#and I don’t know how to even approach fixing it

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

EPISODE 05 (PT. 1): TOO MUCH AIN'T ENOUGH

🎶 soft spot by keshi 🎶 too much ain't enough by arthur hill 🎶 i'm yours by alessia cara 🎶 dive by olivia dean

You can’t remember how you ever pulled so many all-nighters back in high school—because right now, you’d trade your soul for a pillow and six uninterrupted hours of sleep.

Tonight’s challenge—the Night Watch— has everyone on edge. There’s a timer that can’t ever hit zero, but no one knows when they’ll be ‘shifted’ to reset it, so sleeping isn’t really an option. Judging by how tired you already feel, you know if the challenge dangles any sleep or caffeine temptations in front of you tonight, you’ll cave in a heartbeat.

George and Jason were up first, and you trust them completely. So while you’re confident they’ll nail any challenge and resist temptation, you can’t help but wonder what they’re actually up to out there.

“I so need an energy drink right now,” PK groans for what feels like the hundredth time.

Eventually, everyone caves and tells him to just get one. Of course, half the group tags along for their own fix — so you can only pray the prize fund doesn’t drop as badly as it did yesterday.

That leaves you and Milli sprawled on the hallway loveseat, while Cinna and DDG keep themselves awake with endless table tennis in the living room.

Milli pokes your arm, her legs draped across your lap. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

You yawn. “Probably the Charity Match.”

She glances around dramatically—almost conspiratorially—then scoots closer. She’s clearly been dying to bring this up. “So. You two seem… cosy.”

You try, weakly, to change the subject. “Do you reckon it’s too late to—”

“Nope,” Milli cuts in, eyes gleaming. “You’re not dodging this. Spill.”

Mental note: tell George you told Milli. But honestly, you know it’s fine. He was the first to tell her everything anyway. 

So you spill. Everything—from sneaking onto the rooftop to crawling back into bed. By the end, Milli squeals and nearly falls off the loveseat.

“That’s why you’ve been so lovey-dovey!” She whacks you with a throw pillow in delight.

“Shh! Is it that obvious?” you hiss, face burning. “Can we not—”

She just shakes her head, grinning like the devil she is. “Not obvious. Just… different. I don’t think anyone else notices. But we are not changing the topic. This is gold.”

You groan and tip your head back.

“You two are so cute.” She pokes your shoulder. Her voice softens. “But… are you okay? How do you feel about all this?”

You fiddle with the squiggly pink stress ball in your lap. “I don’t know. We want to try. But we’re trying to keep it private with, well—” You wave a hand at the cameras. “All this. It’s not exactly the place for normal… or to give it a fair shot.”

Milli hums thoughtfully, then pulls you into a tight hug. “You two will be fine. He’s been obsessed with you since way before you two fucked.”

You freeze. “Don’t say it like that,” you mumble, burying your face into a cushion. 

She cackles. “What else should I call it? You did!”

Now you’re mortified, but giggling, too. “Can you not—at least call it something else? It sounds so—”

Milli lifts an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “You two… canoodled.”

Your dramatic groan of “I hate you” only makes her laugh harder as she hugs you tighter. “You love me. But you love him more. And he loves you most.”

Before you can even argue—because love is a big word and now you’re not even sure you can say it to him anymore (even after all your careless, platonic ‘I love you’s over the years)—two voices holler from the challenge room, charging down the hallway in search of the next unlucky pair.

“Whitney! Mya!” 

Jason and George blur past you, their shouts instantly sending Whitney and Mya sprinting off, even though you have no idea where they were hiding before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry, I’m stealing her today,” Milli practically sang, refusing to move her legs from your lap as George approached the loveseat.

“That’s fine by me.” George shrugged, his grin unfading as he perched on the armrest just behind you. He probably guessed that Milli knew everything by now, but you were still caught off guard when he pressed an unmistakably obvious kiss to the top of your head.

Milli’s grin turned downright wicked when your cheeks slowly flushed—and even wider when George leaned in for a quick peck on your lips as you turned to face him.

“Hi, darling,” George winked, voice dripping with cockiness. But before you could answer, Jason, Cinna, DDG, and PK tumbled in, loudly dissecting what had just gone down in the challenge room.

So instead, you shot George a playful glare and instinctively rested the back of your head against his thigh. His arm slipped around your shoulders, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles on your skin—grounding you, comforting you amidst the chaos. You caught Milli smirking beside you.

“What did you two get up to?” Cinna asked, tilting her chin towards George and Jason, as she pried about what being on Night Shift actually entails. 

Jason replied, trying to sound serious, “We didn’t have a temptation. We just talked about women. Name a hundred women in four minutes.”

You flicked your eyebrows up at George, who brushed off Jason’s comment with a joke. “Just blokes being blokes, talking about girls.”

“Did you mention any of us?” Cinna pressed, her grin sharp.

Jason pointed straight at you. “First name out of George’s mouth was hers.” He nodded toward you—and as his eyes flicked over you two curled up together, it all dawned on him. It didn’t hurt that he’d half-interrogated George during the task, anyway. 

At the confession, George went pink.

“Sweet,” you teased, although you lifted your head from George’s lap to dodge any more suspicious looks—and to steer the spotlight away from you both. “I wonder what the next challenges will be like.”

PK snorted. “Oh, they’ll be evil. Bet on it.”

Cinna elbowed him. “It’s only evil because you’d fall for anything.”

PK groaned dramatically, collapsing onto the other loveseat facing you and Milli. “Well, right now, I’m just tempted by sleep.”

Jason dropped onto an empty beanbag, eyeing PK like he was a ticking time bomb. “So we all agree we’re losing money the second PK’s on shift?”

A chorus of mocking agreement and laughter rippled through the hallway as Cinna flopped down beside Jason. PK muttered, “No faith, no faith.” 

Cinna clapped her hands, getting everyone’s attention. “Nobody lies down! The second you do, you’re out—and then we all pay for it.”

PK scowled but grudgingly sat up straight. “Yes, Mum.”

Jason flicked PK’s foot. “Drink your Coke and hush.”

Cinna squinted at you and George, eyes narrowing mischievously. “You two look suspiciously cosy. One of you will knock out first. Guaranteed.”

You didn’t hesitate. You jabbed a finger at George. “Him. Absolute deadweight once he’s lying down.”

George raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Me? Never.”

Jason perked up, eyes glinting with mischief. Permission granted to doodle on the first sleeper?”

You leaned back against George’s leg again, smirking up at him. “Just hope the marker sticks through the puddle of drool.”

The group roared with laughter as George slapped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Oi! I’m a very elegant sleeper, thank you very much.”

You pressed against his knee with your hand. “You drooled on my arm last night, elegant my arse.” (He hadn’t—but his jokingly offended face made the lie worth it.)

Milli shrieked, laughing, “Expose him!”

George bent down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper—but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Careful, or I’ll tell them what you do when you sleep.”

Your eyes widened in horror, leaning into the bit. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Jason perked up, intrigued and gossip hungry. “Wait, wait, wait, what’s her sleep habit?”

George’s smirk was diabolical. “She—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, half laughing, half dying inside, unsure what George would come up with. “Nope! Lies! Unnecessary! Moving on.”

He mumbled something into your palm, chuckling and then licked your palm. You squealed as PK deadpanned, “Swear to God, whatever this tension is, it’s keeping the whole house awake. Just shag and be done with it.”

Milli hurled a pillow at PK’s head—and for that, you silently vowed to owe her for life.

“Shut up!” she barked. “Focus—we’re playing a game so nobody here falls asleep.” 

Cinna shot her hand up like an eager schoolkid. “I nominate Twenty Questions!”

Everyone groaned and grumbled at the ‘childish’ game, but agreed. George’s voice is sickeningly sweet, “Ladies first, lov— mate.” He caught himself at the last second. “On a scale of one to ten, how annoying am I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, a ten. No question. I absolutely despise you.”

He squeezed your shoulder, smug and unbothered, and winked. “No, you don’t. You just haven’t had enough of me yet.”

And, truth be told—you really hadn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since George returned from his first shift, you’ve been stuck to him like glue. 

The group game dissolved the moment PK was called for his shift; everyone scattering and rotating in and out, some pacing the halls to kill time, some sneaking over priced snacks from the shop, some slipping away to nap and pray they don’t get caught. But George didn’t stray from you. He never has. He clings to you as if once he goes, the fragile little bubble you created will pop. 

Now, five shifts in, two things have already drained your prize money. One: PK’s solo shift. Although he insists that he didn’t cave into the barbershop temptation, you can’t fully believe him–even though you desperately want to. He hasn’t earned that trust yet. The second was Whitney and Mya missing the shift change notification altogether, leaving Cinna and Milli scrambling to their positions, officially bringing the timer to zero for the first time. 

Since then, you and George have somehow migrated to an allegedly noncompetitive game of table tennis.

“To eleven?” You clarify, as George bounces in celebration of his tenth point.

George’s grin is downright wicked as he gets ready to serve the ball. Within seconds, the sharp smack of the paddle launching the ball towards you bounced off the walls. It skims past you before you can even blink. 

Sure, the other games you guys were playing in the group were much fairer–especially since George has skilled up in table tennis since being here, having challenged everyone into one-on-one matches by now. But nothing made you happier than seeing George light up like this, with his smug little smile and little victory dance that always makes you giggle, no matter how many times you see it. 

“You know,” you say, scooping up the ball from where it bounced under the table–your official defeat, sealed. “You’re very lucky Jason fell asleep first.”

“Mmm?” George hums, sauntering over. Your back bumps the table edge and your breath catches as he cages you in, hands resting on either side. “Why’s that?”

“I would’ve drawn all over you,” you tease, voice unsteady with how close he suddenly feels. It feels foolish with how easy he makes you feel flustered.  

“Oh, really?” He raises an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What would you have drawn, huh?”

You both know what’s coming—he sees it in the guilty little twist of your lips, the gleam in your eye when you’re about to say something ridiculous.

“A cock,” you deadpan—in perfect sync with him. The moment hangs for a heartbeat before you both crack up. You fold forward, laughter muffled into his shoulder.

He wraps you up instantly. And you feel foolish with how fast you sink into it. Right now, he’s not shy about being soft with you. Everyone’s scattered, and the only people who might catch you are Milli and Cinna, who already know about it all and he’s assuming they’re too busy chatting to monitor the security camera. 

“I would’ve given you a moustache,” he murmurs against your temple, then plants a dramatic, smacking kiss on the side of your head.

The hum of the cameras and murmurs fade into a distant buzz, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breaths in sync. For a moment, it’s just you and him; no producers, no cameras, no audience. Just the bubble you built and how easy it feels to hide here with him.

Since knowing him, he’s always been your refuge. At first just your best friend—the one who brought you medicine when you were sick, stayed up when you couldn’t sleep, sent you memes just to make you smile. 

For so long, that was enough. But now, he’s still that safe place… and something so much more. And for the first time since you admitted it to each other, you’ve let yourself fully believe he wants this just as much as you do—even if some part of you thinks this is too good to be true. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Mya and DDG came bursting out of the challenge room, hollering your names with guilty looks plastered across their faces, you were about eighty percent sure they’d taken their temptation. Their lateness and those too-wide grins gave it away. But you didn’t dwell on it—there was no use in getting distracted now.

It was your first shift, and you couldn’t risk being late. Not after all the hits to the prize fund already, now including Jason failing his solo challenge, and now their obvious slip.

So, you and George shot up from the beanbags you’d been sitting with Farah, Milli, and Cinna, and sprinted towards the challenge rooms. You silently thanked George for insisting you sit close by, predicting that you’d probably be shifted soon. (And of course, he was right.)

George punched in the code just before the timer hit zero while  you pulled on one of the security vests. You sank into the chair, scanning the wall of monitors: every corner of Inside laid bare on cheap CCTV feeds. It was basically a fact of the show that the cameras were always there, the microphones were always recording–after all, it’s what you signed up for. But seeing everything all at once in front you felt exposing, almost violating. 

For a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the monitors.

“So, just us, huh?” George smirked, sliding his hands behind your chair. He gripped the armrests, tugging you closer until your knees were slotted between his. His blue eyes flicked to your mouth, lingering like he couldn’t help it. “No cameras, no eyes…”

You glanced around all the security footage on the screen: capturing Mya and Whitney at the shops, Jason napping, Milli and Cinna gossiping. It was a brazen reminder of the fact you were getting filmed, in every room, even here. 

“We’re definitely being watched,” you snorted softly, motioning towards the cameras aimed at you to film the challenge. 

He waved it off. “We’ll ask the lads to edit it out later.” 

Maybe George himself was your real temptation. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him—just a soft, fleeting press. His hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like he was memorizing it, and the kiss deepened without warning—hungry, warm, reckless for just a breath longer than it should have been.

When you pulled away, his eyes were right there–sharp blue, locked on you with a soft smile playing at his mouth. You smiled back, and had to fight back the desire to lean in once more–to get one more taste, to let yourself fall completely. 

You almost did. But your gaze flicked to the blinking monitors—red lights, a thousand eyes—and the moment shrank back into your chest, tucked away for later. If everything goes well, you’ll have the outside—maybe the rest of your lives—for that.

Suddenly, the monitor beeped to life, tearing you both back to reality. A shelf popped open simultaneously. 

“Blindfolded Obstacles,” George read aloud, voice low but amused. “You two have been close friends for years now,”  He side-eyed you, a teasing glint in his blue eyes. He paused for an effect, leaning closer so only you could hear: “Bit of an understatement, yeah?” 

You tried not to smile, but failed. 

“It’s time to put your communication to the test,” He continued reading. You both exchanged a glance—recently, communication hadn’t been your strongest suit. “One of you will be blindfolded, and the other must guide them through the obstacle course using only verbal directions. You can’t leave the room until you grab the key from the other side, and the timer won’t continue until you do the challenge.”

You swallowed, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves mixed with anticipation. The challenge felt personal, almost like a test of everything simmering between you two. And you can’t get out of this room until you do this challenge. 

“Do you want to be blindfolded or me?” George asked softly, taking the blindfold from the shelf that popped open. Written on the black fabric was Inside, and the instruction to put it on before you leave the security room.

Wordlessly, you reached out for it–knowing you weren’t the best talker. He chuckled, “So, you trust me, yeah?” 

You nodded. You might doubt a lot of things in this house, but him? You’d trust with the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After barely completing the task (with more laughter and bickering than actual strategy), you caught PK’s name flickering on the monitor just in time. The two of you sprinted out the room, calling for him and trying to find where on the Inside he could be located.  

The second PK stood up from the beanbag he’d been dozing on to relieve you from your shift, you and George turned to look at each other and both let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. Neither of you spoke, just exchanged a look that said: thank god that’s over. 

Silently, you decided to slip away from the buzz of the living room, saying goodbye to Whitney and Mya who sat near the sleeping PK. Instead, you moved to the bedroom area–the one space everyone was avoiding so they wouldn’t accidentally fall into deep sleep and cost the group more money. 

Here, the muffled chatter and laughter faded behind closed doors. All you could hear was the hum of the air conditioner and your own heartbeat slowing back to normal. 

George dropped down onto the bed you two unofficially shared, excusing the fact you haven’t separated your beds yet to being ‘too lazy’. He leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and tugged you down beside him without a word. 

You melted into his side instantly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he pulled you closer until your head settled on his collarbone. He felt warm, as he always had. You breathed him in: leftover cologne, a fruity body soap, and sweet shampoo from the quick shower he’d taken earlier in the day. 

And it struck you. The two of you have been in similar positions hundreds of times, but friend’s don’t do this. Maybe you two had never really ever been just friends at all. 

“I’m knackered,” George murmured, voice rasped. He laced his fingers through yours where your hand rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your palm. 

You chuckled, nudging his ankle with your foot. “Big words from the man who spent half that challenge looking unbearably smug.”

He turned to face you, his lips moving against the side of your face, revealing a small grin. “Funny—coming from someone who couldn’t even see my face.”

“George. I know every version of that face by now.”

He laughed under his breath, the sound vibrating in his chest where your cheek now rested. “I can’t wait to get out of here,” he whispered, voice suddenly softer. “Just… back to normal. Or, well, whatever our new version of normal is gonna be. Watching shitty movies on your couch, our monthly pub nights, stealing your food, winding the lads up, a drive-through run at three in the morning. No cameras. No alarms. Just us. Can’t wait to have you to myself out there, to have you be mine, and to be just us.” 

Your heart flipped at how easy he made it sound. Just us. Like it was always meant to be. 

“That sounds perfect,” you breathed, eyes half-closed, sleep feeling so tempting right now. 

He chuckled, brushing his lips against your temple. “Though, I’ll kinda miss the excuse to ignore my phone for days.”

A small laugh escaped you. “We can make it a thing. A date. Once a month—no phones, no distractions.” The word date still tasted new on your tongue, like it didn’t quite fit you two yet—but George’s grin told you he didn’t mind at all.

“Deal.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Silence settled over you both then. Not heavy or suffocating, but the kind that comes when you’re so close and so sure of someone.

His hand found yours again, your fingers instinctively interlocking. You could feel sleep tugging at you, warmth pooling in your chest at how easy it felt to rest like this—like it had always been this simple.

And you wished— fiercely, foolishly, maybe even hopelessly—that life would never dare make it more complicated than this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When PK called only you into the challenge, you thought that the solo night shift might actually be a break–a chance to breathe, to decompress, to finally gather all your thoughts. 

But it’s harder than you expected. Not because you’re tired, but because of the silence.

No George. No banter. No one to keep you from spiraling. Just you, the hum of the monitors, and your voice echoing into the quiet—narrating bite-sized thoughts for whatever poor soul ends up watching this later on Netflix.

And the waiting. God, the waiting.

PK and Jason’s solo shift sounded like they were thrown into a challenge almost immediately. Yours, however, has so far been a long, slow wait. Almost as if production forgot about you. Or worse, like they’re stalling. Debating whether to give you a task. Testing how long they can let your thoughts unravel before stepping in.

So, you sat there, spinning in your chair–watching the scattered corners of Insider across the various CCTV feeds, trying to desperately fight off sleep. 

You catch a glimpse of PK and Whitney sneaking off to the shop for sweets. But your gaze lingers on one feed: George, still exactly where you left him. He’s sitting with Milli, Cinna, Jason, and Farah—his arm resting loosely over the empty space where you were. His posture is tired, soft, like how he always is when it’s just the two of you. You felt a pang in your chest as you wished you could just go to him and curl up next to him, with no audience. 

And it hits you.

You’re in a relationship with George.

Like… an actual relationship. How’s it all going to change? 

It doesn’t feel official, not really—not with all the cameras and challenges and prize money hanging over your heads. You haven’t had the chance to settle into it. To just be together. But still, it’s real. And it makes your chest tighten in a way that’s both sweet and painful.

You watch him rise, smile easy and familiar, tugging Milli toward the table tennis table. He’s obsessed with that thing. You can’t help but smile too, the grin on his face being infectious even through the shitty CCTV. 

A loud buzz soon shatters the silence. 

Your name flashes across the monitor in bold, urgent letters.

TEMPTATION

The screen glitches—static crackling through the speakers—before cutting to footage you’ve never seen. Not from tonight. Earlier, maybe. The vanity room. George. Milli. Cinna.

George slumped forward, voice heavy and low. Tired.  “I messed up.” 

Your heart sank. What was he talking about? 

“So, you regret it?” Cinna’s voice was serious, probing. 

You stare at the screen, frozen. This has to be edited. Spliced. Manipulated. Maybe the producers cut it to look worse than it was—standard reality TV drama. But… this is Sidemen. They wouldn’t do that to you and George. Right?

“It wasn’t worth it.” George admitted quietly, his voice barely audible on the microphone. “Maybe we made a massive mistake. And it’s so frustrating how she always just…runs away. You know what, if I could go back in time, I'd undo that night.”  Milli shifts beside him. Her voice breaks. “George–,” 

The screen goes black.

Your breath catches. Your whole body stills.

You know how reality TV works. You know how easy it is to twist things, to stitch together sentences out of context. But knowing doesn’t stop the words from sinking like stone.

It wasn’t worth it. He said. He’d undo that night. 

You try to breathe. To find something to anchor to. But it’s always been George, or well, at least it felt like it.  

George has always been the thing that steadied you. The one constant.

You can’t even remember what you did before you knew him. How your life was like before he came into your life.

So your chest aches, your head spins, and you try to deny that George didn’t say those words. 

But it was. You could see him clearly on the screen. Caught in 4k. Or well, shitty CCTV. 

Did you trust him blindly? How could you have let yourself fall so foolishly?  

Not after everything.

Was that real? Or was this? Maybe he changed his mind. 

The screen flashes again, merciless.

TEMPTATION — HEAR THE FULL CONVERSATION FOR 30K

Your throat tightens. You could listen. You could get the whole story. 

But what if the rest hurts more than this already does?

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do always run. Maybe that’s the only way to protect yourself from getting crushed like this again.

You stare at the screen a second longer, then shut your eyes.

You don’t need to hear more.

You’ve already heard too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[chrisdoll]

⟡ STUDY SESH ౨ৎ 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

⤷ 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

⤷ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

you find yourself seated at your small wooden desk, diligently studying for your upcoming exam. the room is quiet and peaceful, bathed in the soft light that pours through the window. as you focus on the words printed in your textbook.

as you glance at your room door, chris walks in. his blue eyes eyes are fixed on you, and a smug grin is spreading across his face. "how's the studying going?" he asks, his voice dripping with amusement as he takes in the sight of you.

you try to muster up a level of focus, but his presence is incredibly distracting. your heart begins to race as he approaches, his body moving with a predatory grace that sends a shudder down your spine.

"you're not even paying attention," chris observes, as he slips behind you. his hands find their way to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. "i know you're not going to remember a single thing if i don't help you focus."

before you can protest, his hands slide up your thighs, and he begins to slowly flip your skirt up. the cool air brushes against your heated skin, making you squirm in your seat. you try to regain your composure, but it's all in vain as his fingers brush against your soaked underwear.

"oh, you're already wet," chris whispers in your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. "let me help you out, baby."

without waiting for a response, he pulls your underwear aside and positions himself behind you. you can hear the sound of his zipper being pulled down, followed by the sound of him stroking himself. then, without warning, he plunges deep inside you, stretching you to the point of pain.

"god, you're so tight," he groans, his voice laced with desire. "keep studying, baby. don't let me distract you."

it's impossible to focus, though. every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. you grip the edge of the desk tightly, trying to anchor yourself as chris continues to fuck you relentlessly. his hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

"you better not lose focus, or i'll stop right now," he warns, his voice a dangerous growl. "i'll pull out, and you can finish studying all alone."

the threat is enough to make you snap back to attention, and you try to focus on the words in front of you. it's hard, though - the sensation of him moving inside you is overwhelming. but you grit your teeth and push on, reading through the questions one by one.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, chris's pace begins to quicken. his fingers dig into your hips, and his breath comes in ragged gasps. "i'm going to cum," he warns, his voice breaking with desire.

you nod, unable to speak as pleasure coils tightly in your belly. and then, just as you're on the edge of climax, chris pushes deep inside you and releases. his hot seed spills into you, triggering your own orgasm.

you cry out, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. you cum hard around him, your walls clenching around his cock as he empties himself inside you. your body shudders with the force of your orgasm, and your vision blurs as you're overwhelmed by the sensation.

when it finally passes, you're left gasping for breath. chris pulls out slowly, his cum spilling out of you as he does so. he steps back, adjusting himself as he watches you.

"better finish studying now," he says with a smirk. "don’t wanna fail your exam yeah?" and with that, he turns and walks out, leaving you alone to finish your studying, his cum warming your insides as you do so.

© chrisdoll

⤷ 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 🪽: thank u @delilahsturniolo for proofreading 🙂‍↔️ anyway hi!!

💌: @chrislova @mattscoquette @courta13

[tommi3boy]

“Hey cutie how can I help you?” I {Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Male! reader}

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: alcohol use

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun) x Male! Reader

A/N: y/n used, no reader description, slow burn with lots of fluff, part 2 coming soon!!

Summary: You’re an aircraft mechanic stationed at Top Gun when you first met Bob during his training for the uranium enrichment plant mission. What started as simple drunk flirting later becomes an unexpectedly romance between Bob and you.

The Hard Deck was a bar right off the naval air station,Top Gun; tonight it was beaming with life. Top of their class Pilots flooded the building after being called to train for a mission. You could tell who was a pilot because they all proudly wore their uniforms. You however, were not a pilot but an aircraft mechanic stationed at Top Gun. You and your fellow mechanics could be found in jeans and a t-shirt, throwing back beers most nights at the bar. You found yourself sizing up the new faces that appeared in the bar, one of which took your fancy. He was sitting off to the side of the pool tables, snacking on what looked to be peanuts. Slicked back dirty blonde hair and big ol glasses. ‘Tonight’s mission was to crack this peanut’ you thought to yourself. You watched and waited for your pilot to distance himself from the others before approaching him, which didn’t take long at all because it looked like he decided to switch out his peanuts for a beer.

You sat next to the mystery pilot at the bar, ordered yourself a draft and struck up a conversation.

“I’m seeing a lot of uniforms tonight, what’s that all about?” You’ve found it fun in the past to pretend to be a civilian.

“Oh- ,just some training at the academy is all.”

“Training huh, I guess that means you’re a pilot?”

The blonde made a small attempt at a friendly smile, “No, no I’m a weapon systems officer actually.”

“Fancy, does this weapon systems officer have a name?” Internally you noted that this has been your 5th drink of the night.

“My names Bob”, this peanut was a tough one to crack but you like a challenge.

“My names Y/N, it’s nice to meet you Bob.”

As the night went on you hounded Bob with miscellaneous questions and even convinced him to let you buy him a drink. He was smitten in the fact that some stranger had taken such a liking to him, normally Bob struggles with first meetings and the conversations fall dry. It was clear though that the alcohol you consumed was helping carry the conversation. You threw in a few subtle flirts here and there, ones which you thought were going over Bob’s head until you noticed his ears were becoming a blushed red.

You both turned from the bar when the jukebox got unplugged and one of the pilots started belting away on the piano, singing a common bar anthem. It was only appropriate to get up and sing along, Bob stuck by your side in this event. After the song died down and one of the pilots plugged the jukebox back in, most of the usual bar patrons left for the night on that high note. Your mechanic buddies were still lingering in the bar, but you weren’t sure for how long so you decided to ask the big question to your new found eye candy.

“So hey, what’s say you and I get out of here cutie.”

Bob had to do a double take and fixed his glasses like they’d help him hear better.

“Uh- well, I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea.” Bob nervously itched behind his ear.

“Aw why not, am I not pretty enough or d’you just not swing that way.?” You spoke in a joking tone to let him know you took the rejection lightly.

“Neither actually, I’d just prefer it if I knew you were moderately sober.”

This was not a loss in your book, you smiled at the handsome man and took your exit “Understood, well I’ll be seeing you around then cutie.” You gave Bob a wink and shimmed over to your coworkers, throwing one of them your keys.

