#do I also think all of us need to create more of a demand for paralympic coverage by actually WATCHING THE PARALYMPICS?

[sunnydbeam]

GUUHHHH thank you so much for all the kind words and encouragement! I would really love to be able to reply individually to each of you but I don't know what to say other than a BIG thank you! You guys are so sweet I'm crying ♡

I apologize for the negativity earlier, there was a lot going on, and one thing in particular triggered my anxiety and insecurities like never before; I couldn't help but suddenly be overcome with a certain jadedness about my own art and writing. God, I was spiraling so badly. Because of all this my inbox will remain closed for a while; sorry if you wanted to send any questions. Anyway, I'll answer to the ones I've already received.

I don't like to spread bad vibes anywhere. I'm aware that most of the time I choose to stay in the shadows, always running away from conflicts that only exist in my head. This is a small blog that easily goes unnoticed, but I can't for the life of me understand why there are people around here who choose to be mean for sport, not even shielded under anonymity anymore. I wish I could let it go, but this happens to me more often than I'd like to admit. And the worst part is that I don't know why. I want to believe that my blog is safe for everyone! But if at any point I've posted or said something nasty or offensive, I'm so sorry! It wasn't my intention! Ever since I started using Tumblr I've been struggling with this inherent social part of media; with every interaction the anxiety I felt was painful, but the moment I thought I was getting better at it, things would come crashing down every time.

I'm socially awkward and struggle with a non-native language, but I swear I want to be friends with all of you! I just wish I understood why some people choose to spew hate instead. What have I done, especially after creating my Gamma Code AU? It's been hell.

BUT. There are so many more of you who are the sweetest thing!! All the support and affection I feel from you melts me, I just want to hug you all against my chest so dearly. I wish I had the right words to express how much I appreciate you all! ♡♡♡♡

...

Lastly, I'd also like to draw a little line:

If you're here expecting or demanding Sun and Moon content in any way, do NOT FOLLOW ME. I love those two, but I'll draw them when I feel like it. I enjoy drawing my OCs and that makes me happy, so before you decide to throw shit at me and my blog in general, I invite you to think better of it and look elsewhere for content that better suits your tastes and needs, or create it yourself. From now on I will block anyone who comes to my blog with this kind of attitude. No "I miss when you used to draw Sun and Moon" or "For the good old days!". I will block you, no exceptions.

[artschoolglasses]

Yes, the Paralympics have started.

And you should absolutely be hyping them up the same way you hyped up the Olympics.

[bonehilda-deactivated]

i don't like the pressure on artists to have a social media presence. i don't want to see your morning routine, in fact, i don't want to see you at all. Off you go to your cabin in appalachia to write 9 minute songs about the passage of time and the vastness of memory. You can still fuck your bassist but DON'T make a tiktok about it. your only existence to me should be on a name on the album cover.

[luvvyouforever]

undercover - aaron hotchner x reader

synopsis: in the middle of a case, your worst fear comes true. you have to go on an a date with aaron hotchner, the boss you've been crushing on for months. content: canon-typical violence, tropey, kissing, flirtatious aaron, mentions of alcohol, afab reader who wears a dress. word count: 4k+ a lil bit oops author's note: ahhh my favorite trope in crime shows. enjoy!

"so based on this geographical profile y/n and i worked on, there's only two bars our unsub could frequent with his victims. the first one is more of a nightclub and we don't think it's likely that he'll be bringing them to such a rowdy environment," reid spoke to the crowd of officers and agents awaiting instruction. "the other bar also has a restaurant attached so we'll be keeping our investigation here."

jj grabbed a handful of papers with the bar's information and passed them out to the officers. once reid had stepped to the side, aaron came forward to wrap up their profile.

"he's cunning, yet incredibly violent. do not ambush him. he will escape your grasp and hurt you in the process. be on the lookout officers," he said with a tap to the desk that sent everyone back to work. with a subtle turn, aaron gazed at you and reid. "good work on the mapping. meet back up in the conference room in 5."

"thank you, sir," you and reid echoed before beginning to organize your files back into a folder.

all the while you tried to remain professional, your heart throbbed in your chest at the smallest ounce of praise from your boss. the way he held the room in his hand and demanded respect without ever having to actually ask for it was a part of the reason why you've had a crush on them for the better part of a year.

crush, now, felt too small. it was an infatuation at this point.

it didn't matter much, however, because would you ever confess your feelings for your boss? the boss who has been nothing but stoic your entire time of knowing him? absolutely not.

shrugging the butterflies in your body away, you head over to the impromptu coffee station created for the large number of people inside the police station and pour a cup of stale yet hot and much needed energy. this case was a doozy, one that had every agent just wishing for its end. and it felt like it was soon to come to a close. they had been coming up with some kind of plan. what that plan was, you weren't entirely sure.

when you managed to snap a lid on the coffee cup, you headed into the conference room where the rest of the bau were seated haphazardly around the room. you took a spot between emily and reid, eyes focused on aaron and rossi standing in front of a whiteboard.

"that coffee's not any good, is it?" rossi asked, noting the cup in your hand.

"every sip is somehow worse than the last, but i think we all need it," you said, following your statement up with another pained drink. rossi laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you could've swore that the corner of aaron's lips titled into a smirk. you ignored it, though, and began reading the words on the board.

"so, we're hoping to catch the unsub tonight," aaron started suddenly, turning with his ever-present air of professionalism. "if he's still following his schedule, he'll find his next victim tonight, most likely at the bar reid and y/n found. we've thought about how we're going catch him and i think we'll have to go undercover. two of us."

"under what pretenses, exactly?" derek asked on the other side of the table.

"on a date," rossi answered. just faintly, a red tint appeared on aaron's cheeks. you wondered what could possibly have made him- "we've picked our two already. y/n and aaron."

"oh!" you said surprisedly. "what led to this decision, pray tell?"

aaron looked down at his folders as if they were the most important thing in the world in that very moment. rossi glanced over, shook his head, then looked at you again.

"you two just seem the most likely out of any of us to go on a date. we don't want to look suspicious, no?" rossi answered.

"i-uh-i suppose not," you said. "my go bag isn't really packed with date wear clothes. mostly just pantsuits and academy t-shirts."

aaron finally cleared his throat and met your eyes for the first time since it was announced that you two would technically be going on a date. even if you would be wearing bulletproof vests under your clothes.

"that's okay. we won't be going out till 7pm. it's only three now. you're free to find something. as long as it's easy to move in," he said in a voice that felt an octave deeper than usual. and then he did something that almost made you faint on the spot. aaron dug into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and pulled out a credit card. his credit card. "use this."

sheepishly, you took the card from his hands and placed it into your own bag. "thanks," you muttered. an elbow jabbed its way into your side from beside you and emily was smirking at you. you dismissed her with your hand and stood to exit the room.

"hotel lobby at 7, yeah?" aaron said.

you forced a nervous smile to your face and nodded, then left the room. with aaron's credit card in your bag. about to buy an outfit. for a date with him. you weren't entirely positive you could safely drive.

౨ৎ

with the information you had about the bar, you picked a semi-formal, simple dress that paired well with heels you already packed. aaron was already paying for the dress. you couldn't ask him to also pay for the accessories.

after some test laps up and down your hotel room, you declared the outfit was "easy to move in" and grabbed your bag, ensuring that his credit card was still inside. the time was only 6:45, but you knew aaron would already be there, waiting.

with a check that your holster was properly attached to your thigh, you left the room and took the elevator down to the first floor. your heart was beating irregularly in your chest and your hands were clammy, but the reflective surface of the elevator's walls let you know that you looked good. for a fake date with aaron hotchner.

the elevator dinged when the doors opened and immediately, you saw aaron sitting in a lobby chair. he looked up at the sound and stood. he was dressed impeccably well in a suit with his hair done in its usual middle part. handsome was the only word on the tip of your tongue.

"you look beautiful," he said upon reaching your figure. it seemed like he didn't mean for the words to slip out, but instead of retracting them, he simply held out his arm for yours to wrap around.

your mouth went dry, but you knew you had to say something back. "thank you, hotch. you look handsome yourself."

"i think for the purposes of tonight," he said, "you can just call me aaron."

you nodded, finding words hard to muster up. instead, you allowed him to lead out of the hotel to one of the least suspicious looking SUVs parked outside. when he reached the door, he opened it for you.

you couldn't hold back a little laugh at the gesture. "you know...we're not on the date yet," you said. regardless of the light humor of the situation, you allowed him to help you into the passenger seat. he smirked, shut the door, then walked around to his door.

when he got in, his usual stone expression found its way to his face again. "forgive me for wanting to make this feel as natural as possible. i'm sure it's awkward going on a date with your boss. even if it is undercover."

"oh, no!" you blurted out. his eyebrows raised as he backed out of the parking spot. his arm wound its way around your seat, neglecting the back-up camera for the traditional method. "sorry. it's not awkward. you don't have to worry. promise."

"yeah?" he asked, putting the car back into drive and heading to the downtown area of the small town you were in. at a stop sign, he turned to look at you. if you weren't such a highly trained profiler, you would've certainly missed the way his eyes raked up and down your body, taking in your dress of choice. "you made a good pick."

your cheeks warmed with his flattery. to avoid meeting his gaze, you fished the credit card out of your purse to offer back to him. "thanks," you muttered. "you didn't have to pay for it, you know?"

he took the credit card from your grasp and shoved it into his pants pocket. "don't worry about it," he said with a wave of his hand. "figured if you're forced into going on a date, you should have something nice to wear at least."

you looked over to his body in the driver's seat, his face focused on the road ahead of him. "why do you keep assuming that i'm hating every second of this? i mean...how rare is it that we get to eat somewhere nice while on a case? and i'm getting paid for it while in the presence of a handsome man. could be worse things." you didn't know what compelled you to add on the last bit, but when you saw his cheeks flare up, you didn't regret it.

instead of responding, aaron's body relaxed in the driver's seat.

after several minutes of driving, the bar came into view and you bit your lip in nervousness. this unsub was pretty intense and you were heading directly into the lion's den. you tried to cram the nervousness deep down in the pit of your stomach as aaron pulled into the small parking lot next door.

before turning the car completely off, aaron turned his body towards yours. "now we really need to look as inconspicuous as possible. it might feel weird, but we need to look like a real couple on a date, okay?"

"yes, sir," you responded on impulse. "i mean...yes, aaron."

despite his attempts not to, he breathily chuckled. "already off to a great start," he joked. you chuckled with him and unbuckled your seat. "i'm gonna text the team that we're heading in. don't open your door. let me do it."

a minute of quick texting passed by and aaron shut off the car, then stepped out. a few seconds passed before your door opened and aaron was extending his hand to yours. you took it with a sweet smile and let him lead you out of the car. he shut the door behind you and your arm found his own again.

regardless of the reason being for the case or for just the pure want to be closer to him, you leaned into aaron's strong body. he took to the gesture immediately and held you even closer. it was intoxicating, but you kept your gaze focused on the bar ahead.

after what felt like agonizing hours of walking side by side, you came onto the host stand at the front of the restaurant.

"how many?" the host asked.

"two," aaron responded. the hand that was holding on to your arm began rubbing the skin there up and down. every touch of his fingers left goosebumps.

the host gestured for the two of you to follow her. quicker than you'd like, she led you towards a table in the middle of the restaurant. your eyes surveyed the restaurant and bar around you, scanning for someone that resembled the unsub's profile. once the host walked away, you and aaron looked at each other and shook your heads, signaling that nothing felt out of the ordinary so far.

"order whatever you'd like," aaron said, his head pointing towards the menu in your hand. "hon," he added.

the petname rolled from his tongue naturally, as if it was a name he had been calling you for years. you tried to not show that it affected you much, but aaron noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. despite the nervousness that settled over your body, you decided to take another leap and with a shift in your seat, your heeled foot grazed over his leg. he was shocked at the sudden touch, but spread his legs further nonetheless.

you didn't pull away either when the server came forward.

"welcome, guys. date night tonight, i'm guessing?" she asked with a smile.

"mhm!" you answered first. "decided to get out and dress up for once in a while."

aaron looked at you with an almost impressed look. maybe rossi was right. you did look like a couple.

"isn't that nice? well, what would you two like to drink tonight?"

"an old-fashioned, please," aaron responded. "and a water."

"i'll take a cosmopolitan and a water," you added.

the server noted down the drinks and walked away. your foot continued sliding up and down aaron's legs, becoming a subconscious act at that point. he flipped through the menu once, then glanced around the room again. still nothing.

"an old-fashioned, hmm?" you asked, eyeing one of the meals on the menu that sounded particularly tasty.

"is that shocking?" he asked.

"no," you answered honestly. "just learning more about you, aaron."

aaron hummed, as if he were about to say something, but instead focused on his menu again. a few minutes of comfortable silence passed before the server came over with a tray of your drinks. she sat them down on the table, along with the waters, then pulled out a notepad again.

"had enough time to pick what you'd like?" she asked.

"know what you want, dear?" you asked, looking up at aaron.

"i'll take the steak frites," he said to the server.

both he and the server looked at you. you told her what you'd like from the menu, hoping it wasn't expensive enough for aaron. he barely registered the price, though, and instead collected your menus to hand to the server. if this was what dates were usually like with him, you could definitely tolerate them.

"you look like you're thinking about something," aaron said from the other side of the table where he had been watching both you and the door intently.

you took a sip of your drink and sat it back down. "i thought we said no profiling your coworkers, dear," you teased. "i feel like that applies tenfold when you're on a date."

he chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. you noted just how attractive he was with a glass of whiskey in his hand, laughing.

"pardon me for wanting to know what my beautiful date has in her head," aaron said. his words made you bite your lip and look down at the table. suddenly, though, his demeanor shifted as his eyes connected with someone coming in at the door. "don't turn around."

"is he here?" you whispered.

he nodded and picked up his drink, eyes following him to the bar. almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head towards the bar. "fifth seat," he whispered back.

sure enough, an unsub matching the physical profile had seated himself next to an alone woman at the bar. almost immediately upon sitting down, he began talking to her. the fact that the man you had been trying to catch for a long time, the man who committed some really gruesome murders was that close to you made you almost ill. you passed your emotions off by taking a drink.

"i'm gonna grab another drink, baby. i haven't seen the server around," aaron suddenly said. he nodded to you, perhaps for reassurance, before standing and adjusting his blazer to ensure the holster on his side was covered. luckily, the seat directly next to the woman was empty and he positioned himself on the other side of it. the unsub barely registered his presence, which was good. you took note of his clothes, his hair, everything, just in case she slipped through your grasp again.

eventually, aaron had flagged down the bartender, ordered his second drink, and came back with it in his hand.

"he's just flirting with her," aaron whispered once he was out of earshot. "but she's falling for it. probably not long till he tries to leave with her."

"i won't get to finish my food," you said half-seriously.

"i'll get it boxed up for you, hon," he said. though that time, aaron's voice was a whisper. the petname was for you alone.

just as aaron had expected, the unsub stood from his seat at the bar, the woman next to him following suit. together, they headed towards the back where the bathroom was, along with an exit inside the kitchen which he was likely going to use. both yours and aarons followed them and with a curt nod, you both stood to head towards the back, several paces behind them.

suddenly, they went through a door, to what seemed like a closet first before going into the kitchen. you and aaron paused at the beginning of the hallway. then some noises erupted from the closet, ones that would make an older woman blush and hold her hand to her mouth.

aaron looked back at you with a confused look on his face. at that very moment, the closet door opened. you and aaron looked at each other in panic, but just before they stepped out of the closet, you grabbed aaron by his tie and pulled him closer to you.

within seconds, you had hiked your leg up his own, revealing your thigh in the dress. his hand quickly came to the skin and he squeezed tightly. to add to the scene, you wrapped a hand around the base of aaron's neck and pulled him down. his lips met your own with a rough clash, but then the kiss smoothed out.

at first, he was still, lips unmoving against yours. when your fingers tangled themselves into the short hairs at his neck, he finally kissed you back. acting, he thought to himself as he deepened the kiss and pulled your leg higher up his. undercover, he tried to remind himself when your lips let forth a whimper into his mouth.

neither of you wanted to pull away. you only pulled your head back when you heard the kitchen door swing open and closed. you inhaled a deep breath and met aaron's dark brown eyes. they were wide and his cheeks were flushed.

"sorry. i-it was all i could think to do," you stuttered out.

aaron shook his head. "don't be," he said quickly. "come on, he's about to leave. we'll talk after."

you felt the warmth of aaron's body leave yours as he pulled the gun from his holster. you retrieved your own from your thigh and followed him through the kitchen. he flashed his badge towards the chefs to get them to stop yelling and they pointed towards the exit where the unsub had just left.

both of you picked up your pace. had the kiss deepened for a few more seconds, you would have certainly missed him. however, as soon as you threw open the exit door, the unsub was forcefully shoving the young woman into his car.

"fbi! put your hands up and back away from the car!" aaron yelled. the unsub didn't do immediately as asked, despite two guns pointing in his direction. "i won't ask again! put your hands up and back away from the car!"

in a quick flash, the unsub reached inside his jacket. in the streetlight, you saw the glint of a gun. hardly a second passed before he pulled it out, aimed, but then fell to the asphalt.

your finger came off the trigger and before lodging it back into the holster, you turned the safety back on. you hadn't killed him, only immobilized him in his right leg. it was enough for aaron to run forwards, take the gun and throw it to the side. while he placed handcuffs on the unsub, you ran to the other side of the car and rescued the woman from the passenger seat. crying, she fell into your arms. suddenly, you were surrounded by the town's police department, along with the rest of your team who had been waiting just down the street.

before everything got too hectic to seek each other out, you and aaron took a long look at each other. he nodded with a smile, his form of praise, before hauling the unsub into a police car.

౨ৎ

a few hours had passed before everyone was released from the scene. the bau loaded up into their SUVs, aaron taking the one you had rode together in. much to your chagrin, his car filled up before you could get in with him. instead, you rode with emily and reid on the way back to the hotel to gather your belongings.

when you arrived to the hotel, everyone split off into their rooms. aaron seemed to be speaking privately with rossi so you opted to go upstairs and change out of the outfit you had been wearing for the better half of the night.

as you were unbuckling your heels and placing them back into your go-bag, you heard a faint knock on the door. you rose from the bed, feet aching, and answered it.

there, aaron stood with a white t-shirt on, having had to change out of his clothes from the scene.

"hey," you said.

"can i come in?" he asked.

only then did you notice that he was holding something behind his back. you stepped to the side to allow him to enter and he scooted the item in front of him to prevent you from seeing.

"what do you have there?" you asked. slowly, he brought forth two boxes of food, having kept his promise from earlier.

"it's probably not the freshest anymore, but nothing that a microwave can't fix," he said sheepishly.

you could've cried on the spot. smiling brightly, you took the food from his hands and sat it on the hotel desk. a grunt escaped his lips as your arms engulfed him in a hug. his arms wrapped around your body and your feet lifted from the ground a little.

"thank you," you said genuinely.

aaron watched as you took the food and warmed them up, going for yours first so that he could have the slightly warmer meal. once they were both ready to be ate, you found some plastic silverware in the little coffee tray and handed one set to him.

"round two?" you said with a shrug.

"round two," he agreed. "but...i wouldn't mind a round three, or four, or five, when we get back home." he picked up a fry from his plate and popped it in his mouth.

"glad to know my impulsive gift didn't scare you off," you joked. you paused for a second and set the food down. "which, i mean, i wouldn't mind a round two on that either."

aaron paused too, setting his own box back down on the desk. he stood and offered his hand to help you up from the bed. you took it and rose. then, his hand wrapped around your back where his palm was splayed across the skin there.

"i wouldn't mind a round two either," he said quietly. "but i call the shots this time."

your knees felt weak being so close to aaron. you didn't miss the way his cheeks flared and one of his hands shook nervously. had he been feeling the same way for you for this long too?

"you can call the shots anytime, hon," you teased, echoing the petnames for earlier.

smirking, his free hand ghosted up your side till it met your chin. his fingers titled your head upwards and ever so softly, he leaned in. this kiss was much more romantic, more loving, less rushed. he had time, now. he wasn't kissing you to hide from someone else. he was kissing you because he has been wanting to for oh so long.

minutes must've passed before the two of you pulled away to a pure need to breathe. he smiled. "good round two?"

"i think i'm gonna need a few more just to double check."

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff part 2

Part 1

Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.

1. Crutch words

Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:

Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes

Character sees/smells/feels

Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:

Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.

And

Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are

Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:

Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.

I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.

2. Creating your own “author voice”

Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:

…but it’s just another cave to Elias.

Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.

I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.

I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:

Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile

There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:

Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill

And

Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill

It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.

Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.

Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.

Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.

Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.

Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?

4. Paragraph formatting

Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.

I do it all the time just like this.

Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.

5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton

Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.

Asyndeton: We came. We saw. We conquered. It was cold, grey, lifeless.

Polysyndeton: And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls. They stand and they clap and they sing.

Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.

We came and we saw and we conquered.

