him grab clothes from his trunk, too lost in your thoughts.

Sirius gently grips your ankle, encouraging you to spread your legs. His breath hitches at the sight of his cum dripping out of you and onto his sheets, desperately hoping to see this sight again. He murmurs a curse under his breath, his touch gentle as he delicately uses the warm washcloth to clean between your thighs.

“There.” He whispers softly before aiding you to sit up. As you glance over, you notice the t-shirt and pajama pants laid out beside him, meant for you. Your heart swells with warmth as he assists you in slipping it over your head. With a grateful smile, you slide into the pajama pants. Meanwhile, Sirius utters evanesco to fix the sheets up, before joining you in bed.

“C’mere.” He beckons to you, sinking into the pillows, and you nestle against him, finding solace as you rest your head on his chest.

In the silence, you both relish the comfort of each other's embrace, enveloped in a cocoon of intimacy. Lost in contemplation, your mind wanders, grappling with what just happened and what that meant for the both of you.

"That wasn't just a one-time thing, was it?" You inquire, the hopefulness evident in your tone.

"No," Sirius responds, tilting your chin so you can meet his gaze. "I want you to be mine, for real this time."

The fluttering butterflies that dance through your stomach are overwhelming as you absorb his words. A lovesick grin spreads across your lips, unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, “Then I'm all yours."

You settle back into Sirius, and his arms hold you against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your head lull you into a serene state, the sound of his steady heartbeat serving as a soothing lullaby that guides you into a peaceful sleep.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"I'm sorry, so you asked us to fake it not for Lily, but for Sirius and I to get together?" You gaze at James, confused, knitting your brows, while he sits opposite you at the table. Remus and Sirius are absorbed in their own conversation, and Peter is having breakfast with the girl he harbors a crush on. Despite their current status as friends, Peter seems overjoyed nonetheless.

James grins, casting you a smug look. "I mean, Lily genuinely thought you and I were a thing. At first, it really was because Lily thought we were together, but then I realized that this was the perfect way to get you and Sirius together.”

“James! So you lied to us?” You huff in disbelief.

James shrugs nonchalantly, his demeanor radiating an air of casual indifference, “You already knew I lied to Lily; what’s the difference?”

You sigh softly, "That's true, but what about you and Lily? Are you two getting together?"

James smiles, “We’ll get there eventually. This was more about you and Sirius. And before you start, yes, I’ll tell her the truth.” He sends you a pointed look, and you chuckle, already preparing to remind him to come clean to Lily.

"You're certifiably insane." You tease, exhaling a laugh.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? You got the guy.” James watches with delight as a lovesick smile effortlessly graces your face before you steal a glance at Sirius.

"Oh, hey. Pick up your clothes next time you're napping with Sirius," He remarks casually, but the emphasis on the word napping lets you know that he's fully aware there was more happening than just sleep. "My shoe got tangled in your bra."

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pretxnder · 7 months ago

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TASK III — Burning on just like the match you strike to incinerate

Durante toda a sua vida, Joji precisava de uma obsessão, um motivo para seguir em frente. Se tornar popular, ter todos aos seus pés e a imagem de boa moça perpetuou como sua maior obsessão da adolescência até à juventude. Ela era manipuladora, é claro, mas seu rosto bonito, seu sorriso perfeito e suas palavras a ajudavam muito. Ela só queria ser perfeita, não sofrer com a pobreza e infelicidade que sua família a proporcionava naqueles anos sombrios. Queria ter aquela sensação de pertencimento entre a sociedade, mesmo que conhecesse a parte mais feia e imunda.

Atingir a perfeição não fez bem para a mente de Jocelyn. Já adulta, era esperado que sua mente fosse mais evoluída, mais madura... E de fato, ela era, mas não da forma como a sociedade queria. Ela não precisava sorrir demais, Joji usava apenas dos seus códigos, seus programa e pronto! Uma palavra final e ela tinha o que queria. Tornou-se reclusa, em determinado momento, sendo vista apenas em seu trabalho de fachada e em fóruns, onde realmente trabalhava. Jenkins não precisava de muito para ameaçar alguém, e esse fato a fazia acreditar que era algum tipo de deusa da justiça, e que ninguém a pegaria. Ela sabia, é claro, que tudo o que fazia era errado, mas realmente não se importava. O que ligava era o quanto era benéfico viver aquela vida, e não tinha coisas demais para mudar, já que ela sempre conseguia o que queria.

#you know they all pretend — task #tbtqhs.task #task 03

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

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i'll pretend you'll stay forever ; kento nanami.

pairing kento nanami x f!reader word count 2.4k synopsis no one knows that the bodyguard for the prime minister's daughter fucks her on a daily basis. content contains bodyguard!nanami x prime minister's daughter!reader, big, beefy, strong nanami hehe, creampie, slight brat taming, pet names (baby, good girl, bad girl), cockwarming, dom!nanami, hair pulling, car sex, nanami makes you call him sir author's notes s2 was animated for the nanami girlies

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

Granted, he’s been practically bred for the position. Born and raised by a mother and father who also dealt in espionage, sent to boarding schools that would feed him directly to The Academy, constantly being reminded of his purpose. Agent Nanami serves as one of the Prime Minister’s most trusted secret operatives. A select few who are given the most sensitive assignments.

“K-Kento — too much,” your shaky whines sound even louder than they actually are, emphasized by the silence in his car.

Sensitive — yes, that’s what you are.

“You can take it.” He tells you, gently stroking your cheek. His calloused thumb wipes away a stray tear, and he takes you in. You’re still tearing up, your lashes slick, and you’re pouting at him. You’re always pouting, probably because growing up, you’ve never been told no. It’s not required according to his assignment file (most of what Nanami has been doing with you has decidedly been not required), but Nanami’s been trying hard to give you lessons that will have you behaving politely and like a good girl rather than the spoiled brat you actually are.

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

When he’s told that he is to be the primary bodyguard for the Prime Minister’s daughter, he accepts it without hesitation. Everyone else has had no luck with you, and you certainly don’t seem to be bothered by that fact. You’re in college now, and you want nothing more than to skip lectures and go to parties, both of which is rather difficult when you have a bodyguard watching your every move and reporting directly to your father.

Nanami goes about his assignment in a different way. There’s another bodyguard, one who is also watching you, but young Itadori cannot possibly go about protecting the Prime Minister’s most beloved daughter safe all by himself. He’s barely graduated from the Academy.

Besides, you automatically dislike any of the guards assigned to you. Itadori is a nice, young man, and in different circumstances, everyone is certain that you would have enjoyed his company. The fact that his job is to protect you seems to be his only fatal flaw in your eyes.

Nanami is no stranger to undercover work, and so posing as a final year doctoral candidate at the university you’re attending is an easy cover. Setting up the perfect chain of events that leads to you specifically choosing him to be your economics tutor was also an easy enough task.

And somewhere along the lines, you got this idea inside of your pretty, little head that you’re just the smartest, sneakiest girl around. You think you’re evading Itadori’s watchful eyes, taking advantage of his rookie status even though he’s always aware you’re “sneaking off” to meet with Nanami. You think you’re finally rebelling against your father’s strict instructions to stay out of trouble.

And while Nanami does ensure that you keep out of trouble, he’s not sure if your father will approve with how he’s keeping you so obedient.

Kento Nanami is good at his job.

You’re not the first brat that he’s had to train, but you’re proving to be quite the star student. You hold back any more whining complaints, and instead, you’re straddling his lap like the good girl he knows you can be, his thick cock fitting snugly inside your pussy.

Both of your hands are clutching onto his broad shoulders, your pretty, manicured nails digging into the stiff cotton of his blue button-up. His mind doesn’t register the sting of your nails practically sinking into his skin. All he can focus on is what a pretty, dazed little mess you are.

“See?” He coos, sounding not the least bit condescending. The warmth of his baritone, the reassuring strokes on your cheek — Nanami is a gentleman. You practically beam with pride as he tells you, “I told you you could take it. Such a good girl.”

You still haven’t moved yet, and Nanami whispers more words of praise for you. It only took two weeks of training to get you to understand that you can beg for his touch, his attention, his cock, all you want, but he gives it all to you under his terms and conditions. He knows you want some friction, knows that you need it so badly because why else are your walls clenching down so heavily on his length? You’re being so patient with him that he feels himself getting impossibly harder at the thought of your perfect behavior.

“You want to ride me, baby?” The question comes out as a throaty whisper, the clear desire he has for you evident in his rough tone.

You nod eagerly, damn near salivating at the thought of finally being able to take what you want.

“Use your words.” He demands, moving his hand to caress your face once more before letting his thumb toy with your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you whimper out, trying your hardest to resist the temptation to start moving, to have the feeling of his cock brushing against your walls, in and out, in and out.

His eyes narrow, and his cold demeanor is enough to keep you frozen in place. Oh, you’ve upset him.

“You were being such a good girl, too.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “When you answer me, what are you supposed to say?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“And if you knew this, why didn’t you say it the first time?” The way he snaps at you shouldn’t give your tummy butterflies, but it does. Nanami is far kinder and gentler than he lets on, and it’s why you enjoy it when he takes on such a demanding role when it’s just the two of you. No one can handle your attitude as well as Nanami, and that’s precisely why you’re warming his cock right now, walls tightening around him with every stern scolding that leaves his mouth.

“You can’t answer me?” The sharpness of his tone turns you demure, making you turn your head down and away from him, refusing to answer or look at him, and he frowns at that. You feel him wrapping your hair around his hand, and the movements are soft, slow, gentle at first—

—and with speed and dexterity that shouldn’t belong to a mere student, he’s yanking you by your hair, forcing you to snap your head up and look him in his cold eyes.

“You were behaving so well earlier.” He feigns disappointment, but the hungry glint in his eyes tells you that he’s been looking forward to whatever punishment he has in store for you. “What a shame. I was going to let you have me however you wanted, let you take control for once.” He leans down, whispering in your ear. “Instead, it looks like I get to fuck you like the bad girl you really are, hm?”

Before you can protest, apologize, beg for mercy, he takes his free hand to grip your waist, strong enough to lift you slightly off of him, only to slam you back down on his dick.

You let out a strangled cry at the sudden intrusion. It’s one thing to have him sink into you inch by inch; it’s another thing entirely to have him practically impale you with his dick.

His thrusts are rough, hard, unforgiving. Never sloppy, though — Nanami’s much too meticulous to reduce himself to a wild animal, even though he’s fucking you so hard, you can’t tell if he hates your guts or just wants to rearrange them.

His hand is still tangled in your hair, and he pulls some more, forces your neck to arch up. He leans in, licking at the soft skin of your neck before nipping at the skin, hard enough to leave a mark you’ll need to cover up with a turtleneck because no amount of concealer can save you now.

You mewl in pain at the sensation, but it’s obvious you love it. You’re dripping all over his dick, forcing wet, squelching sounds to fill the car every time he moves inside of you. You should be ashamed — would be ashamed — if only the overwhelming pleasure didn’t leave your mind shrouded in a hazy mist of lust and rapture. The pinpricks of pain from how he’s pulling your hair and from the fresh lovebites marking your flesh should hurt more, but you’re too lost in the way his cock is filling you up.

“Look at that.” Nanami growls, untangling his hand from your hair in favor of putting his fingers to better use: stroking your clit. “You’re fucking soaked.” You look down as he commands, and your eyes widen in surprise, even though it shouldn’t come as such a shock to you. The front of his trousers is absolutely drenched with your juices, and your clit practically glistens in the faint moonlight that sneaks past the tint of his car. “Is this why you like to be a bad girl? Because you like getting fucked like a fleshlight, is that it?”

You want to shake your head no. You want to tell him that you are good, that you’re not a bad girl. But the stimulation on your clit, his harsh words, the way his cock is repeatedly hitting that special spot of yours — it’s all too much for you to handle.

“I want to treat you so well, baby. I want to spoil you, give you everything, but you make it so — fucking — difficult.” He speaks through clenched teeth, the warmth and ecstasy of being buried in your sweet pussy slowly chipping away at his resolve. The last three words of his sentence have all been punctuated by a particularly brutal thrust, and you’re certain that by the end of this, your cunt will keep the shape of his cock forever.

“I’m sorry!” You scream out, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now. The pleasure is mind-numbing, earth-shattering, reality-altering. Neither of you know what you’re apologizing for. Is it for being a bad girl when all Nanami wants is for you to behave so he can bring you the world at your feet? Is it for the wet mess you’re making all over his nice clothes and cock? Or is it for the fact that you’re breaking a cardinal rule, one that he will be most displeased by?

Maybe it’s all of the above, but if you had to pick, the apology would be for the fact that you’re cumming without permission. Your conscious mind is aware that Nanami is not going to be very happy with you, but this climax has you seeing stars. You can’t find it in yourself to worry about future consequences when you’re losing yourself in the throes of passion and pleasure. You’re drenching his cock in your cum, seeing stars, and reduced to feeling like a boneless mess. You slump against his strong chest, eyes struggling to remain open as you rest your head on one of his big, broad shoulders.

The punishment doesn’t come immediately — it rarely ever does. Nanami bides his time and doles out his punishments when you least expect it. He does it to keep you on edge, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t excite you.

Instead, he lets you rest against him, reduced to nothing more than a little, fucked-out mess. You feel a rumble from his chest, a series of grunts and curses leaving his mouth as the bucking of his hips is done so harshly, you’re certain that you’re going to be bruised everywhere, from the soft flesh of your thighs to your poor cervix. A few more thrusts and Nanami is certain that he is planted as deep as he could go, the tip of his cock hitting you at your most sensitive spot.