-

At the Top Gun base, you were often found in the aircraft shop or hangers, as well as the designated crew offices. You were assigned the role of head supervisor for the aircraft mechanics, which came with its fair share of work. Lots of back and forth communication was involved on your part so you walked the base several times a day. This meant you crossed paths with the pilots often when they weren’t actively on drills. Including Bob, which you’ve noticed a time or two but you understand this is not the bar and you take your position relatively serious to ensure the safely of the pilots and their aircraft.

The first time Bob saw you walking through the base he almost didn’t register it was the same man from the bar who was smooth talking him all night. You wore a navy blue jumpsuit and steel toe work boots, holding a stern and professional atmosphere to your character. You walked past him on several occasions and it silently wounded Bob a little, coming to the conclusion that he was most likely a forgotten drunk memory.

And yes, you had been ignoring Bob. The internal reasoning being that you were busy and meant to keep professional while at work, but a part of it was also the rejection that night put a small hindrance on your normal outgoing energy. The hindrance didn’t last long though and Bob wasn’t going to vanish in thin air anytime soon.

After filing your reports with Cyclone for the day you began to head out of the main office. As you exited, you spotting a group of spirited pilots heading inside. When you noticed Bob walking in the back of the group you planned the steps of intentionally turned your head towards his direction while passing him, getting his attention; then you shot him a quick wink and a cheeky smirk.

This had Bob internally doing a 360, so you did remember him, were you perhaps toying with him or did you just never notice him till then? The big emotion Bob was feeling however, was relief, relief that the events at the bar were a conscious memory for both of you. And that you still seemed interested in him.

-

After a long week of work you and your coworkers found comfort in the energy of the Hard Deck at night. On this particular night, a woman name Hailey had been enjoying your company. The enjoyment wasn’t really mutual but it wasn’t unwanted either. Hailey was good friends with the bar owner, Penny, and was telling you how she sometimes does mini performances here at the bar.

She went on to explain how her dream is to be a successful singer. Her story telling was captivating and you got roped into telling her your own past with music exploration. Basically you said you played guitar sometimes on your free time and she lit off like a fire cracker begging you to play with her.

Her insistent request continued throughout the entire night. Eventually Bob and the other pilots made an appearance at the bar but you could not for the life of you shake Hailey from you. You didn’t find her annoying until she started unintentionally cock blocked you. Finally you gave in to her request as people began to dissipate from the bar.

“If you get me a beer and find me a guitar then sure I’ll play with you alright, damn”

Hailey had an evil smile like she was about to summon a guitar from the heavens, “See that’s all you had to say, wasn’t so hard”

You felt like you’d just been swindled by a younger siblings scheme.

She ran off and got an acoustic guitar from who knows where. Then led you to the same piano that pilot; who you learned was called Rooster, had played on the first night you met Bob. You roughly tuned the guitar while sharing a side of the piano bench, facing opposite from Hailey. The tuning of instruments hushed the small crowd in the bar and Penny went to unplug the jukebox. Hailey asked if you knew the riff to the song ‘Indigo’ by Sam Barber, and thank god you did or this would have been a mildly embarrassing night. You spotted Bob watching you attentively with his other colleagues. You started the song, which Hailey swiftly joined in and surprisingly fit each other’s sound well. The song was mellow and helped close the night out for people. In the aviators corner, the pilot Hangman was especially interested in Hailey and Y/N’s performance. Hangman patted Bob on the shoulder and leaned in, drunkly exclaiming that he think he’s in love. Bob snapped out of his trance and agreed, then paused for a moment to realize Hangman meant he was in love with the Hailey girl, whilst Bob agreed but not for that same exact thought.

Once the song finished the small crowd had applauded and a few whistles were given.

Your coworkers were hootin and hollering for you as you gave Hailey the guitar back and she thanked you for indulging her. On that note you exchanged a few more words with your coworkers knowing they won’t let you live that little performance down. Exiting the bar swiftly with your dignity and a sense of unaccomplishment on the Bob mission.

-

6:34 AM at the Top Gun base was a time when the early bird employees began to arrive, including yourself. One of the aircraft’s used in yesterday’s training exercise managed to gain a loose piece of sheet metal on its body. You set up some scaffolding and went up to weld it back together before too many workers filled the shop. You had on hefty gloves and a welding mask getting to work on the aircraft. Once you began welding, to your surprise you heard someone announce themselves in the shop with a polite “excuse me’”. Looking down from the scaffolding you saw Bob in his flight suit. “Hi I’m sorry to bother you I was wondering if you know where I can find Y/N, he’s a mechanic, I think, working here?” Bob was looking at you, asking for you, it was adorable. You flipping up your mask to reveal your smug face to Bob. His expression went from timid to chipper when he saw you were right in front of him, or above him sort of.

“Hey cutie how can I help you?” This was a pleasant surprise for you, you never pegged Bob as the kind to approach first.

“I just wanted to come by and let you know there’s going to be a Drive-Thru Movie night at the Hard Deck,, wanted to see if maybe you’d wanna go together,?”

“Ah hell yeah do you know what movie?”

“U- I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be Ferris Bueller, I only glanced at the flyer before heading by.”

“I haven’t seen that movie in a hot minute, how’s about you write down my number and we can text details later”

“Okay”, Bob had to pat a few of his pockets before finding which one had his phone tucked away.

“Alright it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx, got it?”

“xx..x. yep, I got it! I’ll text you once I’m done with drills tonight, I’ll let you get back to work now y/n,”

Bob was beaming from ear to ear, it was such an innocent form of happiness it made your heart ping a little with, envy? You quickly brushed away that feeling however and watched as Bob left the shop. In the past you’ve always been the go-getter in the relationships so being on the receiving end of such exchange, had you biting back a genuine smile.

-

PART 2 COMING SOON

[thefiresontheheight]

.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🍖 How to Build a Culture Without Just Inventing Spices and Necklaces

(a worldbuilding roast. with love.)

So. You’re building a fantasy world, and you’ve just invented: → Three types of ceremonial jewelry → A spice that tastes like cinnamon if it were bitter and cursed → A holiday where everyone wears gold and screams at dawn

Cute. But that’s not culture. That’s aesthetics.

And if your worldbuilding is all outfits, dances, and spice blends with vaguely mystical names, your story’s probably going to feel like a cosplay convention held inside a Pinterest board.

Here’s how to fix that—aka: how to build a real, functioning culture that shapes your story, not just its vibes.

─────── ✦ ───────

🔗 Culture Is Built on Power, Not Just Style

Ask yourself: → Who’s in charge, and why? → Who has land? Who doesn’t? → What’s considered taboo, sacred, or punishable by death?

Culture is shaped by who gets to make the rules and who gets crushed by them. That’s where things like religion, family structure, class divisions, gender roles, and social expectations actually come from.

Start there. Not at the embroidery.

─────── ✦ ───────

2.🪓 Culture Comes From Conflict

Did this society evolve peacefully? Was it colonized? Did it colonize? Was it rebuilt after a war? Is it still in one?

→ What was destroyed and mythologized? → What do the survivors still whisper about? → What do children get taught in school that’s… suspiciously sanitized?

No culture is neutral. Every tradition has a history, and that history should taste like blood, loss, or propaganda.

─────── ✦ ───────

3.🧠 Belief Systems > Customs Lists

Sure, rituals and holidays are cool. But what do people believe about: → Death? → Love? → Time? → The natural world? → Justice?

Example: A society that believes time is cyclical vs. one that sees time as linear will approach everything—from prison sentences to grief—completely differently.

You don’t need to invent 80 gods. You need to know what those gods mean to the people who pray to them.

─────── ✦ ───────

4.🫀 Culture Controls Behavior (Quietly)

Culture shows up in: → What people apologize for → What insults cut deepest → What people are embarrassed about → What’s praised publicly vs. what’s hidden privately

For instance: → A culture obsessed with stoicism won’t say “I love you.” They’ll say “Have you eaten?” → A culture built on legacy might prioritize ancestor veneration, archival writing, name inheritance.

This stuff? Way more immersive than giving everyone matching earrings.

─────── ✦ ───────

5. 🏠 Culture = Daily Life, Not Just Festivals

Sure, your MC might attend a funeral where people paint their faces blue. But what about: → Breakfast routines? → How people greet each other on the street? → Who cooks, and who eats first? → What’s considered “clean” or “proper”? → How is parenting handled? Divorce?

Culture is what happens between plot points. It should shape your character’s assumptions, language, fears, and habits—whether or not a festival is going on.

─────── ✦ ───────

6. 💬 Let Your Characters Disagree With Their Own Culture

A culture isn’t a monolith.

Even in deeply traditional societies, people: → Rebel → Question → Break rules → Misinterpret laws → Mock sacred things → Act hypocritically → Weaponize or resist what’s expected

Let your characters wrestle with the culture around them. That’s where realism (and tension) lives.

─────── ✦ ───────

7.🧼 Beware the “Pretty = Good” Trap

Worldbuilding gets boring fast when: → The protagonist’s homeland is beautiful and pure → The enemy’s culture is dark and “barbaric” → Every detail just reinforces who the reader should like

You can—and should—challenge the aesthetic hierarchy. → Let ugly things be beloved. → Let beautiful things be corrupt. → Let your MC romanticize their culture and then get disillusioned by it later.

─────── ✦ ───────

📍 TL;DR (but like, spicy): → Culture is not food and jewelry. → Culture is power, fear, memory, contradiction. → Stop inventing spices until you know who starved last winter. → Let your world feel lived in, not curated.

The best cultural worldbuilding doesn’t look like a list. It feels like a system. A pressure. A presence your characters can’t escape—even if they try.

Now go. Build something real. (You can add spices later.)

—rin t. // writing advice for worldbuilders with rage and range // thewriteadviceforwriters

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[satoblue]

SPOTS — nanami kento

kento’s yellow tie goes missing. | wc: 1.0k

f!reader, established relationship (married), you have a daughter, fluff, kento can’t say no to his little girl, the backstory of how his tie came to be… unique, unedited, this was rushed and unplanned, satoru cameo at the end (i couldn’t help myself heh) | dividers made by me

kento’s tie didn’t always have the black spots it does today. it used to be a simple, bright yellow, void of the interesting pattern which was frankly — not of his own choosing. that is, until it went missing one morning.

the man searched high and low in a rush. at this rate, he would be late for work.

where he usually stored this specific yellow tie to go with this outfit in particular, he found the little pocket beside all his other neatly organized ones to be empty.

how unusual. it’s not as if it grew a pair of legs and walked away on its own.

“hm…”, he hummed to himself in thought, fist below his chin as he cruised his brain to remember where it was last seen. you watch from the bed, having just woken up, blinking away your drowsiness as your flustered husband tries retracing his steps.

even in your exhaustion, you can tell what this is about. he was your man after all.

after a minute of erratic pacing, kento turns to you, face determined and serious. before he can question if you knew about its whereabouts, you give a slight shake of the head.

still disoriented, slowly coming back down to earth, you reply hoarsely, “when i did the laundry, i put it in there. you can’t find it?”

you shuffle out of bed, your feet meeting the carpeted flooring as you make your approach to the dresser.

he grumbles under his breath, a small “no”, mind preoccupied with finding his lost tie.

“can’t you just wear another? i’ll find it later while you’re at work.” you suggest carefully, peeking into the dresser and admiring the variety in your husband’s collection.

you pick one out with a delicate touch, a light blue bordering white, holding it to his chest over his very blue dress shirt.

kento gives you a look, like he expects you to know the reason why. and even if he did, he doesn’t fail to explain it to you yet again. it is simply one of his quirks.

he pries the piece of fabric gently from your hands, folding it back up.

“you know the others don’t go well with this outfit, dearest. especially this one — it clashes with my shirt.”

you huff.

“oh, you—”

before you can respond in a teasing, exasperated manner like usual at his peculiar antics, the both of you turn your heads towards the doorway at the sound of excited little feet skipping down the hall. a small head of hair peeks in not a moment later.

“daddy’s tie?”, your little one inquires, the incomplete sentence endearing to your ears. she must’ve overheard your conversation and her father’s ceaseless shuffling so early in the morning.

“yes, baby. daddy’s tie is missing.” you smile sweetly, crouching slightly. “the yellow one.” you clarify.

your daughter blinks. and then she does it again.

“yellow?”, she repeats.

“mhm!”, you nod.

she takes your hand into both of hers. “i know!”

kento’s brows raise, fixing his sleeves down where he had previously rolled them up to his elbows, and you look down at her in surprise. “you do?”

you take a glance at your husband and then back again. “where is it?”

she doesn’t answer your question exactly, but she does giggle cheekily, “made it pretty.”

you don’t even have to turn back around to see that your husband had frozen in place from those three words. you continue to smile, though you were a bit wary.

“made it pretty..? what do you mean by that, baby?”

“was ugly… baby made it pretty…”, her voice trails off, getting more unsure and quiet by the second under her father’s blank stare.

with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, you hold back a snort.

you don’t know whether to laugh at the fact your daughter was referring to herself in the third person by the pet name you and her father tend to call her by, rarely mentioning her real one unless she was being naughty that she forgets it is even her own name — or that she decorated one of her daddy’s precious ties.

when kento fails to say anything, likely still in shock, you speak up.

“can you show me?”

hesitating slightly, your baby girl nods. she takes one of your fingers into her small hand, guiding you out of your bedroom and into her play room while kento follows closely and silently from behind.

upon entering, you notice it immediately on her play table beside a black, uncapped marker that was likely dried out at this point. she takes it, holding it up for both of you to see her spotty craftsmanship on the silky fabric.

kento’s tie did not, in fact, grow legs and wander off. but, it looks like it would.

“giraffe!”

the both of you stare wordlessly.

now, kento could be quite the complex man at times. he could just wear another color tie. or yet, if he’s feeling a little extra, go to a store on his lunch break and buy an identical one.

he decides, ultimately, it is too much of a hassle.

there is also the urge inside him to correct his daughter on her misconception that giraffe’s have black spots and that they were yellow ��� that the design is more akin to that of a lizard’s.

but the bright, sparkling eyes of his little girl peering up at him stops him before he can even utter a word.

he’ll probably purchase another one. for now, he guess he’ll just have to make do.

extra:

when kento heads to work half an hour later, he knows on the way there that he has to prepare. he knows what to expect from a certain someone.

as he steps foot into the building, he immediately hears the familiar voice from across the hall.

gojo satoru snorts.

“nice tie, nanami!”

[boobearymuch]

A Rising Sun

Summary: Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” Tags: Sylus/Reader, gender-neutral, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is mc, established relationship Word Count: 1.8k A/N: requested by @hrts4hanniehae read on ao3 | masterlist

Crystal clinked loudly against a mahogany table as Sylus put the empty glass down with a seething glare. He would’ve slammed it were it not for your sleeping form just several feet away, however. Your chest rose and fell under his satin sheets, and he counted each breath like a rosary bead; you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine. He unstopped a priceless bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but the tremor in his hand sloshed amber liquid over the sides. Sylus huffed but didn’t bother wiping up the mess. Instead, he downed the whiskey in one go and squeezed his tired eyes shut. The burn was nothing compared to the chill down his spine when he found you. 

Thirteen missed calls and twenty unread text messages. Not even Mephisto could track you. “You’re really starting to worry me here, kitten.” Sylus pressed the phone to his ear, eyes glued to Mephisto’s live feed as he soared through the N109 Zone’s darkest alleys, “If it was something I did, let me make it up to you.” The begging in his voice grew more obvious as the voicemails went on, “—Please. Just let me know you’re okay.” Sylus drew closer to the hologram, helpless, as Mephisto investigated another possible location, “I can’t…” Another dead end. The mechanical crow cooed softly before swooping into another street, and Sylus heard his voice catch in his throat, “...I can’t feel you anymore.” 

Beep. The call ended, leaving a loaded silence in its wake. 

He considered leaving yet another voicemail when Mephisto turned a sharp corner and pointed his eyes at a dark figure slumped against a wall. No, no, no. His worst fears were realized when the crow perched himself on your knee and cawed loudly, as if scolding you for causing so much trouble. Then his lens panned over the blood. So much blood. Sylus couldn’t recall the ride there, which car he took, how fast he was going. Trivial details, to be frank. Your name was the only thought in his mind, the only language he understood—you, you, you. Sense returned to him when he clutched your limp body in his tight embrace, and you groaned weakly in his arms. “I’m here,” Sylus sighed against your ear, “Always here.” 

The sheets of his bed rustled as you shifted your weight, and Sylus shot you a look. “Sylus,” You called weakly, and winced as you sat up.

“Don’t lean on your arm.” Despite your discomfort, his narrowed gaze remained fixed on the empty glass in his hand. He made no move to approach you, “You’ll disturb the bandages.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched you take note of the gauze wrapped around your bicep. The bleeding stopped a while ago. “That wanderer missed your artery by a hair,” Sylus drawled, and your confused gaze met his cold look, “Your luck never ceases to amaze me.” Then he stood, your confusion morphing into panic, “Let Mephisto know if you need anything.”

“Sylus, wait—” You outstretched your hand, the bandaged one, and immediately hissed in pain. Sylus froze, but like before, remained where he stood, “How long have I been out?”

His lip twitched. “Three hours now,” A beat, then he was reaching into his pocket, “Here.” Your phone bounced against the mattress at your feet, and Sylus watched you pick up the shattered screen. Wincing, you turned it on, and he quietly studied your distress.

“I’m sorry,” You began softly, but Sylus forced his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t stand the guilt in your eyes, “I got so caught up I didn’t—”

His raised hand cut you short, “Don’t.” And he turned away sharply, “Just focus on resting.” The lump in his throat was difficult to swallow around, so he grabbed the leftover whiskey and rushed out.

Cooling down with some vinyl records had been his first instinct. Dusting them off, running his fingers over the plastic covers, then finally settling on just one. Fretting over their display was a nervous habit of his, his go-to when he needed a distraction. But it proved too difficult to position the needle correctly with trembling hands, and Sylus watched the needle stutter over the grooves with a grimace. Instrumentals kicked in over the stereo quietly, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out his swirling thoughts. He should be with you right now. Tending to your every need and shushing you gently to get some rest. Instead, he hid away with his records, inhaling and exhaling to relax the tight ball in his chest. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

He repeated this useless prayer to himself to prevent other thoughts—darker thoughts—from bubbling up. It didn’t work, though. “Sylus?” His eyes widened at the sound of your voice, before they suddenly narrowed in suspicion. As if on cue, Mephisto breezed to his perch in the corner of the room, and Sylus shot the crow a withering glare. So much for keeping you away from him, damn bird. Mephisto only pricked his feathers innocently in response. Your bare feet then padded across the room, but Sylus refused to turn around. You shouldn’t have to see him like this. “Sylus, would you please look at me?” You insisted again, stronger this time, “Are you angry?”

Usually, he craved your bluntness. Right now, he resented it. “I should have locked him in his cage.” Your steps drew closer, and Sylus concentrated on the spinning vinyl.

Your tired sigh gripped his heart. “I heard your voicemails,” You announced quietly, “It’s…It’s okay if you are. You have every right to be.” 

It’s just so like you to put his feelings first. As if he had been the one bleeding in an alley for hours. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, “And if I was?” He turned to face you, finally, and noted the half-step you took back. Sylus couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at his lips, “Why aren’t you?”

You frowned at him and rubbed your arm distractedly. “I…feel bad for making you worry. I’m sorry, and I totally understand where you’re coming from.” You then tugged nervously at your clothes, avoiding his sharp gaze, “I would be angry with me too, believe me. Especially after I said I’d be more—”

Sylus couldn’t help it, a humorless laugh erupted from his bitten lips. You only stared in bewilderment as he raised a hand to cover his mouth, “Angry at you…?” He shook his head as another wave of trepidation passed through him, “You misunderstand,” Then his voice fell ominously low, “I’m not angry at you.”

Surprise gripped your expression, “I don’t understand, then. Why are you angry?”

“Why?” It was Sylus’ turn to give you a bewildered look, “Why?” The answer was so obvious, he almost felt ridiculous spelling it out for you. Through gritted teeth, he tried anyway, “Because I failed to protect you, that’s why.” That lump in his throat returned, so he promptly shut up. His words clung to the air for several moments, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off you now. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you; perhaps you were realizing that, yes, he did fail you tonight. That realization never quite reached your eyes, though. Instead, you slowly shook your head before falling back to get comfortable on his couch. 

“Come sit with me.” You patted the area next to you and watched him expectantly. Sylus stared. You always did find new ways to surprise him, somehow. He fought three wars in his head—before losing them all—and hesitantly took his place by your side. The big, bad Onychinus leader avoided your soft gaze. “What happened tonight, neither of us is to blame.” Your voice fell hush, and he didn’t need to look at you to know you saw right through him, “You can be angry, but please don’t hold a grudge.” You scooted yourself closer to take his hand in yours, and his eyes numbly flicked to your linked fingers. 

“If Mephisto hadn’t found you…I didn’t know what to think.” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed thickly, “Your aether core. I couldn’t feel it.” His thumb caressed yours gently, “Fear like that isn’t easy to forget.”

Guilt brimmed in your eyes again, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. “You found me,” You began fiercely, “And I’m okay now, thanks to you. Because of you. You could never fail me.” Your words only deepened his scowl. It should never have gotten to that point in the first place. You should never have been in that position—alone. Your interlocked hands tightened, “Sylus…” Your murmur, spoken like a wish, was accompanied by a sudden warmth between your palms. He inhaled sharply as he watched your hands glow, evols linking as you resonated with his. The feeling was difficult to explain. Resonating with you blanketed him in a warmth like no other, like he was morning dew glowing under the rising sun. Like it was the first and last time he’d ever feel sunlight. You were alive. You were well. And if you harbored any ill will toward him, then resonating wouldn’t have come so naturally to you. He’s glad it did. 

The resonance ended all too soon, however, and the light of your evols dimmed to nothing. Sylus’ record played softly in the silence. “Thank you,” He murmured at last, feeling calm for the first time that evening, “...And I’m sorry.” You made it difficult to stay upset. You had no idea how much power you held over him—over his mind and body alike—how easily you could mold him like putty in your precious hands. Right now, though, you guided those precious hands to his chin and looked him over properly. The dark circles, the disheveled hair, the cracked lips; you drank all of it in and let worry settle in the crease of your brow. He hid his embarrassment behind wisecracks, “Like what you see? A picture might last longer.”

You shot him a look, “You should take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Your expression then softened, and your thumb caressed the side of his smirking mouth, “But hurry, so you can join me in bed.”

He swore he felt traces of your evol smoldering within him, “Easy, kitten, you’re still recovering.”

Amusement sparkled in his ruby eyes when you abruptly pulled away, flustered, “You know what I meant!” Tsk, it was too easy sometimes. Sylus tried and failed to hide his smile before unexpectedly lifting you off the couch, “Sylus—”

“I’ve got you—yes, I do, now stop squirming,” Hanging on with your good arm, Sylus held you tighter than he’d ever done before. Letting you down would never be an option again. “Save the struggling for later, sweetie.” You merely huffed and settled into his secure embrace, but your free hand clutched his shirt just as tightly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

Morning dew, meet rising sun.

[lowkeyren]

in which : alhaitham speaks to you in 5 different languages, unaware that you understand every word he says.

wc 7.3k (pls give it a chance lol), academic rivals to lovers, unrequited hate, attempt at humor, college au, denial + pinning.. crazy ik, he falls first (and harder), tw stalking by a drunkard, a genius on paper but a total dumbass when it comes to crushes, lil smau at the end!, ft. sumeru gang. art by @/gamegatchihaja on x.

ps. translations ay nasa maliliit na titik, katulad neto!!

ps. translations will be in small letters, like this!!

PROLOGUE: GOD I HATE THIS GUY! (DOES HE THINK IM STUPID?)

the semester is nearing its conclusion, and the imminent approach of finals marks the most critical period of the year; students rush through the halls, clutching their notes and textbooks like lifelines, while you pour every ounce of effort into your studies —not just for your grades, but also to surpass a certain arrogant scholar. 

alhaitham. 

the name tastes like spoiled milk on your tongue, a sour reminder of all the times he’s bested you, even if it’s just by a small margin, leaving you dumbfounded when the difference between your marks during the last exam was a mere 1%. 

you were groveling in front of your professor, “please, just round the marks up?” you could practically feel your dignity slipping away. and the worst part? you were so desperate that you started mentally calculating how many odd jobs you’d be willing to do just to sweeten the deal. 

(maybe you’ll help organize the office, run around the campus to buy him drinks every day, or even wipe down the windows of his car…)

disclaimer: he ultimately said no, but he did compliment your impeccable taste in coffee so, a win is a win? 

anyhow, alhaitham’s nonchalance only adds to your frustration, especially when he switches to a different language mid-conversation. it feels like he’s rubbing salt in your wounds, why of course you can understand him perfectly —after all, you aren’t majoring in linguistics for no reason, plus he's not the only one who’s fluent in multiple languages.

though you keep that to yourself, perhaps because the things he says in those languages, which he assumes you don’t understand, are far from innocent, unknowingly letting you have a glimpse into his true feelings. 

ACT I: WHOLEHEARTEDLY, I DETEST YOU. 

alhaitham would never fall in love —such irrational and illogical emotions held no value to him. 

that was what he always believed, but then he saw you. 

the way you laughed so unapologetically at cyno’s jokes, how you always stood firm by your beliefs, your refusal to compromise who you are; you were a breath of fresh air in a world that often felt stifling.

as much as he tries to act unfazed, he can't help the heat prickling his skin nor the way his composure falters just slightly in your presence. and when his heart raced for the first time in what felt like forever, he knew —he was completely, utterly screwed.

(“fix me, kaveh.” / “hah. who do you think i am, ‘y/n’?”)

when kaveh told him that he just had a simple “crush”, he nearly rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck there permanently.)

likewise, this ugly arrogant handsome bastard here, is one you’ll never fall in love with. 

he’s infuriating, completely insufferable, and yet there’s something about him, something hidden beneath that arrogance, that draws you in. the idea that you could ever fall for someone like him seems laughable, impossible even. he's exactly the kind of person you should avoid and you know better than to be charmed by someone like him. yet, there's that nagging feeling, deep down, that perhaps you’re not as immune to him as you think.

by some stroke of luck, you’re in the same major, same year, and even enrolled in the same lecture periods, which means you end up in the same place at the same time more often than not.

but you can’t deny that, in some twisted way, you admire him. his intellect is beyond impressive, even if it annoys you to admit it. so surely, in his eyes, you’re still inferior, and you often wonder if he even considers your ideas as worthy of attention.

(they are.)

ACT II: YOUR WATCHFUL EYES, I CAN’T IGNORE.

your pen glides across the pages as you jot down notes, fully absorbed in your studies, barely registering the faint sound of distant chatter.

unbeknownst to you, a group of students has gathered just outside the lecture hall, peeking in from the door with curious, amused expressions. they’re clearly there for you, exchanging glances and murmurs, waiting for the moment you step outside.

you don’t notice, but alhaitham, seated a few feet away, certainly does.

his eyes narrow slightly as he takes in the scene. he doesn’t say anything at first, but his jaw clenches ever so subtly. as you begin to pack up, you glance up to find him standing in front of you, his tall figure effectively blocking the group outside’s direct line of sight to you.

with a discreet glance over his shoulder, he shoots them a cold, unmistakable glare. they visibly shudder, seemingly getting the message as they awkwardly shuffle away. 

