#you should always stand up for truth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teeskzagain · 2 months ago

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˚‧‿₊୨୧₊You're Such A Brat₊ ˚‧୧₊︵‧ ˚ ₊

» pairing: arrogant!sunghoon x bratty!reader

» summary: since high school, park sunghoon has been the absolute bane of your existence. you’ve always viewed him as a stuck-up snob, and he has always seen you as a whiny brat. you aren’t sure why your mother still thinks of you two as friends, you can hardly stand being in the same room as each other. while at home from college one night, your mother surprises you with news of a work event she and mrs. park will be attending. the catcher? mrs. park’s nightmare of a son is going to be forced to spend the evening at your house…..

» warnings: college au, lots of arguments (both are toxic af), lowkey manipulative on both ends?? t e n s i o n, one scene depicting choking, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), extremely rough sex, enemies….to…?, lil unserious in the beginning, reader and sunghoon genuinely detest one another (but isn’t that the best😫) mean!dom sunghoon, bratty!sub y/n, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), degrading kink, teasing, heavy/aggressive make-outs, breasts play, masturbation (f. - reader masturbates to fake scenario), humiliation kink, dirty talk, reader used to be affiliated with p.sh, orgasm denial + fingering, ass + pussy slapping, slight mentions of lee heeseung & sim jake...

» w.c: 11.5k (no wonder why it took forever!)

» a/n: would like to apologize for the delay!! but, it's finally here. please let me know if i should do more enha works.

» taglist: @indigoez @jakeswifez @aanniikkaa @slut4hee @heeknow @rairaiblog-blog @no1likeneo @d-dilemma @soobingf-blog @shuaxzcake @mingyuslice @heelovesmeknot @mitmit01 @hpnsfwaddict @jooniesbears-blog @pasteltheghost16 @goodforgyu @sunghoonsbigcoketip

"Why do you have to leave?" With a droopy face, you annoyingly complain- yet again -to your mom about her rude decision of abandoning you.

She rolls eyes- yet again -at your antics and continues to put up the last bits of groceries, "It's a simple work event, Y/N. I'm not sure why you're being so stubborn right now. Plus, you used to love when Sunghoon and his mother came over."

You shudder at the mere mention of his name, "That was before he became such a stuck up fucking prick-"

That line earns yourself a disapproving, 'Y/N!' and in turn you retract your statement with a couple of half-assed, 'sorry, sorry'.

Though, in your head, you knew you held back from saying worse things.

Your mother sighs deeply as she finishes shoving the last few items into the fridge before spinning around to face you, "I'm not asking a lot from you, just entertain the boy or something while we're out. Is that really too difficult?"

She lets her question hang in the air for a second, then proceeds to move from the kitchen to the living room. However, if she thought she could escape you, she would be dead wrong. Because you're not far from her in step.

"Okay, new question." You propose which earns another groan from Mom. You stop in place when she leans over to dust the couch off with her hands, " Since you and Mrs. Park are carpooling to the event, I understand why she's coming here. But does he really have to come too? Why can't he just stay at his own damn-.....d-dang, house?"

When she straightens herself out, she bears a look of plead in hopes that this is truly the last of your inquiries, "His mother is the one who suggested it. And if we're being truthful, you and Sunghoon used to be so......" she pauses, looking for the right word, "....so cute when the two of you were close."

A hand flies to your mouth as you internally gag at your mother's words. Cute? Maybe 10 years ago, when you both were still in elementary. But that was before he had the chance to grow into his unbearably horrid of a personality.

Granted, you partly blamed his high school friend group for his abominable transformation. While, yes, you did agree that Sunghoon just naturally held the asshole gene, you were also certain that hanging around and slinging dicks with stupid Sim Jake and stupid Lee Heeseung, surely wasn't going to help this fact either.

Disgusting pricks. All of them.

You lower your hand slowly, "Please don't remind me of that time."

"For the love of-" She excuses herself from your vicinity and struts back into the kitchen, "Honey, I don't understand how you could be acting like this. I thought once you two went off to university together, things would be different by this point."

Oh. It's different alright.

Instead of the harsher stares he used to simply give in high school, Sunghoon has upgraded his abrasiveness to terrible comments directed towards your character. Any chance possible, the two of you would butt heads even more than your previous encounters. On campus, in passing, at parties; if you saw him anywhere, you just knew something would be said.

On top of that, it also doesn't help that his buffoon bunch of friends followed him to the same college as you. And, you had to see them everywhere.

You figured once you came home, you could enjoy a week of internal peace. Free from the many stressors that come with university. Now, your mother seems to disregard any of your warnings and wants to let the main stressor inside of your house?

"Can I add as well," she speaks up in the absence of your voice- you had been too busy pouting- "I know the two of you share the same English class, and according to his mother, he's been excelling at his papers."

At the insinuation, your mouth drops agape, however, she disregards the reaction and continues on, "You can ask for some pointers from him."

"Absolutely not." There was no way that could've been an option. Firstly, you would never hear the end of it from Sunghoon: ‘Oh, you want help from me? I didn’t realize you were so awful at this,�� and then it probably would’ve been followed up with, ‘Well, I can’t say I’m too surprised. You’re not the…brightest person I’ve met.’

Annoying bastard.

He would never let you live that down, and frankly, you didn't want to give him anymore ammo to shoot you in the face with. Henceforth, that couldn’t be an option. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Your mother regards you intently, and slowly begins to shake her head. She couldn't do it anymore, didn't know what more to say; a wall has clearly been put up and you are as strong as steel, not letting anything through. As she's left puzzled on how to refute your statement, a ping from her phone catches her eye briefly.

She casts her gaze downwards, keeps it there for a few seconds, and then she's looking back up at your contorted face.

"Well, sweetie,” a strained smile begins to spread, “You should probably fix that attitude of yours. They just got here." The doorbell ringing acts as a nail in the coffin, confirming your mother's words.

“You’ve got to be-”

She interrupts your complaining to tell you to get the door, so she can run upstairs and grab her purse. You're quick to bellow out a groan, but she's even quicker to shut that down, and instructs you to do it immediately while half-way up the staircase.

Once she disappears, you amble sluggishly towards the front, and as you're about ready to swing it open; a long, harsh breath is exhaled from the other side followed by a grumble.

"You better be nice to her or I swear Sunghoon...."

It's Mrs. Park, who's voice seemed to have a combination of both sincerity and aggression laced in it. Your eyebrows furrow, listening harder.

"Yeah, yeah. Be nice to the brat, I heard you the first 4 other times." He finishes with his own irritated huff.

Your expression goes wide at that. Is he fucking serious? Did he really just call you a brat? You. A brat? You're mind relishes in disbelief.

"Sunghoon!" His mother responds with, and more indistinct talking arose. However, while their voices grew quieter your annoyed levels skyrocketed. You begin to think that it's quite plausible….someone might die tonight.

"Y/N! Did you grab the door yet?" Your mom yells from her bedroom.

You do a double-take as you match her volume, "I'm doing it right now!"

Unbolting the locks, you pull back the piece of wood to reveal a very eager Mrs. Park, staring at you with smiley eyes. Sweeping your gaze right, there stood the ever straight-faced and stoic Park Sunghoon.

Even as you do a once over at his appearance- black hair fringed on his forehead, hands shoved into his long, sleek coat, and black sweats that barely poke out from underneath -you find it so, incredibly jarring that this came out of the always cheery Mrs. Park.

He didn't even try to smile, unlike you who beamed out a grin towards them, "Hello Mrs. Park! It's been so long since I last seen you.”

Dissimilar to her son, Mrs. Park is ready to envelope you into a warm hug. She extends her arms out and the two of you intertwine in a genuine and comforting embrace.

"Oh! Y/N! It truly has been a while," when she draws back, you watch her scan your face with an affectionate smile, "You just get more and more beautiful every time I see you." At the last second, she peeps over towards her son for encouragement, "Right, Hoonie? Doesn't she look lovely?"

His impassive eyes regard his mother, then ever so leisurely does he drag them onto your stature. The moment eye contact is made, you shift anxiously. Because why the hell is he looking at you like that?

You start to play with the hem of your oversized hoodie, which flowed nicely into your oversized sweatpants. Anyone with eyes could tell you’re not dressed for company. Hair messy from laying around, hardly any make-up on.

Clearly, you weren’t expecting anyone today. Nonetheless, someone who took so much pride in his appearance. You almost felt jealously from it. Like he’s somehow proving the point that he’s better in almost every way- clothing included. It’s infuriating.

With a single look up and down, Sunghoon cocks his head slightly before giving his answer, "No."

Intense bickering between mother and son start up, and you're left standing with a twitching eye of vexation as already you sense your patience running thin. Your fingers curl inwards to form a fist. It hasn’t even been 30 seconds and you feel like punching him.

"I am so sorry about him, Y/N. I don't- I don't know what his problem is..." She stops midway to address another mumble from the boy. The two have a minor quarrel this time, and then she’s back to focusing on you, ".....ah, may we come in?"

It takes your full strength to squeak out an, 'absolutely', despite your innate feelings. With a step back, you widen the door to appear more welcoming and the two of them step inside of your house.

Mrs. Park instantly calls out to your mother, with her shouting back at Mrs. Park, and when it's Sunghoon's turn to walk past, you couldn't help but notice the somewhat aggressive breeze he emits as he pushes through you.

A part of you could’ve sworn you also heard him mutter something in passing, but regardless, you decide to let that go instead of calling him out. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling, you hope to soothe the ever growing nerves that’s been caused so far.

Remember, self-control. Right, that is a thing and you are more than capable of exhibiting it. So, keep your cool. Try not to blow up. At the very least, if not for yourself, then for the sake of both your mother and Mrs. Park.

Yes, for them. You can do this for them. Just simply don’t engage and all will be well.

You repeat this to yourself a few more times as you close the door. All will be well if you let it be. Now feeling better, you flip around to see your mom make a descent back down into the living room, a purse now dangling from the crevice of her elbow.

She sashays up to Sunghoon’s mother, and the two women squeal in delight as they engulf one another. It’s admirable how much they care for each other, proving why they became such good coworkers then friends. You also find it adorable how similar their outfit choices are, with both of them sporting a dark blue dress.

Once they part, your mother turns her attention over towards the previously brooding boy. Though, you find it interesting how Sunghoon seems to have an easier expression now.

"Sunghoon, you're too tall! How am I supposed to reach you?" She gushes while brining him in for hug. A light chuckle dances out of him, and after a brief second they're pulling back from one another. Mrs. Park jumps in on the conversation about her son.

They begin to go on and on about all of his accomplishments; 'Oh! Sunghoon I heard you're doing excellent in your courses,' and, 'You are so involved with the community, it’s wonderful to see that someone’s trying.’ It’s sickening to see the immediate chokehold he has on the women, you observing the conversation emotionlessly.

After their near 20 minute rant (or what felt like it) finally your mother remembers your presence and decides to rope you in. She ushers you to come closer, and after a hasty back and forth, you scoot only mere inches into the circle, closer to him.

"You've been scoring well on your essays, Sunghoon, isn't that right?" Your mom starts and you want to scream right then and there.

He affirms her question with a swift nod, "Yes. I have."

"I don't think he's gotten below a 91 on his papers." Mrs. Park chimes in, and you secretly curse your mother for where this topic is about to go.

Your mom's eyes brighten as she looks over to Sunghoon, "That's amazing to hear. Actually, I think Y/N could use some tips on a few of her past works. She's been getting marked off on nearly every single one of them and could use the help!"

He hums in amusement, raking his eyes until they rest on your scowl. You feel his stare on you as you cross your arms and side step away from him, "Was that necessary to bring up?”

"Oh," your mother waves a dismissive hand, "Nonsense, sweetie. I'm sure a few pointers from this one will help raise that C- you have."

"Mom!"

Before you could object any further, a gasp leaves Mrs. Park's mouth and quickly she’s pulling your mother off to the side. She just remembered some news from work. While the two women chat, you’re left to stand idly, eyes darting off to the side while a wave of quietness engulfs the air. Sunghoon remains silent, as well.

You sure as hell hadn’t planned on talking to him and if that meant silence would be bestowed, then so be it. It’s for the better, anyways. You’re trying a new approach at things, and if you're forced to converse with him, you’re afraid it’ll lead to someone getting choked out. Not you, by the way. So…to avoid conflict, silence it is.

A short sigh from Sunghoon interrupts your thinking. You do a quick glance up at the..irritatingly tall boy, and see his gaze is turned all the way left, side-profile on display for you. He must’ve picked up on your hostility, which is why he has not said anything, you believe. Good. He should know better than to get you riled-

“You have a C- in that class? Are you serious?”

Perplexed, you raise your eyebrows from the sudden outburst, “Excuse me?”

Is he really trying to start this right now?

He keeps his head faced away from you, then at the last second he twists it back and you see a new expression dawns on him. That of complete arrogance, “English Literature is a stupid easy class. I’m surprised to hear you’re doing poorly.”

As you open your mouth to shut up him, he proceeds further with his berating, “Then again,” he lets out a dry laugh, “I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked that you need me. You’ve always fell short when it came to academics.”

Sunghoon watches your face morph into pure anger, and as sick as it may be for him to admit it, this is where he finds true enjoyment. In the reactions you always give in the moments you feel wronged.

You do a short shuffle as you feel yourself releasing the chains of self-control. You knew he would act this way. He always does.

“Okay, so I’m not doing well,” you state matter-of-factly, “So. Fucking. What? I’d rather have a shitty grade in this class than beg some snobby prick for aid.”

You tried to hold back.

At the sudden drop of name calling, a bitter grin erupts onto his lips, “Like you deserve my help.”

“For the record, I never asked for it,” you throw a hand up as new found confidence starts to build up in your core, “But trust me. If I really needed you, then I would make you fucking help me.”

His eyes widen from your accusation, “You really think I would tend to you? Knowing your unruly attitude?” Disbelief switches onto his face, his thick eyebrows creasing together uncomfortably, “God. You’re such a brat.”

And just like that, you hit a snapping point. Without wasting another second, you begin to hurl every insult in the book his way, your rage boiling past whatever containment you thought you had. He’s ready to argue back at you when a light shriek stops both of you mid sentence.

"Oh, we need to get a move on it. I didn’t even realize the time. It’s about to be 7.” Your mother comments and you almost retort it with a snide remark on how inquisitive she's been about Sunghoon's life.

Mrs. Park trots her way towards the door, saying her final goodbye to her son along the way. Your mother shares her own words of departure, though it's mixed with your protest on her leaving.

"Alright kiddos, we'll try not to be too long." She speaks with one foot out the door, "Y/N, please treat our guest kindly."

You give the boy, who's now walked up and standing to the side of you, a deathly glower, "Get him the fu-"

"Y/N. Kindly, please." She reiterates with a sweet bite, and to that you could only sigh defeatedly.

Mrs. Park is not far behind your mother as she twists to address Sunghoon one last time, "Honey, please be-"

"Be nice, I know." He finishes in a sort of annoyed tone. Though after that, being nice is the last thing she would need to worry about.

With more reassurance, the two women give each other a passing glance, and soon after another round of goodbyes, the door closes shut.

Leaving you trapped here with your absolute nightmare.

With a deep groan, you stagnantly turn towards Sunghoon just as he’s twisting his body to reluctantly face you. Peering up through your eyelashes, you make absolutely sure he feels the unwelcomed signals radiating off of you as you go to speak.

"Stay the fuck away from me."

His eyes roll nearly out of their sockets as he starts to slip off his coat, "What happened to being kind to your guests?"

He mocks the words that were handed to you, and your eyes narrow while watching him hang the jacket on a nearby rack.

You notice his shirt of choice- now on display -is a tight black T-Shirt, curving and outlining all of the spots you hate the most about him. God, you think you just got even more annoyed.

Turning your nose upwards, you start to inch closer towards the staircase, "I couldn't care less about that, if I'm being completely honest." You do a full twirl so all Sunghoon can see is your back, "Here’s what you can do: either entertain yourself in the living room or get the fuck out. Choose whatever you want as long as it doesn’t involve me.”

He goes tight-lipped. You are just the epitome of an ungrateful little brat, holy fuck. Sunghoon shoots his vision away with a brief head shake. Despite his growing emotions, he knows it will be better to not engage. He really didn’t feel like fighting with you right now. Like how you both always manage to do.

Clearing his throat, Sunghoon begins to walk slowly towards the couch, his upper muscles flexing with every step, "Whatever. I'm not dealing with you tonight."

That makes you halt in your tracks. Dealing with you? What? Like you're some untrained puppy?

"No, I'm not dealing with you tonight,” you sneer back then scoff, retreating upstairs once again, “Just fucking stay down here and we won’t have any more problems.”

His back hits the couch cushion with a flop as he starts to call out to you, “Right. It’s not like the problem isn't taking itself upstairs at the moment!"

Oh, that touched a nerve. So much so that you find yourself shouting from the second story, having made it up there a few seconds prior, “You should’ve just stayed at your own fucking house!”

"Do you ever stop fucking talking?” He raises his voice back at you; maybe not quite to the extent of your screaming, but nonetheless you could hear him from upstairs.

Upon entering your room, you slam the door shut with all your might. You swear you even felt the floor shake from the force. Pissed doesn’t even begin to describe your emotions currently. You’re at a whole new level.

You're fuming. Chest huffing, fists clenched, ooh- you've never met someone who irked as badly as fucking Park Sunghoon had.

Why? Why? Why did he have to be in your home right now? Why did your mother think this was a good idea? And why did he have to look so nice with his stupid shirt and black joggers?

You begin to pace around your room.

He's messing with you, clouding your head with complex thoughts. If there's one thing you loathed most about the boy downstairs it's his ability to turn your brain to mush.

It's like all thoughts and rationality fly out of the window, and instead is replaced with....just nothing. Nothing but anger, resentment, and a tiny bit of something else however you're willing to suppress that for the time being.

You bring a thumb up to stroke your lip. Mind racing, your brain starts to piece together what you should do to alleviate this stress. You're going crazy, you recognized that, and you’re certain a distraction is needed for you to get your thoughts cleared.

As you think back to all that has you feeling so jumbled, a sudden surge runs throughout your core. No. You know what your body is attempting to do. And it’s not going to work. Even as another hits you and makes your thighs clench unwillingly, you hold on to your determination.

You can’t do it, you tell yourself. Especially when Sunghoon’s downstairs. It’s ridiculous. Unfathomable. There is no way you would…..

Moments later, you find yourself completely and utterly naked in your bed, deciding the best way to calm down is by having a….release. Your pulses started became too unbearable to ignore, leaving you with only one option. This option.

Is it the most convenient method of stress relieving? Well, probably not. But, truly, in times where you’re free to strip bare and dish out a quickie, you always find it leaves your mind feeling blissful.

And you desperately need that right now, because in all honesty, you aren’t sure what the hell you’re feeling right now due to Sunghoon.

As your brain is beginning to wonder, you absentmindedly brush the backs of your fingers against your lower stomach. Park Sunghoon. The name is like poison in your head, and you can’t find the damn cure for some reason.

Your hand drops a little lower. Thinking back on your most recent argument, you remember the eye contact you two held, before forcing yourself to break free from his gaze. You tilt your head, the memory becoming even more clear. That damn gaze.

…..if only he could use it from a different angle.

A sharp exhale flies out of your mouth as you realize you’ve made contact with your clit. You’re lighting swarming around the area while it continues to throb enticingly. A different angle? Like….one where he’s in between your legs, staring at you with those stupid fucking know-it-all eyes.

Your body responds well to that imagination, your hips slightly bucking into your hand to garner some friction. Would you two be on the bed? No, you think you like the idea of getting him on his damn knees and making him eat you out nice and slowly while on floor…a whole lot better.

He’d tried to take control, you already know his arrogant ass would. Yet, in reality, you will be the one calling the shots. If he starts to suck a little too much for your likings, one hair tug and he’ll slow down. Cause he’ll listen to you, you’ll make sure of it.

A small smile cracks out onto your face, focusing deeply on your sprouting pleasure. Yeah, you like the Park Sunghoon in your imagination a lot better than the one real life. Your fingers are now circling the bud, producing ripples of sensation that keeps your movements and thoughts going.

He’ll keep his attention fixed on you the whole time he’s devouring you, you assume. Because if there’s one thing about Sunghoon, he’ll love to see you come undone at the cause of him. Would love to see that sexy ass face you make right before you orgasm.

And the way your thighs will squeeze around his cheeks so perfectly, oh fuck him. He’d get so fucking horny from just tasting your sweet, sweet pussy.

Shutting your eyes, your vision explodes with images of your lewd thoughts, playing out your ideal fantasy. You can hear yourself start to whimper while your pelvis becomes more sporadic in the way it chases the coming feeling.

At the minute you tell him you’re close, he’d latch onto your clit, no plan on stopping. Scratch that, he probably couldn’t stop himself from finishing you out. You’ve been treating him so well up until this point. Letting him cum inside you, in your mouth; the least he could do is give you a head-splitting orgasm.

You rub your soaking cunt all over the palm of your hand, desperation coursing through your veins. Imagine annoying little Sunghoon, who’s only wish is for you to cum. To cum all over his face, down his own throat. He’s on his knees below you because he wants the full effect of seeing how much you’re letting yourself go from his tongue.

Then, with one long sucking motion, you’d fall apart. With your orgasm hitting you dead on your clit, you’d start to quiver on top of him while screaming out, ‘So fucking good, So fucking good. Fuck, you’re making me cum.’

Your hand speeds up to have you cumming alongside your scenario, your own real orgasm washing over you deliciously. It leaves your body stuttering and eyes rolling back into your head as you continue to work at your pussy during the duration. And all you could think about was how much you fucking hated stupid Park Sunghoon.

Once your high comes down, you firstly lay in your bed to recover. That had to have been one of your best and strongest impromptu session. Fuck, did you enjoy every part of it.

True to nature, as well, your mind is so foggy from the haze that you can’t even recall your earlier fury, which is now replaced with a more simple feeling: lust. You bask in the warmness that’s spreading and also give your cunt a chance to get desensitized, before swinging your legs off of the bed and walking over to your dresser.

It was starting to get hot with your thick layers on anyways, which is why you opt for thinner clothes. You pull out a pair of cotton shorts that stop upper thigh on you, and then a cropped T-shirt for simple comfort.

Needing to wash your hands quickly, you swiftly run into the connected bathroom to your room, lather your hands in soap and soon you’re rinsing yourself off. When finished with that, you smile contently as you walk back to your bedroom and flop down stomach first onto the mattress.

You really did feel better. Your anger has subsided by now, the orgasm keeps your mind still a bit dizzy, there were no complaints to be had. Now, you planned on spending the rest of your evening locked up in here so you can continue feeling as such. Boom, simple as that.

A loud buzz from your phone on the nightstand has you scrambling to reach it, that giddy feeling not once leaving. Though, once you flip it over to reveal a text from your mother, you feel your smile drop immediately.

8:09 PM

Mom:

Hey sweetie, just wanted to do a quick check-in on the two of you. I hope everything's going okay.

You begin to type out a borderline aggressive message back, something along the lines of how everything was not going okay, but another message swooshes in before you could even finish your own.

After doing some rethinking, you don’t need to ask Sunghoonie for help anymore. It wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position without asking you first. You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, and if you think you’ll be okay without asking him for help, then you can decide that. I’m sorry for making you feel as if you never had a choice.

You stop your rant midway, and look closer at the message. Oh. Oh. Oh….

“Mom…” With a frown, you watch as yet another message flies across your screen, and you find that you’re a bit more accepting of this one.

8:14 PM

Mom:

But, I do want to make sure that you are trying with Sunghoon. I understand as of right now, it may be difficult to do so, you two are apparently quite hostile. However, I’m asking if you can extend the white flag, at least for tonight. Make sure he’s not hungry, maybe you two can put on a movie downstairs. Just try and be cordial, that’s my only request. Can you do that?

Stomach churning, you begin to gnaw on your bottom lip right now, those complex emotions rising up again. Dammit. You seriously thought nothing more would come out of this situation tonight. You thought once you had your….release, you would be able to relax freely without any stressors.

But then you reread her latest text, and guilt surfaces in your heart. Maybe…you haven’t been putting in as much effort as you could have; you did just leave the boy downstairs to fend for himself. Is it possible for you to set your very, very strong feelings and just…suck it up for the sake of your mother?

You were accepting of this feat earlier.

A quick scroll up has you revisiting the first large paragraph she sent you, the one that acknowledges your feelings. Your mother is trying right now, and you register that it would be unfair of you to not try as well.

8:20 PM

Y/N:

okay mom, i can do that for you.

You're downstairs before you know it. After many, many, many mental preparations, you now feel ready to be within the same space as the devi- Park Sunghoon.

Approaching your living room, the pale yellow lighting illuminates Sunghoon's backside, giving you a clear view of him. With one defined arm stretched out on top of the cushion, Sunghoon seems entranced with the movie playing on T.V, not appearing to have noticed your presence.

You shuffle your feet against the floor until you slow to a halt. In the span of your waiting, not once does he turn around. The movie must be drowning out your existence. Pivoting, you opt to round out the couch and stand in the middle for visibility. Sunghoon keeps his eyes trained forward. Surely, he feels your presence now, even if he may not be acknowledge it.

Sticking your hip, you gently clear your throat, "Ahem."

He throws a cruel glare over his shoulder before reverting back to his previous position, no comment to be left from him. You're standing still, okay then...

You dart your eyes away to view something else, then sweep them back over to his body, “Are you…hungry?”

A look of bewilderment dawns on his face as he shoots you a perplexed look, “Why are you asking me that? Wouldn’t you rather have me starve?”

“I-” you try to rebuttal his claim, but incriminatingly you start to avoid eye contact with him, “No. Not necessarily…”

Yeah-fucking-right. He highly doubts that's true. Instead of replying, Sunghoon turns back towards the television. Silence remains. You follow his eyesight to watch a couple of seconds of the movie. Well, so much for trying.

You continue to stand awkwardly, wrapping your arms around your torso and rocking yourself back and forth slightly. Just try. Just try. Just. Try.

"Park Sunghoon." You mumble out and he snaps his attention towards you. If not for your eyes lurching up to look at the ceiling, then maybe you would have noticed the surprise once over he does to your outfit.

“What?”

You look down again, and try to shake the embarrassment that’s clawing at you. Just try, “C-Can I watch this with you?” Holy fuck that felt harder to say.

Sunghoon squints his eyes as he tries really hard to figure out what the hell is your deal. Merely an hour ago, the two of you were having a screaming match, and now you’re fidgeting and asking to be in the same room as him….willingly?

He doesn’t buy that for a second.

He drags his pupils up and down your frame, his greedy eyes wanting to drink in more of it, but at the realization of what he was doing, he forces himself to look away. Willingly? Yeah, no. He figures your mother would be the cause for this. Only reason he says this: his own mom sent a text not too long ago telling him to try harder with you. And…it appears you are at least doing something.

With a rough sigh, Sunghoon decides to not say anything else, but rather signals you to sit down with a single quick head tilt. Your face grimaces at his cave-man like gesture, and although you went slowly about it, you do as he says and take a seat.

You snuggle deeper into the couch cushion, and allow your body to relax. You’re so used to being on guard whenever around Sunghoon, it feels almost natural to stiffen up. Letting yourself relinquish this tension built up in your muscles, you find it easier to keep your cool.

Dropping your arms to your side, you start to focus harder on the movie and less on the boy sitting next to you. Does it slightly freak you out that his fingertips are only centimeters away from your shoulder? Yes. But for the most part, you can sense this is….tolerable. As if for once, you don’t feel like biting Park Sunghoon’s head off.

Minutes turn into over an hour this movie has been on, and both you and Sunghoon have managed to not get into a single argument. You aren’t sure when the last instance of this was. Elementary, maybe? Regardless, you’re at ease.

Your arm is propping your head up as you watch the characters on screen. The movie, though you never asked for its name, was some romantic comedy. You picked up on this fact a few minutes into watching it. And, wow, were they intense on the romance.

You couldn’t even count the amount of make-outs that has happened since you’ve been watching. You almost want to say 8 so far- oh, make it 9 now.

The lead characters are on their 9th kissing scene, stumbling around and fondling one another in the bathroom at some house party. You watch closely, part of your brain now heightened. The male actor is kissing the female until her ass touches the sink, and then he’s hoisting her up so she can sit on the counter.

Your face contorts unpleasantly. The scene further plays out to where the girl is begging the man for sex, desperate to have him inside of her, and you feel your mouth go dry.

This is beginning to hit a little too close to home for your likings, with a dusted memory you swore to bury attempting to resurface. You push the thoughts aways. Not now.

Trying to ignore the random squeeze your legs do, you tell yourself to ignore the familiarities and simply focus on the movie. However, at the moment the man grips the the women’s throat and she moans intensely, you nearly freeze. Yeah, you can’t watch this anymore.

With an airy voice, you keep your eyes fixed on the T.V to seem passive, “Change it to something else.”

“What?” Sunghoon doesn’t glance over to you, also keeping his gaze forward, “Why?”

You scoff lightly. Why can’t he just listen to you? What’s with the interrogation? “You always ask so many questions. Just change it.”

To that he responds with nothing. You’re not giving him a proper response, so why should he listen to you? He remains engrossed in the movie.

When a few notable beats pass, you crane your neck over to his direction with a scrunched faced, “Yah. Did you hear me? I said put on something else.”

He briskly whips his head to meet your eyes, his dark eyes boring harshly, “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not changing it.”

Fed up with him, you reach over to grab the remote when he obtains it first. You glare menacingly at Sunghoon, while he mocks your expression, then holds the remote high above, taunting you. His slender fingers harboring it only fuels your anger, which grows hotter by the second.

“Don’t piss me off.” You warn with undertones of a threat, as you climb over him to reach for the device. He extends it further away from your grasp.

“Or what?”

Bobbing the remote over your head, he just knew you were going to lose your cool at some point. That’s what all whiny brats do when they never get their way; they throw tantrums.

“Just fucking put on something else!” You scream, fighting him for the remote.

You don’t care if you can feel your shorts start to ride up into your butt, or if your boobs are being shoved up against Sunghoon’s body. You don’t care that you’re basically on top of him, trying to win this remote, because all rationality has exited your head.

You ask him to do one simple thing, and he fucking couldn’t. Then, he wants to tease you and make fun of you? You tried, you think back to your mother’s message, and in your mind the exchange begins to burn. You really fucking tried, but this…arrogant bastard just always makes it so damn hard.

He shakes the little strands of hair away from his face as he narrows his eyes brutally towards your squirmy body, “What the fuck is your deal? You’re telling me your whore ass can’t handle one god damn sex scene?”

This time you don’t say anything back to him, instead your intention remains on getting the fucking remote. He takes your lack of response as an opportunity to dig further at you.

“Really? You’re going to act like that?” He spews out more comments while continuously keeping the control from getting in your reach, “I find it hard to believe you’re freaking out-”

“Damn brat. You’ve been needing this fucking for a long time, haven’t you?”

At the line of dialogue, Sunghoon shifts his attention towards the scene being played out, one of which the girl is now bent over the sink with the man pounding roughly into her backside. And with the combination of the man’s words and the stimulating scene, his eyes widen as he finally realizes what the core problem is.

A wave of deja vu hits him. A few months ago, he had you in a damn near similar position to that on the TV, even saying similar phrasing. The two of you had been drunk off of your minds, resulting in the memory being blocked from his head.

“What the fuck?” He mumbles, letting his guard down, giving you the chance to swoop upwards and snatch the remote away. All scattered-brain, you press the power button and watch as the TV powered down.

“See.” You grit through your teeth, throwing the remote down in the meantime, “I told you. I told your dumbass to fucking change it. But, no. You didn’t want to listen to me.”

His own chest starts to burn with aggression at your words, and he looks over to you angrily, “Will you just shut the fuck up? My god, you’re so annoying.”

“What? Mad because I was right?” You fake a pouty voice, your eyes going all doey while regarding him before swiftly fixing your face, “I never want to think about that night, and here you go, basically parading it in my face. And based off of your reaction, I can tell you hate thinking about it too.”

Sunghoon sits up from off of the couch, and brings his forearms to rest against his knees. That night was full of mistakes. Jake inviting him to that dumb ass party, Heeseung feeding him back to back shots of some sort of alcohol. The kind of of alcohol that forces you to act on thoughts that otherwise would've been suppressed.

The memories all rush back to him. The moment he saw you at the party, laughing and dancing around in that tiny fucking dress. It was like right then and there, his views on you changed. Instead of dismissing your presence, he found himself drawn to it. Instead of ignoring the silhouette of your body, he allowed himself to watch every single part of you.

When throwing all caution to the wind and deciding to walk up to you, he remembers you being equally as wasted as himself. That hadn’t stopped you from throwing an immediate snarl at his approach, however. Although the interaction started with you two bickering, as always- the evening had ended so much differently.

He remembers it all. Moving from the main room to the bathroom, still jabbing insults at each other. How from one second to the next, your dress was now hiked up above your hips. The touching, the teasing, how hard the two of you came. The whole scene plays out in his head, and for some reason, Sunghoon can’t stop it.

You snide in another comment which breaks his thoughts, “Yeah, I guess I’d be mad too if I were you. You basically threw yourself at me and begged to fuck me. It’s pathetic how desperate you were.”

Now, you’re really heated. You rise to your feet in seconds and march over to stand above him, feeling reminiscent of your previous imagination. At the noticeable imbalance, the same satisfaction from earlier mixes with your current anger.

It spreads across your chest as you lour down at him, watching him bring a hand over his mouth, “For a change, you don’t have anything to say, is that why you’re silent? Did I finally get you to shut up?”

At the quietness that lingers in the air, you press further to elicit a greater reaction. Bursting out more and more taunts, you knew this is where you found enjoyment, watching him spiral and be confused by his own thoughts. You’re proud to make him feel just as perplexed as you were the whole night.

You’re ready to throw another insult his way when his tall body shoots up into the air, looming over you. His eyes are rage-filled, you can see that, and reactively you backpeddle just as he rushes closer to you.

“Y/N, I swear to fucking god. You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

For a brief second, your hard exterior falters. His warning is low- almost growl like. It intimidated you initially, but then swiftly you regain composure and stand your ground, “You make me lose my mind all the time. So what? You’re not special.”

You audibly hear his breathing, and it begins to sync up with your own heavy pants. Both of you are pissed, that much is clear. It’s just about who is going to crumble first. And surely, it won’t be you.

He’s got a crazy look to his eyes, “I’m telling you right now. Shut. Up.”

You knew better than to challenge him. You knew you should walk away and storm upstairs. Exit the situation before matters get even worse. Quite literally anything else should be done, than the actions you decide to take.

You close the distance between you both, smiling the whole time as he brings his head in to regard you. At the recognition of that sick, sick smile you’re showcasing, he too knew it would be over.

Your voice starts off quiet, whispering out a, “What will happen if I don’t?” before absolutely losing it in his face, “Just face it, Sunghoon. You're not the perfect person you portray yourself to be after all. I mean, fucking the person you hate most at a party? Even that's a new low for you."