The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.

—

All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.

*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.

[heegyukeluv]

CHAPTER ONE: you&me

pairing: heeseung x afab!reader

synopsis: Each new cycle marks a new chapter in life’s story. You, once so sure of your choices, found yourself questioning everything when you met Heeseung, someone too perfect to be real. He adapted to you effortlessly, and it felt just as natural for him as it did for you. Now, you and Heeseung were starting a new chapter together, one that would unfold shared.

my's note: sub hee for my one and only babi!!! HOPE YOU LIKE IT LOVE!!!

warnings: university teacher y/n and university teacher heeseung, pet names (baby, babe, love…), yn is a menace ngl, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, SUB HEE!!!, protected and unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (m), nipple play (m), handjob, blowjob, cowgirl/riding, overstimulation, edging, drooling a lil, fingering (f), bathroom sex, reader calls hee ‘good boy’, lowkey teacher kink but not really he just uses the word once and in a teasing way i swear… lmk if i missed something!

wc: 33k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse, @tinycatharsis

No matter how consistent your routine had become, there was always a flutter of nerves accompanying you as you crossed the tall iron gates, the friendly greeting from the security guard sounding like a familiar melody to your ears.

It was nothing like the first time, of course. You could vividly recall the ache in your stomach from the sheer nervousness and the fear of making mistakes or embarrassing yourself. Your legs trembling, your eyes darting everywhere, and even your voice had betrayed you, faltering when you tried to interact with your superiors. But now, there was a core of pleasant anticipation – an excitement for the unknown.

After all, teaching might be routine, but every lesson offered a fresh opportunity to explore the day.

You had always embraced an open, flexible teaching style, striving to be the kind of professor who not only imparted knowledge but also genuinely listened to students and their unique perspectives. This approach wasn’t just a personal trait – it had significantly enhanced your professional reputation.

In fact, it had earned you a place on the director’s radar, leading to better positions in a surprisingly short amount of time.

In the academic hierarchy, older and more experienced educators typically had first pick of the subjects they would teach at the start of the year. Newer teachers were left with the “leftovers” – the so-called duller, broader courses that, in some ways, stifled creativity.

But you had made the best of it. You worked tirelessly, and in just two years, you achieved remarkable goals that reshaped how the director viewed you. Now, you held a slightly higher position with more freedom in choosing your courses. Of course, there were still teachers ahead of you who claimed the more prestigious subjects, the ones you could only dream of teaching someday.

It was the beginning of a new year, which meant an influx of fresh teachers. In your field – psychology – this was relatively rare. The college’s prestige meant they only hired truly promising names, which resulted in a very niche demand for positions. This, in turn, created a noticeable lack in areas like yours, where teaching needed to be particularly well-structured and thoughtfully delivered.

This semester, your schedule included Social Psychology, Personality Psychology, and Statistics.

Statistics was still a taboo subject in the field – many students avoided it like the plague, and you had been one of them as well, both as a teacher and as a learner. Yet, much to your dismay, the “dreaded course” had been assigned to you and you couldn’t do anything other than accept your fate.

And you did embrace it as a self challenge, to think beyond the usual in order to offer something engaging and valuable other than the basic 1+1 concepts that so often felt lacking. 

As you made your way, you didn’t expect any new hires in your department at all, as no one had informed you otherwise. So your surprise was undeniable when you walked into the faculty lounge and immediately spotted an unfamiliar face – or rather, a back.

It appeared to be a man, his posture slightly hunched forward, his broad shoulders and apparent firm back hinted at his height, significantly taller than you.

He was dressed in the typical attire of a freshly hired professor: slacks, dress shoes, and a neatly tucked-in shirt beneath a blazer that, if you were honest, hugged his frame almost too perfectly.

He was also murmuring something under his breath, a sort of self-assurance mantra that sounded similar to: “You’ve got this. It’s fine. They’re just teenagers. Or young adults. It doesn't matter. You’re smart.”

With your curiosity picked, your steps led you to fully enter the room, the soft click of the door coinciding with your calm, yet friendly voice breaking the air.

“I used to say the exact same thing to myself.”

The man turned abruptly, now offering you a full view of his face as his hands froze mid-motion, still in the process of fastening his blazer. 

Wide, startled eyes locked onto yours, resembling a deer caught in headlights moments away from disaster, like he was doing something wrong. Maybe he felt like when you’re doing exercises in your room and your parents step in, the embarrassment flowing through every inch of your skin.

His lips, glistening in a shade of red, hung open in shock while quick, uneven breaths escaped them, a clear sign that the surprise had been mutual, though his seemed far more intense.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you murmured, a slightly shy smile gracing the corners of your lips as you blinked, softening your features. 

Taking slow, deliberate steps, you closed the distance between you two, with the man now completely silent, but turned to face you entirely, his demeanor awkward and endearing in a way that tugged at something warm inside you. Something oddly.

“Y/N.” You extended your hand as politely as you could, ignoring the tingle on your fingertips as you waited for the ensuing touch. The man stared at your fingers adorned with beautiful rings for a brief moment before jolting and taking it in his with a careful grip, greeting back.

“Heeseung. Lee Heeseung.”

You couldn’t deny nor hide that his voice was somehow comforting, not too deep, not too high, just perfectly balanced to surprise you with how your heart picked up its pace at the sound.

His touch was different too; palm warm and slightly sweaty, likely from nerves, but you didn’t mind. If he was indeed a new hire, a little nervousness was to be expected. Not to mention the divergence of his steady and kind grasp.

The silence that followed as you released the handshake bordered on awkwardness, your eyes trying to focus on anything other than the man that now could be named as Heeseung. However, an unusual aura seemed to draw your attention back to him, like a silent hypnosis, magnetic, an irresistible force pulling you to trace the fragments of what was laid bare for you to drink in about his undeniable beauty.

And Heeseung took a moment to take in your appearance as well, shamelessly letting his gaze wander over your figure and consequently becoming unaware you did just the exact same thing. 

You wore fitted black slacks that subtly accentuated your thighs and waist, paired with a loose blouse tucked haphazardly into your waistband on one side. A casual yet stylish look, adequate to your job, and sufficient to drive some guys – Heeseung, in specific – to teeter the edge of losing his breath. 

One hand held your bag while the other toyed absentmindedly with the necklace around your neck, a gold watch wrapped around your wrist that stirred Heeseung’s acknowledgment about your liking for accessories.

You had your posture relaxed and seductive, even, as your piercing gaze drifted through Heeseung’s body. Attractive – undeniably so.

He looked like the kind of professor who would easily become a hit among the students – and maybe some other teachers – and you couldn’t help but wonder what and when rumors might start circulating about him.

Back in your day, you had been the subject of whispers yourself. At first it had intimidated you, not knowing how to take in the compliments and the murmurs around you, but you soon decided to switch it into confidence, growing more comfortable in your role with each passing day. It even helped you connect with your students in a way that felt natural and genuine, a give-and-take dynamic you had come to love.

“So… Heeseung,” you cleared your throat, breaking the mutual analysis with a sharp cut. The sound of your voice pulled his attention back to your face. You smiled at his flustered cheeks and innocent gaze. “You’re new here, I assume?”

“Yep. First day,” he replied with an obvious nervous sigh, nibbling his bottom lip before tilting his head with a curious expression. “Any memos?”

A soft hum was your initial response, paired with a thoughtful look as your eyes went towards a random spot to the side, most likely you were in deep thought to find the right answer. Heeseung mentally cursed himself for finding you cute with the subtle pout of your lips and the slight furrow of your brow that added to your charm.

At the same time, he didn’t judge himself too harshly. You were undeniably beautiful, and he was frankly surprised he was managing to have even this minimal conversation with you without much stutter.

“Don’t drink the coffee from earlier in the morning,” you finally concluded, nodding slightly to yourself. Heeseung narrowed his eyes to you before a smirk creeped on the corners of his mouth. “It’s awful. The one during the lunch break is much better.”

Then you then motioned in the direction of Heeseung’s chest with your chin, both your hands now firmly gripping your bag’s strap, because your fingers buzzed with a sudden need to be the one undoing his buttons.

“And maybe leave the top button of your shirt open, if you’re comfortable. If you’re too stiffly dressed, the students might see you as overly serious…” You paused abruptly, your eyes widening slightly, gesticulating amidst your awkward state. “Not that being serious is a bad thing! It’s just… you know. Teenagers. Appearances sometimes mean everything to them.”

Heeseung breathed out a soft laugh, his eyes curling into small crescents as he did. “Don’t worry, I get it. That was actually one of my concerns, to be honest.”

As he calmly spoke, his hands began to undo the buttons of his blazer, revealing the shirt beneath for your hungry gaze, as well as a small glimpse of his bare chest. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself momentarily distracted by the sight, an unwelcome heat rising to your cheeks because, yeah, you could tell by the face and part of the exposed neck that Heeseung had honeyed skin.

But damn. Was there a reason for him to be completely attractive? He probably had some terrible habit, or a major red flag, or was burdened with deep personal flaws, because a man that good-looking rarely had good character.

Snapping yourself out of it, you took a step back and forced a strained smile, more than ready to escape before your thoughts could spiral further, fearing your composure would crumble completely in front of Heeseung and ruin the first impression you made on him.

Not that you cared much about making a good impression, but he seemed to effortlessly bring out behaviors in you that were just a little beyond your control and definitely unusual from you.

“Well, enjoy your first day,” you said in a tone that hinted at goodbye, already tracing your path to the door. And when everything appeared to be falling into place, you casually let it slip, exuding a natural sense of sensuality. “I hope we’ll see more of each other around here.”

Unfortunately or not, Heeseung caught on right away. And to make matters worse, he mimicked your tone, a little more shy though.

“Thank you, Y/N. I hope so too.”

The following weeks at work went as normally as possible. Classes here and there, some students sharing personal topics with you because they felt comfortable, lunch breaks, and some free hours that always led you to the teachers’ office room to review your lesson plans and prepare for the upcoming ones, along with the daily reports you needed to write in short, concise paragraphs, just for bureaucratic purposes.

You had already filled out your syllabus for the semester, which was promptly reviewed and approved so you could start your journey in that academic year. But still, there was that unmistakable nervous feeling that seemed to follow you around.

Part of that sensation stemmed from personal anxiety, which you were able to slowly dissipate as you worked through your teaching plans, which is exactly what you were doing at that very moment.

The teachers’ room wasn’t usually filled with other professors because many preferred to occupy other spots on campus that offered just as much comfort, or even stay in their cars, claiming that they wouldn’t be disturbed in any way.

You had found yourself visiting the library and even an open area near trees and nature to catch up on your studies and lesson plans. But there, in that air-conditioned room, where coffee was free and easily accessible – and, by the afternoon, delicious – and a comfortable chair awaited, it seemed like the perfect place to try and get your head together.

There was something tangled inside you, something that didn’t seem to have a clear root, as if something clouded your ability to see what was causing you such distress. Everything seemed to revolve around the damn statistics class, which had become a growing source of stress in your planning.

Every time you thought about it, your head seemed to spin. You had taught it quite a few times, with the next class coming up in a few minutes and the sensation of lacking overwhelming you.

It almost felt pathetic, and it made you laugh without humor when you remembered your students asking how a psychologist like you could have moments of anxiety.

And then there was the part of the class where you would say that when you’re a psychologist, you don’t stop being human. Emotions, sensations, feelings – they all stay with you, even when you know relaxation techniques or how to listen to other people's problems.

Thinking about that calmed you a little. Reminding yourself that you’re human, that you feel and can feel the way your body decides to feel in certain situations. It’s natural to feel anxious about something beyond your control or something you’re uncertain about, and just admitting that is a step towards something that could bring relief.

Unfortunately, sometimes you can’t just ignore the situation, not when you’re a teacher who needs to take responsibility for the subjects you teach, since the future of your students passes through your hands every lesson and that alone carries a height of tons.

“Am I interrupting?”

Nothing had prepared you to hear someone’s voice weaving through your tormented thoughts, so your immediate response was to tense up and widen your eyes, your pulse increasing its beats significantly as your gaze lifted to meet the owner of your startle.

A breath escaped from your parted lips and formed a single name. “Heeseung?”

Your heartbeat sped up even more. 

The shock was evident in every part of your body, from the way you had stiffened entirely, to the clear flush on your face. Noticing your state, Heeseung chuckled softly.

“That’s me.”

Without a single word, your gaze instinctively swept across every detail of him, and you had to restrain yourself from succumbing to the impulse of simply drooling as you did so.

Heeseung was dressed casually, that little heads-up given him earlier the week lingered on the back of his mind long enough for him to abandon the idea of being too formal and dress more laid-back, without losing the air of vanity and elegance he enjoyed to carry.

Today, he wore a simple white dress shirt and black pants, ones that hugged his long legs with perfection. Gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose in a ridiculously attractive way, framing his face with care, and his ears were adorned with equal gold earrings, gleaming like drops of sunlight, perfectly attuned to his skin as if they had been forged by the same fire, crafted to exist as one.

There was no reason for that man to be walking around so excessively hot like that. 

Noticing your silence and spaced-out look, as if you were somewhere else, Heeseung got worried.

“Is everything okay?” The question was softly thrown at you, while he settled into the chair in front of the desk where you were hunched over various papers.

You cleared your throat and straightened up, blinking in embarrassment while fixing the papers. You – and your environment – were a mess, and Heeseung wasn’t helping much so far.

“Uh… Kinda,” you forced a smile, struggling to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

Damn, how easy it was to be attracted to attractive good-looking men – a serious pleonasm. “I’m a little…” Your head tilted quickly to the side as you sucked on your teeth, hissing. “Overwhelmed?”

You had bumped into him in the hallways since exchanging names in the staff room, but always in a rush, stuck in your respective hectic routines, never having time to chat. 

There was this weight of curiosity about how he was adjusting, how he was handling the burden of being a newly hired professor at a university, if he had already shaped his persona for the academic context, among other things, that hovered over you.

Still, one thing was undeniable: he looked great, as always. And that made everything even more chaotic for you.

“With what?”

The way Heeseung asked carried a genuine air of interest, rather than superficial curiosity, the kind of just being polite or whatever. That alone was enough to make you feel comfortable opening your mouth and spilling all your anguish. He might have been newly hired, but he exuded an air of care that instantly put you at ease.

Out of habit, you bit down on your lower lip. It was a clear tell about a specific kind of nervousness that settled in your stomach whenever you were up to something, ready to dive into some mess, probably scheming. At least, that was what your friends always said about you in moments like these.

Heeseung noticed the movement immediately, his gaze fixed on the way your teeth pressed into what looked like an impossibly soft lip, which only served as an invite to his eyes to linger longer, refusing to let go. He couldn’t quite tell if it was the subtle gloss coating and glistening under the light, or its natural color, but some detail about it had him completely mesmerized with such a particular and random trait.

Heeseung considered himself someone ridiculously and pathetically drawn to specific details in people when he found himself captivated by them. There were plenty of other aspects of your figure that caught his attention – like the elegant curve of your collarbone or the way you always seemed to wear at least one accessory perfectly aligned with your outfit.

But in that very moment, your lips took center stage, basking in the spotlight of his focus.

Maybe it was because he had been wondering about their taste over the past few days, ever since your first encounter. Whether the softness they seemed to exude was as velvety as it looked. Whether they would fit seamlessly against his. Whether they would deliver that fleeting, cloud-like sensation they wordlessly promised to anyone paying close enough attention.

For that reason, he caught the exact way the pressure of your teeth against your lip eased and unraveled – a simple, subtle movement that somehow felt magnified under the lens of his gaze. And the reason the lip biting was undone was because it had been dissolved when you said something he completely missed.

“Sorry,” Heeseung shook his head, as though it helped his mind to snap back into reality. “Come again?”

You giggled at his adorableness, casually placing your hands on the table and fiddling with your ring.

“I asked if you know anything about statistics.”

Only then did Heeseung lift his gaze, praying that the warmth spreading through his cheeks and to the point of his ears was merely a sensation, not an obvious giveaway that he was embarrassed, exposing its redness. 

“Uh, it's... not really my thing,” he scratched the back of his neck, desperately avoiding your piercing stare.

How did something so simple manage to throw him off so completely? Maybe it was because you subtly leaned forward, closing the distance between your faces while maintaining an almost too confident air.

Everything about you screamed confidence. You carried yourself with ease. Your steps were purposeful, yet casual. You smiled effortlessly, but never lost your composure; you knew how to assert yourself without being stern. He had heard whispers about how amazing your classes were and how you effortlessly mastered every subject you taught. And on top of that, you were, quite simply, breathtaking.

“But do you think you could help me?”

Heeseung nearly choked on his saliva, finding it hard to swallow the nervous lump that grew down his throat. You briefly took notice of how prominent his Adam’s apple bobbed, and for some reason you wondered if he was sensible in that area. 

“Well, I guess... I could try. Can’t make any promises, though…” He answered with his voice sounding tentative and sincere. His eyes shifted to the papers scattered in front of you, then back to your face, that now held a hint of a cute smile.

A cute smile that hid something darker beneath it.

You cocked your head to the side ever so slightly, allowing your eyes to quietly travel across Heeseung’s features. He hadn’t been concealing his shameless gaze on your lips earlier, which triggered your natural instinct to take control – a role you relished.

The way Heeseung faltered in front of you was curious. The clear struggle to collect himself, to answer without his voice betraying him, trying desperately to maintain eye contact and failing adorably, only made you want to dive deeper into that kind of conversation, to dig out each reaction he managed to express before your presence.

What had started as a simple request for help between colleagues now bordered on something far more seductive.

“Don’t worry about it, Heeseung,” you made sure to let his name sound even more velvety, boldly placing your hand on top of his with the silent excuse of showing the papers in front of you. “I just need a little guidance. I feel like part of what I’ve planned for my lessons isn’t good enough.”

Ah, yes. Lessons. That was what you were talking about. For a brief moment, Heeseung wondered how the air between you had shifted so easily, from the awkward tension to something electric and tantalizing, stirring his heart to skip several beats in such a short amount of time. And it wasn’t the first time.

Even in your first meeting, the exchange of glances had been too intense for a mere greeting between coworkers.

“Hm,” Heeseung nodded, swallowing hard again because he hadn't expected the subtle touch of your soft hand on his. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but it definitely affected his body. “Let me see.”

When he took the papers into his grasp, he solely visualized smudges, scattered letters, and nothing that made sense to his poor dizzy head. Not because of the content – although he struggled with statistics –, but purely because of the weight of your gaze resting over him, analyzing every tiny reaction with a seriousness and intensity that felt too much to bear without wavering.

Heeseung felt like he was going to explode at any moment and couldn’t help the urge to escape the invisible strings that captured his entire being, each of them being held by your pretty fingers.

From the first time you met it should have been just another common interaction with a colleague – like it had been with Lia, Sunghoon, or Yunjin. A polite greeting, a quick “good luck,” followed by a kind smile and that was it. Except, with you, it wasn’t.

He remembers how the sentences you two traded didn’t leave gaps to develop things beyond the standard colleague relationship, even though something definitely was left open, unresolved. 

A flavor similar to craving settled at the back of Heeseung’s throat, like you were crafted specifically to intrigue him, sparking a quiet and relentless desire to keep you close, even if only to watch you from a certain distance.

He often caught himself looking for you throughout the day, whether in the cafeteria during his lunch break, where his curious gaze wandered over the other professors in the hope of spotting your face among them, or between classes, when he would seize a moment to head to the restroom and secretly wish to run into you along the way.

And he had, in fact, seen you a few times since that first day, mostly in the corridors – which, admittedly, were far from ideal. It was rare to find you in the faculty lounge, and even when he did, you always seemed to be in a rush – though, to be fair, so was he most of the time.

None of these fleeting encounters allowed for a proper conversation, the kind where he could ask you something personal and hear your assured tone as you answered, only fueling his curiosity further.

Heeseung wanted to know you. To uncover details that weren’t obvious to everyone else. Sure, many had seen the way you acted as a professor, but did they know your favorite movie? Maybe they did – but did they know why? 

He wanted to dive deep, to understand the layers of you. And he didn’t blame himself for being interested in a colleague. The only thing that might hold him back was the possibility of rejection if he dared to push too far – but even then, he figured it would be worth the risk.

The real challenge was finding the courage to even try.

Seeing you there now felt like a stroke of luck. He had dismissed his students early, and it just so happened that your free period coincided with his. What caught him off guard, though, was simply you. Captivating, magnetic, brimming with confidence.

There was no certain way to pinpoint whatever generated his enthrallment towards you; maybe the manner you behaved around the campus, exuding your unmistakable graceful confidence marked something profound, and so far unnamable, in him. Or perhaps how your hands carried your bag nonchalantly, wrists always packed with accessories that jiggled softly, creating a delicate melody as you walked.

Everything about you had an irresistible air, an atmosphere nearly too blinding, and perhaps that was the hardest part to loose his nerves around you.

“Heeseung?” 