“what was that about?”

alhaitham leans against your desk, “nothing important,” his tone is dismissive, laced with irritation, his gaze still fixed on the now-empty doorway. 

you narrow your eyes, unimpressed. “really? you just scared them off for no reason?”

“just getting rid of some… distractions,” he says casually, turning his attention back towards you. you raise an eyebrow, clearly not believing his words. “distractions? they weren’t bothering me.” 

his expression remains impassive, “khi họ cứ để ý đến em như vậy… em thấy không phiền, còn tôi thì có.”

“seeing them constantly paying attention to you… you're not bothered by it, but i am.”

“bởi vì cái cách mà em chú tâm hoàn toàn vào một việc gì đó…  nó quyến rũ vô cùng.”

because the way you completely focus on something… is truly mesmerising.

you blink, feeling a momentary flush of confusion and surprise at the words slipping from his mouth. did he just—? but before you can fully process it, he continues.

“vậy nên tôi cũng không thể trách họ khi họ muốn nhìn em gần và lâu hơn được.”

so i don’t blame them when they want to look at you closer and longer.

his words linger in the air, a moment passes before it clicks —he doesn’t think you understand. that’s why he’s speaking so… freely; letting slip things he’d never say outright in a language you both speak fluently.

“nhưng mà… chắc không ai trong số bọn họ có thể sánh ngang với tôi, em nhỉ?”

but… none of them can compare to me, right?

your chest tightens as a surge of warmth courses through you. 

his detached attitude only fuels your irritation. but there’s also a certain satisfaction in knowing something he doesn’t: you’ve understood every single word he’s said.

feigning ignorance, you raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with what you hope is a neutral expression. "what are you going on about?" you ask.

his expression remains as stoic as ever, not a single crack in his mask. he simply shrugs, eyes still on you, "just telling you to focus more.”

your grip on the pen tightens, there's a part of you that wants to wipe that smug look off his face, to show him you're not as clueless as he assumes. but not yet —you’re curious to see just how far he’s willing to push.

"right," you mutter under your breath, tapping the pen against your notebook. "focus. got it."

he leans down slightly, one arm resting on the back of your chair while the other presses against the table, effectively caging you in.

"you're wasting time, finals are coming up." he takes a brief pause before continuing, "i wish you the best of luck, you’ll need it.”

your eyes snap up to him in a glare, “don’t you have somewhere to be?" you bite back.

alhaitham straightens, giving you a final glance before turning towards the door. “naturally, i have studying to do.”

“bởi vì tôi sẽ chứng minh cho em thấy rằng chỉ có tôi mới xứng tầm làm đối thủ học thuật của em, không một ai khác.”

because i will prove to you that only i am worthy of being your rival, no one else.

why did he frame it as if it’s a privilege only he can claim? or is he trying to… flatter you?!

you shake your head, no way, that’s ridiculous. finals are coming up, there’s no time to dwell on whatever mind games he’s playing. though if the almighty alhaitham wants a rival, then you’ll show him exactly what it means to stand at the pinnacle.

ACT III: IN MY DREAMS, I SCORED HIGHER THAN YOU.

you’re tired, the kind of tired that seeps deep into your bones. every blink stretches longer than the last and you find it increasingly difficult to focus on the words in front of you. stifling a yawn, you feel the pull of sleep tugging at you, whispering sweet promises of rest.

there’s still time till your next class.

maybe you'll take a moment to close your eyes, just for a few seconds…

did you not get enough sleep last night, or did you stay up late studying again? alhaitham watches silently from across the room, his eyes narrowing as your head droops lower, your exhaustion becoming painfully obvious with each passing second. his gaze lingers on the way your pen pauses mid-sentence, the line on your notebook trailing off as your hand grows heavy.

he pushes himself up from his seat, and approaches your desk; he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, harsh and unrelenting, hitting right over the table where you’re sitting. he looks at you —eyes closed, with the faintest crease of discomfort on your brow.

without a word, he reaches out and slips the pen from your grip, the slight shift causing your fingers to twitch, but you don’t wake. 

for a fleeting second, he considers waking you. but then, as you shift again, settling more comfortably into your chair, he decides against it. what good would that do, anyway? you’d probably just brush him off and keep going until you collapse from sheer fatigue. typical.

instead, he adjusts his stance slightly, positioning himself just right to make sure the sunlight is fully blocked from your face, casting you in a cool shadow. 

you mumble something incoherent, and he can’t help but roll his eyes at your state. did you really think burning yourself out like this would help you focus?

“stubborn,” he mutters under his breath. 

you're always like this, pushing yourself past your limits, and while part of him respects your determination to outdo him, he won’t allow it to come at the expense of your health.

you stir from your slumber, lifting your head, your gaze lands on a familiar figure standing to the side of your table. his back turned, facing the sunlight that streams in from the window. 

alhaitham. 

he’s close, so close that his broad shoulders completely block out the sunlight from the window. the sight sends a rush of confusion through your already sleep-addled mind. did he… stand there the whole time? why? 

you shift slightly in your seat, your movement catching his attention. without turning, he speaks in that low, steady tone of his, “you’re awake.”

“alhaitham?” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

he glances over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the calm expression on his face. “you’ve been out for a while,” he comments, a hint of amusement in his voice. “i was starting to think you’d sleep through your next class.”

you rub the sleep from your eyes, “why didn’t you wake me up then?”

his shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, still facing away from you. “you looked like you needed the rest. besides, it’s more entertaining to see how long you’d stay asleep.”

a flicker of annoyance courses through you as you roll your eyes, “oh, so you mean you care?”

he turns slightly, and you can see a hint of a smirk on his lips. “don’t read too much into it. i just prefer my competition functioning at their best.”

you wish you could roll your eyes harder because this man has an uncanny talent for grating on your nerves while somehow being insufferably charming at the same time.

“ah yes —because you need me to keep up with you,” you remark sarcastically.

“exactly.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you lean back in your chair. “you really think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“mushiro, kimi no koto o hijō ni takaku hyōka shiteiru yo.”

if anything, i think highly of you. 

your brows knit together in surprise, and you can’t help but scoff. “what was that? i didn't catch it.”

“i said i won’t go easy on you.” oh, the audacity. he’s lying again, and he knows it.

the corners of your mouth twitch in disbelief as you scrutinise his expression. there’s that familiar glimmer in his eyes, a spark of mischief that tells you he’s enjoying this too much.

“whatever,” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. “not like i want you to anyway.”

despite your words, you can't deny that his actions earlier were surprisingly endearing. you wonder how long he intends to keep this up. perhaps it’s time you let him know.

“ii ne, kimi ga iraira shite iru toki wa kawaiikara.”

good, because you’re cute when you’re all riled up.

you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at his words, okay maybe you shouldn’t let him know. you instinctively look away, as if avoiding his gaze can help you regain your composure.

cute? what does he mean “cute”?! he thinks he can get away with calling you cute —well… well, there’s not much you can do about it, you’re not ready to confront him about this either.

the mere thought of asking him directly makes your stomach twist with a year’s worth of embarrassment. yet, as you try to refocus on the book in front of you, you find yourself biting your lip, struggling to suppress a smile that threatens to break free.

ACT IV: I WOKE UP TODAY, AND A DREAM CAME TRUE.

the hallway buzzes with excitement as students gather around the large announcement board, eager to see the results of their theses. you push through the crowd, heart pounding, the low hum of chatter filling your ears. 

when you reach the front, you quickly scan the list; the moment your eyes land on your name, your breath catches in your throat.

there it is, in bold red ink at the top of the board —a score higher than you’d ever hoped for, higher than his. and your name, on top of his.

alhaitham.

you glance over and spot him approaching the board, approaching you. his expression is, as always, unreadable. but you know him well enough by now to catch the slight pause in his movements, the brief moment where his eyes linger just a second too long on the board.

you try not to think too much about it as you collect your thesis, with alhaitham following closely behind, his fingers nearly grazing yours as you both sift through the stack of papers on the table.

you take in the glowing praise from your professor, each word making you feel like every all-nighter was worth it. you clutch the paper, resisting the urge to grin like an idiot. 

glancing sideways, you wait for him to say something, maybe some backhanded comment, but he remains silent. your eyes meet, and there’s a shift in his gaze as the usual sharpness in his eyes dulls ever so slightly, your smile lingering like the first light of dawn breaking through the night's embrace.

it’s subtle —just a flicker —but you catch how his gaze falters, softening, if only for a heartbeat. the edges of his stare blur, drawn to the warmth of your expression as though it’s something he hadn’t meant to witness, yet can’t look away from. 

at this moment,

"looks like i finally beat you," you say, not bothering to suppress the grin spreading across your face now.

he feels like

there’s no scowl, no sign of frustration —just the slightest raise of an eyebrow. “hmm. by a point.” he pauses, studying you for a second longer than necessary before returning his gaze to his paper. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

he's in heaven.

it’s as if he’s not bothered by the outcome at all. in fact, if anything, he seems... satisfied?

"hindi dapat ganito kalala ang epekto ng ngiti mo sa akin."

your smile shouldn't affect me this badly.

“—huh?” your mouth drops slightly open at his words; out of everything, you didn’t expect him to say that. it catches you off guard, making your heart race just a little faster. if you peer closely enough, you might catch a glimpse of the gentle arch of his lips, a ghost of a smile. 

the silence stretches on for a beat too long before he clears his throat and shifts his gaze away from you. “ang iyong ngiti ang pinakamagandang tanawin ng aking araw.”

your smile is the most beautiful sight of my day.

“what?” the word slips from your lips, barely a breath, a soft gasp that hangs in the air. it feels almost surreal and you wonder if you’ve misheard him.

each heartbeat thunders in your ears, a rhythm that matches the erratic flutter in your chest. why is he saying these things, what for in a different language…? there’s no way that he—

"—tulad mo na ang hinangad ko na ligawan, ngunit sa bawat ngiti mo, halip ay mas lalo akong nahulog para sayo."

—like you, who i wish to court, but with every smile, i instead found myself falling for you. 

your breath hitches as your heart stumbles, the implications of his words washing over you like a wave. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, “what… did you say?”

his shoulders stiffen, and there’s a subtle tension in the way his fingers curl against the paper he’s holding. “see you tomorrow, [name],” he mutters, his voice low but hurried, and before you know it, he’s already walking away.

two strange things happened today: 

1. you finally beat your sworn enemy!

2. said enemy… complimented you? 

huh, it’s as if the words slipped out before he could catch them, as if he’s been holding them in for far too long, as if… you notice the way his neck reddens, even as he turns away.

behind the door, alhaitham lets out a quiet breath.

“gago… nagkamali ba ako?”

stupid… did i make a mistake?

to his dismay, an annoyingly familiar voice cuts through the silence. kaveh, who had been waiting just down the hall, notices him standing there, a little too still. 

“oh, what do we have here?" there's a slight pause, followed by a raised eyebrow. "is that—no way, your face is red!” kaveh teases, amusement dancing in his eyes. “what happened there?" he leans in, clearly enjoying himself. "come on, spill the tea..!” 

"not a chance," alhaitham retorts, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively.

just then, kaveh spots cyno and tighnari; grinning, he waves them over. “what’s going on? did alhaitham finally crack under pressure?”

alhaitham would rather reorganise the entire library than listen to kaveh recount what happened.

“i’m leaving.” 

"no, i'm afraid you're not getting out of this one.” cyno steps forward, blocking alhaitham’s path; and tighnari, who has been quietly observing till now, chimes in, “don’t leave us hanging.”

“you’re outnumbered.” 

alhaitham sighs and shakes his head. he hadn’t even thought it was physically possible for him, of all people, to do something as ridiculous as blushing —until today.

(on the other side of the door, their banter echoes through, and you can’t help but chuckle to yourself at alhaitham’s misery.)

ACT V: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, YOU SAY? BUT EVERYONE CALLS IT FLIRTING.

“i think alhaitham likes [name].”

the whole table falls silent before kaveh dramatically slams his glass down on the table, causing a splash of alcohol to spill over the edge. “oh finally, it’s so obvious! have you all seen the way he looks at them?” 

across the table, tighnari taps his fingers absentmindedly on his notebook, his attention only half on kaveh’s (incoming) rant but clearly invested enough, as shown by the slight twitching of his ears, to be listening. 

cyno snickers, “you’re telling me the man who can dissect any philosophical argument can’t handle a little crush? that’s rich.”

kaveh waves a hand dismissively. “come on! remember that time they were partnered up for a project? he was so... uncharacteristically patient! i’d almost say it’s cute if it weren’t alhaitham we’re talking about!”

right, it’d be almost endearing —if it weren’t coming from the most stoic, intimidatingly aloof guy in the entire school. it’d be adorable —if it weren’t alhaitham, who instinctively covers the corner of your table with his hand when you drop your pencil, ensuring you won’t hit your head as you bend down to retrieve it.

oh, you don’t notice (of course not). but your friend dehya, sitting nearby, catches the whole scene out of the corner of her eye. she raises an eyebrow, nudging the girl beside her. 

(“candace, do you see that shit.” / “yeah.”)

“a soft spot for [name], you say? well, i’ve got a story of my own, too.” cyno glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot, then lowers his voice conspiratorially.  “have you noticed? he doesn’t wear his earphones when he’s around them.”

kaveh pipes up, nodding eagerly.

“he’s got those earphones practically glued to his head, he doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to, and he certainly doesn’t talk unless he’s forced to. but around them?” cyno pauses, pretending to think for a while. “not once. he’ll put them away entirely, like he’s actually willing to be… present.”

sure it’s small, subtle, the kind of habit no one would pick up on unless they were looking closely. but to anyone who knew alhaitham well, it tells them more than words ever could. 

for him, actions speak louder than words, even if he often doesn’t realise the meaning behind his own gestures.

his earphones slide down, resting forgotten around his neck, all so he can be close enough to catch the delightful lilt of your laughter. his chair inches a fraction closer, seemingly by accident. a subtle upward twitch at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting and often passing so quickly if one weren’t paying attention.

for him, it’s a language without words.

dehya laughs softly. "for someone who supposedly ‘doesn’t like being bothered,’ he sure seems invested in whatever [name] has to say."

and what sealed their suspicions? 

definitely the time when kaveh complimented nilou’s new bracelet. he glanced over at the man beside him, nudging him lightly. “what do you think?”

alhaitham gave the bracelet a cursory glance, before replying, “it’s nice.” though his gaze flickered back; and almost absently, he added after a pause, “[name] has the same one too.”

oh… oh? well that was oddly specific. kaveh’s eyebrow quirked as he fought to suppress a grin.

alhaitham had noticed a detail seemingly insignificant about [name] —the kind of thing he never cared to show the slightest interest in when it came to anyone else.

the glint in nilou’s eyes seemed to mirror kaveh’s unspoken thoughts, silently agreeing with his suspicions.  

now they’re certain —100% sure, in fact —that alhaitham has a crush on you.

“well, speak of the devil… lovely seeing you here, alhaitham,” kaveh quips. tighnari, ever observant, gives him a pointed look. “your jacket’s missing.”

“someone took it,” alhaitham replies, his tone as composed as always, giving nothing away.

—nothing until you walked past. draped over your shoulders, unmistakable, is alhaitham’s jacket. you don’t notice the way every pair of eyes follows you, or the way kaveh barely stifles a triumphant laugh.

...make that 110%.

(translation: he means he borrowed his jacket because [name] was cold.)

ACT VI: IT’S YOU, WHO COMES TO MY RESCUE. 

the quiet night hangs heavy, the road empty and bathed in the dim glow of distant streetlights. you weave through the streets, but no matter how many twists and turns you take, that weirdo just won’t leave you alone.  

he’s been trailing behind you for blocks now, his persistence grating on your nerves, cornering you with endless “compliments” and invasive questions. you’ve tried to shake him off, but his determination far exceeds your patience.

"come on, just give me a chance," he insists, stepping closer, a little too close for comfort. you take a step back. the smell of alcohol reeks from his breath, and his grin is making your skin crawl. 

"i told you, i’m not interested," you say firmly, keeping your voice steady, but the panic was starting to creep in. you glance at the empty bottle in his hand —he’s definitely drunk out his mind.

“you sure?" he completely ignores your clear discomfort. "how about you just give me your number, yeah?" he slurs out.

"no, i have a boyfriend." you lie through your teeth, hoping that would be enough to make him back off.

unfortunately, he’s as insufferable as he is persistent.

he snorts dismissively, "yeah, right. a boyfriend? you’re just playing hard to get."

you sigh, you aren’t in the mood for this, not here, not now, and especially not with someone like him. "i already told you, i have a boyfriend," your voice now tinged with frustration. "so please, just leave me alone.”

"oh, don't be like that," he steps in front of you, blocking your way. "prove it. call your boyfriend. show me you’re not lying."

your heart races as the man reaches out for you, dodging his hand, you take the chance to look behind him for an escape. just then, you see an all-too-familiar figure in the distance. 

alhaitham. 

you barely manage to suppress a relieved sigh as you wave frantically in his direction. he spots you almost immediately and without hesitation, he rushes over.

"what, this your boyfriend?" the guy sneers with derision, still sounding a little too cocky for someone who was about to get a reality check.

alhaitham steps beside you, you can feel his eyes on you for just a brief moment, the faintest flicker of worry flashing across his face. it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you catch it—and it makes your chest tighten.

his voice is low, unmistakably carrying a warning, "yes, i’m their boyfriend. and if you don’t want things to escalate, i suggest you leave." 

the man’s face twists as anger flares in his bloodshot eyes. he takes a step forward, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle, the glass slightly cracking. "you think you can tell me what to do?" he slurs, gaze wild and unfocused. “y-you think you’re some kind of saviour? *hic* a-and you! how… how dare you reject me?!”

alhaitham doesn’t move, his expression cold and unbothered, and that only seems to make the man angrier. his frustration boils over, and with a snarl, he clumsily swings the bottle in his hand, aggressively lurching towards your direction. 

the world seems to slow for a moment. though before you can even react, alhaitham pulls you firmly behind him with one swift motion, his other arm instinctively rising to shield the both of you from the blow. the sound of glass meeting his forearm is sharp and jarring —you can hear the high-pitched tinkle of glass scattering, the jagged shards bouncing off the pavement, and some skittering across the ground.

but he doesn’t even flinch, his stance unwavering as the man stumbles back, glass crunching underfoot. you’re still frozen from shock, your heart racing in your chest as you watch the scene unfold. 

“big mistake,” he starts, and the man visibly falters. “harassment, assault —keep this up, and you’ll regret every choice that brought you here tonight.”

the man shifts around, clearly disoriented. his eyes dart between you and alhaitham, but it’s clear that the fight’s already left him. “you— you can’t do this!” the man stammers, trying to regain some semblance of courage; unfortunately for him, the tremor in his voice is unmistakable. 

“do you really want to find out?” alhaitham asks, to which the man shakes his head vigorously. “get lost,” he mutters. the man, looking more pathetic than threatening now, quickly stumbles away, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath.

you’re breathless, still clutching the edge of his jacket, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline courses through you. 

"are you alright?"

you nod, forcing a small, unconvincing smile."yeah... i’m fine. thanks to you." 

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. you follow his gaze instinctively, glancing down at yourself. that’s when you notice it —not on you, but on him.

streaks of red stain his forearm, where jagged shards of glass must have cut him during the confrontation. the gash bleeds steadily, a dark line of blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket.

"wait," you breathe, your heart sinking. "you're bleeding."

your stomach twists with guilt.

"why didn’t you say anything?" you exclaim.

he shakes his head, a dismissive gesture that does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach. "it’s nothing," he says, but the slight furrow in his brow and the tension in his jaw betray his words.

"nothing?" you fix him with a hard glare. "idiot… you just blocked a glass bottle with your arm, don’t try to downplay this."  

you grab his sleeve, tugging it gently but firmly, the fabric sliding beneath your fingers as you pull it up. “—and unless you think an infection is ‘nothing’, you’ll let me take care of this."  

"hold still," you murmur as you settle beside him on the couch, your supplies spread across the coffee table in front of you.

the scent of antiseptic fills the air as you take a disinfectant wipe and gently dab it against the gash. the sting of the alcohol makes him flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. you mutter a soft apology, your movements slow and deliberate as you try to be as gentle as you can.

you open a tube of ointment, squeezing a small amount onto your finger before smoothing it carefully along the edges of the cut. the cool gel glides over his skin, and you can feel the tension in his arm ease ever so slightly under your touch.

“nǐ zhème guān xīn wǒ, huì ràng wǒ wù huì de.”

if you care so much about me, i might misunderstand you.

your fingers pause briefly, the words catching you off guard. you glance up at him, but he only averts his gaze, his eyes remaining fixed on a distant spot beyond the room.

misunderstand? misunderstand what, exactly?

the bandage wraps securely around his arm as you smooth it into place. as you tuck the end of the bandage, his voice comes again, just as soft, but no less clear. 

“—wù huì nǐ duì wǒ yǒu gǎn jué.”

"—misunderstand that you have feelings for me."

your brain short-circuits, and in your shock, your hands jerk. in turn, the bandage tightens way too much, causing him to wince and tense up. before you can apologise, he lets out a light chuckle.

“suǒ yǐ nǐ dān xīn wǒ… nǐ shì bù shì gù yì ràng rén xīn dòng de?”

“so you're worried about me… are you purposely trying to make my heart race?”

his words only make you more flustered, and you find yourself fumbling to fix the bandage. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to—”

his chuckle only grows softer, and you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes. “it’s fine.”

you quickly finish adjusting the bandage, trying to focus on anything other than how your heart is now racing. (ironically) 

“you seem flustered,” he comments casually, as if he isn’t the one who just made your head spin. “did i say something wrong?”

you shake your head quickly, hoping to hide the flush creeping up your neck. "no, not at all.”

his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smirk.

"nǐ bù bì yǎn shì, wǒ xǐ huān nǐ hài xiū de yàng zǐ, tǐng kě ài de.”

“you don’t have to hide it. i like seeing your flustered expression, it’s quite cute.”

(oh this bastard!!!!)

you try to speak, but the words get stuck in your throat. what do you say when someone’s teasing you so openly —and they think you don’t even realise it?

after a long moment, he stands, “it’s getting late, i should get going.” alhaitham gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment —and there it was, that trace of softness reserved only for you.

he heads toward the door, you watch him, feeling a strange sense of emptiness when he turns away.

“i’ll see you,” he pauses. "...and thank you for tending to me."

you watch him leave, the door clicking softly behind him, and the silence settles back into the room.

you blink, taking a deep breath. what a rollercoaster of a day. yawning, you turn to start tidying up, but your eyes land on something on the couch.

it’s his jacket, draped over the armrest. you notice a tear on the sleeve, just where his injured forearm had been. what truly catches your attention, however, is a folded piece of paper slipping out of the pocket. 

intrigued, you unfold it, revealing his neat, precise handwriting. 

ACT VII: THE SECRET I’VE ALWAYS KNOWN. 

To [Name],  I once believed you to be little more than a nuisance. A bright, well-meaning nuisance, no doubt, but a nuisance nonetheless. One who seemed intent only on striving for perfection, always seeking to best me at every turn, not out of malice but out of some earnest desire to prove your worth. In my arrogance, I mistook your relentless pursuit for a need for recognition, as if you sought my attention in some petty rivalry. Though very quickly, you made me think otherwise.  You saw the world differently, you also saw me differently. You didn’t treat me with the reverence others seemed to, nor did you shy away from challenging me. You refused to be seen as anything other than yourself; and that, in itself, was what made me admire you —what made me long to understand you more. Now, I find that I am standing with half a heart and an emptiness I never knew I could feel, because you showed me what it truly means to crave something more, something I never thought I deserved. You may think I’m a coward for not expressing my feelings more directly, perhaps you are right. I am a coward for fearing to lay bare the vulnerability of my heart. But even in my cowardice, know that my thoughts have always been of you.  If you have seen through my silence and hesitation, if you understand my actions when my words fail me, then perhaps you have already known this truth. I care for you, more deeply than I can fully express. Though I may never be able to say these things as openly as I wish, I’d like you to know that my actions have always been my confession. Even now, I’m still a coward for you. So please, if you decide to give me a chance, I’ll be waiting at nightfall. Helplessly,  Alhaitham. 

you absentmindedly trace the edges of the letter with your fingers while your eyes skim over his writing for the nth time, the ink seeming to blur together with your thoughts as you try to process everything. your fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, a foolish smile creeping onto your face.

tomorrow’s nightfall feels impossibly far away, yet you can’t wait for it. 

alhaitham lays on his bed, his arm aches slightly from the injury, but it’s nothing he can’t ignore. plus, the bandage you had carefully wrapped around his arm is enough to keep the discomfort at bay. 

(originally, he had only planned to meet you, slip you the note, and be on his way. things didn’t go exactly to plan, but either way, he hopes you’ve read it by now.)

of all the possibilities, he’s never accounted for the one he’d be at mercy of his own emotions; he had always prided himself on his rationality, his restraint. but now? he’s reckless, absurd, foolish even —he can admit that to himself. but he finds he doesn’t care in the slightest.

for as much as he is a coward in your presence, he is just as much a fool in your absence.

ACT VIII: UNDER THE RAIN, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. 

“alhaitham isn’t really an expressive person, so don’t worry if he comes off as distant or uninterested. it’s not that he doesn’t care, he just… shows it differently.”

ah well, ‘differently’ indeed.

“—most importantly, alhaitham doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about, so you must mean a lot to him.”

maybe you didn’t mind how your heart raced when you heard that.

“don’t fuss over it [name], you’ll know when he’s in love.”

how so? 

if he was in love, what would it look like? would you be able to tell, or would it be just another one of those things you had to catch on to?

you wrapped the his jacket tighter around yourself, a faint smile tugging at your lips. it wasn’t the answers to those questions that mattered, but asking them in the first place —that was what made you realize you already knew all along.

the evening air is cool against your skin; a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves rustling quietly, and your heart beats louder than ever, urging you forward.

in the distance, you spot him, standing still in the dim light. and without a second thought, you quicken your pace.

“haitham.”

the sound of your voice catches his attention as he turns to face you; you can’t help but notice how his gaze flickers down for just a moment, his eyes taking in on how his jacket looks on you, before meeting yours. 

his posture is unnervingly perfect, rigid almost to the point of stiffness …is he nervous?

“hey,” he finally says, clearing his throat. “there’s something i need to tell you… though you’ve probably already figured it out. you’ve always been sharp.” 

“i… ” he falters, and it’s the first time you see him hesitate. “i’m not sure how to put it… since i’m not exactly great at this.”

you tilt your head, subtly urging him to continue. 

“but you’ve managed to make me care about things i never thought i would. and now i can’t seem to stop thinking about it —about you.” his voice lowers, softer now, but there’s a rawness there that’s unmistakable.

“i’m telling you this now, because not saying it... doesn’t feel right anymore."

suddenly, you feel a soft mist that barely kisses your skin, a slight chill against your cheeks, then a few tiny drops,  until they start to gather in your hair, the beads of water slipping down the back of your neck, but you don't move. neither does he.

his hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, droplets trailing down his temple. his clothes cling to his frame, soaked by the rain, yet his attention remains solely on you.