You hover below his face, stretching your body tall until your noses are almost touching, "I'm tired of you pretending to be higher than everyone else. Always treating people like they’re twenty feet below you. You’re vile and I think it's time you realized.....maybe you're the fucking problem. Hmm? Did you not think of-?"

Sunghoon doesn't know what came over him. One second, you're throwing words after words at him, and next thing he knows, he's pushing you up against the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

His veiny hands are curled around your neck, and your mouth hangs from shock at the sudden movement while he holds you firmly in your place. The pressure he's applied is not enough to significantly hurt you, he made sure it didn't, but was definitely enough to finally get you to stop talking.

You gasp lightly and your head feels faint.

"Do you…remember how that night started?" His tone is dark with his focus solely on you. You try bringing your hands up to pry him off of you, but he doesn't budge, instead going to answer his own question, "Because if memory serves me right, you were the one who was desperate. Desperate for this.”

This referring to the minor squeeze his hand does around your throat. He continues, "You were the one who kept testing me. Wanted to see what would happen if you made me angry enough." The gap between you two closes when he draws himself inwards, making sure you heard this next part clearly, "Someone needed to shut that bratty ass mouth of yours up then," He drops his gaze to briskly look at your lips then jeers, "And right now."

While you're left to wear a poor, helpless expression, Sunghoon couldn't help but eye you curiously. It should be laughable the new state you're in. So completely different from your previous attitudes.

Using his hand to guide you, he roughly brings your head forward, so his mouth can brush the outer shell of your ear, "You really pissed me off, Y/N."

You get shoved back against the wall with a wince. "And... maybe that was your end goal with all of these arguments. You wanted to get me to this point." At the recognition of his own words, the wheels begin to turn in his brain. His eyebrows dart upward and a devilish smile tugs at his lips, "And to that, you're going to regret saying even one word tonight. I'll make sure of it."

Before you can react, Sunghoon crawls his hand up until it rests below your chin. As his thumb releases from your skin, and slowly works his way up to your lips, you think he'll be gentle in the way he's getting ready to touch you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The moment his thumb comes in contact with your mouth, it's being shoved into your wet hole. You gag on the digit as he begins ordering you to suck, "Just needa fuck the bratiness out of you, then. Remind you of how much of a fucking slut you were for me that night."

He instructs you to go harder, and faster, and leisurely, you do so. Tingles start to form all around him, "Yeah. I'll do that. I'll just have to fuck you dumb myself, starting with your loud mouth."

You squeeze your eyes shut at the motion, coughing hard against his skin as his fingers move to tangle within your hair. Sunghoon always knew how catty you can be, this fact evident from what happened that night at the party.

However, what's also true, is that you do it for your own guilty pleasure. You purposely bring this upon yourself.

He yanks his thumb away and in return, you're inhaling harshly for air, "-what the fuck?"

Sunghoon dismisses your worries. Without warning, he has you falling to the ground with one swift push, his own desires now starting to throb inside his sweats, "Go on. Pull down my pants, brat."

He murmurs those words with a tilted face. In contrast, you look up at him as fear and lust begin to cloud your vision. Even with the menacing face he sports, you know you're not one to fully give-in. Especially when it comes to Park Sunghoon.

You aren't sure what it is about the defiance, but it makes you crazy, "Like hell-"

The grip in your hair tightens and your mouth drops from the pain. He regards your expression, "Really? Do you think you're in a position to object me right now?"

Lips parted, you shudder out a sigh while staring at Sunghoon's deep gaze. The stance he has you in makes your stomach erupt into butterflies.

"Pull my pants down." He repeats once again and after a pause, you eventually do so. With a tremble, you begin to bring both hands up and fondle the waistband, struggling to remove the barricade.

A tiny smile breaks out onto the boy's face. It's amusing how you pretend as if this wasn't the end prize. He watches you react disgustingly to his finally freed cock that springs forward, and it takes all of his power to not ram it into your ungrateful little mouth.

"What are you looking like that for? Aren't you a whore for my cock, Y/N?" He derides and thrusts himself towards your face. You try to create distance, but the hand in your hair keeps you in place, "Let’s go. Stop acting like that and take out your fucking tongue."

You hate yourself for listening to him.

With a small shiver, you unhurriedly extend your tongue from your mouth, and immediately he slaps his dick onto your muscle. He's had a great amount of pre-cum built up for some time now, starting from the minute you came down in that skimpy ass outfit. So, as soon as his dick hits your tongue, your taste buds are drowning in the liquid.

He's gasping lightly from the immediate sensation. He rubs his head all over your surface, then gradually does he start to slip himself in and out of your mouth. Your eyes go nearly white from trying to take his full length, but that’s something that only makes Sunghoon hornier.

You’re gargling around his skin as he proceeds to go faster, his base smacking against your chin every so often. Spit and his thick liquid mix to form a froth that starts to spill from the corners of your mouth, and Sunghoon groans lowly at how filthy you look.

“Oh…fuck.” It feels too good, the rocking of his hips speeding up. He’s enjoying the aggressive way he bucks himself harder and harder inside of your throat. And even as you’re thrashing beneath him, straining to get air, he finds that he didn’t want to stop. It just turns him so damn much to see you take his fat cock.

He throws his head back, “Keep it open for me. Fuck- just keep that nasty mouth open.”

You’re sick. Sick towards him for using you in such a degrading way, for letting him nearly cut off the circulation to your head. Right now, you’re nothing more than a fuck toy for him, and he doesn’t even seem to care. Not when he has you as the perfect fucking stimulant.

Yet, you’re also sick at yourself. It’s embarrassing that you notice your pussy clenching around nothing the longer he keeps this up. The fact that you’ve become so dilated in your core that gravity has slick juices leaking from your entrance. All because of this asshole that’s abusing your mouth, you're becoming aroused like never before. It’s humiliating, really.

His movements begin to stutter with a vibration to his eyelids. Oh, fuck. He can feel his cum wanting to shoot out. Sunghoon continues to push your head into him as he internally debates at what the outcome should be. There’s still so much he’s wanting to do to you, to prove.

When you can’t take the torture anymore, you’re soon hitting his leg to get him the hell away from you. Your reaction makes him realize how intrusive he’s starting to be, but he's so swirled with the immaculate pleasure that he almost didn’t let go. Before he knows it, he’ll be cumming down your throat at any moment.

Ripping himself from your suction, Sunghoon relinquishes you two from the torture. Ragged breathing emits from you as hungrily you take in the surrounding air. He, on the other, holds quieter breaths. A part of him is surprised that he was even willing to let himself finish so quickly. You were going to make him finish quickly.

With a few additional huffs, and after a moment of silence falls into the atmosphere, he’s ready to address you. Because he’s not done with you just yet.

“Yah,” There’s a gasp to his tone while you glare up begrudgingly, “You finally changed that attitude of yours?”

With your chest heaving up and down, you continue to stare angrily. Sunghoon cocks his head to the side while he awaits for your reply, though judging by the look you sport, he doesn’t think it’ll be the answer he wants.

“Eat a fucking dick.” With a hoarse throat, you spit the phrase at him.

And. Snap.

Before you know it, Sunghoon is grabbing you by the hair and yanking you over to the couch with a stumble. He tosses your body face first into the cushion and you land with a soft groan.

“Just can’t stop, can you?” He sees your ass recoiling from the previous motion and he swears it makes him go feral, "I'll just have to keep reminding you then."

In a flash, when you tried to push yourself up, he strikes a hand down to your cheeks. Your flesh jiggles with the audible slap and you're falling back down with a much louder moan.

“Did you like that?” Feigning stupidity, Sunghoon uses one arm to grab at your tiny shirt from the back, flipping you around till you laid chest-up sprawled out on the couch, "Do you want another?"

Eyes glossy with anger, you can’t help but whimper as he lands a harsh smack to your clothed cunt. He repeats the motion in a harder manner once again, and this time you’re fighting back. You wriggle to close yourself off from him, but he’s fighting to keep your legs open. He's clasping your clit.

Your arms move in for attack, though he’s able to immobilize your hands by taking them with one grasp and holding them above your head. You’re stuck now.

You squirm around, “I hate you.”

"Really?" unfazed by your words, Sunghoon simply gives your wet core a hearty squeeze, “Well, I’m feeling that might not be true.”

Staring smugly, he keeps his eyes locked on your frantic gaze as he sweeps your shorts to the side. Wetness coats the tips of fingers in an instant and he hasn’t even fully touched you. Fucking hell.

“Right. You hate so much.” Sarcasm oozes from his lips with every stroke his fingers give your pussy, and you’re left to do nothing but wiggle. He towers over your contorted body, loving how quickly he was able to put you down.

His fingers circle your lips teasingly before moving into your dripping entrance. He doesn’t waste another second in shoving his digits in and out of your hole, eyeing the way you struggle to keep a straight face.

“S-So fucking annoying.” You stutter out, trying your absolute hardest to not slip and give him any further satisfaction of knowing he got to you.

Sunghoon takes this as a challenge. Leaning in closer, he changes the angle his fingers hit inside your squelching walls. His fingers gradually increase in pace until you're seeing stars. He continues to ram his digits inside of your pussy as they grow wetter and wetter. He keeps this up. And soon, your face morphs from that of resilience to a more natural state, your eyes lowering.

Oh, god. Your body’s succumbing to him. It’s taking the pleasure produced by him and using it against you, dammnit it. What becomes worse is how your body begins to rock alongside his fingers, chasing the high that’s ever growing in your system.

You howl, “Fuck!”

His fingers feel like they’re hitting your g-spot and now you’re a mess. Thrashing and twisting below him while he finger fucks your way to an orgasm. Your toes curl in the feelings that’s wafting over you. You’re losing control.

“God, I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.” You grit out through clenched teeth, eyes now tightly shut as you concentrate on his wicked pounding, “Can’t stand you. I-”

“Yeah? Yeah?” His questions are disingenuous. He wants you to keep going. Keep digging yourself a grave.

“Piss me of so- ah! Fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop.” The words topple from your lips without a thought. Your hips rut harshly into his fingers, so greedily, so close to basically squirting. By any second you’re going to….you’re going to-

Your body goes cold the minute Sunghoon snatches his fingers from you, abstaining you from the arousal you'd been subjected to. Screeching, you bellow out a desperate cry from how empty you feel.

He bores a look of apathy, indifferent to your flailing, "What? Did you think I would actually let you cum? After your shitty attitude all night?"

Reaching down, he adjusts your rigid body into a more elongated position, then he's straddling you, "I just needed to get you ready. Cause now I want to destroy you."

You want to slap him, your face growing hotter by the second. This night, you've spent it feeling nothing but rage and lividness because of the boy on top of you.

But then he's working to uncover your breasts, playing and squishing them with both palms, and momentarily your facade begins to fade.

He's hunched over in the way he's needlessly gunning for your neck, biting and marking every spot he could. You squeal from the pain, and that only pushes him further.

He circles around the same throat he held previously to leave splotches of red staining your skin. It's in this moment of daze, his rapture begins to enthrall him, causing his cock to throb and throb until it's hurting.

Sunghoon works his way up, passing by your chin until he's aggressively making out with you. All of the pent up tension and conflicts feels as if they're being spilled out within the rough kiss, and you wrap an arm around him and mewl needily into his breath.

You still hate him, even if his annoyingly perfect lips mold deliciously into yours. You still hate him, even as he expertly touches and grabs at your tits, providing more stimulation to your already horny self.

But even you can't deny the desperate longing your body seeks as his thick, hard skin prods at the entrance of your shorts right now. And he can't wait anymore.

"Mmm, ready for me?" He mumbles against your mouth, though he didn't necessarily care for a response. Because even if you were to protest, he knew it would just be another ploy at deflection.

He's back to kissing you. The aggression that's brought along with it could be mistaken for passion and it makes you weak. Right before he darts the fabric off to the side and ready to take you whole, you pull back slightly, wanting to say one more thing.

"I h-hate you so much," you whine and he could only laugh. You truly never know when to shut up.

"You've told me that a couple of times." Muttering back, he recaptures your mouth and without wasting another second his cock finally plunges into your deep pussy.

Your walls immediately grip him, and the two of you groan simultaneously into each other. He did a good job at prepping you; you're beautifully slick and warm, just the way he likes it.

His cock starts to thrust rhythmically, relieving the ache you both were so full of. You can't help the string of grunts that fall from your lips, all chopped from each hit he gives your pussy.

"S-Shit." Sunghoon detaches his mouth from yours to completely bask in the arousal that's coursing throughout him. It brings him back to that night.

The night where you bent your sexy ass over for him, and watched yourself in the mirror as he smashed into your backside. He was on Cloud 9 then, but now coherent and in the right head space, it's like the pleasure has doubled.

You, meanwhile, are having an internal battle with yourself. Holy shit. It feels so fucking good when he's pounding inside of you. You swear you're gonna cum at any point. But, there's still this sense of revulsion that bubbles in the pit of your stomach- because of the fact that you're allowing Park Sunghoon to fuck you so roughly.

"H-Hope you know- mmrgh! This is a-all your fault." You stammer out, eyes shutting forcefully on themselves, "You always c-cause problems. You're in the- you're in the-"

A hand comes down over your lips and shuts you up, your face relaxing into a state of bliss. You aren't sure why you always jumble out nonsense when in moments of euphoria. It's just as if....he's...

"I said I would fuck you dumb," Sunghoon sighs as his back lurches over to grind into your cunt at a different angle, "Guess I actually did."

Your response is muffled and buzzes into his skin. There are no intentions of uncovering himself, either. No way will he let this indescribable sensation be override by your loud ass, bratty ass mouth.

His hips continue to drive harshly into your liquified cunt, squelching and dripping the more he fucks himself into you. He only gets faster while you begin to grow limp. Your own pleasure starts to consume you until you don't have the willpower to move.

Sunghoon feels his cock start to twitch, "About to cum," he moans near your ear, "Can feel myself about to cum inside your dirty pussy. Are you close too?"

You shriek into his hand a multitude of yes's as you feel yourself so close to snapping. It's only a matter of time before you're losing control all at the hands of your actual worst nightmare.

He weighs his options, "Mmm....but should I? Do you deserve to orgasm with me?"

You'd despise not only him but yourself if you didn't. You're too far gone. The pleasure is catching up to you closer and closer, the more he buries himself damn near into your cervix. Waves after waves of ecstasy release into your core and you almost want to cry from how amazing it feels. So there's no fucking way you're going to miss this.

You never thought you would do this, but it's only a matter of time.

What sounds like your yes's transforming into pleads, Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows, going to remove your hand. Are you....?

The moment your mouth is free you yell out a whimper, "Please. Please. 'm so close, Sunghoon. Sunghoon, please. I can't, I can't. I need this so bad."

Oh, fuck.

He'd never thought he'd see the day. He's never heard you beg before. The way his name sounds so good when you're pleading, how it squeals out from your lips. It makes his cock twitch once again and he's clenching his ass cheeks to stop him from popping a load right into you.

"You really want to?" He speaks quietly and more to himself, before deciding to give you what you want. Even brats can be rewarded.

He's pushing himself up and is now hovering over your face, his pelvis driving brutally into your core, "Okay. Okay, just let go. Cum for me."

You're so grateful you could kiss him. You let the slaps his skin produce fill you ears as you give yourself some slack for even letting this happen. You were about to cum because of Park Sunghoon, and there was nothing you wanted to do to stop it.

Sunghoon can't help but stare at your wavering face. Going from tight tension to relaxing and belting out a moan, your expressions keeps his eyes trained on you.

"Here, here. Faster, need you to cum right now." And almost like a present for you, Sunghoon brings a hand down to start massaging your clit, getting you to the very last point you needed to before exploding.

When his fingers circle rapidly against your nerves, combined with his pounding that has you babbling out nothing, your orgasm hits you so hard, starting from your pussy and running up into your head, making you dizzy. The moment causes you to starting quavering sporadically and mewing out, 'I'm cumming!'

That was what Sunghoon needed. Your orgasm causes your insides to start squeezing, pulsating around his cock so perfectly. At the third time he feels his cock beginning to twitch, he grants himself permission to let go. Next thing he knows, he's shooting out viscous ropes of cum into your velvety cunt, groaning about how perfect of a brat you are for him.

'Finally fucking listened'

'My perfect brat'

'God, you're amazing'

All is being said as you two finish out your orgasms. As he stutters above you, and you're quaking below him, you both seem to have finally found peace within being close to one another.

Which brings to an end this dirty, filthy night.

✧ ✧

✧

* ✧

✧

- Bonus -

Your mother and Mrs. Park hadn't intended on being back at the house past midnight. But, how were they supposed to know the company gathering would be such a blast!

The event had the women interacting, mingling, dancing, singing with every single one of their coworkers until around 11:30 PM! And that was only because the event was over around then, they surely still had some more juice in their system.

By the time the two arrived back at your house, they'd been laughing hysterically to one another, unbeknownst to the absolute chaos that had ensued just hours earlier.

Your mother unlocks the door with her keys, and as they swing it open, they're met with a surprising scene in front of them.

Sunghoon, all wide awake, and sitting on the couch by his lonesome. The T.V is there to keep him entertained, but other than that, there were no signs that you were around. As Mrs. Park goes to greet her son, your mother stares at the boy with worried eyes.

"Oh, Sunghoon. Were you down here by yourself this whole time? Did Y/N not come down?" She walks up to him, though is quickly mollified when he's giving her a small smile.

"No, she did. We watched a film together, though half-way through it, she started to doze off. I had to carry her upstairs; she was so out of it." He nods softly at the end of his sentence and your mother reciprocates his delicate response.

It warms her heart to hear that you tried.

"Oh, Hoonie! I told you things would work itself out if you would just be nicer to the poor girl. You know how timid she can be." His mother pats at his shoulder, "Come on. Grab your shoes and I'll take us home."

"I'm happy you guys were able to have a nice night together." Your mother beams while walking alongside Sunghoon towards the front door, "Are you two okay now? Should I be expecting you back here more often?"

Sunghoon regards your mother, his own brain thinking at how to properly respond to that. It's not until he's slipped his shoes and coat on, and holding the door open for Mrs.Park to exit, before giving a proper answer.

"Yes, Miss, I believe we're just fine now.”

At the last second of his departure, his eyes catch sight of movement on the staircase. Having awoken from your slumber, you heard voices from downstairs and decided to investigate. Creeping around the top stairs, all you were met with was Sunghoon talking to your mother with one foot out the door.

You attempt to remain hidden behind the wall, waiting for him to leave. But, soon, you find his gaze moving slowly until it lands onto your face. He holds eye contact with you one last time, your stomach in knots from how compelling his essence is.

“I'll try to come back here more often," He steps his other foot outside as a faint grin overtakes his cheeks.

"I’ll make sure of it.”

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ubeb0nes · 2 months ago

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Getting jealous as Sevika's girlfriend…

༇༇༇

Look, we all know this lady gets around. Brothel or not, she's big and she's strong and she looks good. She's gonna be pretty experienced no matter when you meet her and get with her.

But once you two are together? Oh baby, there's nobody more devoted. Even if she doesn't say how much she cares, Sevika always shows you what type of person she is. And loyal, she definitely is.

Go ahead and try to ask her- pettily, childishly- if you're not the only pretty thing warming her bed. She'll shoot you a withering look as she tells you with all the unshakeable affection in her big, guarded heart, "I haven't even looked at any other woman since we got together, you ass."

A love confession as good as any!

In truth, you know you don't have to worry about Sevi's eyes straying. You know it in your heart. But you know that still doesn't stop others from looking, or even talking to her.

And sometimes all the present conditions just make it far too easy for your most unfounded insecurities to seem all too real. The way she can be so careful, so guarded about showing you affection in public has been a sensitive issue between you two for a while.

I HC that she's not the type to have you perched on her lap while she plays cards with the guys or anything like that. She's too protective, too possessive herself. Why should anybody get to see you all pretty like that?

But perhaps more importantly, she doesn't want to treat you the same way she treated her more… casual partners. Whether that may be right or wrong, it's how she makes a point of how different you are from her past flames. You're not just some pretty thing to prop up (although you are her pretty thing). You're the woman she's chosen, and that chose her back.

Obviously, it doesn't always translate that way. Sometimes, it just makes her seem cold. Again, whether it's right or wrong.

Maybe you were feeling extra sensitive that night, maybe she was being extra detached, but it was probably the most opportune time for outside forces to make it worse.

You're sitting at the bar chatting with Ran to try and take your mind off things when you see, out of the corner of your eye, some bitch sliding up next to your woman with a whiskey tumbler in hand.

Sevika doesn't even look up as she takes the offered drink. Your brain honestly shuts off then, ignorant to the way when a hand slides over her shoulders and she finally looks at the woman, Sevika jerks away like she'd been burned.

It happens so quickly, and you were already feeling like shit that particular night that you don't even go to confront. Ran had been ready to wrangle you back from killing someone, so she's surprised when you just… leave. You storm out of the bar, not hearing the "shit, doll, no…" that Sevika mutters under her breath as she stands to follow you.

The glare she gives the girl could win awards. "You better hope she tells me not to kill you," she growls, jutting a finger in the girl's face before leaving.

The guys she plays cards with every week swivel on the girl once Sevika leaves, throwing their cards up and bemoaning the "goddamn homewrecker!"

You hear her call your name almost immediately after you're out the door. "Baby, stop, you know that was-"

"I know that was what?" Sevika stops in her tracks when you swivel on her. Her eyes are wide, taken aback by how firm your voice is.

…Where'd you been hiding that lower register?

"It was a mistake, I thought it was you-" "You didn't even bother to look!" "Yeah, 'cause I thought you were bringing me a drink like you always do!"

She doesn't push back against you too hard because she knows it's her mistake, dumb and unintentional as the harm may be. She lets you yell, picks out the deeper hurt from your words and the why.

And when you're done, and the tears start to well up, that's when she closes the distance. She wraps her human arm around your shoulders, hiding your vulnerability with a subtle shrug of her cape halfway over you.

"Listen to me, woman." She cups your face with her human hand, smirking slightly at the surprised laugh you let out.

"You're the only fuckin' thing I see. Okay? The only damn one. That won't happen again."

Sevika didn't ever apologize, not really. But she did make promises that she never broke.

"…So do you want her dead?"

"Nah. I can't even blame her, I'd homewreck too if I didn't already have you."

"Ha! Your call, doll."

#arcane #sevika #arcane sevika #sevika headcanon #sevika x reader #ubebones writing

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sttoru · 7 months ago

Note

Omg could we see reader getting jealous of Sukuna having sec with his other concubines? And maybe liek the other concubine rubs it in readers face?

𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (no comfort), suggestive \\ smut aspects. size difference. one tiny mention of reader being a crybaby. reader gets called ‘little one, brat’ \\ kuna’s an asshole! not proofread, excuse the grammar. no part 2. wc: 3.3k

you’ve been away from the estate for three days; three days too long for the king of curses. so much had happened while you were away to take some well deserved rest—a small vacation that sukuna had granted you because you needed it.

perhaps that was his first mistake. giving you permission to leave his side ended up being a bad decision. he hates that faint feeling in his chest, the feeling of missing something.

missing someone.

it couldn’t be. sukuna doesn’t have any weaknesses, and yet he can feel his body reacting to that unfamiliar emotion again. all because of you— that one human who always succeeds to occupy his mind.

he couldn’t let himself succumb to it—he’s not going to. sukuna is not going to let a mere human like you deter him from his superior identity that he’s had for decennia. he’s not going to let you have that power over him and his body.

and thus, when you return to the estate, you find yourself being laughed at. you were unpacking your luggage when two concubines stand at your doorway, hiding their evil smiles behind their handheld fans.

they don’t waste a single second and immediately rush to ruin your carefree mood.

“you know, you shouldn’t have returned at all,” the brunette giggles, her laugh sounding like nails scraping against a chalkboard. she looks to the other woman next to her before glancing back at you, “i mean—heh—lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence.”

you figure it’s just another way to get you riled up, so you do your best to ignore them. you put your packed kimonos in your wardrobe as your back faces the two.

yumi, the second concubine, nods along. she knows what she’s about to reveal will get on your nerves. and deserved, if you ask her. they had successfully caught the attention of their king while you were away. for the first time in a good while since your arrival in the estate.

the fact that they managed to spend quality time with sukuna again, is a wonderful first step to your downfall. one that will surely crumble your confidence as his so-called ‘favorite’.

“mhm,” yumi grins as she recalls the memories of her time with sukuna. time spent together that you were unaware of, “lord sukuna definitely didn’t seem to mind your absence when he had me in his bed last night.”

you freeze.

your brows furrow and the corners of your lips twitch. you don’t know if you should believe them—they could’ve lied about it for all you know. although, the voice in the back of your head had already rang the alarms.

guessing by the way they were dying to talk to you the second you came back - which never happens - you realise that they’re probably telling the truth. they’re only telling the truth to agitate you. it’s so painfully obvious, and yet so. . . hurtful.

“what?”

you don’t recall when you’ve choked up. you feel a lump in your throat. it shouldn’t even be there. you promised yourself to not get attached to a monster like sukuna.

so what if he went to bed with his other concubines?

but of course he’ll get pleasure from his other women when you aren’t around. he doesn’t feel any love, he sees it as worthless, so why did you expect him to not indulge himself? he still has his other concubines around for a reason.

you really shouldn’t be surprised by this revelation.

“what do you mean ‘what?’ - you heard me,” yumi shrugs, that cocky smirk still on her face. she’s clearly enjoying your reaction to everything she’s revealing. all the two concubines wanted to get out of this encounter with you, is to break that delusion of yours.

the delusional thought that you’re special to the king of curses—the delusion that sukuna considers you as something more than a toy to emotionally manipulate and play with until he’s tired of you.

“my lord spent all night with me in his chambers until the sun rose,” yumi continues without an ounce of shame. she bites her lip as she remembers the way sukuna had her body positioned on his large bed. for her, it was a dream come true.

though for you, it’s a living nightmare. even if you try to deny the fact that it physically and mentally hurts. there’s a painful twist at your heart—reminding you of the truth.

the truth being that you had truly thought that sukuna wasn’t really a monster of a man. you thought he was a different, more softer person around you.

you should’ve listened to the servants when they told you to not get tricked by sukuna’s special treatment, that he could easily manipulate you and make you do and act as he pleases.

“do you want me to explain it in detail?” yumi crosses her arms over her chest as she looks down at you with a menacing glare. both of the concubines are loving that face you’re making. that face of defeat that you’re attempting to hide from them, “how he held me and pleasured me until i—”

“enough,” you cut them off with your hands clenched into fists. you don’t want to hear another word. you’re already feeling awful; already, not even an hour into your return. you can never catch a break.

you have an urge to throw things around. you already feel stupid, and if you decide to throw a fit, you bet that you’d feel even dumber. you truly do not know why you’re getting this worked up about it.

maybe it’s because of the special treatment. the delusional thoughts you have about your relationship with sukuna. you really thought that you two had something special. an unofficial romantic relationship, perhaps, or something that resembles it.

a secret, unspoken deal where you’re promised his loyalty in exchange for your body and soul.

although, those dreams have been shattered this very instance. you’re once again reminded of the animalistic nature of the being called ryomen sukuna.

he told you clearly that he’d never tie himself to someone, a human no less. devotion to one person? why would he.

“out of the way.”

you push the brunette and her sidekick the other way. you’re going to confront the man yourself. or at least, you’ll try to. you can hear their sick laughs and chuckles fade into the background as you stomp your way towards sukuna’s chambers.

the other concubines seem to have gotten the gist. some peek their heads out of their rooms, grinning at you in victory. seeing your confidence slowly crumble and the realisation kick in - the realisation that your dear lord’s special treatment means absolutely nothing - is a sight for sore eyes to them.

you enter sukuna’s room and close the heavy doors behind you. you swallow the lump down your throat and try your best to look presentable.

no tears, you promise yourself. you’re not going to waste them on something like this.

“oh, it’s you, little one,” the familiar voice calls out. sukuna’s low and husky voice rings from his bed. he’s laid back against the many silky pillows, blowing smoke from his kiseru. he lays there like he doesn’t care about your reappearance at all.

he eyes you up and down, “how was your vacation, hm?”

sukuna asks like it’s the most normal thing to do. it seems like he’s trying to catch up with you, to ask you how you’ve been enjoying your time alone, though it also seems like he couldn’t care less at the same time.

“just absolutely fine, my lord,” you reply with gritted teeth and an obvious hint of sarcasm. there’s also a bitterness to your tone that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pink-haired man. he frowns—this cold greeting is not what he expected nor what he wanted to hear from your mouth. he expected you to at least smile at him like you usually do, but you didn’t.

on top of that, you seemed to be annoyed with him. that unexpected attitude of yours made something inside of him snap. it irritated him somehow; the fact that you’re so comfortable talking to him like that . . . it reminded him of the recent inner conflict he had which you were the cause of.

one of his hands tightens into a fist at his side. his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow into slits. you’re physically in front of him, which means that he’s also about to experience those complicated feelings again. the same ones he tried fleeing from by letting you go on a break, and by physically taking his mind off you.

he did the latter by taking his frustrations out on his other women. the stress that came with the thought of him possibly liking a human, relieved by pure animalistic sex.

that’s exactly what you’re upset about.

there’s an urge inside of sukuna to act normal. to ignore those difficult emotions and just treat you like he usually does. yet, another part of him is trying to protect his sense of superiority by trying to push you away.

there’s a war going on in his mind as he tries to calm himself down. you’ve always had this effect on him and it’s becoming unbearable. he has to show you, no - remind you, that you’re nothing to him. you mean nothing—nothing at all.

he’s the king of curses, you’re but a human. he’ll need to remind himself of that obvious statement as well. he’s got all the power in this situation. not you.

you cannot rule over him or his mind.

“you dare come back with an attitude? tch,” sukuna scoffs, nearly breaking the kiseru with his fingers as they squeeze around the solid material. he’s turning off whatever emotion present in his body. that doesn’t belong there anyway. he won’t care if you cry—he won’t care at all.

you notice the sudden change in sukuna’s tone as well. you’re sure you’re the reason for it. perhaps you crossed a boundary with how sassily you replied to him when he was simply asking you how your vacation went.

“my apologies,” you murmur with a sigh. you try to avoid getting on sukuna’s nerves any further, yet when you remember the words from the concubine, how she implied that sukuna had given her the best night of her life when you were away, you get mad again.

your eyes have a fiery look in them. you don’t want to get worked up. you don’t have the right to. you were warned from the very beginning to not get attached to an asshole like ryomen sukuna.

you’re to blame for feeling like this. it could’ve been prevented if you just weren’t so weak. if you just stayed away from him.

“did you have fun while i was away, my lord?” you continue, your voice shaking a little. you need the confirmation. you’re sure sukuna knows what you’re referring to by now, especially because of the way you’re acting out of character.

the king of curses raises a brow at your question. you sound even angrier, even more pissed off. he tilts his head after taking a deep inhale of the tobacco from his kiseru. he tries to figure out what you’re hinting at, “what are you—”

and that’s when everything fell into place. the dots connect.

sukuna’s jaw clenches. he realises that you’ve found out about him receiving services from his other concubines while you were away. there could be no other explanation behind your sudden attitude. besides, he knows how his other concubines could be. they must have told you the moment you came back.

normally, he’d say that it’s none of your business. what he does is up to him—he does not care about the consequences of his actions. though, seeing the slight hurt in your eyes, mixed with sadness and disappointment stirred something inside of him. he brushes that feeling away and stares at you intently, awaiting another comment. perhaps you’d cuss him out or bawl your eyes out in front of him.

either way, he promises himself that he won’t care.

sukuna is the king of curses. feeling bad for a human like you would only further tarnish his image, that image of superiority and power he has.

he’s a man of many needs. you should’ve kept that in mind when you left him. he wanted to keep you with him—to hold you down and refuse to let you leave—but that would be another sign of weakness. one sukuna could not manage to show.

when you departed, he was irritated by the fact that he had no one to turn to with his needs. from simple needs like wanting your company to sexual needs like craving your body.

keeping you by his side or letting you go; both decisions seem to clash. either way, there’s one thing he’s sure of, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it: he missed you.

sukuna can’t believe that he can feel an emotion like that. he can’t accept that fact. that’s why his irrational mind took over—his dark urges that strived to prove himself to still be the same old ryomen sukuna. the monster that did not need a single soul. the ruthless man that did not depend on anyone else, especially not a human. a woman like you.

he thought he’d forget all about you if he’s surrounded himself with other women. but, he was quick to be proven wrong, and that only caused to enrage him more and more.

every time sukuna fucked a concubine, his thoughts still manage to drift away to you. to how he wished that it was you he was holding.

nothing hit the same with the other women and that frustrated him. he’d keep them around in his room after he fucked their brains out, something he never allowed a woman to do except for you, yet kicked them out again after a few minutes.

it doesn’t hit the same.

you’re just different. your presence is soothing and calming to the chaotic soul of the pink-haired man. no one else could compare. that realisation made him feel inferior; a feeling he loathes.

sukuna’s red eyes glow. he hates seeing you look so defeated, but he cannot give in. if he tells you the truth, he’ll admit his weakness. he’ll admit that a human like you has completely taken over his brain. that’s no good.

if he doesn’t tell you the truth, he’ll save face. he’ll feel like himself again. his old self—the cold ruthless monster that he was before he met you. one without a soft spot for a human.

it’s an active dilemma that’s running through his mind as he slowly blows out another cloud of smoke. you cannot guess what’s going on behind those intimidating eyes staring you down.

sukuna tilts his head back and scratches his neck, smacking his lips as he makes his decision.

“yeah, i did. i had lots of fun.”

the words sting. they hurt you and make your heart ache in a way that makes you physically weak. you should’ve expected that answer. your shoulders tense up and your fingers curl around the material of your kimono—feeling a sense of anger and betrayal.

you can see a ghost of a smirk on sukuna’s lips, which only reminds you of his nature. his nature as an independent, aloof and cold man who likes to play with his prey. a natural disaster that knows no emotion, that shows no mercy to anyone.

you’re naive for thinking that you could be the exception. all of those times with sukuna were confirmed to be but a lie in that moment. as your gazes meet, you can now easily interpret what that look in those red eyes meant.

‘know your place,’

that’s what it means. you’re foolish, dumb. you take a deep breath to compose yourself after you’ve been made out to be a total fool. you should’ve listened to those warnings, you should’ve known that you were getting played.

this is exactly what sukuna desired to achieve. to build up your trust, to make you comfortable enough with him, to think you’re special and that he won’t need any other woman other than you — just to shatter your pathetic delusions when the time comes.

“tsk tsk. no need to look at me like that,” sukuna scoffs, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. he can hear a small voice in the back of his head telling him to shut up and let you go, to not make it worse, but who is he to listen to that irrelevant thought? he can decide for himself.