Your voice calling his name was more than enough to bring his existence back to the harsh reality where he had to face you – and your mesmerizing form –, with expectant eyes that also showed somewhat a darker emotion. 

Heeseung didn’t expect his voice to sound so quiet and distant when he answered, let alone his eyes to glance up expressing the way he got lost, but he was far too gone to properly understand the scenario. 

“Yes?”

On the other hand, you were really enjoying the unfolding scene, where Heeseung clearly fought his demons in order to keep his composure. Toying with the devil, you pushed further.

“Is it good?”

“What?” He was too adorable for your heart to handle, blinking his big bambi eyes in confusion before the whole skin of his face turned into a faint crimson tone. “Oh, yeah. Right,” he finally cleared his throat, moving his gaze back to the paper. “I… Mmh, I’d change this part,” he pointed to a specific paragraph where you also had highlighted it; automatically, you moved a bit closer so you could see it with him. “To something more dynamic, like… Using examples?”

You leaned in just enough to make him glance at you nervously, your voice dipping into an unmatched softness. “Examples, huh? What would you suggest?”

Heeseung shrugged and averted his gaze, his brow furrowing deeply as he struggled to come up with an appropriate example. Yes, he had read your lesson summary amidst the chaos in his head. And yes, he wanted to help you. But you – simply you – with your sweet citrusy scent, your effortless, self-assured demeanor, and the way your body leaned closer and closer to his, were utterly suffocating his straight thoughts.

You noticed how he pouted slightly as he focused, which left you experiencing a weird fondness, melting in your chest. 

A few seconds later, his gaze flickered between you and the paper. “Uh, maybe you could tie it to something relatable, like…” He paused, hoping his racing mind wouldn’t betray him too much. “You could compare it to... say, a study on preferences. Like how many people prefer... uh, dating versus not dating,” but of course, his brain had to go there. “I mean– You could show the numbers and... interpret what they reveal, use graphs and tools to illustrate how your students might apply statistics in psychology, for research and similar– Damn, sorry. I don’t need to explain that part to you. Definitely not.”

His rambling was both amusing and endearing, and you had to summon strength from the depths of your soul not to reach out and pinch his adorably pouty cheeks. Fuck it, why did he have to be like this?

“I got it, yeah,” you cut in with a low laugh. “That I can do. Thanks, Heeseung.”

His name rolled off your tongue like honey, leaving him flustered yet oddly satisfied at the sound of your appreciation. Heeseung started to wonder if you might need more help, just to hear you say his name again along with a few praises.

You softly took the paper back and jotted down a note where he had demarcated, making sure to remember and use the tip later. A quick glance at your watch reminded you that your time was running out – you needed to get to the dreaded class you were about to teach.

“Well,” gathering all your materials and placing some inside your bag, you began. You liked to carry your lesson book in your arms, it gave you a particular sense of authority and acknowledgment that only you understood. “Unfortunately, I need to go.”

As you stood up, Heeseung followed your movements with careful attention, his own body wanting to get on his feet as well, much to copy you and maybe walk you to your class. He held himself back, because that would be too pathetic. And he had already exhausted his quota of embarrassment in front of you.

You looked at him, continuing, “But before I leave, I have one more question for you.”

“About what?” He asked, his voice soft but tinged with confusion and curiosity.

“Do you fall into the group that prefers dating or not dating?”

You giggled at his immediate response; his wide eyes, his hands fumbling nervously, one of them darting to adjust his glasses as your unwavering gaze lingered on him.

“Um,” he shifted in his seat, not daring to look at you. “Dating.”

That had been a calculated move on your part, a way to test the waters and find out if he had any romantic ties. Surely, a man as handsome, intelligent, and kind as Heeseung had someone. But the way he answered, paired with his demeanor around you during your few encounters, piqued your curiosity and strengthened your belief that he wasn’t taken.

“Just to clarify, Heeseung,” you said, placing your book back on the table and flattening your hands on its surface. Leaning slightly forward, you closed the space between your faces. Heeseung swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on your unwavering ones. “Are you single?”

“Yes,” he answered shyly yet promptly, his cheeks now burning with heat. “I am single.”

“Good,” you said with a satisfied nod, not even attempting to hide your delight in his response. Straightening up, you grabbed your things and prepared to leave, a smile dancing on your lips. “Very good, Heeseung.”

You had a lecture to lead in a few minutes and hoped to grab a quick bite while reviewing your notes – a personal mantra that steadied your nerves and boosted your confidence, a ritual that you tried not to break. However, fate had different plans for you that day, starting with the unusual buzz of conversation seeping through the door of the faculty lounge, indicating more people had the same plan of occupying the room.

What caught you off guard, though, as your hand settled on the knob and you gently pushed the door open, careful not to disrupt the animated chatter, was spotting Heeseung's bright presence among the group of professors.

The instant hush that followed sent three pairs of eyes towards you, yet yours locked singularly on his. Hesseung’s expression softened automatically, shifting from the lingering remnants of a joyful laughter to something tender and inviting.

Even by the distance, you could nearly feel his irises glimmering with warmth, a genuine glow of happiness lighting up his features little by little. Internally, his heart picked up its pace, the contrast of nervous energy coursing through his body was almost palpable, his palms already growing clammy.

“Please, carry on as if I’m not here,” you quipped with a cheeky smile, not bothering to properly greet each individual. “Pretend I’m a ghost. I’m just here to grab a book,” you added, weaving a subtle lie into your words as you made your way towards the bookshelf in the corner.

A few chuckles rippled through the room before the conversation resumed, now with only two participants since one of them felt the urge to follow you every move. You wondered why you had gone through the effort of lying and how you would deal with your lunch plans elsewhere, considering none of the current people aligned with your usual solitary break.

Well… One of them could maybe help you.

“Hey,” a quiet voice cut through, pulling you from your thoughts as you lingered too long by the shelf. Your head snapped to the side, finding Heeseung standing there with an easy smile, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark grey slacks.

“Hey,” you replied, instinctively shifting to face him fully.

You couldn’t help but let your gaze wander, now practically a habit during these fleeting encounters. Today, Heeseung in a turtleneck was a sight you hadn’t been prepared for. The sleek black fabric paired with a gray blazer and silver accents from his accessories left you more breathless than you cared to admit. Lethal for your heart. Effortlessly, attractively hot. 

“Wanna grab some lunch together?” He asked with an air of casualness, which diverged entirely from the usual demeanor he displayed around you.

Your eyes sparkled with amusement, the corner of your lips curving as a shadow of a mischievous smile appeared before his boldness. Accepting the invitation veered slightly off your schedule, but the idea of speaking with him alone – and the fact that he had taken the initiative – was far too tempting to pass up.

Biting your lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle your smile, you replied as nonchalant as you could, “Sure.”

“Great!” His voice held a trace of enthusiasm that left you feeling inexplicably giddy.

You stifled a giggle when he stepped aside, motioning for you to lead the way, and then quickly rushed ahead to hold the door open for you.

“We can head to that convenience store just down the street,” Heeseung suggested with his charmingly laid-back tone as he helped you through the way, making sure you wouldn’t bump into anyone.

It somehow felt like he practiced this entire interaction quite a few times beforehand, a hint of artificiality appearing amidst the palpable signs of sincerity; that idea matched perfectly with the persona he had shown you so far.

“It’s near, so it won’t mess with your schedule,” at that remark, your attention sharpened, your ears perking up eagerly, waiting for what he would say next. “I know you’ve got a lecture in about thirty minutes, so–”

“You know my schedule?” You cut him off immediately, letting your curiosity overtake as you ignored whatever he was saying previously because that one new information stirred a few strong beats in your chest.

Not to mention how your delight was more than evident in the way your smile brightened, your eyes instantly searching for Heeseung’s shy ones.

“I–I mean– Yeah…” tinged with hesitation and with his confidence momentarily faltering – as well as his steps –, Heeseung answered, adorably flickering his gaze to you, to the floor and then to the direction you both were walking.

However, before he could even try to start to explain himself further, you leaned in, your tone dipping slightly to reassure and tease him at once, your shoulder nudging his arm as you spoke. “You’re cute, Heeseung.”

Not much to your surprise, Heeseung froze in place after hearing your compliment, as though your words had short-circuited his brain, frying his ability to create a proper reaction other than abruptly stop walking.

You had halted your steps a bit forward so you had to turn your body to look at him, and immediately his bambi-eyes scanned you in search for some indication you were joking or pranking his poor heart. The way he had arched his eyebrows together added a charm of innocence that had your heart faltering several beats, not to mention the red flush adorning his cheeks adorably.

After quickly reading Heeseung’s dumbfounded face, you giggled and shook your head tenderly, your eyes oozing with amusement.

“I meant it,” and to add a light touch of genuineness, you held your smile a bit longer. 

Actually, being around Heeseung had this impact on you; a sudden urge to keep smiling, an unexpected and inexplicable heat spreading through your chest, soothing you in a comforting embrace. It was strangely good, as well as scary as shit.

Amidst his inner war, torn between choosing to run away and accepting your praise, Heeseung cleared his throat, making a fist with his hand and covering his lips as he did so before picking up the pace of his steps again. You started to follow, ignoring the students that clearly threw suspicious, speculative glances at you both. Heeseung seemed to mirror your decision too. 

“Well. Uh. T–Thank you,” the stammer made his demeanor even charming and you couldn’t help another giggle that escaped you. He took a little glance at you shyly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a sheepish smile that betrayed how affected he was. 

Heeseung was really battling to maintain his composure, because hearing that sound two times in a row was notably increasing his pulse, and attached to the fact that you called him cute– God. He could feel his face flaming hot once again. 

By your peripheral vision, you caught how he was struggling to suppress a bigger smile, his cheeks puffing slightly as a result of his attempts. If he kept acting that way around you, there was an absurdly high chance you would throw caution to the wind and just ask to kiss him.

Wait. Where did that thought come from?

You had considered Heeseung as a potential romantic interest before – after all, he was handsome, intelligent, kind, and seemed to have an equally beautiful personality. But nothing as raw and carnal as the genuine desire to have him in such a way had crossed your mind until now.

The daylight hit your faces as you both stepped outside the building, but even that wasn’t enough to pull you out of the increasingly sinful thoughts flooding your mind. Sure, you had noticed in previous interactions how Heeseung’s gaze lingered just a little too long on your lips while you spoke. And it was definitely not the kind of attention stemming from “lip reading to understand better.” It was so clear in his eyes, an unspoken want hidden behind those charming chocolate orbs, leaving you wondering if you could be the one to make them melt sweetly for you.

Damn. More sinful thoughts.

Luckily, Heeseung interrupted the spiral going in your head when he pointed ahead to the spot he had mentioned earlier. “It’s right there,” he said, his voice light and soft. “We won’t take too long, okay?”

And then, he gave you the most beautiful smile your eyes had ever captured.

You were so screwed.

There was no other way to put it: you were starting to enjoy having Heeseung around a little too much. The reactions, the smiles, the chivalry, it was strongly getting to you. He had just held the door open for you, walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk, and pulled out your chair while offering to grab whatever you wanted to eat.

Sure, part of it was the bare minimum, but there was no denying that receiving all this without asking, without having any deeper connection beyond being colleagues, left you flustered. It felt special, as though Heeseung’s gentlemanly gestures were more deliberate and sincere simply because they were directed at you.

“Heeseung, you’re not paying for my–”

“Shh,” he gently hushed you, shaking his head as he looked down at you. He was still standing after insisting you sit while he took care of your order. “You can’t wear yourself out, Y/N. Remember: your lecture’s in…” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty-four minutes.”

You gave him a deadpan look and rolled your eyes, silently but surely mastering the art of hiding how affected you actually felt. Your heart had suddenly learned a new frantic rhythm, one that uncontrollably drummed against your rib cages as if it wanted to break free, ringing in your ears. 

“Fine, fine,” you finally gave up, your voice showing your surrender. “But at least let me–”

“No,” Heeseung refused again, this time gently pushing your hands down, which were holding the credit card you had just fished out of your bag. “Tell me what you want.”

After a sigh, you made your request – the simplest thing you could think of, since you were hungry, but the nervousness about your upcoming lecture left you slightly nauseous.

It was a session you had given before, but it always managed to trigger some anxiety. The lecture was open to the entire department, not just a specific class, as part of the mandatory hours – for either you and the students – where you would teach for an hour and a half on a selected topic.

While Heeseung prepared both bowls of ramen and fetched the drinks, you took the brief moment alone to review your notes on your phone. The book you had grabbed earlier as a prop for your blatant lie in the faculty lounge was now abandoned on the extra chair at your table.

Your focused expression was unmistakable, your eyes scanning the chaotic notes that only you could make sense of, notes that would somehow translate into coherent, eloquent words once you started speaking, shining in your element.

From a distance, Heeseung paused mid-way to take you in as well to inhale deeply, his shoulders visibly relaxing from the palpable tension that always seemed to grip him whenever you were near, but his hand still held a remnant of the nervous sweat. 

Inviting you to lunch had been planned in advance in his head, yet it didn’t stop his heart from missing beats when it actually happened, especially after you accepted, making him wonder if having a heart attack was anything like that feeling.

Beyond that, your cheeky words wrapped in confident compliments occupied a special place in the atmosphere surrounding you two, fanning the flames of unease that already simmered within him.

He had spent days counting the chances he might have to carve out time in his own schedule to ask you out, carefully calculating a way to avoid inconveniencing either of you. The courage to invite you outside of work hours wasn’t fully there yet.

He didn’t even have your number!

Heeseung decided to start slowly, taking baby steps. Nonetheless, the blatant flirtation from the other day still echoed in his mind, sending him spiraling into endless thoughts – or perhaps towards the obvious conclusion.

Did you want to get to know him better? What were your intentions? After a candid conversation with Sunghoon, who confirmed that flirting wasn’t your typical behavior with coworkers, Heeseung couldn’t shake the notion that something lingered in the air whenever you two interacted. It was an unspoken tension, like a cloud of silent words revealing something deeper, hidden just beneath the surface.

As usual, you looked stunning, completely immersed in your work while pouring every ounce of effort into being an excellent teacher. Heeseung had come to admire this about you.

He silently hoped you wanted him the way he had started wanting you – something more than friendship, something closer. You were kind and confident, dedicated and beautiful. Falling for you would be effortless.

If luck was on his side, this lunch would mark the first step towards the connection he longed to build with you.

As he approached, he couldn’t help but notice the faint unease clouding your otherwise captivating expression. It didn’t detract from your beauty, instead stirred a quiet desire within him to ease your worries.

“Relax,” he murmured softly, careful not to startle you, as he placed the steaming bowls of ramen and drinks on the table. You glanced up, your posture loosening as you leaned back in your chair. “You’ll do great.”

And there it was again, that effortlessly charming smile.

Heeseung took his seat across from you, leaning forward to start sipping his ramen since he was very hungry himself. His eyes crinkled slightly as they met yours, radiating warmth and tenderness, unmatching your keen gaze that followed the movement of his lips curving into a pout as he ate.

The problem was that, this time, you couldn’t hold your tongue about his beautiful grin.

“You have a really nice smile, Heeseung.”

And the reaction was instant. He choked, coughing into his hand as you giggled mischievously, quickly pushing his drink closer so he could take a sip and regain his dignity. Heeseung’s face turned as red as a tomato, increasing the adoration in your eyes as you watched the way he struggled; something about giving compliments simply for the sake of breaking his composure became one of your favorite games to play. Besides, you really meant each of them. 

You could go for hours about the traces of Heeseung’s features, analyzing it like a delicate and dreamlike painting, the ones that felt surreal, nearly far to human reach. 

For a short amount of seconds, Heeseung forgot he was speaking to the person who was climbing the romantic-interest charts with immense potential, the one responsible for the erratic beats of his heart and the thoughts he preferred not to name just yet, and not some random friend of his.

The curse slipped from his sauce-stained lips in a soft murmur. “Damn it,” he quickly wiped the area with a napkin, recovering from his small choke before practically whining the next words. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”

You hadn't expected that behavior at all, but it was definitely a pleasant surprise. The wide-eyed look he gave you immediately, as if the realization hit him that he had acted more like a child than a man in front of you, only made your chest warm with affection. Ironically, Heeseung’s cheeks also flushed, heating in pure embarrassment.

He was lowkey thankful for the outfit choice, the turtleneck covering the flush of redness creeping up his neck towards his face and ears. 

You shifted in your seat, finally ready to dig into your food as the aroma made your stomach rumble.

“Sorry,” you took a bite of your ramen, offering a lopsided smile, not the least bit apologetic for making him lose his composure in front of you. “I can’t help it.”

Realizing that your gaze hadn’t changed towards him, and in fact, you seemed even more intrigued by what he could offer, Heeseung decided to be as genuine as possible, expressing his true essence,  one that teetered on the edge of something almost reverential.

It wasn’t as if he had other options in front of your mesmerizing presence, because even a simple “hello” from you, with your velvety voice as the backdrop, was enough to destabilize his body, causing his mind to short-circuit. Then, he became a jumble of disconnected words and behaviors that perfectly reflected his inner turmoil.

“You should at least try,” Heeseung murmured again, an underlying tone of faux sadness coloring his words. He avoided looking at you for too long; otherwise, it felt like the air would vanish from his lungs. “You know, so I can pretend to be really cool around you, and then you’ll fall for me.”

Heeseung wasn’t sure where the courage to throw out such a bold line came from, but he didn’t complain at first. However, the laugh that escaped you made him question whether it was the right move, hesitating at your reaction. But then your smile remained, subtle and affectionate, your eyes dripping with amusement until you spoke, in the same low, subtly husky, sensual tone that reflected part of your personality.

“It’s adorable to watch you all flustered, Heeseung,” you replied fearlessly, reading the script he once showed you without explaining, your confidence evident in every syllable as you chewed your food, maintaining eye contact without breaking. “It’s almost addictive.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, but the cheeky smile that threatened to escape betrayed his attempt to appear annoyed. He took a sip of his drink and looked at you seriously, though there was such obvious faking behind his gaze that you had to stifle a laugh, especially since he added a small pout after speaking.

Seriously, what an adorable man.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all.”

The warm atmosphere between you both created an interesting, comfortable dynamic that made you think about exploring different paths with him, maybe even inviting him to eat outside work hours. Despite the pleasant conversation, there was always the weight of your duties as teachers. The thought made you recall your next task with a quick inner jolt.

“Wow,” you looked at the time on your phone, your expression twisting into a mix of dread and nervousness before looking back at Heeseung, who was watching you with curiosity. “I need to go.”

It was strangely nice to see his face fall into something bordering on sadness, even though it fueled an impulse to drop all responsibilities and stay with him for the rest of the day, chatting away and definitely coaxing more shy reactions out of him.

“Sorry,” you said, this time meaning it. Gently, you reached for Heeseung’s hand resting on the table, covering it with yours. “I promise we can hang out more. Give me your number.”

Everything happened so quickly. The sudden touch, the promise of a future meet, the request for his number. Heeseung needed a few seconds to process the phone extended in his direction.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he said, reluctantly pulling his hand away to carefully write down his name and number in your phone before handing it back to you.

You found it amusing that he saved himself as “Lee Heeseung (college),” because you initially associated it with a college friend rather than a work one, which gave a youthful, almost nostalgic air, as though you two were young lovers rather than two mature adults about to venture down a different path beyond a mere friendship.

“Thanks, Heeseung,” you said as you stood up, the man following your movements for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint. He still had a few minutes before he had to head back. “For the food, the conversation, and for helping me relax.”

“Y-Yeah,” he mentally cursed himself for stuttering. “Anytime, Y/N.”

You gave him a small yet sincere smile before pausing almost completely, clutching your hands around your bag’s strap. Heeseung was standing there, eyes wide and round, watching you intently, his expression sweet as honey and his body waiting for... something.

There was no way to stop your own limbs from moving when you leaned forward lightly, enveloping Heeseung in a warm hug. “Thank you so much, Hee.”

And Heeseung could only hope you didn’t hear or feel the rapid beats of his heart when he held you back.

But you did.

Heeseung definitely wore a bolder persona through text. You believed his hands were still trembling as he sent the message, fingers glazing over the screen, searching for the best way to express what his flustered mind was trying to articulate, because countless times he seemed to delete and rewrite, hesitating before hitting send.

Despite that, it was so intriguing and sensual the way he let himself get carried away in the messages; from sweet good mornings followed by “can’t wait to see you today,” to “your outfit was stunning. I held myself back from hugging you a little longer,” implying he was slowly, yet surely growing hungrier from your touches. They were subtle phrases, perhaps innocent, but filled with an unspoken, looming desire.

At this point, it was undeniable that all you longed for was to kiss him, since the hugs that had become your usual greeting no longer satisfied the yearning to have him in direct contact with your skin. You wanted more. Much more.

“You’re suffocating me,” Heeseung mumbled against your chest, but made no effort to pull away from the position.

Yes. You were in quite a... compromising position.