You feel him bury his face into your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo and the lingering aroma of sex and sweat. His cock throbs in sporadic bursts, and you hear him grunt out your name like a broken prayer.

He cums, unloading a hot, heavy load directly inside of you, flooding you. You think you forget how to breathe, and all you can do is just take it, take all of him.

The warm sensation has you moaning softly; the feeling of him completely dominating your senses, your body, you, has you wanting him to never let you go, to never leave. You tighten your core, trying to squeeze more of his cum into you as he lets out little groans of pleasure from above you. You love reducing him to a moaning mess, reducing him to this sex-dazed state whenever he lets go because of you.

You don’t think you’re capable of speech, throat raw from your previous screams of pleasure, but you find that you don’t have to speak to let Nanami know what you want. As you lift your head from his shoulder, relishing in the sight of Nanami with his head leaned back, cheeks flushed from the exertion of giving you the best dick of your life, he opens his eyes to meet yours. Leaning down, he captures your lips and gives you a messy, sloppy kiss that is so unbecoming and out of character for him.

The makeout session lasts until your eyes feel droopy and you’re not responding anymore. Nanami just looks down at you with a fondness that he hasn’t felt for anyone else in a while. You’re all tuckered out, and you’re breathing softly and slowly, lost to the world of dreaming. He’s a bit exhausted, too. He should pull you off his cock and buckle you back safely in the passenger seat, but he sees a small trail of his cum dribbling out of your overstuffed pussy and he figures it’s less of a mess if he just keeps you nice and plugged up for the time being.

Before he can close his eyes and join you, the crackle of his telecom planted in his watch comes to life. The static doesn’t do much to alter Itadori’s voice.

“Y1 to K1, this is Y1 requesting status of the Princess. Over.”

The “Princess” is currently dozing peacefully with his cum settling in her cunt. Nanami thinks that’s too crude to relay over the comms, though.

“K1 to Y1, Princess is secured. Over.”

#smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #jjk smut #one shot #drabble #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #imagine #kinktober 2023

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taeghi · 3 months ago

Text

game changer

your investigation into the rivalry between the baseball and hockey teams takes an unexpected turn when both captains, heeseung and sunghoon, vie for your attention. and now you find yourself in the middle of a story that promises to be bigger than any game.

PAIRING : hockey captain!sunghoon x sports reporter!yn x baseball captain!heeseung

GENTRE: SMUT, love triangle, threesome duh, oral, unprotected sex, cum eating lol, praise, degradation. uhhh probs more but i forget ily

WC : 20.2k

mdni

truth be told, you hated sports.

you hated the religious jerseys, the chants, the complex rules– how it was so boring.

but, sometimes the athletes were hot.

in junior year you joined your college’s newspaper, you thought it would help your journalism major. your boss had told you the only opening was for the college’s sports reporter since the previous one had “given up”. although you had repetitively asked if there was literally any other opening, sports was the only one.

and thus, you have become your college’s sports reporter.

your college has multiple sports teams; basketball, baseball, rugby, football. but the teams that your college are most proud of– the teams that would fill the bleachers every game– is the baseball and hockey teams.

honestly, you don’t get either sport. one was on grass and the other was ice and you try to get some object in a net. you could care less.

the baseball and hockey teams have a hatred for one another that the students at your school seem to enjoy. though, the reason for the strong hatred is unknown. you’ve asked your friends in passing about the teams, but their answer is always a prediction or suggestion.

the real reason is kept by the baseball and hockey teams, like a secret only they can know.

and so, you’ve made your number one goal as sport’s reporter to find out what that secret is, and nothing will stop you– not even the awful smell of the change rooms.

the captain of the baseball team is lee heeseung. you know he was appointed captain quite early into his college baseball career. you remember everyone talking about it during your freshman year, about how odd it was for a freshman to become captain so quickly.

you also know lee heeseung is fucking hot.

he is extraverted and outgoing, a real sweetheart. you’ve heard people refer to him as a golden retriever before. the way he’s so playful, enthusiastic and friendly to everyone.

but sometimes, that friendliness turns into flirting, and no one can deny lee heeseung’s flirting. he can easily charm anyone into bed with him with just his words and dazzling smile. he has an uncanny ability to captivate anyone. his natural charisma and genuine warmth make him irresistible. which leaves a trail of admirers just for him.

the hockey team’s captain is no other than park sunghoon.

sunghoon is enigmatic to say the least. he gives an aura of mystery and danger that seems to draw people in like moths to a flame. he’s known to have gotten into a lot of fights on and off the ice, almost losing his captain privilege once or so you’ve heard.

sunghoon’s strong presence practically commands attention wherever he goes. his trademark smirk has gotten him into a lot of fun and a lot of trouble. you’ve seen him at a party, alone in a corner, pretending to talk to his friends, as he scans the party for a decent girl. once he’s fixed you with his intense gaze, smirk and nods in silent invitation, any girl is powerless to resist following him up to his bedroom. park sunghoon and lee heeseung’s opposed allures are undeniable, their appeals irresistible, but you are determined to not fall for it. you must stick to your duty of finding out the secrets of the baseball and hockey teams– even if it means resisting the most desirable men at your college.

your first day on the job is picture day for all the athletes at your school. you are tasked with asking a few of the athletes some questions you had to come up with about their sport and how they are feeling about the upcoming sport season.

it couldn’t be too bad you think.

“everyone!” coach davis calls everyone’s attention, “we have a new reporter today, her name is y/n.”

suddenly, it feels like every single pair of eyes on this soccer field is looking at you. you’re surrounded by what feels like one hundred men at once.

“what happened to kevin?” someone calls out to the coach, the boy is on the soccer team by the looks of his uniform.

“he quit.” coach davis explains.

“no, he had a mental breakdown.” a boy in a basketball uniform clarifies.

your head tilts in concern at the information. you were only told that the previous reporter had quit. no alleged mental breakdown was mentioned in your interview with your manager. what the hell happened to kevin with this job?

coach davis sighs beside you, his fingers pressing his nose bridge, “anyways, as i was saying,” the coach gives you a look of sympathy, “y/n here is our new reporter, so please treat her nicely like i know you all can. and take it easy on her, it’s her first day.”

there is a mixed reaction from the large crowd in front of you and you don’t know where to look besides the ground. a few of them reply with “yes, coach”, while others are trying to stifle a laugh or are laughing. you can practically feel them judging or teasing you from across the field. by theirs and the coach's reaction, you wonder if they had a part in kevin’s “mental breakdown”.

you have no idea how today is going to go.

after each athlete has done their team and solo photo for the year, they’re gonna line up for you to ask them a few questions for the college newspaper and yearbook. the first team that is done is the baseball team. there is about 20 of them in a circle when you walk up to them, your heart palpitating once you realize how many of them there are and how tall they all are.

one of the baseball players notices you walking up and nods to the rest of the group, “there she is. ready for a mental breakdown?”

a few of his teammates laugh while one nudges him to shut up.

“well, i didn’t really plan to have one today, but if it happens, then it happens.” you shrug, making the baseball player laugh in response.

“my name’s jake,” he reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“yeah, well jake here,” the teammate who nudged him earlier puts his hands on jake’s shoulder, “is gonna go to the back of the line where he can learn to be nicer.”

jake scoffs, “heeseung, i was just joking with her.” he turns around to face his captain.

it’s then that you finally get to look at lee heeseung in his baseball uniform. he’s taller than you thought, and he’s more tan than ever- probably from practicing baseball recently. but up close like this, he really is so attractive.

“i don’t care, coach said to be nice and go easy on her today,” heeseung’s voice is stern, playing his captain role, “go to the back of the line you’ll go last.”

jake doesn’t say much more before he walks to the back of the line, his teammates teasing him as he passes them.

heeseung steps forward to you, “sorry about that, our previous reporter had a, uh…”

“a mental breakdown?” you finish for him.

a pretty smile spreads across heeseung’s face, “well yeah, i was trying to make it sound a bit better, but yeah he did.”

“so, i’ve heard. but don’t worry,” you put your hand on your heart, “i promise to try to not have a mental breakdown today.”

heeseung laughs, “yeah that'll probably be for the best.” he steps closer to you, reaching his hand out like jay had done, “i’m lee heeseung.”

your hand meets his, “yeah, i know.” heeseung tilts his head with a smile as you try to ignore your stupidity. “i’m y/n y/l/n.”

heeseung smiles at you as you try to ignore how much longer his hands are compared to yours, “so what questions do you have?”

“oh right,” you snap back in reality as you snatch your hand away from his, instead you start to flip through your notebook. you clear your throat when you look at the first question you had written down specifically for lee heeseung. you press record on your voice recorder and hold it up between the two of you to catch your voices. “uh, how do you feel about being the captain of the baseball this year?”

heeseung smiles at your question, it not faltering on his face as he answers, “it’s a big responsibility. but i love it, you know? the team is like a family to me.”

you nod at his sweet answer, not expecting anything else but it. your eyes glance down to the second question on your notebook. you know the next one may cause his perfect smile to drop. “so, everyone on campus knows that there’s always been a rivalry between the baseball and hockey teams. as the captain of the baseball team, do you have anything to add onto that?”

you notice heeseung’s smile falters at your mention of the hockey team, but it doesn’t completely fade from his face like you had thought it would. instead, he answers calmly to your question. “i mean, we just try to focus on our own game. we don’t let some tension affect how we play.”

you nod, biting your lip at how professionally he replied. it wasn’t exactly the answer you wanted, but he did acknowledge that there was in fact some tension between the two teams. “okay, and lastly, what do you think is the biggest misconception about the baseball team?”

heeseung’s smile brightens again, “i think people think we’re just jocks, but there’s a lot of heart and hard work behind what we do. we’ll definitely be winning a lot of games this year.”

you smile at his answer and stop your recording, “thanks heeseung, that was great.”

“it’s no problem,” he points with his thumb behind his shoulder, “good luck with the rest of them, if they give you any trouble just let me know.”

“i’m sure i’ll be fine, heeseung. but thanks,”

heeseung smiles again, “i’ll see you around then, y/n. i’m looking forward to it.” you notice his eyes run over your face, scanning your features, before they briefly glance over your body until they meet your eyes again. his smile never leaves his face.

you pretend to not notice his eye path and smile back at him, “see you, heeseung.” heeseung turns and walks towards coach davis.

you look down at your notebook again, clicking your pen and checking off that lee heeseung’s interview was done. the field is loud around you, and you look around at all the athletes in their different uniforms. you sigh, thinking about how long a day of this is going to be. but hopefully you’ll be able to get a good story out of it for your report.

you’re reading all the names on the attendance sheet coach gave you, recognizing some names and unfamiliar with the others. you feel someone looking at you, and you glance around the busy field. through all the boys goofing around and laughing, you notice one that’s stood still from a few meters away.

it only takes a moment for you to realize that it’s park sunghoon. he’s surrounded by a small group of his teammates and they’re all busy with each other except for sunghoon, who’s looking straight at you from over his friend’s shoulder. his black hair is falling into his eyes and you can see his famous moles on his face from here.

as you make eye contact with him, catching him staring at you, he doesn’t look away. unlike heeseung, who would instantly smile back and beam a golden light, sunghoon’s facial expression doesn’t change. his eyes are piercing and cold as they stare at you. you can tell there’s a hint of curiosity on his features as he analyzes you from across the field. he doesn’t smile, his plump lips stay in a straight line.

you couldn’t lie and say that you weren’t intrigued by his demeanor. that you weren’t interested in how focused, and almost stubbornly, he was staring at you. his eyes maybe staying on your bare legs from your skirt for a little too long than anyone else would. you thought about interviewing him next, seeing if he would have anything more to say about the rivalry than heeseung did.

“hey, reporter girl! jungwon wants to be interviewed next!” a boy suddenly calls out to you. you turn and see that it’s another baseball boy, and he’s pointing to a boy beside him who’s probably named jungwon. you smile at them and nod. you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at sunghoon, but he’s not there anymore. you frustratedly pout as the other captain isn’t there anymore. but make your way to the baseball players again. hopefully they will give you more information.

you groan in your desk chair, staring at the scattered papers and notes in front of you. you had spent hours going over the interviews and information you gathered from picture day, but most of it was useless. the answers you got were vague and unhelpful, leaving you with more questions than answers.

you rub your temples, trying to soothe the growing headache from your relentless efforts. the only thing you can confirm is that there is a rivalry, and everyone knows about it. but no one seems willing to spill the details. it’s like they’re all under a gag order.

you glance at the attendance sheet coach davis gave you on picture day, every name was checked off that you had interviewed– except for park sunghoon. he had disappeared before you could interview him. the field was empty before you realized that you had missed him.

your frustration bubbles over as you huff, pushing your notebook away. this investigation was turning out to be much more challenging than you anticipated. you thought being the new sports reporter would be relatively easy, but it turns out it’s harder than you imagined. it felt like you were running in circles.

but at the same time it makes you more determined to uncover the truth. the headline you’ll be able to release makes you excited and you know it’ll be good for your career once you graduate. but for now, you let out another groan and sink back into your chair, contemplating your next move.

the journalism office door opens and blair, the arts and culture reporter of the college, who is also your friend, walks in with a concerned look on her face once she sees you slumped in your chair.