“y’ weren’t around, so the other concubines simply did their job by serving me,” he stares the other way, seemingly not interested by your presence anymore. his face is as expressionless as ever, “what do y’ think i keep them ‘round for, brat? for decoration purposes? hah, nah.”

another loud mocking laugh makes you nearly burst out in tears. you don’t know if it’s in anger or sadness. you take a deep, shaky breath for the last time. you unclench your fists and nod, accepting the reality check you’d just gotten.

it’s a slap to the face, but it helped you get out of your delusions. the delusions that sukuna is a man capable of loving someone, even if it is just for a tiny bit. this visit confirmed that there’s not an ounce of love or appreciation in that man’s body.

“i’m glad you had fun, my lord,” you answer after a bit of silence. you bow at sukuna in an attempt to stay polite while struggling with that inner turmoil. you don’t even glance up at him anymore. you need another break already.

sukuna isn’t dumb. you may think that you’re good at hiding your emotions, but you’re not. at least not around the king of curses. he’s spent enough time around you to realise that you’re going through a lot right now.

he’s the reason for it, yet he cannot bring himself to feel an ounce of empathy. he just looks at you with a blank stare, thinking that this is for the best.

“good night then,” you add and turn around to walk out of sukuna’s room. your steps are slow as you secretly hope to be called back, like sukuna would do every time you’d leave his room after an intimate night. you just want him to tell you that this was a test of some sort—a cruel joke.

you want to feel like his favorite again. you don’t want to be thrown away like this. you don’t want to be on the same level as all the other concubines. you want to stand out to him.

unfortunately, you don’t hear sukuna’s voice anymore. he lets you walk away without a care in the world. the heavy doors of his chambers close behind you and you feel your knees buckle. “fuck,” you cuss to yourself and clench your chest.

you lean back against the closed doors and try to regain your composure. crying can be done when you’re in your room—not in the hallway where anyone could catch you. you don’t want to give the other concubines more reason to bully you.

you drag your feet across the wooden flooring. all those times with sukuna, all those slight glimpses of his soft side that only you’re allowed to see— all of that is thrown into the trash.

you really shouldn’t have gotten so attached to him on an emotional level.

meanwhile, sukuna is silently sitting on his bed, thinking back to what just happened. he usually never doubts his decisions, but this is an exception. why couldn’t he just tell you the truth?

his mouth had moved before he could let his mind process all that he was feeling. a small part of him regrets it, though strangely, he couldn’t feel any real sympathy for your situation.

sukuna drapes an arm over his eyes, clicking his tongue at himself. he just wants to let the situation go, though his brain isn’t letting him to. the image of you standing at the edge of his bed, clearly hurt by his actions, flashes through his mind again.

he sighs. he’s sure that he’s going to forget about you soon enough. he needed an excuse to get rid of you for the sake of regaining control over his own being and he took the chance. he should be glad that he did—it meant that he’d be his usual self—with no weaknesses to look out for.

sukuna blows out another cloud of smoke through his mouth. as much as he’s proud of himself for not giving in to you, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander again. you’re probably crying in your room. he knows you’re sensitive. you would always cry about the smallest of things and he’d hold you (feigning reluctance) until you’ve calmed down.

he can’t do that now.

well, he can, but he won’t. sukuna has made his decision today: it’s power and status over you. that’s what it’s always been. you were but a toy he used to get a stronger grip on himself.

perhaps he simply is what people make him out to be; a monster. nothing more, nothing less.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk angst #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna angst

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pieflavorpie · 1 year ago

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To all my online shit stirrers out there:

Top tip. Want to make them quake? Not know how to respond back? Make them look like a complete buffoon?

Quote sources! I started doing this around 2 weeks ago. Before, responding to [blatantly false] facts would always end up in a virtual spitting match. Since Quoting Sources, I have had a 0% response rate!

A response denying that uterine transplants of trans women have no use? Source!

A response saying that a flying coaster is dangerous because "all it takes is one thing to brake and you're having a belly flop no one wants."? Well that's absurd. Why? No source!

This is only a small peek at what Quoting Sources can do for you! It shuts them up like magic!

Also see: asking people for THEIR sources! See a person stating a person died because a 'ride was so intense'? Ask them their source! It causes an awkward virtual silence you can truly revel in. Sometimes these facts are true, but it's good to see where these people get their facts so you can practice critical thinking either way!

[Quoting/Citing sources is good practise for topics with a lot of misinformation and feelings targeted at it which can cover topics from rollercoaster safety, to transgender biology, to the Palestinian genocide. It's always morally right to be thoroughly educated by trustworthy sources - No, the news typically isn't a trustworthy source. I recommend looking at papers/blueprints/Wikipedia (as they usually cite their sources).]

[[Don't forget to always cite your source as you quote it. It has a much better impact and also Plagiarism Isn't Cool.]]

Also see: Why exactly you would be more informed on the subject than the person you are arguing with. Why should they trust you?

#lol just had this idea come to me #but gen it is so fun #also reading the sources is nicely stimulated #sadly i did give up on learning INTENSE biology after GCSE cause Me No Likey but! its nice to keep up with the advances #im so happy for trans women who are able to get their transplants and other required surgeries #go kill it queens. go make history!#on a more somber and serious note. I volunteer at a community ran book store right? and last time i was there we got this customer #a senior who always had a stern look on her face but wasnt overtly cruel. who would get annoyed if we couldnt find a book with her exact #description but who always leaned in to make sure she heard what we were saying. she came in and asked for a book on Palestinian history.#so that she could make an informed decision on the genocide on the middle east. It may not be a ceasefire - which i stand by that EVERYONE #should be calling ceasefire. The complications can be settled afterwards - but she may be. i dont know her personally. but she had an #instinct to get to the truth. not what news outlets were telling her. what the TRUTH was. It really touched me. my nan isnt like that. my #grandad isnt like that. theyll listen to what we tell them. but they wont go looking for it.#anyway #if youre reading this : dont forget to click the button today #look at all the links im reposting if u see them #donate if you feesibly can #would also like to note: revolution is not pretty. there are things to be done to increase visibility. those arent necessarily selling #lemonade at a cardboard stand. its throwing soups at protected artworks. its sitting in the way of private jets. its oiling the PMs private #home. its marching. its shouting. its making people know menstruating people in Gaza are using tents as sanitary products.#how kHamas has agreed to several ceasefire terms while Isnotreal withdrew #dont forget to spread the news. that is a form of protest by itself. your actions matter.

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luna-azzurra · 4 months ago

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Some Tips for writing internal conflict

Wanting Two Things at Once Imagine your character really wants to chase after something big, like a dream school, a major opportunity, or maybe even moving to a new city. But at the same time, they’re terrified of leaving behind everything they’ve ever known. Or maybe they’re in a relationship that’s holding them back, but they can’t bring themselves to let go. Show them getting pulled in two directions, torn between their ambition and their fear of losing the people or places that ground them.

Right vs. Wrong Sometimes, your character will know deep down what the right choice is, but it’s the most difficult one to make. Like, maybe they see someone getting bullied and know they should stand up, but doing so could make them a target. Or maybe they have to decide between helping a friend and doing something that could ruin their own future. These moral dilemmas create intense internal conflict because it forces them to question who they are and what they stand for.

Doubting Themselves We all have moments where we wonder if we’re enough, smart enough, strong enough, brave enough. Let your character wrestle with that same doubt. Maybe they’re the kid who has always been told they’re special, but now they’re in a place where everyone is just as good, and they start to wonder if they even belong. Or maybe they’ve been through something tough, and they’re not sure if they can bounce back. These moments of insecurity make your character feel human, like they’re trying to figure it all out, just like everyone else.

Dreams vs. Fears Show your character dreaming big but getting frozen by their own fears. It’s like wanting to ask someone out but being terrified of rejection, or wanting to move away for college but being scared to leave home. Let them imagine all the things that could go wrong , that moment when fear makes them doubt if they should even try. But also show their desire burning just as strong, making it impossible to ignore. That’s the heart of internal conflict: they’re stuck between wanting something so bad and being afraid of what it’ll cost to go after it.

Beliefs Being Challenged As your character grows, the world will start challenging their beliefs. Maybe they grew up in a family that drilled certain values into them, and now they’re meeting people who see things differently. Or maybe they’re experiencing something new, and it’s changing their perspective. It’s like when you think you have everything figured out, and then life throws something at you that makes you go, "Wait, maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time." This kind of internal conflict is powerful because it forces the character to question who they’ve always been.

Keeping Secrets If your character is hiding something, like a mistake they made, feelings they’re afraid to admit, or a truth they don’t want to face, that secret becomes a huge part of their internal conflict. The fear of being found out or of dealing with the consequences can create a constant pressure in their mind. Maybe they’re scared they’ll lose their friends if the truth comes out, or maybe they’re dealing with guilt they can’t shake. The tension comes from their battle to keep it hidden while knowing they can’t keep it locked away forever.

Pressure from Everyone Your character might feel like they’re trapped between what they want for themselves and what everyone else wants from them. It could be pressure from parents, who have their whole future planned out, or pressure from friends to fit in or follow the crowd. Maybe your character wants to be true to themselves, but they’re scared of disappointing people or standing out too much. This kind of internal conflict is super relatable because, at some point, everyone feels like they’re stuck between living for themselves and living for others.

Fear of Failing Sometimes the biggest obstacle isn’t the external challenge but the internal fear of failure. Your character might have big dreams, but they’re paralyzed by the thought of messing up. Whether it’s competing in a sport, performing on stage, or just trying something new, the fear of not being good enough can be overwhelming. Maybe they’re afraid that if they fail, everyone will see them differently, or worse, that they’ll see themselves differently. The internal conflict comes from their desire to succeed battling against their crippling fear of failure.

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pucksandpower · 16 days ago

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Meant to Be

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Charles knows it’s wrong to fantasize about his younger brother’s childhood sweetheart … but he also knows that when the opportunity presents itself, he’ll do absolutely anything to make you his and his alone

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, somnophilia, and baby trapping

Arthur’s sprawled out on Charles’ couch, his legs kicked up over the armrest, a half-empty beer bottle dangling dangerously from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign that he’s had too much, and he’s in one of those moods — reckless, unguarded, talking too much.

Charles stands by the window, fingers tapping against the neck of his own beer. He’s watching Arthur with the kind of stillness that should set alarms off, except Arthur’s too drunk to notice.

“Six years.” Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, words slurring together. He lifts his head, eyes bleary and unfocused. “Six fucking years, and she still won’t let me touch her.”

Something sharp and ugly flares up in Charles’ chest. It’s quick, like a blade slicing through air — painful but over in an instant, leaving behind only a low, simmering anger. He takes a slow sip of his drink, savoring the way the cold beer burns down his throat, grounding him.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Charles says, tone deceptively calm. “Stop being dramatic.”

Arthur scoffs, shaking his head. He looks ridiculous — lips pulled down in a childish pout, eyes narrowing like he’s being unfairly judged. “You think I’m lying? I’m telling you the truth.” He sits up abruptly, the motion causing a bit of beer to splash onto the couch. He doesn’t notice. “She’s still … I don’t know, holding out or something. Makes me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Charles’ grip tightens around the bottle. “So what? You think she owes you something just because you’ve been together for a long time?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Arthur’s defensive, hands up in mock surrender. He’s shaking his head, but Charles sees right through it. “It’s just — what kind of relationship is this? I mean, I love her, but it’s like she’s keeping part of herself locked away from me. You wouldn’t get it.”

Oh, but Charles gets it. He gets it too well. That same fury, that same sense of being kept at arm’s length — he’s felt it for years. Watched you grow up beside Arthur, become this beautiful, untouchable thing that only Arthur could claim. Always the best friend, the girlfriend, the almost-but-not-quite.

“Maybe she’s just not ready,” Charles says softly. His voice is low, dangerous. He turns his back to the window, narrowing his eyes on Arthur. “Maybe you’re pushing too hard.”

Arthur laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “You know me. I’m not pushing her at all. I’m just — fuck, I’m frustrated, okay? We’re supposed to be moving forward, but it’s like she’s … stuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t want to wait around forever. What’s the point?”

Charles is moving before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s standing right in front of Arthur. His shadow falls over his younger brother, the tension in the air crackling like static.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Charles murmurs, voice tight. “She’s not some … milestone you have to hit. Maybe she doesn’t want to-”

“With me, you mean.” Arthur’s eyes meet Charles’, defiance simmering just beneath the surface. “Maybe she doesn’t want to sleep with me. Right? Maybe that’s what you’re thinking. That I’m not enough for her.”

Charles holds his gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a pause, charged and suffocating. Charles can feel the blood pounding in his ears, a dangerous thrill threading through his veins. He should shut this down, diffuse the situation before it escalates, but some twisted part of him wants Arthur to keep going. He wants to hear it. Every insecurity, every frustration, every ugly piece of truth.

“Why are you telling me this?” Charles asks finally, his voice deceptively calm. “What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur slumps back against the couch, looking defeated. “Maybe I just needed to get it off my chest. It’s like … I feel like I’m going crazy. Everyone else is moving forward, and I’m just stuck here, waiting for her to catch up.”

Charles takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay composed. He shouldn’t feel this satisfaction, this possessive pleasure at hearing Arthur’s struggle. It’s wrong. It’s twisted. But it’s there, coiling tight in his chest.

“And if she never catches up?” Charles asks quietly. “What then?”

Arthur shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not meant to be, you know?”

The words hang heavy in the air, and Charles feels something dark and vicious settle inside him. He’s been waiting for this — years of watching from the sidelines, of biting back his own desires because you were always with Arthur. Always just out of reach.

But if Arthur’s doubting — if Arthur’s thinking of letting go …

Charles clenches his jaw, forcing himself to speak evenly. “You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be talking about this right now.”

Arthur snorts. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He pauses, glancing up at Charles with a look that’s almost pleading. “What would you do? If you were me, what would you do?”

The question catches Charles off-guard, a cold laugh escaping his lips before he can stop it. “If I were you?” He leans down slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I wouldn’t be here, complaining to my brother like a pathetic idiot. I’d be with her, figuring it out. Doing whatever it takes to make her happy.”

“Yeah?” Arthur mutters, his voice cracking slightly. “Even if it means waiting forever?”

Charles straightens, something resolute and steely hardening in his chest. He looks down at Arthur, gaze cold and unyielding. “If you love her, you wait.”

Arthur looks away, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I just — forget it. I’m talking bullshit.”

But Charles doesn’t forget. He stands there, watching Arthur fall silent, mind spinning with a thousand possibilities. He can’t let anyone else have you, not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s sick, but he can’t shake the image of you — untouched, unspoiled, something pure and perfect that only he deserves to claim.

Charles forces a smile, dropping a hand onto Arthur’s shoulder. “Go to bed. Sleep it off.”

Arthur nods, muttering something unintelligible as he pushes himself up and stumbles towards the guest room. Charles waits until the door closes behind him before letting out a long, shuddering breath.

He should feel guilty. But all he feels is a fierce, possessive resolve. Arthur’s doubt is his opportunity. His chance to take what’s always been denied to him.

His gaze drifts to his phone on the coffee table. A single message — an excuse, really — and you’d be here, sitting on his couch, looking at him with that soft, trusting smile. Like he’s someone you can rely on. Like he’s someone safe.

Safe. Charles laughs quietly, the sound bitter and mocking. Safe is the last thing he is right now.

He picks up the phone, thumb hovering over your contact name, and hesitates. Not yet. He needs a plan. Needs to be smart about this.

But one way or another, he’s going to be your first. Your only. Arthur’s hesitation has given him the opening he’s been waiting for.

All he has to do now is make his move.

***

Charles parks the car a little down the street from your apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he stares at the dashboard. The engine is off, the keys dangling in the ignition, but he hasn’t moved. Not yet.

He’s thinking.

He’s been thinking all night, really — ever since Arthur stumbled off to bed, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that spiraled, dark and hungry, circling the idea that’s been gnawing at him for years. How close he is now. How one small push could tip the balance in his favor.

And today, he’s ready to push.

In the passenger seat sits a box of pizza from that place you love, the one he knows you always order from on Fridays after a long week. There’s a bottle of wine in the backseat too, the kind you once told him was your favorite, when you were still just Arthur’s girlfriend, still so impossibly out of reach.

Charles grabs the pizza, slides out of the car, and walks to your building with measured steps. Each one feels deliberate, calculated, as if he’s forcing himself to maintain control. But inside, his thoughts are a frenzy.

It’s easy enough to get inside the building. You gave him the door code months ago, back when things were still … uncomplicated. Before his obsession became something he couldn’t contain.

As he rides the elevator up, Charles lets out a slow, steadying breath. He can do this. He will do this.

When you open the door, the surprise on your face is immediate but quickly melts into warmth. Your eyes light up, and you smile — God, you smile at him like he’s your favorite person in the world. Like you trust him.

“Charles!” You exclaim, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug before he can say a word. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he feels that familiar jolt, the one that always comes when you’re this close. “What are you doing here? This is a surprise.”

He hugs you back, holding you a second too long before he pulls away. He lifts the pizza box with a sheepish grin, the one he knows you always fall for. “Thought you might be hungry. Brought your favorite.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you laugh, that soft sound that always makes him feel like you’re letting him in on a secret. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m not complaining.” You step aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Come on, I was just thinking about ordering food.”

He follows you into the apartment, closing the door behind him. It’s small, cozy — the kind of place that feels lived in, full of your personality. He’s been here before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, he’s here for a reason.

You grab plates while Charles sets the pizza on the table, and then you settle in. Conversation is easy, natural. You ask him about his week, tell him about yours, and the rhythm of it all is so familiar that for a second, Charles almost forgets why he’s really here.

But then he watches you take another sip of wine, and something inside him snaps back into focus. You’ve had just enough to soften the edges, to make you more open, more vulnerable.

Now’s the time.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair. His voice is low, careful. He watches your expression shift, the way your brow furrows slightly as you put your glass down.

“Something serious?” You ask, your tone shifting from playful to curious, maybe even a little concerned.

Charles nods, the weight of his next words pressing down on him. He almost hates what he’s about to say. Almost. But the thought of losing you to Arthur — again, after all these years — drives him forward.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts, choosing his words deliberately. “You know I care about you. A lot.”

Your frown deepens, and you sit up straighter. “Charles, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s Arthur.”

You blink, confusion flashing across your face. “Arthur? What about him?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Charles watches your face carefully, gauging every reaction. He needs to be precise here, needs to strike the right balance between concern and truth.

“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this,” he says quietly, voice soft but steady. “But you deserve to know.”

“Know what?” Your voice is more tense now, on edge. You’re bracing yourself.

Charles looks down at the table for a moment, pretending to struggle with his words, to hesitate. Then, with a carefully measured sigh, he meets your gaze.

“Arthur’s cheating on you.”

Your reaction is instant — disbelief, followed by a laugh that’s more of a reflex than anything. You shake your head, the idea not even sinking in before you’re dismissing it outright. “Charles, come on. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

You freeze, staring at him like he’s said something that doesn’t compute. “What are you talking about? Arthur would never — he’s not that kind of guy. He — he loves me.”

Charles leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, unflinching. “I know you don’t want to believe it. Trust me, I hate having to tell you this. But I’ve seen it. He’s been … seeing someone else.”

You blink rapidly, shaking your head again, more violently this time. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that? We’ve been together for six years, Charles. We’re-”

“I know,” Charles cuts in, voice low and firm. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign that this is some kind of twisted joke. But all you find is a steady, unwavering resolve. And it hits you, hard — he’s serious.

The first tear spills over before you can stop it. You swipe at it quickly, shaking your head, still trying to deny it. “No. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t … he wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, but he stays calm. He has to see this through. “I wish I were wrong. I really do. But I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You press your palms to your temples, shaking your head again and again, like you can somehow shake off the weight of his words. “Why? Why would he …”

“He’s an idiot,” Charles says quietly, his voice softening just enough. He reaches across the table, placing a hand over yours. “He doesn’t see what he has with you. He doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.”

You pull your hand away, standing abruptly from the table and pacing the small space of your living room. “This doesn’t make any sense. He’s been … he’s been distant lately, but I just thought it was work or something. He wouldn’t-”

Charles stands too, his movements slow and deliberate. “I wish I could tell you there’s some explanation, but … sometimes people just make stupid choices. It doesn’t make it your fault.”

The tears are falling freely now, and you wipe at them furiously, like you’re angry at yourself for crying. “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you. Arthur wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles steps closer, his chest tightening at the sight of your tears. He hates seeing you hurt, but some part of him — some twisted, possessive part — revels in this. In being the one you turn to, the one you fall apart in front of. Because this is his chance. His moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pull you into his arms.

You don’t resist. You’re too overwhelmed, too broken by the weight of what he’s telling you. You collapse against him, your face buried in his chest as the sobs start to shake your frame.

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Your sobs only deepen, and Charles feels his pulse quicken. There’s something intoxicating about the way you cling to him, like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he says, voice low and soothing, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your spine. “But you deserve to know the truth. You deserve better than him.”

You don’t respond, just keep crying into his chest, and Charles holds you tighter, his grip firm and possessive. He’s in control now. He’s the one you trust, the one you’re turning to.

And he’s not going to let you go.

“Shh,” he murmurs again, his voice a soft coo as he continues to run his hand down your back. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

He presses his lips to your hair again, his chest swelling with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

This is where you belong.

With him.

***

Charles tightens his hold on you as your sobs weaken, though they still come in shaky, uneven breaths. He keeps his chin resting gently on top of your head, his fingers stroking slow circles along your back, coaxing you into some semblance of calm. Each wet gasp, each tremble from you presses deeper into him, a reminder of just how fragile you are right now — how close you are to breaking.

And you are his to fix.

“I can’t believe …” you start, your voice muffled against his chest, thick with tears. You take a shuddering breath and pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, though your gaze is glazed and unfocused. “I can’t believe I was … I was going to let him …” Another sob catches in your throat, and you lower your head again, pressing your palms against your eyes as if to block out the thought.

Charles feels something stir in him, deep and raw. His breath catches. He knows what you’re about to say. He’s waited for this moment for so long.

“I thought I was ready,” you whisper between tears, each word slipping out in a jagged edge. “I really thought I was ready. I was going to … I was finally going to give him everything. And he — he doesn’t even care. I was going to let him take everything from me.”

Charles’ jaw tightens. His arms encircle you even more, as if he can shield you from the pain and the reality of it all. But behind that protective front, something inside him twists darkly. Arthur was going to be the one. The one to touch you first, to take what should never have belonged to anyone else.

The thought alone makes his stomach churn, but he forces his voice to remain steady, soft, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You don’t need to think about that now,” he murmurs, gently rocking you as your body shakes against him. “Arthur didn’t deserve you. He never did.”

You sniffle, lifting your head again, your eyes glassy and red. “But I thought … I thought we were going to-” You break off, biting your lip hard enough that it must hurt, your hands twisting in his shirt. “I thought I was finally ready to-” Another sob wracks through you, and you look down, as if ashamed of the words you can’t quite bring yourself to say aloud.

Charles feels a rush of anger — not at you, but at the mere suggestion that Arthur was close to having what only he should be worthy of. The idea that his brother, clueless and careless, almost had you, had almost been the first to touch you like that, makes something primal flare up inside him.

But he doesn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts your chin up gently, guiding your eyes back to his. His expression is soft, understanding, but underneath it, there’s that edge. The simmering need for control, for possession, for you.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low but firm. “Arthur would not have deserved something like that from you. He doesn’t appreciate you — he doesn’t even know how to treat you right.”

You open your mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a half-choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I was going to give him … everything. And now-” You shake your head, your eyes welling up again, new tears slipping down your cheeks. “Now I’m just … I’m going to be a virgin forever, aren’t I?”

Your voice cracks on the last word, and the raw vulnerability of it strikes Charles harder than anything else you’ve said. You sound so broken, so small, like you’ve given up on the idea that you’ll ever be loved the way you deserve.

But Charles knows better. He knows exactly what you deserve. And more importantly, he knows exactly who should be the one to give it to you.

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he watches you crumble before him. He pulls you in again, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head once more. “You’re not going to be a virgin forever,” he whispers, his voice as soothing as it is purposeful. “Don’t say that.”

Your breath hitches against his shirt. “But who else is there? I can’t — I don’t want to be with anyone else after this. Not after Arthur …”

Charles feels you tremble, your body fragile against his, and something in him snaps. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to push forward, not to take what he’s wanted for so long right here and now.

But he knows better than that. He knows how to play this. He knows you, knows what you need to hear in this moment.

“Arthur isn’t the only one who’s ever going to want you,” Charles murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers trace along the curve of your spine. “You’re worth so much more than you realize.”

You shake your head into his chest. “I just … I don’t know anymore.”

The words tear at him, but they also give him an opening. He can feel it — the way you’re unraveling, the way you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Something steady. Someone who understands you in a way Arthur never could.

And he’s more than willing to be that person.

Charles hesitates — just enough to make it seem genuine, just enough to plant the seed of doubt in your mind about what he’s about to say next. He exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his words carefully, like they’re difficult for him to get out.

“There’s … another option,” he says, his voice hesitant, as if he’s afraid to even suggest it. He feels your body tense slightly in his arms, and he knows you’re listening, knows he has your full attention.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes soft but unwavering. He can see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you’re looking at him like you’re trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

Charles takes a breath, keeping his voice as even as he can, though his pulse is racing. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ll never be able to … move on from this. From Arthur. You deserve better than that.”

You blink at him, still confused. “I don’t understand.”

He lowers his eyes for a moment, as if he’s struggling with the thought, and then looks back up at you, his expression serious. “I’m saying … if you wanted to … if you wanted someone who actually cares about you, who respects you, to be your first … I could be that person.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze in his arms, staring at him like you can’t believe what you just heard. For a second, Charles wonders if he pushed too far, if he misread the moment. But then he sees the flicker of doubt in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly like you’re considering it, like you’re not entirely sure what to say.

“You?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he keeps his expression calm, controlled. He lets out a soft breath, as if he’s reluctant to admit it but knows it’s the right thing to offer. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to make a decision right now. But … I care about you. I always have. And I would never hurt you the way Arthur did.”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and Charles watches as you process his words, as the weight of what he’s offering settles over you. He can see the conflict in your expression, the way you’re torn between your pain and the possibility of comfort, of feeling wanted again.

And that’s exactly where he wants you.

“I just don’t know if I can trust anyone right now,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hands trembling slightly as they clutch the fabric of his shirt.

Charles reaches up, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You can trust me,” he says softly, his voice steady and sure. “I would never hurt you, never betray you like he did.”

You look at him, your eyes wide and searching, and Charles can feel the shift in the air between you. The way you’re leaning into him, the way your breathing has slowed, your sobs replaced by something quieter, something more uncertain.

And that’s when he knows. He’s won.

“I don’t know,” you murmur again, but your voice is softer now, less sure, and Charles can feel the cracks forming, can see the way you’re wavering.

He leans in slightly, just enough that his forehead brushes against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here for you,” he whispers, his voice a gentle coo as he strokes your cheek. “Whatever you need. I’ll take care of you.”

You don’t pull away.

Charles shifts his grip, his fingers slipping into your hair as he tilts your head back, giving himself access to the soft, untouched skin of your throat. He pauses for just a moment, taking in the sight of you: lips parted, eyes glazed and half-closed, a hint of vulnerability still lingering behind the tentative acceptance. His pulse thrums with a steady, insistent beat, desire coiling tighter with every ragged breath you take.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath hitches, and Charles feels the way your body reacts, how you arch slightly into him, seeking more of his touch. His heart pounds harder, his gaze darkening as he dips his head and presses his mouth against the side of your neck.

It starts slow. A soft kiss, just below your jaw, the barest brush of his lips. Then another, lower this time, lingering on the spot where your pulse flutters erratically. He kisses you again, harder now, teeth grazing over your skin. He feels the way you shudder beneath him, hears the sharp intake of breath that escapes your lips, and it fuels something possessive inside him. He lets his mouth linger, sucking at your skin until a faint red mark blooms beneath his lips.

Good. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Charles keeps going, kissing and biting his way down your throat, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks. He can feel the way your body responds to each touch, the soft little noises you make that only seem to spur him on. Every mark he leaves behind feels like a victory, like he’s claiming you inch by inch, branding you as his.

And you’re letting him.

His hand slides down your side, fingers skimming along the curve of your waist before they hook under the hem of your sweater. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. There’s a question in his eyes, and he sees the way you hesitate, your lips parting as if to say something — before you slowly nod.

The look in your eyes is hesitant but trusting, and it sends a surge of possessiveness straight through him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tugs the fabric up, slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to stop him. But you don’t. Instead, you lift your arms, letting him pull the sweater over your head and toss it carelessly over the back of the couch.

Charles’ gaze drops, his eyes tracing the shape of your collarbones, the gentle curve of your breasts. There’s a flush spreading across your chest, and he can’t help but smirk, the sight of you like this making his blood heat. You’re so exposed, so vulnerable beneath him, and the trust in your eyes — the way you’re giving yourself to him, piece by piece — is intoxicating.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he leans in again, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your chest. “Do you know that? How perfect you are?”

Your cheeks flush a deeper shade, and you glance away, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, as he makes his way across your chest.

Each kiss is a claim, each touch a reminder of who you belong to. He can feel the way your breathing changes, the way your fingers twitch and flex as if you don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s relentless, sucking and nipping at your skin until more red marks bloom beneath his mouth, each one a testament to his need to mark you, to make sure no one else will ever look at you without seeing his touch.

“Charles …” You whisper his name, your voice barely audible, a hint of something like disbelief in your tone.

He pauses, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze again. “What is it?” He asks softly, his fingers brushing along the underside of your breast, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Tell me.”

You swallow hard, your eyes darting away for a moment before they find his again. “I … I just can’t believe this is happening.”

Charles smiles, something dark and possessive flickering in his gaze as he shifts his weight, leaning closer until his body is pressed against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you, the way your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath you take. “Believe it,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I’m here. This is real.”

And it is real. He can feel it — the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way your body yields to him without resistance. He’s waited for this moment for so long, dreamed of it in vivid, desperate detail. Now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. Not ever.

He lowers his head again, his mouth finding the skin between your breasts, and he kisses his way down, down, each press of his lips more insistent than the last. His hands are on your waist now, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, his breath hot against your skin. He pauses when he reaches the edge of your bra, his tongue flicking out to trace along the fabric.

“May I?” He murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. He glances up at you through his lashes, waiting for your response.

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, a small, uncertain movement. But it’s enough for him. Charles’ fingers move with practiced ease, unclasping the bra and sliding it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

His breath catches at the sight of you — bare, vulnerable, all his. He doesn’t waste any time, lowering his head to your chest and pressing his mouth against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He hears the way you gasp, feels the way your back arches beneath him, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Charles takes his time, kissing and licking his way down your body, leaving more marks in his wake. He can feel the tension coiling tighter in your muscles, the way your breathing grows more erratic the lower he goes. His hands roam over your skin, mapping out every curve, every dip and hollow of your body as if he’s memorizing you.

When he finally reaches your waist, he pauses, his fingers tracing the band of your panties. They’re delicate, a flimsy piece of lace that does nothing to hide you from him. He glances up, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, he just holds it, waiting.

“Tell me,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur. “I need to hear you say it. Do you want this?”

You bite your lip, your eyes wide and uncertain, but there’s something else there, too — something like trust, like surrender. Slowly, hesitantly, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I … I want this. I want you.”

The words send a jolt of electricity through him, sharp and exhilarating. Charles lets out a slow breath, his fingers slipping under the band of your panties, and he pulls them down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied growl as he tosses the lace aside. “Because I’m going to give you everything.”

He dips his head again, his mouth following the path of his hands as he kisses his way down your belly, your hips, lavishing attention on every inch of exposed skin. He takes his time, his tongue flicking out to taste you, his teeth grazing along your skin. Each touch, each kiss is deliberate, calculated, meant to draw out every sound, every reaction he can coax from you.

And you respond to him beautifully, your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft gasps and whimpers. Charles feels his own control slipping, the need to take you, to claim you fully, growing stronger with each passing second. But he holds back, savoring the way you writhe beneath him, the way your fingers clutch at his hair, desperate for more.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intent, and he waits — waits for you to give him the permission he’s been craving.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He needs to hear you say it again. Needs to know that you’re giving yourself to him willingly.

You nod, your breath hitching as your eyes meet his. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. “Please, Charles. I want this. I want you.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate — not for a second. He buries his mouth against you, and the taste of your sweetness floods his senses. A low growl rumbles up from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he hooks his hands under your thighs, spreading you wider.

The taste of you is intoxicating, dizzying, like a drug seeping into his veins and lighting him up from the inside. You’re slick and warm, every part of you yielding to his touch, and he drinks you in like a man starved.

“God,” he mutters against you, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so perfect … so sweet.” He can barely get the words out, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap at you with long, deliberate strokes.

You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as if you need something to anchor yourself. Your back arches off the couch, and Charles takes advantage of the movement, pulling you closer, deeper into him. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his tongue tracing every inch of you with a hunger that borders on desperation.

Your moans fill the air, soft and breathless, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through him. He can feel the way your thighs tremble under his grip, the way your body shudders with every flick of his tongue, every soft nip of his teeth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for even a second, his mouth working you with a single-minded focus that’s almost feral.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice breaking on the syllable. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.”

He dips his head lower, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, his lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out, your hips bucking against him, and he tightens his grip, holding you down as he laves at you, his mouth relentless.

You’re so responsive, so pliant beneath him, and it’s driving him wild. He wants to pull every sound from your lips, wants to make you lose yourself in him, wants to make you feel so good that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else. He wants you ruined — completely — until the only name you can say is his.

“Please,” you breathe, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. “Charles, I-I’m so close-”

He hums in response, the vibration making you shudder. His tongue moves faster, more insistent, as he drives you higher, his lips never leaving your skin. He can feel the tension coiling in your body, tighter and tighter, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low, coaxing purr. “I want to feel you, taste you. I want you to come for me.”

You let out a broken sob, your body arching into him as you fall apart. He holds you steady, his mouth never leaving you as he works you through your orgasm, his tongue moving in slow, soothing strokes as your body shakes beneath him. He can feel the way you pulse and clench, the way your thighs tremble and your breath catches, and he doesn’t let up until you’re completely spent, every last aftershock of pleasure wrung out of you.

Only then does he pull back, his chest heaving as he looks up at you. You’re a mess — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He can see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and it sends another surge of possessiveness through him.

This — the sight of you like this, wrecked and breathless and marked with his touch — this is what he’s been waiting for. This is what he’s been craving.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers brush gently along your thighs, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he watches your face. He needs to hear it from you, needs to know that you’re still with him.

You nod slowly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m … I’m okay.”

Relief washes through him, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Because we’re not done yet.”

Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you look down at him. “Charles-”

“Shh.” He presses another kiss to your skin, this one softer, more tender. “Just trust me, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, but also something else — something like trust, like surrender. And it’s that look, that trust, that makes his chest tighten, makes something in him twist and shudder.

Charles shifts his grip, sliding his hands up your body until they’re resting on your waist. He leans up, his gaze locked on yours as he brushes his lips against your belly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “I’m going to take care of you. Make you mine. Completely.”

Your breath catches, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. He leans in again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours with a languid, sensual stroke.

He can taste you on his lips, can still feel the echo of your pleasure thrumming through your body. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling, and he deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours.