You found him in the teachers' lounge, sitting at one of the chairs with his elbows propped on the smooth surface of the desk while reviewing some assignments, facial features sharpened due to the concentrated gaze and furrowed brows, although the faint pout gracing his lips softened the whole facade. 

Sunghoon had just left, greeting you with a sly smile and a wink, almost murmuring a “good luck, I’ll leave you two alone” in the most teasing way.

And it was in that very moment, when your sneaky presence entered the room, that your little plan began. Truth be told, there was no plan, just a spontaneous thought that hugging Heeseung while he was seated and you standing might be a nice touch – albeit a touch that was a bit too sultry for the work environment but would certainly reveal the mystery behind some of your insecurities and second thoughts. 

Did Heeseung flirt for his own pleasure, or was he too afraid to make a move? Because you honestly didn’t know how much longer you could wait.

“Sorry, my dear,” the endearment slipped out almost automatically, now as routine as the hugs, because to your delight, Heeseung always became embarrassed and cutely tried to avoid you when you called him that.

But who could he blame? Your honeyed voice saying the word always felt like a sweet, addictive shot to his chest.

You laughed when he groaned, pressing his face against the fabric of your blouse, pulling away ever so slightly enough for your hand to rest on his shoulder, his hand finding its way to your waist, looking up to make eye contact with you.

He wore gold-framed glasses that perfectly balanced his skin. Over the course of your conversations, a few subtle details had been revealed, like the fact that he was a little nearsighted but only wore glasses when he was too lazy to put in his contacts. And they were now slightly misplaced, giving him a ridiculously attractive air.

On top of that, he had chosen to wear suspenders that day, which only added to the innocent-boy look that made your heart tremble in a mild despair. It made you ache to ruin Heeseung in ways that were beyond comprehension, leaving him completely undone under your hands. 

And that created a bittersweet feeling within you, because Heeseung was somehow sweet and delicate, and all you could think of in moments like this was seeing him squirming in your bed.

Like. What the hell.

Vanishing the sinful stream of thoughts crossing your mind by subtly shaking it off, you smiled with a falsely angelic demeanor. A pang in your heart reminded you that those inappropriate ideas needed to disappear, because until Heeseung gave you the green light, you couldn’t take any bold actions. You had to keep your not-so-innocent instincts under control.

Your fingers lightly scratched at his scalp, making his pretty eyes flutter briefly and a soft sigh escape his lips, tinted with a pale shade of pink. Moments like this – when a sudden intimacy bloomed between the two of you – always brought with them an undeniable need to define what you were becoming or at least bring it to the table. Were you both on the same page?

“Ready to go?”

“Gimme just ten more minutes. I need to finish this,” Heeseung replied warmly, his gaze flickering towards the scattered papers on the desk.

His voice never rose around you, always soft and gentle, like you were something rare and delicate that deserved only the utmost care, you came to notice after a few interactions.

Following his line of sight, you let out a dramatic sigh, recognizing the template on the papers and sympathizing with his predicament.

“My deepest condolences,” you joked, patting his back lightly before stepping away to give him the space he needed to finish his work.

Heeseung breathed out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Yeah, thanks.”

Taking the spare chair across the table, you rummaged through your bag for your phone to answer some emails and clear up a few pending tasks, working in silence to avoid disturbing him.

It was a Friday, and your plans involved dinner – a date you had invited him to, scheduled after the extended workday that surprisingly got dragged into the evening. It wasn’t a usual routine, but every so often, deadlines accumulated and students seemed to conspire to submit all their assignments at once, unnecessarily stressing the professors.

You had received your fair share of submissions earlier in the day, deciding to tackle them on Sunday. Tonight, your nerves were too tangled with excitement and anticipation about spending the entire evening with Heeseung.

Your so-called “dates” had so far been restricted to small windows of free time, with your schedules swallowing the possibility of meeting outside work. Lunchtime together had become almost expected – sometimes, a quick sandwich devoured in the span of ten minutes between breaks with Heeseung was enough to leave you happy for an entire day.

Still, whispers floated through the hallways, pointing at how students had started to pay close attention to your interactions. The lingering touches on arms, shy smiles, and starry eyes hadn't gone unnoticed. One student even mentioned Heeseung’s name during your class under the guise of linking it to something he taught, only to admit they were curious about your reaction.

And it had been priceless.

At any given time, Heeseung would be the source of your expression brightening instantly, your posture straightened as if on command, and your hand reflexively fixing any rogue strand of hair.

However, there was no reason for you to bask into that type of spotlight. Even though you carried yourself with confidence and shared openly about clinical and professional experiences with your students, believing practical examples enriched the theory, there were limits. And that line was drawn sharply when it came to your personal and romantic life.

You had particular tastes, ones not every man could embrace or accept at all. This was why you approached Heeseung with such caution – biting around the edges not to burn your tongue, to avoid ruining everything.

But something within you screamed, loud and clear, that he might be the one. Or, at the very least, someone willing to occupy a space where both of you could thrive.

“Y/N?” His soft voice broke through your spiral of thoughts with almost painful gentleness. Heeseung was always so soft, so sweet. Ugh.

“Yes?” You lifted your gaze, confused, only to find him smiling faintly.

“You were zoning out,” he pointed out, and only then did you notice the desk had been cleared, his work neatly organized. “Something on your mind?”

Yes. You.

“No,” you quickly shook your head, preparing to stand, but Heeseung’s hand stopped you, his warm touch wrapping over your fingers.

“If you’re having second thoughts about going out, we can always reschedule,” he began cautiously, his tone betraying a flicker of hesitation. “I mean, if you’re not feeling up to go out with me–”

“No!” You denied it so quickly it sounded desperate, your chest tightening at the sensation of his warm palm on yours. “Of course not! I invited you, and I really, really want to go, Hee,” clearing away his doubt took priority number one, and without even realizing it, the words left your lips in a voice both firm and gentle. “I really want to spend time with you. Outside of work. Just the two of us. On a date. Okay?”

Heeseung noticed how you had been absent for several minutes, your gaze distant as it lingered on a spot on the table, making him wonder if there was something there he couldn’t see – maybe his glasses needed a stronger prescription or something. But no, you were just lost in thought, and reading you like that stoked the uncertainty, hesitation eating his confidence away. 

He had accepted your invitation immediately, because he wanted to go out with you more than anything. Maybe the night would end with a few kisses exchanged in his car and, perhaps – hopefully –, something more.

But any hint of hesitation from you made his confidence waver unexpectedly, even if you weren’t truly unsure. If he knew the real reason behind your sudden distance, he would understand why your mind had wandered. And could even drive you through it willingly. 

Nevertheless, once you reassured him it rekindled the invisible threads of hope that had been flickering to waver, easing the tensed nerves of his body and bringing a relieved smile to his face.

With a soft squeeze on your hand, he whispered, praying not to fumble since he just realized you called it a date and his heart chose to perform acrobatics, flipping somersaults in his chest.

“Shall we?”

The dinner was wonderful, relatively early but lovely, carried with comfortable chats and hands searching for each other. Then Heeseung suggested a walk to a nearby park so you could enjoy ice cream together, blushing furiously as he gave the idea for thinking it might be a bit cheesy and silly. 

You loved it. You loved ice cream.

You strolled for a while, leisurely, with no rush, exchanging words, sharing thoughts, and flirting subtly – some moments that even left you flustered, stirring fumbles and stutters that Heeseung stated internally it was his personal favorite side of you.

You heard him talk about the anxieties he felt at work, being newly hired and dealing with the pressures was definitely a struggle. So you shared what calmed you amid chaos, hoping something could ease his worries as much as it did for yours. Other than that, you offered your presence and listening for whenever he felt like venting out. He thanked you with a pretty smile. You nearly stumbled on your feet. 

And just like that, the next date was decided. A quiet, but certainly personal one: Sunday at your place, correcting the remaining assignments and hanging out the rest of the evening.

Then, before you both could reach the bench where you planned to sit, your ice cream nearly finished since you were a slow eater, Heeseung suddenly stopped and looked at you. Confused, you mimicked his motion and asked with worry, “Something’s wrong?”

When your eyes met, you recognized a glint of desperation and longing, an unspoken anticipation for something you didn’t know yet, but it ignited the same ache in your chest.

Your heart raced uncontrollably when Heeseung took a step forward, its thump-thump echoing in your ear like a distant thunder when he slowly, but surely closed the distance between you both.

The moonlight illuminating your faces became a silent accomplice, your gazes, heavy with unshed confessions, translating what either of you failed to articulate.

Heeseung let out a sigh, the delicate sound escaping his lips like a subtle breeze to caress your skin, before slowly running his tempting tongue over the curve of his mouth. Your eyes darted towards it, as though a magnetic pull drew your attention to the area without leaving control for you.

Your surprise was written all over your face, yet it faded quickly, when Heeseung leaned in even closer, his presence drawing you into a bubble where the rest of the world no longer existed. The surroundings turned into a blur, an ethereal fog wrapping you two in a cocoon of warmth and soft tension.

As his hand reached up to caress your cheek, there was a moment of hesitation, an unspoken uncertainty lingering in the air between you. His fingers brushed gently over your skin with a feather-light touch, as though testing the waters, while his eyes flickered through your features, marveling with attention.

His other hand, however, settled firmly on your waist, pulling you closer and anchoring you in place. The pressure was subtle and unmistakable, making your breath get caught in your throat.

“I want to kiss you,” under the stars, Heeseung confessed.

The air thickened, the last piece of the ice cream cone promptly dropping to the ground because you were too busy searching for physical contact; your fingers traced an invisible line across Heeseung’s chest, covered by the light dress shirt, until they found comfort on his broad shoulders.

“I want to kiss you too,” with a genuine mutuality, built slowly through the weeks and now finally transformed into words, you eased the weight on your chest.

It was different to simply think and to verbalize. Putting into words made it real. It showed the vulnerability hidden behind the idealization, working as a strong grounding where you, so far, feared to walk in. But Heeseung wanted to go with you just as much.

A gentle, relieved smile graced the corner of his mouth and made you mirror it almost automatically, as if the relationship created through the days synched into an admirable connection where your bodies worked together, unison. 

Eye contact remained as quiet promises hanged in the air, until your eyelids grew heavy, emotions swirling inside you and overpowering the last fragments of reasoning. The distance between you deliberately shrank, and you briefly savored the soft touch of Heeseung’s uneven breath as his parted lips grazed over yours, as a silent invite for you to meet him mid-way.

And you did. 

Heeseung was fully tense now, body quivering slightly as desperation swallowed his capacity to think straight; he could feel his hands trembling on your jawline and waist, goosebumps covering his entire being.

Touching your lips felt like embracing a plush, fluffy cloud, caressing his flesh with care and tenderness. It was delightful, carrying a warmth of affection he had never experienced with anyone else.

The very first contact was experimental, a delicate pull to ease the foreign encounter of skins, but held a trace of purpose that conveyed the inner turmoil happening inside. For short seconds you backed away, your lips ajar, silently expressing neediness that led you to lean in once more, diving into kissing Heeseung properly, because the fleeting meet wasn’t enough for you. You yearned more. 

When your tongues brushed against each other after a bold move coming from you, Heeseung groaned, the shock coursing through his body was indescribable. If he had to find words to express, he would choose the idea of a surge of electricity at the highest voltage, yet without pain or discomfort but definitely intense as such. On the contrary, it seemed to soothe every fragile piece of his soul with subtle firmness – a graceful, beautiful, and gentle contrast.

Waves of unfamiliar sensations filled your chests like butterflies dancing joyously to the rhythm you slowly unveiled together, flooding you two with a sense of “finally” that resonated louder than anything else in that moment.

Finally, you discovered the taste you craved the most; Heeseung's mouth tasted like strawberries. And devotion. It blended with the flavor of caramel melting on your tongue, a sweet and addictive mix. It bordered on surreal, like utopian dreams, unreachable, and definitely intoxicating.

While Heeseung finally discovered the softness of your lips, the delicate curve of it driving his instincts to deepen the kiss eagerly, his fingers tightening on your waist as if afraid you might slip away.

He wasn’t going to let go. Neither were you.

The world outside completely fell away. The few things that mattered and you could focus on was the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the pressure of his tongue against yours, and the frantic pace of your heartbeats intertwining together. The kiss wasn’t simply a kiss anymore, it was the culmination of all the unspoken tension, all the longing that had been building between you. A promise under the moonlight that was finally being kept.

Breathing was becoming a difficult task as the seconds passed, so you had to reluctantly break the contact, but only enough to catch your breath, your foreheads gently resting on each other.

Your eyes remained closed, heavy due to the adrenaline rushing your veins relentlessly, your pulse wildly pounding as though it aimed to set fire to your skin. It was as if the weight of tons had lifted off your shoulders, soothing your soul with an uneven calm, even though your body now burned with desire, claiming for more. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, felt like he had stepped into a new world, unbelieving of what had just happened. Breaking the blissful chaos happening inside, he breathed out a giggle, the sound both turning the dreamlike sensation into a tangible emotion and causing you to flutter your eyes open.

You leaned back ever so slightly to find him with an adorable expression, one that exuded sincerity, need and something similar to disbelief. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, feeling your cheek flush with a sudden shyness as the tips of your fingers started to wander around the silky strands of Heeseung’s hair, trailing random patterns, which drew a sigh from him.

Heeseung leaned into the touch when you cupped his face with one palm before he shook his head, the movement causing your noses to nuzzle against one another due to the proximity, and his glasses to tilt off a little. Then his smile widened, another delicate giggle gifting your hearing and your sight, since his two hooded eyes turned into small crescents behind the transparent lenses. 

“I'm kinda not believing that we just kissed,” he whispered quietly on your lips. You deliberately licked them, exhaling a chuckle at his adorableness.

Another shaky sigh escaped Heeseung, the edge of his ears turning into a crimson shade and the skin beneath your fingers warming noticeably.

“Yeah?” A small, amused smirk played on your mouth, your voice dropping to a low tone, bordering on sultry as your eyes rose, seeking the contact you so loved to maintain; those two beautiful chocolate orbs held yours, drawing you in with pure affection. “Does it feel unreal?”

Heeseung’s heartbeat quickened when you boldly, yet slowly brushed your thumb on his bottom lip, leaving no room for answers because he was falling apart, crumbling under your intensity. He then prevented you from the beautiful scenery of his glimmering eyes oozing you once he closed them to enjoy your touch.

A soft hum escaped his throat, a subtle response to the question hanging in the air that sounded a little extra sensual to your ears, a noise that definitely had no right to spasm a heat down your core.

Heeseung’s head moved slightly with a silent nod afterwards, as if to say he didn’t have the proper words to explain how out of this world, how overwhelming kissing you felt.

“Then kiss me again, Heeseung,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, lips teasingly grazing over his. Heeseung's heart stuttered, his breath faltering. “Kiss me again, and maybe it'll start to feel real.”

For a fleeting moment, hesitation flashed in his eyes as he opened them. His hungry gaze flickered between your parted, inviting lips and the anticipation burning in your stare. Had he heard you right? Did you truly want this again – want him?

You caught the way his throat bobbed with a hard swallow, the grip on your waist tightening, almost possessive, though beneath it lay his tensed uncertainty. His other hand remained where it was, cradling your face with a gentleness that contrasted the intensity of his hold, sending an unbidden shiver cascading down your spine.

But it was your expectant, eager eyes, glowing with nothing but unfiltered desire that shattered his doubts. There was no fear, no reluctance, not even the slightest trace of insecurity coming from you. Just raw, unspoken, confident want. One more kiss. Just one more.

And so, he claimed your mouth, capturing your lower lip between his, sucking on it with a fervent need as his eyes fluttered shut – and so did yours. A soft, breathy smack echoed when he finally released it from the grasp of his own plush lips, waiting for your next decision.

A rush of warmth spread between you as your mouth searched for his instinctively, to deepen the rhythm with the passion intensifying and the pace quickening. Your tongues intertwined in a seamless dance, a newfound hunger guiding how they moved.

The hand that once caressed you wavered for a second before gliding down to your waist, fingers flexing as he pulled you flush against him. The friction was subtle, but enough to steal the breath from your lungs, a gasp getting lost amidst the kiss.

Heeseung was starting to show signs of a deeper yearning, a need darker and unexplored, untouched up until this moment, but still restraining himself, an inner fight unveiling before you both. 

The discrepancy in his actions laid bare the true, fractured side of his divided desire – caught between surrendering to the primal instinct to kiss you over and over again with reckless abandon, without stopping, and the struggle to control himself, to rein in the sheer force of his craving.

But if he lost himself on you, you wouldn’t mind, not when he kissed you like this; so fiercely, so feverishly. It was intoxicating the way Heeseung devoured you with such raw need, as if this was everything, his only want, his only need, the very essence of his happiness.

The two of you clung to each other with an almost desperate tenderness at this point, as if feeling the warmth of the other’s skin was the only thing tethering you to reality – as if this simple touch carried the last breath of joy, of desire, of life itself.

You sighed into his mouth, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, drawing a delicious groan from deep within his chest. The sound alone sent a spark of pleasure coursing through you and you thanked for the tight grip on your hips, otherwise you would probably fall.

Your other hand clutched the fabric of his shirt, as though it would be able to anchor you away from the reality unfolding inside your brain; one that definitely didn’t stop there, in the middle of an open public space. 

Heeseung reacted instantly, angling his head to kiss you better, to give you the best, his lips moving with a fervor that made your entire body buzz with the type of heat you started to wish to live forever with. 

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, panting for air, Heeseung rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping you as if afraid to let go, enjoying how you held his body just as close, fearing the same. 

His hooded and dazed gaze bore into yours, layered with something you couldn’t pinpoint precisely. Not before he murmured with his hoarse voice, taunting your next move. “Still feels unreal.”

You let out a breathy laugh, a feigned scoff due to his sudden shameless demeanor. Your fingertips traced the sharp line of his jaw before settling against his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss; Heeseung deduced you liked to do that, playing with his sanity enough to drift his soul towards the edge of losing it completely. 

“Then maybe,” you purred, tone laced with mischief. “We should try again. Just to make sure.”

Heeseung smirked, eyes darkening, matching yours. He whispered back. 

“But not here.”

Heeseung had noticed the way you had practically devoured him with your gaze all afternoon, and he wasn’t sure what to do with that realization.

Well, maybe not all afternoon, but at some point it seemed like you had grown bored of your responsibilities and decided to entertain yourself. How?

It didn’t matter if Heeseung was rambling about dull, tedious things, like students handing in papers filled with blatantly copied textbook answers despite his request for originality. Somehow, you managed to derail his thoughts into dangerous territory.

“Ugh, such a drag, right?” You had responded at the end of his rant, lips pursed in an exaggerated pout as your fingers idly traced along the fabric of his thin sweater, feigning comfort – an excuse to touch him.

Or when he asked for a glass of water, and you returned with his order and… A lollipop between your lips, absently rolling the red-tinted candy over your tongue while pretending to focus on your assignments, casually seated on the floor of your living room as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

And now, when he had simply asked for the bathroom’s location, you had replied, “Last door down the hall, right next to my room.”

There was something so subtle, yet unmistakably deliberate about the way you had emphasized my room, your voice laced with a suggestive tone to make it sound like an unspoken invitation. As if you wanted to plant the thought in his mind – no, better: dare him to wonder where exactly your room was. More precisely, where your bed was.

And it wasn’t as if Heeseung didn’t want you in that way. Of course he did. Ever since Friday’s kiss you had been the only thing occupying his thoughts. He had lost track of time on Saturday, running late to his own commitments, the once carefully maintained routine slipping through his fingers like sand.

You were unraveling him, piece by piece, effortlessly pulling his existence into your orbit, making his sanity wane with an alarming ease.

Now Heeseung found himself standing in the bathroom, unsure of how to step back out, his fumbling fingers disheveled his dark hair. 

No, the door wasn’t stuck, nor had any accidents occurred during his time there, he was just frustrated and flustered. 

He had lost count of how many times he had leaned over the sink to splash cold water on his face, desperately attempting to ease his nerves, which instinctively tightened at the thought of returning to a closed space with you and your brazenly, shamelessly flirts. What the hell had he gotten himself into with a woman this confident and irresistible?

You, who already carried an enviable self-assurance, were completely in your element. This was your home – you knew every inch of it, and no doubt you could use props to tease Heeseung in ways that would drive him to the brink, just like the fucking lollipop.

If he closed his eyes, the sinful image of your lips wrapping around the candy’s pink tip, sucking with an unbearable slowness, would replay like a cursed mantra – a damn film he couldn’t turn off, the screen stuck on an endless loop inside his restless mind.

It was ironic how naturally and effortlessly your relationship had unfolded… until that one defining kiss.

It felt like those tender embraces – even the ones laced with playful, wandering hands, or the moments when you deliberately hugged him while he was seated, letting his face nestle into the softness of your chest innocently – were the only thing keeping the raw, untamed desire restrained.

But the moment your lips met, the next step became far more tangible; the possibility of ending the day in your bedroom hung in the air, now more than ever thickening the space between you with an unmistakable tension.