“[name], i am irrevocably in love with you.”

you stand there, the rain falling relentlessly around you, the pitter-patter mirroring the frantic beat of your heart. the water trails down his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s just the rain, or something else.

his lips part, as though he wants to say more, but the words seem caught in the storm, swallowed up by the downpour. the rain is cold, but his gaze? his gaze feels impossibly warm. 

it’s only when you feel the dampness of his jacket beneath your fingers, that the words finally come. “you don’t need to convince me of that.”

you take a step closer, and for a moment, the world outside seems to disappear.

“i’ve known,” you add. “but hearing you say it,” you pause, allowing yourself a small smile, “makes all the difference.”

reaching up, your fingers graze his damp skin as you gently push a wet strand of hair from his forehead, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cool skin. 

“'uhibuk aydan, alhaitham.”

i love you too, alhaitham.

a single droplet slides down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before falling to the soaked fabric of his collar. another follows. and then another. his breath catches in his throat, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

you wrap your arms around him, and he sinks into your embrace, his hair tickling your cheeks, as his chest rises and falls against yours.

“you’re gonna make me cry too, idiot,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, your eyes glassy. “you really are a fool,” you tease softly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “but only for me.”

slowly, his hands rise, trembling slightly, until they cup your cheeks, gently stroking it. 

“la yujad 'ahad akhar 'urid 'an 'akun 'ahmaq min 'ajlihi.”

there’s no one else i’d ever want to be a fool for.

his palms are surprisingly warm despite the weather. his thumb grazes your cheekbone as he leans in, and the world falls away —nothing but the warmth of his presence and the soft press of his lips against yours.

“this is my first time in ten years seeing this guy cry! can you believe it?!” kaveh whisper-shouts, peeking out from behind the shrub. 

nodding along, cyno agrees, poking his head out just right below the blond’s. “[name] is truly exceptional. though i must say, seeing alhaitham cry is quite tear-rifying.”

kaveh rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ugh, you and your puns.” he mutters under his breath while zooming in on his phone, which is currently recording the whole scene.

“quiet down, you two!” a voice hisses from behind them —tighnari, face flushed with panic. “they’re literally right there, and you’re making more noise than a herd of goats.”

“relax, we’re out of their line of sight anyway!” kaveh raises his phone higher, almost giddily, eyes glued to the screen. “and damn this is a good angle.”

tighnari exhales sharply, “you’re incorrigible.”

“look who’s talking,” cyno raises an eyebrow at tighnari… who’s also peeking out from behind the bush. (what a hypocrite)

…

“they kissed oh my g—” kaveh’s voice rises in disbelief, but cyno quickly covers his mouth with a swift hand. the three of them scramble to duck behind the bush just as you turn to glance in their direction.

(“is that… senior kaveh?” you squint your eyes, “cyno, and tighnari?” 

alhaitham clears his throat before glancing over at his friends with a deadpan expression. “yes and unfortunately, they’re very invested in my personal life. so please don’t mind them."

you laugh, finding the whole situation a bit too amusing. “not in the slightest, but i’m sure they’ll never let you hear the end of it.”)

EPILOGUE: IN EVERY LANGUAGE, I HEAR LOVE YOU.

“how long?”

you blink, feigning confusion. “how long what?”

alhaitham’s eyes narrow slightly, an expression you know well. “how long have you understood everything i’ve been saying?”

you bite back a smile and offer a small shrug, “...ever since you started?” 

his lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you can’t tell if he’s upset or impressed. then, he sighs, almost amused. “and you let me embarrass myself all this time?”

“you were being honest,” you shrug, a smirk forming. “plus i knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “may ideya ka ba kung ano ginawa mo?"

do you have any idea what you’ve done?

"mas lalong umibig sakin?"

made you fall in love with me even more?

you tease, but there’s a tenderness in your voice that softens the edge of your words.

“yes, and you really are insufferable,” he mutters with no malice. his tone is different now. softer. warmer, even.

you lean in slightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “that’s not what i heard you say before.” your fingers graze the skin of his cheek before you tenderly pinch it, giggling softly at the reaction you provoked.

in one smooth motion, he catches your hand before you can pull away and tugs you towards him, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. you tilt your head back to meet alhaitham’s gaze.

you’ve often thought he’s the most-perfect boyfriend, undeniably handsome in every way —but there’s really just one flaw: his height.

“ugh, you’re too tall," you grumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "i’m having a neck sore just looking at you."

he quirks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “you could use a stepstool.” 

"or," you counter, "you could get on your knees and save me the trouble.”

he slowly lets out a breath, his lips curling ever so slightly. 

“'akida, 'antaziri hataa 'ashtari alkhatama.”

sure, just wait till i buy the ring.

"wh—" 

he crosses his arms, "what’s wrong? isn’t that what people expect when someone gets on their knees?"

you roll your eyes, half-smiling. "fine, then i’ll eagerly wait for that day.”

his gaze softens as his hand reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face; his eyes drop to your lips for a moment, and you know what’s coming even before he speaks.

this fic was not sponsored by duolingo, but with the help of my beloved friends!! wouldn't have been possible w/o em please give them a round of applause xx

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and thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated ^^

pspspss check out the cool fanart / comic based on this fic here by @rei-plswork 🤍

MASTERLIST.

[greengoblinswifey]

The Offer—Salesman x Fem!Reader

summary— After an encounter with the mysterious and dangerously charming salesman, you find yourself drawn to him and what begins as a simple game quickly escalates when he offers you a deal outside the Squid Game. based on this request.

warnings— sugar baby undertones, praise kink, fingering, oral(f!receiving), body worship, ass slapping, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

The subway station felt like a dull hum in the background as you sat on a hard bench, looking at your phone. The notification from your bank app stared back at you, a harsh reminder of your poor spending choices. Shopping sprees, credit card bills, and an insurmountable amount of student loan debt weighed on you. You sighed, barely noticing the man who had taken a seat next to you until he cleared his throat.

“Rough day?” a deep, smooth voice said.

You glanced up, and your breath caught in your throat. The man was striking, his tailored suit fit perfectly, his features sharp and symmetrical, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that sent a spark of unease and intrigue down your spine.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that,” you muttered, looking away as you grew flustered.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I can help,” he said, pulling out a neat red envelope from his briefcase. “How about a game?”

“A game?” You frowned, wary but unable to deny the curiosity bubbling inside you.

He opened the envelope, revealing a stack of blue and red tiles. “Ddakji,” he explained, holding up one of the tiles. “We take turns throwing the tile to flip the other. You win, you get 100,000 won each time. You lose,” his smile widened. “I get to slap you.”

Your stomach churned at the proposal, but the thought of cash was too enticing to ignore. “Whatever,” you said, your voice shaky but firm.

The first few rounds were a blur. He was calm, composed, and terrifyingly skilled. You, on the other hand, had no idea what you were doing, your tile landing uselessly each time.

“Not your game, is it?” he teased after you failed again.

“Nah,” you replied.

He leaned closer, and you smelled his cologne, subtle but intoxicating. Instead of raising his hand to deliver the promised slap, he surprised you by tucking the envelope into your hands.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Take my card instead.”

You blinked, staring at the card he offered. It was embossed with a phone number and a strange symbol. “What’s this?”

“For something bigger than a subway game,” he replied. His hand lingered for a moment on yours as he added, “How about I come over, and we talk a bit more? About the game, the prize, and— possibilities.”

Your heart raced as you nodded.

You led him to your apartment, your nerves heightened by his presence. He seemed so calm and confident, while you felt like a mess. Inside, he leaned against your kitchen counter, his jacket now draped over the back of a chair.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile.

“Not nervous,” you lied, but your trembling hands gave you away.

He chuckled, taking a step closer. “You’re interesting. Most people I approach don’t look at me the way you do.”

“And how’s that?” you asked, swallowing hard.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” he said, his voice sending a shiver through you.

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, clutching the card tightly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Keep that curiosity. It might take you further than you think.”

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or what, but you couldn’t deny the way his presence filled the room, leaving you breathless and wanting to know more.

“You’ve got a fire in you. I like that.” His voice softened as he added, “But you don’t need to play any games to fix your problems.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I could take care of you,” he said simply. He stepped even closer, the space between you closing to almost nothing. “You wouldn’t have to worry about loans, bills—anything. We could come to an arrangement.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing. “An arrangement?”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.” He reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering near your jaw. “I can take care of you in more ways than one.”

The way he said it sent heat through you. His gaze dipped to your lips again, and you found yourself leaning into his presence without even realizing it. “I’m down for that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. He tilted his head, his face now inches from yours. “Because I think you’ve needed someone to take care of you for a long time.”

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours, unhurried, testing the waters. The kiss deepened quickly, fueled by what had been building between you since he first approached you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased yours, earning a soft gasp. He took the opportunity to lift you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, his hands warm and steady against your ass.

“You’re something else,” he said against your lips, his breath hot as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a moment, the intensity softened into something almost tender.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “This could be the start of something very interesting.”

And boy, you couldn’t help but agree. The kiss reignited, deeper and hotter than before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him on the counter. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of something warm and spicy made your head swim.

“You smell incredible,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. He pressed his nose to the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply as his lips ghosted over your skin. “Too good, really. Makes me wonder if you’re even real.”

Heat spread through your cheeks, but his words lit something inside you. “I think you’re the one who’s too good to be real,” you teased back.

“Flattery, huh? I like that. But don’t think for a second I don’t see through you.” His hand slid up your thigh, his touch warm. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, his teeth gently tugging at your bottom lip before pulling back to study your reaction. “No need to lie, sweetheart. I know.”

His hand ventured lower, fingers brushing over the fabric of your skirt, and he hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his tone serious, despite the fire burning in his gaze.

Instead of answering, you bucked your hips into his touch instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The corner of his mouth lifted in approval. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

His fingers worked, finding your dripping pussy and working their magic, skilled and precise. You couldn’t help but arch into him, your head falling back against the cabinet. “Look at me,” he commanded gently, one hand cupping your jaw to bring your gaze back to his. “I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You obeyed, locking eyes with him as his fingers thrusting inside you intensified, his thumb brushing over your cheek when you whimpered softly. “That’s it,” he said, “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t form words, only nodding as waves of pleasure rolled through you. His digits curled expertly inside you, thrusting against that spongy spot that made your breath catch and your pussy throb. You thrashed and moaned, feeling practically possessed by pleasure. God, you really did need this. He probably thought you were a desperate slut. His thumb tilted your chin up slightly. “Say it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you managed, your voice shaky. “Yes, I’m—I’m your good girl.”

His grin widened. “That’s my girl.”

Your hand gripped his muscular bicep as he stared down at you, the moment so intimate. Eyes locked on yours, two finger buried inside your pussy and a thumb rubbing your clit, giving you more pleasure your little fingers could ever manage to. Saving money had prevented you from even thinking of buying a vibrator. Soft moans left your lips as he rubbed rough circles on your bundle of nerves, your pussy clenching around nothing before he plunged his fingers back inside you. He thrusted roughly and you couldn’t help but clamp around him.

When the tension inside you reached its peak, he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Cum for me. Right here, right now. I want to see you fucking cum.”

And you did, trembling against him as his fingers pushed you over the edge, your breaths coming out in stuttering gasps. His praises washed over you as he held you steady, his grip comforting.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the room wrap around you as you caught your breath.

The heat between you both heightened as his lips trailed down your neck softly. His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer on the counter. He paused, meeting your gaze with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured, voice rich and low. “I want to taste every part of you.”

Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees, his hands steady on your thighs. “Can I taste you?” he asked, his tone sincere despite the hunger in his eyes.

You nodded, words escaping you entirely. His smirk deepened as he guided your legs apart, his lips brushing your inner thigh. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, his voice soft. “And all mine.”

His tongue explored every inch of you, licking from your pelvis, then down to your clit. His focus on your clit, slurping and flicking it made your toes curl and your legs clamp around his head. He chuckled deeply, the sound sending vibrations through your body and he pried your legs open, continuing his feast.

“I’ve never seen anyone as stunning as you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

Each kiss on your clit and touch over your thighs sent sparks through you, and you couldn’t help the soft moans escaping your lips. He looked up, his eyes dark. “I want to hear you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear how good it feels.”

You moaned loudly, your voice trembling with emotion. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “So beautiful, my perfect girl.”

As he continued to worship you, every lick and word worked together, unraveling you completely. When you finally came, trembling with his mouth on your pussy, he held your gaze, his expression softening as he spoke.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit. “Don’t forget that.”

When you came down from your high, he stood, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re everything I need,” he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you slightly, settling you more securely on the counter. The warmth of his hard cock pressed against your pussy sent shivers down your spine, but his lips found yours again, slow and tender.

“Relax,” he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby.”

You exhaled shakily as he freed his hard cock moving closer. He dragged the thick, leaking tip along your folds before slowly inching inside your tight pussy. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. His hands were steady on your waist, his thrusts careful and slow. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, and he smiled.

“Good,” he said, his lips capturing yours again, deeper this time. “I’ll take care of you, always.”

The praise flowed from him effortlessly as he began pounding into you. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured against your neck, his lips trailing kisses along your skin. “So good for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Your hands tangled in his dark hair as you tilted your head back. His pace shifted, repeatedly slamming against the sweet spot inside you and his lips found yours once more. “Cum on my cock,” he said, his forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve got you. Just cum for me.”

You gripped his bicep, your pussy responding to his words as your juices soaked his cock inside you. He held you steady, his praises unrelenting. “That’s it,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple. “You’re incredible, such a good girl for me.”

The moment lingered, but you didn’t let it fade completely. Instead, your shaky hands found his, as he helped you off the counter and his lips captured yours again. You guided him toward your bedroom, the two of you stumbling slightly as you moved.

“You’re mine,” he murmured between kisses, his words muffled but filled with conviction. “No one else gets you like this.”

The bedroom door swung open, and he didn’t hesitate, his hands finding your waist again as he backed you toward the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he muttered in awe.

You moved onto your hands and knees, adjusting until your back arched perfectly, drawing a low hum of approval from him.

“There we go,” he said, his hand smoothing over the curve of your spine before resting on your hip. “Just like that, absolutely perfect.”

A sharp, playful slap landed on your ass, making you jolt slightly, and he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist,” he teased, his hand soothing over the spot. “You look too good like this.”

He held onto your waist as his cock rested against your pussy. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his hands roamed gently over your ass. “You don’t even realize how stunning you are, do you?”

You felt his gaze on you lingering, as you wiggled onto his cock, “That’s it, bring that ass back just like that for me. You’re so perfect.”

You met his thrusts as he rolled his hips, his cock disappearing inside your pussy. Each time he bottomed out, his cock was covered in your cream.

“Fuck, you’re really enjoying this baby,” he hummed, staring at how wet you got his shaft.

He held you steady, his hands molding to your curves, his cock brushing against your cervix with each thrust, his voice warm as he leaned closer. “You’re incredible,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear. “Every single part of you fucking especially this.” He squeezed your ass gently, his admiration clear.

He placed a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder before wrapping his hand around your neck to bring you closer so you were arching off him. His pace quickened, each thrust deep, as he held you by your neck securely in place. You arched deeper instinctively, your back pressing against his chest, and his breath warmed your ear.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Cum for me.”

Your breaths quickened, and you couldn't help the loud moan that escaped you just as he requested. His grip was firm and his words spilled effortlessly, “That’s my good girl. You’re incredible.”

As everything built to a crescendo, you felt yourself shudder. His hand on your throat tightened slightly, steadying you through the moment. The world around you faded, leaving only his cock moving inside you, anchoring you. You were still squirting as he pounded into you and soon, you felt his sticky cum coat your walls.

When it was over, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re breathtaking,” he said softly before retreating, leaving you to catch your breath.

Moments later, he appeared with a damp cloth, cleaning you up with a care that seemed to contradict his character. He set it aside, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk that was entirely too charming.

“So,” he said casually, folding his arms, “about those bank account details.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. He grinned, the shine in his eyes unmistakable.

“Relax,” he added with a soft chuckle, leaning down to brush a lock of hair from your face. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

[hannahsturniolo]

ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ sᴇx ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜs

Warnings: smut, P in v, sex on tour bus

Summary: after getting back to the tour bus, and into bed with Chris, you tell him that you’re feeling a little horny.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You were touring with the triplets since you were dating Chris, and honestly there wasn’t many chances to have sex because everyone is on the bus at all times. You and Chris are on the bottom bunk, and Matt is on the bottom bunk across from you and Nick on the top bunk above you.

The only thing separating yours and Matt’s bunk is a skinny little hallway, enough to fit one person, and a curtain.

The bunks are pretty small, so you’re always cuddling Chris through the night.

You laid down beside Chris after putting your lacy pj set on.

You couldn’t help but feel the throbbing between your legs. You haven’t had sex with Chris in like 15 days because you’re in a tour bus with his brothers and Chris isn’t exactly quiet in bed, so you’ve been avoiding it.

But tonight you couldn’t help it. He wore your favourite outfit on tour and it got you all worked up.

You started to place open mouth kisses from his jaw to his neck.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He whispered very quietly in your ear.

“I-I’m really horny Chris” you whispered back.

“I know I know baby, but my brothers are just feet away. We can’t.” Chris whispered with a frown. “I promise when we get back from tour, we’ll have the best night of our lives”

“But baby, I don’t want to wait. I need you.” You whispered as you started to palm him through his pyjama pants. He was already rock hard. “I can fix that.”

You leaned over and began to kiss him with such passion. He grabbed the back of your neck pulling you harder into the kiss.

“Please baby” you whined looking at him with a pout.

“You know how I am during sex sweetheart, I can’t keep quiet” he whispered in your ear. “If you’re horny, I can touch you but you have to be quiet”

You looked at him and nodded, “I promise I’ll be quiet.”

You pulled down your lacy pyjama shorts, and he placed his hand between your legs, spreading your thighs apart.

He started to rub slow circles on your clit.

You lowly moaned in his ear. Very quietly.

You were so horny that you felt your orgasm coming already. It was quickly approaching.

You pulled his hand away.

“I need you, please I need your dick in me” you whispered.

He was so worked up now that he was touching you, that he agreed.

He pulled down his pyjama pants just enough that his dick sprung out.

“But you need to be quiet, baby” you looked at him with a serious look. “We cannot get caught”

You rolled onto your side, ass facing him.

He rolled onto his side behind you.

You felt him stick his dick into your folds, moving it up and down to tease you.

Then he slowly puts his tip in, rocking back and forth slowly, so slow to not make the tour bus shake.

You heard him quietly groan as he put it in.

He moved back and forth in and out of you slowly, his one hand covering his mouth from being loud.

He whispered in your ear “you feel so good.”

You felt your orgasm approaching, and you started clenching around his dick.

He knew you were close, so he reached around and rubbed your clit in slow circles.

You started to shake. Orgasm washing over you. Very intense orgasm since you haven’t been able to relieve the throbbing between your legs for 15 days.

All of a sudden, you feel warm liquid going up in your pussy. Chris groaning quietly in your ear.

He pulled out. And you rolled over and curled into him.

“Thanks baby, that was amazing” you whispered.

Even though you guys were quiet, you were hoping that the boys didn’t hear you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[solxamber]

Lease and Let Die || Lilia Vanrouge

You needed a roommate. You got Lilia Vanrouge. He’s upside down on your ceiling, burns every meal, might be immortal—and weirdly? He’s perfect.

You’ve hit rock bottom. Not the dramatic, movie kind—no, this is the quiet, pathetic kind where your roommate runs off to “find themselves” in a polycule commune and leaves you with the full rent and a fridge that smells like betrayal.

Running on three hours of sleep, gas station muffins, and a caffeine tolerance that borders on war crime, you post the most honest roommate ad you can manage:

“Please, just pay rent on time and don’t leave knives in the sink. Or summoning circles. I’m tired.”

Five minutes later, your phone pings.

“I’ve never missed rent, my knives are ceremonial, and I haven’t summoned a proper demon in decades. When do I move in? —L.V.”

You blink at your phone. You reread the message. You decide it’s probably fine.

Twenty-four hours later, Lilia Vanrouge shows up at your door.

He’s wearing a leather jacket, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, and a smile like he knows exactly how you’re going to die—and thinks it’s kind of cute.

“You must be my new roommate!” he chirps, setting down a suitcase that audibly hums.

You nod slowly, brain buffering. “Are you... bringing more stuff?”

“Oh, no,” he says, cheerfully. “Just this. And the coffin.”

“The what—”

But he’s already inside, complimenting your curtains and asking where the nearest leyline convergence is.

You stare blankly. Somewhere in the apartment, the Wi-Fi cuts out.

You have no idea what the hell you just signed up for.

But at least he promised that he does his own dishes.

It started off sweet. Really, it did.

You had late evening classes three times a week and by the time you trudged across campus toward home, the only light came from flickering streetlamps and your phone screen at 3% battery.

One night, as you packed your things into your bag, Lilia appeared beside you like a helpful poltergeist.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said cheerfully, slinging your bag over his shoulder before you could argue.

Your first reaction? Touched. Emotional. Betrayed by your own sentimentality. Because nobody had ever said anything that nice to you on this hell-washed campus. Not your professors, not your classmates, not even your overpriced coffee machine, which had begun growling whenever you approached.

You looked at him with stars in your eyes and said, “That’s… really kind. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the picture of casual coolness, if casual coolness was wearing a floor-length black cloak and bat earrings. “The darkness listens better when I’m near.”

And that was when the stars in your eyes shriveled and died.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“The darkness,” he said, like this was self-explanatory. “It whispers sometimes. And when I’m around, it’s polite about it.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Reopened it. “And… that’s supposed to be comforting?”

“It means I’ll hear if anything wants to drag you into an abyss. I can bargain with those.” He beamed at you. “Some of them owe me favors.”

You stared at the sidewalk as you walked. You were no longer sure if this was a sweet gesture or a prelude to demonic possession.

At one point, a crow landed on a lamppost and screamed. Lilia tilted his head and murmured something in a language you didn’t know, and the crow just nodded and flew away.

You weren’t sure if you should feel safer.

“Lilia,” you said cautiously, “do I need to be worried?”

He laughed, delighted. “Oh, no! You’re not a threat to the veil between realms. Not yet.”

You did not like the word yet. Not one bit.

Still… you made it home. Your front door was mysteriously unlocked (Lilia claimed the house “let him in”), the kitchen light had fixed itself, and your dying plant had perked up. So maybe walking home with your roommate wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

You just had to make peace with the fact that the shadows sometimes waved at him.

And that he waved back.

You were dying. There was no other way to describe it.

The dining table was a battlefield: open textbooks stacked like defensive walls, notes scattered like fallen soldiers, and a graveyard of empty mugs bearing silent witness to your descent into academic hell. Your eye twitched. The caffeine was doing nothing. You were 84% sure your soul had left your body three hours ago. The only thing keeping your bones upright was spite.

“I swear to every cruel god out there,” you muttered, “if I don’t pass this exam, I’m just gonna lay down in the student union and let the crushing weight of debt take me.”

From the couch—where he had been laying upside down like an actual bat for the past twenty minutes—Lilia made a thoughtful noise.

“Do you require reinforcements? A siege beast, perhaps? I have a minor distraction spell that summons a screaming goat—”

“I need silence,” you hissed, snapping your highlighter in half with the ferocity of a person pushed beyond reason.

“Oh,” he said, far too delighted. “Say no more.”

He snapped his fingers.

There was a pop and then—nothing. Utter, blissful, terrifying silence. You blinked. The world was muffled in a sparkling purple haze. It was like someone had wrapped your brain in a pillow and told all your problems to go wait outside.

You got two pages of notes done before the smell hit you.

Burnt.

Burning.

Popcorn?

You looked up just in time to see a column of smoke trailing lazily from the kitchen.

You screamed. You didn’t hear it.

Lilia waved at you cheerfully from inside the fire alarm’s muted chaos.

You were too tired to cry and too caffeinated to blink. The popcorn was ruined, the fire alarm had only just stopped shrieking, and Lilia was poking at the charred remains in the microwave like it was a curious new species.

"I thought I had it set to two minutes," he said cheerfully, as if the kitchen wasn’t filled with smoke and the smell of scorched sadness.

“You set it to twenty,” you croaked, pointing accusingly at the still-blinking numbers. “Twenty minutes, Lilia.”

“Ah. So that’s what the little zeroes were for.” He turned around, beaming like a deranged warlock. “Good news is—I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Lilia, no.”

But it was already too late. He clapped his hands once, a ripple of eldritch magic shimmered through the air, and with a flash of light and a small puff of brimstone, something appeared.

Stanley, the goat.

He stood in the middle of your scorched kitchen. Just… stood there. He had little beady eyes, unimpressed with this plane of existence. A single bell jingled around his neck like it was mocking you personally.

And then he screamed.

It was the sound of every due date you’d missed, every essay you’d written at 3 a.m., every existential panic you’d had at the grocery store over the rising price of cheese. It was a scream that echoed through your soul and possibly opened a portal to another realm for a second.

Stanley screamed again. Lilia clapped, delighted.

“He’s motivated troops into battle before,” he said proudly. “And one time, a wedding.”

You stared at the ceiling. “I am going to be arrested. They’re going to cite you as the reason and the judge will nod solemnly because they’ll get it.”

Stanley climbed onto the counter and knocked over your last mug of coffee.

Lilia looked at you with the serene calm of someone who has caused kingdoms to fall. “Would you like me to summon Stanley’s cousin? Her name is Beatrice.”

You sank to the floor. “I just wanted popcorn.”

Stanley screamed.

It starts innocently. A Tuesday. You’re behind on three assignments, your laundry smells like something died in it (possibly your GPA), and Lilia is humming in the kitchen while making (very burnt) eggs in a suspiciously perfect spiral. Nothing unusual.

Until you open your history textbook.

You're scanning for bullet points—just enough to fake engagement during tomorrow’s class—and then you see it.

The name.

Lilia Vanrouge. Underlined. Bolded. In a war tactics section titled "Unconventional Victory: The Northern Siege and the General Who Outsmarted Death."

There’s even a sketched portrait. It’s him. Smirking like he knows something you don’t. Which is probably true.

You sit there for a moment, staring at the page, then at the kitchen doorway. Then back at the page.

Then you scream.

Lilia pokes his head in. “What’s wrong? Ghost in the textbook?”

“You’re in the textbook!” you shout, holding it up like it might exorcise him.

He blinks at it, tilts his head. “Oh. That one. I told them not to use that portrait, it’s terribly outdated. My cheekbones are much sharper now.”

“YOU’RE A WAR GENERAL.”

He grins. “Was. Ages ago. The title’s more of a... dusty old accessory now.”

You pace. “I’ve been yelling at you about buying sugary cereal for weeks.”

“You called me a ‘coward of capitalism.’” He sounds fond. “It was very compelling.”

“I made you split a bag of off-brand marshmallows with me because I couldn’t afford dinner.”

He beams. “It was charming! Very wartime spirit of you.”

You throw yourself face-first into your pillow and scream until the pillow gives up.

“I didn’t think you’d care for old titles.”

“I care that you’re in a textbook!”

He sits beside you, offering the plate. “I also invented this egg spiral. There’s a footnote about it in Chapter Seven.”