You’re still trembling, your body soft and pliant beneath him, and he shifts, adjusting his weight until he’s cradling you in his arms. He breaks the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours as he murmurs softly, “Lie back for me, baby.”

You blink up at him, your gaze hazy and unfocused, but you do as he says, leaning back against the couch. Charles watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you — your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your hair spills over the cushions. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it makes something dark and possessive curl inside him.

He wants you like this forever. Wants you beneath him, at his mercy, trusting him to take care of you.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost hesitant touch. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough and sincere. “So perfect.”

You blink up at him, a faint smile curving your lips. “Charles … you don’t have to-”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. Never felt like this before.”

Your smile falters slightly, and he sees the uncertainty flicker in your eyes, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He knows you don’t quite believe him, knows that you’re still struggling to understand what this — what he — means to you.

But that’s okay. He has time. He’ll show you, piece by piece, until there’s no doubt left in your mind.

Leaning in, Charles presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me show you how much I want you. How much I-”

How much I love you. The words hover on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down, his chest tightening. He’s not ready to say it yet — not when you’re still reeling from everything he’s thrown at you tonight. Not when there’s still so much he needs to do to make you his.

Instead, he kisses you again, pouring all of his need, all of his desperation, into the touch. You respond to him, your body arching into his, your fingers tightening in his hair, and he knows — knows that you’re right where you belong.

With him.

Charles takes a breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he looks down at you, still trembling and flushed beneath him. The sight of you — so soft, so vulnerable — sends a wave of possessiveness through him that makes his hands shake. You’re his, all his, and he’s about to take what should have been his from the beginning. He wants to savor it, wants to make every moment last, but the need coursing through him is wild, uncontrollable.

His hands slide down your thighs, spreading you open again, his thumbs brushing along the soft skin just inside. You’re still shaking, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you. Okay? Just breathe.”

You nod, but there’s a hint of fear in your eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, and it makes his chest tighten. He doesn’t want you scared. He wants you to trust him, to need him the way he needs you.

Gently, he presses his forehead against yours, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You swallow, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you nod again. “I do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

He moves slowly, his hands tracing over your skin, mapping every curve and dip of your body. He wants to memorize you, wants to know every inch of you like the back of his hand. His fingers ghost over your hips, sliding up your waist, your ribs, before they dip down again.

You shudder at the touch, your breath hitching in your throat, and Charles smiles — a slow, dangerous smile that sends a thrill through him.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”

You look up at him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. It’s just the two of you — no distractions, no outside noise — just you, laid out before him, vulnerable and trusting, and him, teetering on the edge of losing himself completely.

His fingers trail down between your thighs, gentle, teasing, as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. He wants this to be perfect for you — wants you to remember this as something special, something that no one else could ever give you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against you softly. “If you want to stop, you just say the word. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip, and he can see the way your body trembles in anticipation, the way your eyes flutter shut as his fingers dip lower, brushing against the slick heat of your core. You’re so warm, so soft, and he can feel how ready you are for him, how your body responds to his touch without hesitation.

He presses a single finger into you, slow and gentle, watching the way your mouth falls open, the way your back arches off the couch as you let out a soft, broken moan. The sound goes straight to his head, dizzying him, making him harder than he thought possible.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “You’re doing so well.”

You whimper in response, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you as he moves his finger in and out of you, slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing, not yet. He’s taking his time, getting you used to the feeling, making sure you’re ready for him.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “It … it feels good.”

Charles smiles, his thumb brushing against your clit in a slow, circular motion, making your whole body jolt in response. “I want to make you feel even better,” he murmurs, his gaze dark and intense. “But I need to make sure you’re ready for me. Can I add another?”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as he slides a second finger into you, stretching you wider. You gasp, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he groans at the way you respond to him, the way your body is so eager to take everything he gives you.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “So perfect. I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

You moan softly, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he works his fingers in and out of you, coaxing more soft sounds from your lips with every movement. He’s careful, deliberate, making sure not to hurt you, but the need burning inside him is almost unbearable.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice trembling. “I … I need you.”

The words send a bolt of electricity through him, and he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he pulls his fingers out of you, his heart racing in his chest. He can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you.

He shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up with your entrance. He looks down at you, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and for a moment, he hesitates.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and trusting, and you nod, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sure.”

Charles swallows hard, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. You trust him — completely — and it makes his head spin. He’s never wanted anything more than this moment, and now that it’s here, it feels almost surreal.

Slowly, carefully, he presses into you, inch by inch, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes deeper. You gasp, your body tensing beneath him, and he pauses, his jaw clenched as he fights the urge to move too fast.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath as you try to relax, and Charles groans as he slides deeper, the tight heat of you surrounding him, squeezing him in a way that makes it almost impossible to think.

He’s never felt anything like this before — never felt so close to losing control, so close to falling apart completely. But he can’t rush. Not with you. He has to take his time, has to make sure you’re ready for all of him.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he stills, his breath ragged as he presses his forehead against yours. “You okay?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him. “Yeah,” you breathe, your voice soft. “I’m okay.”

Relief floods through him, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. Charles inhales deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of your skin mixed with sweat and arousal. You’re so tight around him that it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to lose himself right away. Every trembling exhale from your parted lips makes his head spin, and it takes everything in him to keep himself composed, to hold back just a little longer so he doesn’t scare you.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, heavy with want. He cups your cheek tenderly, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked skin as he begins to move — slowly, gently — just enough for you to feel every inch of him. “Doing so well for me … taking me so perfectly.”

You whimper, the sound breaking and needy, and it shoots straight through him, making his hips snap forward involuntarily. He freezes, staring down at you, but you only arch your back, letting out another soft, breathless moan that sends a shiver through his spine.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “Look at you … so beautiful like this. All mine.” His voice drops lower, almost to a growl, as he pulls back and thrusts into you again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “You know that, right? I’m your first … and I’ll be your only.”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his shoulders as your whole body arches up to meet his. “Yes,” you gasp, voice trembling, the word barely coherent.

“Say it.” His hand slips down, gripping your hip as he holds you still beneath him, his thrusts measured and deliberate. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches, your head lolling back against the cushions as you struggle to form words through the haze of sensation clouding your mind. “You’re … you’re my first,” you manage, your voice breaking on the last word. “My only.”

The words make his chest swell with something dark and possessive, and he groans, leaning down to bury his face against your throat. “Damn right,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “I’m going to ruin you for every other man. No one else will ever get to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you.”

You shudder beneath him, a broken moan escaping your lips, and he can feel the way your body clenches around him, almost as if your body itself is responding to his words. His control frays further, his thrusts picking up pace, harder, deeper, as he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you, in the way your body takes him so perfectly.

“Fuck,” he growls, his teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone. “I’d kill any other man who tries to touch you like this. Do you hear me? No one else gets to have you.”

You whimper again, your hands sliding up to clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin as if you’re trying to anchor yourself. “Charles-” you choke out, but whatever you’re trying to say gets lost in another breathless moan as he drives into you again, hitting a spot that makes you cry out, your whole body going taut beneath him.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice low and dangerous as he kisses a trail down your throat, letting his teeth scrape against your skin just enough to leave marks in his wake. “It’s okay, mon cœur. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need anyone else.”

His lips move lower, brushing against your chest, leaving more marks there — proof that you’re his, that you belong to him and only him. He wants everyone to see, to know just by looking at you that you’re taken, that you’re his, that no one else can have you.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive. “You’ll always be mine. I’ll make sure of it.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and you let out a sharp cry, your hands flying up to grasp at his shoulders as your whole body shudders. Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep his control, to keep himself from losing it completely.

“Are you on birth control?” He asks suddenly, his voice tight, strained. The question seems to come out of nowhere, and for a moment, you just stare up at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

“What?” You whisper, breathless and confused.

“Birth control,” he repeats, his gaze locked on yours, intense and unrelenting. “Are you on it?”

You shake your head, your brow furrowing slightly as you try to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure. “No … I’m not …”

Charles’ breath catches, and he has to fight to keep the grin off his face. He moves again, thrusting into you slowly, deliberately, making you moan, your head falling back against the couch. “You’re not?” He murmurs, his voice low and almost mocking. “Then I could put a baby in you right now, couldn’t I?”

The words make your eyes fly open, a look of shock and something almost like panic flashing across your face. “Charles-”

“I could,” he continues, his voice soft, coaxing. “I could fill you up, make you mine forever. No one else would ever look at you again. You’d be tied to me — completely.”

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands trembling as they clutch at him, and he groans at the sound, his hips snapping forward as he loses a bit more of his control. “But I won’t,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. “Not yet. Not tonight. But soon.”

“Soon?” You echo, your voice a breathless whisper, and he nods, his hand slipping down between your bodies, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“Yes, mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice dark and sweet. “Soon. I’ll make you mine in every way possible. You won’t be able to think of anyone else. You won’t want anyone else.”

You moan, your whole body trembling beneath him, and he can feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body responds to his words, to the promise in his voice. He’s going to make you his, completely and utterly his, and the thought of it drives him wild.

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Carrying my baby, looking so beautiful with my child growing inside you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being so full of me.”

You shake your head frantically, a choked sob escaping your lips, but your body betrays you, arching up against him, pressing closer as if you can’t get enough of him. “No,” you gasp, but it’s a broken, desperate sound, and he can hear the way your breath catches, the way you moan when he moves inside you again.

“No?” He teases, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Are you sure? Because your body’s telling me something different.”

You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin, and Charles groans, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into you again, deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “And I’m not letting anyone else have you. Ever.”

You don’t answer — can’t answer — your head falling back against the cushions as you cry out, your whole body shuddering beneath him. And Charles knows, in that moment, that he’s won. You’re his, completely and utterly his, and there’s no going back.

Charles’ breath stutters as he finally lets go, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he buries himself inside you, pushing deep, deeper than before, until you gasp and shudder beneath him. He’s been holding himself back for so long, waiting, controlling his own desire just to make sure this moment, your first time, is perfect.

And now — now he’s giving in.

His entire body trembles as he empties himself inside you, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch of your brow, every little gasp, every soft, broken moan that escapes you. You’re too overwhelmed to even think, your gaze unfocused, mouth parted as you take him in, your chest heaving with every breath. He can see it, the look of exhaustion and pleasure mingled together, and he loves it. He loves that he’s the one who put it there.

A small whimper falls from your lips as he pulls back slightly, his hips giving a final, gentle thrust as he lets the last of his release fill you. You’re trembling, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure, and he can’t help but lean down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your throat, murmuring praises against your skin.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low. “You did so well … such a good girl for me.” He pulls back slightly, his hand slipping down between your thighs. He can feel his release already starting to slip out of you, a small, creamy trickle that makes something dark and possessive curl in his chest.

“No,” he breathes, almost to himself, his thumb gently brushing over your swollen, overstimulated clit as he scoops up a bit of the mess between your thighs. You shudder, your hips jerking involuntarily at the contact, and a soft whimper escapes your lips. Charles watches, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as he brings his fingers up to your lips, smearing his release over them.

“Open,” he whispers, his voice soft but firm, and you do, your lips parting obediently, eyes fluttering shut as you take his fingers into your mouth. He watches, enthralled, as your tongue flicks out, tasting him. His release. Your combined arousal. He can feel the warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue swirls around his fingers, and a low, satisfied hum escapes him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and deep. “Don’t waste a drop. I want you to taste how good we are together. How perfect you are for me.”

You’re so pliant, so willing to do whatever he asks, and it sends a thrill through him, makes his stomach twist with a dark, heady satisfaction. You’re his. Completely and utterly his. He watches as you swallow, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat, and he groans softly, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your mouth, and then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back, his body protesting as he slips out of you. A small whimper falls from your lips at the loss, and Charles’ chest tightens, a sharp pang of something almost like guilt shooting through him. But he pushes it away. He can’t afford to feel guilt right now. Not when you’re still trembling beneath him, your breath hitching in soft, broken sobs of pleasure.

With a soft, low sigh, he reaches down, his arms slipping beneath you as he scoops you up, cradling your boneless body against his chest. You’re so light, so small in his arms, and he holds you close, pressing his cheek against your hair as he breathes you in.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he stands, holding you securely. “I’ve got you, mon amour. You’re safe.”

Your head lolls against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, contented sigh. You’re still trembling, your entire body limp with exhaustion, and Charles glances down at the mess you’ve both made on the couch — a wet spot that’s spread across the fabric, a mixture of his release and yours. He grimaces slightly, knowing it’s going to need a thorough cleaning later. But he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when you’re in his arms, so soft and warm and completely at his mercy.

He carries you down the hall, each step deliberate and careful, not wanting to jostle you too much. You’re completely relaxed against him, your arms loosely draped around his neck, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He can feel your breath against his skin, soft and even, and it makes something twist painfully in his chest.

He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, flicking on the light with his elbow as he steps inside. The room is cool and quiet, and Charles glances around, trying to figure out the best way to set you down without letting you go. After a moment, he carefully lowers you onto the countertop, his hands lingering on your waist as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

You make a soft, sleepy sound, your head lolling to the side as you blink up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused. “Charles …” Your voice is a soft, broken whisper, and Charles’ heart clenches at the sound.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your hip as he reaches over to turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the room. “Just going to run a bath for you, okay? I want to take care of you.”

You nod slowly, your gaze drifting back to him as if you’re trying to keep your focus, trying to stay present. Charles watches you, his chest tight, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He hates seeing you like this — so exhausted, so spent. But at the same time … he loves it. Loves that he’s the one who put you in this state, loves that you trusted him enough to give yourself to him completely.

He adjusts the temperature of the water, letting it run for a moment to make sure it’s just right before he turns back to you. You’re still watching him, your gaze soft and a little dazed, and he smiles gently, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you again.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he lowers you into the warm water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let out a soft, contented sigh as the water envelops you, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. Charles watches, his gaze lingering on your face, on the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting slightly. He stands there for a moment, just looking at you, his chest tightening with something fierce and possessive and so, so tender.

Then, slowly, he slips out of his own ruined clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor as he steps into the tub behind you. The water is warm, soothing, and he settles in, pulling you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you close.

You let out a soft hum of contentment, your body relaxing against his, and Charles sighs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzles his cheek against your hair.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft. “Just relax, baby. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your hand drifting up to rest on his arm, your fingers curling loosely around his wrist. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “For … for everything.”

Charles’ heart clenches, and he tightens his hold on you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

You nod slowly, your body sinking further into his embrace, and Charles closes his eyes, letting himself just … feel. Feel the warmth of your body against his, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart. He holds you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he murmurs soft, soothing words against your hair.

And in that moment, he knows. He’ll never let you go. Never. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him — to keep you his. Because you’re his. His first. His only. His forever.

***

The warmth of your body still lingers against his skin as Charles carries you from the bathroom to your bed. You’re completely boneless, head tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing soft and even in the quiet room. He glances down at you, the way your hair falls messily across your forehead, the relaxed expression on your face. The exhaustion etched in every line of your body.

He’s never seen anything more perfect.

You don’t even stir when he lowers you onto the mattress, your arms falling limp at your sides as he tucks the covers around you. There’s something intensely gratifying about it — about knowing how thoroughly he’s worn you out. About being the only one who’s ever seen you like this, so vulnerable and open and … completely his.

He straightens, looking down at you, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name. He takes a moment, just … standing there, watching you, every instinct in his body screaming at him to stay close. To keep you safe. To make sure nothing ever takes you away from him.

The soft, steady rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, your breath a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. Charles reaches down, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. His fingers linger, tracing lightly over your temple, down the curve of your cheek, his touch feather-light. You sigh softly in your sleep, leaning into his hand, and something fierce and protective flares in his chest.

It’s not enough.

Even now, standing here, looking at you, knowing you’re finally his … it’s not enough.

Slowly, he slips off his towel, dropping it in a silent heap on the floor. The bed dips slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. He shouldn’t do this, he knows — shouldn’t be so close, shouldn’t let himself cross this line again. But he can’t help it. Can’t stop himself from reaching out, his hand brushing over the soft curve of your waist.

You don’t wake. You’re too deeply asleep, too exhausted to even stir, and Charles’ chest tightens as he watches you. You’re completely oblivious, completely unguarded, your breathing slow and even. So trusting. So vulnerable. So … his.

He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours as he slips a hand under the covers, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your stomach. You’re so warm, so soft beneath his touch, and he can’t resist — can’t help but trace the gentle swell of your belly, the curve of your waist, the delicate line of your hip. Every inch of you is perfect. Made for him. You were always meant to be his.

His fingers linger at the crease of your thigh, hesitating for just a moment. He should stop. He knows he should stop. But … you’re his. You’ve given yourself to him, trusted him with your body, and that trust — your submission — is more intoxicating than anything he’s ever felt before.

Slowly, carefully, he grabs the duvet and tugs, pulling the fabric down, down, until it’s slipped free of your legs. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you shiver slightly, a soft, broken sound escaping your lips. But you don’t wake. You don’t even stir. You’re completely lost to sleep, completely at his mercy.

He breathes out slowly, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you, his heart pounding hard in his chest. You’re perfect. So perfect. So beautiful, lying there, your body splayed out beneath him. His to touch. His to take. His to claim.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers brushing against the slick warmth of your core. A soft sigh falls from your lips, your body arching slightly into his touch, and Charles’ breath catches in his throat. You’re so wet, so pliant and soft and ready for him, even in sleep.

He shouldn’t do this. He knows he shouldn’t do this.

But he can’t stop himself.

His hand trembles slightly as he lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. He grits his teeth, his entire body coiled tight with the effort it takes not to just thrust — to push inside and take you all over again. But he’s patient. He’s careful. He moves slowly, gently, inching forward until he’s just barely inside you.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips, your body arching slightly beneath him. Charles bites back a groan, his hands gripping your hips as he holds himself still, waiting for you to settle. His breath comes hard and fast, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, every instinct screaming at him to move. To take. To claim.

But he waits. He’s patient. He’s careful. He won’t hurt you.

Slowly, carefully, he inches forward, his breath hitching as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he’s fully seated inside you. You’re so tight around him, so warm and wet and perfect, and it takes everything in him not to just move. To thrust. To take you the way he wants to. The way he needs to.

A soft whimper falls from your lips, your body twitching slightly beneath him, and Charles freezes, his entire body going tense as he watches you. You don’t wake. You don’t even stir, your breathing soft and even, your chest rising and falling steadily.

He breathes out slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he releases the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. You’re still asleep. Still lost to whatever dream has you sighing softly, your lips parted slightly, your brow furrowed in the softest frown.

You’re his. Completely and utterly his.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hips shifting as he pulls back slightly, only to push forward again, sinking deeper inside you. A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, and Charles’ heart clenches, his entire body trembling with the effort it takes to stay slow. To stay gentle. To make this perfect for you.

His hand slips up, brushing over the soft skin of your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your navel. You’re so beautiful like this — so soft and pliant and completely at his mercy. He moves again, a slow, gentle thrust that has you sighing softly in your sleep, your body relaxing even further beneath him.

He keeps it slow, keeps it gentle, his movements deliberate and careful as he rocks into you, each thrust a soft, measured press of his hips against yours. He’s not trying to wake you. Not trying to take you out of this soft, quiet world of sleep. He just wants to be close. Just wants to feel you. Just wants to be inside you, surrounded by your warmth, your softness, your perfect, trusting submission.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body twitching slightly, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your lips. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing whisper. “I’ve got you. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your body going limp beneath him, and Charles’ heart clenches, a fierce wave of something dark and possessive washing over him. He holds himself still, his breath coming hard and fast as he watches you, his gaze dark and intent.

You’re his. You’re finally his. And nothing — nothing — will ever take you away from him.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his weight, his body pressing down against yours as he buries himself inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. He can feel the soft, steady beat of your heart against his chest, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the warmth of your skin against his.

He’s never felt anything like this before. Never felt so … complete. So at peace. So whole.

You’re his. Finally.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft, contented sigh, Charles settles in behind you, his body curled protectively around yours as he holds you close. He stays inside you, his cock still nestled deep, the warmth and softness of your body enveloping him. He’s never felt anything like this before — this perfect, blissful sense of rightness, of belonging.

He leans down, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, his breath a soft, warm whisper against your skin. “Mine,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re mine, ma chérie. My good girl. My perfect girl.”

You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, your body shifting slightly in his arms, and Charles smiles, his heart swelling with a fierce, possessive joy. You’re his. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him.

Slowly, he closes his eyes, his arms tightening around you as he lets himself drift, his breath evening out as he falls into a deep, contented sleep. The last thing he feels is the steady beat of your heart, the soft warmth of your body, and the perfect, blissful sense of belonging that comes with knowing …

You’re his. Finally, irrevocably, and forever his.

***

The morning light spills softly into the bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets tangled around your body. Charles wakes slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to his mind like a fog as he blinks his eyes open. The first thing he feels is you — still warm and soft against him, your body completely relaxed, your head nestled against his shoulder.

He’s still inside you.

The realization makes something tighten in his chest, something dark and possessive and overwhelmingly satisfied. You’re still so tight around him, so soft and warm, your body fitting perfectly against his. He should feel guilty. He should feel remorse or shame or some shred of decency for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays still, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the gentle curve of your mouth, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes against your cheeks. You’re still fast asleep, your breathing slow and steady, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm that matches the beating of his heart.

His.

You’re finally his.

The thought makes his breath hitch, his gaze darkening as he watches you, a fierce, possessive satisfaction washing over him. He’s been waiting so long for this — been wanting you for years, watching you from a distance as you smiled and laughed and loved his brother instead of him. And now you’re finally here, wrapped up in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside you.

He tightens his hold on you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you closer, your body shifting slightly in your sleep. You murmur softly, a small, sleepy sound escaping your lips, and Charles’ chest tightens, his heart swelling with something almost too big to name.

He could stay like this forever. Could spend the rest of his life holding you like this, feeling your warmth, your softness, the gentle, perfect way your body molds to his. But the light filtering through the curtains is growing brighter, the morning creeping steadily in, and he knows he can’t stay like this forever. There’s too much to do. Too much to take care of.

Too many loose ends to tie up.

Carefully, slowly, he shifts, pulling out of you with a soft, reluctant sigh. His cock slips free, and he watches, mesmerized, as a trickle of his release follows, sliding down your inner thigh to stain the sheets beneath you. Something dark and primal stirs in his chest at the sight, his fingers itching to reach out and touch, to gather up the evidence of his possession and push it back inside you where it belongs.

But he resists. You’re still sleeping, your face soft and peaceful, your body completely relaxed. He doesn’t want to wake you — not yet, at least. You need your rest after last night. You need time to recover, to heal, to get used to the new reality of being his.

Instead, he pulls the covers up over you, tucking them gently around your body before slipping out of bed. His feet hit the cool floor with a soft thud, and he bends down, retrieving his discarded boxers from the pile of clothes spilling out of the bathroom. The fabric is soft and worn against his skin as he slips them on, his gaze drifting back to you, sprawled out on the bed, your hair a tangled mess on the pillow.

He’ll let you sleep a little longer, he decides. You’ve earned it.

He’s just turning away, his fingers brushing through his own tousled hair, when the sound of a knock echoes through the apartment.

Charles freezes, his entire body going still, his gaze snapping toward the bedroom door. The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent, and a flicker of irritation sparks in his chest.

Who the hell-

Another knock, and Charles’ jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he stalks out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent against the floor. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of his movements as he makes his way to the front door.

He knows who it is before he even reaches for the handle.

Knows, because he’s been waiting for this — waiting for the moment when everything comes crashing down, when the reality of what he’s done, what he’s taken, finally hits his brother.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Arthur stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide and wild with something close to panic. He’s still in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, his hair a mess, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.

“Charles?” His voice is rough, a strange, desperate edge to it. He looks … lost. Confused. Like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.

And then his gaze drops, taking in the sight of Charles standing there in nothing but his boxers, his bare chest still flushed with the lingering heat of last night. Arthur’s mouth opens, then closes, his eyes narrowing as something sharp and dangerous flickers across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Charles’ expression doesn’t change. He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He should feel bad — should feel guilty or ashamed or something for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

“Good morning to you too, Arthur,” he drawls, his voice calm, almost bored. “What brings you here so early?”

Arthur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he glares at his older brother. “Don’t play games with me, Charles. What the hell are you doing here? Why are you in her apartment?”

Charles’ gaze flicks over him, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, the way his hands shake with barely contained anger. He almost feels a pang of pity.

Almost.

“I think the better question,” he murmurs, his voice soft and even, “is why you’re here, Arthur.”

Arthur blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Charles straightens, pushing off the doorframe as he steps forward, his gaze steady and unflinching. “She doesn’t want to see you anymore,” he says quietly, his voice firm and unyielding. “Your relationship is over.”

Arthur’s mouth falls open, shock and confusion and a hundred other emotions flickering across his face. “What — what the fuck are you talking about?” He stammers, his voice rising in pitch. “What do you mean, it’s over? She — she wouldn’t-”

“She did,” Charles interrupts, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. “She ended it last night. She doesn’t want to be with you anymore. It’s over.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the silence that follows thick and suffocating. Arthur stares at him, his eyes wide and disbelieving, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He looks … broken.

Charles almost feels a pang of guilt.

Almost.

But then he remembers the way you looked last night — the way you moaned and gasped and begged for him, your body arching beneath his, your lips parted in breathless pleasure. He remembers the way you whispered his name, the way you clung to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, so perfectly.

And any trace of guilt or remorse disappears, replaced by a fierce, possessive satisfaction.

Arthur was a necessary sacrifice. A means to an end. Something to be discarded and forgotten now that he has you. Now that you’re his.

“Charles, this — this is insane,” Arthur chokes out, his voice shaking. “You’re — you’re sick. You’ve always been obsessed with her, but I never thought-”

“Careful, Arthur,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. He takes another step forward, his gaze locking with his brother’s, his expression cold and unyielding. “You’re starting to sound like you don’t believe me.”

Arthur’s face twists, a snarl curling his lips as he takes a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re lying,” he spits, his voice thick with rage. “You’re fucking lying. She wouldn’t — she wouldn’t do that.”

“She did,” Charles says calmly, his gaze never wavering. “And if you care about her at all, you’ll respect her decision. You’ll leave her alone.”

Arthur’s chest heaves, his breath coming hard and fast as he glares at his older brother, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. “You’re — you’re a fucking monster,” he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “She’s — she’s everything to me, Charles. You can’t just-”

“She’s not yours,” Charles cuts him off, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “She was never yours. And now, she’s mine.”

The words are a final blow, a cruel, cutting truth that shatters whatever fragile hope Arthur was still clinging to. His shoulders sag, his head bowing as the fight drains out of him, leaving him hollow and broken and utterly defeated.

“Get out,” Charles says quietly, his voice calm and cold and unyielding. “And don’t come back.”

Arthur stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes filled with pain and betrayal and a thousand other emotions Charles doesn’t care to name. And then, slowly, he turns, his movements stiff and mechanical as he stumbles back down the hallway.

Charles watches him go, his gaze dark and unreadable, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Charles closes the door softly, the lock clicking into place with a finality that makes his chest swell with satisfaction. He doesn’t spare another thought for Arthur, doesn’t bother with the remnants of guilt still faintly tugging at the edges of his mind. It’s done. He’s gone.

You’re all that matters now.

He turns away from the door, the apartment eerily quiet as he pads silently back down the hallway. The morning light is streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor, but everything is still, peaceful. The calm after the storm.

When he reaches the bedroom, his eyes find you immediately. You haven’t moved. Still lying there, curled up under the sheets, your hair a soft halo on the pillow, your face turned slightly to the side. You look so peaceful, so innocent, so his. He watches you for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body thrumming with an electric anticipation.

He can’t help himself.

Slowly, he slips out of his boxers, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a careless heap. He’s hard again — has been since Arthur’s interruption, the confrontation with his brother only heightening the possessive desire coursing through his veins. He wants to claim you all over again. Wants to bury himself inside you, make you moan and gasp and beg for him like you did last night.

Wants to remind himself that you’re his and his alone.

The bed dips under his weight as he crawls in beside you, the mattress creaking softly as he settles in, his body pressed against your side. He moves slowly, careful not to wake you just yet, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your neck, the soft rise and fall of your chest. He leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his mouth trailing down the smooth line of your back, his hands sliding under the covers to caress your skin.

You murmur softly in your sleep, a small, content sound that makes something tighten low in his belly. He shifts, his hand trailing down your back, over the curve of your hip, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Slowly, carefully, he moves, spreading your legs just enough to make room for him as he positions himself between them.

His cock presses against your entrance, the heat of your body searing against his skin. He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as he waits, his gaze locked on your face. You’re still sleeping, still blissfully unaware, and he bites back a groan, his hands trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

But only for a moment.

He pushes forward, just a fraction, just enough to feel the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him, your body resisting for a split second before yielding to his intrusion. He bites down on his lip, a soft hiss escaping as he inches in deeper, his hands braced on either side of your body, his chest pressed against your back.

You stir, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your body tightens around him, your back arching slightly in response. He freezes, his gaze snapping to your face, watching as your brows furrow, your lips parting in a soft, breathless moan.

“Charles …” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, confused and disoriented as you shift beneath him. “What …”

“Shhh,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans down, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, baby. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You shudder, your body trembling beneath him as he presses in deeper, the sheets rustling softly as he moves. He’s careful, slow, giving you time to adjust, his hands sliding up to cradle your hips, his thumbs brushing soothingly over your skin.

“Charles …” you breathe again, your voice a soft, broken whisper as your body arches against his, your legs parting wider to accommodate him. “What are you-”

“I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with need as he thrusts in the rest of the way, his hips pressing flush against your ass. You gasp, your body clenching around him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. “I couldn’t wait to be inside you again. To wake you up like this.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he pulls out, just a fraction, before pushing back in, his movements slow and deliberate. “Charles, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of your waist. “Just feel me, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

You’re still half-asleep, your mind foggy and slow, your body moving on instinct as he starts to move, his hips rocking gently against yours. He’s barely holding back, his entire body strung tight with need, the urge to fuck you hard and fast and claim you again roaring in his veins.

But he holds back. Takes his time. He wants you to feel every inch of him, wants you to wake up to the sensation of him buried deep inside you, stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can’t wait to do this every day,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the nape of your neck, his voice a low, possessive growl. “Every morning. Every night. For the rest of our lives.”

You moan softly, your body shuddering beneath him as his words sink in, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants. “Charles, I-”

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, each movement designed to remind you exactly who you belong to. “You’re mine, baby. And I’m never letting you go.”

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your head falling back against his shoulder as he fucks you slowly, thoroughly, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasp, your back arching, your body tightening around him, and Charles groans, his own control fraying at the edges.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with need. “So tight and wet and perfect for me.”

“Charles …” you whimper, your voice a broken, desperate plea, your body trembling beneath him. “I — please, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he thrusts in deep, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “It’s okay, mon ange. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He can feel you starting to fall apart, your body tightening around him, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He knows you’re close — can feel it in the way your body clenches and quivers, in the soft, breathless moans slipping from your lips.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough command as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours in quick, shallow thrusts. “Come on, let me feel you.”

You shudder, a broken, desperate sob escaping your lips as your body tenses, your muscles locking up as pleasure crashes over you, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Charles groans, his own release building, his cock throbbing as you tighten around him, milking him, drawing him deeper.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with praise and satisfaction as he thrusts in hard, his hands gripping your hips as he buries himself deep, his release hitting him like a freight train. “Such a good girl.”

He stays there, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving, his heart pounding as the last waves of pleasure roll through him. You’re still trembling, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, your body pliant and boneless beneath him.

“Charles …” you murmur softly, your voice a sleepy, sated whisper as your eyes flutter open, your gaze dazed and unfocused. “I-”

He shifts, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your lips. “It’s okay, mon amour,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Go back to sleep. I’m here.”

You sigh softly, your eyes drifting closed again as sleep pulls you under, your body relaxing completely beneath his. Charles watches you for a long moment, his gaze softening, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name.

You’re his.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft sigh, he lowers his head, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder as he shifts, his body molding to yours. He’s still inside you, still connected, still a part of you. And that’s exactly where he wants to be.

Where he’s always wanted to be.

His arms tighten around you, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent, the warmth of your body seeping into his. He can feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind, but he doesn’t fight it. Not this time.

Not when he’s finally, finally where he belongs.

With you.

For now. For always. Forever.

***

Charles isn’t entirely sure how many weeks it’s been since that morning. Since Arthur. Since everything changed. But the blur of days and nights, of waking up beside you, of coaxing you into his bed, into his apartment, into his life, has been the sweetest kind of haze.

It’s been a slow, deliberate process. Each night, he asks you to stay a little longer. Each morning, he insists on making you coffee, on sharing a quick breakfast, on driving you to work. He’s patient, meticulous, letting you come to him little by little, your things finding their way into his space in a way that feels natural, unforced.

Until it’s not just a toothbrush left in his bathroom, but your favorite skincare products. Not just a spare shirt, but an entire drawer full of your clothes. Not just a book or two, but stacks of them lining his shelves, mingling with his own, your life slowly intertwining with his in every way.

It’s intoxicating, watching you settle in, watching you relax, watching you start to think of his space as yours. It’s almost too easy.

Every evening, when he casually suggests you bring over something else — a few more clothes, your laptop so you can work from his place, that blanket you love because his living room gets drafty — your hesitation fades a little more. And every time you say yes, every time you come over and unpack just one more bag, his heart clenches with a satisfaction so intense it’s nearly painful.

Tonight, it’s the same routine. You’ve brought over another bag, this one heavier than usual. Charles watches, hiding a smile, as you kick off your shoes in the hallway, setting the bag down with a small, relieved sigh.

“Did you bring your entire closet this time?” He teases, leaning against the doorway, his eyes tracing the curve of your body as you stretch, your sweater riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. The sight makes his fingers itch to touch, to pull you close and never let go.

“Just the essentials,” you reply lightly, your voice warm and teasing as you give him a playful look. “You told me to, remember?”

“Did I?” He raises an eyebrow, pretending to think. “I must’ve forgotten. Or maybe I just want you to have everything you need here.”

“Everything?” You tilt your head, giving him a curious look. “What are you saying, Charles?”

He pushes off the doorway, crossing the short distance between you in a few easy strides. He stops in front of you, his hands finding your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your jeans in slow, deliberate circles.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs, leaning in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you should just stay here. For good.”

He feels the way you stiffen, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “Charles, I-”

“Think about it,” he cuts in softly, his voice low and soothing. “You’re here almost every night anyway. You have more clothes here than you do at your place. It just makes sense.”

“Sense,” you echo, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But-”

“You’re wasting money on rent for a place you barely stay at,” he continues, not letting you pull away, his hands tightening on your hips. “Why would you need that when you could just be here with me?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to his chest, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. “I don’t know, it’s just … it feels so fast.”

“Fast?” He huffs a soft laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “It’s been weeks. We’ve known each other for years. There’s nothing fast about this.”