On Friday, after deciding to head back to his car under the pretext of finding more privacy, you did exchange a few more touches, none of them pure. The moment you dared to move onto his lap, however, was when Heeseung drew the line.

“Not tonight,” he murmured against your lips, breaking the kiss as a flush of embarrassment crept up his cheeks. 

And you respected his words without hesitation, nodding in understanding before sealing the moment with one last tender peck, your eyes dripping with fondness because that’s what Heeseung awakened in you: an equal blend of desire and deep affection, a craving to take care of him in every possible way.

The problem was: he wished it had been that night. That “tonight” that had already passed.

Heeseung ached for you to take him completely, just as he longed to claim you in return. Your delicate hands would probably fit perfectly around his length. Your soft lips would push him further into madness. And your gaze, always so confident and unwavering, would turn even more sultry behind closed doors, leaving him on the verge of collapse.

Heeseung let out a frustrated sigh, panicking once more, his pulse quickening. He would surrender to you in a heartbeat. No hesitation. If the mere feeling of your lips against his had sent him straight to heaven, he could only imagine what the rest of you could do.

There was this one small detail gnawing at his self-assurance, unraveling it into waves of anxiety that threatened to throw his entire system off balance. It had nothing to do with you directly, it was solely about him and his own perspective on sex. 

Heeseung valued his partner’s pleasure equally to his own. He firmly believed that both should enjoy the unique and intimate sensations a night of passion could bring. However, his own pleasure was far more… passive. Submissive, even. Would you be okay with that? Would you make fun or give up when he decides that you should take control? 

God. Everything becomes a spiral inside his head.

On the other hand, you were patiently waiting for his return, nonetheless your brain was playing tricks to the same extent.

Neither of you had brought up the kiss on Saturday, exchanging only brief messages, both too caught up in your own routines. And when Heeseung showed up at your doorstep for your “professor duties date” with the natural charming smile, greeting him with anything beyond a warm grin and a casual, “Welcome, make yourself at home,” felt oddly improper – even though you had noticed his fingers twitching on his sides, as if anticipating something more from you.

The urge to throw yourself into his arms and ruin him in the most alluring way possible tingled beneath your skin for the rest of the day, your chest hurting with raw need for him.

There was no logical explanation for the effect Heeseung had on you. If you dig to try, you would find mixed conclusions such as those impossibly big, affectionate eyes that stayed locked on you with an almost angelic aura, soaking in every word you spoke with attention and also stirring the deepest profanity thoughts to ever exist.

Or how he had to wet his lips with a frequency that threw your self-control out of the window, now knowing how they taste, only serving as a teasing motion for you to gather more and more arousal and need over them.

Or perhaps, just the remarkable way he was the perfect gentleman around you, treating you as a queen who deserved everything you wanted.

Delaying the conversation or actions felt equally as right as it did utterly wrong. But what struck you the most was realizing that this wasn’t you – at least, not the you that you knew. 

You didn’t shy away from challenges, never made excuses to escape a situation, nor avoided conversations that could either lead you exactly where you wanted to be or leave you in shambles. And maybe that was the thing about Heeseung – he dismantled your integrity, unsteadying your footing, weakening the very foundation of who you were.

He made you do things that never belonged to your usual repertoire, because, with ridiculous ease, he had melted a piece of your heart just enough to make space for himself. And you let him.

That was why, when Heeseung finally gathered the courage to step back into the living room, you didn’t even give yourself the chance to notice his timid posture, the way he initially avoided looking at you. The words left your lips like a bullet from a gun after holding the trigger for far too long.

“Heeseung, I want you.”

The room fell silent. A big pause before anything else happened. 

He hadn’t expected the confession. Nor had he expected to find you standing there, visibly waiting for him just to say it out loud. He lifted his gaze only to be met with the very woman who had been haunting his thoughts – the one who was always so sure of herself, so fucking intoxicatingly aware of what she wanted. 

And he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine when you took a step forward. Then another. And another. Until you were right there, face to face, breath to breath, heat to heat.

Your jaw was clenched, the tension betraying the firm decision you had already made. Your eyes burned, dark with intent, and Heeseung  felt himself shrink under your presence, overwhelmed by the so commanding atmosphere you carried. And yet, despite the way his body tensed, his pulse quickened, his breath grew ragged, he felt himself growing painfully eager. Painfully hard.

Because this was exactly what he liked.

The air between you thickened, heavy with a quiet-loud anticipation. The only sound filling the space was the uneven rhythm of your breathing, tangled together, syncing, feeding into the tension neither of you dared to break. You remained steady, firm. Heeseung, on the other hand, felt his skin prickle, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. God, you were so, so unbearably sexy.

His eyes traced your features as if committing them to memory, memorizing every curve, every line, as though he would later etch them into a canvas in silent admiration. And you were doing similar. But then he noticed something. You were holding back.

Your hands, still hanging at your sides, twitched with a restless itch to reach for him, but an invisible boundary you refused to cross without permission restrained you.

So you leaned in closer, sealing the final sliver of space between you. Your forehead pressed against Heeseung’s, noses barely brushing as your breath mingled in the heated air between you. Your lashes fluttered shut, and in a voice barely above a whisper, you pleaded, “Please… tell me you want me too.”

And that was it. That was the moment Heeseung shattered. Every last ounce of hesitation, every lingering doubt, was cast aside like it had never existed in the first place.

“Please,” he echoed, though his voice trembled, thick with something raw, desperate.

Your eyes snapped open, searching his face as confusion flickered across your features. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze fully, taking in the sight of him; his slightly furrowed brows, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark, blown-out eyes bore into yours, brimming with hunger, longing, surrender.

“Please,” Heeseung whispered again, his grip tightening as he took your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours as if grounding himself in the touch. His eyes briefly dipped downward, to the sight of your intertwined hands as if it were something sacred. “I want you. So fucking much.” His voice was nearly a whimper now, thick with emotion, aching with need.

Then, slowly, Heeseung lifted your hands to his flushed cheeks and positioned them there, his own covering yours to make sure you wouldn’t let go, as he let the heat of his skin seep into your palms.

He shuddered beneath your fingertips, his breath stuttering as he leaned into the warmth you offered so freely. “Touch me,” he said within a breath, yet laced with craving, coaxing you to do so. “Use me…”

Heeseung melted into your touch like a man starved, nuzzling into your palm before pressing a soft, tender kiss to the center of it. A shiver ran down your spine at the way his lips brushed against your skin, like he was worshiping the moment, like he was silently begging for more.

And something inside you twisted, a sharp pang of affection and want so intense it left you breathless, your pulsing core now demanding some attention. This wasn’t quite what you had expected, but the way Heeseung looked at you, as though you were something divine, as if he was ready to kneel at your feet and offer himself up without a second thought, sent a wild rush of heat through your veins.

Then, locking his gaze with yours, pupils dark, blown wide and heavy with lust, he delivered the ultimate, the final spark to the fire.

“Make me yours.”

And fuck, you would.

To say your lips merely connected would be an understatement. Heeseung jolted slightly at the force with which you yanked him forward, meeting you halfway as you leaned in, sealing your mouths together in a kiss that was both lustful and unrelenting. The slow, deliberate contact created soft, intoxicating noises, your faces moving in perfect harmony to deepen the moment; the fading sugary taste of your lollipop dissolving slowly on Heeseung’s tongue.

Your bodies slotted together effortlessly, like two puzzle pieces finding their rightful place. The hands that had once cradled Heeseung’s face, now traced a heated path down his neck before threading into his hair, fingertips grazing his skin with intent. Instinctively, his own hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you flush against his warmth, as if needing you impossibly closer.

A quiet sigh slipped past your lips as Heeseung’s hands dug into your waist, boldly searching for bare skin so his fingers could start to explore better the curves of your body; the same old possessive grip holding you in place although you guided the entire of the kiss. He was letting you decide the pace, when and where he had the freedom and openness to move his tongue and suck your bottom lip.

Realizing how firm and claiming Heeseung was pushing you towards his body elicited an immediate shiver down your spine, your skin flaming hot, a warmth that was definitely palpable; Heeseung’s own state wasn’t much different, as heat coiled around you.

It was only when your lungs screamed for relief that you both pulled away, but Heeseung was utterly lost, desperate to continue feeling your warmth. He pressed wet, heated kisses down your neck, each one more urgent than the last. He longed to explore every inch of your smooth flesh, craving to discover what made you tremble with desire, focused solely on filling you with pleasure.

“Did you figure out where my room is?” The question left you in a breathless whisper, laced with suggestion, a sharp inhale breaking into a muffled groan when Heeseung sank his teeth into a tender spot on your neck before pulling back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes searched for his, dark and hooded, your faces hovered over each other’s, both caught in a slow, tantalizing rhythm – a tease, a challenge, neither closing the distance completely. His bangs, completely off place, brushed softly against your forehead. 

“So it was intentional?” Heeseung murmured skeptically, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk, his lips flushed and kiss-bruised. He was simply putting the pieces together, waiting for confirmation.

You didn’t bother hiding your wicked grin. “Not exactly. I just took a shot in the dark to see if it would pay off,” you purred, leaning in to catch his lower lip between your teeth before adding, “And judging by your reaction…” You dragged your nails lightly down the nape of his neck, savoring the way his breath hitched. “I think you’ve got the idea.”

Heeseung huffed a chuckle, “Then…” His words trailed off as his gaze flickered from your swollen lips to your piercing stare. You noticed his voice dropping an octave, taking on a dangerously alluring tone as he continued. “Should I show what I’ve learned, teacher?”

He watched as something unspoken flashed in your eyes for the briefest of moments when he called you that, his tone thick with sensuality; it was as though the roles had reversed, and now he was the one playing the provocateur.

You didn’t bother hiding how your body reacted to the murmured word, your breath visibly faltering, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing on end. But you never wavered. Your commanding stance remained unwavering, like a tree rooted so deeply that not even the fiercest storm could bring it down.

And there was something about that unshakable composure of yours that drove Heeseung absolutely insane. Only then did he realize he wouldn’t be able to maintain his role as the tease for much longer, not when you, in the most tantalizing way, flashed a side grin, wetting your lips with a slow, torturous motion, silently emphasizing that you could ruin his existence completely with ease – and he would relish every second of it.

“I like your confidence,” you murmured, raising an eyebrow, eyes dripping with a perfect blend of amusement, daring, and pure, raw desire. Heeseung’s breath came ragged, waiting. “I’d like to see you try, though.”

This wasn’t about the way to your bedroom anymore.

Unlike you, Heeseung did back down from certain challenges, knowing his limitations. And he definitely had no desire to push you just to test your limits – at least not that night. All he craved was the bare, unfiltered contact of your skin within the four walls that enclosed your bed. 

And that single realization fueled his next actions. His hands lowered to your ass, gripping firmly before hoisting you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

The kiss that followed was messy, because Heeseung refused to close his eyes – he didn’t trust himself not to trip along the way. You let out quiet giggles in between the feverish exchange, finding it utterly endearing how he struggled to kiss you back while also staying focused enough to walk.

The position made you keenly aware of something hard pressing against your clothed cunt; Heeseung’s growing state sent a pulse of heat surging through you, a natural clench on your walls being an indicator of your own condition.

With precise movements, you both reached your final destination. Your body ached for the comfort of your bed, ready to embrace your back… if only Heeseung hadn’t sat at the edge of the mattress with you still straddling him, offering you full control over what came next.

The kiss finally deepened with proper intent, tongues brushing slowly, melting into a molten blend of warmth and desire. Your hands framed Heeseung’s face, holding him in place, guiding him to move exactly as you pleased.

His grip on your ass slackened, shifting from possessive control to a softer hold, simply keeping you steady so you wouldn’t slip.

Your hips began rolling forward, seeking friction through the layers of fabric separating you. The movement drew a low, needy sound from Heeseung, who instinctively pressed you down against him, encouraging the rhythm.

Tired of the teasing, you let your lips wander down to his neck, claiming the sensitive skin that shuddered beneath your touch. The deliberate pace at which you explored him mirrored how his body slowly reclined with you pushing ever so slightly to sink it into the mattress, until Heeseung was completely laid out under you, at your mercy.

A devilish grin ghosted over your lips when it dawned at you the alignment you both had settled; perfectly sitting on top of the man who clearly revealed his opposition to hold control, leaving space for your dominance to appear in full display. 

Your hand briefly cupped Heeseung's cheek as your teeth grazed his prominent Adam’s apple, gently sucking the spot to soothe any lingering sting. His throat’s bulge bobbed as a quiet sigh escaped him, the sound drawing your fingers lower, tracing the defined line of his collarbone. You felt the firm texture of his bone beneath your fingertips, as your hips moved over his unmistakable hardness.

Another pleasant sound filled the dimly lit room, signaling the deepening of the night. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the passionate moment unfolding between you. 

You kept the pace agonizingly slow with your hips, your hands never staying still, mapping every inch of Heeseung’s subtly muscular body that tensed with each of your touches, from his biceps to his covered chest, until they gradually slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the soft skin of his stomach tighten under your fingertips. 

It was undeniable that this was affecting you too, your body burning with yearning, aching to remove the last barrier keeping your bodies apart, even though they were already so close.

You were so fucking turned on by everything; the tantalizing noises Heeseung ever so often let out, how he had closed his eyes and furrowed his forehead, lips ajar with breathy, low groans passing through, utterly consumed by the moment.

By now your panties were beyond ruined, drenched in your leaking arousal, the fabric clinging to your pussy with every subtle shift. It urged your body to respond, to stimulate yourself even faster, though it lingered deeper in the sweet tormention of anticipation rather than pushing you towards your actual release.

The rub you guided was more than intentional; your clit pressing what you deduced was Heeseung’s tip in calculated circles, the rigidness of his length easing your rhythm as you rocked back and forth.

In search of an improved position, you lifted your torso, knees bent and pressed against the bed, slotting Heeseung’s hips between them, granting easy access for your nails to shamelessly wander over his stomach. You also found better support for yourself in this new angle.

It was only then that you realized Heeseung had released your waist, letting his arms relax, though his grip on the sheets remained obvious, his knuckles whitening with each more intense roll of your hips.

You were completely unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts Heeseung was struggling to suppress, the inner battle not to completely surrender, knowing that doing so would mean having his orgasm far too soon. His tightly shut eyes weren’t simply a reaction to the pleasure; they were a desperate attempt to control the terror of losing himself and ruining the moment. Clutching the sheets grounded some rational part in him. 

Realizing you wouldn't stop anytime soon had him making the embarrassing decision to state the obvious. So amid the deafening silence, broken only by the soft moans from both of you, Heeseung’s voice sliced through.

“If you keep going, then–” he cut himself off with a shaky moan, his body betraying his words as his hips jerked upward, desperate to meet your grinding. His fingers twitched against the sheets, fighting the urge to grip your waist and force you to keep moving – a choice he made himself. “Then I won’t last…”

“Then don’t.”

His heavy eyelids fluttered open, pupils blown wide with dazed confusion after your quick, yet steady reply. The second he caught the silent demand in your eyes his breath hitched, and a shiver visibly ran through him. “What… What do you mean?”

A slow smirk curled on your lips as you laced your fingers around his wrists, pinning them to the mattress near his handsome face with enough force to act as a reminder. Your hips rolled forward, deliberate and unhurried, dragging out every friction-filled second. The heat between you was stifling, and you swore you could feel his pulse racing beneath your fingertips.

Heeseung’s gaze flickered between your piercing expression and the maddening rhythm of your hips, his flushed cheeks only growing redder. His lashes fluttered as he struggled to keep his beautiful round eyes open, his parted lips spilling out breathy whimpers, while you relished every second of it.

“You think you can cum just from me riding you fully clothed, Hee?” 

Your explanation came in the form of an ask, a very filthy, lustful guided question, your velvety tone cursing through his nerves, erasing the straight thoughts that struggled to keep existing inside his head, his self-control pathetically slipping through his inner grasp.

All Heeseung could see and feel was you, torturing his mind, pulling him deeper into the haze of overwhelming desire.

“Fuck,” he breathed a curse, head tipping back as his hands clenched into fists beneath your grip. You were unreal – his dream girl made flesh, effortlessly destroying him without even taking off a single layer of clothing. “Fuck, I definitely can, but–”

Another interruption with a beautiful whimper. Oh, you were enjoying it so much; were you in heaven? Or hell? Either way, you didn’t want to leave. 

“But…?” You urged smoothly with a mellow tone, even cocking your head to the side as if that would add a charm for your wicked character, because you, more than anyone, knew what your next decision would be.

As expected, a strangled moan escaped Heeseung when you pressed down harder, his body reacting before he could think, his back arching slightly as his expression crumbled in pleasure. 

Heeseung tried desperately to find any rational reason amid the flood of thoughts you had filled his head with – anything beyond the humiliating and obvious truth that he didn't want to reach to cum just yet.

“But I don’t have spare clothes here,” he concluded in one go, voice trembling with equal parts desperation and restraint, since he was going through a strong rush of delightful emotions. 

You hummed, amused by the fact that he could still manage to form a coherent thought in his current state. Leaning in just enough for your breath to ghost over his lips, you whispered, “Fair point, Hee,” before releasing your grip on his wrist. “Shall we solve this little problem, then?”

Without waiting for a response, you pulled away, beginning to undress your upper body, tossing your shirt carelessly onto the floor. Heeseung remained frozen in place, his hooded eyes blinking slowly, staring at the ceiling, still feeling the lingering heat of your body against his, trying to process your words.

It wasn’t until you softly murmured his nickname that his attention snapped back to you, his gaze shifting from confusion to unapologetic hunger as it took in your fully exposed form.

The gasp escaped him before he could stop it, and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh at his immediate, spontaneous reaction. The warmth in your chest contrasted with the lustful heat guiding your actions and clouding your thoughts. Heeseung was too cute for your poor heart. 

“Damn,” Heeseung whispered after propping himself up on his elbows to take you in better, his eyes filled with awe as he admired your body while you approached.

His gaze traced every inch of your skin, the curves he had so often dreamed about touching, your beautiful boobs, often where he rested his cheeks within your usual hug, now laid bare in front of him, like a perfect canvas for him to finally savor.

Heeseung’s eyes stopped on your uncovered pussy, darting back to your legs every once in a millisecond as if he didn’t know where to look. You watched as he ran his tongue over his lower lip before biting it, almost as if entranced with you. 

The compliment that followed was engulfed in sincerity, leaving no room for doubt about it. And you smiled in response.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

It was common for you to receive compliments; you were aware of your beauty and felt confident in it. However, receiving a compliment from Heeseung felt different, somehow more special, because it came from someone you cared about and liked. 

You worried about being pretty in Heeseung’s eyes. 

Thanks to the soft light in your room, you didn’t have to explain why your cheeks had flushed, knowing that from the distance Heeseung wouldn’t be able to notice.

For a brief moment you thought you would have to tell him to occupy the same form as you – naked. But thankfully he understood the message loud and clear after eye-fucking your body for a while, sitting up to remove his shirt with his back turned to you. You took the opportunity to grab a condom from your nightstand.

Heeseung stood up to unbutton his belt and slip out of his jeans, which easily fell from his hips, leaving him in just his black underwear.

You already knew he had broad shoulders and a slim waist – some of his clothing choices certainly helped accentuate that discovery, and what a delightful one it was. Seeing it up close, nonetheless, had you indescribably overreacting.

The subtle muscles of his back flexed and tightened with each movement, having you clenching your cunt without even noticing. The smooth line of his spine was being accentuated by the blended dim light and silver-moonlight, which got your breath stuck in your throat; witnessing Heeseung undressing himself felt like visiting a museum, where a carved sculpture, chiseled by the gods with the softest, kindest, and most gifted hands of Olympus lived.

Your mouth watered with an unmistakable urge to bite and taste every inch of that lightly bronzed skin.

“God. And you’re a fucking sight,” you breathed, your words barely audible but filled with hunger.

Heeseung turned to look at you holding back a grin. Your eyes locked as now you sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for the little show to finish. Your mischievous smile revealed every single naughty thought that passed through your mind, and there was no shame in it.

You pressed your teeth on your bottom lip when you got a better view of his chest, your gaze leisurely roaming, taking in every tiny detail until they stopped at the bulge in his underwear. And there, your mouth salivated harder.

Heeseung remained still, relishing the way you openly admired him; the truth behind your ravenous eyes unveiled between the two of you, heightening the heat that was becoming nearly unbearable. It was clear how badly you desired him, and this had an undeniable effect on his cock, growing harder every second, pulsing with the need of some relief. 

Being adored wasn’t exactly something new to Heeseung, but he could certainly say that the way you expressed it stirred parts of him – parts he not only kept hidden from almost everyone, but was more than eager to explore with you.

And then, you purred, “Come here, hm?”

But instead of letting Heeseung come closer, you, yourself, shifted on the bed, moving onto all fours before deliberately crawling towards him, your gaze unwavering and charged, never breaking as you drew nearer. Heeseung was utterly stunned, gulping down the lump on his throat as he watched the unfolding filthy scene.