You consider the egg. You consider your life.

And then you accept the plate. Because apparently you’re living with a retired war general who hoards cereal and hums lullabies in ancient dialects.

And somehow, this still isn’t the weirdest week you’ve had.

You don’t ask him seriously at first. It’s a joke—half a groan, half a petty fantasy as you drag yourself home from another night class, your arms sore from carrying too many books and your pride bruised from yet another “spirited” discussion with your favorite nemesis: Professor Drywall Brain.

“I swear to the gods, Lilia,” you mutter as you slam the door behind you, “if that man says ‘technically that isn’t historically accurate’ one more time, I’m going to scream in four different languages. Loudly. In his office. While holding a tambourine.”

Lilia, sprawled upside-down on the couch in his usual dramatic corpse pose, peeks open one eye. “Want me to come with you next time?”

You laugh. “God, imagine. You in class with me. You’d eat him alive.”

But the next time your professor interrupts you for the third time in one sentence to cite a source he co-wrote with his own ego, something in you snaps.

Lilia shows up twenty minutes early the next class.

He’s wearing:

• A sparkly lavender Hello Kitty hoodie.

• Black platform boots that make him almost legally too powerful.

• A “#1 Gamer Granddad” hat, slightly crooked.

• A notebook. A very serious notebook. Labeled in bold marker: “HUMAN RITUALS (vol. I)”

You blink. “...This isn’t what I meant when I said ‘scare him.’”

“Too much?” he asks innocently, spinning the hat backwards like this is a very niche sitcom. “I can lose the boots.”

“No. Keep them. I want them burned into his memory.”

He does sit in on class. The professor, clearly confused but trying to be professional, asks who he is.

Lilia doesn’t answer with his name. He just smiles and says, “Observer of mortal wisdom,” and opens his notebook like he’s ready to witness a natural disaster.

Every time the professor says something snide or borderline wrong, Lilia makes a show of scribbling a note with an expression of mild horror. At one point he even raises a hand—a single gloved finger, dainty as sin—and asks if “contradicting published data is part of the mortal learning experience.”

By the end of the class, your professor looks like he’s aged six years.

On the walk home, Lilia loops his arm through yours and hums. “That was very educational. I should attend more.”

“Please don’t,” you whisper, though you’re also grinning. “You’re going to get me expelled.”

“Not if I become the dean first,” he says cheerfully.

You don’t know if he’s joking. You don’t ask.

You just feel very safe walking home that night.

The day your professor emailed your grade, you were still deep in the throes of post-group-project resentment. You hadn’t slept. Your eye had developed a twitch. You’d seen God briefly while editing the final slide deck at 3AM and He told you to log off. You didn’t.

You were still thinking about it. Sitting on the kitchen floor in socks that did not match, eating cold instant ramen with a fork because all the chopsticks had mysteriously disappeared (you suspect Lilia), and rereading your group’s submission like it was a cursed tome. Because somehow, somehow, it was… good?

Like disturbingly good.

It started normal. Blah blah, feudal kingdoms, blah blah, agricultural collapse—but halfway through, it got weirdly intense. The writing shifted from standard student filler to vivid descriptions of battlefield strategy and personal loss. There were diary entries from a dying soldier. Quotes like:

“The horses screamed louder than the men.”

Who wrote that?

You didn’t write that.

Your groupmates definitely didn’t write that—one of them tried to cite Wikipedia by just linking it in the footnotes and calling it a day.

And then you saw it. On the last page, listed under "Additional Resources":

• Blood-Soaked Memoirs, Vol. II

• War and Tea: Reflections of a Veteran General

• Me (I Was There), by L.V.

You stared at the screen.

Then you turned slowly—so slowly—to face the upside-down body perched on your living room ceiling like a decorative gargoyle.

“Lilia,” you said, voice trembling, “did you write my paper?”

He flipped mid-air and landed soundlessly, mug of tea in hand, wearing his fuzzy bat slippers and a shirt that said Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Had My Potion.

“Of course I did,” he said cheerfully. “I couldn’t just let you hand in that disaster your groupmates conjured. I’d seen more structure in a battlefield charge made by drunk goblins.”

You blinked. “You used actual war stories.”

“Well, I was there."

“YOU CITED YOURSELF.”

“And they say self-reflection is dead.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to get expelled for plagiarism from a guy who fought in the Demon Rebellion of 1043.”

He patted your head. “Nonsense. I am the primary source.”

You screamed. The fire alarm went off again. Lilia casually waved away the smoke from your scorched popcorn and floated back to the ceiling.

You got an A+.

You never looked your professor in the eyes again.

The ramen’s cold. You’re sitting on the linoleum like you’ve lost all connection to chairs and dignity. Your laptop screen glows ominously from the counter, blinking with the cheerful menace of “Project Scores Available Now!” and you, a coward, have chosen denial.

It’s not dramatic. It’s survival.

You twirl a limp noodle around your fork and sigh like a Victorian widow. “If I fail this class, I’m going to live in a bog.”

From above, something shifts. A soft creak. You don’t even flinch anymore.

Lilia is upside down on your kitchen ceiling, arms crossed like a sleeping bat, hair dangling like he styled it specifically for zero gravity. His eyes are glowing just slightly in the dim light of the fridge. His entire posture says: I live here. Get used to it.

“You’ll be fine,” he says in that lilting tone of someone who has definitely hexed a registrar before.

You stare at him and jab your fork in his general direction. “Are you here to flirt with me or drink my blood?”

A beat.

“Yes,” he says, all teeth.

You shovel another bite of ramen into your mouth because honestly? Sounds great either way.

He drifts down from the ceiling a moment later, floating like an unsettling balloon and landing in a crouch beside you.

“You know,” he murmurs, peering into your bowl, “when I was in training, we had to fight actual hydras for credit. These grades mean nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumble, “I’m fighting for my life against microwave deadlines and soul-crushing group projects.”

Lilia hums thoughtfully. “Still might be harder than the hydras.”

You blink at him. “...Really?”

“No,” he says sweetly. “But I am proud of you.”

And somehow, the noodles taste a little better after that.

It’s late. The kind of late where everything is quiet, the hum of the fridge is loud, and the streetlights cast long, sleepy shadows through the kitchen window. You’re both where you usually end up—on the floor, cross-legged, surrounded by mismatched mugs and half-eaten snacks, your laptop forgotten somewhere under a throw blanket.

You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe it’s the way he brewed your favorite tea without you asking. Maybe it’s the way he always waits until your shoulders slump before he starts playing that dumb, soothing lo-fi playlist. Maybe it’s just… him.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you ask.

Lilia doesn’t answer right away. He tilts his head, as if tasting the weight of your question in the air. His expression softens—not his usual mischievous grin or teasing smirk, but something quieter. Something old.

“Because,” he says, voice low, “I once led a thousand men into war for less than a kind word.”

He looks at you then, and it feels like the air stills.

“And you give them to me freely.”

“I was never quite friend. Never quite equal. Not really.”

His voice doesn’t change, but your heart lurches anyway.

“But you—” He finally glances down at you, eyes glowing faint in the dark kitchen light. “You argue with me about cereal. You yell at me to do the dishes. You make me playlists.”

He grins, crooked and fond. “You treat me like a person.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Not even a joke. Not even a deflection.

You blink too fast. You pretend it’s dust in your eye. You laugh like it’s a silly thing to say, like your throat isn’t tight and your chest isn’t aching in that strange, warm way he always brings.

He doesn’t call you out on it. He just passes you a cookie shaped like a bat and starts humming a song you don’t know but wish you did.

You think you’re in trouble.

You also think you don’t mind.

You burst through the front door like you’ve been launched from a cannon, nearly trip on your own shoes, and absolutely yeet your bag across the living room.

Lilia, as always, is committing war crimes in the kitchen. The smoke alarm gave up trying weeks ago. Today’s offense appears to be something that was probably lasagna and is now definitely a smoldering, unidentifiable cube.

He turns, oven mitts on both hands, looking entirely unbothered. “Oh? What’s got you bouncing around like a forest sprite on sugar?”

You can’t speak. You’re too giddy, too high on disbelief and the distinct buzz of miracle. You just hold up your phone, the grades page glowing like divine scripture.

“I PASSED!” you shout, already halfway into a hop.

He blinks. “All of them?”

You nod, borderline feral. “All of them. Even Philosophy, which I wrote the final paper on the wrong philosopher. The wrong century, even!”

Lilia sets down the scorched tray. “Ah. So the blessings worked.”

You freeze. Narrow your eyes. “What blessings?”

He smiles innocently. “Who’s to say? Perhaps the stars aligned. Perhaps the registrar owes me a favor. Perhaps I made a quiet appeal to an ancient power.”

“You hexed my finals.”

“I charmed your finals.”

You don’t care. You really, really don’t care. The stress is finally gone. Your body is light, your soul is free, and for the first time since this bizarre roommate-summoning-covenant began, you feel at ease.

So you cross the room in a few strides, grin so wide it nearly splits your face, and kiss him.

It’s impulsive. Honest. Stupid. Exactly right.

He hums, surprised but pleased, and kisses you back—tasting faintly of burned tomato sauce and centuries of mischief.

You pull away breathless, blinking. “I mean—uh—thank you?”

He chuckles, touching your cheek with one (still oven-mitted) hand. “You’re welcome, dearest.”

The lasagna is absolutely inedible, but you eat it anyway.

With him, even burnt food tastes like victory.

The kitchen floor is cold, the overhead light is buzzing ominously, and there’s a suspiciously damp dish towel under your back, but you’re too tired to care. Finals are over. The semester’s been crushed beneath your heel like a can of off-brand energy drink. Lilia’s lying beside you, arms folded behind his head, legs kicked up like he’s cloud-gazing instead of staring at the slightly water-stained ceiling.

There’s a half-eaten sleeve of cookies on your chest. You’re not sure who put it there. You’ve been eating them slowly, like a grazing animal trying to forget it exists.

You sigh. He sighs louder, out of sheer competition. You elbow him, he laughs. The fridge hums like it’s sharing in the moment.

Then, because it feels right—or at least stupid in the exact right way—you turn your head and say, “Hey, Lilia. Wanna get married?”

There’s a beat. Maybe two.

“Yup,” he says, cheerful as anything. “Let’s do it. Right now? I can carve the rings. I’ve got bone.”

You blink.

He smiles.

You blink again. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence.

“Wait—bone?”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “What, you think I don’t have crafting materials?”

You stare at him. He stares right back, unblinking, until you crack up so hard the cookie sleeve falls off your chest and crumbles into sad little crumbs on the tile.

“Gods, you’re insane,” you wheeze, wiping your eyes.

He grins, fangs showing. “Only for you, spouse.”

You cover your face, but you're smiling like an idiot. Because even if he's joking—and you're not entirely sure he is—there’s a warmth in your chest that doesn’t feel like just cookie crumbs and post-finals exhaustion.

You’re doomed. You’re in love. And apparently, you’re engaged now.

Masterlist

"someone save me from this university" - me as i wrote this. (also was written very very high on caffeine and stress so i'm sorry for the extreme chaos)

[itneverendshere]

wake up in the mornin' and to your smell - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: SMUT. request: Can we pls get more parts for brothers bsf!rafe where it’s the morning after ans they did it GOOD and she’s all shy n stuff bcz duh she might act all tough but w him it’s different and he’s enjoying it sm

It was the first time you woke up with him.

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the soreness between your thighs or the warmth of the sheets twisted around your torso.

Not even the ache between your hips, which was almost overshadowed by the memory of how it got there. Just the quiet movement of his chest beside you, the peaceful rhythm of Rafe Cameron sleeping soundly in your bed.

You should’ve slipped out, wrapped yourself in the hoodie you left draped over your desk chair, and padded to the bathroom before he stirred. Maybe taken a second to fix your hair—because, of course, you’d passed out without twisting your hair up, without so much as reaching for your bonnet. 

But instead, you stayed in place, blinking up at the ceiling, hoping it would offer some kind of answer as to what you’re supposed to do next.

Because, technically, this wasn’t new.

The sneaking around, it had been happening for weeks, months, maybe. You’d had sex everywhere except a bed. His car, your car, the locker room after practice, the laundry room at a party, once against a tree at some bonfire neither of them even remembers the reason for.

But never, never in a bed, never in your dorms, never somewhere where you had to face the aftermath. Usually, once you were done, you went back to class, or to a party, or Rafe went back to practice. 

No lingering.

The first time you “slept” with him, the bench had been hard against your back, his hands bruising against your skin, the faint sound of his teammates approaching outside the door making the whole thing feel forbidden.You’d been half-dressed, your skirt rucked up, and he’d dropped his towel on the floor.

But this—waking up next to him, in sheets that still smell like him, watching the curve of his mouth as he breathed deeply in his sleep—this was new. And you didn’t know what to do with it.

You shifted slightly, meaning to turn away, and get some distance between yourself and his overheating body, but the movement made him stir.

You winced as his arm tightened around your waist instinctively, tugging you back against his chest. “Mmm, don’t do that,” his lips brushed against your shoulder.

“Do what?” you whispered back.

His palm pressed against your hip, thumb stroking over your skin in a slow ticklish pattern. “Move away from me like you’re tryna escape.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes even as your heart pounded like you were twelve all over again. “I’m not trying to escape.”

“Good,” he murmured, lips pressing softly against your shoulder again before he nuzzled into the crook of your neck like it was his second nature.

Rafe was acting like you two woke up like this all the time as if this wasn’t something you were going to overthink the second you got out of bed.

That was the thing about him, he’d always been good at making you feel like you didn’t have to think so much. 

Always knew how to tease you out of your head, and used it against you every chance he got.

Like when his hand skimmed lower, fingers grazing beneath the curve of your waist.  “How are you so pretty in the morning?”

You blinked at him. Then blinked again.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rafe laughed, unbothered, he knew how much you hated that kind of shit. Which, of course, he did. This was Rafe, and he loved saying things he knew would make you flustered.

“I’m serious. Look at you.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “My hair looks crazy.”

“So?” He didn’t agree or pretend to entertain the idea.

“So?” you scoffed, shifting to finally turn and face him properly. “I look like I got…”

“Fucked?” Rafe grinned wider. “Yeah, ‘cause I did that.”

Your jaw dropped. 

“You sore?” he asked teasing, his voice dipping in that lazy amusement that always made you want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

Sore was an understatement; it was all his fault.

“I can’t stand you,” you muttered childishly, nudging your elbow back against his ribs, but he just laughed.

All you wanted was to groan at how much you loved the sound.

As if he wasn’t already too much—too pretty, too talented, he just had to be the best you’d ever had. He knew what he was doing and dared to be hung like that too. God had favorites, and clearly, you were one of them.

“That’s a yes,” he drawled, sounding too pleased with himself.

You let out an exasperated sigh, fighting against the warmth creeping up your back. “You’re so fuckin’ annoying.”

“And yet, here I am,” he pointed out, smug as ever, and when you don’t have a comeback fast enough for the first time in your life, he chuckled again.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, burying your face in your pillow to hide the involuntary grin taking over your expression.

“Yeah?” His hand moved again, fingers slipping beneath the covers to pinch at your thigh, making you jolt slightly. “That why you were moanin’ my name last night?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh right, that was screamin’.”

You groaned, reaching back to swat at him blindly, but he just laughed again, catching your wrist before you could do any real damage.

Rafe always made it impossible. You huffed against the pillow, stubbornly avoiding his gaze even as he tugged at your wrist, pulling you back into him with that ridiculous grin you hated to love.

“Shut up,” you muttered, voice muffled against the fabric.

He pressed a third kiss to your shoulder, a little less teasing, and you hated how much you wanted to turn and kiss him back. 

“A little higher pitched, but you’re almost there.”

“Get out.”

His hand brushed up your thigh, his palm rough against your skin. “But I’m so comfortable here.”

“That makes one of us.”

Rafe just scoffed, his mouth trailing lazily up your neck until his nose nudged behind your ear. “Yeah? You debatin’ it right now?”

You hated the way he sounded, all amused like he already knew the answer. Mostly because he did. You sucked in a breath, willing your body to behave, but it was useless when his fingers kept moving, grazing over your hip in a way that made you want to melt.

You exhaled sharply, finally turning your head to glare at him. It didn’t have the effect you wanted. He was looking at you like that, all sleepy-eyed, hair sticking up at odd angles, as if he belonged in your bed. 

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, tempted to reach up, run through his hair. But that wasn’t part of the deal. There were rules to this. No overthinking. 

Rafe’s thumb skimmed up your ribs, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. His eyes flickered over your face. Then, his lips curled into that shit-eating grin that made you want to strangle him.

“Didn’t know you could bend like that.”

Nevermind, you were going to knock him out with a hockey stick.

 “Rafe.”

He just grinned wider, “How come you never told me you had that in you?"

You shoved at his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“What? Just sayin'. Damn. You been hidin' that from me?” His fingers slid lazily up your arm.“If I had known you were that flexible, I woulda put you in a headlock weeks ago.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You like it enough,” he shot back, smirking “You just mad ‘cause now I know you can do all that, and I’m gonna be expectin’ it every time.”

You smacked his arm, but that only made him chuckle, burying his face in your neck as his teeth scraped playfully over your skin.

“You’re so annoying,” you repeated the insult, trying to scoot away, but he pulled you back in, his arm locking around your waist.

“Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your jaw. “That why you were beggin’yesterday?”

You scoffed, horrified, but he was already laughing, ducking out of the way before you could slap him again, “If anyone was begging, it was you.”

His eyes lit up as he looked down at you. “Shit, you got me there. Matter of fact... might beg now too.”

“I have class in thirty,” you reminded him.

He pouted, brows furrowing like a kicked puppy. “I just need ten minutes.”

“No.”

His lips brushed against yours, voice dropping into that dangerous, coaxing drawl. “Five?”

“Rafe.”

He was already nudging your thighs apart with his, hard as rock, sliding in between—not putting in, just coating himself in your arousal and rocking a little back and forth, luring you in. Both of you moaned, loud and shameless, like sluts, and you would’ve been embarrassed if he didn’t sound just as needy as you felt.

Your brain turned to mush the second you felt him. 

“Rafe,” you warned again, but it was weak.

He groaned against your neck. “Two?”

He didn't wait for an answer—he never did. Just kept teasing, gliding his cock through your slick folds, the weight of him pressing and sliding just enough to make you squirm.

"C’mon, lemme make you feel good before class. Promise I’ll be quick."

Liar.

Rafe’s fingers dug into your hip, holding you in place while he moved, then, he hiked your leg up, throwing it over his hip like he had all the time in the world, spreading you wider so he could slide even messier, wetter, the thick head of him catching at your clit in a way that made your stomach drop to the bottom of the ocean.

You shuddered, nails digging into his bulky forearm. "You're such a fucking—"

"Yeah?" He cut you off with a lazy grin, pressing harder this time, drawing out the friction just to watch your face twist. "Finish that sentence."

You couldn't. 

“Not fair,” you murmured against his mouth, as he rolled his hips. His other hand was already trailing up, palm greedy as he squeezed a handful of your tit, thumb brushing over your nipple just to watch it pebble up. You arched into his touch, biting back a moan as he saw right through it.

He always did.

"That's what I thought," Rafe hummed, smug, dipping his head to bite at your jaw. His grip tightened, keeping you right where he wanted you, even if he knew you wouldn’t try to move away now. He nudged forward again, getting himself soaked. "So fuckin’ wet for me and I haven’t even put it in yet."

It was humiliating how easily he could wreck you, turn you into a desperate, panting mess with nothing but his cock sliding over you and that voice dripping in amusement.

He knew it, too. The smirk was still plastered on his face when he reached up, cradling your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Look at you," he murmured, lips hovering over yours, close enough to steal your breath but refusing to kiss you. 

You swallowed hard, but before you could bite back, he crashed his mouth against yours, all tongue, swallowing your moan as he rutted against you, grinding dirty, making sure you felt every inch of him.

Then he pulled back, enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours as he grinned. "Still got that class in thirty?"

You shifted, meaning to push him away, to sit up—anything that wasn’t this. But the way you arched, the way your hips tilted just right—

“Oh, shit—”

He slipped inside, easy, smooth, like your body was made for him, exactly where he was meant to be. You both froze, inhaling sharply at the sudden stretch, the obscene wetness letting him sink all the way in, with no resistance.

Rafe swore under his breath, hands gripping your hips, physically restraining himself, if he so much as twitched, it’d be over.

“The way you just—fuck.”

Your nails dug into his biceps, body pulsing around him, stomach twisting at the way he sounded, completely blindsided. He let out a shuddering breath, swallowing hard.

“You’re fuckin’ unreal.”

Your lips curled. “Might be.”

Rafe exhaled sharply, then laughed, hoarsely. “Dream girl.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

He didn’t say things like that. He flirted a shit ton, he teased, he riled you up until you were too frustrated to do anything but fall into him, but he didn’t say things that stuck. You’d overthink about it later, the words already buried deep into your brain like a splinter. 

You whimpered into his mouth, fingers flying to his hair, twisting, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groaned.

You felt everything. 

Lazy, filthy, perfect.

His lips found your jaw, then your throat, hands slipping up to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he rocked into you again. He had you right where he wanted you, and he fucking knew it. Rafe moved his hips a little faster, testing, and you both gasped at the way you clenched down around him.

He groaned, rough against your throat. "You gotta stop doin' that."

You fluttered around him on purpose.

He cursed, pulling back just enough to thrust shallowly, teasing himself through your hole. Your nails raked down his back, and he fucking shuddered, breath hot against your jaw.

His hand trailed up your side, skimming over your ribs before wrapping around your throat—not squeezing, only reminding you that he had you, that you let him have you.

"You keep clenchin' up like that, I'm gonna think you don’t really wanna go to class." His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling how it skipped beneath his touch.

You swallowed hard, heat curling in your stomach. "I don’t."

"Fuckin' knew it."

His other hand slipped under your thigh, gripping hard as he tilted your hips up, changing the angle until you chocked on your own breath, making sure you felt the thick, heady sweep of him, filling you up in a way that made your toes curl, your head falling back against the pillow.

"Right there?" Rafe teased, breathless.

You nodded, barely able to do anything but take it. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You feel so good. So warm."

He hummed, a soft, knowing sound, skimming his lips along your jawline, open-mouthed kisses, drawn-out, until his teeth scraped over your pulse.

“More," you pleaded, voice soft, almost shy. "Kiss me."

His lips parted, but instead, he exhaled sharply.

"You ask so sweet," his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. "How’m I supposed to say no to that?"

He rocked into you again, lazy and deep, kissing you like he had nowhere else to be, every inch of him pressed against you, surrounding you, smothering you in the best way. His fingers slipped between yours, tangling your hands together over your head. 

You shivered. It was too much—the way he sounded, the way he touched you, the way he was looking at you. He your shoulder, biting down gently, sucking another mark into your skin. 

"You’re gonna be late," he murmured, amused.

You let out a breathless laugh, tilting your head back, giving him more room. "Don’t care."

"Yeah?" He nudged his nose against your cheek, "That why you’re fuckin' dripping all over my cock?"

Rafe fucking ruined you.

There was no other way to put it.

You weren’t thinking, weren’t even capable of forming a single coherent thought, just a mess beneath him—babbling, body pliant as he rocked into you. You were taking every inch, stretched around him perfectly, your cunt gripping him like you never wanted to let go. And at this point, you didn’t.

“Ohhh, fuck,” you gasped, nails scraping over his broad shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Rafe watched you with blown, lazy eyes. “That all you got for me?”

He dragged himself out unhurriedly, just to push back in deeper, and your back arched, head spinning at the obscene wet sounds between your bodies, at the way you could feel every ridge, every thick vein.

“Rafe,” you whined, voice breaking. Your brain was gone, absolutely fucking fried, your mouth running on autopilot. “S’too much—feels so—”

 “Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, breath hitching as he tilted his hips, hitting that devastating spot inside you that made your thighs shake. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip bruising as he pushed your knee up to your chest, forcing himself even deeper. 

“That why you’re all quiet, huh?”

You let out a broken moan, fingers digging into his biceps. “Can’t think—fuck, can’t think when you fuck me like this.”

And fuck—fuck—you’d be embarrassed if every time he sank in, his pelvis wasn’t pressed flush against your clit, pushing against the swollen little bud right, sending shocks of pleasure straight through your body. He pushed his hips deeper, grinding against you just to watch your mouth drop open.

“That right?” he cooed, “More?”

“Yes,” you huffed, so brainless, completely under his spell. “Yes, yes, just—just wanna, please—”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe choked out, his rhythm stuttering. “You tryin’ to make me come?”

You’d never begged before, never once—not with anyone else. Sex had always been good, sure. You liked it, and enjoyed it, but you’d never been desperate for it.

Until him.

You let out the filthiest whimper, hands fisting the sheets, breath stuttering as your hips jerked up, chasing that friction, that perfect, devastating pressure. He moaned at the way you writhed against him, at the way your cunt clenched around him, pulsing, sucking him in like you never wanted him to leave. 

His head dropped into your shoulder, gripping your hips tight to keep you still as he slammed into you again, making sure to press down, his pubic bone tickling against your clit in slow, filthy circles. You cried out, nails biting into his back, desperate, mindless, your hips lifting to meet every taunting thrust.

This wasn’t fucking, it was something else entirely.

“Say it again.”

Your brows furrowed. “Say what?”

He licked your lips, smirking against your skin. “Say please.”

Heat flushed through you, an embarrassing, all-consuming need curling in your stomach. You panted, licking your swollen lips, barely able to keep your eyes open as his hands never stopped moving. Sliding up your body, tracing the dip of your waist, rolling your nipple between his fingers just to hear you whimper. 

You swallowed hard, your pride already flushed down the toilet, which never mattered when he was looking at you like that.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his tone all sweet. “You can do better than that.”

“Please,” you choked out, every ounce of shame dissolving into nothing, “Please, Rafe, don’t stop.”

He groaned, long and guttural, pulling his cock out leisurely before slamming back in, punching a moan from your throat.

“Can’t stop,” he murmured against your throat, lips worshiping your skin, tongue flicking out to taste. “Fuckin’ impossible.”

His thrusts never picked up, it was excruciating. His forehead was pressed against yours now, breath hot and heavy between you, both of you panting into the same space.

You whimpered, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling hard enough to make his eyes flutter shut for a second, jaw going slack, but then they snapped open again—blue and blown out, locked onto yours, because you knew he needed to watch you fall apart beneath him.

He tilted his head then, licking his lips as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a painfully wet kiss. His tongue swept along yours, lazily. You whined into his mouth, and he swallowed it, groaning in his throat.

He wasn’t fucking you—he was pressing into you, as deep as humanly possible.

His tongue curled around yours, sucking, licking, all spit and heat, but neither of you cared. His lips lingered against yours, before he pulled back just an inch—just enough to let a thin string of saliva stretch between your mouths.

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips, but Rafe didn’t let you escape. His hand was on your jaw instantly, forcing you to look at him.

"Nuh-uh," he murmured, his nose brushing yours, "Stay with me. Keep lookin’ at me."