“I know, but …” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, your brows furrowing as if you’re trying to find the right words. “I just — Charles, I don’t want to rush things.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing your face, taking in the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line, the way your body is tense under his touch. He can feel your hesitation, your reluctance, the lingering doubt that’s keeping you from taking that final step.

And he knows exactly how to make it go away.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees, his hands sliding down your body to rest on your thighs. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intense, his fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans.

“Charles, what are you-”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “Let me show you how much I want this. How much I want you.”

You swallow, your throat working as you look down at him, your eyes wide, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He waits, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your hands twitch at your sides, the way your body sways just slightly toward him.

And then he moves.

His hands find the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a quick, practiced motion, the sound of the zipper rasping loud in the quiet apartment. He pulls the fabric down, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of your thighs, your legs, until he’s stripped you bare from the waist down, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, your hands fluttering at your sides. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he leans in, his mouth brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Let me.”

He can feel the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches, the way your legs tremble slightly as he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. He takes his time, his mouth moving higher, his tongue darting out to taste, to tease, until he reaches the delicate lace of your panties.

He looks up at you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the edge of the lace. He waits, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, your lips parted, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

It’s all he needs.

With a low, satisfied hum, he hooks his fingers into the lace, pulling it to the side, exposing you to his gaze. He leans in, his mouth brushing over your folds, his tongue darting out for a quick, teasing lick.

You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers curling into his shirt as your body jolts in response. He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over your clit.

“Charles — oh god-” You choke out, your voice breaking as he licks again, his mouth moving with slow, practiced precision. He can feel the way your body is trembling, the way your fingers are digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in quick, desperate pants.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He laps at you slowly, deliberately, his tongue teasing and tasting, his mouth moving with a languid, almost lazy rhythm. He wants to savor this, wants to make you fall apart slowly, wants to make you feel.

You’re moaning now, your head falling back, your body arching against his mouth as he licks and sucks, his tongue swirling over your clit, his lips brushing against your folds. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tensing, the way your breath is coming in quick, ragged gasps.

“Please — oh god, please-”

He pulls back slightly, his gaze flicking up to yours, his breath hot against your skin. “Please what, mon cœur?”

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice a broken, desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue flicking over your clit, his mouth moving with a relentless, determined rhythm. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tightening, the way your breath is coming in quick, shallow pants.

And then you’re coming apart, your body arching against his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you cry out, your release crashing over you in waves. He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he holds you steady, his tongue moving slowly, gently, coaxing every last tremor from your body.

When you finally collapse against him, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, he pulls back, his mouth slick and wet, his gaze locked on yours.

“You belong with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh. “Say you’ll stay.”

“I-” You swallow, your voice trembling as you look down at him, your eyes wide and dazed, your body still trembling. “Okay.”

He smiles, satisfaction and triumph blooming in his chest as he stands, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close. “Good girl.”

And just like that, you’re his.

***

The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware fill the cozy space of Charles’ apartment. The dinner table is set beautifully, as always — warm, ambient light filtering through the modern chandelier above, casting gentle shadows on the polished wooden surface. Plates are lined with an assortment of carefully prepared dishes, most of which you helped with under his guidance, the evening flowing seamlessly in the comfortable domesticity they’ve created together.

Charles glances across the table, his gaze settling on you with the same fierce, possessive warmth that’s become more familiar over the past few weeks. You’re laughing softly at something he said, fingers wrapped loosely around the delicate stem of your wine glass. He leans back, watching you take another slow sip, and waits.

And then it happens.

You lower the glass, a slight furrow forming between your brows, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “Hmm, that’s … strange.”

Charles cocks his head, feigning curiosity. “What is?”

“This …” You frown, swirling the liquid gently, as if expecting the taste to change with the motion. “I don’t know. The wine tastes … different tonight.”

“Different?” He raises a brow, playing along, watching the subtle flicker of emotions cross your face. Confusion. Curiosity. Just the hint of concern. “How so?”

“I can’t really explain it,” you say, looking up at him, your lips quirking with a slight grimace. “It’s like it’s missing something.”

He lets the silence stretch for a beat, then two, before leaning forward slightly, his fingers drumming once against the table. “That’s because it’s not wine.”

The statement hangs in the air, and you blink, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“It’s sparkling grape juice,” he clarifies, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, your expression shifting from confusion to outright bewilderment. “Grape juice? Why would you-”

“Because,” Charles interrupts gently, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, “we haven’t used protection. Not once. And if … if you’re already pregnant, I don’t want to risk anything.”

He watches the way your face goes slack with shock, the way your fingers tense around the stem of your glass, your knuckles whitening. For a moment, it’s as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Pregnant?” The word slips out in a whisper, almost inaudible, your voice trembling on the single syllable.

“Yes, ma chérie,” he murmurs, standing slowly, moving around the table with deliberate ease. His eyes never leave yours, every step measured, controlled, calculated. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“Charles-” You’re shaking your head now, as if trying to dispel the thought, as if the mere suggestion is too much to handle. “I … I can’t be … I’m not-”

“We don’t know that,” he counters softly, his voice almost a purr as he closes the distance, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. He feels the way your body tenses under his touch, the way you’re holding yourself so still, like a deer caught in headlights. “And if you are …”

He trails off, his hand sliding down to your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. You don’t move, don’t pull away, your gaze locked on his, wide and unblinking, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your forearm. “It’s okay. Just breathe, baby.”

“But-” You’re struggling to find words now, your voice breaking on the sound, your eyes darting wildly, like you’re searching for some kind of escape, some kind of explanation that makes this all make sense. “I — we didn’t. We-”

“I know,” he soothes, his tone soft, patient, as if he’s speaking to a frightened child. “I know. But these things happen. And if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

You stare at him, your chest heaving, your fingers trembling against the table. He can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear, the uncertainty, the way your mind is racing, struggling to process what he’s just said.

“I-I don’t-” You swallow hard, your throat working, your gaze flicking away, like you can’t bear to look at him, like you’re trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “I can’t be pregnant. I can’t-”

“But what if you are?” He murmurs, stepping closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with feather-light pressure. “What if, right now, there’s a little piece of us growing inside you?”

You let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, your shoulders trembling under his touch. “Charles, please, I … I can’t-”

“Shhh.” He moves in closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, his body pressing against yours, caging you in, holding you steady. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay?” You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your hands coming up to press against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “How can this be okay?”

“Because,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “Because it would be a good thing. Because I love you. Because this is what I want.”

“Charles …” You sound lost, your voice wavering, your fingers clenching in his shirt, like you’re trying to ground yourself, like you’re trying to hold onto something solid, something real. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t know if I can-”

“You can,” he murmurs, his voice firm, reassuring. “You can, and you will. And I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

He tilts your head up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, his expression softening as he takes in the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming uncertainty swirling in your eyes.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, his gaze locked on yours. “If you’re pregnant, it’s because it’s meant to be. Because we’re meant to be. This is a good thing, baby. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Charles, I …” You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes, your voice breaking on a sob. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not-”

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his hands tightening on your face, his gaze burning into yours. “You’ll be the perfect mother, and I’ll be the perfect father, and we’ll be the perfect family. You and me. And our baby.”

“Our baby,” you repeat, your voice a broken, breathless whisper, the words catching in your throat like you can’t quite believe them.

“Yes.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Ours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling in his arms, your eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. He can see the way you’re struggling, the way you’re fighting to hold onto something, anything, that makes sense, that feels real.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs again, his voice a low, soothing murmur, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. “I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He cuts you off gently, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. And I’ll be right here with you. No matter what.”

You let out a soft, broken sob, your body crumpling against his, your fingers clutching at his shirt as you bury your face in his chest. He holds you, his hands stroking your back, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he whispers reassurances, promises, vows.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “You’ll see. It’ll be perfect. Just like you.”

He tightens his arms around you, his gaze dark and possessive as he stares over your head, his mind already racing, already planning, already imagining what it’ll be like.

A baby. A family. A future.

His.

All his.

***

Charles has always been meticulous — about his training, his racing, every part of his life carefully calculated, a system he maintains with the precision of a clock. But this, this is different. This is obsession. And it consumes him entirely.

It started the morning after the conversation, when you looked so fragile, cradled in his arms, your voice a whisper of uncertainty. Charles felt something shift inside him, something deep and primal. He’d reassured you, soothed you, but the truth was, he already knew. He could feel it in his bones: this was happening. This had to happen.

For weeks, he watches you closely. Everything you do, every move you make — he sees it all. You, oblivious in your softness, in the way you trust him, rely on him. You don’t see the way he lingers on you when you aren’t paying attention, how his eyes darken with possessive thoughts. You don’t notice the subtle changes in the way he cares for you, the little routines he’s established — checking your moods, your energy levels, the way your skin looks, the tiniest shifts in your appetite.

Charles starts tracking everything. He memorizes your menstrual cycle, noting the dates carefully, storing them in his phone, his mind keeping a careful countdown to when things might change. When you might miss it. It’s a private ritual now, something he doesn’t share with you, something he keeps close to his chest. It feels like power, like control, like the final piece falling into place.

When you’re a few days late, Charles feels it before you do. He watches your morning routines with more focus than ever, noting your subtle tiredness, the slight changes in your mood. You don’t even realize, but he knows. The idea of telling you swells in his chest, but he holds back. Not yet. Not until he’s sure.

Instead, he begins preparing, silently, methodically.

Every morning, Charles brings you lemon water, just like always, but now with a small twist. He crushes prenatal vitamins into the glass before mixing it, careful to stir it in completely so the powder dissolves. He watches as you take your first sip, the way your lips curl around the edge of the glass, unaware of the extra care he’s put into it. He knows it’s too early, far too early to be certain, but that doesn’t stop him. He wants you and the potential life growing inside you to be nourished, prepared.

In the evenings, it’s the same ritual with your tart cherry juice, the one you love before bed. You’ve commented how well you’ve been sleeping lately, how rested you’ve been feeling. Charles smiles at that, hiding his satisfaction behind his glass. He can already imagine the next steps, the way your body will change, grow round with his child, the way your life will transform to center around him and the future he’s already decided for both of you.

When you fall asleep at night, Charles often stays awake, his mind racing, his hand drifting to your belly while you breathe softly beside him. His palm lingers there, the flatness of your stomach warm beneath his touch, and he lets his mind wander — imagining how in just a few short months, that same spot will be rounded, filled with life. His life. His blood. The perfect blend of both of you.

He closes his eyes and pictures it — how you’ll look swollen with his child, how your body will change, become fuller, softer, more his than ever. He pictures you, tired and glowing, his hand resting possessively over your bump, the world knowing exactly who you belong to.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the room is still and your breath is steady in your sleep, Charles whispers to your belly. His lips brush against your skin, words murmured softly into the night, a promise to the life growing there. He tells you how he’ll take care of you, how everything will be perfect. How you don’t need to worry, because he’ll handle everything.

He tells you how much he loves you, how this is what he’s wanted all along.

In the mornings, you don’t seem to notice the small changes in him, the way he hovers just a bit more, the way his touch lingers on your stomach longer than it used to. You think it’s tenderness, maybe affection, and in a way, it is. But it’s more than that — it’s control, it’s possession, it’s the weight of something bigger than either of you.

One evening, over dinner, Charles watches you more intently than usual. You’re laughing, oblivious, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. You’ve been tired lately — more than usual — and you’ve mentioned feeling a bit off, but you brush it away, thinking it’s just stress, or maybe a cold coming on. He nods, agreeing with you, but inside, he knows better. He knows exactly what’s happening.

After dinner, as you’re curled up on the couch, Charles leans against the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on you, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You glance up at him, your head tilted in question.

“What?” You ask, a soft laugh in your voice.

“Nothing,” he replies smoothly, moving towards you. “Just … thinking.”

“About what?”

Charles sits beside you, pulling you gently into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. He brushes a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment before he speaks, his voice low, careful.

“About how lucky I am.”

You smile, relaxing against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”

He hums in response, his hand trailing down to your stomach, his fingers spreading across the flat surface. You don’t seem to notice the significance of the gesture, too lost in the warmth of his touch, the closeness between you.

“We should talk about the future,” he says suddenly, his voice calm but firm.

You shift slightly in his lap, looking up at him with a hint of surprise. “What do you mean?”

Charles’ fingers trace absent circles over your stomach, his gaze darkening as he imagines the changes that are coming. “I mean … where we’re heading. Together.”

You blink, the question hanging between you, heavy with implications. “We’ve talked about the future before.”

“Not like this.” His voice is steady, his thumb brushing over your skin with deliberate care. “I mean … in a few months, things could change. We could be expecting.”

Your breath catches, and for a brief moment, he feels you stiffen in his arms. But he’s prepared for this, for your uncertainty, your hesitation. He’s been planting the seeds for weeks now, and he knows exactly how to ease you into it.

“I don’t think I’m …” You trail off, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Charles’ grip tightens just a fraction, not enough for you to notice, but enough for him to feel the need to maintain control. “You don’t have to be ready right now,” he says softly, his tone soothing. “But when it happens — if it happens — it’ll be the most beautiful thing in the world.”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling slightly against his chest. “I just … I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll take care of everything. You know that.”

He feels you nod slowly, your body relaxing slightly in his arms, and he knows he’s won, at least for now. He plants a kiss on your forehead, holding you close, his hand never leaving your stomach.

In the quiet of the night, when you’re fast asleep, Charles slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen, carefully preparing your morning lemon water. The vitamins are crushed to a fine powder, dissolved into the liquid, the routine seamless now. He’s preparing you, your body, for the life he’s creating with you, and soon enough, you’ll know it too.

When he returns to bed, he slides in behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hand resting once again on your stomach. He falls asleep that way, his dreams filled with the image of you — round, glowing, full with his child.

His future is set. And you? You belong to him completely now.

***

Charles is lounging on the couch when you walk in, your eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looks up, a subtle smile curving his lips as he watches you shuffle closer. You seem nervous, almost hesitant — he’s noticed it for days now, the way you’ve been quiet, reflective. But he doesn’t prod. He doesn’t ask. He’s been waiting for this, letting it build, savoring the anticipation. And now, it’s finally here.

You stand before him, clutching something small in your hand, your fingers trembling. He sees it, the faint outline of the white plastic, and his heart quickens, a rush of satisfaction coursing through him. But he schools his features into calm curiosity, tilting his head as if he has no idea what’s coming.

“Charles …” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, wavering with emotion. “I, um, I have something to show you.”

He sets his book aside, focusing all his attention on you. “What is it, ma chérie?” The endearment falls from his lips smoothly, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

You take a shaky breath, stepping closer. Then, with a trembling hand, you hold out the pregnancy test. Charles lets his gaze drop to it, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion. He lets the silence stretch, just for a moment, just enough to feel the weight of your emotions press into him.

“What …” He blinks, his eyes widening as if in realization, then flicks his gaze up to meet yours, his mouth falling open slightly. “Is that-”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching, a sob escaping your lips. “I’m pregnant, Charles,” you choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I-I didn’t know how to tell you, and I’m so scared, and-”

He’s up in a second, his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you against his chest. He holds you close, feeling the way you tremble against him, your tears soaking into his shirt. He strokes your hair, his other hand sliding down to rest on your back, keeping you anchored to him.

“Shh, mon amour, shh,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, tender. He presses his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

You clutch at his shirt, your sobs muffled against his chest. “I-I didn’t think … I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes search yours, a soft, affectionate smile forming on his lips. “I can’t believe it …” he murmurs, letting his voice crack with supposed disbelief. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, more tears spilling over, your emotions a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. “Y-Yes … I just found out. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but-” You break off, another sob tearing through you. “Charles, I’m so scared. What if-”

“Hey, look at me.” His voice is firm now, his grip on your face gentle but unyielding. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, your gaze swimming with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever received, okay? You’re carrying our child. Our baby.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, then leans forward to kiss your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so happy, mon amour. So, so happy.”

He feels your body soften against his, the tension easing slightly. But there’s still that uncertainty in your eyes, that flicker of doubt that makes his heart tighten. You’re so fragile, so beautifully breakable. And he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you never feel that doubt again.

“Come here,” he whispers, taking the test from your hand and setting it aside on the coffee table. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you until you’re straddling him, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs.

“Charles …” you start, but he shushes you gently, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the shape of your waist, the curve of your breasts. He can’t stop touching you, can’t keep his hands still, not when you’re sitting on him like this, flushed and teary-eyed, carrying his child.

“Let me show you how happy you’ve made me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin. He feels you shiver, your hands gripping his shoulders, your breath hitching as he nips lightly at your neck. “Let me celebrate with you, hmm?”

Your response is a broken sound, half-whimper, half-sob, your body leaning into his touch. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. He feels the fabric slide higher, baring more of your skin, and he can’t help the way his fingers tighten, his grip almost bruising.

“Do you know how much I love you?” He breathes against your ear, his voice low, rough with want. “How much I love the thought of you carrying my baby?”

You shake your head, your eyes fluttering closed as he moves lower, his mouth trailing over your collarbone, leaving a path of heat in its wake. “N-no … I … I don’t know …”

Charles growls softly, his hands sliding up to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. He’s hard, straining against his pants, and he can see the way your cheeks flush, the way your breath catches as you feel him. “I’m going to make you feel it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your throat that always makes you squirm. “I’m going to make sure you know just how much I love you, how much I need you.”

Before you can respond, he’s lifting you, positioning you over him. His hands are firm on your hips as he drags you down slowly, letting you sink onto him inch by inch. He watches your face, the way your eyes widen, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He feels every tremble, every quiver of your muscles as you take him, and it’s almost too much. Almost.

But he drags it out, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. He doesn’t let you move, doesn’t let you do anything but feel. He’s deep, too deep, and he can see the way your body strains, the way you’re already close to unraveling, and he loves it. Loves seeing you like this — vulnerable, overwhelmed, completely at his mercy.

“Charles,” you whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Please, I-”

“Shh, chérie,” he coos, his hands holding you still as he thrusts up slowly, savoring the way you tighten around him, the way you moan helplessly. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you.”

He sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thrusts deep and measured, his eyes locked on your face. He watches every flicker of emotion, every gasp, every tear that slips down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, incoherent with need, your body trembling as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” you beg, your voice breaking, your hips trying to move against him, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps you still, his thrusts controlled, his gaze never leaving yours. “Please, Charles, I need-”

“I know what you need,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He pulls you down harder, driving into you with a force that makes you cry out, your head falling back. He feels the way you clench around him, the way your body convulses, and he knows you’re close, so close. “But I’m not going to give it to you yet. Not until I know you understand.”

“Understand w-what?” You sob, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling desperately.

“That you’re mine,” he growls, his thrusts quickening, his grip on your hips almost punishing. “That you and this baby — everything — belongs to me.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, I-” Your voice breaks, your body arching against him, and he finally lets you move, lets you ride him, lets you take what you need.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his hands guiding you, his own release building, tightening in his core. “That’s it, baby, take what you need. Show me how much you want it.”

You shatter around him, your body convulsing, your sobs filling the room. He feels you come undone, feels the way you squeeze him, and it sends him over the edge, his own release crashing through him. He buries himself deep, holding you against him as he spills into you, his teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound your ragged breathing, the quiet hum of satisfaction filling the space between you.

Then he moves, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hands stroking your back gently, soothingly.

“See?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. “We’re going to be so happy, mon amour. You, me, and our baby. Everything will be perfect.”

***

The bell above the shop door jingles softly as you step into the boutique, the warm, perfumed air inside a welcome contrast to the chilly breeze outside. Charles follows behind you, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you browse through the racks of maternity clothes. Your stomach is starting to show now, rounding out beneath the soft fabric of your sweater, a tangible reminder of the life growing inside you.

Charles glances down at your belly, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. He loves seeing you like this — loves the way your body is changing, loves the way you’ve become even more beautiful, more radiant. You’re glowing, in every sense of the word, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Do you like this one?” You ask, holding up a pale blue dress, your voice hesitant.

Charles steps closer, his hand sliding from your back to your waist, resting just above your bump. He tilts his head, considering the dress for a moment, before nodding with a smile.

“It’s perfect,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

You smile shyly, your fingers smoothing over the fabric, and Charles feels a pang of possessiveness twist in his gut. He loves how soft and uncertain you’ve become lately, how much more you lean on him, rely on him. The pregnancy has made you vulnerable, and he thrives on it. He loves that you need him now, in a way you never did before.

As you make your way to the changing rooms, Charles lingers by the front of the shop, his eyes scanning the street outside through the large glass windows. He’s always on alert, always watching. He has to be. The thought of anyone — or anything — interrupting this perfect life he’s built with you sends a cold shiver down his spine.

And then he sees him.

Arthur.

Standing across the street, frozen in place, his eyes locked on Charles through the glass.

Charles’ entire body tenses, his jaw clenching tightly. He can see the shock in Arthur’s expression, the way his eyes flicker past Charles, searching for something — no, for someone.

You.

Arthur’s gaze drops to the shop window, and Charles knows exactly what he’s looking at. Your silhouette, your round belly. The truth hitting Arthur like a punch to the gut.

For a brief, panicked moment, Charles’ mind races. He thought he’d been careful. He’s kept Arthur away from you, made sure to cover all his tracks, kept you isolated from anything or anyone that could pull you back into your old life. He’s been meticulous, perfect in his control.

But now, standing across the street, is the one person Charles never wanted you to see again.

Arthur begins to move, his feet carrying him across the street with determined strides, and Charles feels a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. He can’t let this happen. Not now. Not when everything is so perfect.

You emerge from the changing room, your face bright and cheerful as you smooth the fabric of the blue dress over your belly. “What do you think?” You ask, spinning around slightly to give him a full view.

Before Charles can respond, the door to the boutique swings open with a sharp clang, and Arthur steps inside.

“Y/N,” Arthur’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, filled with shock, disbelief, and something else — something darker, more dangerous.

You freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn to face him. For a moment, the three of you are locked in a tense, suffocating silence. You glance between them, confusion written all over your face.

“Arthur?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles steps forward, immediately positioning himself between you and his younger brother, his hand gripping your arm tightly. “What are you doing here?” His voice is low, warning, dripping with barely contained anger.

Arthur’s eyes never leave you, flicking from your face to your belly with an expression that’s a mixture of hurt and fury. “What the hell is going on, Y/N?” He demands, ignoring Charles completely. “You’re … you’re pregnant?”

Your face drains of color, your hand instinctively moving to cover your stomach, as if to shield the truth from him. “I … I can explain,” you stammer, your voice trembling.

But Charles isn’t having it. He steps forward, his body blocking Arthur’s view of you completely. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation, Arthur,” he snaps, his voice cold and cutting. “You’re not part of her life anymore.”

Arthur’s face twists with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not part of her life?” He spits, his eyes blazing. “I was with her for six years, Charles. Six years. You think you can just waltz in and take everything?”

Charles’ grip on your arm tightens, his nails digging into your skin as he fights to keep control. His pulse is racing, his heart pounding in his chest, but outwardly, he remains calm, collected. He has to. He can’t let Arthur get under his skin, can’t let him ruin everything he’s worked so hard for.

“Y/N made her choice,” Charles says evenly, his voice cold as ice. “She chose me. We’re having a baby together. Our baby.”

Arthur’s face goes pale, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A baby?” He whispers, his voice breaking. He looks at you then, truly looks at you, and Charles can see the hurt in his eyes, the devastation. “Is that true, Y/N?” He asks, his voice shaking. “You’re having his baby?”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tears well up in your eyes, and you look down, avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

Charles takes a step closer to Arthur, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You need to leave, Arthur. Now.”

But Arthur doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “How could you do this?” He chokes out. “How could you betray me like this?”

Before you can respond, Charles steps in front of you again, his body a wall of protection. “She didn’t betray you,” he says harshly. “You were never good enough for her. You could never give her what she needed. I could.”

Arthur’s face twists with fury, and he takes a threatening step forward. “You’re sick, Charles,” he growls. “You manipulated her, didn’t you? You’ve been controlling her this whole time.”

Charles’ eyes darken, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “You don’t know anything about us,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “You have no idea what we’ve been through. What we have together.”

Arthur looks like he’s about to explode, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. “You’re delusional,” he spits. “You think you can just take her and make her yours? You think she’s going to stay with you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a cold smile, his eyes narrowing. “She’s already mine,” he says, his voice soft but deadly. “She’s carrying my child. We’re going to be a family. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Arthur looks at you again, his expression filled with pain and disbelief. “Y/N, please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me he hasn’t brainwashed you.”

But you can’t look at him. Your hand is still resting on your belly, your eyes filled with tears, and you shake your head slowly, unable to find the words.

Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t believe this,” he whispers. “I don’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Charles steps forward, his voice sharp and final. “Leave, Arthur,” he says coldly. “Before I make you.”

For a moment, Arthur stands there, staring at the two of you, his face pale and broken. Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the shop, the door slamming shut behind him.

Charles watches him go, his heart racing, his body thrumming with adrenaline. He turns to you, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, pulling you into his arms. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt us.”

You bury your face in his chest, your body shaking with quiet sobs, and Charles holds you tightly, his hand resting protectively over your belly.

“It’s just us now, mon amour,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your hair. “Just us and our baby.”

And as he holds you close, a dark, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

Arthur was always a necessary sacrifice.

***

Charles is pacing the living room when the call comes through. His fingers drum against his thigh, jaw set in a grim line as he answers, putting the phone to his ear. He keeps his voice low, careful not to let it carry down the hall where you’re napping in his bed. Where you’re safe.

“Is it handled?” He asks, words clipped and impatient.

His manager’s voice comes through the speaker, tight and strained. “We’re working on it. But the story’s already circulating. It’s gaining traction.”

Charles squeezes his eyes shut, frustration and anger twisting through him like a hot blade. This was not supposed to happen. He made sure of it. He thought he’d made sure Arthur was too broken, too defeated to put up a fight.

“Fix it,” he grinds out, his grip on the phone tightening. “I don’t care what it takes — just make it disappear.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin and taut, before his manager responds quietly, “It’s not that simple, Charles. He’s not backing down. And the media — well, they love a scandal. Especially one like this.”

Charles’ teeth clench, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He knows exactly what his manager is implying. The story is out there. Arthur’s desperate, crazed accusations that Charles is holding you against your will, that he’s manipulative, unhinged, obsessed. That he’s stolen Arthur’s long-time girlfriend and trapped you in some twisted relationship.

Charles’ jaw ticks, fury simmering just beneath the surface. He wants to laugh. Obsessed? Maybe. Manipulative? Definitely. But you’re not a hostage. You’re his — his to love, his to protect, his to control. Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t know anything about what you and Charles have together.

“Buy them off,” Charles snarls, each word falling from his lips like a command. “Or threaten them. Do whatever you have to do to make them stop printing this shit. And Arthur-” He cuts himself off, breathing hard, the urge to fly across the room and smash something almost overwhelming.

“Keep him away from Y/N,” he finishes darkly, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want him anywhere near her. Understood?”

“Understood,” his manager replies, voice tight. “But Charles … this could get messy. Really messy. I’m just warning you-”

“Just do it,” Charles snaps, cutting him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want results.”

He ends the call, his hands shaking slightly as he lowers the phone. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the wild, chaotic storm raging inside him. He can’t lose his temper. Not now. Not when Arthur’s doing everything he can to tear them apart.

Charles turns his gaze to the shattered pieces of your phone lying in the corner of the room. It only took a second to crush it beneath his heel, to cut off your access to the outside world. He can’t risk you seeing what’s being said, can’t risk you hearing Arthur’s poisonous words.

If you did … you might start to doubt him. You might start to wonder if Arthur’s telling the truth. And Charles can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen.

With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax, his expression smoothing out into a mask of calm. He has a plan. He always does. He’ll deal with the media, silence Arthur for good. And you … you’ll be none the wiser.

He’ll make sure of it.

Charles’ gaze drifts down the hall, his chest tightening with a fierce, possessive longing. He needs to see you. Needs to remind himself that you’re his, that Arthur’s pathetic attempts to tear you away from him are futile.

He heads to the bedroom quietly, pushing open the door to find you curled up on your side, still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, so delicate, your hair spread out across the pillow, your lips parted slightly. He moves closer, his eyes tracing the curve of your belly beneath the sheets, the swell of your pregnancy more visible by the day.

His heart clenches with a strange, overwhelming mixture of love and obsession. You’re carrying his child. His blood, his legacy. You belong to him in every way that matters.

But even that’s not enough for him. He wants more. Needs more. He wants to own every part of you — your body, your mind, your soul. He wants you to think of him every second of every day, wants you to be consumed by him, just as he’s consumed by you.

A dark smile curves his lips as an idea forms in his mind, a way to keep you distracted, to keep you from thinking too much about what’s happening outside the safe, perfect world he’s built for you.

“Mon ange,” he murmurs softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You stir slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Charles?” You mumble, your voice thick with drowsiness. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, chérie,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. “I just thought … you might like a bath. Something relaxing, to help you unwind.”

You smile at him sleepily, nodding slightly. “That sounds nice.”

He scoops you up gently, carrying you to the en suite bathroom, where he sets you down on the edge of the large bathtub. He turns on the taps, the water rushing in with a soothing, steady sound. He adds a few drops of lavender-scented oil, the scent filling the air, calming and comforting.

Charles helps you out of your clothes, his hands lingering on your skin, his fingers tracing over the swell of your belly with reverence. He lowers you into the warm water, watching as you sink down with a contented sigh, your head resting against the back of the tub.

“Comfortable?” He asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you relax into the water. “Mmm … yes.”

Charles smiles, kneeling beside the tub. He reaches over and adjusts the settings on the jet controls, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he turns them on, directing the powerful stream of water right between your legs.

You let out a startled gasp, your eyes flying open as the sensation hits you. “Charles-”

“Shh, chérie,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed as the water pulses against you, the sensation building steadily, turning your body to jelly. Charles watches with dark satisfaction as you squirm, your breaths coming faster, your hands gripping the edge of the tub.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. “So perfect. So mine.”

You whimper, your hips shifting involuntarily as the jets work their magic, your body reacting helplessly to the stimulation. Charles’ hand slips beneath the water, his fingers sliding over your heated skin, teasing you further.

“Charles, please-” you moan, your voice breaking.

He hums softly, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Please what, mon amour?”

“I … I don’t know,” you gasp, your head falling back, your body arching in the water. “It’s — oh God, it’s too much-”

Charles’ eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, stroking you in time with the jets. “Just let go, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing, hypnotic lullaby. “Let me take care of everything.”

You cry out softly, your body trembling as the sensation crests, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Charles holds you steady, his touch firm and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re shuddering and gasping and begging incoherently.

And then, finally, when you’ve been thoroughly unraveled, when your body is limp and boneless, Charles shuts off the jets, his fingers gently stroking your skin as you slump back against him, utterly spent.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you close as you drift off, your breathing soft and even against his chest.

Charles’ lips brush against your hair, a dark smile curving his lips. He may not be able to control what happens outside these walls, but in here — in his world, in his arms — you’re his.

Arthur can try to tear you apart. He can try to expose Charles’ darkness to the world. But it won’t change a thing.

Because you’re never leaving.

***

Charles doesn’t tell you he’s going out. He leaves quietly in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun has risen. The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is the faint click of the front door shutting behind him, and even that feels like a betrayal of his intent to remain unseen. He’s meticulous as he slips into his car, the leather seats cool against his back. The drive to Arthur’s location — some nondescript hotel in Nice — is a blur, the city lights flashing by in a hazy smear of gold and white.

His jaw is set, eyes cold and unyielding as he pulls up to the parking lot. He grips the steering wheel tightly, the skin of his knuckles taut, veins prominent. This is a loose end that needs tying, and he’s finally run out of patience. He’s given Arthur time — more than enough time to drop his accusations, to back off. He’d even sent a few pointed warnings through other channels, but it seems Arthur’s stubbornness knows no bounds.

No matter. This ends today.

Charles steps out of the car, the chill of the pre-dawn air nipping at his skin. He straightens his coat, taking a deep breath as he crosses the lot, his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. He can feel the coiled tension thrumming beneath his skin, the barely contained violence that always simmers just below the surface whenever Arthur’s name comes up.

It only takes him a minute to reach the room — third floor, end of the hall. Room 317. He can hear the murmur of voices inside as he approaches, one of them unmistakably Arthur’s, sharp and agitated. Charles pauses for a second, just outside the door, his pulse pounding steadily in his ears. He listens, picking up the sound of shuffling feet, the clink of glass against glass, a muffled curse.

Charles knocks once, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent hallway.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Arthur’s voice — hoarse, disbelieving. “Who the hell is it at this hour?”

No answer.

Charles knocks again, harder this time, the force reverberating down the length of his arm.

The door swings open, and Arthur’s face appears, disheveled and bleary-eyed. There’s a moment where Arthur blinks, his gaze taking in the man standing on the other side of the threshold as if he’s not quite registering what he’s seeing.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice is incredulous, slurred slightly, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “What the-”

Charles doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He steps forward, crossing the threshold in one smooth, fluid movement, shoving Arthur back with a force that sends him stumbling into the room. The door slams shut behind them, and Charles’ hand is already around his brother’s throat, fingers digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

Arthur chokes, his eyes going wide, hands scrabbling uselessly at Charles’ wrist. “W-what the fuck are you doing?”

“Ending this,” Charles says softly, his voice calm and controlled despite the dark rage swirling through him. “I warned you, Arthur. I warned you to stop. But you didn’t listen.”

Arthur gasps, his face turning red, his body jerking as he tries to wrench himself free from Charles’ iron grip. “Y-you’re fucking insane!” He manages to choke out, his voice a rasp. “Y/N — she-”

“Don’t say her name,” Charles snarls, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He tightens his hold, watching with detached satisfaction as Arthur’s face contorts in pain, his eyes bulging. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to even think about her.”

Arthur’s lips part, but no sound comes out — just a strangled wheeze, a desperate, broken noise. Charles watches him dispassionately, his expression blank as he waits, as he lets his brother teeter on the edge of unconsciousness before loosening his grip just enough for Arthur to suck in a ragged, shuddering breath.

“Charles, please-” Arthur rasps, his voice weak and desperate. “You’re — killing me-”

“Am I?” Charles tilts his head, regarding his brother with an almost clinical interest. “Because the way I see it, you’ve been trying to kill me. Trying to destroy everything I’ve built, everything I love. All because you’re too much of a coward to accept the truth.”

He lets go abruptly, shoving Arthur to the floor. Arthur collapses in a heap, coughing and gasping, clutching at his throat. He looks up at Charles, eyes wide with fear and confusion, his voice barely a whisper. “What truth?”

“That she’s mine,” Charles says softly, his gaze dark and unrelenting. “She’s always been mine, Arthur. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur shakes his head, his expression one of horror and disbelief. “No … no, that’s not true-”

Charles takes a step forward, his presence looming over his brother, his shadow swallowing the dim light of the room. “Do you really think she wanted you?” He asks quietly, his voice a soft, deadly murmur. “Do you really think she loved you?”

Arthur’s face crumples, his hands trembling as he pushes himself up, his shoulders hunched. “She did,” he whispers, his voice broken. “She — she was with me for six years, Charles. Six fucking years-”

“And yet she never let you touch her,” Charles cuts in smoothly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “She never gave you what she gave me so easily. Don’t you understand? You were just a placeholder. A distraction. She was always meant to be mine.”