When you finally reached his handsome and ridiculously hot figure, you stopped, uplifting your torso to get on your knees and align perfectly with his height. Now face to face Heeseung finally let out the breath he didn’t even notice he was holding, his legs threatening to falter because, fucking shit, you, with your unyielding eyes and sexy demeanor, was tearing his resistance apart, breaking deliciously each part of his cohesive existence.

Oblivious to the actual state of Heeseung, your fingers reached out, barely ghosting over the sensitive flesh of his waist as you murmured extremely close to his ear, “Let me make you feel good.”

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze darkened, flickering between your neck and your bare boobs. For a second, he hesitated, hands halting mid-air because the tension between you two was nearly suffocating and he feared scaring you with his neediness.

Would it be okay to touch you, now that you were naked? What if he exceeded any silent boundaries he didn’t manage to catch?

Fuck. You looked so damn beautiful with the lunar glow against your skin, your gleaming eyes dripping with arousal and hunger as they roamed over his features when you leaned back, drinking in each quarter with care and attention. Heeseung felt seen, cherished even.

With the way your fingertips traced his abdomen simply to position your hands there, patiently waiting for a green sign, it quickly shattered whatever restraint he had left.

With a quiet, breathy groan Heeseung closed the gap, his hands finding your jawline, fingers pressing into your skin with a need so raw it sent shivers down your spine. You also moaned against his lips, his tongue searching for yours to deepen the contact.

By a not-so-gentle reminder of its painful neglect, Heeseung felt his sensitive dick twitch inside his underwear when you pushed him towards the bed, easily maneuvering his body to return to the previous position you both were in. Your thigh brushed exactly on his length and elicited an immediate moan.

But before you could settle on top of him with your lips still attached to each other, Heeseung broke away with an aching whisper, breathless.

“I’m so fucking hard.”

You lifted your head enough to meet his gaze, cocking it to the side in feigned confusion – you had heard him perfectly well. “Hm?”

He looked so cute, his brow furrowed and those wide eyes of his looking at you with longing, mixed with a trace of desperation. It was clear that the said desperation was only growing, becoming undeniable as he jerked his hips upwards, seeking contact with your bare pussy.

With a playful smile, you pushed yourself apart slightly, watching him groan in frustration; but even with the firm grip on your waist, he didn’t force you downwards. 

“Don’t make me wait longer…”

You raised an eyebrow, biting your lower lip as a thought crossed your mind. You had to test the waters of a conversation that had yet to be broached between the two of you  –  this was still your first night, after all.

“Where are your manners, Heeseung?”

Your voice held no real reprimand, but Heeseung couldn’t help feeling the urge to respond properly, just as much. He sighed a curse, the sound shaky as you hovered your lips over the abused skin of his neck.

“Fuck,” Heeseung had completely lost himself as you moved your hips to press against his without a warning, wincing due to the feel of your cunt so close, so deliberately teasing him, yet ridiculously distant.

His eyes squeezed shut, lips pursing tightly together in an effort to suppress the pathetic sounds threatening to escape. Heat rushed to his face, the flush of embarrassment coloring his skin as he realized how effortlessly you had taken control of him; the way you wore your behavior, so assertively and confident, was making him feel vulnerable in the best way possible. 

Heeseung’s voice cracked when he finally let out a frustrated but, crucially, submissive murmur. “Sorry… Please. Just don’t make me wait any longer– I need you. I’m so hard. Please…”

The waters had been tested, proving themselves warm and inviting. Heeseung responded well to your teasing and demeanor, his reactions fueling your confidence. So, you took the plunge, leaning in until your lips barely grazed the shell of his ear. 

“Good boy.”

A strange wave crashed through his body the moment his brain processed those syllables, piecing them together into a phrase that sent a jolt straight to his core. Good boy? Fuck. Heeseung barely managed to suppress a whimper, his muscles tensing as if trying to contain the way it unraveled him.

Being called that shouldn’t affect him so much, but how could he blame himself? You looked hot, sounded hotter, and the way you said it, so effortlessly sultry, made something in him snap. He realized then that he craved being your good boy more than he was willing to admit. If he weren’t so aware of his own self-destructive tendencies he would have half a mind to set your voice as his ringtone, only to hear it over and over. But he knew better. Knew he would end up ridiculously hard every time his phone rang.

Your wicked smirk told him everything – you knew exactly what you were doing to him. Enjoying the palpable control you had over his being, you leaned back just enough to catch the flicker of change on his flushed face. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours, swimming with undivided attention and unspoken need. A heavy pulse throbbed beneath you, and instinctively, you clenched in response.

With a mocking tilt of your head, you let your voice drop to a sarcastic, almost bitter tone, “Let’s take off this last piece, shall we?” You motioned to his underwear, helping to remove it once he obeyed you. “I don’t want to make you wait any longer.” 

Heeseung grasped the scorn in words right away, the feigned sense of authority you offered hanging in the air and, ironically enough, elicited a breathy chuckle from his throat. 

It seemed Heeseung had finally found the woman he had always dreamed of – just as you felt a thrill coursing through your veins at the sight of a man so willing to accept your demanding behavior in the bedroom.

Your gaze dropped briefly to Heeseung’s lower body, eyes catching the sight of his cock standing angry and painfully hard, its impatience nearly palpable as it waited to be enveloped by your warmth. With a mental note to appreciate that part better later, you focused simply on putting the condom, jerking off a few times just to make sure it was right. 

Positioned just right, you aligned his leaking tip with your pulsing entrance, supporting yourself by pressing your hands firmly against his chest. The subtle brush of skin against skin had Heeseung letting out a shaky sigh, his hands that had once held your hips now rising to rest gently on your waist, trembling under the weight of anticipation.

He wasn’t just sensitive; he was on edge – nervous in more ways than one. He wasn’t sure how long he would last given the teasing foreplay, and with you pushing him to the brink, he wasn’t confident he would be able to go much longer than a few minutes. But the thing was, he wanted to last. He wanted to make a good impression, to show that he had the stamina and endurance to handle whatever you asked of him. He had lasted this long, so surely, he could hold on a little longer, right?

What he didn’t realize was that the idea of reaching the peak so quickly excited you just as much as the thought of lasting. Knowing that you could reduce him to the point where he would cum fast sent an odd, pleasurable thrill deep into your stomach.

Your eyes locked, Heeseung’s wide-round ones full of both eagerness and caution. Meanwhile, you maintained your poise, your charisma unwavering.

“Shit,” you muttered softly as you sank down, feeling him fill you completely.

You almost felt ridiculous for forcing your eyes to stay open, but you couldn’t help it.

To savor the sight of Heeseung’s lips slightly parted, his breath hitching as his lashes fluttered and his head tipped back was incomparable. The sight of his exposed, sweaty neck, the prominent Adam’s apple jutting out in an almost sinful way, was too much. Without realizing it, you clenched around him.

“Fuck,” Heeseung cursed back, trying to push you further down, hoping to reach the deepest part of you.

At first, you allowed him to guide you without resistance, the sensation of him fully inside you making a pleasurable sigh slip from your lips. But as Heeseung attempted to push you into movement without waiting for your adjustment you steadied yourself, securely resisting as a silent reminder. Just to make sure, you verbalized.

“Nuh-uh,” a mischievous grin curled your lips as you looked down at him, now with open eyes, pouting and frowning at you in a blend of frustration and confusion. “It’s cute how much you think you’re in control.”

His gaze faltered as your words fully sank in, the realization hitting him like a slow, delicious burn – he had absolutely idea what he had just gotten himself into. And, God, he wanted it. 

Of course, you would set the pace. Of course, you would call the shots. And him? He would take whatever you were willing to give. That’s what he deserved – what any man would be lucky to have. A woman like you, deciding exactly what to do with him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice small, almost shaky. As if repenting for his misstep, he hesitated before slowly removing his hands from where they had rested, leaving them suspended in the air, an unspoken plea for forgiveness.

You found it adorable.

A soft, amused chuckle escaped your lips as you tilted your head, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His irises, warm and desperate, watched you intently, hanging onto your next move with delicious longing. You reached for his wrists, gently guiding them up before pinning them to the mattress, securing them above his head.

Something about the action made Heeseung’s skin prickle with a new kind of excitement. It felt foreign but in the best way – like dipping his toes into uncharted territory and finding himself desperate to dive in. He wanted more. Feeling your warmth around him wasn’t enough. The snug heat of your walls was intoxicating, but it lacked the friction he was beginning to ache for.

“Relax,” you mused, maintaining eye contact as you read the conflict in his gaze. “I’m not that cruel.”

And with that, you rolled your hips forward, then back, deliberately slow, setting a languid rhythm that promised to build.

A guttural moan tore from Heeseung’s throat, as if he had been holding it in for God knows how long. His arms twitched, instinctively testing your grip. He could’ve easily broken free, his strength alone was enough to flip the entire situation in his favor. But he didn’t. He stayed there, restrained beneath you, completely at your mercy.

And knowing that Heeseung, tall, strong, capable, could take control at any moment, but chose not to? That alone drove you absolutely insane.

With a newfound determination – one guided by the desire to give that man just as much pleasure as he was giving you – you quickened your pace. Your own sounds spilled from your lips, unrestrained, unchecked, lost to the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

To Heeseung it was nothing short of a celestial choir. The delicate pitch of your moans, the breathy whimpers slipping through in between sent shivers down his spine. Every sound you made felt like a melody crafted just for him, threading through his veins, coiling low in his stomach, making it near impossible to think straight.

He did his best to meet your movements, hips twitching as he attempted to thrust upward, but the position did him no favors; his efforts were stifled, his range of motion limited, and as if that weren’t enough to set him on the edge, the sinful sight of your breasts bouncing right in front of him, so close yet just out of reach, only worsened his predicament.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groaned, his voice laced with frustration and raw need. A slow, burning heat spread through his body, intensifying with each calculated movement of your hips, the sensation pooling deep in his lower stomach.

Your gaze drifted to his face, taking in the way his features twisted in pleasure. His eyes barely managed to stay open, rolling back as the squeeze of your walls tightened around him, gripping him in a way that made his breath hitch.

Your hips now moved with purpose, with intention; the way you shifted your motions between rocking back and forth, to bouncing, to drawing circles, making sure his dick touched every part of your warm and slick interior was maddening. 

And Heeseung’s body ached for yours just as much. 

“Please–” The first actual plea fell past his parted lips, a cry tone covering each syllable with an attractive lust. “Don't stop. I’m getting close–”

Defying his request, however, you decided to slowly decrease your pace to something that drew Heeseung way too close to completely losing it. He looked at you like you were crazy, though he also had the chance to appreciate the faint light that bathed the room, the silver moonlight gleaming on your skin like an ethereal, priceless painting.

Your actions, on the other hand, were evil as hell.

In between a soft giggle, you leaned forward to approach his lips, muttering, “You want that, don't you?”

A silent nod and one more broken, whispered “Please,” from him graced your ears, eliciting your smile to grow wickedly. Then, you brushed your lips against his in a fleeting kiss, barely there, just enough to tease.

As you pulled away, you caught his bottom lip between yours, sucking it gently before letting it slip free with a soft, wet pop. The momentary loss of contact had Heeseung chasing after you, his body acting on pure instinct, pathetically desperate, but you only watched, amused at his demeanor.

You released his wrists, only to guide his warm hands to the connection of your waist and thighs, your own palms covering them to ensure they stayed exactly where you wanted.

With your back straight and posture unwavering, your body went completely still as you lifted yourself ever so slightly – just enough to leave only the pulsing tip of his length nestled inside you, offering no friction, no relief.

“I'm not moving, Hee…” The teasing lilt in your voice was so blatant it was almost cruel.

Heeseung swallowed hard, his gaze roaming over you, trying to ground himself in the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers. But it was useless, he was already too far gone, lost in the pleasure that you so effortlessly denied him.

With a voice like silk, dripping with wicked delight, you murmured, “Show me how desperate you are.”

Heeseung’s breath hitched, his lightly teary eyes darting up to meet yours before flickering downward, lingering on the tantalizing view of your bare chest, and finally settling on where your bodies were still joined.

There was a flash of hesitation, of confusion and innocence, but the moment he caught the knowing smirk on your lips, the way you remained idle, expectant, understanding dawned on him.

“Come on, Hee,” you urged, rolling your hips just enough to offer the barest hint of friction, a mere whisper of what he craved. “Be a good boy for me, mmh?”

Heeseung's grip on your sides tightened with fervor, his darkened gaze searching yours for confirmation – a silent plea to ensure this was exactly what you wanted. The subtle nod you gave was all he needed. Bracing himself, he propped his knees up, pressing his feet into the mattress for support before thrusting into you.

The first stroke was tentative, his body shuddering as he fully sheathed himself inside you once more, adjusting to the scorching heat that enveloped him. But once he settled, his hesitation melted into determination. Heeseung seized your hips, pulling you down with the same force he drove upward, setting a relentless rhythm that filled the air with the sinful melody of skin meeting skin, mingling with the desperate sounds spilling from your lips.

Your hands instinctively sought stability against the headboard, but the moment Heeseung found that sweet spot inside you, angled just right, you abandoned any attempt. Instead, you melted against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your moans and breathless whimpers vibrating against his sweat-slicked skin. Your fingers tangled in his messy strands, clutching for purchase as pleasure spiraled higher.

“Hee–Heeseung,” you nearly sobbed, your voice trembling, a blissful hum following right after. “Right there. Right fucking there,” you gritted out, laced with a warning tone so he wouldn’t dare to stop. 

And he wouldn’t. Not when you squeezed around him like that. Not when your voice turned so sweetly desperate near his ear. Not when he felt you tremble with each merciless thrust straight into that spot.

The coil felt impossibly tight, the telltale heat building in his core, threatening to snap at any second. Heeseung was helpless to fight it, his release crashing over him with overwhelming intensity; his entire body tensed as he slammed his hips up one final time, holding you there, buried to the hilt, shaking as he moaned your name with shameless abandon. 

The way he gripped you, the way he trembled beneath you, the guttural sounds spilling from his lips and, fuck, how firmly he pressed right into your cervix was more than enough to push you over the edge. You shattered around him, clenching so hard it pulled another ragged groan from his throat, your own cries of pleasure filling the space as you unraveled together.

Heeseung filled the condom inside of your sensitiveness and sent a wave of aftershock through your body, the pleasant high still coating your senses

Heavy, ragged breaths were all that remained in the aftermath, your thighs burning with exhaustion, your body too spent to move. Heeseung was no better – completely dazed, lost in the intoxicating haze of pleasure.

At some point, Heeseung genuinely wondered if he had just died; his entire body slackened after holding so much tension and releasing it through an overwhelming orgasm, a blissful numbness overtaking his limbs. And honestly? If this was the afterlife, he wouldn’t mind staying a little longer.

Monday morning felt as ordinary as any other – except it wasn’t. Not really. Because, apparently, your new normal now involved making out with Heeseung in the parking lot, tucked away behind his car like a couple of reckless teenagers sneaking around.

The difference? You were both adults. Professors, no less. The same ones who had caught students kissing in this very spot more times than you could count.

“Will I see you later?” You asked, voice deliberately sweet, a playful melody slipping through.

It was a side of you that only surfaced around Heeseung, one he seemed to enjoy, judging by the way he looked at you – eyes filled with something warm, something fond.

His hands rested securely on your waist, your arms draped over his shoulders, fingers idly playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Everything was in its rightful place.

“Not sure if I can, babe.”

Babe.

The pet name had rolled off his tongue for the first time that morning when he greeted you, as effortless as the kiss that followed, although he had cheeks burning in shyness afraid of your reaction. Nonetheless, you didn’t mind one bit; not when it sent a pleasant flutter through your chest, butterflies swirling in your stomach at the sound of it. It was far too nice of a feeling to brush off.

You pouted, though you didn’t push for an answer. “That’s okay.”

Still, Heeseung felt the need to explain. “I’ve got a meeting with the principal.”

The mere mention of that title made your heart jolt and a brief grimace filled your features. Your gaze darted around on instinct, as if expecting the man to materialize out of thin air. Heeseung chuckled, clearly amused with your adorable reaction. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one freaking out?” He teased, tilting your chin up so you would meet his gaze again. His thumb brushed over your jaw in a way that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. “I’m the new hire, after all. Your job is way more secure than mine.”

“Which is exactly why I’m being careful,” you shot back, your playful smirk making him shake his head, clicking his tongue. “I don’t wanna have to visit you at another school.”

“Idiot,” he huffed, rolling his eyes before kissing you again, shutting you up effectively, as your giggle got lost amidst the touch.

That newfound intimacy with Heeseung was sudden, yet it could easily become a routine – one you would never tire of, nor worry about growing dull. There was an undeniable clarity in how every touch, every exchange with him felt like it would only surprise and satisfy you more than the last. The way he held you, how he enveloped you in a cocoon of warmth and quiet affection, was something you allowed yourself to sink into without resistance. 

The previous day had been an unintentional experiment, one that had answered questions you hadn’t even realized you had. 

Truth be told, your interest in Heeseung had sparked the very first time you met. The tension, the lingering glances, the way your breath hitched in his presence – it had all been telling signs that liking him was inevitable. Falling for him? Even more so. He not only embraced your personality but adapted to it so effortlessly, just as you found yourself welcoming every meticulous, endearing detail about him. Falling for Heeseung felt easy. Natural. Maybe even fated.

Kissing him was like dissolving into an ocean of calm and reassurance you hadn’t known you craved – or needed. Kissing him was slowly, irrevocably, becoming everything.

The chime of your phone interrupted the moment, the alarm you had set reminding you that it was time to head inside. Yes. You had both arrived early just to steal a few moments alone, and yes, you had actually set a timer to make sure you wouldn’t lose track of time.

As you pulled away, your gaze immediately sought his, desperate to capture one last glimpse of that breathtaking face.

“Well, guess I’ll see you around,” you sighed, lips jutting out in another small pout. The idea of not seeing him again for the rest of the day left a dull ache in your chest, and in the past, that feeling might have unsettled you.

But here, with his hands still firm on your waist, grounding you, you could only think of how much more you wanted to stay and feel everything he could yield to you.

Heeseung smirked before pecking your lips quickly, his eyes glinting with something that was equal parts fondness and longing – with just a hint of something else. Something that told you he, too, wished he could spend the rest of the day with you. Or maybe all the days after that.

“See you, babe.”

So saying your classes had been boring ever since was an understatement. Sure, you loved what you did. You had studied and dedicated yourself from day one to get where you were. Designing projects, planning assignments, even crafting exams gave you a very particular thrill that nothing else quite matched – until Heeseung came along.

Not having him around left you restless, almost anxious, like counting the minutes wasn’t enough to settle you. You needed him here. Every single second.

The problem was that work consumed both of you in ways neither could escape. As a new hire, Heeseung was still juggling personal studies while handling the avalanche of subjects thrown onto his plate to deal with. You, on the other hand, already a few steps ahead in the hierarchy, carried the weight of being a solid reference for others, staying committed to improving every day, striving towards eventually securing a senior position.

Making a name for yourself in academia demanded everything – writing papers, conducting deeper, more intensive research. You had carved out time in your routine to focus on it. But now, all you could focus on was Heeseung.

Heeseung was affecting your emotions, your life, and your behavior. There was no denying it.

Throughout your life, you had always been decisive, firm in your choices, knowing what was best for you without hesitation. Sure, there was a level of flexibility and freedom, but even that was deeply tied to your essence. You grew up in spaces that tried to tame you, but that only made you more aware of your own vastness, the greatness you wanted to embrace.

There were no second thoughts. Not frequently, at least. There was no other way to be yourself without shutting out external noise, without disregarding the opinions of those who barely knew you. That built a barrier, one you had come to see as normal, where only a select few ever glimpsed your vulnerability. The thought of being seen in your most hesitant, insecure state was terrifying.

Then, Heeseung.

He made you vulnerable, somehow, to be open about worries you would usually brush off and avoid talking about, and it never felt forced; it was effortless, natural, he genuinely wanted to listen, and even help.

At the same time, he made you self-conscious about things you had never cared for before. Your hair, your outfit choices – would they draw the same reaction he always gave you? That slow, shameless gaze, eyes dark with attraction, followed by a compliment so sweet it almost rivaled the warmth in his own deep, espresso-colored stare.

He had you questioning if you fit into the mold of what he might want, never realizing that, to him, you as you were had always been enough.

At home, staring at the empty page of the research paper you were supposed to be working on, your mind was nowhere near academic focus. It was filled with the longing to have him close. No ulterior motives, no underlying intentions, just his presence. Just him. The warmth of his scent in the air, grounding you, centering you.

A thought lingered in the back of your mind. Was it too much to wish you were already living together? Or at least close enough to have him around all the time? You could picture it so clearly: the faint smell of soap clinging to the air as he walked into your office, setting a fresh cup of coffee on your desk, dressed in cozy, oversized clothes, his usual soft expression in place, trying to coax you to bed with him using those beautiful bambi-eyes.