“are you frustrated?” she asks, setting her bag down on the desk next to you.

“very.”

blair leans against the desk, her eyes sparkling with an idea. “well, if the athletes won’t speak, maybe get information from the students.”

your eyes widen at her suggestion. “blair, you’re a genius!” you exclaim, a renewed sense of determination flooding through you. you jump up from your chair, grabbing blair by the arm.

“what—?” she starts, but you’re already on the move, scooping up your notebook and pen in one swift motion.

“come on, we’re going to get the information from the public. the people who spread the rumors,” you say, practically dragging her out of the journalism office. you’re determined to get some answers.

you usher blair to get her phone out, recording your interaction with students as you use a makeshift microphone; your voice recorder attached to a ruler. you tell blair to start recording, you start slowly walking back, talking into the “microphone” as you introduce the video.

“today, we are at enha university,” you speak confidently, “there is a years long feud between the hockey and baseball teams– but what is the reason for it? today we will be asking the students that go to enha university for their opinion.”

blair stops recording and puts her phone down to smile at you, “that was good, let’s go.”

you first head out to the main quad, and walk up to a group of students who are sprawled on the grass. “hey guys, mind if we ask you some questions for the school newspaper?” the students all nod and blair pulls out her phone to record again, with her signal, you start, “so what do you know about the feud between the baseball and hockey teams?” you ask, holding up your makeshift microphone, you shove it in the student’s faces.

“oh, it’s wild,” one student says, eyes wide. “i heard the baseball team thinks the hockey team was behind some major equipment theft. like, they’re convinced the hockey team took their bats!”

“yeah, and the hockey team thinks the baseball team has been spreading rumors to get them disqualified from big games,” another adds.

“okay, but what’s causing them to steal equipment and try to get them banned? what started it?” you press the two of them.

the students shrug. “don’t know,” one says.

you look at blair’s camera with a frustrated expression, then turn back to the students. “thanks,” you say bluntly before moving on.

at the library stairs, you find a couple of students taking a break. you walk up to them with blair’s phone recording and your microphone up to your lips.

“have you heard of the baseball and hockey team rivalry?” you ask them once you’re on the stairs with them.

“oh god, who hasn’t?” one student says, rolling their eyes.

“what have you heard?” you tilt your head and pass the ruler microphone to them.

“i heard the hockey team once accused the baseball team of planting false reports about them to the administration.”

“and the baseball team is sure the hockey team is trying to sabotage their top players,” another student on the stairs adds.

“thanks for the info,” you say, not pressing further, and nod for blair to follow you.

once inside the school, you decide to head to the cafeteria. since it’s lunch time, it’s extremely busy. you approach a random group of students that are sitting at a table near a window.

“what can you guys tell me about the feud between the hockey and baseball teams?” you ask them, moving to sit beside them at the table.

the students take note of your microphone and blair’s phone recording before they answer with a laugh. “someone said the baseball team trashed the hockey team’s frat house during a party.”

“yeah, they like, broke furniture and some alcohol bottles or something.”

you note the details and move on to another group of students nearby.

“what’s up with the rivalry between the baseball and hockey teams?” you ask the trio.

“some crazy stuff,” one student says. “i heard the hockey team took the baseball team’s playbook.”

“what playbook?” you ask, confused.

“it’s this book full of all the girls they’ve hooked up with over the years,” the student explains. “apparently, the hockey team thought it’d be funny to steal it.”

you exchange a look with blair, “thanks.”

you and blair step outside into the main quad again. you plan on going back to the journalism office to review the footage and information you and blair recorded.

“that was definitely some progress,” blair nods at you as she scrolls through the multiple videos on her phone.

you nod, “yeah i think the playbook rumour was a good start.”

“right?” blair agrees excitedly, “i mean a book full of all the girls they’ve hooked up with? that’s disgusting, no wonder there’s a feud.”

you hum, “i wonder where that playbook is now.”

blair gives you a look like you're onto something, both of you laughing as you continue to walk. she passes you to the phone so you can see how many recordings she got of your interviews. “we sure got a lot of footage,” you start, but blair cuts you off.

“hey, isn’t that guy on the baseball team?” she says, pointing to a guy walking toward you. you look up and see him glancing down at his phone, a baseball bag slung over his shoulder with the enha university logo.

you recognize him as jake, and you quickly shove blair’s phone into her hand. “record.”

blair starts the recording as you jog over to jake, microphone in hand. “jake, you’re on the baseball team!”

jake glances up, noticing the microphone and blair recording. he chuckles, clearly not surprised. “well, yeah.”

“how do you feel about having a rivalry with the hockey team?” you ask, trying to get straight to the point.

jake raises an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by your question. “why do you want to know?”

you dodge his question and ask, “do you know anything about a playbook?”

jake looks at you, slightly confused. “uh, no?”

“how about a party where things got destroyed?” you press.

jake shrugs, “uh, every party has something destroyed after. what’s this about, y/n?”

you sigh and tell blair to stop recording. “i’m trying to find out the reason for the rivalry between the teams,” you explain.

jake laughs. “good luck with that. it’s just one sided from the hockey team. heeseung’s a good captain.”

you give him a determined look. “what do you mean by that?”

jake chuckles and starts walking away, “see you around, y/n.”

you watch him go across the main quad, determination flooding through you as you cross your arms over your chest.

“i’m going to find out blair, no matter how hard it takes to break these athletes down. i will find out.”

blair nods, and links her arm through yours, “yeah, but first, let’s get lunch. i’m starving.”

you remembered how park sunghoon had skipped your interview during picture day, leaving you with only one comment from one of the captains involved with the rivalry.

so, you decide to make your way to the hockey rink on campus.

you’ve heard that sunghoon shows up an hour early to practice. so you think that if you find him now, alone, he’ll be more forthcoming. you figure it’s worth a shot.

when you reach the rink, you spot him skating alone on the ice, the sound of his skates slicing through the rink echoing in the otherwise quiet space. you glance down hesitantly at the ice below you. it’s clean and shiny and hard. you had never been good at skating. the fear of falling and hitting your head was too big of a fear for you.

but you glance over at sunghoon, who hasn’t noticed your presence yet, too enthralled by skating. you watch as he jumps in the air, twirling. and you’re suddenly taken aback by how graceful the jump was. you thought hockey boys were aggressive and rough. you’ve seen them tackle each other on the ice all the time, body checking each other into the rink. but now, sunghoon looked delicate and soft as he glided around.

you take one more glance at the ice below you and sigh, knowing that you’ll have to face your fear and step onto it. the story was too good to pass up because of a childhood fear.

you take your first step on the ice and figure that it’s okay. you keep walking slowly over to where sunghoon was. as you approach sooner, almost forgetting that you were even on ice, you feel your foot slip up into the air. you feel yourself falling, but before you can reach the cold ice, an arm catches you to hold you up.

you open your eyes, and see sunghoon’s face over yours, his arm wrapped around you. he has an annoyed expression on his face as he looks down at you. like he’s judging you for falling.

but you’re struck by how close you are to him. his skin is as pale as the ice beneath you, and for a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by his striking features.

“you should be careful,” he says, his voice as cool as his demeanor.

you pull away and stand up on the ice, still uneasy. “i am careful,” you retort, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

sunghoon raises an eyebrow, his expression distant. he looks you up and down, his eyes landing on your notebook and pen in your hand. “are you here to interview me about hockey?”

you frown, feeling defensive. “uh, i don’t know anything about hockey.”

sunghoon’s curiosity piques. “why are you the sports reporter if you don’t know sports?”

your irritation flares. “look, just tell me about the rivalry between the hockey and baseball teams.”

unghoon’s lips curl into a small, enigmatic smile as he laughs for the first time. the sound catches you off guard, leaving you both confused and nervous.

“the feud that the baseball team started and is constantly complaining about? why don’t you go ask them?” he says, his tone dripping with indifference. “i’m busy.”

sunghoon starts to turn around, but you question him, “how come you’re so good at doing those spins?”

he stops and turns to look at you over his shoulder, “i’m not good.” he starts to skate off to the other side of the rink.

you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. park sunghoon is a real piece of work. you start to slowly turn around, your lip pulled between your teeth as you look down at your feet on the ice. you feel your heart start to pound as you try to move across the ice to get off the rink. the ice is just so slippery. you can tell it was cleaned recently.

suddenly, you feel a firm grip around your waist, and before you can react, sunghoon scoops you up in his arms and skates swiftly over to the side of the rink. you’re shocked at how fast he moves; it’s like he’s gliding on air. you’ve heard that he’s the fastest on the ice, but now that he was skating with you, you could tell how fast he really was. he deposits you gently on the edge, where you stand, stunned.

“uh, thanks,” you manage to stammer, still trying to process what just happened.

sunghoon scoffs, giving you a quick, dismissive glance before skating back to the center of the rink. you watch him, feeling a mix of confusion and embarrassment. you turn to leave, feeling defeated and empty-handed for your report.

“hey, yn!” sunghoon’s voice calls out, making you turn around.

“yeah?” you respond, already halfway to the door.

“why do you want to know about the rivalry anyway?” he asks, his tone oddly curious.

“because it’s my job to know,”

with that, you spin on your heel and leave the rink, leaving sunghoon to his practice.

as you walk back to the journalism office, your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. park sunghoon and lee heeseung are polar opposites, and it’s no wonder they can’t stand each other.

sunghoon is so cold like the ice he practices on. he’s distant, wrapped up in his own world. there’s a certain intensity about him, a focus that’s almost intimidating. he’s methodical and precise on the ice, every movement calculated and deliberate. he’s almost unapproachable with his piercing gaze.

and then heeseung is warm, outgoing and easy to talk to. he’s got this effortless charm and friendliness that makes everyone around him feel at ease. he’s the guy who lights up a room just by being in it, and it’s clear he’s well-liked, even if he’s a bit of a show-off.

you wonder what might have caused such deep hatred for one another. what could it be that connects them besides their role on a sports team. they’re just too different.

your frustration mounts as you think about how little you’ve uncovered so far. both of them are so closed off to your questions. but it doesn’t make you any less determined to get to the bottom of their feud. no matter how much time it takes.

there’s a story here, and you’re not giving up until you’ve got it all figured out.

on friday night, coach davis insisted you attend the baseball game, claiming that it was crucial for your report. so since it was your job, you went. even though you barely understood how baseball worked. still, you found yourself in the bleachers, a notepad in hand, surrounded by other students.

the game began, and you tried to focus on the actual game, but your eyes kept drifting to heeseung on the field. it was the first time you’d seen him without a smile on his face. his expression was serious, concentrated and his eyes never left the ball.

you watched as heeseung sprinted across teh field. the crack of the bat echoed, and heeseung was off before anyone else, to catch the ball. you held your breath, washing as he dove and grabbed it from the air.

the bleachers erupted in cheers, the students jumping up and down around you as sat still. they were all screaming and calling his name. heeseung stood up, his charming smile spreading across his face as he held up the ball, showing off his catch to the audience.

amidst the chaos, you could have sworn he winked at you.

on monday morning, after a long weekend of thinking about both captains and the rivalry. ou've been pouring over your notes, trying to piece together the story. you realize you need to hit this head-on. so, you storm into the boys’ hockey changing room first thing in the morning.

the first thing you notice upon entering is the smell. it's a potent mix of cologne, sweat, and shampoo that makes you turn up your nose in disgust. some of the boys notice you immediately and start teasing you.

"look who decided to pay us a visit," one of them says, grinning. "if you wanted to see us so bad, you could've just asked."

you roll your eyes, snarky in your response, "trust me, i'm not here because i wanted to see you.”

another boy chimes in, "kevin never barged in on us while we were changing." he mentions the previous sports reporter you replaced, and you try to ignore their lack of shirts.

before you can retort, sunghoon appears, his presence commanding attention. "okay, knock it off. go to class," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

the boys groan, but they obey, mumbling about how sunghoon is no fun. as they leave, they wink or nudge you, adding to your frustration. finally, it's just you and sunghoon left alone in the changing room. you notice he's shirtless too, and it makes you gulp.

sunghoon's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you forget why you're there. his skin is pale, his muscles defined, and he exudes a calm confidence that's both intimidating and intriguing.

"what do you want, y/n?" he asks, his voice steady and cold.

you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "i need to know about the rivalry between the hockey and baseball teams. i can't write my report without the full story."

sunghoon narrows his eyes slightly, studying you. "and you think barging in here is the way to get answers?"

"i think it's the only way," you reply, your voice firm despite your nerves.

he scoffs softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “well i’m showering.”

you stand your ground as you watch him turn and walk towards the showers, only in his boxers. “so? are you gonna help me or not? i’ll do anything.” you sound desperate and you hate it. sunghoon turns on the shower. the water warming up.

sunghoon turns to face you, his arms crossing over his bare chest and he quirks his eyebrow, “anything?”

“anything.”

a mischievous smile spreads across his face, “then get on your knees and show me just how badly you want it.”

your breath catches in your throat as you process his demand. he chuckles at your appalled demeanor. he bends down and takes off his boxers, your eyes widened as his semi-hard cock is revealed. he steps back into the shower water– the water pouring over his pale, muscular body. his black hair becomes darker over his eyes.

you think quickly of your choices. walk away with pride and no story? or give the hot hockey captain a blowjob and get a great story?

you choose the latter with no further thought.

you glance around one more time, the locker room is completely empty. you sigh as your hands pull your shirt off of your body, leaving your torso bare for sunghoon to see. his eyes stay fixated on your exposed skin. a smirk grows on his lips as he realizes that you really will do anything.

you reach down and pull your skirt off, not wanting your clothes to become wet in the shower, and you step into the shower. you slowly sink to your knees, feeling the warm water hit your body now. your heart is pounding in your ears, but you can’t deny the arousal you’re feeling at the same time.