His tongue flicked out, running over your swollen bottom lip, tasting the wet heat of your breath before he skimmed his teeth along it, teasing. His lips wrapped around your tongue, pulling it into his mouth, sucking. He groaned deep in his throat at the taste of you, at the way you let him, at how fucking eager you were, melting into him with a desperate little cry. Your lips were slick, your chins wet, when he finally pulled back, panting, but you were already chasing his again.

“More."

Rafe groaned, tipping your chin up with his thumb, eyes heavy-lidded as he dragged his tongue up the side of yours, before sucking it back into his mouth. He fucked into you deep, making sure you felt everything as he swallowed your whole fucking soul.

"Mmmm,” rasped against your lips, voice shaking. "You’re so fuckin’ sweet. Could do this forever."

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breathing ragged as he rocked into you, as if his only purpose in life was to keep you filled.

“God,” he murmured, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe “You feel that?”

You could only garble in response, your fingers digging into his back, pretty nails leaving crescent moons in his skin. Of course, you felt it—how could you not? Every thick inch of him dragged against that devastating spot inside you, over and over, stretching you enough to make you tremble but never giving you enough to push you over the edge. He was torturing you with how good it felt.

He hummed, his lips curling as he brushed his nose against yours. “Can’t even talk, huh?”

You tried—you really did. But all that came out was a soft, breathless squeak, your head tilting back against the pillow. Rafe caught your cheeks before you could look away again.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, his voice deep, “Wanna hear you.” He punctuated his words with another sluggish thrust, and your entire body shuddered. A high, needy sound slipped from your lips, and his pupils blew wide. “Shit, there it is.”

His hand slipped down your body, before his palm settled low on your stomach, pressing down—light at first, then firmer, right where he was inside you. Your breath hitched, the pressure making your walls flutter around him. His cock twitched in response, and he swore under his breath, hips stuttering for the first time since he started.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shaking his head. “You feel me?”

You nodded weakly, breath catching in your throat.

“That’s me,” he rasped. “Deep as I can go.”

Your entire body clenched around him, and Rafe let out a ragged moan, dropping his forehead on your chest.

“You’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he panted.

You barely had the strength to smirk, but you managed. “M-Maybe that’s the plan.”

His mouth was right there, so close, and then—his breath fanned over the swell of your breast before he latched on, tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking hard, deep. A shaky sound escaped you, fingers flying to his neck, pulling, making him groan against your skin.

"Rafe—"

He hummed, satisfied, sucking again, harder this time, his hips rolling forward in tandem with the wet pull of his mouth. You pressed yourself further into his mouth, and he could only sigh at the way you offered yourself up so easily, so desperate for more, his tongue laving over your sensitive skin before moving to the other, giving it the same attention. He licked and sucked, as he murmured against you.

“Could stay right here all fucking day,” he whispered, kissing over your breast between words, his hand slipping up to squeeze the other. "Right here—fuck—just like this."

Your thighs tightened around him, your whole body buzzing, over-sensitive, overstimulated, yet still somehow desperate for more. His tongue flicked over your nipple again before he pulled away to watch the way it pebbled under his breath.

Rafe’s hands never stopped moving or touching—tracing yearning circles over your arms, cupping your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your pebbled nipples, just because he knew how much it made you shudder. He smeared open-mouthed kisses over your chest, up your throat, tasting the sweat on your skin. His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, never fully kissing you, and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Your hands slid up his arms, over his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingers until they found their way into his hair.

You tugged for the millionth time that morning, making him grunt.

His lips feathered against your jaw, “Keep pulling like that and I won’t last.”

You couldn’t get enough, couldn’t feel enough, no matter how close he was, it still wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Let me,” you panted against his lips, licking into his mouth between words. “Wanna be on top.”

Rafe’s eyes fluttered open, lips slick and pink from sucking at your skin. His fingers flexed against your waist, jaw clenching at the need in your voice, you were already trying to move, to take control.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse, a little desperate. His hands slid down, gripping your ass as he rolled onto his back, bringing you with him.

The second you were straddling him, you let out a shaky breath, feeling how deep he was like this, how he stretched you just right, the angle hitting something devastating.

Rafe smirked, hands already running up your thighs, gripping, kneading the flesh, watching the way you trembled above him. He let his head drop back against the headboard as you ground down experimentally, testing. 

You pressed both hands against his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering against your palm. His body was burning beneath yours, and god, the way he looked—his hair disheveled from your fingers, his lips swollen, it was making you delirious.

You needed more.

You started moving, deep rolls of your hips, letting him stroke against every aching, sensitive spot inside you, making you both shudder. Rafe swore under his breath, his grip tightening as his head tipped back, jaw clenched.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groaned, his hands sliding up, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest. “Look so fuckin’ pretty riding me like this.”

You leaned down, grazing your lips over his throat, tasting his skin, feeling the way he shook as you pressed kisses down to his collarbone, licking, biting, marking him up the way he did you.

Rafe’s hands flew to your ass, gripping, rolling you deeper onto his cock, making you gasp against his skin. "You tryin' to fuckin’ ruin me?" He couldn't decide what he wanted more—your hips, your tits, your face. "’Cause it's working."

You whimpered, lifting your hips before sinking down again, making you both gasp. His eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch, shudder, every whimper.

"You feel so good," you whispered, rubbing your hands down his chest, over his abs, feeling them tense beneath your palms. "So deep, Rafe."

His breath stuttered, his hands sliding back to your waist, guiding you into a slow, lewd grind, helping you glide him against that spot that made you tremble.

"You wanna feel me in your fuckin’ stomach, huh?" His voice was a rasp, a tease, but his eyes were half-lidded, his mouth parted in awe, watching the way you moved. "Gotta have me so deep you feel me for days?"

You gasped, nails digging into his skin. "Shit—yes, yes, please—”

Rafe growled, sitting up so fast you squealed, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, your chests flush as his mouth crashed against yours. He kissed you matching the lazy intoxicating drag of his cock inside you, his hands everywhere—your back, your thighs, your face. He traced over your cheek, his thumb swiping just beneath your lip, pressing, feeling the way your mouth parted even more for him, giving him everything, his fingers slid into your hair, gripping at the roots, angling your head just right so he could dive in deeper.

He pulled back, painting against your lips, forehead pressed to yours, eyes hazy. Your thighs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, his fingers slipping between you, pressing against your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent white-hot pleasure curling up your spine.

“That’s it,” he murmured, “Know you’re close—feel you squeezin’ me.” His forehead pressed harder against yours, his breath uneven, restraint hanging by a thread. “Come on, pretty girl, wanna feel it.”

You whimpered, gasping as the tension inside you coiled impossibly tight. Every drag of his cock, every flick of his fingers, every breathy moan against your lips—it was too much. Your nails scraped down his chest, dragging red lines, but Rafe barely felt it, wholeheartedly focused on the way you were shaking, how your walls clenched around him like you were made to take him.

Your head dropped back, mouth falling open as you moaned, "Y-Yeah—oh my God—Rafe—"

Rafe groaned as he slammed up into you, chasing his own high, his movements frantic now. “Fuck—fuck—” 

Your thighs shook, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, your cunt tightening around his cock like you never wanted to let go.

"Shit—oh shit, fuckkk—" You gasped, babbling, the words barely forming as your body convulsed around him, muscles tensing and releasing with every wave of pleasure.

He felt it—the way you gushed around him, drenching him, the obscene, slick sounds making his jaw clench.

"Baby," he rasped, voice tight, "You're fuckin’ coming all over me—makin’ such a goddamn mess—”

You whined, helpless, your hips still rolling, chasing every last drop of pleasure. Your thighs were sticky, coating him all over, dripping down, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Rafe’s hands were shaking as he held you, watching the way you quivered, breathless, ruined. He thrust up once, twice—grinding deep into your overstimulated cunt, making you wail. His jaw clenched, a ragged groan ripping from his throat.

Your mouth was open, little gasps spilling out as he kept fucking up into you, chasing his own high. His thrusts were hungry, his fingers digging into your ass, keeping you exactly where he wanted you

Your body was completely overstimulated, but you didn’t stop, or couldn’t stop. You were too dizzy off the way Rafe was ruining you, how he was holding you down, forcing you to take every inch that had your mind blanking.

Your lips brushed against his ear, as you pouted, "Rafe—baby, you’re so deep—’s so much, so fucking big—" Your words slurred, just a string of filthy, broken sounds, no shame left. "You f-feel that? How I’m dripping down your cock? So messy, all over you—your fuckin’ cum, all yours—"

Rafe let out a wrecked groan, his whole body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. His head fell back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack, completely lost in it.

"Fuck," he choked, his abs flexing under your touch, "Shit, you’re—" He cut himself off with a whimper, actually fucking whimpering, because you were still talking, still feeding him filth, still pulling him deeper into that haze.

"Need you to cum—need to feel it, wanna feel you inside me—" Your voice was high, needy, almost delirious. You pressed sloppy kisses along his jaw, panting against his skin, shoving your hand into his hair, tugging. "You’re so good, fuck me so good—please, please give it to me—wanna feel you break inside me—"

Rafe cursed, the sound strangled, his hips stuttering as his whole body locked up. His eyes rolled back, his lips parting in a silent moan, almost crying from how hard he came. His cock twitched violently, pulse after pulse of hot cum spilling inside you, so much, too much, his whole body shaking, his chest heaving as he tried—and failed—to catch his breath.

His hands were still trying to hold you still, but he was weak, twitching, shaking.

You were both past the point of reason or past the point of stopping.

You kept milking him through it, dragging out every shudder, every pulse of pleasure, every last wrecked noise from his throat.

Rafe’s hands flew to your waist, trying to still you, to slow you down—but he was already spent, his face twisted in agony, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You were just as fucked out, but you couldn’t stop, not when it felt this good

You shuddered when your body finally stopped, his hands smoothing up your back, grounding you. He pressed his forehead against your cheek, breathing hard, chest still rising and falling against yours. His lips found your skin, his thumb brushing along your cheek, soothing, even though neither of you could form words yet.

His cock twitched inside you one last time, overstimulated, and a broken sigh slipped past his lips as he moved, rolling onto his side with you still wrapped around him, his cock slipping free, and you both hissed at the loss.

You felt the remnants of him between your thighs, the sticky evidence of everything you'd just done, but you didn’t care when Rafe was already tilting your head up, capturing your lips in another kiss.

"Gimme a minute," he hummed against your mouth, smirking as he kissed you again, slower this time, fingers skimming lazily down your back. "Then we're doing that again."

You exhaled a breathless laugh, already melting against him. "Yeah?"

He nipped at your bottom lip, voice thick with promise. "Yeah."

You’d worry about the pet names later.

[tender-rosiey]

yoo rose I started following you a little while ago and I really liked you. I saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask for a scenario where Nanami arrives drunk and his wife takes care of him while he talks about how he loves her I liked all your stories with my businessman <3

unsteady love — nanami kento x f!reader

a/n: so glad that you do, love! <33 hope you like this one too 🫶🫶

kento stumbles slightly into your house, catching himself against the wall before you steady him, “kento… you’re drunk.”

he blinks down at you, the usually serious expression on his face replaced by something softer, more relaxed. there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I am not drunk,” he declares, his voice slurred just enough to betray him. “I’m... just—” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. “...enlightened.”

you suppress a smile and guide him to the couch, sitting him down gently. “sure, ‘enlightened.’” you shake your head, amused. “stay put, I’ll get you some water.”

as you move to the kitchen, you hear him muttering to himself. “can’t believe I’m drunk,” he grumbles, almost like he’s scolding himself, “what kind of a husband does that?”

when you return, cup in hand, he’s sitting with his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. but when you approach, he perks up immediately, watching you with a soft, slightly dazed look.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says. his voice is quieter, more sincere, and it catches you off guard for a second. nanami isn’t exactly shy about how he feels, but this is a side of him you don’t see often.

“drink,” you instruct, handing him the water to avoid the sudden rush of emotions his words bring. he takes the glass without complaint, but even as he drinks, his eyes never leave you.

after a few sips, he sets the glass down on the table and leans back again, sighing contentedly. “you take such good care of me,” he says softly, almost to himself, “I don’t deserve you.”

you chuckle at the sudden sentimental turn. “kento, you’re acting like I’ve just saved your life. you had a few drinks. you will be okay.”

he shakes his head, looking at you with those hazy, half-lidded eyes. “it is serious. you’re always here for me. always... my constant. my…” he trails off, struggling for the right words in his drunken haze, “you make everything better. I love you.”

his words are raw, unfiltered by the usual restraint he keeps on his emotions. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it that makes your heart tighten.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer. “no, you don’t get it.” he’s more insistent now, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that’s surprising given his state. “I really love you. I think about it all the time, all—the time.”

you laugh softly, though his words tug at something deep inside you. “you can tell me all about it when you’re sober.”

he doesn’t let go, though, his grip still gentle but firm. “I mean it. you make the worst days worth it. you... you’re everything.”

a soft laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity but also aware of how much the alcohol is loosening his tongue. “I know, kento. you’ve told me before.”

nanami pouts—a rare expression that looks so out of place on his usually stoic face. “but I don’t say it enough. you deserve to hear it.”

he blinks sloppily as he stares at you before murmuring, "I need to marry you."

you let out a soft laugh and kiss his cheek, "we are married, you silly man."

in a once in a lifetime incident, your husband stares at you, eyes wide, face reddening by the second. he looks down at his feet for a few moments, then you see him hum, "that's nice."

his seriousness is almost comical given the state he’s in, and you can’t help but tease him a little. “y'know, you’re awfully chatty for someone who insisted they weren’t drunk.”

he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back again and releasing your wrist, “fine, fine. maybe I’m a little drunk. but it doesn’t change the fact that I—”

before he can finish, he shifts too quickly and almost topples off the couch. you rush to catch him, but you fall with him, and he blinks, disoriented, before breaking into a lopsided smile. “maybe a lot drunk.”

“yeah, maybe,” you say with a laugh, helping him sit back up. “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

as you help him to his feet, he leans heavily against you, his arm draped over your shoulder. you guide him down the hallway, his weight familiar but the situation still amusingly foreign.

normally, he’s the one doing the taking care of—you can’t help but relish this rare moment where the roles are reversed.

once you’ve managed to get him into bed, he pulls you down next to him, refusing to let go of your hand. his eyes, though heavy with sleep, remain fixed on you with that same soft, adoring look.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion and sincerity, “we have to go to malaysia together.”

“sure,” you smile, brushing your fingers through his hair as his eyes finally flutter shut. “goodnight, kento.”

just as you’re about to pull away, his hand tightens around yours once more, and he whispers, half-asleep, “I love you.”

his words are softer now, less dramatic than before but still brimming with emotion.

you watch him for a moment, his features relaxed in the dim light, and feel a warmth spread through your chest. this side of him—unguarded, affectionate, and a little silly—is one you cherish just as much as his usual seriousness.

as he drifts off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting his words linger in the air, “I love you too.”

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[ari-ana-bel-la]

Imagine Carlos Sainz's daughter as a girl (4/5 years old), she first met Lando and loved him but then Carlos went to Ferrari and her daughter runs away just to go see Lando at McLaren (the engineers already know her) At first she didn't like Ferrari but then Carlos's daughter became fond of Ferrari and now McLaren and Ferrari in an eternal war to see who could give Carlos's daughter more merchandise (Lando arguing his right of seniority😭)

Rosso Corsa or Papaya?

The paddock had always been a second home to Yn. Ever since she could remember, she'd been in the middle of the F1 world, running through garages, charming engineers, and curling up in her Papá’s arms during press conferences. But for most of her life—well, the three and a half years that truly mattered—her home had been the McLaren garage.

That was where her Tío Lando always had time to play, where his funny friend Max would pull faces to make her giggle, and where Zak, the nice boss, would let her sit on his desk and pretend to make very important decisions. The McLaren people adored her. They called her Mini Sainz, let her play with the wheel guns, and even gave her tiny ear protectors in papaya colors.

But now, Papá was with Ferrari.

And Yn did not understand.

Ferrari was red. Ferrari was loud. Ferrari had lots of serious people who spoke fast in a language she didn’t fully understand yet. And worst of all—Ferrari was not McLaren.

So naturally, the moment she arrived at the paddock for the new season, she ran straight past the red garage and straight into the open arms of her real home.

“TÍO LANDO!” she squealed, launching herself at the British driver.

Lando caught her mid-air, spinning her around dramatically before setting her on his hip. “My darling! What are you doing here? I thought you belonged to the red people now.”

Yn pouted, resting her head on his shoulder. “No. I don’t like the red people. I like you.”

Daniel, who had been watching with an amused grin, clutched his chest. “Oh, I might cry. That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zak approached, his ever-present grin widening. “Mini Sainz, welcome home. Have the red people treated you poorly? Do we need to steal you back?”

Yn nodded seriously. “They have no ice cream.”

A collective gasp echoed through the garage.

“No ice cream?” Daniel repeated, eyes wide with exaggerated horror. “Lando, this is unacceptable.”

Lando nodded solemnly. “We have to fix this.”

And that was how Yn ended up perched on Lando’s lap, being hand-fed ice cream like a tiny princess while Daniel performed an over-the-top puppet show with two papaya-colored stuffed animals.

Meanwhile, in the Ferrari garage, Carlos was rubbing his temples.

“Where’s Yn?” Charles asked, glancing around.

Carlos sighed, pointing toward the McLaren garage, where his daughter was currently kicking her legs happily while Lando wiped a smudge of ice cream off her cheek. “Where do you think?”

Charles frowned. “Why does she keep going there? We’re her team.”

“Not yet,” Carlos corrected. “She’s still used to McLaren.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Charles set his jaw, determined. “We’ll just have to make her love Ferrari more.”

Mattia, who had been listening from his office, walked over with a smirk. “Then we better start winning her over.”

And so, the war for Yn began.

It started small.

The Ferrari mechanics let Yn sit in Carlos’ car, letting her touch all the buttons (except the important ones) while they explained how fast her Papá could go. She was hesitant at first, but soon her tiny hands were gripping the wheel, a serious expression on her face as she pretended to drive.

Charles, the master strategist, took a different approach. He treated her like a princess, carrying her everywhere on his hip and giving her dramatic twirls when she least expected it. Yn adored it, giggling and clapping her hands whenever he spun her around.

The mechanics started playing dolls and cards with her, even going as far as painting Ferrari logos on her drawings. Mattia sealed the deal by giving her Ferrari caps, jackets, and—most importantly—sweet treats.

By the third race of the season, Yn was still running to McLaren, but now she was also allowing Charles to scoop her up and parade her around in Ferrari red.

Lando and Daniel were not pleased.

When McLaren found out about Ferrari’s tactics, they escalated.

Zak made sure she had enough papaya-colored outfits to last her a lifetime. The engineers built her a miniature steering wheel to play with. Daniel started doing magic tricks just to hear her laugh.

But it was Lando who went the furthest.

“Yn,” he said one afternoon, pulling her onto his lap, “you know I’m your godfather, right?”

Yn nodded. “S��.”

“And you know godfathers are always right?”

Another nod.

“So if I say McLaren is the best, then that means it’s true.”

Yn frowned, considering this. “But Charles said Ferrari is the best.”

Lando gasped. “He lied to you? Yn, I can’t believe this. You have to listen to your godfather.”

Yn tilted her head. “But Charles gives me twirls.”

Lando hesitated, then whispered, “I’ll give you two twirls.”

And so the war raged on.

Each week, the teams tried to outdo each other. McLaren had toys, games, and Lando’s undivided attention. Ferrari had Charles’ affection, sweet treats, and endless fun in the garage.

Carlos, meanwhile, stayed out of it entirely, watching with amusement as his daughter collected gifts and attention from both teams.

“Are you seriously just letting this happen?” Lewis asked one day as they watched the chaos unfold.

Carlos shrugged. “She’s happy. Why would I stop it?”

It all came to a head one afternoon when Lando and Charles were mid-argument over which team Yn loved more.

“She loves McLaren more,” Lando insisted, arms crossed. “She’s literally wearing a papaya hoodie right now.”

Charles huffed. “She has a Ferrari cap on. That proves she loves Ferrari more.”

“She likes McLaren more.”

“She likes Ferrari more.”

The McLaren and Ferrari garages were backing up their drivers, throwing in their own arguments, when suddenly, Carlos, who had been watching silently, let out a sharp whistle.

Everyone turned to see what had caught his attention.

Yn was walking toward them, holding someone’s hand.

It wasn’t Lando. It wasn’t Charles.

It was Toto.

And on her head sat a Mercedes cap.

The paddock went silent.

“Papá, Toto says Mercedes has a dog,” Yn announced happily. “His name is Roscoe.”

Toto, ever the businessman, smirked. “And I told her she could meet him.”

Carlos, struggling not to laugh, just nodded. “Well, that’s it then. We all lose.”

Yn, oblivious to the existential crisis happening around her, looked up at Toto. “Can we go see Roscoe now?”

Toto chuckled. “Of course, Schatz.”

And just like that, the war was over.

Mercedes had won.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. A little plot twist at the end. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧩 How to Outline Without Feeling Like You’re Dying

(a non-suffering writer’s guide to structure, sanity, and staying mildly hydrated)

Hey besties. Let’s talk outlines. Specifically: how to do them without crawling into the floorboards and screaming like a Victorian ghost.

If just hearing the word “outline” sends your brain into chaos-mode, welcome. You’re not broken, you’re just a writer whose process has been hijacked by Very Serious Advice™ that doesn’t fit you. You don’t need to build a military-grade beat sheet. You don’t need a sixteen-tab spreadsheet. You don’t need to suffer to be legitimate. You just need a structure that feels like it’s helping you, not haunting you.

So. Here’s how to outline your book without losing your soul (or all your serotonin).

—

🍓 1. Stop thinking of it as “outlining.” That word is cursed. Try “story sketch.” “Narrative roadmap.” “Planning soup.” Whatever gets your brain to chill out. The goal here is to understand your story, not architect it to death.

Outlining isn’t predicting everything. It’s just building a scaffold so your plot doesn't fall over mid-draft.

—

🧠 2. Find your plot skeleton. There are lots of plot structures floating around: 3-Act. Save the Cat. Hero’s Journey. Take what helps, ignore the rest.

If all else fails, try this dirt-simple one I use when my brain is mush:

Act I: What’s the problem?

Act II: Why can’t we fix it?

Act III: What finally makes us change?

Ending: What does that change cost?

You don’t need to fill in every detail. You just need to know what’s driving your character, what’s blocking them, and what choices will change them.

—

🛒 3. Make a “scene bucket list.” Before you start plotting in order, write down a list of scenes you know you want: key vibes, emotional beats, dramatic reveals, whatever.

These are your anchors. Even if you don’t know where they go yet, they’re proof your story already exists, it just needs connecting tissue.

Bonus: when you inevitably get stuck later, one of these might be the scene that pulls you back in.

—

🧩 4. Start with 5 key scenes. That’s it. Here’s a minimalist approach that won’t kill your momentum:

Opening (what sucks about their world?)

Catalyst (what throws them off course?)

Midpoint (what makes them confront themselves?)

Climax (what breaks or remakes them?)

Ending (what’s changed?)

Plot the spaces between those after you’ve nailed these. Think of it like nailing down corners of a poster before smoothing the rest.

You’re not “doing it wrong” if you start messy. A messy start is a start.

—

🔧 5. Use the outline to ask questions, not just answer them. Every section of your outline should provoke a question that the scene must answer.

Instead of: — “Chapter 5: Sarah finds a journal.”

Try: — “Chapter 5: What truth does Sarah find that complicates her next move?”

This makes your story active, not just a list of stuff that happens. Outlines aren’t just there to record, they’re tools for curiosity.

—

🪤 6. Beware of the Perfectionist Trap™. You will not get the entire plot perfect before you write. Don’t stall your momentum waiting for a divine lightning bolt of Clarity. You get clarity by writing.

Think of your outline as a map drawn in pencil, not ink. It’s allowed to evolve. It should evolve.

You’re not building a museum exhibit. You’re making a prototype.

—

🧼 7. Clean up after you start drafting. Here’s the secret: the first draft will teach you what the story’s actually about. You can go back and revise the outline to fit that. It’s not wasted work, it’s evolving scaffolding.

You don’t have to build the house before you live in it. You can live in the mess while you figure out where the kitchen goes.

—

🛟 8. If you’re a discovery writer, hybrid it. A lot of “pantsers” aren’t anti-outline, they’re just anti-stiff-outline. That’s fair.

Try using “signposts,” not full scenes:

Here’s a secret someone’s hiding.

Here’s the emotional breakdown scene.

Here’s a betrayal. Maybe not sure by who yet.

Let the plot breathe. Let the characters argue with your outline. That tension is where the fun happens.

—

🪴 TL;DR but emotionally: You don’t need a flawless outline to write a good book. You just need a loose net of ideas, a couple of emotional anchors, and the willingness to pivot when your story teaches you something new.

Outlines should support you, not suffocate you.

Let yourself try. Let it be imperfect. That’s where the good stuff lives.

Go forth and outline like a gently chaotic legend 🧃

— written with snacks in hand by Rin T. @ thewriteadviceforwriters 🍓🧠✍️

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

[cutehoons02]

My lollipop boy

*pairing: pervy bunny hybrid Sunghoon x popular girl

*trope: grumpy x sunshine

*synopsis: You and Sunghoon were not given the label of "girlfriend" and "boyfriend" so with him things were between a fork of toothpicks and cold live but passion and games in private. But what would happen when a rabbit hybrid gets its furrow and animal heat? For Sunghoon you were his cure but also his weakness with the arrival of heat was afraid to show his true animal nature and wanted at all costs to get away from you but would you be able to get away from him?

My lollipop girl <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

*tags: A lot of tension, Hoon is a rabbit hybrid and will have his own heat groove, dirty talk, degradation, jealousy, masturbation (m.f) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl)node, Hoon is cynical but then will become sensitive, misunderstanding, smut, sulk, statement? happy ending, pet names (princess, slut) (good boy,hoon,hoonie,bunny) +18

12.2K🐇

(English is not my native language)

You walked into the economics classroom with your usual confidence, the short skirt brushing against your thighs, the sheer stockings, and the cardigan a little too tight, revealing your curves. The orange lollipop twirled between your lips, but it wasn’t the same. Someone kept stealing your beloved strawberry and cream lollipops, and you had a strong suspicion about who the culprit might be.

Your eyes immediately found Sunghoon, relaxed as always, sitting in the third row by the window. Your Sunghoon? Since that night of "studying" in your room, filled with economics exercises and much more physical practice, things had changed between you two. But there had been no declaration, no labels. You wanted him, clear and simple. But him? You weren’t sure.

You approached his desk with your usual bold smile and sat next to him, tilting your head. "No comment today? Did you suddenly become shy?"

Sunghoon sighed, not even turning to look at you. "Maybe I’m just trying to ignore you."

You spun the lollipop stick between your fingers. "Oh, so now you’re ignoring me? Strange, I thought you liked having my attention... or rather, having me all over you."

His ears twitched slightly, a sign you hit the right spot. Finally, he looked at you, his dark eyes filled with annoyance... or maybe something else. "You’re unbearable."

"And you aren't good at lying," you retorted, bringing the lollipop to your lips with exasperating slowness. "Too bad I know exactly how much you like me."