Arthur shakes his head again, his eyes filling with tears. “You’re lying. You-”

“Lying?” Charles laughs softly, the sound low and humorless. “Ask her yourself. Oh, wait — you can’t. Because she doesn’t want to see you anymore. She doesn’t even think about you anymore.”

Arthur flinches, his face crumpling. “Charles, please-”

Charles’ smile fades, his expression hardening once more. “I’m not here to beg,” he says coldly. “I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to make it clear — to make you understand — that this is the end.”

Arthur looks up at him, his eyes wide and fearful. “What … what are you going to do?”

Charles leans down, his gaze locking onto his brother’s, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re going to disappear. You’re going to leave this city, leave this continent, and you’re never going to come back. You’re going to vanish without a trace, and you’re going to stay gone.”

Arthur swallows hard, his throat working as he tries to form words, his lips trembling. “And if I don’t?”

Charles straightens, his gaze never leaving his brother’s face. “If you don’t,” he says softly, “I’ll make sure you do.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, a promise wrapped in steel. Arthur shudders, his eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a ragged, broken sob. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Good,” Charles murmurs, a satisfied smile curving his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

He turns on his heel, heading for the door. He doesn’t spare his brother a second glance as he steps out of the room, as he walks down the hall and back to his car. He doesn’t look back as he starts the engine, as he drives away, leaving Arthur and the mess he created behind him.

He’s dealt with it. Arthur won’t bother them again.

And now … now he can go back to you. Back to where he belongs.

***

Charles plans everything meticulously.

When he returns to the apartment that morning, he’s all warmth and tenderness. He finds you still curled up in bed, blankets tucked around you like a cocoon. You look so peaceful, so beautiful in the early morning light, the hint of a bump peeking through the oversized T-shirt he had pulled over your head the night before.

He slips out of his clothes with practiced ease, folding them neatly on the chair by the bed. The sight of your bare shoulders, your slightly parted lips, the slow rise and fall of your chest — it’s enough to make his heart swell with possessive pride. He pads over quietly, slipping under the covers beside you, and wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.

The first thing he does is inhale deeply, taking in your scent — soft, warm, and uniquely yours. His hands move over your skin with reverence, tracing the curves of your shoulders, your waist, your growing belly. You stir slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but you don’t wake.

Perfect.

It’s not until the sun has fully risen that he lets you stir awake, nudging his nose against your cheek and pressing kisses along your jaw until you slowly blink your eyes open. You turn your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning, ma belle,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and tender. He pulls you closer, his hand smoothing over your belly. “How are my two favorite people today?”

You laugh softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you look down at the small swell of your stomach. “Still waking up.”

“Then let me help,” he breathes, lowering his head to nip gently at your collarbone. You gasp softly, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands wander, exploring, kneading, until you’re arching into his touch, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“Charles-” Your voice is a soft, breathless moan, filled with the kind of trust and yearning that makes something primal in him twist and tighten. “We — ah, we have to get ready for the parenting class.”

He hums against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “We have time.”

His lips close around a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a shaky whimper. He’s not sure how long he spends like that, working you up, savoring every sound, every shudder, every whispered plea that falls from your lips. But he knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s only when you’re completely lost to the haze, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body trembling with need, that he finally leans back, his breath coming in soft, measured pants. He reaches over to the bedside table, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and a pen, and places it on the bed beside you.

“What’s that?” You murmur, still dazed, your eyes fluttering as you try to focus on the form in front of you.

“Just a little thing to sign for the class,” he says smoothly, his tone casual, nonchalant. He settles between your legs, his fingers trailing up your inner thighs in slow, teasing strokes. “You know, to confirm our participation and all that.”

You glance down at the paper, brow furrowing slightly as you try to read it, but Charles doesn’t give you a chance to focus. He lowers his head, his mouth finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shoots through you.

“Charles — oh, god,” you breathe, your voice trembling. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging gently, but he doesn’t relent, his tongue moving in slow, torturous circles, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still.

“Just sign it, ma chérie,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Then I can make you feel so much better. I promise.”

You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to concentrate. He can see the moment you give in, your resistance melting away under the onslaught of his mouth and hands. You reach blindly for the pen, your fingers fumbling as you scrawl your signature at the bottom of the page, your hand trembling with each pass.

“There we go,” he coos, lifting his head just long enough to watch as you finish signing. “Good girl.”

He’s careful to fold the paper back up, slipping it into the drawer with a satisfied smile before turning his full attention back to you. You’re pliant, needy, your body arching and twisting beneath him, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with possessive pride. “So perfect, so sweet. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling in his hair, your voice a breathless whisper. “Charles, please-”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for, what you’re begging for, and it only makes him want to draw it out longer. He settles into a slow, torturous rhythm, his mouth and hands moving in perfect harmony, until you’re shaking, your thighs trembling, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Please,” you whimper again, your voice breaking on the word. “Please, Charles-”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “I’ve got you, mon cœur. Let go. Just let go for me.”

And when you finally do, your body going rigid and then melting into the bed as pleasure washes over you in waves, he’s right there with you, holding you, whispering soft, sweet words against your skin.

“That’s it, ma chérie. Just like that. You’re so beautiful like this. So perfect.”

He stays with you like that, his hands gentle as they roam over your skin, his mouth pressing soft, reverent kisses along your belly, your hips, your thighs. He savors the way you tremble, the way you whisper his name like a prayer, the way you cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And maybe he is.

When you finally come back to yourself, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, he helps you sit up, his hands firm and steady on your shoulders.

“Ready for class?” He asks softly, his smile warm, his gaze soft as he looks down at you.

You nod slowly, still a little dazed, a soft, contented smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah … I think so.”

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Good.”

He helps you dress, his hands lingering on your skin a little longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on the small swell of your belly. It’s not long now, he thinks, his chest tightening with anticipation. Soon, everyone will know. Soon, there will be no denying it — no denying that you belong to him, that you’ve always belonged to him.

He tucks the signed marriage application form away carefully, making a mental note to drop it off at the Monaco Town Hall later. There’s no rush. It’s just a formality now. A piece of paper to make it official. Because you’re already his in every way that matters.

And soon, the world will know it too.

***

Charles can barely breathe.

He stands at the head of the hospital bed, his hand locked around yours, gripping tight enough to leave marks, but you don’t seem to notice. Your own fingers are trembling, clenched around his as if they’re the only thing tethering you to reality. Sweat beads on your forehead, dampening your hair, and your face is contorted with pain and effort as another contraction rips through you.

“It’s okay, ma chérie, you’re doing so well,” Charles murmurs, his voice strained with worry and something else — something darker, sharper, a fierce, primal protectiveness that twists in his chest like a living thing. He swallows hard, pressing a kiss to your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips. “Just a little longer, I promise. You’re almost there.”

You whimper, your head lolling to the side, your eyes half-shut with exhaustion. “Charles … I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is firm, unyielding, his eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You will. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re going to do this. For us. For our son.”

The reminder seems to give you strength, and you nod weakly, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath as you steel yourself for the next wave. Charles can feel your grip tighten even more, and he shifts closer, his body almost draped over yours, his other hand smoothing over your hair, your shoulder, your belly — wherever he can reach, just to be touching you, grounding you.

“Focus on me,” he whispers, his voice low and urgent. “Just on me, okay? Breathe with me. You can do this. We can do this.”

It’s an eternity, an endless cycle of pain and panting breaths and whispered encouragement, until the OBGYN finally leans over, glancing between your legs with a nod of approval. “You’re almost fully dilated. Just a few more pushes, and you’ll get to meet your baby.”

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every flicker of emotion, every furrow of your brow, every flicker of fear and determination and exhaustion. He hates this, hates seeing you in pain, hates that he can’t just take it all away. But he knows this is what you wanted, what you dreamed of, and he’ll be damned if he lets his own fear ruin it.

“Just a few more, bébé,” he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re so close. You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, there’s something there — something raw and vulnerable and achingly beautiful. “Charles … I-”

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “I know, ma belle. I love you too. So much.”

And then you’re pushing again, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat, and Charles can only hold on, his heart pounding in his chest as the doctor’s voice rises over the chaos.

“That’s it! That’s it! Just one more, give me one more big push!”

You scream again, your whole body straining with the effort, and then suddenly, there’s a high, thin wail that cuts through the air like a knife.

Time seems to freeze.

Charles’ breath catches in his throat, his whole world narrowing down to the tiny, wriggling figure the nurse is holding in her hands, covered in blood and amniotic fluid and screaming its tiny lungs out.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice breaking on the words. “Oh my god, he’s — he’s here. He’s-”

A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft, clean towel, and then she’s turning, holding him out to you, her face creased with a gentle smile.

“Congratulations, you two,” she says softly. “It’s a boy.”

You’re shaking, tears streaming down your face as you reach out with trembling hands to take the baby. Charles moves with you, his arms slipping around you to support you as you cradle the tiny bundle against your chest, your breath hitching with sobs.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice trembling, filled with wonder and awe. “Hi, little one. Oh my god, hi …”

Charles’ heart feels like it’s about to burst, his chest so tight he can barely breathe. He looks down at the baby — his son — nestled in your arms, his tiny fists flailing, his face scrunched up as he lets out another wail.

“He’s … perfect,” Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as he brushes them gently over the baby’s head, feeling the soft, downy hair beneath his fingertips. “You’re perfect, mon fils. Absolutely perfect.”

The baby’s cries soften, his tiny body relaxing as he feels the warmth of your skin, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Charles watches, his gaze riveted to the small, scrunched-up face, the tiny fingers curling around the edge of the towel.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that this tiny, fragile life is his, that he helped create something so beautiful, so precious. It’s overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him, and he feels his eyes sting with tears, his throat tightening with a sob.

“Look at him,” he whispers, his voice choked. “Just … look at him.”

You nod, your own tears falling freely as you gaze down at your son, your fingers tracing over his tiny features with reverence. “He’s so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “Charles … I — thank you. Thank you so much.”

Charles shakes his head, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “No, thank you. You did all the hard work. You brought him into this world. I’m just … I’m just so proud of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your gaze never leaving the baby’s face. “We did this together,” you whisper. “All three of us.”

“Yeah,” Charles breathes, his voice filled with awe. “Yeah, we did.”

It’s a blur after that, nurses bustling around, cleaning up, checking your vitals, making sure the baby is healthy and strong. But through it all, Charles never lets go of you, his arms wrapped around you and his son, his gaze never wavering.

When the medical team finally leave, giving you some privacy, Charles shifts carefully, easing onto the edge of the bed beside you. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how small and delicate it is.

“Can I …” He murmurs, his voice tentative, almost shy.

You smile softly, your eyes still wet with tears as you look up at him. “Of course.”

Charles swallows hard, his heart pounding as you carefully lift the baby, placing him in Charles’ waiting arms. He shifts, cradling the tiny bundle against his chest, his breath catching as the baby lets out a soft, sleepy sigh.

“Hey there, little guy,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I’m your papa. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

The baby stirs, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before relaxing again, and Charles feels something inside him shatter and reform, something deep and primal and fierce.

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and fervent. “I’ll protect you and your maman, always. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need. You’ll never have to worry about anything. I promise.”

He lifts his gaze, meeting yours, and his breath catches at the look on your face — so full of love and warmth and happiness. “We did it,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “He’s really here.”

You nod, your smile soft and radiant. “He’s really here.”

Charles leans forward, his lips brushing over your forehead, your nose, your lips, and then over the baby’s head, pressing soft, reverent kisses to each of you.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you. More than anything.”

Your eyes soften, and you reach up, your fingers brushing over his cheek. “We love you too, Charles.”

And in that moment, holding his son in his arms, with you by his side, Charles feels like he’s finally found everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he’s ever needed.

His family. His life. His everything.

And he knows, with a certainty that’s as solid and unyielding as stone, that he’ll never let go of it.

***

Arthur watches from a distance, and it’s like staring through frosted glass into a life he no longer recognizes. The family picnic sprawls out on the pristine lawn of Charles’ estate, the manicured gardens framing a picturesque scene of domestic bliss.

You’re sitting on a checkered blanket under the shade of an old oak tree, a baby cradled in your arms. Your soft murmurs drift through the air, your gaze locked on the tiny face peeking out from beneath the blue cotton blanket. You look … peaceful. Serene. And despite everything, Arthur’s chest tightens painfully at the sight.

He’s too far away to hear what you’re saying to the baby, but he can see your lips moving, the way your smile brightens, the gentle curve of your mouth as you lean down and kiss the baby’s forehead. His nephew. Charles’ son.

It should have been his.

Arthur’s fingers twitch at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he forces himself to stay still, to stay hidden behind the row of hedges that separate the lawn from the main driveway. He knows he shouldn’t be here. Knows he’s not supposed to come anywhere near you or the baby, not after everything that’s happened.

But he couldn’t help it.

The compulsion, the desperation to see you, to see his family — it had clawed at him until he’d caved, his resolve shattering like glass beneath the weight of his longing. He just wanted to see you. To see if you were okay. If you were happy.

But now … now he wishes he hadn’t come.

Because what he sees isn’t just happiness. It’s a life he’s been shut out of, a life that Charles has taken for himself, a life Arthur knows was meant for him.

You shift slightly, adjusting your hold on the baby, and Arthur’s heart gives a painful lurch as he watches you unbutton your blouse, the soft fabric parting to reveal the swell of your breast. You’re murmuring to the baby, your voice a soothing hum that carries on the breeze, and then you’re guiding the baby’s mouth to your nipple.

Arthur’s breath catches, his throat tightening as he watches you begin to nurse. It’s an intimate, tender moment, one he knows he shouldn’t be witnessing, but he can’t look away. His gaze is locked on you, on the way your face softens, the way your shoulders relax, the way your eyes flutter shut as you cradle your son against your breast.

Charles’ son.

Arthur feels something dark and bitter twist in his gut, something that tastes like envy and regret and loss all wrapped up in a tangled knot of emotion he can’t untangle. This should have been his. You should have been his. The baby — his nephew — should have been his child. He was supposed to be the one sitting beside you, watching over you, protecting you, loving you.

But instead, he’s been reduced to a spectator, watching from the shadows as his older brother lives the life that Arthur had built with you for six long years.

“Do you miss me?” Arthur whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible, swallowed up by the distance between you. “Do you ever think about me? Do you even remember?”

But you don’t answer. You can’t hear him. You’re lost in your own world, your attention focused entirely on the baby at your breast, on the tiny, greedy mouth suckling at your nipple.

And then, as if sensing his presence, you glance up — your eyes drifting towards the hedges where Arthur is hiding.

He freezes, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, your gaze seems to land on him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His pulse roars in his ears, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he wills himself to remain perfectly still, to blend into the shadows.

But then, you blink, and the moment passes. Your gaze shifts away, back down to the baby, and Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

You didn’t see him. You didn’t recognize him. You didn’t even notice he was there.

He’s invisible. Irrelevant. Forgotten.

And that knowledge cuts deeper than any knife.

“Enjoying the view, little brother?”

Arthur’s entire body jerks violently, his breath stuttering as he spins around, his eyes wide with shock. Charles stands a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his expression cool and composed, but there’s a sharp edge to his gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Arthur?” Charles’ voice is low and calm, but there’s an undercurrent of menace beneath the words, a warning that sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

“I-” Arthur swallows, his throat dry, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation, anything that might defuse the tension radiating off his brother in waves. “I just wanted to see her. To see … the baby.”

Charles’ lips curl into a mocking smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have some nerve, you know that? After everything you tried to pull? After you went to the press, after you tried to ruin my life, our life-”

“You ruined my life!” Arthur snaps, his voice breaking on the words, the pent-up frustration and anger and grief spilling over. “You took everything from me, Charles! Everything! She was supposed to be mine-”

“She was never yours,” Charles interrupts coldly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Not really. She was mine the moment I laid eyes on her. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur flinches, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “You can’t just take whatever you want, Charles. You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can.” The words are soft, but they land like a slap, leaving Arthur reeling. “And I did.”

Charles steps closer, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s, unblinking and fierce. “You’re lucky I haven’t done worse. You’re lucky I’m even letting you stand here and breathe the same air as her. But don’t push me, Arthur. Don’t test me. Because if you come near her again — if you even think about trying to take her or our baby away from me — I’ll destroy you.”

Arthur’s throat works, his hands shaking at his sides as he fights to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “You’re a monster,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re sick, Charles. You’re-”

“Happy,” Charles cuts him off, his smile widening, his gaze gleaming with something triumphant and cruel. “I’m happy, Arthur. We’re happy. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Arthur’s chest heaves with ragged breaths, his vision blurring as he glares at his brother, his entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage and heartbreak.

“I hate you,” he spits, the words venomous and bitter on his tongue. “I hate you so much.”

Charles doesn’t even flinch. He just tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re sitting on the blanket, completely oblivious to the confrontation happening just a few yards away.

“Maybe,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his voice softening as he watches you. “But you’re not the one she’s going home with, are you? You’re not the one she’s going to spend the rest of her life with. You’re not the one she’s given her heart to. So hate me all you want, little brother. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns back to Arthur, his smile sharp and satisfied. “Because in the end, I won.”

Arthur stares at him, his breath hitching painfully in his throat, and for the first time in his life, he feels completely powerless. Helpless. Defeated.

And as he watches Charles turn and walk away — back to you, back to your son, back to the life that should have been his — Arthur knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’s lost.

Lost you. Lost his family. Lost everything that ever mattered.

And there’s no getting it back.

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restlesssinner · 2 months ago

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Hey listen. A bunch of people will now try to convince the public that the killing of Brian Thompson was ethically wrong. They will try to use the same old tired arguments: that murder is always wrong, that we should stand against political violence in all forms, that CEOs are people too, etc.

Now, you probably won’t fall for all that bullshit, but a lot of people might. Here is what you need to tell them in return - it’s not guaranteed to change their minds, but every time you offer someone a chance to accept the truth you’re making it ever so more likely to take it.

In philosophy, the idea that people should never do certain “bad” things (e.g. killing) is called deontology. The thing is, unlike utilitarianism (which states people should choose actions that create the most wellbeing in society), deontology is inherently flawed as a morality system.

See, only through deontology can people end up finding themselves having to choose outcomes that will lead to more suffering in the world; think, the trolley problem. Now, ask yourself, what kind of morality system expects its followers to selfishly pick the choice that ensures their own moral purity, even if it dooms the wellbeing of possibly hundreds or millions of others?

Understanding this, you might ask yourself: who benefits from having deontology be the crux of understanding morality for so many people? Who benefits uplifting rules like the Ten Commandments as the ultimate guideline to ethics, as opposed to what it was in the original context of it’s religion - a simple list of base laws meant to instruct a small group of escaped slaves several thousand years ago?

The answer is twofold. First, there are the authoritarians, who wish to instill obedience by making people believe that breaking their rules, no matter how justified, is wrong. Secondly, there are the bystanders, who watch nervously as the world crumbles around them, but excuse their inaction by latching onto a false belief that they are still somehow better than the people who are doing something about it in a way they find aesthetically displeasing.

Therefore, it is imperative to look at the world through a utilitarian perspective, and judge every incident like so. Brian Thompson is part of a very exclusive club; he had wronged so many people so severely that the suffering caused to him and his loved ones by his murder is still innumerably outmatched by the joy his unlikely retribution will give the literal millions of people he’s wronged.

Remember, by similar logic it is still very unethical to kill 98% of people, so think of all the choices Thompson had to make to put himself in the top 0.1% of the 2% of people who’s murders can be justified. In a better society, a society that prevents and punishes exploitation, it would be hard to even conceive of a murder that could ever be so righteous.

In fact, in a society that uses classism and bigotry to block people from achieving their fullest potential through non-violent means, we must celebrate those who risk their lives and legal rights to push humanity forward, bringing to justice the true criminals of decency.

TLDR: Brian had it coming.

#united healthcare #us politics #brian thompson #🦀🦀🦀#deny defend depose

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bunnis-monsters · 8 months ago

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NSFW

warning: slightly yandere behavior, clinginess, aphrodisiac

Clingy!Naga bf that can’t stand being away from you for more than a few minutes. He claims it’s because he gets oh so cold without you, his little heating pack, snuggling with him.

The truth is… he’s afraid of losing you. You’re human, your body fragile and soft. When you’re out of his sight he gets nervous, his tail flicking in annoyance as he slithers around the den.

His tongue darts out to pick up your scent, and when he finally finds you, he’s quick to wrap you up in his tight embrace.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

You cup his cheeks, your thumb brushing against one of his fangs in a comforting gesture. He leans down and buried his face in your neck, rubbing his nose against you.

“You left me all alone…” he mumbled into your neck. His cock rubbed against your back, soft, needy whines leaving his throat.

You tried not to laugh at how cute he was being, pouting over your short lived absence. “I just had to use the bathroom, my love. You-“

The feeling of his cock slipping between your thighs and rubbing against your panties as he fucked those plump thighs of yours made you whimper. He was being needy, but you didn’t mind.

“Should have told me you were going… I woke up at you weren’t there…” he murmured, laying back and coiling his tail around your to keep you in place.

A hand moved to your belly, pressing down on it gently and squeezing the soft fat there. He often did this when holding you, as if wanting to knead you like a kitten looking for comfort.

“Sorry, baby. I will next time.”

He purred softly when you slipped your panties to the side, letting his cock rub against your clit, then your hole. Before pushing in, he bit down on your neck, injecting you with his aphrodisiac venom.

Within seconds it was kicking, your pussy clenching around nothing and dripping with need. You were putty in his hands, tears falling down your face as you begged for it.

“B-baby, please! Need it… need it so bad!”

He nuzzled his face against your neck before finally slipping into you, keeping your body pressed firmly against his.

As he fucked into you, you could almost feel his need to be as close to you as possible. It was almost desperate, the way his claws dug into your skin and tail wrapped around you so tightly it was almost suffocating.

“All mine… you’ll always be with me… won’t you..?”

He waited for your answer, his thrusts slowing until he was gently bouncing you on his cock at an agonizing pace.

You pushed your hips into his, whimpering as tears fell down your cheeks. “W-will… I will… don’t stop!”

With that confirmation, he continued.

He fucked you until the aphrodisiac finally wore off, your belly warm and full of his cum as he curled up with your for a long, warm nap.

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa

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okwonyo · 11 days ago

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SUGAR TALKING ꒪ ✿⠀ making doe eyes at them.

TESTI ────── 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾, 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝗅𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 !

❪ 日语 ❫ & fem!rea 1OOO fluff established relationship non-idol au ❜ skinship kissing ◜‿◝ REBLOGS&CLICK

지아 ⠀⦂⠀ since it won the poll :O

HEESEUNG

usually, he isn’t the the type to talk too much during movie nights. his hand always in yours as he watches the movie enthusiastically, never missing one bit of it.

but today it seems different— you don’t really know if it’s either because he is very passionate about this specific actor or if it’s because you called the said actor ‘hot’. but he won’t stop talking.

“seriously!” he huffs after a few seconds of calm. he smiles and shakes his head in fake nonchalance, “i don’t understand what he has that i don’t. do you prefe—”

the rest of his sentence dies in his throat when his eyes meet yours. you look at him wide eyed, with a little pout that makes his heart skip.

“shut up please,” you ask with a honey coat voice— his eyes grow wide. he is soon giggling, leaning on you, as if what you just said wasn’t almost an insult.

at least he stops talking.

⠀ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹙ᵕ ᵕ⠀look under the cut ! ♡

JAY

it is not a secret that you can get anything you want out of him. whether it’s his money or the entire world— you ask and you shall receive.

therefore, you don’t need to do anything else but ask for something that you want. because you know you got him wrapped around your finger. and that, if you wanted the moon, then you will have the moon.

sometimes, however, there is things that can’t be bought or that are hard to ask for. today, you want his attention.

you decided to not go bother him as you usually do. no, you choose to stare at him from across the room with the most bambi looking eyes you could manage. he should have noticed by now.

the long silence is what alarms him. he looks over you quickly, “are you—” then he looks again and his mouth falls agape. he sighs fondly, “c’mere, baby,”

JAKE

it’s not your fault. it really isn’t. he shouldn’t have been so easy to tease in the first place. getting a blush out of him is too easy and he is way too lovely for you to control yourself.

and ever since he confessed that he loved when you looked at him with those yes— you cannot stop looking at him with those eyes.

for a while, he is too occupied on his phone to even notice. but when his eyes shoots up to meet yours, he immediately smiles.

instinctively biting his lower lip, he stays silent for a while before throwing his head back and whining, “stop doing that!”

your eyes keep watching his growing blush as you laugh, “like what?” and he groans.

SUNGHON

he swears you do it all the time, but the truth is that you don’t even know what he is talking about. he mays affirm that you play dumb in purpose— you don’t, you really don’t.

the thing is that, he would say that you are trying to seduce him whenever you try to do anything. you run a hand through you hair? you want to make out. you grin? you want him to kiss you.

you just assumed he was that down bad.

“you are playing with me,” he smirks, looking down at you. your bodies moves along with the train you are standing in. you were already looking at him, but now there is confusion in your eyes. “don’t look at me like that.”

“what?” you giggle. honestly, you didn’t even know you were looking at him. admiring him is natural as breathing to you, “are you crazy?”

“when you look at me like that,” he whispers as he leans in. your arms are hugging his waist, your head is all the way titled up and he is so handsome, “my heart beats with need.”

SUNOO

you know he doesn’t get mad often— even if he does act like he is. he is too much of a softie to even think of being annoyed with you.

more times than not, he gets sulky. lips puckered as he gives you the silent treatment. it is always for silly things, however, just because he loves when you ask him to talk to you.

“i love you,” you tell him, holding onto his arm. he doesn’t do anything, obviously hiding his smile—and failing. “look at me.”

he takes a deep breath before bringing his focus on your instead of the dishes in front of him. his eyes fall into yours, “stop,” he says. turning red.

he tries to keep his annoyed attitude as hard as possible. he starts to take care of the dishes in the sink again— as if, trying to distract himself.

he keeps peeking at you. unable to control himself, he ends up crumbling. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment.

JUNWGON

“my love, i’ll have to go eventually,” his tone is soft, his chuckles makes it harder for you to even consider letting him leave the bed and let him leave you.

he is not even gone. he is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you. you hold his hand with both of yours— chasing after his warmth that you already miss.

you don’t really care where he is going, you want him here. you make the most adorable eyes you can put up, in a tiny voice you say, “can’t you stay a little longer?”

he seems a tad taken aback. on of his eyebrows shots up ever so slightly. pretty red lips forms a ‘o’ and his dimples smiles when he smiles.

gets back under the cover, close to you. he kisses you gently, “work can wait.”

RIKI

“leave me alone!” your boyfriend whines, faking annoyance. he is laying on your bed, next to your plushies, with his hands on your hips as you sit on

him. he acts like he wants to push you away but his grip is way too strong.

he gets up, rather abruptly, making you settle on his laps. he makes sure you are as comfortable as possible but holds your wrists when you try to reach his hair.

“just a few!” giggles makes your voice tremble. you try to get out of his handle but you can’t— he is much stronger that you, “please!”

he looks at the hello kitty hairpins in your hands with narrowed eyes. he doesn’t look against the idea at all, you know he just fights because of principle, “no!”

you tilt your head to the side slightly, the prettiest pout appearing on your lips. you look at him with a specific look— the one who made him choked on his drink the first time. “please, for me,”

you are already wearing a victorious grin as soon as he groans. he ends up with more than just a few hairpins in his hair.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

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elikajinnie · 27 days ago

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P: Situationship!Heeseung X Fem!Reader (recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Situationship, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Tension, Flirting, Mature Content, Pursuing, Possessive & Needy Behaviour, Jealousy if you squint, Alcohol Consumption, Mentioned Drug Use.

Wordcount: 22k

Synopsis: For years, Lee Heeseung had been in your life—never close enough to be a friend but too familiar to be a stranger. You told yourself you weren’t interested, that he didn’t matter to you. But Heeseung had other plans cause he made it his mission to claim your attention—and eventually your heart. But love is never easy.

a/n: was watching the iconic Kuch Kuch Hota Hai when this idea came! (dont ask how) i also wanted to try something new with the title. (disclaimer! some of the scenes are written from experience)

School hierarchy never interested you—peaking in high school, the whole "king of the cafeteria" nonsense. Why would it? None of that mattered after graduation. You always thought it was a waste of time, all those petty dramas and desperate attempts to be remembered as something more than ordinary.

And yet, somehow, you were known, not because you clamored for attention or played into the social games everyone else seemed obsessed with, but because...well, you were you. Quiet, maybe. Not invisible, though. People knew your name, knew your face, even if you couldn’t recall theirs at times. Maybe it was the way you never fumbled over your words when teachers called on you or the way your presence seemed calm. You didn’t try to stand out, but you were noticed, even if you never asked for it.

Made you wonder what made you noticed.

And that question was solved pretty quickly, to be honest. All because you knew Heeseung since you were young.

And Heeseung? Heeseung was everything you’d expect from someone at the top of the high school food chain. Popular, effortlessly so. Basketball captain, the school’s golden boy, practically born to be the main character in someone’s coming-of-age movie. But beyond all that, he was still totally derpy—the same kid who used to trip over his own feet at recess, the one who cried when you beat him in hide-and-seek because he hid in the most obvious spot.

He hadn’t changed much, really. Sure, he had a little more swagger now, a charm that made people laugh at his terrible jokes instead of groan, but to you, he was just Heeseung.

You’d laugh every time someone brought him up to you, trying to see if you’d spill some secret about what he was like outside of the spotlight. “You’re friends with Heeseung, right?” they’d say, voices dipping into curiosity or jealousy. And you’d shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t.

But somehow, knowing him—having that tether to someone like him—had put you on the radar, too. Even if you weren’t part of his crowd, even if you didn’t sit with him at lunch or go to the parties he got dragged to, people noticed you because he noticed you.

And that was the funny thing, wasn’t it? You never cared about being seen, but Heeseung never stopped looking for you in a room.

You were never really interested in initiating anything with him, even if he was very much 100% interested in initiating something with you.

He’d find you in the hallways, leaning casually against the wall, as if it was second nature for him to cage you in, corner you with a smile that made everything around you feel like it had slowed down. He’d ask you about your day, always interested in the little details you never thought anyone would care about. “Are you busy some day?” he’d ask, eyes sparkling, as if he was hinting at something more—something he probably expected you to say yes to.

Other times, he’d slide into the seat next to you in class, talking about his upcoming game like it was an invitation in itself. “You should come watch,” he'd say with that grin, the one that could melt anyone into agreeing. "I’ll even give you my jersey after I win.”

And then there were the parties—he’d invite you to those too, always the center of attention but always making sure you knew you were welcome. Sometimes he’d just come right up to you, all charm and boldness, flirting with you shamelessly, leaning in so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His presence was so intense, so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but get those butterflies in your stomach, no matter how much you wanted to stay calm.

And yet, despite all of it—the smiles, the promises, the hints of something more—you rejected his advances.

Every. Single. One.

You couldn’t let yourself get caught up in it. You wouldn’t. Even if every part of you, every part of your mind and heart, screamed to take a chance, to let yourself fall into whatever Heeseung was offering, you pushed him away.

Mostly because you knew what type of person he was now. You saw how he was with other women in school, how effortlessly he had them wrapped around his finger, how they would come to him at the snap of his finger, eyes wide and eager for whatever he had to offer. They were drawn to him like moths to a flame, following him like he was the sun and they were planets orbiting around him. And, honestly, it was hard not to see the way his charm worked, how his attention seemed to shift from one girl to the next as if it was all just a game.

A game that you weren’t interested in playing.

You weren’t just going to be another face in the crowd, another person who would fall for his flirtations, get swept up in the thrill of his attention only to be tossed aside when someone else caught his eye. You were different. You had to be.

Heeseung was the type who could have anyone, but you weren’t just anyone. You were stronger than that, smarter than that. You didn’t need to be one of his many admirers to feel valued.

So, you kept saying no, keeping a distance, watching the way he’d grin like it was no big deal, then go off to let his attention drift somewhere else. And deep down, you knew you weren’t immune to it. Maybe you never would be. But the answer stayed the same.

That didn’t mean Heeseung didn’t stop going after you.

If anything, it seemed like the more you pulled away, the harder he tried. You'd find him lingering around your classes, catching you in the hallways, or showing up in places where you didn’t expect him to be. It was like a game to him, though you weren't sure if he knew it was to you. Maybe he thought he could win you over if he tried hard enough, if he kept being persistent, kept flashing that grin and throwing out just enough charm to keep you on the edge of saying yes.

He’d joke with you, pretending to be playful, leaning in with a wink like you were both in on some shared secret no one else understood. But you knew better. You could see through the act, see the way his eyes would light up when he thought he was getting close. It was almost like a challenge to him now, something he couldn’t let go of.

But you kept saying no.

And he kept coming back for more.

You would think that someone like him would give up after rejection, after rejection. But nooooo.

If anything, Heeseung only seemed more determined with each "no" you threw at him. You’d catch him looking at you with amusement, as if he were trying to figure you out, like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, plotting his next move. It wasn’t just persistence—it was obsession in its own strange way.

He’d show up at your locker with an extra wide grin, as if all the past rejections were just another small obstacle, one he was determined to overcome. He’d ask about your plans for the weekend, your favorite movie, your favorite ice cream flavor—all these little things that seemed innocent enough but were clearly his way of getting closer to you, of worming his way in until you couldn’t say no anymore. And each time, you’d refuse, hold firm.

It was like a tug-of-war, except you were the one refusing to be pulled.

And yet, he never stopped to one point that there was a part of you that wondered, almost begrudgingly, if anyone had ever resisted him like this before. You could almost hear the chuckles of his friends in the background, no doubt betting on how long it would take before you gave in.

It did kind of surprise you when, one day, you were walking down the hallway, busy trying to find your gum in your bag, when you accidentally overheard a girl confessing to Heeseung. You stopped, pausing mid-step as you heard her voice, trembling with nerves, pouring out her feelings to him.

You looked down the hallway you were passing, and there he was, standing with his back to you, his attention fully on the girl in front of him. She was shy, her words stumbling over each other, her face flushed as she nervously admitted what everyone probably already knew. She liked him. She wanted him.

But what he did next was something you did not expect at all.

He rejected her.

The words hit you before you could even process them. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But there’s someone else I’m interested in. Someone I want." He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem to waver. He was polite, but his words were clear and final.

The girl stood frozen for a moment, looking down, clearly embarrassed. You could see the brief flicker of pain on her face, but she nodded and walked away quickly, her head down.

You felt an unexpected sting in your chest, a strange mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You couldn’t decide if it was relief or disappointment or... something else.

And as Heeseung turned around, casually adjusting his jacket, you quickly stepped into a side hallway, out of sight, your heart beating a little too fast for comfort. You had never expected to see something like that, especially not from him. Never from him. And it made you wonder, question everything you thought you knew about him.