Fuck.

Your fingers curled around your phone instinctively, his contact already pulled up before you even processed the action. But just as quickly, you let out a sharp breath and placed it back down, screen-side down on the desk. Running your hands over your temples, you exhaled, forcing yourself to focus back on the laptop in front of you.

In terms of relationships, balance had never been your strong suit if you tried to be honest; not knowing when to shut out emotions and focus solely on work because of affectual interests, or when to let yourself indulge in personal desires – especially now, when Heeseung had completely messed with your ability to separate the two. 

Because everything with him felt inevitable. The meetings, the glances, the desire. And whatever this was, this unnamed thing between you, it was starting to feel dangerously close to building a place to settle that thing called love. 

On a side note, there was this ongoing feeling of going too fast, of overdoing. The kiss was alright in terms of period, but the sex only two days later? Wasn’t it too… exaggerated? Did it really please him?

You were always so sure of yourself, yet, with Heeseung, you were walking a tightrope, afraid of losing him or losing yourself in the process. Sex with him had only intensified things, your mind spinning amidst a dense cloud of thoughts. Whatever fragile restraints had been holding you back from falling completely had snapped, like some unseen force was screaming at you to open your eyes.

He was exactly what you wanted.

But what if it all fell apart? What if he didn’t want anything serious? The doubts tried to creep in, but the image of his charming smile fought to erase them. Heeseung.

The man who carried a quiet, bashful aura but sometimes put on a confident front, only to fumble shortly after, making you laugh at how effortlessly endearing he was.

The man who hesitated to touch you but, when he did, held you with certainty, with possession, as if having you close was the only thing he was ever sure of.

The man who memorized your coffee order and would show up in the morning with a steaming cup, shrugging casually as he muttered, “The morning coffee here kinda sucks. A pretty girl once taught me that. So, I got you a real one.”

The man who read you so easily, as if every little part of you was worth memorizing. 

“Damn,” you muttered under your breath, the sound of your own voice startling you in the silence that had settled over the past few hours – save for the rustling leaves outside and the mess inside your mind.

You bit down on your lower lip, your chest tightening with a feeling you could only name as longing. There was no other explanation. You missed Heeseung.

After days of sneaking moments together before classes, and barely having time to exchange messages in between, Heeseung had become part of your routine, fitting like a moon pulling the tide just right, a slow dance of heartbeats syncing. And you wanted him to stay in it.

But then came the tide of uncertainties. Would he slip away just as quickly as he had settled in? Were you moving too fast? Would it hurt to dive headfirst into something so intense? Yet, Heeseung wasn’t shallow waters, you wouldn’t hit rock bottom if you chose to dive into the depth of him.

Still, amidst the inner turmoil, the voice of reason, one that years of therapy had helped you shape, resurfaced: you wouldn’t know unless you asked. If he wasn’t truthful, that was on him, but all you could do was trust the words he chose to give you.

And Heeseung had never given you a reason to doubt him. There was no air of deception in his presence, no undertone of dishonesty in his words. His gaze held sincerity, his smile radiated warmth. He seemed genuine in everything he did, in every subtle move, in every interaction. In the way his lips ghosted over yours, the way he pulled you close, the way he let you take the lead more often than not.

He was just… too good.

You barely noticed your fingers sliding across your phone screen until you found his contact, dialing before you could second-guess yourself. No warning, no message, just your voice reaching out to him in the thick of the night, unfiltered, unguarded.

With each ring, your heart pounded harder, matching the steady rhythm of it. And when Heeseung finally answered, his voice rough with sleep yet laced with that familiar tenderness he always carried when it came to you, your breath hitched. No explanations, no preamble. Without thinking, without even registering how late it was or that you had probably woken him, you asked.

“Do you think we're going too fast?”

On the other end of the line, Heeseung, who had just settled into the comfort of his bed after reviewing his lessons for the next day, immediately sat up to give you his full attention. Instead of probing further, he picked up on the underlying worry in your voice, the slight hint of anxiety, and chose his words carefully.

“No, I don’t think we are. Honestly, we’re just right, babe,” he said, with a double meaning carefully embedded not just to respond to your question but to remove any lingering doubts. His voice, as soft as ever, was clear when he added, “What made you think we’re moving too fast, love?”

Love.

“Oh, fuck. Sorry.” You muttered under your breath, unable to suppress the immediate reaction that his endearment caused. Another one added to the collection, this one carrying a different weight – one that sank deep in your stomach, settling in your chest in a surreal... but strangely comforting way.

Unbeknownst to you, Heeseung found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions; a tremor of apprehension coursing through his veins, yet warmth blooming in his chest, right where his heart pounded just a little too fast, a little too hard. He couldn’t deny the pet name had rolled off his tongue without forethought, slipping past his lips as naturally as a heartbeat. 

He waited in the silence, not just because he feared he had messed up, but because he genuinely wanted you to clarify the reason behind your sudden call and the unexpected question. He respected your need to reflect before responding.

But the silence... It was growing deafening.

“I– I don’t know what’ve gotten to me, actually,” you finally confessed, leaning back in your chair with a sigh. Your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of your own words before they left your mouth. “I think it’s just a fear of losing what we have, mixed with a hesitation to dive into something that’s giving me some uncertainty.”

Now it was Heeseung’s turn to let silence speak for him. Uncertainty? Was that what he was making you feel? Unsure? The thought alone sent a heavy weight crashing down on his chest, his stomach dropping as a chill spread through his body, seeping into his bones like ice water. His throat tightened, the unspoken question lodged there, thick and heavy, pressing against his vocal cords until he finally forced it out.

“Am I giving you uncertainty, Y/N?”

The change in Heeseung’s voice, from soft to serious, was evident and sent an instant wave of panic through you.

“No!” You responded urgently, your voice rising a few notes, and you automatically straightened up in your chair as though it would help to elucidate what you meant. “No, not you. Not at all. Quite the opposite. I trust everything you do and show me through your actions and words. I trust what you say. I trust how you feel. I trust you.”

“It’s good to know,” he replied, his voice softer again, “because I trust you too. In every way.”

There was a thin, delicate line between the weight of his words, a line that stretched from your physical connection previously explored to the deeper trust you were building together. You both were learning how to create a comfortable space for one another, even though it sometimes came with its own set of challenges and discomfort.

Another moment of silence stretched out between you two as though the air itself had become weighed down by invisible clouds of tension. It was like a storm had suddenly rolled in, filling the room with a suffocating pressure that made it difficult to breathe; your lungs felt tight, struggling to maintain a normal rhythm.

But Heeseung… Heeseung was the one who read you once again. It was as if he could read every chapter of your life with a quiet understanding, his fingers tracing each line of your story with such ease. It wasn’t about knowing what came next or predicting the end, it was about savoring the journey, knowing that each new chapter would only lead him to admire you more and want you just as much.

Breaking the silence, his voice was gentle when he said. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming in a few.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, your shoulders shifting slightly as you did so, “Yeah. There is.”

Heeseung had fully reclined against the headboard of his bed by now, his legs stretched out and subtly fidgeting with a subtle, almost sweet kind of nervousness – the kind that felt eerily, yet delightfully similar to having a crush.

Heeseung flushed easily whenever you looked at him for too long, and quickly averted his gaze when you crossed paths in the hall, afraid that his emotions might spill over and give him away. His ears would go red every time you complimented him, and the memories of the night you two shared would replay in his mind over and over again, stirring sensations that were both tender and a little... impolite.

And to top it all off, wrapping it up together, it was impossible for him to hide the way his heart raced at just the thought of seeing you, let alone touching you, kissing you, or being in more intimate, vulnerable spaces with you – not only sexually but in terms of personal experiences, too.

Exploring different aspects of life with you sounded exciting, he could feel his pulse quickening with some kind of thrill he couldn’t remember experiencing before. Right now, however, the throbbing beats of his heart signaled dread, pointing out that he wasn’t just excited to continue on that path with you, but he feared losing the possibility to do so. 

“I trust you, Hee.” Simply to be certain, you repeated yourself. “But I can’t lie that this scares me to some extent,” Heeseung hummed in agreement for you to keep talking. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling shy. “I don’t think I ever cared this much about how things were going, y’know? I never cared if I should wear a color that someone thinks looks pretty on me. Or that I should act some way… Or even if I– if I had sex before actually dating someone. I don’t have a problem with that.”

On the other side, Heeseung blushed. It was the actual first time that “dating” was brought into a conversation between you two and although it was the natural course of relationships, he never thought about having to ask you to be his girlfriend.

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but because he thought it was more than obvious that he was with you and only you. Hearing those words, though, shed light on his thoughts, and he made a mental note to plan something special and ask you to be his girlfriend.

Heeseung was willing to listen to every little concern you had and to offer you the security you needed. And if that meant simply asking you to be his, then he would do so with all the joy in the world.

“And then you call me love.”

There it was, the root of the issue. Heeseung sighed softly, but it wasn’t a sigh of exhaustion from what you were saying, it was more of a realization, a moment where everything clicked and he finally understood what had been causing all these thoughts to swirl around.

“Y/N,” he said gently, your name flowing from his lips like honey. You hummed in response. “First of all, I’m sorry for not clarifying my intentions better. I don’t think we’re moving too fast. In fact, I really like our dynamic and how we seem to make things work between us.”

Hearing his side of things, without having to imagine terrible monsters in your head, was freeing. You finally understood what set Heeseung apart from the others: he made a point to communicate and, most importantly, to listen to you.

“And... I called you ‘love’ not because I love you. Not yet.” Instead of the weight of heartache and unrelenting tension, you... relaxed. There was no pressure for any rush. “I called you love because I think it’s a cute nickname, and I do want to love you, Y/N. Eventually.” He paused, his voice thick with sincerity. “I think love is something that’s built, crafted little by little, by both sides. I don’t say it if I don’t mean it.”

A smile spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. “I want to love you too, Hee.”

“So let’s take this at our pace. How does that sound?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, as though his thoughts had passed the barrier of caution and were now spilling out freely. “I want to kiss you every morning before work because I like you. But you don’t have to feel pressured to like me back.”

“I do like you, though,” you murmured quietly, almost like it was a secret.

Heeseung chuckled softly, a low, subtle sound that perfectly matched the soothing atmosphere that had settled around you both. “I’m thankful then.”

A gentle silence fell over the moment, your heart racing, but not from anxiety. It was because, for the first time, you felt like you had found someone truly important, someone special and irreplaceable, who seemed willing to build something real with you.

If Heeseung read you like his favorite book, you wanted to create an incredible story with him. And with that thought, you asked, under the moonlight that spilled through your curtains.

“Let’s start our chapter one. Shall we?”

“I love kissing you, oh my God,” Heeseung whispered against your mouth, words muffed as you pressed your bodies together.

With only a few minutes left before the lecture you both were set to deliver, a sudden wave of nervousness crashed over you, hitting deep as the realization settled: soon, you would be sharing the stage to talk about an extremely important topic with the very man who had starred in your most sinful dreams. Dreams that, over the past few weeks, had shifted from mere fantasy into breathtaking reality.

It was a relatively large lecture in terms of audience size, and while it was the kind of event you genuinely enjoyed with a dynamic exchange of ideas between the speakers, with the audience observing the unfolding of thoughts, you had been assigned as the main host.

Heeseung, still new to this environment, was positioned as the co-host, with you acting as his guide, leading the discussion and stepping in if needed.

Not once did you doubt Heeseung’s abilities. Over the past few days, both of you had dedicated intense yet careful effort to reviewing every key point, ensuring that nothing was left unpolished. That was when you noticed just how similar he was to you. He preferred to structure his speech around key topics, allowing the conversation to flow naturally, trusting in his knowledge rather than rigidly following a script.

And, God, was he hot when he read through his notes with furrowed eyebrows in deep concentration, glasses perched perfectly on his round, yet pointy nose, those dark eyes scanning the words with precise focus. It was unfair, really, how effortlessly attractive he looked while working.

Furthermore, Heeseung showed signs of apprehension as well during the minutes before starting it; added with how delectable he looked in that dress shirt and gold-framed glasses and to kill two birds with one stone, you lured the said man into following you to a nearby bathroom, using the excuse of needing his help to grab some materials you forgot in another class.

In reality, your plan was to grab his collar and pull him into the confined space to share some kisses. And of course, the kisses were leading to something way more far than you expected.

Heeseung had discovered that kissing you was his favorite sport, and even as his lungs burned and begged for relief, he would rather lose himself in your lips than pull away. Dying in your arms because he couldn’t bear to let you go sounded both poetic and achingly genuine.

Then, there was almost a shift, as though a switch clicked, and the kiss would grow deeper and more wanting. It remained slow, perfectly slow and affectionate, but carried an undeniable neediness. Hands once resting respectfully on waists and necks would begin to wander, indulging in the freedom to explore lustful territories, and Heeseung’s body would start to betray him, throbbing in anticipation. 

That one kiss, however, was escalating quickly into a frantic rhythm, heading towards a heated and intense atmosphere far too inappropriate for a workplace. But, on your part, you seemed to care little, feeling a burning need for him like never before.

It was an odd sensation, this overwhelming desire to have Heeseung inside you in the most sinful way possible. The kiss, which had started as a means to calm your nerves, quickly morphed into a chaotic tangle of hands ruffling clothes and hair, desperately grabbing at any inch of covered and exposed skin as a way to relieve the growing arousal between you two. Breaths intertwined in a fiery rhythm, each exhale more desperate than the last.

“Fuck,” you moaned against Heeseung’s lips as his large hands gripped your ass, squeezing with an urgency that made your head spin and your breath to hitch. 

Your beautiful noise triggered an electric pulse that shot straight to Heeseung’s arousal state, causing his dick to become increasingly stiff, the fabric around it starting to feel suffocating. He pushed you back against the sink’s counter, lifting you effortlessly and seating you on the edge, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

Your fingers gripped his face tightly, almost as if you were afraid of losing him, weaving into his tousled hair, feeling the soft strands that had grown just enough to become your new addiction. Heeseung’s touch was like a drug, each caress making it harder to pull away from him, as if losing yourself amidst his brown locks would somehow break the spell.

His hands roamed lower, exploring with a quiet urgency, trying to trace every inch of you without leaving actual marks; your thighs were his favorite place to lose himself and in any other given moment he would definitely be buried deep between them.

Seeking a break to allow your breaths to find a steady rhythm, Heeseung trailed his lips down your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. Yet, his movements were slightly hindered by the persistent frame of his glasses, which kept getting in the way , nudging against your skin, slipping down his nose, and frustrating his efforts to fully indulge in the moment. 

Although he struggled to ignore, he made sure one of his hands remained firmly planted on the marble surface behind you, ensuring you wouldn't lose balance, while the other wandered shamelessly over your thigh, fingertips tracing the fabric of your tailored slacks with deliberate intent.

“You look so fucking good in these,” he murmured between wet, heated kisses, his lips mapping out the sensitive spot on your neck he already knew too well.

A soft, breathy chuckle escaped you as you tilted your head back, granting him full access, your own fingers getting lost amidst his hair, pulling him closer. But just as quickly as the amusement flickered across your face, it melted into an expression contorted in pleasure, body betraying you.

“I always wear these…” You managed to whisper, your voice barely audible.

Heeseung let out a low giggle against your skin, a sinful sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Exactly,” he mused, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re always so fucking hot.”

Without even realizing it, your hips rolled forward, chasing the friction your body so desperately craved. And it was only then, as a deep heat pooled low in your stomach, that you became fully aware of just how ruined your panties already were. You were wet and needy for something, for someone. Precisely, for Heeseung. 

Having his touch so close to your pulsing cunt made it difficult not to get more demanding of contact, to succumb into whatever he was willing to give you, so you guided your command. 

“Help me remove it.”

Heeseung didn’t question further – he didn’t have to. Not when you had made your intentions crystal clear as your hand trailed down to unbutton your pants, fingers working decisively and quickly. Without hesitation, you reached for his hand, leading it to the waistband of your pants and urging him to tug them down, silently inviting him to take things beyond mere kisses.

The air was thicker than ever when Heeseung halted his kisses on your neck and saw your bare thighs as well as a glimpse of the wet spot in your panties, swallowing the lump formed in his throat. His body reacted immediately, the sight setting every nerve on fire and making it impossible to focus on anything else other than your pussy.

His lips fell ajar, whispering ragged breaths that rawly exposed his desire; the clenched jaw also was an indicator he was getting just as needy, and his cock growing heavier and harder inside his underwear was barely containable. 

“I want your fingers,” within a murmur, you revealed what you wanted once realization hit you about Heeseung. He was about to get on his knees in order to be at the height of your pulsing core, his eyes locked with it as if he was in trance, but you didn’t have time to enjoy a proper head. 

Besides, that part of his body was definitely one of your biggest weaknesses. 

Heeseung looked at you with that mesmerizing gaze, filled with a type of confusion and innocence that you only met in them, where somehow it molded a perfect fuckable expression that gnawed at your necessity of ruining it.

Then, you pulled the hand resting in your thigh to guide it towards your mouth, where you gently wrapped your lips around his middle and ring finger, enveloping them into the warmthness of your humid interior; your tongue danced between them as you deliberately sucked, not once breaking eye contact. 

Heeseung’s breath struggled to keep a pace, his eyes charmed by the alluring view you were giving – and for free. He was focused, as if you were spilling all the important information in the world to him; instead, you were making his dick twitch, since the feeling of your wet muscle brushing against his skin were sending straightforward messages to his sensitive and neglected area. He had to hold back a pathetic whimper threatening to escape.

With a smirk, you released Heeseung’s fingers slightly covered in your saliva, a string of the fluid connecting both areas, but held them close to your lips, grazing over it.

When you next talked, it tickled both skins. “I want them,” and, slowly but surely, you directed his hand downwards, Heeseung intense stare following until you stopped on your pussy, where, with your other hand, you pushed your underwear to the side. “Here.”

It was amusing and funny to perceive the way Heeseung’s breath hitched in his throat before he let out a sharp gasp, his gaze locking onto yours in search of an answer beyond the obvious, like he was utterly stunned with your request.

“Right now?” He asked, his voice airy, every ounce of disbelief laid bare as well as the typical hint of innocence and confusion. Heeseung was so fucking adorable. Having his big bambi eyes decorated by those gold-framed glasses was a sinful image.

Yet, his reaction stood in contrast to his actions; he was already closing the small space between you, his fingers, the very ones you had guided there, now teasing against your pulsing, needy pussy.

“Yes, baby,” you nodded, a taunting sultry grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “Right now.”

Heeseung watched in awe and with his heartbeats accelerated how confident on your demand you were by forcing his fingers inside before releasing your grip, leaving your wetness in full display to his digits to play with; you had flattened your palms on the counter beneath you, searching for support and to grant easier access.

“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling the unmistakable throb of his dick inside his underwear. 

Randomly, a flicker of moral consciousness urged Heeseung to glance towards the locked bathroom door, as if someone might materialize out of thin air and catch the two of you in an undeniably compromising position.

This wasn’t him. He had always been the ideal student and eventually the dedicated professional, the man who prided himself on focus and discipline… But how the hell was he supposed to resist you?

The restroom you had chosen was one reserved for faculty – small but comfortable, designed for privacy, with only a single stall and sink. More than enough space to accommodate two professors caught in the heat of their desires.

Unlike Heeseung, you weren’t oblivious to the whispered stories of other faculty members using the same space for similar purposes, and that knowledge alone reassured you that the risk of getting caught was low.

But Heeseung’s sudden hesitation became palpable when he turned to look at you, one of his fingers still slowly burying itself inside you, yet his expression now laced with uncertainty, concern evident in the subtle furrow of his brows.

“Relax, baby,” you murmured, voice tinged with quiet reassurance as you rolled your hips forward, urging him deeper. Your half-lidded eyes locked onto his, inviting, unwavering. Heeseung winced. “I need you, hm?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His breath faltered. And as if your words had snapped the last thread of restraint holding him back, his hesitation melted away, replaced by something darker, more desperate.

So Heeseung positioned himself into a comfortable position where his face was hidden in the crook of your neck, smelling the perfect mix of your perfume and natural scent while taking advantage to kiss you there. One arm held your waist and steaded your body while his other hand busied itself to please you.

Although it had started with one digit to stretch you out before adding the second one, you had to bite your lower lip in order to suppress the noises threatening to escape, since Heeseung easily found your sensitive spot from the very beginning and made sure to hit it with precision within each pound. And because of that, the strange intrusion quickly turned into a delightful wave of arousal flushing through your interior, your muffled whines growing louder.

Hearing your suppressed moans, however, was shattering Heeseung’s self-control, making it exponentially harder to contain the urge to get some relief himself. So almost unconsciously, yet deliberately, his hips started to move back and forth, brushing the painful boner on the edge of the counter.