“that’s it,” sunghoon encourages you, his voice like velvet against the shower walls, “now sow me what that nasty mouth of yours can do.”

your hands shake as you reach up to touch his warm skin. his cock is harder now, so thick and veiny. you can’t help but let out a soft gasp at the sight.

“you’ve wanted my cock in your mouth for so long haven’t you?” sunghoon taunts you, his hand reaching down to tangle in your damp hair. “go on then, taste it.”

you lean forward, your lips wrapping around the sensitive head of his cock, tasting the tang of his arousal. you swirl your tongue, teasing the slit, as sunghoon groans above you.

“fuck, that's good. take more of me," he urges, his hips bucking slightly.

you oblige, taking him deeper into your mouth, relaxing your throat to accommodate his length. your lips slide down his shaft, your breath ghosting over the sensitive skin as you start to bob your head.

"ah, fuck, yes," sunghoon hisses, his hand tightening in your hair. "you're a natural at this, aren't you? sucking cock like a good little slut."

you moan around his thickness, the vibrations sending a shudder through him. the sound of your pleasure seems to spur him on, and he begins to thrust his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, fucking your mouth gently.

"take it,” he growls out at you, “you’re always getting yourself into a mess with that mouth, i think you need to be quiet for a while. so take my cock down your throat like the whore you are.”

his words are degrading, but they only serve to heighten your arousal. you never thought that you would be in this predicament before. so many girls would beg to be on their knees for park sunghoon. you never thought that you would be here, pleasuring him. though, you suppose both of you get something out of it. he gets to cum, and you get information for your story.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, your tongue flattening to lick and tease his cock as you go.

“oh god,” sunghoon groans out as he stares down at you. you force your eyes to stay open so they can look into his. you can see pure pleasure growing in his eyes. his eyebrows furrowed as he lets the pleasure take over his body.

“fuck i’m gonna cum,” sunghoon grunts out, his grip on your wet hair tightens and he pulls your mouth off of his cock, leaving a string of saliva to connect your swollen lips to his sensitive tip. “tell me that you want me to cum down your throat.”

you swallow before you speak, “i want you to cum down my throat, sir.”

sunghoon hums in response, pleased by your answer. and honestly, you wre thrilled at the thought of tasting him, of having his hot release flooding in your mouth. because even if he was an asshole, he was very hot. you want to give him sexual pleasure, to milk him dry and feel his satisfaction.

sunghoon shoves his cock back into your mouth roughly. you gag around him and it only makes him grunt out more. you continue to bob up and down his length at a fast pace, wanting him to cum. “fuck yes!”

sunghoon tenses, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling on it, as he holds you firmly in place. with a deep grunt, he begins to unload inside your mouth. his ropes of hot, sticky cum shoot down your throat.

and you swallow it all greedily, moaning at the taste. your fingers dig into his thighs.

sunghoon lets go of you, his body relaxing back into the shower wall. both of your bodies are wet from sweat and the shower water. he’s panting as he catches his breath. his body is slightly shaking as he rides out his orgasm. “that mouth of yours is something else, reporter girl.”

you raise an eyebrow up at him, his nickname for you brings you back to reality, “right so how about you use your mouth now to tell me my story.”

sunghoon chuckles as he watches you stand up and exit the shower. you grab a spare towel and dry your body and hair, all while sunghoon stays in the shower, watching you silently. you try to not let yourself get intimidated by his staring. you’re sure that he gets off on making girls intimidated by how attractive he is. him knowing how attractive he is isn’t good for anyone besides him.

you start to get dressed, your wet hair clinging to your face and neck.

“i can’t believe you actually gave me a blowjob,” sunghoon grins, amused. you can see an annoying glint in his eye.

“well you said you would tell me the story.”

sunghoon shrugs, “yeah i said that. but i don’t have to tell you my story.”

your jaw drops in disbelief. “are you kidding me? you tricked me!”

“you’re easier than i expected,”

your anger flares up, cheeks burning. "you think this is funny? you just wasted my time for nothing!"

he crosses his arms, still smirking. "just give up on the rivalry story, y/n. you aren't going to find anything. go back to writing about the sports games. that’s what you were hired for anyways."

you grunt in frustration, grabbing your bag. “you’re so annoying, sunghoon!” you yell as you storm towards the exit. as you leave, you hear his chuckles turn into laughter as they echo in the locker room.

"see you at the game, reporter girl!" he calls out, his voice mocking.

you don't look back.

on friday night, you’ve still gotten no new information about the rivalry all week, despite your best efforts. you’ve started to wonder if sunghoon was right and you should give up on the story. even if you really don’t want to.

you’re sitting at your desk in the journalism office, frustrated. your name plate sits on your desk in front of you with bold letters underneath it that write : sports reporter. and you’re starting to hate looking at it.

you’ll have to write about the rugby team’s game from the night before for monday’s paper. but your heart isn’t in it. you want to write something more substantial than scores and plays that the rugby players did.

then, blair walks in, a little pep to her step as she glides through the empty office and straight towards you. “still nothing?” she asks, leaning against your desk.

“yeah, nothing new,” you reply, staring at your blank screen.

“maybe you should take the weekend off from this. let’s go to a party tonight.” blair’s eyes light up at the suggestion, her eyes wanting you to agree with her.

you look up, curious. “whose party?”

“lee heeseung’s.”

you scramble to grab your bag and swing it over your shoulder as you stand up, “let’s go.”

blair laughs as you pull her through the office, “don’t you want to change first?”

you stop and glance down at your plain blouse and plaid skirt, “no, this party is for work. i’ll play later.”

you rush blair to hurry up, your mind set on the party. all you can think about is getting more information about the rivalry. it’s going to be the death of you, but you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.

when

you and blair arrive at the party, the noise and energy hitting you as soon as you step inside the frat house. it’s just as crowded as you expected, and you’ve heard it’s a no hockey team allowed party.

you glance around, trying to spot the baseball players. your eyes land on jake standing by the backdoor. you turn to blair and say, “i’ll see you later,” before heading over to him.

jake notices you approaching and smiles. you can tell he’s already intoxicated just from looking at him. the cup he’s holding is sure to have alcohol in it.

“hey, y/n!”

“hi jake!”

“i didn’t expect to see you here of all people.”

you laugh, “yeah, me neither.”

jake spreads out his arms to show off the busy house, “well welcome to our party!”

you nod along, laughing at house extraverted and drunk he is. “yeah, how is the team doing?”

“we’re doing great! heeseung’s been killing it all season.”

you tilt your head at the mention of heeseung, “right, i heard he’s pretty good.”

jake nods enthusiastically. “yeah, he’s the best. i’ve known him for a while.”

“really? how did you guys meet?”

“we went to the same high school,” jake explains. “he was already a legend back then.”

you nod along, smiling, but your mind is racing. you realize that jake could be a goldmine of information about the rivalry. he must know something. you’re determined to get as much out of him as you can.

“that’s cool,” you say. “so, what’s the deal with this rivalry with the hockey team? seems intense.”

jake’s expression shifts slightly. “yeah, it’s complicated. a lot of history there.”

you’re about to press him more when another baseball player bursts in, shouting, “jake, come outside! jeongin is doing a beer keg!”

jake grins, “one sec!” he turns back to you and says, “i’ll see you later?”

you nod, “yeah, sure.”

jake smiles and runs out to join his friends, leaving you alone. you huff in frustration, looking around the crowded room. blair is nowhere in sight.

you start to weave through the crowded rooms, the partiers dancing around you. your eyes scan for any sign of blair, but she seems to have vanished into the sea of people. you turn a corner and nearly collide with someone.

“hey,” a familiar voice says.

you look up and find yourself face to face with heeseung. up close, his attractiveness catches you off guard again, and you’re momentarily speechless. “oh, hi heeseung,” you manage to say.

he flashes a charming smile. “i’ve literally never seen you at a party before, let alone my own party.”

you laugh nervously, “yeah, it’s not really my thing.”

heeseung’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “oh, so why’d you choose to come to this one?”

“uh,” you hesitate, your mind racing. you can’t exactly tell him you’re here to gather information about the rivalry for your report.

heeseung raises an eyebrow, his smile turning slightly mischievous. “to see me?”

you laugh awkwardly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “well, i mean…”

heeseung laughs too, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel a bit more at ease. “i’m just messing with you. i’m glad you came, though. it’s nice to see you.”

you’re really shocked at how good he is at flirting. it makes you almost forget why you’re here. makes you forget that you’re trying to write what is basically an expose on him.

heeseung’s laughter fades into a soft smile, and he leans against the wall, looking at you with a curious expression. “so, you’re really not into parties? what do you usually do on weekends?”

“mostly just catch up on school work, maybe hang out with friends.”

he nods, seemingly interested, and then his eyes widen as a thought enters his mind, “

oh wait, you’re in my bio class, right?”

you blink, slightly surprised. “yeah, i am.”

“can you come look at this one question i need help with for my paper?”

you give him a cautious look, unsure of what he’s up to. “uh, sure.”

“cool, it’s up in my room. come on.” before you can protest, heeseung grabs your arm gently and starts weaving through the crowd. you follow him, your heart pounding a little faster with each step.

he maneuvers through the throngs of people effortlessly, his grip on your arm firm yet gentle. he takes you up the stairs, away from the crowds of people below. he leads you down the hallway and finally stops in front of a door and gestures for you to go in first, “after you.”

you step inside, glancing around his room. it’s surprisingly tidy for a guy’s room, with a few baseball memorabilia scattered around. heeseung closes the door behind you and walks over to his desk, rummaging through some papers.

as you look around, you notice a small, leather-bound book lying on his nightstand. you pick it up and flip it open, curious. “what’s this?” you ask, holding it up.

heeseung turns from his desk, his eyes narrowing as he sees what you’re holding. “oh, that’s just a journal I keep for tracking my training sessions and stats. it’s nothing special.”

you nod, putting the book back in its place.

you notice a picture of heeseung and jake from when they were younger, and you’re reminded of what jake had told you earlier. now that you think of it, jake seems to really look up to heeseung, admiring him almost. you suppose it’s because they’ve known each other for a while.

the rest of heeseung’s shelves have multiple baseball trophies and medals. something you’d expect from a baseball captain.

“did you find the paper yet?” you ask him after a few minutes.

heeseung hisses in frustration and turns back to his desk. “no, i can’t seem to find it.”

“oh,” you nod, not sure of what else to say as you stand before him in his bedroom, his own party lively right downstairs.

but maybe you can help me with something else.”

you raise an eyebrow, turning to face him. “like what?”

"well," he began, stepping closer to you. his cologne filled your senses, a mix of musk and citrus that perfectly matched his confident persona. "i've been meaning to tell you, i think you're really sexy."

your mouth dropped open, shocked by his forwardness. "me?” you squeaked, feeling yourself blush with bewilderment.

"yeah," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eye. "the way you look as you report, taking notes, biting your lip as you concentrate on writing... it's fucking hot.”

you felt your body temperature rise as his words washed over you. no one had ever told you that the way you worked was attractive. you always thought your lip-biting was a nervous habit, but hearing heeseung describe it as sexy made your heart skip a beat.

"i'm so glad you're at my games now," he went on, his voice low and intimate. "it makes me want to do my best, knowing you're watching."

you were speechless, stunned by his admission. you never thought that you would catch the attention of lee heeseung. he was so popular and desired by everyone. there’s no way that he would ever want you.

without warning, heeseung stepped even closer, his body brushing against yours. you could feel the hardness of his muscles, his strength, and his lean frame. he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, and whispered, "i want you, right here, right now."

your breath caught in your throat as his desire washed over you.

"i want to feel you, taste you," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "let me show you how sexy i find you."

you nodded mutely, unable to form words, your body responding to his touch, to his raw, passionate desire. heeseung gently pushed you back toward his bed, his hands roaming over your body, mapping every inch of you with his strong, skilled hands.

"you're so beautiful," he growled, his eyes dark with desire as he looked at you.

you blushed under his intense gaze, feeling yourself grow wet at the way he was looking at you.

with gentle but firm hands, he guided you backward until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you sat down, your legs slightly apart. heeseung didn't waste a moment, moving between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

"you have no idea how many times I've thought about this," he confessed, his voice hoarse as he reached out to stroke your cheek. “since the first day i saw you out on the field, when you were interviewing me.”

you let out a shaky breath, your body buzzing with anticipation. no one had ever made you feel so desired, so wanted. you let him start to undress you, removing your blouse and skirt. it reminded you of when you were in the locker room with sunghoon. how different that encounter is to this one. heeseung’s taking his time with you, wanting to pleasure you. meanwhile sunghoon could only care about getting himself off.

but both of them are able to get you so wet.

heeseung's eyes traveled down your body, taking in your heaving chest, your nipples tight with anticipation, and the dampness between your thighs.

“you're so wet for me already," he observed with a groan.

before you could reply, Heeseung lowered his head, his tongue snaking out to taste you. you gasped as he lapped at your core, his tongue probing and teasing your folds. he was relentless. his mouth kept licking and sucking at your most sensitive spots. he was able to find them so quickly it surprised you.