Sunghoon stiffened for a moment, then leaned slightly toward you, lowering his voice into a sharp whisper. "You know what I like? Silence. You should try being quiet for once."

Your smile widened. "Oh, but didn’t you like my mouth when it screamed your name or moaned while you sucked me or tied me to you?"

"Tsk." Sunghoon quickly turned away, his eyes fixed on the board as the professor walked in, momentarily interrupting your game. But you had already won: the slight redness in his ears told you everything you needed to know. Sunghoon was obsessed with you, and you with him.

After another hour of explanations and exercises, you stuffed your notes into your backpack with a sigh, cracking your tired fingers. The orange lollipop hung lazily between your lips as you took one last look at your page. Just one wrong exercise. Not bad. You stole a glance at Sunghoon, but he was still bent over his notebook, his pencil gliding over the paper with almost irritating precision. The sunset light filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on his dark hair. He was so immersed in his world, focused on writing formulas with his usual impassive expression. He hadn’t even noticed you were ready to leave. You shook your head with an amused smile. How much of a nerd can he be? You turned towards the door, ready to leave, when the professor's voice echoed in the room.

The professor entered the classroom, tapping the register a couple of times on the desk to get everyone's attention.

-In a few days, there will be the midterm exam,- he announced, scanning the students with his gaze. -I expect a lot from you. Over the weekend, I’ll send you some practice exams to complete, even in pairs, to help you prepare.-

As he spoke, you slightly turned your head, the orange lollipop sliding between your lips as you watched Sunghoon. He gripped the pencil between his fingers with an almost too-tight hold, but his face seemed impassive and focused as he listened to the professor.

And that was exactly what bothered you. The way he seemed perfectly capable of paying attention to others, of interacting normally with anyone except you. With you, though, in public, he appeared distant, almost cold, and he loved teasing you or driving you crazy with just a look. The thought that maybe he was embarrassed by you drove you mad. Or that he was afraid of showing any kind of feelings towards you. Yet, you knew it wasn’t like that when you were alone.

When his claws planted themselves on your skin with desire, when his tongue explored every inch of your body with greed when he sucked your skin to claim you from the smell that the other hybrids felt when he reversed his seed into your poor pussy.

So what was holding him back?

You drove away the thought and we focused on the exercises. When you finished, you had only one in four wrong. Not bad, maybe Sunghoon was not so bad as a tutor...

The professor walked past your desk and bent down slightly to check on your work. -Here,- he pointed to the spot where you had made a mistake, with a barely hinted smile.

Sunghoon turned slightly to listen, but his eyes didn’t stay fixed on the exercise.

He saw, he saw the professor’s gaze that never left your body, he saw how his eyes lingered on the curve of your chest, accentuated by the tight cardigan. How they slid down your legs, covered only by the thin, sheer stockings. How they stopped on your face, lingering on your lips, slightly swollen and tinted with the sugary gloss from your ever-present lollipop.

And his mind inevitably went back to a few nights ago.

When that face was pressed between his thighs, your lips were swollen with pleasure as you moaned his name, while he sucked and pumped his long fingers into you. When your tongue, which had been playing with the lollipop, traced sinful lines along his stomach. A strange unease twisted in his stomach.

-If you’d like, you can stop by my office this weekend,- the professor said, with a smile that was just a little too polite. -Many students do it to improve. I could help you prepare for the exam.-

You looked up, surprised by the offer, while Sunghoon felt his rabbit-like ears twitch slightly from irritation. His instincts screamed. That bastard was staring at you too much.

Without paying him much mind, you smiled politely. “Oh, thank you, professor, I’ll think about it.” -Do,- he replied.

-I might have some useful advice for you.-

Sunghoon gripped his pencil harder, feeling a slight crack in the wood as it splintered. He could tell with just one look when someone wanted something, and that man didn’t just want to teach you economics; he wanted to touch you, possess you—and that didn’t sit well with Sunghoon, because the only man who could touch you, kiss you, possess you, mark you, and tie you up was him.

You, of course, noticed his reaction and didn’t miss the chance to tease him. You leaned slightly toward him, your warm breath brushing against his skin.

“Oh? Is someone jealous?” you whispered with a mischievous smile. Sunghoon shot you a cold glance.

“Stop talking nonsense.” His voice was low, tense. But you knew. You knew very well that behind that impassive facade, his hybrid instincts were writhing. It was taunting him. Telling him someone else was trying to invade his territory, and you loved it.

-Y/n.- You stopped abruptly, turning just slightly. The professor was still seated at his desk, an overly smug smile on his lips. He motioned for you to come closer. With a shrug, you walked over slowly, swaying your hips just a bit. The professor’s gaze followed every movement, lingering a little too much on your legs. Sunghoon, who was about to turn the page, felt a shiver run down his spine. His bunny ears perked up imperceptibly. He didn’t need to hear the conversation to understand what was happening. -So, have you thought about my proposal?- the professor asked in a tone that was a bit too relaxed. -Private lessons would be really helpful for you. You could come to my office this weekend. You know, many students do it to improve.-

Sunghoon felt something tighten inside him. Is that bastard really trying? The pencil he was holding cracked under the pressure of his fingers. His hybrid instincts hit him like a hot blade in the stomach. He already knew what you were about to do. You were about to accept, just to make him jealous. Just to see how far you could push it before he exploded. And damn, it always worked. He shot up from his seat, determined to leave the classroom and ignore the scene, trying to suppress the animalistic part of him telling him to wipe that smug smile off the professor’s face. But then he felt a warm touch on his skin. Your hand. You grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around his wrist in a firm grip. "Thanks, professor," you said with an almost innocent smile. "But I already have an excellent tutor as a study partner." The professor raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. -Oh, really? Who’s that?- You didn’t look away, and Sunghoon felt your warmth spread along his arm as you gently pulled him toward you. "Him." The silence that fell in the classroom was almost deafening. Sunghoon froze, his mouth slightly agape in shock. Wait… what? His eyes turned to you, searching for any hint of teasing, but all he found was your usual cheeky grin. The professor stared at you for a few seconds, then turned his gaze to Sunghoon, as if sizing him up. -Him, huh?- Sunghoon clenched his jaw, feeling a sudden wave of pride mixed with frustration. Damn, this girl… She didn’t let anyone walk all over her. She didn’t need him to push the professor away, but she still dragged him into it. And not only that. She’d said he was the one who helped her understand the exercises. She’d said it was thanks to him that she was improving, and that feeling inside him—that strange, warm, irritating feeling—hit him all of a sudden.

Y/n was his? His tail shifted restlessly behind him, while his cheeks heated up slightly. No. Wait. They weren’t together. They’d never put a label on what was between them, yet the thought of someone else getting their hands on you made his jaw tighten. You were looking at him with a triumphant grin as if you’d just won a silent battle. Sunghoon sighed, looking away. "Do whatever you want," he muttered, but you didn’t miss the way the blush on his cheeks had become more noticeable. And you loved it.

As you left the classroom, Sunghoon walked ahead of you with his usual quick, determined pace. His long legs allowed him to put distance between you effortlessly, as if he were trying to escape from something… or someone. You bit your lip, watching his tail. It wouldn’t stop wagging. A nervous tic that betrayed his usual impassive demeanor. That little detail made you smile.

You quickened your pace, trying to catch up. "Hoon." No response. "Hoonie," you sing-songed in a sweeter tone, amused by the way his shoulders tensed. You were driving him crazy, and you knew it. "Are you jealous, by any chance?" you asked with feigned innocence, tilting your head.

He suddenly stopped, and you didn’t have time to slow down, bumping lightly into his chest. The scent of his skin, mixed with something more wild and instinctual, immediately enveloped you. The tension in his body was palpable. His bunny ears trembled, his jaw clenched.

"I’m losing my mind." His voice was low, rough. You looked up at him, batting your lashes with an innocent expression. "Because of the exam?" Sunghoon let out a quiet huff, as if he were struggling with himself.

Then, without a word, he grabbed your wrist. His touch was burning, his palm wrapping around your skin in a firm grip.

"Hoon, where are you taking me?" you giggled, but he kept walking, ignoring your playful tone.

He dragged you through the empty hallways, the last rays of sunset filtering through the windows. Every step he took was heavy, every breath deeper, more controlled. But he wouldn’t hold back for long.

He turned a corner and pushed open a door, pulling you into an empty classroom. Only a few streaks of sunlight illuminated the space, casting golden shadows on the floor. Sunghoon shut the door behind him with a sharp thud.

"Sit down."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So bossy today…" He didn’t reply. Running a hand through his hair, he messed it up, looking like a caged predator. His ears twitched nervously, and his tail flicked the air in slow, agitated swipes.

You smiled. Leaning your elbows on the table, you watched him with amusement, letting the lollipop slide lazily between your lips. "If you wanted to be alone with me, you could’ve just asked, you know?"

Sunghoon froze. His dark eyes locked onto yours, nostrils flaring slightly. Three steps, and he was right in front of you. His large hands cupped your face with a firmness that made you hold your breath. He forced you to look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavier.

"I can’t take it anymore." His voice was deeper, more animalistic. His nails barely grazed your skin, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. He was fighting his instincts, battling something restless inside him.

"First, it was just the guys at school, and that already drove me insane. But now, forty-year-olds too?" His tail flicked again.

"You think it’s funny to provoke me like this?" he hissed, his lips almost brushing yours as he spoke. You smiled, running your thumbs over his knuckles. "It’s cute seeing you jealous, you know?"

Sunghoon let out a low growl, his ears flattening back. His whole body vibrated with tension. He was giving you control, even though he didn’t want to and you knew it.

"Hoon," you whispered softly, your fingers gliding down to his wrist, squeezing just slightly. "Do you need a reminder of who I belong to?"

He held his breath. His eyes darkened with something deeper, something raw. He swallowed hard, his body instinctively moving even closer to yours. Then, he nodded, his tail wagged faster. You smirked. "Good answer."

The tension in the air was dense, charged with something primordial. Sunghoon was stiff in your hands, his breathing quickened as his fingers traced paths under your cardigan, touching you with a delicacy that contrasted with his firm grip on your thighs. But you weren't going to let him take control. You lured him to you, resting his lips on his, kissing him with the confidence of those who knew exactly what he wanted. Sunghoon grunted between the kiss, his tongue explored yours with growing hunger. "Open your legs," he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse and authoritarian.

A shudder ran through your back, but not for the command—for the idea of completely turning the situation around. And yet, you indulged him. You opened up for him, giving him the place between your legs as you continued to kiss each other, savoring each other with slowness and despair at the same time. His lips moved along your jaw, sucking and licking fervently, then went down to your neck. The warmth of his mouth made you moan softly, and his grip on your thighs tightened. He was too sure of himself it was time to put him back in his place. You smiled between a heavy breath and, with a firm gesture, you took off his sweatshirt, then his shirt.

His chest twitched when your fingers slid over his candid skin, the contrast with the dark shadows of the sunset made him almost ethereal. You kissed him slowly, walking along the line of his sternum with your tongue. "You are beautiful, Hoonie," you whispered against his skin, feeling his abdomen quivering under your lips. Sunghoon clenched his teeth, but could not hold back a gasp when your hands stroked his hips. "Oh? Did I just hear you stutter?" you looked up, the mischievous smile that you knew him all too well painted on your lips. Redness spread to the cheeks, the ears bent back. "Shut up." You laughed softly, running a finger along his chest, tracing lazy circles around his nipples. "Come on, Hoonie, you're so cute when you lose control."

Your voice was a sweet poison, you looked at him with an amused air as he desperately tried to maintain some dignity. Another kiss, this time lower. Sunghoon stiffened when your lips came close to his navel, his tail convulsively moved behind him. "P-princess, we are in public." You looked up, tilting your head with an all too innocent air. "It was you who brought me into this room, not me," you reminded him, the sweet but poisonous tone Sunghoon swallowed heavily.

Your fingers slid down the waistband of his pants, playing with the zipper with maddening slowness. "What is it, Hoon? Are you nervous?" He bit his lip, avoiding your gaze, a little disaster. The cynical and distant nerd, the one who always looked at you with superiority, with dismissive sarcasm, was now nothing more than a guy trembling under your touch. A loser you could have done anything to, Sunghoon's breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling with force as you looked down on him with a smug smile. He seemed completely at the mercy of you, your hands, your lips, your poisonously sweet voice.

"Oh, Hoonie," you sighed, fingers playing with the zipper of his jeans. "You're so nervous now, and yet a little while ago you were trying to command me. What happened to all that security, huh?" He swallowed, the blush on his cheeks noticeable even in the shadow of the sunset. His eyes drooped for a moment, avoiding your gaze as if he were ashamed, but his body betrayed him: his tail flinched non-stop, his ears bent back, and the heat he emanated was stronger and stronger. You laughed quietly.

"You're a mess, Sunghoon," you whispered, your mouth barely touching his navel. "All cold and cynical in public… but look how you shrink when you're with me." Sunghoon bit his lip, holding back a little groan when your fingernails grazed the sensitive skin of his side. "Y-n /princess …" his voice trembled slightly, and this made you smile even more. "What is it? Does the truth bother you?" you tilted your head, your hands still on his belt. "Should I remind you who's in charge right now between the two of us?"

Sunghoon blinked, trying to recover, but his instincts were betraying him, a shiver ran through him, his breathing became heavier, and something inside him was changing. It was a creeping warmth, something primal that moved inside his chest, in his belly, and made him feel unstable, and vulnerable. He had always been so rational, so controlled, but now, with you looking at him with those amused eyes, with your voice humiliating him without the slightest effort… He was completely at the mercy of you and the worst was that he liked it.

"Look how you're shaking," you whispered, your fingers grazed the skin of his abdomen, tracing slow circles on his warm skin. "You're not really used to being under, huh, Sunghoon?" He clenched his fists to his sides, and his bunny ears drooped even more it was humiliating how much his body reacted to you so easily and you weren't letting him get away. Your mouth slowly rose up along his chest, depositing barely hinted kisses, letting your warm breath tickle his skin. "But you know what I like best? "you whispered against his ear, gently nibbling at his lobe. " That for all your tough-guy attitude, in the end you're just a desperate bunny who can't wait to be touched, to be commanded, and to simply be a bunny who pretends to be cold and a nice guy but who has repressed sexual instincts."

Sunghoon shuddered violently. His tail snapped behind him, his breath snapped and that heat inside him … was getting unbearable. And he had only one, the only solution. You, The tension in the room was palpable. The sunset cast long shadows on the floor, the golden light refracted on Sunghoon's bare skin, accentuating his every line, and every muscle contraction as he desperately tried to maintain a modicum of control over himself. But it was not easy. Not with you in front of him, with that mischievous smirk on his lips, with your light but devastating touch that made him tremble. You could feel its length contracted under the fabric of the boxer His tail moved erratically behind him, an obvious sign of the turmoil within himself.

You bit your lip, an amused look as you ran your fingers down the taut abdomen, then further down, barely touching the fabric that concealed her obvious excitement. "Not even in your worst dirty dreams will you think of tying me in a shabby university room, huh, bunny?"

you provoked him, letting the tip of your finger trace the shape of his erection over the stretched tissue. Sunghoon clenched his jaw, his gaze grew darker. "Stop it,Y/n," he growled, his tone authoritarian, but the effect was almost undone by the way his hips quivered at your touch. You laughed quietly, amused by her desperate struggle against herself. "Oh, so now you're being tough?" you tilted your head, slowly licking your lips while, without warning, lowering his boxer.

Its length bounced against his sculpted abdomen, and for a moment Sunghoon exhaled sharply, his hands clasping to the sides of the table behind him. His eyes shone with a mixture of defiance and despair. "You're a nightmare, you know?" he mumbled, trying to recover, but his voice was more hoarse, more hungry. You smiled, slowly sliding a finger along her length, observing with satisfaction the way her abs contracted under your touch. "A nightmare? And yet you are the one moaning for me already," you whispered in his ear, pressing your hand on his hot, pulsating skin. Sunghoon grunted, closing his eyes for a second. "You're over-dressed," he growled, his voice charged with frustration. "I want to hear you." The authoritarian tone made you smile even more. "Oh? And since when do you have the right to order something from me?" you asked him, but still, with maddening slowness, you took off your cardigan and then your blouse, leaving only your lace bralette on. Sunghoon held his breath. His eyes glided greedily over you, the blush on his cheeks became more intense as his tail trembled. "You are beautiful," he confessed, almost unwillingly, as if those words had escaped him. You laughed quietly. "I know." Then, with an almost cruel sweetness, you bent down and brushed the tip of its length with a light, almost innocent kiss. Sunghoon gasped, his hands clenched to the edges of the table as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. "Princess— " his voice broke when your hand squeezed slightly around him, running your thumb over the already damp tip of pearly liquid. "What was that sound, Hoonie?" you provoked him, the tone sweet and poisonous. "It just sounded like a groan…" He clenched his teeth, but his body betrayed him. His breath had become heavier, his gaze was lost between desire and humiliation. "I want to fill you," he confessed in a desperate whisper, his voice loaded with need, his animal instincts out of control. "Want—" Slap. Not strong, just a small blow on his inner thigh, enough to make him snap open his eyes and look at you with surprise. "Oh, my bunny," you sighed with a satisfied smile. "I already told you, didn't I? You'll fill me up and knot me only in my room … or yours."

Sunghoon nodded mechanically … until he processed the last part of the sentence. "No," he growled, the blush on his cheeks noticeable. You raised an eyebrow. "No?" "Not in my room." You bit your lip to hold back a laugh. "Why? Too ashamed to take me there? Or are you afraid I'll find out your dirty little secrets, Hoonie? Or are you afraid that I will invade your hybrid space?" Sunghoon grunted, looking at you with hatred and desire at the same time.

You are his damnation, you are his darkest need and, despite everything, you are the only one who could ever dominate him like this. You smiled with your usual mischievous look, your fingers playing with him almost absent-mindedly as if everything you were doing was a recent pastime. But Sunghoon could not pretend that for him it was the same. His breathing was heavy, his jaw clenched as he desperately tried to maintain control.

"Do you want to come, Hoonie?" you whispered, the tone sweet and poisonous. He nodded without even thinking, his bunny ears bent back, the blush on his cheeks now evident. You laughed slowly, biting your lip to hold back the satisfaction. "Then answer my economics questions." Sunghoon blinked, for a moment he looked confused. "C-what?" "I told you." Your grip just got tighter on his pinkish, veiny cock, making him gasp and leaving a choked moan on his lips. "If you want some relief, prove to me that you're really that nerd pretending to be in class." He glanced at you full of frustration, but his tail kept shaking behind him. "You are-you are a nightmare." "I know," you laughed, then, without giving him time to retort, you looked at him with a defiant smile. "So … let's get started. What is the formula for calculating the total profit?" Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, trying to concentrate. "R - total revenues minus total costs." A light kiss on his hot skin was his reward, but soon after you tightened your grip, making him quiver, and pumped his cock into your hands to feel him gritting his teeth from pleasure but also from annoyance. "good boy, bunny," he whispered against his abdomen.

"Don't call me that," he growled, but his tone lacked mordant, too distracted by the feeling of your hands on him. "Mmh, we'll see," you laughed. "Second question: what is the break-even point?" Sunghoon clung to the edge of the table, his eyes trying to stay shiny. "It's - it's the point where total revenues and total costs equalize, so there's no profit or loss." Another kiss on his cock, this time slower, as you run your tongue over his skin and twirled your tongue in his cock and then sucked it lightly, leaving a warm, moist trail that made him arch his back. "baby… " he growled, his hand clasped around your side as if he wanted to stop you, but at the same time did not dare. You looked at him with bright eyes. "Third question, Hooni" He swallowed, wheezing. "I'm going to" "Not yet." You threw a dangerous look at him, then, unhurriedly, unfastened your bralette, letting the cloth fall to the ground without any hesitation. Sunghoon froze, his gaze glued to you, as your swollen breasts ribbed and then laughed softly, in that low, slightly mocking tone he used when trying to regain control.

"Are you trying to distract me?" You tilted your head with a sweet smile. "Distract you? But if you're the one moaning like a desperate bunny in heat for my touch." The blush on his cheeks became even more intense, but instead of fighting back, he did something you didn't expect. His hands grabbed you by the hips more firmly and, before you could react, you found yourself lying on the bench with him on top of you and his cock ribbing slightly. "Keep your breasts slightly tight I want to fuck you those beautiful tits," said Sunghoon sighing softly, you looked at him with your eyes drooping and cupped your breasts and held him slightly open and Hoon's eyes were ajar as he slid his huge cock between your breasts, his breath trembling as the heat increased. "Who is the desperate one now?" he whispered with a defiant grin, the same one that drove you crazy in class when he pretended to be unattainable. You looked up, slowly licking your lips. "Oh, so you want to lead now, Hoonie?"

He grunted quietly, his control now thin as a silk thread. In the classroom, you could hear only your moans and choked breaths and the slimy noise of his cock rubbing around your breasts, you had never seen this version of Hoon and after a couple of thrusts as he touched your breasts with one hand and the other leaned to slide his cock between your breasts with a broken breath, he let go completely, his hands trembled as he clutched you, his body crossed with chills as pleasure overwhelmed him. A slimy substance of sperm began to trickle around your breasts until it reached your navel and you groaned at the sight you were full of filaments of cum; for a moment, the only sound in the room was his heavy breathing, the frantic beating of his heart against your chest. But then, as he tried to recover, something inside him became agitated. It was a deep warmth, something visceral and it hadn't passed yet. He stiffened slightly, his ears moved restlessly, and his tail waved uncontrollably. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"All right, Hoonie? You still seem agitated." He swallowed, the redness did not leave his face. "…I don't know," he admitted softly. For the first time, there was a veil of uncertainty in his expression. As if something was changing inside him. And the fear of what would come next began to make its way into his mind.

Sunghoon dressed in haste, his body still tense, his hands moving in a nervous rush as he buttoned up the jeans. His breathing was heavy, his face still reddened, yet his eyes had veiled with something darker. He approached you in silence, took you by the wrists with a delicacy that you did not expect, and with quick and precise gestures began to clothe you. The cardigan on the shoulders, the blouse buttons closed with almost obsessive care, the fingers that barely lingered on your skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail before…leaving.

It was weird, after everything that had happened between you, after the way he had let himself go—which he never did now seemed to want to erase all traces of that moment. And you couldn't understand it. When he turned to leave, you grabbed him by the wrist. The abnormal heat of his skin made you wince.

"Sunghoon." He froze but did not turn around. "Are you okay?" you asked him, trying to cross his gaze. His breath grew deeper for a moment. Then, without too much emphasis, he broke free from your grip with a slow but firm movement. "I'm fine," he replied flatly. You watched him carefully. "No, you are not." He finally turned around, his rabbit ears slightly lowered, a sign that something was wrong inside him. But his face… his face was deadpan. There was no trace of the vulnerability you had seen just before, of the guy you had in your hands and that you had brought to the limit. Just the usual Sunghoon: cynical, distant. "You wouldn't understand," he said in a low voice. You stiffen. "And why not?" "Because you are only a human." He said it with a coldness that struck you like a slap. You stared at him, your arms lowering at your sides. "So what?" "So you shouldn't be here," he continued, his voice unhesitatingly. "What happened… was a mistake." His words hit you right in the stomach, making you short of breath for a second.

A mistake? Your throat tightened. You looked him straight in the eye, looking for any sign that he was lying. Any little hesitation, any crack in his ice mask. But there was nothing, only detachment, only coldness. "Sunghoon," you muttered, trying to figure out what the hell was going through his mind. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in an almost frustrated gesture. "A hybrid like me needs a true companion. Not a human who likes to tease him." His every word was a blade that sank into your chest. You felt like an idiot, you felt used, and the anger began to boil inside you. "Bullshit," you hissed, stepping towards him. Sunghoon did not move. "Jungwon and Jake stayed with human girls! I don't think they're getting all this fucking paranoid!" "They're not rabbits," he replied, his tone frosty. This time you were the one blocking, Sunghoon looked down for a second, then raised him with an expression that gave you chills. He was calm, too calm. "You don't understand, Y/n, and you will never understand." Your jaw clenched if he wanted to play that game, then you would too. You straightened, crossing your arms.

"So what do you want to do, Sunghoon? Escape?" He didn't answer right away. He looked at you for a few seconds, then tilted his head slightly. "Exactly." And with that word, without another hesitation, he turned and left the room. Leaving you there, with your heart beating painfully in your chest and the feeling that you have been pushed out of her world with a brutality you did not expect.

The chair next to yours was empty.

Again.

It had been over a week since Sunghoon had decided to cut you out of his life, and his silence was eating away at you more than you ever wanted to admit. He didn’t spare you a glance, not a nod, not even the slightest hesitation in his movements when he walked past you as if you were just another stranger.

And it was driving you insane. But not just with anger—also with sadness.

You had never cried over a boy. Never. And yet, there was a weight in your chest that wouldn’t go away, a lump in your throat that grew every time you saw him ignoring you with that impassive expression of his.

And you were tired of feeling this way.

That’s why, when you went to the convenience store to buy lollipops and found all your favorite flavors—strawberries and cream, no exceptions—gone, a sharp pang of irritation shot through you.

Because you knew exactly who had been buying them up until now, who had taken the trouble to make them disappear just to see you annoyed, to watch you bite your lip in frustration while you sucked on the orange or watermelon ones with a pout.

Sunghoon.

Bastard.

If he wanted to ignore you, if he wanted to shut you out, then why did he keep creeping into your mind? Why did he keep reminding you that beneath that cold, cynical mask of his, he was still the boy who loved to tease you, the one who had made you his so many times, the one who had let himself go in your hands with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone else?

You hated him.

You hated him because, despite everything, your heart still beat faster whenever you saw him.

The economics exam had gone great.

A beautiful 88 stood next to your name on the results board, and even though you would have preferred a higher score, you knew you had Sunghoon to thank. He was an exceptional tutor—you knew that well—and his method had worked perfectly.

Then, your gaze drifted upward to the highest grade in the class.

100. And next to that number, as always, was his name. Sunghoon Park.

No surprise there—he had always been perfect in his subjects, always meticulous, always one step ahead of everyone.

And yet, when you turned to look for him in the crowd, you didn’t find him. Strange. Sunghoon was always the first to check the exam results, the first to line up at the board, the first to gauge the class’s performance.

But that morning, his spot remained empty, and for the first time, an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach.

Sunghoon hadn’t shown up for two whole weeks—not that you were counting the days. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But it was impossible not to notice. His desk was always empty, his presence had become an overwhelming absence, and you… you were worried.

Not that you would ever admit it, not after everything he had said to you. If he wanted to shut you out of his life, then you would do the same.

Or at least, you would try.

You were about to leave the classroom when the professor gestured for you to come closer.

-Congratulations on the test, Y/N. Excellent work.-

You smiled, though the weight of your thoughts made it hard to feel genuinely happy. “Thank you, professor.”

Then, you saw him pull out another sheet—the exam results of Sunghoon.

-Have you seen him lately?- the professor asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t admit that Sunghoon had been avoiding you like the plague and that you had no idea what had happened to him.

So, you lied.

“He’s sick,” you said as naturally as possible. “A bad flu… high fever, nausea, stomach issues…” You were making up the worst excuses, but it didn’t matter.