Because after that moment, it seemed like he rejected girl after girl, all while still pursuing you with that same relentless determination. It was strange. You would never catch him kissing other women anymore, never saw pictures on social media of him with a girl on his lap at parties, never heard whispers of him flirting with anyone else. It was like the world around him had faded, and the only focus, the only person who mattered, was you.

No one else but you.

It made you question everything. Was he really serious about you? Or was this just some strange game he was playing, a challenge to see if he could win you over when everyone else had fallen for his charm? Or was it something more than the surface-level attention he gave everyone else? You tried to shake the thoughts from your mind, tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered when you realized you were the only one he seemed to want.

But the more you thought about it, the more it made you uneasy. Did you trust him? Or were you walking into a trap?

If it was a trap, it was a pretty good one, because something changed between the dynamic of you and Heeseung. You grew more compliant, more willing to give him a little piece of your attention, a little more of your time. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him shift gears. Heeseung, who had always been so confident, so certain, now seemed a little more desperate, a little more eager to make you notice him, to make you smile.

He’d go out of his way to do the smallest things just to get a reaction from you—whether it was showing up with your favorite drink, offering to carry your bag when you were weighed down with books, or trying to impress you with his random trivia knowledge that he knew you secretly found endearing. His usual cool composure was slipping, and in its place was a version of him you hadn’t seen since you were young.

And frankly, it was kinda cute.

It was like he was a little boy again, trying so hard to win your approval, doing whatever he could to get you to look his way, to see him the way he wanted you to.

You expected to play a little around with his attention, to enjoy the way he’d chase you, all while ignoring the stares you got from other girls. It wasn’t anything serious, just a game, a harmless little back-and-forth that didn’t have to mean anything. You didn’t expect it to go anywhere—after all, this was Heeseung, the golden boy who had his pick of anyone. He was just... fun to be around, right?

But how were you supposed to know that one measly party—just one event—would change everything?

It wasn’t even a big deal at first. Just a typical Friday night, with music blasting, lights flashing, and everyone packed together in some house that barely fit the crowd. You had told yourself you’d just go for a bit, maybe chat with some friends, and leave before things got too chaotic.

When you arrived, you decided to go get a drink first, something to ease your nerves. You weren’t exactly the type to jump into a party scene, so you figured a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt. You made your way to the kitchen, and scanned the counter for something that would do the trick. You found a bottle of something strong, poured yourself a generous amount, and started nursing it as you made your way through the house, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd.

The music was louder now, almost deafening, and the air smelled like a mix of cheap cologne, sweat, and the faint scent of pizza. The people around you were lost in their own little worlds—laughing, dancing, talking—but you were searching for someone you knew.

Your search didn’t take long before you spotted a group of people you knew—friends from class, a few people you’d hung out with before. You made your way toward them, grateful for the distraction, and they welcomed you with smiles and waves. You could feel the tension in your body start to loosen as you joined in, taking a sip from your drink and laughing along with their jokes.

You stayed with them for a while, catching up on small talk, sipping your drink more leisurely. The conversation shifted from one topic to another—school, upcoming plans, random gossip about who was dating who—until eventually, the music started pulling everyone onto the dance floor. You found yourself swept along with the crowd, the beat of the song pounding through the floor and vibrating up your spine as you moved with the rhythm, the alcohol in your system giving you a little extra confidence.

It was fun, for a while. You lost yourself in the music, and you could feel the tension slip away with each step you took, each beat you moved to, until everything felt… easy.

Then, suddenly, you felt strong arms around your waist, pulling you close, a warmth pressing against your back. It took a split second for the reality to sink in, but you already knew who it was based on the familiar scent of cologne that filled your senses. You didn’t have to look to be sure, but you turned your head anyway, and as expected, there he was.

Heeseung.

He was right behind you, holding you effortlessly, his grip strong yet gentle as he matched the rhythm of the music with you. His chest pressed against your back, making your breath catch for a moment.

You could feel his chin rest lightly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and despite every part of you telling yourself to pull away, to keep the distance you’d worked so hard to maintain, something inside you didn’t want to.

For a brief moment, you forgot to question it all. You forgot the reasons you kept pushing him away, the doubts you had about what he truly wanted.

And when he leaned close, his voice low and steady, you felt your resolve begin to crumble as his lips just brushed your ear. "You look so good," he murmured, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Dancing like that, looking so tempting."

The words were playful, but there was something in the tone that made it clear he wasn’t just joking. You could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck.

For a moment, you felt dizzy—not just from the alcohol, but from his proximity, the way he had you caught in his orbit, unwilling to let go.

"You’re driving me crazy," he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly as if to remind you of how close he was. The teasing had a bite now and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was testing you, seeing how far he could push.

And God did he push.

Heeseung’s fingers brushed lightly against your waist, sending a ripple of heat through you. "You know," he said, his tone softer now, almost a whisper, "you’re not making it easy for me to behave tonight."

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his every move, every word. But it was useless—he was too close, too overwhelming, and you couldn’t think straight.

When you finally found your voice, it came out quieter than you intended. "Maybe you’ve had a little too much to drink, Heeseung," you said, hoping to inject some distance, even though your own voice betrayed how unsteady you felt.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your back. "Maybe," he admitted, and you could hear the smirk in his tone. "But don’t act like you’re not enjoying this."

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was locked on you, dark and intense.

"I’m not—" you started, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"You’re not what?" he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, daring you to finish your sentence.

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your heart raced, how you couldn’t seem to pull away, even though every logical part of your brain screamed at you to step back. But the warmth of his arms and the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room—it was all too much.

For once, you let yourself linger, not pulling away from his hold, not giving him the usual pushback. He noticed immediately, his smirk growing as if he had won some unspoken game between you two.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Heeseung said, his tone teasing but soft. His fingers traced small circles against your hip, his other hand resting lightly at your waist. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I’m just too tired to deal with your nonsense.”

“Oh, nonsense, huh?” he said with a mock-wounded expression, leaning closer, his lips hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Careful, or you might hurt my feelings.”

“I think you’ll survive,” you shot back, tilting your head to glance at him. But the way his gaze locked onto yours made your breath hitch.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, as he kept still. “You’re enjoying this,” he murmured, the words brushing against your ear. “Admit it.”

You didn’t respond right away, instead letting the music carry you both. There was something about this that felt different tonight. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t pushing too hard, wasn’t making this feel like a game. Or maybe it was just the way you let yourself relax for once, let yourself enjoy his attention without overthinking it.

“And if I am?” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended, but steady enough to hold his gaze.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his confidence shining through. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep doing whatever I’m doing,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head, trying to brush him off, but he wasn’t having it. “Oh, don’t act so tough,” he teased, “I know I’m getting to you.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back just enough to put some space between you, but Heeseung wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily. He followed, closing the gap again, his movements unhurried. “Running away already?” he said, his tone mockingly hurt.

“I’m not running,” you shot back, crossing your arms in front of you, though the small smile threatening to form on your lips betrayed you.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly not convinced. He reached out, gently tugging at one of your hands, his pouty expression exaggerated to the point of being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, baby. I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

You let out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head again. “I’m not your baby , you know that right?”

“But here you are,” he replied smoothly, the grin returning to his lips. “Still talking to me, still letting me hold you like I belong to you. Makes me think you don’t hate this as much as you pretend.”

You wanted to argue, to push him away again, but before you could, Heeseung pulled you closer once more. “Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “if you really want me to stop, I will.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but you didn’t want him to stop. You couldn’t say it either. And he noticed.

Instead of gloating, though, his grin softened into an almost shy smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his hand squeezing yours gently before letting it go, as if to remind you that you were the one in control, even if it didn’t feel like it right now.

“Don’t think this means I’m giving in,” you said, trying to regain some ground, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to sound convincing.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, his smirk returning. “But I’ll take it as a win anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at him, a playful smirk curling on your lips. Leaning in just enough so only he could hear, you whispered, your voice teasing, “Maybe you should work a little harder if you want to win me over pretty boy.”

Before he could respond, you pulled back and walked off toward the kitchen, swaying your hips just enough to make a point and you felt a surge of satisfaction when you glanced over your shoulder.

Heeseung stood frozen in place, his expression both shocked and in disbelief. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide as he processed your words and the sudden shift. For once, it seemed like you had left him speechless—a rarity that made your grin widen.

You turned back around, hiding your amusement as you reached the kitchen and poured yourself another drink.

A few seconds passed, and you felt it—the unmistakable weight of his gaze burning into your back. Heeseung wasn’t one to give up easily, and you knew you’d just ignited a fire in him. It wasn’t a question of if he’d come after you, but when.

You took a sip of your drink, savoring the moment, and braced yourself for whatever Heeseung was planning. You barely had any time to react before you felt Heeseung’s presence behind you. His body pressed against your back, his warmth seeping through your clothes as his arms caged you in on either side of the counter. His hands gripped the edge, locking you in place.

A low, frustrated groan escaped his lips, brushing against your ear and sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re really going to do me like that?” he murmured, his voice laced with mock pain.

You tilted your head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. “Do you like what?” you asked innocently, swirling your drink in your hand as if you weren’t trapped.

Heeseung chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made your stomach flip. “Walking away like that,” he said, leaning in closer until his lips almost brushed the curve of your jaw. “Whispering things you know are going to drive me crazy, and then just leaving me standing there like an idiot.”

You giggled as you leaned back slightly, your head resting against his shoulder. “You looked cute like that,” you teased, your tone dripping with playful defiance. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Cute?” he echoed, his voice dropping an octave as his grip on the counter tightened. “I’ll show you cute.”

Before you could respond, Heeseung’s lips were so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he said, his tone softer now, though still playful. “But it’s fine. I like trouble.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, your shoulders shaking slightly as you set your drink down on the counter. “You’re so dramatic, Heeseung,” you said, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze.

Heeseung’s eyes locked onto yours, the grin on his face softening into something more tempting. “Dramatic, huh?” he murmured, “maybe. But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “I think you like the attention,” he continued, his tone smug as his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “You wouldn’t keep me guessing if you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure despite the rapid thudding of your heart. “Guessing? Please,” you scoffed, tilting your chin up slightly, refusing to back down. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, Heeseung. Not me.”

“And yet,” he countered smoothly, “you haven’t walked away yet. If you really weren’t interested, you wouldn’t still be here. With me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, even as a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I’m just enjoying watching you make a fool of yourself.”

“Is that right?” he said, his voice dipping, playful but challenging. He leaned in even closer, so close that his lips were barely a breath away from yours. “Careful, baby, or you might end up falling for me instead.”

His confidence was maddening, but it was that same confidence that made your pulse race.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a raised brow. “Falling for you?” you repeated, your voice steady even as your heart betrayed you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Heeseung.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm as his hand left the counter to lightly graze your hip, his fingers lingering just enough to make you aware of every single nerve in your body. “Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You’ve got some nerve,” you said, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

His eyes following your every move as you picked up your drink again. “And you’ve got some walls,” he shot back.

You paused, glancing back at him as you took a sip of your drink. “Maybe they’re there for a reason,” you replied, your tone light but pointed.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied you. “Yeah, but the thing about walls?” he said, tilting his head with a grin. “They’re meant to be climbed.”

You side-eyed him, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you raised your glass to take another sip. “Try all you want mountain climber.”

Before he could come up with a response, you smoothly stepped away, moving around the kitchen counter to put some distance between you. His brows furrowed slightly in surprise, the sudden shift catching him off guard.

“Hey, wait a second,” he called after you, quickly sliding around the counter in an attempt to follow. The way he moved—quick but a little clumsy, as if he hadn’t expected you to slip away so easily—made you chuckle to yourself.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that,” you said over your shoulder, your tone full of challenge as you leaned casually against the far end of the counter, nursing your drink.

Heeseung stopped on the other side, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he tilted his head. “Oh, so now we’re playing games?” he asked, clearly in disbelief.

“You started it,” you shot back, taking another sip and meeting his gaze head-on.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if accepting the challenge. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t be mad when I win.”

“Win?” you repeated, raising a brow at him. “Pretty confident for someone who just got left behind.”

That earned a laugh from him, and in one swift motion, he stepped around the counter, closing the gap between you. “Left behind?” he echoed, his tone playful as he leaned down slightly, his face closer to yours. “Nah. I’m right where I need to be.”

Your breath hitched for the briefest moment, but you quickly masked it with another sip of your drink, refusing to let him see how much his persistence was getting to you.

Heeseung’s smirk widened when you began moving around the counter again, and without missing a beat, he mirrored your steps, chasing after you. “Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?” he teased, his tone light as his eyes tracked your every move.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” you shot back, a playful laugh escaping your lips as you darted around the other side.

His hands hovered over the counter, ready to cut you off, but you were quicker, slipping just out of reach. The look of mock frustration on his face was priceless, and you couldn’t help but grin at your small victory.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up for a moment as if calling a truce. But you weren’t buying it—not for a second.

When he lunged, you were ready, spinning on your heel and darting out of the kitchen entirely. “Nice try!” you called over your shoulder, weaving your way back toward the dance floor, the thumping bass and flashing lights swallowing you up.

You could hear him groan behind you, the sound half exasperated, half amused. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, slipping into the crowd and letting the press of people conceal you. It was easy to lose him in the chaos, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of him standing near the edge of the dance floor, scanning the crowd with a furrowed brow.

For a moment, you just watched him. The way he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to spot you, made your chest tighten unexpectedly. But you shook the feeling off quickly, turning back to the music and letting yourself have fun.

The crowd seemed to shift and swirl, pulling you deeper into the dance floor. For a moment, you felt untouchable—lost in the freedom of the moment.

But that feeling didn’t last long. You could still feel him, even if you couldn’t see him. And then, just when you thought you’d successfully slipped away, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and right near your ear.

“Thought you could run away from me?”

You turned your head sharply, only to find Heeseung standing there, a sly grin on his face. His hair was slightly mussed, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks, probably from weaving through the crowd to find you.

“How’d you—” you started, but he interrupted with a chuckle.

“You really think I’d give up that easily?” he asked, his tone almost incredulous. “I told you, I’m right where I need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your lips tugged upward. “Maybe you’re just a little too determined,” you said, stepping back slightly, but he followed your movement effortlessly.

“Or maybe you like being chased,” he countered, his voice smooth as he matched your pace.

You opened your mouth to retort, but he caught your hand, gently spinning you back toward him, his movements seamless with the music. It was so smooth, so unexpected, that you didn’t even think to pull away. “Caught you,” he murmured, his voice low as his eyes locked onto yours.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “I let you catch me,” you replied.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he answered as he pulled you a little closer.

The space between you vanished, and for a moment, you were acutely aware of everything—his hand on your waist, his body, his gaze. It was dizzying, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you stayed there, caught in the moment, wondering how on earth he always managed to get under your skin like this.

Heeseung began to sway with you to the music, his hands resting lightly on your waist, guiding your movements with an ease that felt far too natural. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. It was just dancing, just a moment. And yet, you didn’t stop him. You let him lead, let him pull you closer, until his forehead was nearly brushing yours.

But then you noticed something. The way his steps were deliberate, not just moving to the beat but steering you. Slowly, subtly, his touch guided you backward through the crowd.

Your brow furrowed as realization dawned. Heeseung wasn’t just dancing. He had a plan.

“You’re sneaky, you know that?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes as you glanced over your shoulder and saw the wall creeping closer.

Heeseung’s grin turned wicked, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “Sneaky? Me?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed him. “Yes, you,” you shot back, even as your back brushed against the cool surface of the wall. He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Can you blame me? You make it so hard to keep my distance.”

You rolled your eyes, though your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest as his gaze locked onto yours.

His gaze never left yours for a second. The world around you seemed to fade away as he leaned in just the slightest bit closer, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. You could feel the heat of his body so close to yours, could feel the tension between you, thick and heavy.

He glanced down at your lips, then back up to your eyes, the look in his gaze unreadable. It was almost like he was testing the air between you, measuring whether you’d pull away or lean in. His hands on your waist holding you in place as if he knew you wouldn’t make a move. His breathing had picked up now, shallow and just a little shaky, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was just as affected by this as you were.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, though you knew your voice was too soft to carry any real force. The words felt weak even as they left your lips, because you knew you weren’t really trying to push him away.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and low, as if savoring the moment. “Like what?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—because the answer was already in the way your heart was pounding, the way your breath hitched every time he got a little closer.

And then, without warning, he leaned in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating from them, but he didn’t make the move. He was waiting. Testing.

You both seemed to be holding your breath.

Just as you were about to say something, the world shifted unexpectedly. A figure stumbled into Heeseung from behind, knocking into him, and before either of you could react, the person’s drink splashed all over you. You gasped as the cold liquid drenched your outfit, your heart sinking as you saw the mess, the dark stain had spread across the fabric, leaving a damp, sticky trail. “Are you kidding me?” you groaned, trying to wipe it off, but it only made it worse.

Heeseung, who had been caught off guard by the collision, quickly turned around. His brows furrowed with frustration, but his gaze softened when he saw the mess on your clothes. Without missing a beat, he pushed the person who had bumped into him away with a quick but firm shove. “Watch where you’re going!” he snapped. The drunk person mumbled an apology, clearly embarrassed, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. His attention was on you now.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand brushing against your arm as he looked you over.

You just sighed, wiping your shirt, but it was clear you weren’t getting anywhere. “This is great,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, “I didn’t even want to be here tonight, and now this…”

Heeseung didn’t let you dwell on it for long. “Come on,” he said, taking your hand in a way that was surprisingly gentle for all the tension you’d felt earlier. “Let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

You didn’t argue, allowing him to guide you through the crowd, his hand on yours was warm, and even though you were frustrated, there was something comforting in the way he took charge.

When you reached the bathroom, he opened the door for you, ushering you inside with a soft “After you,” before making sure the door was securely closed behind you. The bathroom was quieter, and the air felt colder, but it was a welcome change from the chaos outside.

“Sit down, I’ll grab you some paper towels,” he said, motioning to the counter as he quickly moved toward the sink.

You sat down on the edge, trying to assess the damage, but the sticky feeling of the drink on your skin made it hard to focus. Heeseung was quick, his movements efficient as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and wet them under the faucet.

“You’re really going to make me clean up after you now?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though there was still a hint of irritation in your voice.

Heeseung didn’t reply right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you the damp towels. His gaze softened as he looked at you. “I’m not making you do anything,” he said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trying to help.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentle way he was treating the situation. You took the damp towels from his hands, still a little flustered by how close he was standing, how his gaze was focused on you with such intent.

“I didn’t ask for help,” you muttered, not in an angry way but more out of habit, the natural instinct to push away when things got too close, too personal.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I know. But that’s never stopped me before, has it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. You couldn’t find the right response. Instead, you just looked at him, your heart doing that erratic thing it always did when he was this close.

Heeseung seemed to notice your hesitation, his smile softening. “You don’t have to push me away every time, you know,” he said gently, his voice almost too sincere.

You blinked, caught off guard. But before you could respond, he stepped back, giving you space, though his eyes never left yours. “I’ll wait outside,” he said quietly, his voice shifting back to its usual tone.“Take your time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

Heeseung gave you one last lingering look before stepping out of the bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him. As soon as he was gone, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing in your chest. You quickly went to work cleaning yourself up, though the mess on your clothes was much harder to fix.

Your thoughts were spinning. There was something about the way Heeseung was acting tonight, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but there was definitely something there, and it made your stomach twist in ways.

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to collect yourself. Why did he have this effect on you? You couldn’t figure it out, but the longer you stood there in the bathroom, the more confused you felt.

After a few more minutes, you gave up trying to fix the mess entirely. It was too late for that. Instead, you grabbed your things and stepped out of the bathroom. As soon as you entered the hallway, you spotted Heeseung standing by the door, his posture relaxed but his eyes immediately locking onto yours. “Well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly as he gave you a once-over. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, much better,” you replied, trying to act nonchalant, but you could feel your heartbeat quicken again under his scrutiny.

He gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You look… good.” There was a hesitation before the words left his mouth, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase them.

You caught it, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t immediately push back. Instead, you simply looked at him, unsure of what was happening.

Wait.

You suddenly felt a strange sense of déjà vu wash over you. The way he looked at you, the way he was standing there waiting for you, felt familiar, like it was something you had experienced before.

Your mind wandered back to a memory from when you were younger, one that you hadn’t thought about in ages. You were just a child, maybe eight or nine, playing in the park with Heeseung not too far away. You’d been running around, laughing with the other kids when some clumsy little boy—one of your classmates—spilled his drink all over you. You’d been so upset, the sticky liquid ruining your favorite shirt, and you could feel tears threatening to spill.

But then, out of nowhere, there was Heeseung. He hadn’t hesitated for a second, not like some of the other kids who were too busy laughing or ignoring you. He’d been sitting nearby, playing with a figurine in the grass, but the moment he saw you, he dropped his toys without a second thought. Without saying a word, he had stood up, walked over to you, and gently grabbed your hand.

“Don’t worry,” he’d said with that soft, comforting tone only he had, “I’ll help you clean up.”

He had led you straight to the bathroom of the park’s little concession stand, where he carefully grabbed paper towels and dabbed at your shirt, his face set in a look of determination. You remembered feeling embarrassed, but somehow his presence made everything feel better.

And now, here you were, years later, with him standing in front of you again, doing the same thing—helping you, without hesitation. It made you smile softly to yourself, the memory tugging at your heart in ways you weren’t sure how to explain.

Heeseung, noticing the smile tugging at your lips, raised an eyebrow in playful curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”

You shook your head, trying to hide the faint blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Just… thinking about something,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

He didn’t push, simply giving you a small smile, as though he understood without needing any further explanation.

Before you could think too much about it, Heeseung suddenly moved with a surprising confidence, his hand finding your waist and gently pulling you along with him. The sudden shift startled you for a moment, but the warmth of his hand against your side made your breath hitch slightly.

“You look like you need another drink,” he said, his voice low, but playful, as he guided you through the crowded hallway and toward the kitchen. He left you no time to protest, and you found yourself following him without much resistance. You’d barely processed the familiar feeling of his touch when you were already in the kitchen, the sound of music and chatter fading slightly as you both entered the quieter space. Heeseung let go of your waist once you were in the kitchen, but he still stood close.

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes as he turned to the counter, rifling through the bottles of alcohol, though his gaze never fully left you.

"Something strong this time?" he asked, his tone teasing but with a hint of genuine care, as though he wanted to make sure you were really okay. "Or do you want to take it easy?"

You were still caught off guard by the way he had pulled you along, the way he’d moved without hesitation, without waiting for permission.

"Maybe just something light," you replied, trying to play it cool, even though he was making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Heeseung worked quickly, his movements smooth as he reached for the bottle, his back was turned to you. But you couldn’t stop watching him—how his muscles shifted under the fabric of his shirt, how good he looked.

Heeseung eventually finished the drink and handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours again as you took the glass. For a second, you both stood there, neither one of you saying anything. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. It was that kind of silence where it felt like something was about to happen, but neither of you were sure what.

“So, what now?” you asked, trying to break the silence, but you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you spoke.

Heeseung took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Now," he said, "we get back to enjoying the night."

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he was. "Right," you said, your voice a little shakier than you intended, but you quickly recovered, giving him a small smile. "Let’s see if I can actually make it through the night without getting drenched in anything else."

Heeseung’s lips curled into a grin, and he chuckled softly. "I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again," he said, his tone playful but with an undertone of sincerity. He reached out and gently took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

You let him lead you back into the party, the music louder now, the crowd thicker. Heeseung didn’t let go of your hand, and you found yourself walking alongside him through the house, feeling uncertain.

✰ ✰ ✰

Somewhere during the night, you had lost sight of Heeseung. He had been dragged away by his friends, caught up in the crowd, and never returned after that. At first, it felt like a strange absence, the lingering sense of him still there even if he wasn't. But after a while, you pushed it aside, deciding it was fine.

You found yourself moving through the party, chatting with friends, laughing at jokes, and enjoying yourself. And as the night went on, you slipped into the comfort of familiar faces, people you could talk to normally. You were glad for the chance to just have fun, to forget for a moment the heat that always seemed to follow whenever Heeseung was around. You were fine without him, right?

You decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. The noise and chaos inside had started to make you feel lightheaded, and the stuffy heat of the house wasn’t helping. A little solitude would do you good, you thought.

The cool air hit your skin as you stepped out into the backyard, a quiet escape from the party. You leaned against the outer wall, looking up at the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, and for a moment, you let the silence settle around you. It was peaceful, the kind of calm you needed after the madness inside. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the chill of the night on your skin, and took a deep breath.

What you didn’t know was that someone was watching you from the shadows, standing just far enough away not to be seen. The shape of a figure, leaning against the corner of the house, observing you with quiet intensity.

The moment stretched on, the backyard still and quiet, until you felt a presence shift behind you. A movement you couldn’t quite place, and before you could turn around to see who it was, you felt the brush of someone’s body so close to yours that it made you freeze.

You slowly turned your head, your breath catching in your throat, and found yourself face to face with Heeseung. His lips were mere inches from your ear as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. But something was off.

His usually sharp gaze was a little hazy, his eyes unfocused as he smiled at you—though it didn’t reach the intensity of his usual teasing grin. He looked almost… detached. Out of it.

And then the smell hit you—a sharp, pungent scent of weed mixed with the alcohol. It hit you like a wave, and you realized just how much he'd been indulging tonight.

"Heeseung?" you murmured, taking a step back instinctively, your heart picking up speed as you watched him sway slightly, his breath coming out slower than usual.

He seemed to snap out of his daze for a moment, his eyes clearing slightly as he blinked at you. "Hmm?" His voice was low, almost lazy, and there was a softness to it that you weren’t used to hearing.

You studied him for a moment, his breath still tinged with the unmistakable haze of the night’s indulgence. He wasn't himself—at least not the playful Heeseung you knew. "Are you okay?" you asked cautiously, unsure how to navigate this new version of him standing so close.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before a slow, almost dreamy smile curled up on his lips. "Yeah, just needed a break too. The noise gets... loud. You know how it is."

He swayed again, his hand coming up to rest on the wall near you, his face inches from yours.

You stood still, your heart racing as you took in the unexpected sight of him like this. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “Maybe you should head back inside.”

He chuckled softly, but it lacked its usual spark. Instead, it was drawn out and almost tired. “Nah,” he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m fine... just needed a minute.” His fingers brushed your arm lightly as if trying to keep himself steady.

He didn’t back away, though, and neither did you.

You were unsure what to say next, unsure of your next move. "You’re making this... hard," you finally whispered, uncertain whether you were talking about the situation or him.

Heeseung smiled, but this time it was slow, almost seductive, like he was savoring the moment. “Maybe I like it that way,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. He leaned just a little closer, his breath mingling with yours.

Despite everything, despite all the confusion, you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded. Heeseung had always been a game you couldn’t quite figure out, but right now, you were starting to wonder if maybe it was a game you didn’t want to win.

As he leaned in further, you had to make a decision: pull away, or let yourself fall into whatever it was that had been brewing between the two of you.

Before you could even make a decision, he made the decision for you. His lips parted, and he murmured a low, breathy compliment against your ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You look so beautiful baby,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his tone that cut through the haze. But before you could respond, his hand shot up to grip the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your skin, holding you in place. The other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Then, without warning, he kissed you. Hard. Hungry. His lips crashing against yours as if you were the air he needed to breathe, like this moment was the only thing that mattered.

You gasped into the kiss, caught off guard by the intensity of it. Heeseung’s mouth was possessive, eager, like he couldn’t get enough of you. He kissed you with a desperation that sent a rush of heat straight to your body, his hands pulling you closer, the pressure of his grip firm. It felt like everything had exploded in that moment, every feeling you’d been pushing away suddenly pouring out in a single, stolen kiss.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and even though every part of you knew this wasn’t how you expected things to go, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it. The way he kissed you—like you were the last thing he’d ever touch—was overwhelming, and for the first time, you let yourself surrender to it.

His lips were intoxicating, and as he pulled you closer, you could feel the intensity in every movement, every press of his body against yours. The kiss deepened, more frantic now, as if neither of you could get enough. The feeling of him—so desperate, so needy—was something you never expected from Heeseung, and yet it was exactly what you found yourself craving.

You tried to stay grounded, to remind yourself of who he was, of all the walls you’d carefully built between you, but with each second, they seemed to crumble. His hands moved to your back, pulling you in as his kiss grew more fevered, his breathing erratic as he let out soft groans against your lips.

You couldn’t help but respond, your own hands rising to clutch at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if to keep him anchored to you, like the very act of touching him would stop this moment from slipping away. Heeseung’s body was solid against yours, and despite the confusion that still buzzed in the back of your mind, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted this—wanted him.

His breath hitched as you pulled him even closer, you could feel the way his body seemed to tremble slightly as he held you in his arms, groaning lowly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he used one arm to brace himself against the wall, the other pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. His lips were desperate, claiming, his breathing heavy as it mixed with yours.

Your hands moved without thought, one gripping the back of his shirt, the other winding into his hair, tugging him even closer. He let out another low groan, the sound so needy it sent a shiver down your spine. Heeseung’s hand at your waist tightened, as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one.

Every part of you seemed to melt under his touch, all that mattered in that moment was the way he felt against you, the way his lips moved with yours, the way his hands seemed to be exploring every inch of your body. His lips moved with desperation, and each breathless kiss made it harder to remember why you had held back for so long.

But then, just as the kiss deepened again, your mind caught up with you. You could feel the weight of it—the gravity of what was happening. The familiar warning signs, the confusion, the uncertainty, all came rushing back to the surface.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands gripping his hair tightly, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. Heeseung, sensing the shift, finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting softly.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice raspy and gentle, as if checking to see if you were still with him in that moment.

You pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to gather your thoughts, but your mind was still clouded by the rush of the moment. "We... we shouldn't be doing this," you murmured, your voice shaky, feeling the weight of the situation. "You're drunk, Heeseung. This isn't you."

Heeseung blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with that lazy, almost dazed look as he played with the strands of your hair, his fingers brushing gently against your scalp. He tilted his head slightly, giving you that smile—the one that always made your heart flutter, even in the most confusing of times.

He leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and he spoke softly, his voice sincere "Even if I wasn't drunk," he said, his lips curling into a slow smile, "I’d still do this." His eyes locked onto yours, the haze in them making his gaze feel even more intense. "Because you're you. A pretty girl I've wanted for years."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the heat of his words curling around you like a blanket, and you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat. His hand on your hair moved down to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "This... this is unforgettable. And I’d do it over and over again, no matter what state I’m in."

You were speechless for a moment, but you knew he was being honest, even if his current state made it hard to fully trust his intentions.

"But...," you started, still unsure, trying to hold onto your reason, "this isn't the right time, Heeseung. We both know that."

Heeseung’s lazy smile didn’t falter, though there was a longing in his eyes somthing you hadn't seen before. He slowly moved his thumb down, brushing lightly over your lips before leaning in again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Maybe not the right time," he said, his lips nearly brushing against yours once more. "But you’ve always been worth the wait."

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his hand still cradling your face as if silently asking for permission. Then, he leaned in, placing a soft, tentative peck on your lips. It was gentle and when you didn’t pull away, he did it again, this time lingering a little longer. Each kiss felt like a question, and with every unspoken answer, his confidence grew.

The next kiss wasn’t as restrained. It was deeper, needier, as though the small taste he’d gotten wasn’t enough. His lips moved against yours with increasing urgency, quickly unraveling into something messier. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, while his other hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The kisses turned sloppy, his control slipping with every passing second. His breath came heavier, mingling with yours as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, making your knees feel weak.

You couldn’t help but respond, your hands moving to grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Heeseung broke away just briefly, as he gasped for air, his lips swollen and glistening. “You don’t know,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with desperation. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” Before you could respond, he captured your lips again, his kisses feverish, like he was making up for all the time he’d spent waiting. His body pressed you more firmly against the wall, as he completely lost himself in the moment, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece.

You tried to catch your breath, your head spinning from it all, but Heeseung wasn’t giving you a chance to think. His lips trailed down from yours, brushing along your jaw and down to your neck, where he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Heeseung,” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky. You weren’t sure what you were trying to say—stop or don’t stop.

“Say my name again,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and raspy. He placed another kiss just below your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I love the way it sounds coming from you.”

You didn’t answer because the way he was looking at you left you speechless. His lips were swollen from the kisses, his hair slightly messy, and there was something in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before. “Heeseung,” you whispered again, softer this time, your hand reaching up to touch his face. The moment your fingers brushed his cheek, he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. When they opened again, there was a softness there that made your heart ache.

Heeseung’s lips found yours again, capturing them in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it left you breathless. You could feel the way his fingers trembled slightly as they slid up your sides. One hand settled on the small of your back, keeping you firmly pressed against him, while the other moved to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough.

He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine as his lips parted, inviting you to deepen the kiss. The way his tongue brushed against yours was dizzying, leaving your knees weak and your mind spinning. You responded instinctively, your hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

Heeseung’s breathing was heavy, uneven, as if he couldn’t catch his breath but didn’t want to stop. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against your skin in a way that made your stomach flutter. It felt like he was memorizing the feel of you, the taste of you, the way you fit perfectly against him.

Heeseung’s lips suddenly left yours, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and onto your neck. “You don’t even know,” he murmured, his words slurred slightly but full of emotion. “How long I’ve wanted this… wanted you. God, you’re all I ever think about.” His lips grazed your collarbone, grounding you as he leaned his full weight into you, effectively caging you against the wall.

His rambling continued, each word pouring out like a confession. “I dream about you… about us. It’s always you. No one else even comes close, y’know that? The way you smile, the way you look at me… even when you’re mad at me, I can’t get you out of my head.”

His lips moved lower, pressing kisses along your chest as he spoke, his voice husky and raw. “You’re so beautiful… so perfect. And now you’re here, and I don’t want to let go.”

His words were pure need and desperation, and the way he shielded you with his body only amplified the intensity of the moment. “Tell me you feel it too,” he breathed, his voice breaking slightly. “Tell me I’m not crazy for wanting you this much.”

You were overwhelmed, caught between his touch and his words. Heeseung wasn’t holding back, and as much as you wanted to respond, the only thing you could manage was a shaky exhale, your hands clutching at his shirt to keep yourself steady.

Your voice wavered as you found the courage to speak, breaking through the haze of emotions swirling around you both. “But what about all the other girls, Heeseung?” you asked, your tone softer than you expected. “All the girls you’ve been with? The ones who’ve followed you around, who’ve—” You hesitated, the words getting caught in your throat.

Heeseung froze for a moment, his lips hovering against the curve of your neck, his breathing uneven. His answer was strained. “No one’s like you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “No one even comes close.”

His hand moved up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “You think any of them matter?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “All those girls… they were never you. Never even close to being you. I don’t care about them. I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

His lips found your collarbone again, lingering there as he continued. “I’ve yearned for you—God, for so long. You don’t even know what you do to me.” His hand slid down to your hips, gripping you as if to anchor himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like nothing else exists. No one else exists.”

He pulled back slightly, his dark, half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “I’ll drop them all—every single one. I don’t need anyone else, never did. I just want you.”