"oh fuck," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as he ate you out with enthusiasm. "heeseung, I—"

"you like that, huh?" he asked, looking up at you briefly before diving back in, his tongue insistent, seeking out your swollen clit. "you like my tongue right here?"

"yes!" you cried out, your hips bucking involuntarily as he teased you with his mouth. "oh god, heeseung, don't stop!"

heeseung chuckled, the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through your sensitive core. "i wanna make you cum so hard, baby.” the pet name sent shivers (good ones) down your body, your stomach tightening as he was so gentle with you.

and true to his word, he kept going, his tongue not stopping as he laps and probes at your pulsing clit. he suckled and nibbled, his fingers joining in, probing and stroking your slick entrance. you moaned and writhed under his gaze, his hands holding your thighs open.

"heeseung, please!" you begged, your hands clutching at the bedsheets. "i’m so close!"

"cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice hoarse with desire. "let me taste you."

and with that, he suckled your clit gently between his lips, flicking it with his tongue, and you shattered. your back arched off the bed as a cry escaped your lips, your orgasm washing over you in waves of intense pleasure. heeseung didn't stop, licking your sensitive clit through your orgasm, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

as you slowly came back down to earth, heeseung crawled up your body, his lips seeking yours. you could taste yourself on his mouth, and it only served to heighten your desire for him. his lips are gentle on yours, but needy. you could tell how sweet heeseung was. his praise was so different from sunghoon’s degrading.

but for some reason you couldn’t help but crave both.

“let me fuck you, y/n.” heeseung whispers out, his face still close to yours. his eyes are so intense as you look at them.

you nodded eagerly, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. heeseung reached into his nightstand, pulling out a condom, but you stopped him.

"no," you whispered, your hands covering his. "i want to feel you, all of you."

heeseung's eyes flashed with surprise, and then understanding. "are you sure?"

you nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "i'm on the pill. i want to feel you."

a deep grin spread across heeseung's face, and he quickly shed the condom, his eyes never leaving yours. "fuck, you’re so hot.” he leans down again and kisses you with hunger. you don’t hesitate to kiss him back.

with gentle hands, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his hard cock brushing against your slick folds. you felt his girth, his length, and your breath quickened at the thought of taking all of him.

"you ready?" he asked, his voice gruff with need.

"yes," you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed as you prepared for his cock to stretch you out.

in one smooth thrust, Heeseung filled you, stretching you deliciously as he slid deep within you. you moaned loudly, your body welcoming his, the sensation of being so full sending you into a frenzy.

heeseung stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "so fucking tight," he growled, his voice raw with desire. "fuck, you feel amazing."

you opened your eyes, looking into his, and nodded. "move," you pleaded, your nails digging into his arms. "please."

with a grunt, heeseung began to move, pulling out slowly until just the tip remained, and then slamming back into you. you cried out, your back arching off the bed as he set a brutal pace, his hips snapping as he plunged in and out of your tight heat.

"oh god, heeseung!" you moaned, your body on fire, the pleasure building again. "harder!"

heeseung complied, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you mercilessly. the bed creaked with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"that's it, take it all," he grunted, his eyes screwed shut in concentration. "you're so tight around me, baby."

"don't stop! please!" you begged, your nails digging into his shoulders. "fuck me, heeseung! make me cum again!"

heeseung's eyes flew open, locking with yours, and he increased his pace, his hips a blur as he drove into you with all his strength. "cum for me again," he demanded, his voice harsh. "let me feel that sweet pussy clenching around my dick."

your orgasm built like a tidal wave, the pressure in your core becoming unbearable. and then, with a loud cry, you shattered once more, your body tightening around his. heeseung groaned, his eyes rolling back as he felt your tight channel convulsing around him.

"that's it, baby, milk my cock," he encouraged, his thrusts becoming erratic as your spasming walls milked him. "fuck, I'm close!"

you whimpered as he pounded into you relentlessly, his balls slapping against your sensitive core. "cum inside of me, heeseung," your eyebrows furrowed together as you watched him continue to thrust in and out of you. “fill me up please, i want it so bad.”

with a final moan, heeseung exploded within you, his hot cum flooding your pussy. he thrust a few more times, emptying himself completely, making a mess.

heeseung leaves his face close to yours, making it easy for him to press his lips onto yours. they linger on yours for a while, soft and tender, as if he’s savoring the moment. when he finally pulls back, his eyes are warm, a stark contrast to the usual playful glint they hold. he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

your mind is still hazy and your body is coming down from its high. you can almost barely feel his touch as he caresses your skin softly.

you okay?” he whispers, his voice soft, filled with genuine concern.

you nod, feeling a strange flutter in your chest. “yeah… i’m okay.”

heeseung smiles at your breathlessness, thinking to himself how cute and worn out you look underneath him. your cheeks are flushed pink and there’s a thin line of sweat on your forehead. but he can’t help but think how beautiful you look.

heeseung seems to be fully present, fully focused on you. it makes your heart pound. he’s not rushing anything.

he reaches over to grab a bottle of water, uncapping it and offering it to you first. “drink,” he says, his voice still gentle.

you take a sip, the cold water a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body. heeseung takes the bottle back, drinking after you, and then sets it aside. he pulls you close, kissing your forehead.

then, he pulls away from you slowly, his lips brushing against yours one last time before he sits up. he moves with a certain tenderness, like he’s afraid to break whatever fragile thing has settled between you two. as he gets up, you watch him disappear into the bathroom, your heart still racing, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

he returns moments later with a towel in hand. you’re surprised when he kneels beside you, the soft light from the lamp casting a warm glow over his face. without a word, he gently begins to wipe your skin, careful and considerate. the gesture is intimate, unexpectedly so, and it makes your heart pound even harder.

you lie there, watching him in stunned silence as he moves with a gentle focus, his eyes soft and his touch deliberate. it’s almost like he’s caring for you in a way you didn’t expect—a way you hadn’t even thought possible.

you had heard that the captain of the baseball team, the one before you right now, was a player, that he was charming and friendly and he would suck you in before you even noticed. you wondered if this was his usual routine. the routine that had gotten so many other girls to fall for him, for so many hearts to break.

heeseung meets your eyes briefly, offering a small smile, one that feels genuine, almost affectionate. “there,” he says softly, once he’s done, folding the towel and setting it aside.

“thank you,” you whisper, not really sure what else to say.

he nods, brushing a thumb over your cheek before standing up again. “i’ll be right back,” he says, his voice still soft, as he heads back into the bathroom.

you’re left lying there, heart still racing, as you try to make sense of the situation. you hadn’t exactly planned to be here, naked in lee heeseung’s bed. but you aren’t disappointed.

when you had started this investigation, you had only heard surface layer information about heeseung. but now you know that there is so much more to him.

as you lay there, the warmth of heeseung still lingering on your skin, your mind suddenly remembers the investigation. the reason you were even here in the first place. you sit up abruptly, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. you glance around the room. this is like an evidence goldmine.

you spot a sweater on the floor and quickly throw it on. you know you have to be quick before heeseung comes back.

your eyes scan the room, searching for anything that might give you some sort of clue, something that could move your investigation forward. but as you rummage through his things, you mostly find random stuff—some useless, some funny. an old baseball glove, a few crumpled up notes from class, a pack of gum.

but then, tucked away in a drawer in the far back, something catches your eye. you reach for it and pull out a small photograph. it’s a picture of heeseung and sunghoon, arms wrapped around each other, both of them smiling brightly. your jaw drops as you stare at it, your mind racing. they were friends at one point—close friends, from the looks of it. this changes everything.

before you can fully process the revelation, you hear footsteps. you quickly tuck the picture behind your back just as heeseung reappears from the bathroom.

“what’re you doing?” he asks, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

you force a casual smile, trying to act normal. “nothing, just… finding my clothes,” you say, glancing around as if you’re looking for them.

heeseung points to a pile near the bed. “they’re right there. but you can keep wearing my sweater if you want.”

you glance down and realize you’re indeed wearing his sweater, the fabric warm and soft against your skin. you smile, a little sheepishly. “oh, thanks.”

its awkward suddenly, maybe just on your side since you have his picture behind your back without him knowing. but thankfully, heeseung is the way he is and breaks the silence.

“want a drive home?”

“yes, please,” you smile real big at him.

when you’re dressed again and heeseung is driving you home, the night is quiet, with only the soft hum of the car engine and the gentle music playing in the background. the city lights blur past the windows, and you find yourself staring out at them, lost in thought. under the sweater heeseung let you borrow, the photograph you took is safely tucked away, its edges pressing into your skin like a guilty reminder.

you can’t stop thinking about how kind heeseung has been to you tonight. the way he looked at you, touched you so gently, and cared for you in a way that felt almost too genuine. it makes your heart ache, knowing that you don’t deserve any of it—not with your ulterior motives, not with the secrets you’re hiding. the guilt twists in your stomach, a gnawing sensation that won’t go away.

as the car pulls up in front of your apartment, you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. you glance over at heeseung, who’s already looking at you with that soft smile that makes your chest tighten.

“thanks, heeseung,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “for tonight.”

"no problem, y/n.” he smiles at you so genuinely it hurts, “just remember, i gave you a ride home—so no bad reviews in your next report."

you laugh, thinking about how little he knows about your intentions and investigation. but you nod anyways, not being able to say anything else.

before you head inside, you turn back to him, catching his gaze one last time. “goodnight, heeseung.”

he smiles, waiting until you’re safely inside your apartment. you wave at him through the window, and he waves back before driving off into the night.

but as you close the door behind you, the emptiness settles in. the nausea in your stomach twists tighter, making you feel sick in a way that’s more than just physical. you hate this feeling—the way the guilt eats away at you, the way it taints every good moment you shared with him tonight. it’s a heavy weight, one you’re not sure how to shake off.

you wish you didn’t find the picture, but you know you can’t. there’s no turning back now, no undoing what you’ve set in motion. all you can do is push forward, even if it means sacrificing something you didn’t realize you wanted until now.

the journalism office was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that only late nights could bring. every other reporter had gone home, leaving you alone with just the glow of your desk lamp and the faint hum of your computer screen. the deadline for the week’s sports report was tonight. the empty word document on your screen taunting you as you struggled to figure out what to write.

your thoughts were a jumbled mess, torn between the story you knew could blow open your investigation and your gnawing conscience. the picture of heeseung and sunghoon from years ago sat on your desk beside you. it was a huge piece of evidence that could unravel everything. yet, the idea of exposing it felt wrong.

you leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair in frustration. the memory of heeseung’s kindness gnawed at you, how he’d been so gentle, so sweet, kissing your forehead like he actually cared. and sunghoon, despite his aloof exterior, had ensured the other hockey players left you alone.

you sighed, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. should you follow your morals and keep the picture hidden, protecting them from whatever fallout might come? or should you chase the story, the career-making headline that could propel you forward?

your heart ached with indecision. another thought of heeseung drifted through your mind—how he’d smiled at you, how he’d been so careful and tender, treating you like you mattered.

before you knew it, you were typing and the headline that was in bold across your screen read :

Football Team Has Another Injury

you exhaled slowly, sending it to your professor before closing your laptop and turning off the lamp, plunging the office into darkness. you grabbed your bag and left the office. as you walked out into the cool night air, all you could think about was your bed—ready for the quiet, for the thoughts to finally stop swirling about both of the captains.

you’re sitting in the quiet corner of the library. it’s midday and the library is somewhat busy. though, you’re alone at your table. your mind is racing, thoughts swirling about how to move forward with your investigation.

you’ve made such a big deal out of this investigation, but now you want to stop because of a picture you found?

you’ve examined the picture more carefully whilst you’re alone. it’s not crumpled or scratched in anyway, which means heeseung cared about this picture, unlike everything else thrown away in the drawer you found it in.

suddenly, someone sits down in the chair in front of you.

your eyes widen when you realize who it is, which his dark black hair over his eyes and his pink lips pulled straight.

“uh, hi?”

“hey,” sunghoon replies, his tone as cold and unreserved as ever. he leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest like this is just another day.

you’re confused, to say the least. the last time you saw him things didn’t go as planned and he was exactly nice to you. so why’s he here, in front of you in a crowded library.

you close your laptop slightly, your curiosity piqued.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice coming out as reserved and cautious.

“can’t i sit here?” sunghoon asks, his eyebrow quirking.

you cross your own arms across your chest, your defensive side coming out. you didn’t care how hot or popular the man was in front of you; he was an asshole.

““well, after last time, i didn’t think you’d want to,”

“what?” sunghoon’s brows furrow, his expression hardening.

you roll your eyes, the frustration from your last encounter bubbling up. “you were so awful to me last time. why would you want to sit here like nothing happened?”

sunghoon’s face changes. his shoulders slump slightly as he puts his head in his hands, not saying anything. the shift in his demeanor catches you off guard, and you’re left staring at him, waiting for him to speak. but the silence stretches, growing more awkward by the second. you don’t understand him.

finally, you groan, tired of the tension and the weird atmosphere. you start to pack up your things, ready to escape whatever this is. but before you can finish, sunghoon reaches out and gently grabs your arm, stopping you. you look up at him, and his usual cold, detached expression is replaced with something you’ve never seen from him before—desperation.