The professor nodded. -I see. Could you give him his test when you see him?-

Your eyes widened for a moment. Did it really have to be you? You hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Of course…”

You picked up the paper with a frown. His name was written at the top in that perfect handwriting of his—the same handwriting that had helped you understand difficult concepts, the one you knew so well. And it was while staring at his test that you noticed an orange-haired figure nearby.

Sunoo. You walked over and greeted him in your usual cheerful tone, even though he looked slightly uneasy.

“Hey, Sunoo! Do you know where Sunghoon is?”

His expression turned cautious. ‘He’s… sick.’

The exact same response you had given the professor, but something in his tone was off.

You tilted your head. “Sick how? Is it just the flu?”

Sunoo hesitated, biting his lip before letting out a sigh. ‘You should take it to him yourself.’

Your eyes widened. “What? Why?”

‘Because it’s better if you see him in person.’

His words only confused you further. What was going on with Sunghoon? And why was Sunoo being so evasive?

But by now, you knew only one thing—you had to go see him.

You were lying on your bed, a strawberries-and-cream lollipop between your lips, your phone open to your chat with Sunghoon. You had typed and deleted your message at least ten times.

You had his economics test, and despite the way he had shut you out of his life, you couldn’t stop worrying. You bit your lip, unsure whether to send something straightforward or teasing. In the end, with an exasperated sigh, you typed:

“Hey, Park Sunghoon (🐇👿), I have your economics test. Want me to bring it over?”

You hit send before you could change your mind. Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“NO.”

You froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. No? Just no?

That test had a perfect score—just as you’d expected from him—and he didn’t even care to get it back? His stubbornness and cold demeanor drove you insane, as if nothing had happened the last time you saw each other.

Clutching the paper in your hand, you marched out of your room and headed straight for his door. You didn’t need his permission.

Once there, you lowered your gaze and slid the test under the small gap beneath the door, along with a little handwritten note:

“Congrats on the 100, genius. Too busy playing sick to brag about it? Or has the little bunny decided to become a hermit? What a waste of beauty and brains. Oh, by the way, be careful… if you keep hiding in there, you might end up even paler than you already are. Go get some air, idiot.”

You straightened up, satisfied, ready to turn and head back to your room—when your phone vibrated again.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“Go away. You stink.”

You stopped in your tracks. You stink?

That damn rabbit! Your eyes widened, and you felt the blood in your veins boil. You clenched your phone, gritting your teeth.

If he wanted to play dirty, fine.

Leaning closer to the door, you lowered your voice into a venomous whisper, sure he would hear you.

“Funny. Last time you sniffed me, you seemed pretty into my scent…”

You slipped the note under the door and crossed your arms, waiting for his reaction.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“Maybe I need a new nose.”

You huffed, biting your lip to hold back a smile. Even if he was being cold and distant, at least he was responding. That meant you weren’t completely irrelevant to him.

Deciding to push further, you let a bit of your concern slip through—though, of course, disguised as teasing.

“Park Sunghoon, are you actually sick, or are you just being an emo bunny?”

Another message came almost instantly.

Sunghoon (🐇👿):

“No.”

No? You narrowed your eyes. That was the second time he had answered like that, and this time, it didn’t seem like he was just trying to push you away.

Without thinking, you called his number. The dial tone rang once, twice—then he picked up.

Your heart skipped a beat.

It had been two weeks since you’d last heard his voice.

“What do you want, Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, slightly strained.

“What do I want? What do I want? You’ve been missing for two weeks, and the only thing you can say to me is ‘what do you want’?” You huffed, irritated—but deep down, relief washed over you at the sound of him actually speaking to you.

From the other end of the line, you heard the rustling of blankets and a sigh.

“Tsk. You’re always so annoying.” You smiled slightly.

“And you’re always an idiot.” A moment of silence. Then, a sudden shift, a barely audible inhale.

“Y/N, leave.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are to give me orders?”

“I’m telling you to get away from my door.”

“And why would I do that?”

Another pause. Then his voice dropped, almost as if speaking was difficult for him.

“Because I can smell you too much.”

You froze. Then, a sly smile crept onto your lips.

“Oh?” Sunghoon let out a sharp exhale on the other end of the line, already sensing where this was going.

“Don’t start.”

“Too late.” You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle. “Sunghoon… are you in heat?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You could practically see him on the other side of the phone—jaw clenched, ears twitching slightly with embarrassment and irritation.

“None of your business.”

You burst out laughing, delighted.

“Oh my god, I hit the mark! So it’s true!”

“Y/N—”

“You know, I did some research… and your behavior matches exactly with that of a bunny in heat.”

There was a dull thud, like he had just slammed his head against his pillow or mattress in frustration.

“Stop reading those ridiculous blogs and go study economics or something useful instead of wasting your time on stupid theories about rabbits.”

“Oh, so they’re stupid theories? Then why are you still avoiding leaving your room?”

The prolonged silence on the other end was all the confirmation you needed.

Sunghoon was in trouble. And no matter how much he wanted to hide it, you had figured it out.

The line crackled slightly before he spoke again.

“What the hell do you want now?” His voice was flat, cold—but beneath that forced composure, there was something else. Something sharp, on the verge of breaking.

You bit your lip, the mischievous smile already playing on your mouth.

“You know, today I read an interesting blog about hybrids in heat.”

From the other side of the door, inside his room, you heard the faintest shift in his breathing.

“Tsk. You shouldn’t stick your nose into things like that.”

“Oh, but it was so fascinating,” you continued, letting your voice drop just slightly, slipping into a whisper almost too intimate. “They talked about how hybrids in heat become… obsessed. How their bodies burn up, how the knot—”

“Y/N.” His tone was a warning, but the fact that he hadn’t hung up said everything.

“How they want to fill their partner over and over, even if they can’t actually breed her.” You leaned against his door, imagining him on the other side, probably running a hand through his hair, struggling to maintain control. “How it’s not just physical desire but mental. The need to mark, to claim, even when they know it’s impossible.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric. Then, a slow, prolonged sigh.

“You’re playing with something you can’t control.” Your pulse quickened, your lips curving upward.

“And what if I don’t want to control it?”

He let out a low chuckle, a dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, baby…” he took a moment before continuing, his voice now hoarse, impatient. “If you were in here with me, I wouldn’t let you go until your body recognized who it belongs to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the heat spread through your chest, your stomach, and lower.

“You’re all talk, Sunghoon,” you teased, your voice dropping to a whisper. From the other side of the door, you heard a dull thud, as if he’d hit something.

“Open this door and we’ll see who’s just talking.” The phone call ended with a sharp click.

And you stood there, your heart pounding too fast, your breath unsteady.

You knew that if you opened that door, he would keep every single promise.

You knocked, your fist light but insistent against the wood.

“Sunghoon, open up.” Your voice was low, almost a whisper, but you knew his hybrid ears would pick up every tiny vibration.

A deep breath from the other side, then his response—hoarse, tense.

“If you come in here, your scent will fill my entire territory. And I won’t be able to control myself.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at his confession.

“I miss you,” you admitted. “I want you. All of you. Your human side… and your hybrid side.”

A tense silence, charged. Then a low chuckle.

“You’re truly reckless.” But the soft click of the lock made you hold your breath.

The door creaked open slightly—just enough for you to catch a glimpse of Sunghoon. And the sight stole the air from your lungs.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his breathing heavy. His damp hair fell messily over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his flushed skin. His bare chest rose and fell unevenly, his biceps flexing as he gripped the door, his toned abs glistening slightly with sweat. His rabbit ears were pinned back, his face flushed, and behind him, his tail twitched restlessly, agitated, unsettled.

A shiver ran down your spine. Staring at you with dark eyes, Sunghoon let out a slow, resigned sigh.

“Fuck…”

Then, in an instant, he shoved you against the wall.

The door slammed shut with a thud, his heated body pressing into yours. His breath was everywhere—on your skin, in your neck, inside your thoughts. He inhaled slowly, his nose brushing along the curve of your shoulder, then trailing up the line of your jaw, stopping at the hollow of your neck.

A shiver crawled up your spine as you felt his lips ghost over your skin—light, reverent.

And then you felt it a tremor in his breath, the faintest hitch.

A tear—warm, silent—slipped down his cheek as he buried his face into your skin, as if he wanted to melt into you.

“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses, his lips tracing a burning path along your skin. “You have no idea how much.”

His hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer against him.

“You’ve been bad, you know that?” His voice dropped an octave, sending another shiver through you. “Leaving me like that… with your scent everywhere, but without you.”

With every word, every touch, your breath grew more uneven. Then a gasp escaped you when his lips latched onto your skin with more force, leaving a mark.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“Oh, I missed that sound so much.” You let out a soft giggle, your hands reaching up to his soft ears, tugging them gently to make him lift his gaze to you.

“You’re a mess,” you whispered, your thumbs stroking the base of his ears, Sunghoon scoffed, but his dark eyes burned with desire.

“And whose fault is that, huh?” His grip tightened, his body shifting slightly against yours. A shudder ran through you as you felt his heat rubbing against you, the thin fabric between you both an increasingly frustrating obstacle. A whimper slipped past your lips, and Sunghoon wasted no time leaning into your ear to whisper:

“You’re warm.”

“You’re burning,” you answered, your voice trembling.

A sharp breath left his lips, his eyes half-lidded as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“You know what a hybrid in heat does, don’t you?” His hand slid along your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ve spent weeks losing my mind, with only one thought in my head.”

His gaze was feverish, torn between wanting to tease you and the sheer desire burning through him.

“I thought about you every single day,” he confessed, his voice low, strained. “About how I wanted to hold you again. About how I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone so no one would ever dare to look at you like they could have you.”

He bit down gently on your earlobe, his voice a husky vibration against your skin.

“About how much I want to fill you up.” A heavy breath. “Stuff you full of me, mark you, make you understand that your place is right here—with me.”

His eyes were dark, feverish, his breathing heavy as he studied you, as if trying to figure out if you were joking.

But you weren’t. “You can do anything to me, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest. “You can fill me. You can love me. You can use me… you can worship me.”

For a moment—just one—his mask seemed to crack. But then Sunghoon let out a low, sharp laugh, tilting his head slightly.

“You’re insane.” His tone was cold, disdainful. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” Instead of answering, you reached out and tugged on his ears, forcing him to lower his head toward you.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand anything.” And before he could respond, you kissed him. The kiss was immediately chaotic, desperate, filled with pent-up tension. Your tongues tangled without grace, too hungry to care about making it perfect. Sunghoon groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your hips too tightly, as if he were trying to restrain himself. But then he lifted you effortlessly, making your head spin, and turned toward the bed.

“You’re invading my territory, you know that?” His tone was still amused, but with a subtle hint of warning beneath it.

You bit your lip, your fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

“Strange…” you whispered. “Because you’ve been invading mine for weeks.”

His nostrils flared slightly, his pupils dilated just a bit, and behind him, his tail twitched nonstop.

He dropped you onto the mattress in one fluid motion, his hands immediately slipping to the waistband of your jeans. Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulled them down in a slow, exasperating motion.

A low whistle escaped his lips as the fabric pooled on the floor.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as his fingers grazed the elastic of your white panties. “Such a good girl.”

His tone was venomously sweet, the cynicism in his gaze burning hot enough to make your blood boil.

“Innocent little princess…” He shook his head, clicking his tongue.

“Do you know what happens to good girls who play with fire?” He lowered his face just slightly, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“I ruin them.” You laughed—right until you felt his mouth press small kisses and love bites along your thighs.

You slipped a finger under his chin, making him look up at you with curiosity.

“I want a lollipop,” you said in an innocent tone. Sunghoon looked at you, slightly confused, but then he stood up, walked to his desk, and pulled out a strawberry-and-cream lollipop from the drawer. He brought it to your lips, trying to place it in your mouth. But you shook your head.

“I want you to suck it and after that you will eat my pussy with the taste of lollipop” he laughed and said no with his head because you were seriously crazy but he adored you. Sunghoon let the lollipop slip out of his mouth with a soft sound, his tongue barely passing over his lips as if to savor its last remaining sugar. Then he looked down at you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "You're a little bit of a temptation, aren't you?"

his voice was low, almost a satisfied growl. "First you provoke me, then you play the good girl who asks for treats..." He tilted his head, the cynical grin spreading over his lips. "I wonder how many more tantrums you'll have once I really start touching you."

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. "So what are you waiting for?" Sunghoon laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You're impatient." Then, without warning, he lowered the lollipop on your skin, drawing a sugary line that started from the lower abdomen until it touched your most sensitive center. You stiffened under that unusual contact, a shiver running down your back.

Sunghoon watched you, his amused smile as his warm breath grazed the spot where the sweet had melted on your skin. "And now..." His voice was just a whisper before his lips lowered on you, savoring you as if you were the finest confectionery. A groan involuntarily eluded you, and you felt his smile against your skin. "Hm," he muttered in a contented tone, the sound almost an animalistic purr. "You know about sugar, but much better." His tail moved relentlessly behind him, a sign of his feverish state, of his desire to get completely lost in you.

"And now, baby ..." His gaze was a promise as she bent over you again. "Let's see how long you can hold out before you beg me."

His lips went down the inside of your thighs, leaving open, moist kisses, followed by small bites that made you jerk. Every time you moaned, Sunghoon laughed softly against your skin, the sound low and satisfied.

"You like to be teased, don't you?" his voice was a sharp whisper. "Does it excite you so much that this is enough for you to get completely wet?"

You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But then his fingers slipped against you, finding you already all too ready, and Sunghoon growled softly, the sound instinctive, animalistic. "You're tremendous," he hissed, his tone cynical.

"You always make yourself look so cheeky, and yet look how you are reduced to me." You gave him a defiant look, a heavy breath.

“So what? Aren't you the one who goes crazy about my smell?" Sunghoon froze for a moment, then laughed, his tail moving even more frantically.

"What a naughty mouth..." And without warning, he pushed a finger inside you, the slow but inexorable gesture. A groan eluded you before you could stop it, and Sunghoon bit his lip, his eyes dark and feverish.

"What was this, uh?"He looked at you with false innocence, then pushed deeper, his wrist moving with a torturing rhythm. "Weren't you the one who could respond in tone?" You tried to fight back, but the second finger was added to the first, and the sound that came out of your lips was more a muffled cry. His fingers inside you pumped inside your poor cunt now at the mercy of the desire not to be filled by his fingers but by his cock and Sunghoon smiled, satisfied.

"Oh, that's what I like the most." He continued to move, the pace increasing, while his gaze was glued to your face, at every slightest reaction.

"I want to hear you, baby," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "I want everyone to know who is driving you crazy." You felt on a knife edge, the pleasure accumulating too quickly. "Sunghoon..." you gasped, your hands clasping to the sheets. He smiled against your skin, mischievous.

"Tell me you're mine."

"I am," you groaned. "Only yours." His tail moved even faster, a satisfied growl escaped from his lips.

"Yes, so..." Then, with a slow gesture, he took the lollipop you had forgotten and slid it on you, on your clitoris and you screamed for the sticky sensation you felt at your most sensitive point, the sweet sugar mixing with the warmth of your skin, your body trembled, the unbearable pleasure.

"I want you to dirty my whole bed, baby," he muttered, his eyes burning. "I want to see you completely lose control for me." And with his lips on you, his fingers deep and the lollipop cold against your hot skin, you felt yourself overcoming every limit, your body straining, lost completely in him. Sunghoon stood there, his breath heavy as he looked at you. Then he ran his tongue over his lips, savoring you as you came between his long fingers and his tongue and ate you as if you were his favorite meal, and he giggled quietly.

"Definitely much better than sugar." he told you as he sucked your excitement dripping from your sensitive center.

Sunghoon stood for a moment motionless, his chest lifting and lowering heavily as he looked at you, his ears stretched backwards, his tail moving erratically. He seemed on the verge of completely losing control. And then he saw you trembling under him, his thighs still open, his breath broken, his body marked by his kisses and his fingers, and something inside him broke.

"Fuck you," he growled quietly, the tone imbued with frustration and longing. In one movement, he took off the boxer, His excitement throbbed heavily among you, thicker, bigger than anything human, with its obvious animal furrow, turgid veins running through it, and a slight pearly patina on the tip. He was made to reproduce, to knot you, to fill you up to mark you as his. You felt yourself burning under his feverish gaze. Sunghoon grabbed you by the wrists and lifted you slightly, placing a pillow under you with an instinctive gesture.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, though the tension in his tone said how close he was to the edge. Then his hands grabbed the edge of your sweatshirt and, without any hesitation, slid it away, followed by your bra. His eyes glided greedy over you, his fingers touching your breasts, clutching them with a mixture of adoration and need. His breathing was heavy when his thumbs began to fiddle with sensitive skin, the touch as sweet as it was frustrating.

"I wish I could have prepared you more," he hissed through his teeth, his voice kneading with desire. "But I can't take it anymore. You're driving me crazy."

You threw a defiant look at him, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Oh? And I thought you had self-control..." Sunghoon stared at you for a second, his cynical grin widening. Then one of his hands came down on your thigh, tightly squeezing it. "I had," he admitted, tilting his head, his ears moving slightly.

"But then you came here to provoke me with that smell... with that body that just asks to be taken."

You felt yourself vibrating under the weight of his words. Sunghoon looked down, his tail moving restlessly as he grazed his length against you, making you feel every inch of his not-quite-human form. His groove pulsed, the instinct to knot you and tie you to him as nature dictated was now out of control.

He bit his lip, his breath hoarse. "I can't wait to see you take everything, to see you swollen because of me..." His body trembles. He was struggling with himself, trying not to get completely carried away by his impulses. And then you whispered to him those words that broke his every brake.

"You can do whatever you want with me, Sunghoon."

A deep growl climbed from his throat and without any more warning, he pushed his hips forward, reclaiming you with one movement, a cry escaped from your lips. His body was different, thicker, thicker, the groove of his heat throbbing as he perfectly suited you.

"S-Sunghoon..." you stuttered, your hands looking for a foothold on his strained biceps. He looked down at you, his crooked, perverse smile as he felt your body huddle around him. "Too much?"he repeated with a grin. "And yet, look how you're taking me ... little liar."

His voice was hoarse, imbued with an animalistic delight as he began to move. Each thrust was heavier, slower, deeper. His instinct led him to claim you, to make you feel every inch of his not entirely human form. Your legs involuntarily tightened around his hips, your body instinctively responding to his. He noticed it and laughed quietly, with that cynical and hungry tone that drove you crazy.

"See? Your body knows who it belongs to." You reeled, the pleasure clouding your mind as he sank deeper and deeper. "Sunghoon ... I—I..."

He came up to your ear, his breath boiling over your skin.

“What? Tell me." Your body trembled under him, and when you finally found the voice, it was only to whisper: "I want you to fill me..."

Sunghoon froze for a moment, his body stretched like a violin string. Then something in his eyes changed. "Fucking silly," he hissed, the tone more animalistic than before. "Don't tell me certain things, or I'll lose my mind completely."

But it was already too late. His groove swelled even more, and a heat wave spread inside you. Your breath snapped as you felt his body respond to the primal need to brand you. Sunghoon did not stop. Every push was more intense, every whispered word more possessive, his cock pushed deeper and deeper inside you and you felt your poor cunt suck it deeper and deeper, ormia your body responded only to the instincts of animalistic Sunghoon.

"I want you all ..." he gasped against your neck. "I want to see you swollen because of me... see my mark on you, I want to fertilize you with my sperm and with my rabbit knot in heat."

His nails pressed lightly against your skin as his body betrayed him, the heat consuming him, the instinct taking over. "You are mine," he growled, and there was no longer any doubt: he would not let you go.

His hands were everywhere—on your thighs, on your hips, on your arms, as if he wanted to brand you with his touch. And as it sank even deeper, you felt its body change inside you, its groove throbbing and swelling more and more, filling you to the brim. Your mind was clouded with pleasure, your body trembling under the weight of its heat and you felt like the last time a heat overwhelm you but even more.

"Hoon..." you gasped, fingers clinging to his strong shoulders. He looked down at you, his smile crooked and hungry, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me, baby," he muttered in that cynical tone that drove you crazy. "I-Your knot... it's so big..." you stammered, your voice broken by groans.

He laughed softly, the sound deep and perverse. "Oh? Haven't you read in your stupid science blogs that when a rabbit hybrid is in heat, the knot gets even bigger?" Your shook your head weakly, your body squeezing it even more unwittingly.

Sunghoon groaned softly, his jaw clenched as he felt how much I was holding him back. "Damn... You're acting like a fucking fool in heat." His words made you shudder, your breath broken as he pushed even deeper, his knot swelling more and more inside you.

"Not even the rabbits when I'm in heat can hold me so well," he hissed with a crooked smile. "But you ... you're crushing me, baby." You squirmed under him, the pleasure too intense, every fiber of your body screaming for a release. "S-Sunghoon ... I ... want..."

He watched you with a predatory gaze, his irregular breathing as he teased your clit with expert fingers. "You want to come?"he asked with a cynical grin. You reeled, your body shaking under him. “Let him out then," he whispered against your ear. "I want to see you make a good mess in this fuck that you say so much to adore."

The heat poured into you in uncontrollable waves as your body gave way completely, your nails sinking into his skin as a scream of pleasure broke on your lips. Sunghoon did not stop, continuing to move inside you with deep, slow strokes, his knot still pulsing, sealing you together. His teeth grazed your neck as he whispered, his voice low and animalistic, Sunghoon gasped above you, his body boiling against yours as every fiber of his existence screamed to claim you. There was no trace of rationality left in his eyes—only the pure instinct of a hybrid in heat, thirsting for you.

His hands held you still, his muscles tense as he sank his cock deeper and deeper, his broken breath mixed with a choked growl.

“You're a fool, " he hissed at your ear, his voice hoarse and full of desire. “Do you realize what you did? You walked in here while I'm in heat, and now I can't stop.”

His strokes became deeper and deeper, more animalistic, his body clutching you as if he wanted to merge with you. He looked down at your belly, his eyes feverish as she felt his knot swell more and more inside you.

"Look how good you are taking me..." he whispered with a perverse smile. “Not even a slut could hold me so tight.” A shiver ran through your back, his dirty words making you lose control.

“I will tie you to me, " he continued, his teeth brushing your neck, his voice lower and hungry. “I'll fill you up to make you feel mine in every knot I can, I'll fumble you so all the other hybrids will know who you belong to.”

The heat within you grew, your body completely wrapped in its domain. "Say it," he insisted, his tongue caressing your moist skin. "Tell me that you want to be tied to me, that you want to be filled.” “L-I want it..." you gasped, your breath broken as your body trembled beneath him.

Sunghoon laughed softly, that deep, perverse sound as he looked at you with dark eyes of pure desire. “What a naive little prey... "

he whispered, as his knot swelled completely inside you, sealing you together. His warmth invaded you, his irregular breathing as he kept moving inside you with deep, slow strokes, savoring every second.

You felt completely bound to him, your body shaking as Sunghoon sank still, his hands clutching you with almost desperate need. His chest moved quickly against yours, his breath warm as he licked your neck with a possessive gesture. "Mine," he whispered with a satisfied grin. “And now you can no longer escape me.”

You felt his semen fill you completely and you screamed with pleasure as he kept pushing his cum-soaked cock inside you as if to make you realize that he never wanted to part with you.

The silence in the room was broken only by your ragged breaths, your bodies still stuck together with sweat, the warmth of his knot still present inside you.

When Sunghoon slowly pulled away, a moan escaped both of you, a mix of pleasure and sensitivity as your bond unraveled. His gaze dropped to your stomach, where his still-swollen knot left a visible mark of his claim. His dark eyes lingered on you for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what he had done—how recklessly he had taken you.

He lay down beside you, his breathing still uneven, and without a word, he pulled you close. His arm wrapped around your waist, and his head nestled against your neck. You could feel his damp hair tickling your skin, his chest rising and falling with increasingly heavy breaths.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, wrapped in a silence thick with emotion, your hands intertwined without the need for words.

Then, a small kiss. Another. His lips brushed against your neck in slow, almost trembling gestures. And that’s when you heard it… a silent sob.

His breath hitched.

You stiffened for a second, surprised, then turned to look at him

“Hoon?” you whispered gently, but he didn’t move. His face was still buried against your body, his arm tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go.

Your hand moved slowly across his back, stroking him reassuringly. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

He shook his head, his breath breaking with another muffled sob. Then, in a barely audible voice, he murmured:

“I’m a monster.” Your heart clenched.

“Sunghoon…” You tried to lift his face, but he resisted, shaking his head against your neck.

“Look at me,” you insisted, your voice firm yet soft.

“No.”

A faint smile formed on your lips despite everything. “Don’t act like a child. I want to see that beautiful face.”

He stayed still for a moment before another quiet sob slipped from his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled away just enough to lift his gaze.

And when his red, teary eyes met yours, you realized how fragile he was in that moment.

Sunghoon—the cold, cynical hybrid, the insatiable rabbit who had taken you so fiercely—was now just a boy, terrified of being hated.

And you? You had no intention of letting him go.

You gently caressed his cheek, your thumb brushing over his warm, slightly damp skin. Sunghoon closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to engrain that feeling into his memory. Then, without thinking, he took your hand and pressed a delicate kiss to the inside of your palm.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I was a jerk… an animal with you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, watching him with a small, knowing smile.

“Oh, absolutely,” you agreed, laughing softly as you began planting small kisses on the scattered beauty marks across his face. One on his cheek, one near his temple, one on his jawline.

Sunghoon sighed against your skin, his breath still uneven.

Then, almost unintentionally, he whispered:

“I love you.”

You froze for a moment, your lips still pressed against his skin.

The Sunghoon you knew was cynical, cold, calculating. He had always teased you, provoked you, even tormented you. You never thought you’d hear those words come from his mouth.

He tensed slightly in the silence that followed, clearing his throat. “Say something,” he murmured, more nervous than he wanted to admit.

You looked down at him, a tender smile curving your lips.

“I love you too.”

You felt him exhale softly, as if those words had lifted a crushing weight off his shoulders.

“Since when?” he asked, his deep, dark eyes locked onto yours.

You burst out laughing. “I don’t know… there’s no exact moment when you realize you love someone.”

Sunghoon lowered his gaze for a second, a small smile playing on his lips. “I do,” he admitted.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And when was that?”

He turned to look at you, his head slightly tilted against the pillow. “When I helped you with your homework. That’s when I started feeling something for you.”

You laughed, amused. “Are you serious? You fell in love with me while I was desperately begging you to explain economics to me?”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “Yes, because you were a total disaster,” he muttered, pulling you closer. “And I thought it was ridiculous how stubborn you were—how you refused to give up, no matter how hard it was.”

You looked at him fondly, your heart beating a little faster in your chest.

Sunghoon remained silent for a moment before shifting slightly, curling up against you.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked softly.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Will you be my boyfriend?” you countered playfully.

He shot you a glare. “Answer my question first.”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his soft hair before nodding. “Yes.”

Sunghoon smiled against your skin, and after a moment, in a whisper, he said it too:

“Yes.”

And in that moment, you knew nothing had ever felt more right.

Jakept Jungwonpt Jaypt

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