Heeseung, ever the gentleman suddenly took you by the hand and led you back inside, away from the prying eyes of the partygoers. With a gentle yet firm grip, he guided you through the bustling crowd, his eyes never leaving yours, as he led your way towards an unoccupied bedroom. Once inside the bedroom, Heeseung closed the door behind you, locking out the world and creating a private haven for the two of you, as he leaned in and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

You responded to his kiss with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, while Heeseung's hands roamed freely, caressing your back.

Heeseung only pulled back slightly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths before he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing a well-defined torso.

Well this would be a fun night.

It was a fun night... but what ruined it was the fact that Heeseung suddenly seemed to forget who you were. The next few days at school were a complete shift. He avoided you. He didn’t look at you, didn’t talk to you, didn’t even so much as throw a teasing grin your way in the hallways.

No, instead, he went back to his old habits. He laughed and flirted with other girls, his charm as effortless as ever, like nothing had changed. Like you didn’t exist. At. All.

It was maddening.

But the worst part? Watching him smile at those girls with the same ease he once reserved for you, as if you hadn’t been pressed against that wall, that bed, tangled up in his words and his touch. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You didn’t know what happened. You wracked your brain for answers, trying to piece together where it all went wrong. But deep down, you should have known. Of course, you should have known.

Heeseung wasn’t the type to stay tethered. He wasn’t the type to settle. He was the type to chase, to get what he wanted, and then move on. And now that he’d tempted you, now that he’d had a taste of your attention, it seemed he’d gone on to the next woman.

Why would you be any different?

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably. You weren’t supposed to care. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let someone like him get to you. But seeing him act as if nothing had happened—as if you were just another moment in his life—stung more than you wanted to admit.

And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you that night, the way he touched you, the way his words had seemed so genuine. Had it all been a lie? Or had he just changed his mind?

Either way, you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it bothered you. If he wanted to act like you didn’t exist, you’d do the same. Or at least, you’d try.

And you did try. You really did. Ignoring Heeseung, pretending he was just another face in the crowd—it seemed like the only way to keep yourself sane. And for a while, it felt like it might work. You told yourself you could move on, that you could forget about the way his touch had felt, the way his voice had sounded when he whispered your name.

Yeah, no. You couldn’t.

Not at all.

You realized that the moment you walked by the bleachers and saw a girl perched comfortably on Heeseung’s lap during basketball practice. She laughed at something he said, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Your stomach churned.

Nope. Moving on wasn’t happening.

And then in the hallways, you would see him leaning against the wall, his signature grin plastered across his face as he shamelessly flirted with other girls. Their giggles echoed in the corridor, and Heeseung would tilt his head, his eyes sparkling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Yeah, moving on definitely wasn’t in the cards.

Each time you saw him acting like you were meaningless, like the night you’d shared was nothing more than a passing moment, it cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the ache in your chest and the frustration bubbling under your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him. What would you even say? That he’d hurt you? That he’d made you believe you were different, only to prove otherwise?

No. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. But pretending it didn’t matter? That was turning out to be harder than you ever imagined.

Okay, yeah, pretending it didn’t matter was much harder than you thought. Because now, standing in the doorway of your room, staring at a very intoxicated Heeseung, all of those feelings you were desperately trying to bury came rushing back.

His hair was messy like he’d run his hands through it a million times. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing the smooth skin of his collarbones, and his belt dangled loosely from his hands like he’d been too distracted—or too far gone—to put it back on properly. The faint smell of alcohol and nicotine wafted off him, making you wrinkle your nose.

This was not how you’d planned to spend your night. You were supposed to be studying, maybe finishing the next episode of that series you were hooked on. A calm night. But of course, Heeseung had to ruin that.

“Heeseung,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep your voice steady, “What are you doing here?”

He blinked at you, his eyes glassy but still managing to hold that familiar spark that made your heart do stupid flips. “I—uh...” He trailed off, his gaze flickering over you like he was trying to figure out what to say.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You don’t even know why you’re here, do you?”

“I know why I’m here,” he slurred, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

You sighed, already feeling the headache forming. “Heeseung, you’re drunk. And not in your right mind. You should go home before you embarrass yourself even more.”

But instead of leaving, he gave you that boyish grin—the one that always made your resolve waver. “Can’t I stay here? Just for a bit?”

“No,” you replied firmly, but even as you said it, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Heeseung’s expression softened, and his voice dropped, almost pleading. “Come on, don’t do this. I... I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

You hated how those words tugged at something deep inside you. Why did he always have to show up and mess with your head?

You found yourself hesitating, your hand still on the door, unable to slam it shut in his face, sighing, your hand gripping the edge of the door as you tried to keep your cool. "I can't do this right now, Heeseung," you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "I have too much going on. I'm stressed, and I really don't have the energy for this."

He didn’t back off. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. His voice was low and teasing, with that same lazy confidence he always seemed to have. "If you're stressed, I can help with that," he murmured. "Play with me a little, and I promise, you'll forget all about it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by his audacity. “Heeseung—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, a small, mischievous smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, hazy but still focused on you, sparkled with that familiar glint that always left you second-guessing yourself. “I’m really good at relieving stress. Just give me a chance.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. The sheer gall of him left you momentarily speechless.

Finally, you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the moment. "Heeseung, you're drunk. You should just go home and sleep this off before you say something else ridiculous."

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Drunk or not, I’m still right,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned a fraction closer. “But if you really don’t want me here…” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, though he made no actual move to leave.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to summon every ounce of patience you had left. “Heeseung,” you said firmly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. “I need you to take this seriously. Either go home, or...”

“Or?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing, daring you to finish the sentence.

Your frustration bubbled over as you only glared at him, the sight of his disheveled figure only fueling your anger. "No! Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?" you snapped, crossing your arms. "You ignored me for days, Heeseung. Days! You acted like I didn’t exist, like nothing happened, and now you just show up at my door like—like this?"

Heeseung blinked, the lazy smirk faltering slightly, but he didn’t say anything. That only made you angrier. "Do you even know how humiliating it’s been? Watching you flirt with other girls, pretending like what we had meant nothing? And now, you think you can just waltz in here, drunk and out of your mind and what—fix everything with a grin and some smooth words? You don’t get to do that, Heeseung. You don’t get to mess with my head and—"

Before you could finish, Heeseung surged forward, his hands grabbing your cheeks as he pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours with a force that took your breath away, silencing your ramble in an instant.

Your mind went blank, your words evaporating as his warmth enveloped you. His kiss was desperate, almost as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t say out loud. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place, while the other stayed firm on your cheek.

You froze, your anger momentarily eclipsed by the intensity of his actions. But then, your hands instinctively pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss as you stepped back, breathless and wide-eyed. “Heeseung, what the hell?” you whispered, your voice shaking, unsure if it was from lingering anger or the way your heart raced in your chest.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted quietly, his voice hoarse. “You were yelling at me, and I just… I missed you. I couldn’t stay away.”

You stared at him, torn between wanting to scream at him and wanting to pull him back in. “You don’t get to do that,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and think it’ll fix everything.”

“I don’t think it fixes anything,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Before you could respond, he took a small step closer, his forehead gently resting against your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck as he hummed softly, the sound low and almost comforting. He nuzzled against your skin, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice strained as you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. But he didn’t budge, his larger frame pressing closer as his lips ghosted over the curve of your neck.

“I missed this,” he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below your ear, his hand curling gently around your waist to hold you steady.

You tried to push again, but it was weak, half-hearted, especially as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Stop it, Heeseung,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction, and he clearly noticed.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and a little smug. “You’re telling me to stop,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, “but you’re not really trying, are you?”

Your heart raced, torn between the anger still simmering in your chest and the way his touch was making your knees feel like jelly. “Heeseung, this isn’t fair,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softer now. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But I don’t know how else to tell you that I’m sorry. That I’ve been a complete idiot. That I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could sort through your emotions, he leaned in again, his lips brushing against your neck once more, and you felt yourself faltering.

Heeseung’s movements were subtle at first, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as he guided you further into the house. You didn’t even realize he’d kicked the door closed until you heard the faint click of it shutting.

Your distraction gave him the advantage, and before you could voice even the smallest protest, he was steering you toward the couch. His hands were steady, firm, but not forceful, leaving you confused and torn between stopping him and giving in to the pull he had on you.

“Heeseung—” you started, but the words barely escaped your lips before his mouth was on yours again, silencing you with a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips moved hungrily against yours, leaving no room for argument, and when you tried to push back against his chest, your resolve faltered as he moaned softly into the kiss. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and to your dismay, a small whine slipped out in response.

His lips curved against yours as if he could sense your weakening resolve, his hands started guiding you to lay down on the couch. The weight of his body hovered close, not trapping you but leaving you with the realization that Heeseung wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, “if you really want me to, I will.” But the way he looked at you, his dark eyes full of yearning and desperation, made it clear he didn’t want you to say the words.

When you didn’t respond, Heeseung’s lips curled into a slow, almost knowing smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. He leaned down, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips once more.

This kiss was different—softer at first, unhurried but still filled with that undeniable hunger. His weight shifted slightly, his chest pressing against yours while his hand slid from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made, and every way you responded to him.

You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him, Heeseung’s lips left yours only briefly, trailing kisses along your jaw, his warm breath ghosting over your skin as he murmured, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. “Heeseung… please,” you managed to whisper, though your voice trembled, making it come out weaker than you’d intended.

But he only shook his head softly, his lips brushing against your cheek as he murmured, “Shh… Don’t.” His voice was low and soothing, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t bear to hear you say anything that might break the moment between you. “Just… stay with me. Don’t push me away right now,” he whispered.

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, this time slower, softer, as if he was savoring the moment.

And you couldn’t help but let yourself fall deeper into the kiss.

✰ ✰ ✰

Yeah, you were getting pretty tired now.

After waking up the next morning to an empty bed, Heeseung having dipped sometime before you even stirred, you couldn’t say you were surprised. Disappointed? Sure. Hurt? Maybe. But surprised? Not in the slightest.

The hollow feeling lingered as you dragged yourself to school, telling yourself to just push through the day like nothing had happened. It was easier said than done when the moment you stepped into the halls, you spotted Heeseung leaning casually against his locker, laughing at something one of his friends said, acting like he didn’t have a care in the world.

And of course, he acted like last night didn’t happen. Not a glance in your direction, not a nod of acknowledgment—nothing. It was as if you didn’t exist, as if you hadn’t shared anything at all.

You bit down the frustration bubbling in your chest, refusing to let it show. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you, that you’d play it cool, but damn, it was harder than you thought. Watching him joke around, watching him flirt effortlessly with anyone but you—it stung more than you wanted to admit.

You sighed, gripping the straps of your bag a little tighter as you walked past him, pretending you didn’t notice him either.

It got to the point where your friends couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“What’s going on with you and Heeseung?” one of them asked, their tone laced with curiosity and concern. “He was all over you, and now he’s... not. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything, but their expectant gazes made it clear they weren’t letting it go. So, with a deep breath, you told them everything.

Their reactions were immediate.

“He did what?” one of your friends exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you serious? He was with you and then went back to ignoring you? Twice?!” another chimed in, her voice rising in anger.

They were shocked at first, then angry—angrier than you were, which was both comforting and a little overwhelming.

“You need to stop answering his calls,” one of them said firmly, leaning closer. “He’s just using you as a backup plan when he’s drunk and lonely.”

Another nodded, her expression equally resolute. “Don’t let him in, no matter how much he begs. If you let him in, you’re just setting yourself up to kick him out later. And trust me, that’s worse.”

“Exactly,” a third added, crossing her arms. “And don’t even think about being his friend. Friends don’t wake up in each other’s beds after nights like that.”

The last comment stung more than you cared to admit, but they weren’t done.

“If you’re under him, you’re never getting over him,” another said bluntly, her words hitting harder than you’d expected. “And you deserve better than this game he’s playing with you.”

You sat there, their words circling in your head like a storm. Deep down, you knew they were right. You knew you couldn’t keep letting Heeseung in only to get hurt every time he left. But knowing it and doing something about it were two very different things.

One of your friends sighed, shaking her head. “You know what this sounds like, right? A situationship. That’s what this is turning into.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“That’s exactly what it is,” another chimed in, crossing her arms. “He keeps you close enough to make you think you matter, but far enough to avoid any real accountability. Classic situationship behavior.”

You groaned, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t even know if it’s that deep. He probably doesn’t think about me at all.”

“Well…” one of them started, glancing over your shoulder, her expression shifting into amusement and curiosity.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She hesitated for a moment before blurting it out. “Heeseung’s staring.”

Your head snapped around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. And sure enough, there he was, standing at the edge of the basketball court, holding a ball loosely in one hand. He wasn’t laughing with his teammates or focused on the game. No, his eyes were locked directly on your group—or more specifically, on you.

Your friends followed your gaze, and a chorus of whispers erupted.

“Oh my god, he really is.”

“What is he doing just standing there?”

“Is it just me, or does he look like he’s debating something?”

One of them nudged you. “Okay, spill. What’s going on in his head? Did you say something to him recently? Text him?”

You shook your head quickly, still staring at Heeseung. “No, I haven’t even looked at him, let alone talked to him.”

“Then why is he staring like that?”

“I don’t know!” you said, your voice low but frantic.

Another friend tilted her head, watching him closely. “It’s not just a glance, either. He’s full-on staring. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should come over here or something.”

The thought made your stomach flip, cause there was something more intense in the way he looked at you—like he was fighting some internal battle.

“Well, whatever’s going on,” one of your friends whispered, “he’s definitely not over you.”

You turned back to your friends, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You guys are making this into something it’s not.”

One of them snorted. “Honey, he’s the one making it into something. Look at him.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced back at Heeseung, and your breath hitched when your eyes met his again. He didn’t look away. If anything, his gaze only grew more focused, like he wanted to make sure you knew he was looking.

You quickly turned back to your friends, forcing a tight smile. “Let’s go,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

They exchanged knowing glances but didn’t argue. One of them muttered, “Good idea,” as the group began gathering their things.

As you walked away from the bench, you resisted the urge to glance back at Heeseung. Your friends stayed close, their chatter filling the air as they tried to distract you, but it was hard to shake the feeling of his eyes still on you.

When you reached the school gates, one of them broke the silence. “So… are we just going to ignore the fact that he was practically burning a hole in your back with that stare?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, your voice sharper than you intended. “We’re ignoring it.”

Another friend chuckled softly. “Okay, okay. But just so you know, he’s not ignoring you.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Well, he’s doing a great job of pretending otherwise most of the time.”

“That’s the thing,” someone said thoughtfully. “Guys like him—they act like they don’t care, but the moment they think they’re losing you? They start doing stuff like this.”

You didn’t reply, tightening your grip on your bag as the group walked down the street. You didn’t want to talk about Heeseung anymore, didn’t want to think about the way he looked at you.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was a vicious cycle, one you hated but couldn’t seem to break. Each time you told yourself it would be the last, that you’d stop answering the door, that you wouldn’t let him in again. And yet, every time the night fell and he showed up—messy hair, glassy eyes, and a crooked smile—you found yourself giving in, letting him cross the threshold into your apartment.

Heeseung had this way of making you feel like you were the center of his world. His hands were always warm, his voice low and sweet, whispering things that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe.

“Why do you do this to me?” you’d asked one night, your voice breaking as you stared up at him, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He’d only smiled, brushing his thumb against your cheek as if he didn’t have an answer, or maybe because he didn’t want to give you one. “Because I can’t stay away from you,” he’d said, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

But then morning would come, and he would vanish like a dream you couldn’t quite remember, leaving behind an empty space in your bed and a heavier one in your chest. And at school, it was always the same. His eyes would find you across the cafeteria or the hallway, and for a moment, it would feel like everything stopped. But he wouldn’t come over, wouldn’t talk to you. He’d just look.

Your friends noticed it, too, how he’d stare at you as if you were the only thing in the room, even when there were other girls around him, laughing at his jokes and vying for his attention.

“You’re letting him ruin you,” one of them said one afternoon, her voice tinged with frustration.

“I know,” you admitted, your voice hollow. “But it’s not like I can just stop.”

You wanted to hate him, for the way he seemed to pull you in only to push you away, for the way he made you feel like you were everything one second and nothing the next.

But you couldn’t. Because even though you knew it was toxic, even though you knew it was breaking you bit by bit, there was a part of you that couldn’t let go.

Because in those nights, when he looked at you like that, when he touched you like he’d fall apart if he didn’t, you felt wanted. Needed. And no matter how much it hurt afterward, you kept holding onto it, hoping that one day, he’d stop running.

It wasn’t until his friend Jake—of all people—came to talk to you that you started piecing things together. You’d been so caught up in the back-and-forth, the way Heeseung would tease you one moment and ignore you the next, that you never truly understood why. But now, hearing it from Jake, it was like a lightbulb went off in your mind.

Heeseung, despite all the other girls he flirted with, never gave them the attention he gave you. He never kissed them, never looked at them the way he looked at you.

And Jake had confirmed it. Heeseung was in love with you. Hopelessly in love, but he didn’t even know it himself. That’s why he acted the way he did. He didn’t know how to handle it, how to deal with it.

Jake had told you Heeseung was scared. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it terrified him. So, he’d masked it all with arrogance, with distance. But when he was drunk, then the walls came down, his real feelings would surface. That’s why he’d always show up at your door when he was intoxicated—because, in those moments, he couldn’t hide from what he truly felt for you.

You wanted to be mad at him for hiding behind that facade, for playing with your feelings. But now you understood. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you; it was that he was so afraid of what this all meant, of what it would do to him, to both of you, that he couldn’t face it. So, he ran, and he used everything he could to keep you at arm’s length, to protect himself from being honest with you.

But knowing the truth didn’t make it hurt less. You still found yourself torn between wanting to be there for him, to help him figure it out, and wanting to protect yourself from getting hurt even more. Because at the end of the day, you were both so damn lost in this mess.

“Look, I know you’re confused. But you need to understand, Heeseung’s been a mess about this. He’s never felt anything like it before. And trust me, he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

You shook your head, trying to process everything Jake was saying. It didn’t seem to make sense. Why hadn’t he just told you? “But why does he act like he doesn’t care? Why ignore me at school like I’m nothing, and then do… all that when he’s with me?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably, knowing the weight of your words. “It’s easier for him to push you away than admit it to himself. He’s scared. He doesn’t get why he’s so into you. So he avoids it.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as everything started to fall into place. But you still had questions, things you didn’t understand. “But why doesn’t he just… talk to me? Be honest?”

Jake shrugged, his eyes softening. “He doesn’t know how to navigate this. It’s easier for him to hide behind his stupid behavior than face the truth.”

You were silent for a long moment, processing all of the information you had gotten.

When you didn`t answer, Jake let out a resigned sigh, his shoulder slumping slightly before he gave you a supportive pat on the shoulder. "You’ve got to make him talk," he said quietly, his voice filled with sympathy. "You’re the only one who can get him to open up. Just… don’t wait forever, okay?"

He gave you one last look before walking off, leaving you standing there with your heart racing in your chest, all of your emotions tangled up in knots.

Your footsteps were heavy as you walked away from the scene, feeling the weight of every question that lingered in your mind. Why did you have to talk to Heeseung? You weren’t his therapist, nor his emotional support. Wasn’t he man enough to talk to you? You clenched your fists, frustration building in your chest.

What if Jake was wrong? What if he was just trying to paint a picture that didn’t exist, feeding you some narrative to make you feel better about the mess you were in? What if you were making a fool of yourself? The thoughts spiraled, doubt flooding your mind. Every interaction with Heeseung now felt like a game you didn’t know how to play, where the rules were constantly changing and you were left scrambling to catch up.

What if you were just a sidepiece? The thought stung more than you wanted to admit, and the image of Heeseung laughing with other girls earlier flashed in your mind. He was always so charming, so easy with them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you were just another stop on his list, a temporary distraction, something to pass the time until someone else caught his eye.

You sighed deeply, rubbing your forehead as you made your way to your car. You wanted to be done with this—done with the confusion, the uncertainty, the constant emotional whiplash. But part of you knew it wasn’t that easy. Nothing with Heeseung ever was.

But maybe Jake was right. Maybe you could be the one to make him talk—to make him finally admit what was really going on in his head, what he was feeling. But was it worth it? Was risking your heart worth it?

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of frustration and sadness wash over you.

✰ ✰ ✰

Okay, to be fair, Heeseung had it coming. You repeated it in your mind like a mantra as you looked down at your phone, the screen lighting up with his constant calls and texts. Each one more desperate than the last, his words slurred, the grammar all over the place—clearly, he wasn’t in his right mind. The messages seemed to echo the chaos in your chest, but you refused to reply.

You stared at the phone, feeling a mix of frustration and something else—something deep and heavy that you couldn’t quite place. He had done this to himself, hadn’t he? He had made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences. The constant buzzing of your phone finally slowed, and you thought maybe he had given up. But then, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your stomach dropping. You crept cautiously to the door, standing there for a moment as the bell rang again and again, each chime making your heart race. The knocking started soon after, loud and urgent, but you stayed still, arms crossed, refusing to move.

You weren’t going to let him back in.

The knocking stopped suddenly, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then, through the door, you heard his voice.

“Please… please open the door…” His voice was shaky, desperate, as if he was on the verge of breaking. “I’m sorry. Please, I need you. I just… please don’t leave me like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t something you were used to hearing from him. It was different.

"I need to see you... I can't stop thinking about you... Please, don't... don't shut me out, not now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you cautiously unlocked the door, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the silence. When the door creaked open, you were met with the sight of him sitting on the ground, his posture slumped, eyes staring at the bottle in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

As soon as he saw you, he scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic, as if he couldn't wait another second. Before you could even take a step back, his arms were around you, pulling you into an embrace that was far too tight to push him off.

You gasped in surprise, your hands instinctively pushing against his chest. "Heeseung, wait—" But your protest was quickly smothered as he held you tighter, pressing his face into the side of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about you,” he mumbled, his words slurred and uneven, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just…” His grip on you tightened, his hands shaking slightly. “Please, don’t hate me… I need you…” His voice faltered, and you could feel the tremor in his body as he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather the words to say, but before you could form anything coherent, Heeseung’s lips were suddenly on yours. His kiss was urgent, a little sloppy, as though he was trying to drown out whatever feelings were swirling inside him. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you could feel the weight of his need against you.

"Stop," you whispered weakly, your hands pushing against his chest, but it did little to stop him. If anything, he just leaned in further, his lips moving with a frantic energy as he kissed you harder.

You pulled back for a moment, gasping for air, but Heeseung wasn’t letting go. His forehead rested against your neck as he breathed heavily, his lips brushing against your skin. “I need this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice muffled but laced with desperation. “I need you.”

You tried again, more forcefully this time, pushing him back slightly, but his grip on you tightened. “We need to talk,” you managed, your voice breaking, your hands trembling as you tried to create space between you two. “You can’t just keep doing this—coming to me when you’re drunk, acting like nothing happened—”

But Heeseung didn’t seem to hear you. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you again, this time a little more gently, though it still held that same desperate edge.

You couldn’t help but respond, even if you didn’t want to. Heeseung was like a drug, and you were already too far gone, as his kiss deepened and his hands roamed, you couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that this wasn’t how things should be. You deserved more than this chaotic cycle, more than the confusion, the highs and lows.

But in that moment, you let him hold you, let him kiss you, because you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not when he needed you like this, not when you still felt that pull, even though you knew it wasn’t healthy.

And when he finally pulled away, looking at you with those dark eyes full of longing, you were left breathless, conflicted, and unable to move.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was like a cruel game he played—one step forward, two steps back. After the night, when he’d clung to you, he’d returned to his old ways at school, completely shutting you out. It was as if the moment he left your apartment, the walls came back up, and he was back to pretending you didn’t exist.

You’d see him in the halls, laughing with his friends, flirting with other girls, completely ignoring you like everything that happened between you two meant nothing. It was maddening.

You tried to act like it didn’t bother you. You went through the motions, keeping your head down, focusing on your schoolwork, your friends, anything to distract yourself from the constant ache in your chest. But the more he ignored you, the more you realized just how much it hurt. And it hurt even more because you knew that he wasn’t like this because he didn’t care. He was like this because he was scared. Scared of what was between you, scared of how vulnerable it made him.

Heeseung was a complicated mess, a boy who wanted everything but feared the very thing that could make him feel whole. And you? You were stuck in this limbo, torn between wanting to confront him and just walking away before you got hurt even more.

It was exhausting.

One minute, he was the boy who couldn’t stop touching you, couldn’t stop kissing you, the one who made you feel like the only person in the room. The next minute, he was a stranger.

You were deep in thought, trying to make sense of the mess that was Heeseung, when you suddenly felt a presence beside you. Turning to your left, you saw a guy you barely knew—someone who kept to himself at school, never talking much. He was standing there, a nervous but hopeful look on his face, and before you could even react, he asked, “Hey, would you like to go out sometime? Maybe grab a coffee?”

You opened your mouth to decline, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t make him feel bad, but before you could say anything, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close with surprising force.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively stiffened as you turned to see none other than Heeseung standing there. He leaned in just enough to block your view of the guy, his eyes focused on the nervous stranger.

Before you could protest or say anything, Heeseung’s voice cut through the tension, casual but firm. “She’s not interested,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet guy who had been asking you out now looked taken aback, stepping back a bit, unsure how to respond.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Heeseung had just walked up and made it clear to someone else that you weren’t available. You wanted to say something, to protest, but you couldn’t find the words. It felt as if everything had suddenly flipped upside down.

“I—uh…” The guy stammered, clearly intimidated by Heeseung's presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He turned quickly and walked off, leaving the two of you standing there in silence.

You snapped back from the suprise and pulled away from Heeseung’s grip, your mind spinning. “What the hell, Heeseung?” you managed, your voice laced with frustration.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze flickered to where the guy had disappeared, and then back to you.

You stared at him, waiting for an explanation, but instead, Heeseung just stood there, his expression unreadable.

"What’s your problem, Heeseung?" you demanded, stepping back. You couldn’t contain the anger that was rising in your chest. "Why are you acting like this?"

He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes avoiding yours for a second. He let out a frustrated sigh before meeting your gaze. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost sounding like a confession. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Your heart sank a little, but it didn’t stop the fire that was still burning inside you. You’d had enough of this back-and-forth.

"Then figure it out," you snapped, pushing him off. "I’m not going to keep doing this, Heeseung. Get your shit together."

He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes—so conflicted, so full of uncertainty—said everything.

You turned on your heel, walking away before he or you could say anything. You didn’t know if you were making the right decision, but you couldn’t keep letting him drag you around like this.

It was later that night, after you’d gotten a bit of distance and time to cool down, when you heard the familiar sound of your doorbell ringing again.

You froze for a second, unsure if you wanted to deal with him yet again, but the quiet, hesitant knock that followed told you it wasn’t the same as before. You found yourself standing by the door, hands gripping the doorknob, hesitant to open it.

When you finally did, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, but only.. not the usual version of him you were used to seeing. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, and he looked... broken.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in a long time, there was no bravado. He was standing there, vulnerable, as if unsure of how to approach you after everything.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wiped his face with his sleeve, almost embarrassed. “I fucked up. I know I’ve been an asshole… but I needed to see you. I need to talk.”

You stood there for a moment, trying to process everything. It was hard—too hard. You’d spent so much time questioning his intentions, wondering if he even cared. Seeing him like this, so exposed, made you feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to push him away for all the hurt he’d caused, but another part of you wanted to reach out and hear him out.

“Why now?” you asked quietly, your voice betraying the frustration you’d been holding back. “Why come to me like this? After everything?”

He looked down at the ground, visibly struggling. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know. I’ve been running from this. From you. From how I feel. And now I’m just… lost.” His words were shaky, like he was trying to hold onto his composure but was failing. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead he stepped closer, and for the first time, there was no arrogance in his movements, no cocky confidence. He looked genuinely lost, as if he was desperately trying to figure himself out. “I don’t know what I’m doing… but I know I want to fix it. Fix us. If you’ll let me.”

You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling a little with uncertainty. “You’ve been so hot and cold. One minute you’re all over me, the next you act like I’m invisible. How am I supposed to trust that this is real?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was gathering the courage to say what had been haunting him. When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “I know... I’ve been a mess. I was scared,” he confessed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things that… terrified me. And instead of coming to you, talking to you about it, I ran. I pushed you away, and I’m sorry for that.”

The way he was standing, so different from how he used to act, made you reconsider everything. He wasn’t hiding behind walls anymore. “I don’t want to be scared anymore,” he added quietly, his voice cracking just slightly. “I want to be with you. If you’ll allow me.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what to say next. You were so unsure now, seeing him spill his heart out for you.

“I don’t feel this with anyone else,” he said softly. “No matter how hard I tried to push it down, it’s always been you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He paused for a moment, before he dropped down to his knees in front of you, taking both your hands gently in his, while his eyes never left yours. “I don’t know what I was waiting for. I was stupid, I was scared. But I know now... I love you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry for making you feel like you were nothing. You’re everything to me. Please... let me prove it.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a long moment, all you could do was look at him, trying to process what he’d just said. You had never imagined he’d say those words, especially after everything that had happened. But now, as he knelt before you, his hands still holding yours with such gentleness, it felt different. It felt real.

Doubts still lingered, but as you looked at him—really looked at him—kneeling before you, his hands gripping yours, something inside you began to shift.

The truth was, you loved him too. Despite everything—the hurt, the confusion—you couldn’t deny that your heart ached for him. And seeing him like this, open in a way you never thought possible for him, made you realize how much you wanted to believe in him, in this. You took a slow breath, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. “I don’t know, Heeseung…”

He didn’t pull away, didn’t try to say anything more. He just waited, his gaze never leaving yours, hopeful but patient.

You looked down at his hands still holding yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’ve been hurt, and I don’t want to be hurt again,” you said, your voice wavering just a little.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve hurt you, and I’m so sorry. But I promise, I’ll do anything to make it right. Just… let me try.”

Your heart ached at his words. And slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded. “Okay. We can try.”

He exhaled sharply, relief flooding his features, but you could see the uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but something inside you told you that this—he—was worth trying for.

He stood up, his hands still holding yours, and pulled you gently into his arms. You let him, your body instinctively melting into his embrace. He buried his face in your hair, his breath warm against your neck.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you see that I mean it.”

Staning there in his arms, the doubts slowly began to fade. Maybe it would take time. But you felt hope stirring within you. Maybe you could try to make this work.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to read your emotions. His hand still cupped your face gently, waiting for a sign from you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low, filled with both uncertainty and hope.

"Yes."

Without another word, his lips descended onto yours, and the kiss was everything. Deep, urgent, and filled with so much emotion that it took your breath away.

When you started to feel breathless you tried to pull away, your breath ragged, but each time you did, he followed you, his lips catching yours again, desperate, insistent. Your heart raced, and your head spun as you tried to pull back for a moment’s reprieve, but Heeseung wasn’t having it.

"Please," he groaned between kisses, his hand gripping your waist tightly. "Just—just let me…" His voice was rough, desperate, as if your lips were the only thing keeping him grounded. "I need you. You… You make my heart beat. You make everything else fade. I want to breathe you in until I can’t breathe anymore."

His words were tangled, like he couldn’t get them out fast enough, like he was trying to make you understand something, but what, exactly, you weren’t sure. His kisses grew more frantic, more needy, and despite your attempts to catch your breath, you couldn’t help but respond to him.

You finally managed to gasp out his name, your voice barely a whisper, "Heeseung... Stop, I need to breathe."

He paused for a split second, just long enough for you to catch your breath, his breathing just as erratic as yours. "I can't... can't stop," he muttered. "You're all I think about... all I want."

✰ ✰ ✰

It was funny how much things had shifted since Heeseung’s confession. You couldn’t deny the change in him. He meant every word he’d said that night, and he made sure to show you just how serious he was about being with you.

Heeseung was intense in everything he did, and his love for you was no exception. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person in the room, or the way he clung to your hand like letting go would mean losing you. No, it was in the small things too. The way he remembered the little details about you, how he stayed up late just to make sure you got home safe from your late-night shifts, or the way he’d pepper your face with kisses whenever he thought you looked stressed.

And then, there were the nights. Heeseung had always been passionate, but now that he wasn’t holding back, it was overwhelming in the best way possible. He left no part of you untouched, no part of your heart unloved. Your skin bore the evidence of his intensity, faint marks that lingered long after his lips had moved on, a testament to just how much he adored you.

He didn’t just say he loved you; he showed it. In every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, Heeseung made sure you knew just how much you meant to him. And while it could get a little overwhelming at times, you couldn’t deny that it felt good—so good—to be loved so completely.

Heeseung's love was all-consuming, and with it came an intensity that left you breathless. He made it his mission to show you just how deeply he cared. But he never lost the playful side that made you fall for him in the first place.

He still teased you relentlessly, knowing exactly how to make your cheeks flush. “What’s that look for, baby?” he’d smirk when he caught you staring, leaning in close to whisper, “Can’t get enough of me?” His confidence was maddening, but you’d learned to give as good as you got.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with you like you were strangers meeting for the first time. “Hey, gorgeous,” he’d say, slidling up to you with a grin. “Come here often?” It didn’t matter if you were at your desk or in the middle of a crowded hallway; Heeseung always found a way to make you laugh and roll your eyes at his antics.

But then, he’d do a 360 and leave you utterly disarmed. Like the way he’d wrap his arms around your waist out of nowhere, pressing his lips to your ear to murmur, “I love you so much.” It was whiplash, the way he could go from cocky to soft in an instant, and it kept you on your toes.

Now that you had Heeseung basically wrapped around your finger, it felt empowering. He catered to you, always quick to appease your whims, and he seemed to thrive on your happiness. Whether it was picking up your favorite snacks, carrying your bag, or pampering you after a long day, Heeseung was yours—and he made sure you knew it.

But he had his limits.

There were moments when he reminded you that, while he adored you, he wasn’t completely under your control. Like when you pushed him too far with teasing, a playful remark about him being “so soft” for you turning into a challenge in his eyes.

One such night, you’d been cheeky, testing how much you could get away with. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you?” you’d teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, the shift immediate. “Anything?” he repeated, voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. Before you could process, he had you pinned, his hand firm but careful as it held your wrists above your head.

“You like to push me, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Think I’m all soft and sweet?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he showed you just how wrong you were. Heeseung wasn’t rough in a careless way—he was calculated, controlled, and oh-so-intense. He left no room for doubt about who had the upper hand in those moments.

By the end of it, you were breathless, your legs trembling as you clung to him for support. Heeseung’s smug grin and the way he kissed your forehead tenderly afterward only made it worse.

“Still think I’m soft?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed face.

You couldn’t even answer, too dazed to form words, which only seemed to please him more.

The next day, walking was a challenge, and Heeseung, ever the charmer, had the audacity to chuckle when you winced. “Told you there’s only so much I’ll let you boss me around,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

It was infuriating, but it was also Heeseung. And if you were being honest, you loved every second of it.

a/n: finished this while waiting for the train to come, in the snow storm :) reblogs and commentary are appreciated <33

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