“what is it?” you ask, your voice softening despite your earlier frustration.

sunghoon takes a deep breath, his hand dropping to his lap. “i’ve been under a lot of stress. with school, with the team... and i know it’s no excuse to be mean to you. i’m sorry.”

his words hang in the air between you, sincere and a little vulnerable. you weren’t expecting this at all, and it makes your heart soften toward him. you nod slowly, understanding that everyone has their breaking points.

“do you want to talk about it?” you ask gently, offering him a way to unload some of the weight he’s carrying.

he shakes his head, a small, almost sad smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “no, it’s fine. i just... i really am sorry. you don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

the sincerity in his voice and the look in his eyes make something inside you shift. the frustration and resentment you felt start to melt away.

“it’s okay,” you say quietly, offering him a small smile. “i understand how stressful it can be in your position.”

sunghoon nods, looking relieved, and for the first time, the tension between you eases. the silence that follows isn’t awkward anymore; it’s almost comforting, like a weight has been lifted.

“thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly for you to hear.

it’s silent between you in the library. both of you processing the shared moment. you think you’re starting to see park sunghoon in a different light. one that you didn’t think he had.

“so,” you say, making your tone deliberately brighter, “you must be having a really tough week if you’re sitting in the library with me and not finding a girl to bring home tonight after the game.”

sunghoon looks up at you, his eyes widening slightly before he laughs—a genuine, warm sound that surprises you. it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh, and it catches you off guard how much you like it. it’s not the cold, sarcastic laugh you’ve heard before.

“is that what you think of me?” he asks, still chuckling, his mood noticeably lighter.

“oh, come on,” you tease, grinning. “you have a bit of a reputation, you know.”

sunghoon shakes his head, still smiling. “maybe i should work on changing that, then.”

“might not be a bad idea since just, everyone on campus knows about it,” you reply, playfully nudging his foot under the table.

sunghoon shrugs, “i don’t care what everyone else thinks of me,” his voice softer, “i only care what you think about me.”

you tilt your head to the side at his answer. his soft smile lingers on his face and with the way he’s looking at you now, you think that you’re seeing a side of park sunghoon that not everyone gets to see. you aren’t sure how to respond to him. you aren’t sure what he wants from you.

“anyways,” sunghoon shakes his head at your lack of answer, “how about i walk you to class?”

you nod with a smile, still partially processing his words, “sure!”

you start to gather your things, ready to leave the library with him. you sling your bag over your shoulder, something slips out and lands on the floor by sunghoon’s feet. sunghoon’s gaze drops to the ground, and his expression freezes when he sees what it is.

the picture of him and heeseung—the one you stole from heeseung’s room—stares up at both of you from the floor.

his previously soft, almost content expression hardens in an instant. his eyes darken with a mix of anger and confusion. he bends down, snatching the picture off the ground before you can react.

“where did you get this?” his voice is low, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist.

you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady as you admit, “uh, heeseung’s bedroom…”

sunghoon’s expression shifts from confusion to something sharper, more painful. his eyes narrow into slits, “you fucked heeseung?”

the volume of his voice rises with each word, drawing the attention of the students around you. the quiet library becomes suddenly too loud with the whispers and curious stares directed your way. you feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you snatch the picture out of his hand, your frustration boiling over. why would he automatically assume that you had sex with heeseung anyways?

“why do you care who i get intimate with?” you shoot back, your own voice louder than you intended. “why do you only care what i think of you?”

sunghoon’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “i don’t!” he snaps, but the way his voice wavers makes you doubt him.

“then what is it?”

for a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something—something important, something real—but then he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes cooling to something else.

“nothing, just nothing, y/n.” his voice is quieter now, more defeated. “have fun with your investigation.”

he turns on his heel and storms out of the library, leaving you standing there, alone with the picture clutched in your hand and the weight of everyone’s eyes on you.

your heart races, but all you can think about is the look on sunghoon’s face right before he left—how hurt he looked, how quickly his mood changed the moment he saw the picture.

part of you wants to chase after him, to demand answers, to figure out why he cares so much, but the other part of you just wants to get out of there, away from all the curious stares.

you take a deep breath, shoving the picture back into your bag before grabbing your things and hurrying out of the library. your mind is full of sunghoon’s sweet laugh and heeseung’s charming smile.

you toss and turn all night, your mind racing with thoughts of sunghoon and heeseung. no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the image of sunghoon’s hurt and angry face from your mind. it’s a look you never thought you would see on his usual cool and collected face. it clings to you, gnawing at your conscience. you wonder if you liked it more when sunghoon didn’t show any feelings towards you at all and remained as cold and mysterious as ever.

you start thinking about heeseung, too—how sweet he was, how he took care of you after, how you felt safe in his arms. but then your thoughts twist, imagining the look on his face if he ever found out you stole that picture from his room. how betrayed he’d feel, how that charming smile of his would disappear.

you sigh, sitting up in bed as the weight of your actions presses down on your chest. the more you think about it, the more you realize you can’t just let this go. you have to do something, anything, to make this right.

so you swing your legs over the side of the bed and grab the picture from your bag.

you know the one place lee heeseung would be at this early in the morning; the baseball diamond.

you slip on a hoodie and some sneakers, not bothering to change out of your pajamas and head out into the cool, early morning. the air is crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your bed.

when you finally reach the baseball diamond, you see heeseung’s figure against the light sky. you hesitate for a moment before stepping closer, clutching the picture in your hand. you start to rethink your actions and the words you practiced to say to him over and over again.

“y/n?” his voice suddenly calls out to you from across the field.

you glance up at him, and force a smile on your face and start to approach him. “hey,”

“hi,” he gleams at you, happy as ever. “what’re you doing here? it’s so early.”

you shrug and look down at your shoes, slightly soaked from the morning dew.

“y/n?” heeseung questions you, his hand reaching down to lift your chin back up so you’re looking at him. his face is contorted into concern. “what’s wrong?”

you sigh and know that lee heeseung can read you like a book. so you take the picture from behind your back and give it to him without a word.

you can tell by his face that he’s confused. the way he gently takes the picture and looks at it.

“how… did you get this?”

you bite your lip at the question you had hoped he wouldn’t have asked, but reluctantly tell him the truth.

“from your room, when you were in the bathroom.”

heeseung only nods, his eyes still stuck on the picture before him. so you continue with your apology.

“i’m so sorry heeseung, i know it was wrong of me. i felt guilty as soon as i took it. i just– i get so caught up in reporting sometimes that i don’t think of the people that i’m reporting ons feelings. so, i’m sorry.”

heeseung smiles again, and it surprises you, really. you thought he would react similar to how sunghoon reacted when he saw the picture. but then again, you know how different sunghoon and heeseung are. polar opposites.

“it’s alright y/n.” heeseung nods, and you let out a sigh. “thanks for telling me the truth, i appreciate it.”

“no, of course. it was wrong of me to take it without your permission.”

“it’s okay, i guess i didn’t realize how important this investigation was to you.”

suddenly there’s a scoff from behind you, causing both you and heeseung to glance back in surprise.

there, stands park sunghoon. his face is held in an annoyed glare as he looks at the small distance that you and heeseung are standing at.

“i guess you didn’t realize how important the investigation was to y/n.” sunghoon chuckles, “but i did. i knew it when she sucked me off to get information.”

your jaw drops at sunghoon’s admission. you can’t believe he would say this in front of heeseung.

you hesitantly turn to look at heeseung, who’s poor face is contorted into confusion as he glances between you and sunghoon, his rival.

“is that true, y/n?” heeseung asks you, his voice softer and less cruel sounding than sunghoon’s.

you can barely look at him, but you nod, silently. you feel ashamed for playing both of them, wanting to keep it a secret from one another that you had hooked up with both of them.

you feel like you can’t be angry at anyone but yourself.

heeseung brushes a hand through his hair, stressed. you think he’s going to cuss you out, but instead, he turns and looks at sunghoon.

“why’re you here anyways, sunghoon? you never step foot onto the field.” heeseung’s voice is angrier now.

sunghoon steps forward, his shoes brushing against the aggregate. “i came to let you know that even if you’re hooking up with y/n– that,” sunghoon hesitates as he looks at you,”that, i like her too, so.”

your eyes widen in shock at sunghoon’s words. you never would have thought that park sunghoon would have liked you. you start to question all of his previous intentions with you. you had thought he hated you, but really, he had liked you?

heeseung on the other hand groans, his body is unable to stay still as he steps around in disbelief. he angrily turns to sunghoon, “god this is so like you, sunghoon!”

“what the fuck does that mean?” sunghoon barks back.

“you always want what you can’t have sunghoon. you see something good and suddenly you want it too.”

sunghoon’s jaw clenches and he steps forward too so him and heeseung are only a few inches apart. “are you forgetting that y/n hooked up with me first? god, this is so like you, hee.”

you’re standing right in the middle of them, scared for both of them. upset at yourself for making them this angry at each other.

heeseung chuckles, “yeah? and what am i like then?”

“you always have to make everything about you! lee heeseung, the golden boy, has to be the centre of attention all the time!”

heeseung seems like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re making this about you when it has nothing to do with you! this only involves me and y/n.”

heeseung turns to you, his expression softening slightly as he meets your eyes. “y/n, do you really want to get caught up in this? in whatever the hell sunghoon is trying to pull?”

sunghoon steps forward, his voice lowering but still laced with tension. “y/n, i know i haven’t been the best to you, but i’m being honest now. i like you, and i didn’t know how to deal with my feelings for you before.”

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of their gazes on you. this is too much, too fast. you’re not even sure how you feel about sunghoon’s confession, or how this affects whatever’s going on with heeseung.

“i… i don’t know what to say,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon looks at you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “just tell me if you feel anything for me, y/n. because if you do, then maybe we can figure this out.”

heeseung crosses his arms, his expression guarded as he waits for your response. “and what about me, y/n? where do i fit into this?”

you feel like you’re being torn in two different directions. the two boys in front of you are completely different, but you feel an attraction to both of them whether you like it or not. you don’t know which direction would be best for you and it wouldn’t hurt the other.

“i… i need time to think,” you finally say, your voice trembling. “this is all just… a lot.”

sunghoon’s shoulders slump slightly, but he nods, understanding. “okay. take your time, y/n. but just know that i’m serious about this.”

heeseung looks at you for a long moment before sighing. “yeah, take your time. we’ll figure this out.”

the silence that follows is thick with unspoken emotions, and you feel the need to get away, to clear your head. you turn and start to walk away, leaving the two of them on the baseball diamond alone.

as you walk, you can’t help but feel the weight of their confessions pressing down on you.

god, you hated sports.

soon, heeseung starts to offer you drives home after school. his voice is always soft and considerate. it makes your heart warm. the car rides are always sweet and genuine and you find yourself reveling in how kind lee heeseung is.

he never rushes you out of the car when he pulls up to your place; instead, he walks you to your door, making sure you get inside safely. before you step inside, he leans in and kisses your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin in a way that sends a gentle warmth through you. it’s a sweet, lingering moment, and you can’t help but smile as you say goodnight.

when you walk into school in an early morning, goosebumps leveled on your skin from the fall breeze, you run into sunghoon who has his skates slung over his shoulder as he heads to the hockey rink.

without a word, he slips off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. it’s a bit oversized on you, the warmth of it immediately comforting against the chill that has consumed your body. you instantly recognize his jacket as his hockey one– with his number embroidered on the back. he skims past you once he’s happy with the way it sits on your shoulder and leaves you in the hall.

as you walk down the hall, sunghoon’s jacket still wrapped around you, you feel eyes on you, whispers following in your wake. even jake catches your eye from across the hall, his expression concerned when he realizes whose jacket you’re wearing. you find yourself holding onto the sleeves of his jacket, keeping the warmth and sunghoon’s cologne tight against your skin.

heeseung always seems to know when you’re struggling with homework. he shows up when you least expect it and slides into the seat beside you, ready to help you with whatever you’re struggling with. he places his neatly organized notes on the table in front of you.

“here, these might help.” he says, his tone casual, but there’s that familiar warmth in his eyes that makes your chest tighten. he doesn’t mind taking the next hour walking you through the material, even though he’s late for his next class.

when you forgot your money on your kitchen table for lunch, you sit alone in the cafeteria, trying to distract yourself from the hunger rumbling in your stomach as you focus on your homework. a sandwich suddenly appears beside your book. you glance up and see sunghoon, a small smile playing on his lips.

“you need to eat,” he says, his voice soft but firm. it’s a simple gesture, but it means the world to you in that moment, you really were so hungry.

when you take a bite, he smiles and heads back over to the table he was previously sitting at with his friends, he doesn’t stop glancing over at you to make sure you’ve eaten the whole thing until you’re throwing the empty wrapper into the trash can.

both heeseung and sunghoon are trying to prove themselves to you. competing for your attention. each of their gestures gets a little sweeter than the last. you’re caught between them and you’re unsure of what you should do.

when you’re sitting in the journalism office, staring at your computer screen, the blinking cursor mocking you as you try to piece together your next report. your thoughts are a jumbled mess. the office is quiet, which should be good for you to think, but it’s not for your loud mind that won’t stop racing about one million things.

suddenly, there’s a noise at the door, followed by grunting and muffled yelling. you glance up, confused, just in time to see the door burst open and both sunghoon and heeseung stumble into the office, each carrying two drinks. they’re both shoving at each other, jostling for space as they try to make it inside.

“stop! what’re you doing? they’re gonna spill!” you shout, standing up from your desk, your heart racing as you watch them struggle.

they both freeze when they see you, eyes wide like two kids caught in the act. for a moment, the room is silent, and then they both start talking at once.

“i was just bringing you a drink because i know how hard you work,” heeseung says, holding up his drink like it’s a peace offering.

“no, i was bringing you a drink,” sunghoon interrupts, his tone competitive.

heeseung scoffs, “please, she likes peach, not strawberry.” he glances towards sunghoon’s drink.

“what? you obviously don’t know her, she loves strawberry.”

they start bickering, each one trying to convince each other that their drink is the one you’d prefer. you feel your head start to pound, their voices overlapping and filling the small office space with tension.

“enough!” you finally shout, cutting them off mid-argument. they both go quiet, staring at you with wide eyes. you take a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration bubbling up inside you.

“i appreciate the gestures, i really do,” you start, your voice softer now, but firm. “but i need time to sort out my feelings, and i can’t do that if you’re both around me all the time. it’s… it’s too much.”

they both look at you, guilt flickering across their faces. they exchange a glance, then nod, understanding in their eyes. “sorry,” they both mumble at the same time, looking down at the drinks in their hands.

without another word, they each set a drink on your desk, their earlier competition forgotten. heeseung gives you a small, apologetic smile, while sunghoon just nods, his expression more subdued. they turn and leave the office, the door clicking shut behind them.

you let out a long sigh, the tension slowly draining from your shoulders as the silence of the office envelops you once more. you look at the drinks on your desk, a bittersweet feeling settling in your chest.

you sit back down at your desk, staring at the unfinished report on your screen. your mind is a swirling mess of thoughts, caught between sunghoon, heeseung, and the weight of your investigation. you press your fingers to your temples, trying to push the stress away, but it lingers, heavy and suffocating.

what are you going to do?

it’s been a week since you’ve seen heeseung or sunghoon. the silence between you and them has been unnerving, like an itch you can’t scratch. your mind keeps replaying your last encounters, the tension, the unspoken words, the way things were left hanging in the air. you’ve thrown yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself, but even that hasn’t been going well.

your boss has noticed your distracted state. she’s been getting increasingly frustrated with your recent reports, her critiques growing harsher each day. she’s told you more than once to at least act like you’re interested in sports when you’re writing. but your heart isn’t in it, and she can tell. tonight, you’re staying late at the journalism office again, trying to push through the mental block that’s been holding you back.

you’re staring at your screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, when you hear footsteps approaching. you glance up to see blair walking over, her bag thrown over her shoulder, clearly ready to leave for the night.

“hey, this came for you,” she says, holding out an envelope.

you blink, caught off guard. “what is it?” you ask, reaching out to take it.

blair shrugs, a casual smile on her lips. “i don’t know. but don’t stay too late, okay? take care of yourself.”

you nod, offering her a small smile. “of course. have a good night.”

“you too,” she says before heading out the door, leaving you alone in the dimly lit office.

you look down at the envelope in your hands, your name scrawled on the front in neat handwriting. there’s no return address, no indication of who it’s from. curiosity piqued, you tear it open and pull out the folded sheet of paper inside.

as you unfold it, your eyes widen at the title printed at the top: the truth behind the rivalry of the baseball and hockey teams.

you quickly skim the note, your breath catching in your throat as you realize what you’re holding. the note is brief, but the implications are massive. and they’ve chosen to share it with you. at the bottom, the note is signed simply: anonymous.

you sit back in your chair, the paper trembling slightly in your hands. the weight of the situation hits you all at once. your mind races, torn between the thrill of a potential breakthrough in your investigation and the fear of what this could mean for you—and for sunghoon and heeseung.

you reach towards your keyboard, typing out the headline you’ve thought about since the beginning.

your boss let you go home early today, she’s extremely happy with your work finally. she said it was the best report they’ve had all year. the school was buzzing, everyone congratulating you on the story. your article has sold more copies than ever.

but still, you feel a wave of guilt continuously wash through you.

you barely had time to settle into the quiet of your apartment when a knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts. your heart jumped in your chest, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach as you opened the door.

heeseung and sunghoon stood there, both looking pissed.

“uh, come in?” you stammer, stepping aside to let them in. they walk in, tension radiating off them.

heeseung is the first to speak, his tone sharp. “you told y/n what happened?”

sunghoon’s jaw drops, his eyes wide in disbelief. “no, i didn’t. you told her what happened, didn’t you?”

“no i didn’t,” heeseung snaps back, his voice rising. “you’re lying like usual.”

the argument escalates quickly, their voices overlapping in heated accusations. you can feel the situation spiraling out of control, and you step in, raising your hands.

“guys, guys,” you say, trying to cut through the chaos. “neither of you told me, alright.”

they both stop, turning to you with matching expressions of confusion. heeseung’s eyes narrow slightly as he processes your words. “then who told you?” he asks.

you shrug, feeling a bit uneasy under their intense gazes. “i got an anonymous tip.”

“a what?” sunghoon repeats, his voice laced with suspicion.

“i got a letter,” you explain, pulling the envelope out of your bag and holding it up. “signed by anonymous.”

heeseung’s expression darkens. “let me see this letter,” he demands, holding out his hand.

you hand it over, watching as they both lean in to read it together. the room is thick with tension, their silence as they read almost unbearable.

when they finish, you speak up, your voice cutting through the heavy silence. “is it true? sunghoon, you slept with heeseung’s girlfriend in high school?”

sunghoon’s mouth opens in a protest, his voice ringing out, “no,” at the exact moment that heeseung says, “yes.”

the word hangs in the air between them, their conflicting answers sparking another round of glares and tension. they turn on each other again, the hostility simmering just below the surface, ready to erupt.

“are you seriously going to lie about this, sunghoon?” heeseung says, his tone icy.

sunghoon glares back, his voice filled with frustration. “i’m not lying. it wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“then what was it like?” heeseung fires back, his anger barely contained.

“maia told me you were on a break!” sunghoon shouts with anger.

“well we weren’t!”

“well how’s that my fault?”

you watch them, feeling the situation spiraling again. their voices are rising, the tension thickening with each passing second.

you step between them, your hands up as if that could physically separate their anger. “enough, both of you,” you say firmly. “this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

they stop, their chests heaving with the effort of holding back their tempers. the room falls into a tense silence as they both look at you.

“can you guys speak calmly, and listen to the other?” you ask them seriously, tired of them yelling all the time.

heeseung is the first to speak again, “i don’t know why maia would tell you we were on a break, but it still doesn’t fix the fact that you were my best friend and slept with my girlfriend.”

sunghoon’s face twists in frustration, his voice pleading as he responds, “i know, i know, but i wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so upset. she told me you were on a break! she said she needed someone, and then all of a sudden, it just… happened. and we were done, and she left!”

heeseung covers his eyes with his hands, the weight of the memory clearly bearing down on him. “that’s not what maia told me, hoon.”

sunghoon’s brows knit together, his tone desperate. “what did she say?”

heeseung’s anger flares, his voice rising as he pulls his hands away to glare at sunghoon. “i don’t know, just that you told her to come over, and then it happened.”

sunghoon scoffs, shaking his head. “i told her to come over because she called me crying, saying how she messed things up with you and her! i didn’t tell her to come over so i could hook up with her!”

the room falls into a heavy silence as the words sink in. heeseung looks like he’s processing everything, trying to fit together the pieces of a puzzle that’s been broken for years. finally, he sinks down onto your couch, the weight of the situation pulling him down.

sunghoon hesitates for a moment before sitting down next to him. his voice is softer now, laced with a deep regret. “hee, you were my best friend. i would never do that to you. she told me you were on a break, and she was upset! i’m sorry that it happened, i really am. if i could go back and change what i did, i would, i really would.”

heeseung nods slowly, his anger ebbing away as he looks over at sunghoon. “alright, i’m sorry for not hearing you out earlier.”

sunghoon lets out a chuckle, the sound laced with a bittersweet edge. “yeah, you’re like, 4 years too late.”

heeseung laughs, the sound breaking through the tension like a breath of fresh air. it’s a small moment of reconciliation for the two of them.

you clear your throat, drawing their attention back to you. “well, now that that’s sorted out… i’m sorry for posting the report, i am.”

heeseung waves it off, a small smile on his lips. “no, it’s fine. you got us to speak instead of fight for once.”

sunghoon nods in agreement. “yeah, but who was the anonymous tipster?”

the three of you exchange glances, all shrugging as the question hangs in the air. none of you have a clue who it could be.

sunghoon clears his throat, the serious expression on his face returning as he looks at you. “i just… i hope that what you found out in the report doesn’t change your feelings for me. i want you to know that i never meant to hurt heeseung, and i truly thought they were on a break.”

you meet his gaze, searching for any hint of dishonesty. but all you see is a mix of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. after a moment, you nod slowly. “it doesn’t change my feelings, sunghoon. if you’re telling the truth, and you really thought they were on a break… then i believe you.”

a small, relieved smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can feel the tension between the three of you start to ease.

but then heeseung, still seated on the other end of the couch, shifts slightly, drawing your attention back to him. “so… have you made up your mind about who you’re going to choose?”

your breath catches in your throat as you look between the two of them. the question you’ve been avoiding is suddenly right in front of you, and you realize that you’ve been dreading this moment. your heart races as you shake your head, a quiet “no” escaping your lips.

sunghoon leans back, a contemplative look on his face. “well, then,” he starts, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness that makes you raise an eyebrow. “how about we help you with your decision?”

heeseung glances at him, “what do you mean?”

sunghoon grins, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous at the mischievous glint in his eyes. “i think we should both get a chance to prove to her that we are the right one for her,” he explains. “so, whoever makes y/n feel the best wins her.”

“how so?” you ask, trying to process what he’s saying.

“easy,” sunghoon shrugs, “we both get to fuck you.”

heeseung seems to mull it over for a second, before a smirk spreads across his face, “i’m game if y/n is.”

you blink, your mind racing as you try to process what’s happening. of course they are turning it into a competition, that’s all they know.

the idea seems ridiculous, but at the same time, it intrigues you.

before you can fully think it through, you hear yourself saying, “okay.”

the boys quickly shift on the couch, making room for you to sit between them. you move to sit down, your heart pounding in your chest as the reality of what you’ve just agreed to starts to sink in.

as you settle into the space between them, you can feel the tension building again, but this time it’s charged with a different kind of energy. sunghoon is on one side of you, his hand resting lightly on your knee, while heeseung is on the other, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“are you sure, y/n?” heeseung asks you, as sweet as always.

you bite your lip, “i am, but are you sure you both want to do this? i don’t want things to get weird between us all.”

“don’t worry about y/n, me and hee both know that whatever you decide will be fair. we both just want to make you feel really good.” sunghoon speaks into your ear, his body warm against your side.

you can't help but feel a surge of desire at their words. seeing the two of them so determined and eager to bring you pleasure has your body buzzing with excitement. "okay," you agree, your voice a little hoarse. "let's do this."

your breath quickening as Heeseung presses a soft kiss to your neck, his lips gentle and sensual. sunghoon's hands begin to roam over your body, sliding up your thighs and under your shirt, his touch electric. heeseung's hands join his, exploring your body with a mix of tenderness and hunger. their touches are different yet equally captivating—sunghoon's bold and demanding, heeseung's gentle and seeking.

you moan softly as their fingers trace patterns on your skin, igniting fires everywhere they touch. they take their time, exploring every inch of your body, drawing out your pleasure until you're a quivering mess between them. "you like that, don't you, baby?" sunghoon whispers, his lips brushing your ear. "you like being touched by both of us."

"yes," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "feels so good."

heeseung chuckles, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. "and we're just getting started, baby."

they continue their assault on your senses, mouths and hands working in sync to tease you. their fingers tangle in your hair, grasp your hips, and stroke your thighs. you feel yourself falling deeper under their spell, your body surrendering to their expert touches.

"let's go to your bedroom," heeseung suggests, his voice thick with desire.

you nod wordlessly, unable to speak as sunghoon plants sloppy, harsh kisses along your jawline. they help you up from the couch, their strong arms steadying you as your legs feel like jelly.

in your bedroom, the pace intensifies. heeseung and sunghoon waste no time in stripping you of your clothes, their eyes dark with desire as they take in your naked body.

"so beautiful," heeseung whispers, tracing a finger down your arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

sunghoon's eyes shine with a mischievous glint. "you’re so sexy, can’t wait to hear you begging for more.”

you swallow, a thrill running through you at their bold words. they guide you to the bed, their hands never leaving your body, always exploring, touching, teasing.

sunghoon positions himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours as he begins to kiss and nip at your inner thighs. heeseung moves to your side, his fingers tangling with yours as he brings your hand to his lips for a soft kiss. "we're going to take such good care of you," he murmurs, his breath washing over your sensitive skin.

you feel sunghoon's breath fan over your core, his tongue flicking out to taste you. a gasp escapes your lips as he laps at your folds, his tongue confident and skilled. heeseung's fingers thread through yours as you experience wave after wave of pleasure, his thumb stroking your palm in time with sunghoon's tongue.

"he's good, isn't he?" heeseung whispers, his voice full of satisfaction as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "but I plan on being even better."

sunghoon chuckles against your sensitive flesh, sending vibrations through your body. he looks up at you, his eyes full of promise, before dipping his head to continue sucking on your clit.

the feeling of sunghoon's tongue on your clit, coupled with heeseung's gentle caresses, is overwhelming. you feel yourself spiraling toward the edge, your body tightening like a coil. "hh god," you breathe, your hips bucking involuntarily. you weren’t use to having so much attention on you. it sent you to the edge so quickly.

heeseung's fingers tighten around yours as sunghoon sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling relentlessly. "come for us, baby," he urges, his voice husky. "let us know how good we make you feel."

you cry out, your body arching off the bed as you climax, waves of pleasure rippling through you. sunghoon rides out your orgasm, his tongue relentless until you're left boneless and breathless.

as you come back down to earth, heeseung's lips find yours, kissing you deeply as his hand strokes your cheek.

"your turn.” sunghoon signals to heeseung, his voice laced with challenge.

heeseung shoots him a determined look as he moves over your body, his hands exploring your skin. his eyes are full of heat as he looks down at you.

sunghoon slips away, leaving you on the bed with heeseung, who takes his time exploring your body with his hands and mouth. he’s so caring and gentle, different to how dominant and rough sunghoon is.

heeseung strokes your clit until your a writhing mess beneath him, your body crying out for more. “please”, you beg, “i need your cock.”

heeseung smiles, “i know, baby, i know.”

he aligns himself with your entrance, teasing you with slow, shallow thrusts that have you crying out with each movement. "tell me how good it feels," he demands, his voice thick with desire.

"feels so good," you whimper, your fingers digging into his back. "please, more."

sunghoon, who has been watching from the sidelines, moves closer, his lips brushing your ear. "you like his cock inside you, don't you?" he murmurs, his fingers trailing down your body to toy with your nipples. "you like being stretched around his thick cock."

Your words are incoherent as heeseung begins to pound into you, his hips snapping against yours as he finds a relentless rhythm. sunghoon’s hands and mouth continue to touch you and whisper dirty nothings into your ear.

“that’s it, take his cock like the slut i know you are,” sunghoon urges, his voice in your ear driving you closer to the edge, “take it all.”

you cry out as heeseung’s thrusts become harder, deeper, your body meeting him with each thrust. the pleasure builds within you again, an ache that begs to be satisfied.

sunghoon’s lips find yours, kissing you deeply as his hand slips between your bodies to rub your clit in time with heeseung’s thrusts. "come for us again, slut" he commands, his voice firm. "let go."

“god, please cum, baby– wanna feel your walls tighten like a good girl.” heeseung moans out to you. his eyes are set on where his cock is meeting your pussy.

your hands grip tighter around heeseung’s arm as you shatter around his cock, crying out his name as your body convulses with pleasure. sunghoon doesn’t stop his fingers from working on your clit, extending your orgasm until you’re sobbing and shaking and heeseung is cumming inside of you. he fills you to the brim with his warm cum, the feeling makes you whine out.

as your orgasm subsides, heeseung slows his movements, his breath ragged as he pulls out of you. sunghoon moves in, his eyes dark with desire as he positions himself at your entrance.

"my turn," he growls, his voice thick with need.

you hardly have time to register what's happening before sunghoon fills you with one swift thrust, making you cry out at the sudden fullness. he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes closing briefly as a shudder of pleasure racks his body.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his hips snapping as he begins to move within you. "so tight and wet."

heeseung moves to your side, his hands caressing your body as he watches sunghoon fuck you. "she does, doesn't she?" he agrees, his voice satisfied. “such a good girl for us.”

before you can process his words, heeseung leans in, his lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. his tongue tangles with yours as sunghoon continues his relentless pace, your bodies moving in sync.

you're overwhelmed by sensations, sunghoon's cock driving you wild, heeseung's lips demanding and insistent. their touches are everywhere, driving you closer and closer to the edge. "oh god," you moan, your body tingling with overstimulating pleasure. "i—"

"come for me," sunghoon commands, his voice a deep rumble. "i want to feel you fall apart around my cock."

his words are your undoing, your body surrendering to a powerful orgasm that has you crying out their names. sunghoon quickens his pace, chasing his own release as heeseung continues to kiss and touch you, driving you wild.

"so beautiful," heeseung murmurs, his lips brushing your ear.

sunghoon grunts, his body tensing as he finds his release, filling you with his warmth. he buries his face in your neck, his breath coming in sharp pants as he rides out his orgasm.

you feel spent and satisfied, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your intense releases. your pussy is filled with both heeseung and sunghoon’s cum. your breath was ragged, your skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

heeseung and sunghoon share a smirk that you don’t catch, their eyes still filled with desire as sunghoon pulls out of you. they both knew that they weren’t done with you yet.

“why don’t we clean you up a bit?” heeseung suggests to you.

sunghoon nodded in agreement, “yeah, we don’t want to waste a single drop of your juices, princess.”

you could only watch them as they spread your legs again, enough for both of them to fit in between. they wasted no time then, their eyes locking on your glistening, leaking pussy. they leaned in together, their tongues darting out to taste the mixture of your juices and their cum.

you gasped as their tongues flicked against your sensitive clit, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. they lapped at your pussy greedily, tasting each other's cum mixed with your essence. their tongues mixed together, swirling and twirling as they devoured you.

"mmm, you taste so fucking good,"sunghoon moaned, his voice hoarse with desire. he nipped at your clit gently, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins.

heeseung hummed in agreement, his tongue delving deep into your hole, probing and exploring as he savored the flavor of your arousal. "so sweet.” he hummed.

you whimpered as they licked your pussy. their tongues working in unison to bring you pleasure. their hands caressed your thighs, holding your legs open.

"oh fuck, that's so good," you panted, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. “both of you eating me out.”

heeseung chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter sending delightful sensations through your core.

sunghoon looked up at you, his eyes smoldering with desire. "tell us what you want, princess, and we’ll do it.”

you bit your lip, feeling bolder than you ever had before. "i want both of your tongues on my clit," you whispered, your voice thick with need. "please, make me cum all over your faces."

a growl escaped from heeseung's throat as he pulled sunghoon closer. "as you wish, baby."

together, they focused their attention on your clit, their tongues swirling and flicking in tandem. heeseung sucked your pearl into his mouth, his tongue working furiously while sunghoon lapped at your juices, coating your pussy with his saliva.

the sensation was indescribable. having two mouths, two tongues circling and sucking your pussy. you moaned loudly, your back arching off the bed as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"that's it, baby, cum for us," heeseung urged, his hands squeezing your thighs.

sunghoon added his fingers to the mix, thrusting them into your wetness as he curled them to hit that magical spot inside you. "cum for us, y/n.”

you shouted as the orgasm hit you. your body convulsed, your juices flowing freely as you rode out the intense waves of pleasure. heeseung and sunghoon continued to lick and suck, milking every last drop of your cum, savoring the taste of your release.

gradually, the intensity of your orgasm subsided, leaving you boneless and sated once more. heeseung and sunghoon looked up at you, their faces glistening with your essence, proud smiles on their faces.

"that was fucking incredible," you breathed, your voice husky and filled with satisfaction.

heeseung and sunghoon laughed at your bewilderment, their mouths and lips covered in their own cum and your juices.

after the intensity of what just happened, the three of you collapse into a warm, comfortable silence. the room is quiet, only the sound of your breathing and the faint rustling of sheets filling the space. sunghoon is the first to move, his touch gentle as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes soft as he watches you. heeseung shifts beside you, his hand sliding over your back in slow, soothing circles.

“you okay?” heeseung murmurs, his voice low and filled with concern.

you nod, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you as they both take care of you in their own ways. sunghoon leaves and returns to hand you a glass of water, making sure you drink, while heeseung pulls a blanket over your body, tucking you in.

as you start to drift off, you feel heeseung press a soft kiss to your temple, and sunghoon’s hand remains on your waist, grounding you. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of their presence, and before you know it, you’re asleep.

when you wake up, the room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the evening filtering through the curtains. you blink a few times, disoriented, before realizing that you’re dressed in an oversized hockey jersey and a pair of shorts that don’t belong to you. the jersey smells faintly of sunghoon, and you can’t help but smile at the thought of him dressing you while you were asleep.

you get out of bed, stretching a little before heading out to the living room. as you step into the room, you’re greeted by the sight of heeseung and sunghoon sitting on the couch, a bowl of cereal in each of their hands. they’re watching a movie, the light from the screen casting a soft glow over their faces, and you’re struck by how at ease they seem with each other.

heeseung is the first to notice you, his face lighting up with a smile. “hey, sleepyhead,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the couch. “come sit with us.”

you walk over, still trying to wrap your head around the sight in front of you. it’s almost surreal, seeing the two of them together like this, so relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company. it’s a far cry from the tension and anger that had been simmering between them just a short while ago.

“what are you guys watching?” you ask as you settle between them, your legs tucked under you.

“our favorite movie from high school,” sunghoon explains, his eyes still glued to the screen. “we used to watch it all the time.”

heeseung grins, nudging your shoulder playfully. “yeah, we probably watched it a hundred times back then.”

you can’t help but smile at them. it makes you feel lighter, the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting from your shoulders.

as the movie plays, heeseung holds out his bowl of cereal, offering you a bite. you take it, savoring the simple gesture of sharing, and it feels like everything is falling into place.

there's a sudden knock on your door, startling you out of your thoughts. sunghoon, who had been lounging next to you, looks up and asks, "who is it?"

you shrug, getting up to answer the door. "i don’t know, i’m not expecting anyone."

when you open the door, you’re surprised to see jake standing there, holding a box of green tea. "oh, hi jake. what are you doing here?"

jake gives a small, awkward smile. "well, i know you might've been feeling down about writing the story on heeseung and sunghoon since you've been close to them recently. so, i brought you some green tea to make you feel better."

you smile, touched by the gesture, and start to close the door, but then heeseung and sunghoon come up behind you. their eyes widen when they see jake.

heeseung, his voice edged with confusion, asks, "jake? why’d you come here?"

jake stammers, looking caught off guard. "hh, I just... wanted to check in on y/n. make sure everything’s okay since the anonymous tip."

“right,” heeseung nods, you can tell he’s suspicious about something, “you saw her article right? i mean, you were there with us in highschool when it all happened.”

suddenly it clicks in your head about what heeseung is trying to figure out. jake only nods slowly, a small smile on his face.

“yeah and i mean, if me and heeseung didn’t tell anyone about what happened in high school, then who do you think would have given y/n an anonymous tip, jake?”

jake gulps, “i- i don’t know, guys.”

“how’d you know i got an anonymous tip anyways? the only ones who knew about it were heeseung and sunghoon.”

at that, jake suddenly sighs, his shoulders sinking down, “fine, it was me who tipped you off.”

heeseung’s face darkens, his voice filled with hurt and confusion, “you tipped her off? why, jake?”

jake takes a deep breath, trying to explain. "because I admire you, heeseung. you’re like a brother to me. and sunghoon, he used to be my best friend too. i thought maybe if the truth came out, you two could finally move on."

you, heeseung and sunghoon try to process jake’s admission.

jake lowers his gaze, the weight of his actions sinking in, "i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hurt anyone. i just wanted to help fix things."

as the room settles into an uneasy silence after jake’s apology, heeseung finally breaks it with a soft, reassuring tone. “it’s okay, jake. we all needed to hear the truth.”

sunghoon nods in agreement, a hint of a smile returning to his face. “yeah, you were my best friend too. i’ve missed hanging out with you and heeseung.”

heeseung’s expression softens as he adds, “let’s start fresh, guys. this has gone on way too long.”

jake looks up, relieved to see their smiles, “yeah, well, it wouldn’t have been fixed without y/n. she’s the one who wrote the great report.”

you blush slightly, feeling a mix of pride and relief. “it’s no problem, guys. it’s all i ever wanted.”

with the mood lifting, you look at jake, sunghoon, and heeseung and suggest, “why don’t we all hang out? you’re here now, so let’s drink some green tea together and watch the movie.”

they all nod and you all sit down together, sipping tea and enjoying the movie they all used to watch together.

the end of your investigation was one that you didn’t expect, but it was a happy one to say the least. you think that this is the end of your sports journalism career– you’re ready to write more thrilling reports once you graduate.

but still, there was still one more question that you had to answer: who would you pick out of lee heeseung and park sunghoon?

you’re lying in bed, heeseung’s arms draped comfortably across your stomach. his messy hair is sprawled across the pillow, a relaxed smile on his face as he sleeps. the warmth of his embrace is soothing, and you can’t help but feel content. heeseung has always brightened your day with his kindness and charming smile.

you don’t know what you’d do without him.

then, sunghoon walks into your room, his pale, muscular chest on display. he hands you the daily newspaper with a gentle smile and quietly settles down beside you, careful not to wake heeseung. his presence is dominating and calming, and he leans over to press a soft kiss onto your forehead.

you glance at the newspaper’s headline:

Ex-Sports Journalist Dates Two Captains

a quiet giggle escapes your lips, and just as you’re about to comment, heeseung stirs.

“i wonder who that’s about,” he murmurs, still half-asleep.

sunghoon rolls his eyes playfully and says, “shut up, hee.”

heeseung chuckles and replies, “gladly,” as he pulls both you and sunghoon into his arms.

the three of you collide together, making you and sunghoon squeal in surprise. the warmth of heeseung’s embrace and the closeness of your boyfriends together makes you relax, the headline long forgotten already.

even though you can’t tell the difference between a homerun and a hat trick, you still managed to fall in love with both of the most popular athletes on campus. and, amidst the very long hockey and baseball lessons, and your hatred for sports, you’ve still managed to score a win in the game of love. the ultimate game changer.

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

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