“Fuck,” you mewled, hands flying to hold on Heeseung’s shoulders, intending to somehow anchor your spinning head and lost thoughts, but everything felt overwhelmingly good and you became pathetically desperate to have your orgasm. “Love your fingers, baby.”

The praise was more than honest, because Heeseung did, in fact, an amazing job inside you; flickering his fingers with mastery to curl at the very moment you needed them to, now speeding up the pace of his movements, wrists nearly burning from the exercise – and fortunately, he had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Not without your juices coating his digits.

You almost failed to catch the act of his hips rocking into anything that could give him some friction and consequently some kind of satisfaction. You even briefly wondered if your ears were deceiving you when soft moans grazed the skin of your neck, but Heeseung quickly confirmed your doubts not long after.

“I'm so hard,” he whined breathy in your neck, the pace on his fingers never faltering although his entire body shuddered within each soft thrust into the counter. 

From your lips, a cascade of curses blended with soft moans dripped, bouncing on the stillness of the walls surrounding you two, now more than never caring a little to nothing about getting caught; you, yourself, already extremely lost into pleasure the two digits fucking your pulsing cunt were providing. 

The position allowed his palm to glide across your bundle of nerves, ever so slightly giving the contact to drive you insane, you could feel your climax approaching. Your hands clutched the fabric of his blazer and you moaned. 

“So fucking good–”

“Will you cum for me, yeah?” Heeseung urged desperately, consciously wishing to finish you fast enough so you could help him out before heading back; even when he was somehow in control, he sounded completely surrendered to you, as if you owned each unique piece of his soul.

“Yes, yes, yes! I fucking will, oh my God,” your eyes rolled back and your whole body trembled, your muscles tensing the moment the coil in your core snapped.

Heeseung didn’t stop a second, fucking you through your high as your liquid drenched your long gone panties, stirring wet lewd sounds from the in and out. Your body jolted, nearly convulsing as Heeseung’s name fell past your lips amidst sobs; you noticed the mildly drying tears at the corner of your eyes as the world around you crumbled briefly into a blur.

“So pretty,” Heeseung murmured with his raspy tone against your cheek, kindly kissing the area as his fingers gradually slowed, eventually coming to a halt.

At the back of his mind, though, there was a faint reminder about the lecture waiting for both of you, so the time was running short – and he had a big problem to solve before going back.

You felt languid, too relaxed. Maybe you had overdone it with the dose of Heeseung that had seeped into your system, leaving your body in a state of calm you hadn't expected, but you didn’t regret it for a second. 

Now you would have to hope you had an extra pair of underwear tucked somewhere in your bag and pray for a little jolt to snap you back into reality, to remind you that your soul hadn’t been completely drained by Heeseung’s skilled fingers.

Speaking of which, Heeseung was dotting your neck and face with gentle kisses, patiently waiting for you to regain some semblance of consciousness, to come back down from wherever you had just floated off to. The sound of a notification on your phone, however, was enough to drag you back immediately.

You startled, almost leaping off the counter in a frantic search for your phone, your hands fumbling until they finally brushed against it behind you. Your heart raced so loudly you swore it might burst from your chest.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath as you read the message from the principal calling you backstage.

Meanwhile, Heeseung continued his affectionate attack on your neck, like a needy little kitten, completely unaware of the devious plan that had just been planted in your head; he was hard, and now, you were certain you wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. A wicked, almost mischievous smile tugged at your lips as you typed a quick reply.

“Hee,” you said, pushing him gently away from you by his chest. But he wasn’t ready to let go. “Hee, listen to me. I have to go.”

“Huh?” He leaned back only to look at you, his large eyes brimming with desperation, though now confusion started to creep in.

“Yeah,” you showed him the message, watching how his gaze flicked rapidly over the words. You couldn’t help but notice – and enjoy – the way his expression shifted: first, confusion, then realization that you weren’t about to stay and finish what he so desperately wanted, and, to close it all, a flawless culmination of his state, expressing a combination of both desperation and frustration in equal measure.

His lips were swollen and slightly parted, he was just as breathless as you and it was an amusing vision, because you didn't even do anything to leave him like that. Your noises and reactions, and the feeling of your clenching pussy around his thick fingers were more than enough, apparently; being aware of that fact made a warm, comforting sensation rise in your chest, almost as if your self-confidence depended solely on it at that moment. It inflated your ego in the bestest way.

Before jumping out of the counter, you settled his messy, disheveled strands caused by your early fidgety hands.

“But what about... Me?” He finally asked with puckered lips, pleading eyes and a soft, nearly helpless expression. You almost folded. Almost.

With a final touch by adjusting his blazer, smoothing out any wrinkles that would give away your small adventure, you smiled. 

“Behave.”

Heeseung watched in pure astonishment as you removed your panties completely, folding it into a small ball and throwing it into the trash. Then, you cleaned yourself quickly, washing your hands, acting as if nothing had happened. 

His body refused to move due to his dumbfounded state. You weren’t that devil, were you?

Turning on your heels with the biggest smile ever, you searched for his lips to give it a small peck, “Behave and I'll reward you later,” and just like that, you patted his head and winked.

“But–”

“Be a good boy, Heeseung,” you instantly cut any possibility of disagreement, holding his face in place to keep eye contact. “Can you do that for me?”

Unseen by you, his dick twitched inside his slacks. He gulped down the urge to lock you into that bathroom and fuck your mouth, because the idea of having his body used by you later was far better. 

“Yes.”

Though you had grinned at his whispered answer, your squinted your eyes gave away you were waiting for something more. Heeseung felt blood rushing towards his face, his cheeks with a faint blush, burning, as his gaze flickered away when he replied properly.

“Yes, I can be your good boy.”

You had never been the type to break promises. Not even the smallest, most trivial ones, and especially not the ones left unspoken. If you promised something – whether directly or not – you would follow through, no matter what.

And what cost was there in giving pleasure to your current… boyfriend?

It all happened so quickly. You and Heeseung delivered the presentation and it went flawlessly; the thunderous applause that filled the room was a clear answer to any lingering doubts in the air.

He did well, despite the painful erection he had been fighting with moments leading up to the presentation – thankfully, thinking of repulsive things had helped him relax and soften his shaft, otherwise, the embarrassment of standing there, hard in front of a room full of students, would’ve been irreparable.

Especially after you made sure to point out, indirectly, that you hadn’t found any spare underwear in your bag or car, suggesting, well, that Heeseung’s prize was tantalizingly close.

Every second you spent together during that presentation, Heeseung had to fight the fire of desire building low in his stomach, praying his loose pants wouldn’t betray him with the growing evidence of his arousal.

Then, you both left, your only task for the day completed, which led to Heeseung arriving at your bed much earlier than expected. The need to have you was much stronger than the plan to go out and celebrate the success of the presentation. He didn’t want to celebrate with food or drinks; he wanted to devour you.

And so, kissing you feverishly from the elevator to your room, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

“Will you be my girlfriend? Please?”

It was a rushed, spontaneous request, made amidst a kiss just as frantic and intense. It made you stop for a brief moment, shocked, your breath ragged and your eyes wide with more emotion than words could capture.

Apparently, all it took to win him over was edging him. And, well, of fucking course you said yes.

So now you had your lips wrapped around Heeseung’s dick as if they were made to be there, tailor-made to envelop him with mastery and desire, the same desire that compelled you to bob your head up and down slowly, lingering deliberately and with intent on the head.

The tip of your tongue played with its slit, the sensitivity of the area stirring a guttural moan from Heeseung who couldn’t hold longer in the silence; he barely noticed he was holding his breath so far, releasing it among a shaked trail of pleas for you not to stop.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, rolling his eyes when your throat met his tip, at the same time your nose made contact with his pelvis. He winced and stuttered a curse, hands clutching the already messy sheets beneath. “F–Fuck…”

The most thrilling part was that Heeseung had no idea that this wasn’t even the prize he had earned for his good behavior. Of course, what could possibly be a better reward for hours of unintentional edging? Well…

Hidden beneath your dedication to giving a truly memorable head was the curve of a wicked smile, one that concealed every sinful, far-from-innocent thought that had spun through your mind all day. 

If two hours of self-restraint had been torture for Heeseung, then for you, the real challenge had been thinking of anything other than the countless ways you could unravel him, the infinite methods you could use to push him past the edge of sanity. Fuck… Just the thought of it had your heart racing and your stomach twisting in excitement, not to mention the throb in your bare cunt – you got rid of both your clothes the moment you crossed the room’s door. 

In a way, you were grateful that Heeseung was struggling to keep his eyes open, avoiding your gaze altogether, because if he dared to look he would see right through you. He would catch the teasing glint in your eyes, the sheer amusement at how effortlessly you had him at your mercy and the uncountable devious ideas crossing your head. 

But then, there was a moment, a fleeting second when he was reckless enough to glance down at you. Little did he know you had been watching him the entire time, your focus never once wavering since your lips wrapped around his leaking length. You were drinking in every micro-expression, every twitch of his muscles, every tremor in his breath, the way his brows knitted together as pleasure consumed him.

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that…” He groaned, voice strained.

The position had changed a few seconds ago, now with a hand gripping tightly the base of his shaft and massaging the part your mouth couldn’t take, as you focused solely on his sensitive head. The other hand rested dangerously close to his balls.

With a wet pop, you let him slip from your mouth just long enough to speak, your fingers never pausing as they jerked him off. “Or else…?” You trailed off, the mischief in your voice unmistakable.

His eyes flickered with hesitation, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He had no “or else” to offer. He wouldn’t do anything. He would take whatever you gave him without question, without resistance.

There were no agreed-upon punishments, no threats looming over him. But after what you had done to him in the bathroom earlier, he already knew just how far you were willing to push him, how cruelly you could toy with him if you wanted to – and, damn, he would be down to anything if it involved you.

He swallowed thickly, voice faltering as your fingers cupped around his tip, your wrist twisting in slow, deliberate circular motions.

“O–or else nothing, b–baby,” he stammered, his body trembling under your touch. His breath started to rag with a certain constancy, pitch climbing higher as his resolve shattered completely. “N–Nothing at all. I’m all yours, right? Do whatever you wan–” He had to stop himself, since you thought it would be the right time to toy with his balls. The rough moan echoed through your interior like a visceral energy straight to your pussy, stirring it to clench, your arousal growing. “Fuck!”

It was such a beautiful view; Heeseung threw his head back and clutched his eyes close, back arching involuntarily within a sudden jolt, and his legs, once softly idling on the bed, now squirmed as you didn’t stop, never once, none of your movements, silently pressing the orgasm you knew it was close. 

Your piercing gaze zeroed on his trembling form, the way his lips fell open and how his Adam’s apple bobbed with the failed attempts to gulp his saliva; you could see it trailing down from the corner of his lips, his tongue struggling to gather it back on his mouth.

“So beautiful, Hee,” you whispered loud enough to make yourself heard, basking in the sight of Heeseung slowly falling apart.

And that was the last thing you said before taking his dick in your mouth again, deepthroating instantly and provocatively making swallowing motions, which pressed the very tip and elicited another guttural-high pitched whimper, sounds you had never heard coming from him before.

Heeseung was seeing stars, for sure. His eyes could barely stay open, yet they still rolled back as everything you were doing drove him absolutely wild. It wasn't just sensitivity or neediness; you were touching him in such a specific way that left no room for anything else, no space for coherent thoughts or self-control.

He could feel his body slowly unraveling, but not in a painful way. It was strange, like all his energy was being funneled entirely into the place where your mouth was consuming him. The rhythm of your tongue around him was hypnotic, but every time he tried to focus on how incredible it felt to have you taking him in, your hand playing with his balls distracted him completely. He had no idea what to do, how to react, or what the hell was going on in his mind anymore.

Only a few seconds into it and his entire body shuddered, his warning filling the room nearly at the same time as the warm stream cascaded down your throat, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘M cumming…”

You swallowed Heeseung’s release as if you were parched, drinking it down like water, which accidentally overstimulated his spent cock through his high. Not a single drop escaped your hungry lips, cleaning him almost completely before you detached your mouth from it.

Heeseung trembled beneath your touch, the aftershocks rippling through his body in such a ridiculously captivating way that you could have admired it for hours without tiring. His lightly bronzed chest was now flushed in a lovely shade of red, coated in sweat from the heat of desire that had enveloped the room. In that moment, your gaze shifted to your next... target. The owner of it being entirely unaware of the mischief brewing in your mind.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you took a moment to steady your breath before continuing with your plan. You shifted up just enough to reach Heeseung’s swollen lips, his face still contorted in a look that could only be described as pleasure, but relaxed, as if he were sinking into the sensation.

His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his body still quivering as your fingertips traced the outlines of his collarbones, studying him with the kind of admiration you reserved for someone who didn’t know what he had just experienced.

“Hey,” you called softly, caressing his cheek tenderly as though you wanted to make sure he was okay. 

Heeseung fluttered his eyes open, the tiredness of them exposing how affected he was. You wavered about continuing with your ideas, but with the smirk he showed you and the way his gaze flickered lazily to your lips as if asking for you to continue it was the green light you needed.

So you captured his lips with yours, starting a kiss that was both passionate and affectionate. It was, somehow, an aftercare; one you would give even not having the need to. And Heeseung was more than receptive to kiss you.

It was oddly addictive, the mingled taste of you and himself, the bittersweetness melting across his tongue, igniting each particle of his body to move along with you. One hand slid instinctively to the back of your head, his fingers carefully threading through your hair as he held you in place, gently yet firmly pulling you closer.

Heeseung quivered when your fingertips started to move innocently down, not paying enough attention to it, until they touched his, now, softening shaft. 

He tried to break the kiss to complain, to alert that he was still sensitive from the previous orgasm and you would have to wait a few more seconds, maybe minutes, so he could get hard again; he definitely wouldn’t mind another round. But you only moved further, pressing yourself into his lips, shutting any possibility of him letting you know he was slightly in pain.

“Y/N–”

“Shh,” a shush was enough to leave him speechless, especially because your hand kept its exploration, now settling into a languish pace of moving up and down along his length.

“S–Stop…” Heeseung, once again, tried to part the kiss to plead. This time, you leaned back only enough to search for his eyes. They were wide in alarm. 

“Do you want me to stop, baby?” 

Your voice had taken on a specific rasp, clearly affected by the pressure you had previously exerted on your throat. But that was worse for Heeseung’s state, because you still shaped it to sound sultry, almost seductive. It was pathetic how he responded to your every stimulus, in all its varying intensities and nuances.

“It’s burning,” he whispered softly, not wanting to disappoint you in any way. You had already tried overstimulation before, so this was a sensation and dialogue he was familiar with.

You cooed, “Yeah? Is it?” Your tone, feigned concern, was completely overshadowed by the mocking edge beneath it. It was almost comical, but Heeseung loved it.

And then, a soft moan escaped him. He was getting hard again, which only spurred your hand to move faster, causing him to hiss.

“Uhm…”

The last time you had tried this, he had done exactly what he had just done: his hand had moved to grasp your wrist, but he didn’t exert any force to pull it away. It seemed more like a desperate attempt to hold on to something, almost as if he were clinging to his sanity.

The naughty grin that curled your lips only revealed how much you were enjoying watching him like this, eyes blinking rapidly, unsure whether to stay focused on the slight sting of discomfort, or to surrender to the imminent pleasure.

“But that wasn’t my question, was it?”

“N-No,” he shook his head, his voice shaky. “It wasn’t.”

You gave him a moment to respond, almost considering asking again just for the sake of it, but it seemed much more satisfying to use his lack of a correct answer as a small “punishment”, so your lips trailed down, leaving a path of warmth and chills through your way until they encircled Heeseung’s nipple, but not giving the entire touch; it was just a test of waters, just to drag out any reaction aiming to guide your following decisions, as you peppered soft kisses near the area and read his body response.

Heeseung’s breath hitched with the proximity of your mouth to his sensitive buds, his eyes fluttering shut and a small frown pressing his forehead to contort. Yet, his silence was heavy.

You raised your gaze ever so slightly to catch a glimpse, a smile tugging at your lips as you realized he might be into it, though he seemed to be trying to hide his blatant reactions; your hand on his cock now slowing to an almost full stop.

With that, you decided to wrap your lips around his nipple again, this time shortening the distance to flicker your tongue a few times right on the hardened tip, and the answer was immediate and modestly unexpected. 

“Oh, shit!” Heeseung nearly screamed, body jolting abruptly as a sharp spasm overtook his nerves. The coil in his stomach tightened, twisting further with each passing second you continued to play with your tongue.

Now absolutely certain of the pleasure you were causing, every whimper that fell from his lips was a delicious incentive for you to keep going, alternating between wet, noisy sucks and flattening your tongue to rub it along the bruised bud, your saliva coating his chest.

“Ngh, damn, fuck–” Heeseung exhaled shakily, unable to comprehend anything other than the crescent blissful thrill in his body, the temperature rising considerably due to your effort to make him go insane.

He was sure you wanted to make him go insane.

Blindly, you went back to grab his already very hard dick to give it some attention again, and the combo of everything you were doing to his body was more than enough for him to come undone in your hands.

“Babe, oh my god– Please–” He urged. “Don’t stop…” His voice was almost a broken whisper, but the pleading tone was clear, like a fragile thread that he hoped would keep him tethered to reality.

You giggled, continuing your work on his sensitive nipples, nibbling softly and then brushing your tongue to soothe any pain. 

“Please…” Heeseung’s voice cracked slightly, the desperation seeping through within pathetic moans, as his fingers gripped your wrist tightly.

“Aw,” you cooed, lips curling into a devilish smirk. You kissed his nipple a few times before letting go of it. “You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

The word fell from his lips again similar to a mantra, his entire body trembling under your touch, yearning for more but unsure if he could handle it. A small giggle escaped you. “Is that all you can say, my love? Please?”

You repositioned your body to sit on your knees by his side, one hand focused solely on jerking him off, while the other rested on his chest, until you decided to flicker your finger on one of his nipples. 

“Aw, so sensitive, aren’t you?” You murmured with amusement, your voice soft yet dripping with teasing.

He was already leaking heavily, and when he started to whimper, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist that had been touching his chest, pushing it further into him, as if urging you to continue, you could feel how dangerously close he was to the edge again.

“Oh my God, oh my God…” His words came out as breathy nonsense, barely coherent, his hips instinctively grinding against you, seeking more friction. He was lost in the sensation, overwhelmed by it all.

Heeseung's chest rose and fell with a desperate pace as he fought to catch his breath, each exhale shaking. His skin was flushed, a deep, beautiful shade of red coated in a thin sheen of sweat that caught the dim light of the room, making him glow with every movement.

Amidst pleas, blended with delectable whines of your name, there was a heavy desperation underlying beneath the whole surface he was showing you. 

He sounded dumb. 

He teetered the edge of madness, your touches weighting tons along his spent length; the nearly purple tip was nothing but pure perfection for your eyes, painfully hard still, because behind his despair there was the actual need to be there, to please you with by offering his own pleasure, to be your good boy.

And you wanted to make sure he understood it.

“You’re such a good boy, Hee.”

And as if your words snapped the bliss away from him, only to drift strongly back with a much intense force, the fierce orgasm built for the last minutes burst out through thick ropes upwards, landing perfectly on the very end of his tummy, on the sheets and on your hand. Thinking ahead, you used some of his release to lubricate what would soon become your seat.

Heeseung was fucking breathless, not sure if he was still alive but definitely pleasured. However, before he could regain full consciousness of his body, you were already straddling over, aligning your needy pussy, aching for some relief, already dripping in arousal, to be fulfilled by his dick, though it needed some rest before anything else. 

His eyes flew open as he held your hips in place, preventing you from sinking into the very sensitive extension of his cock. He would probably lift his torso as well, but he was too tired to even try, so his persuasion game was reduced to merely the plea in his gaze and the obvious tiredness of his breathing.  

“I already came so much,” Heeseung murmured, his bambi-eyes glistening with tears. “I don’t think I can…” His eyes darted briefly to your pussy, and the view of it painfully asking to be filled to the brim had him tweaking.

Once again: it was pathetic how devoted for you – and your body – Heeseung was. 

“Oh?” You pouted, cocking your head to the side with feigned sadness. “But I didn’t come, though?”

“Can you wait just a little?” 

You carefully observed the genuine tone laced in his voice as he made his request. There was a desire to continue behind his words, but he had asked only for a brief moment of pause. You could wait for as long as it took if it meant fulfilling his wish and not pushing further his boundaries. 

So you nodded, rising from your position to grab a water bottle from the nightstand. It was difficult to ignore just how wet the inside of your thighs had become or how the slightest friction on your clit only heightened your arousal.

“Here, baby,” you handed him the water bottle, watching the charming Adam's apple move with each swallow. It was definitely one of your favorite features of his. As you sat on the edge of the bed, you gently caressed his sweaty face, brushing away the strands of hair that clung to his forehead. “You did so well today.”

Heeseung wasn’t naive, he could sense the undertone of “farewell” in your voice, almost as if you were ready to end the moment without a second thought. Yet, for him, that would have been a huge problem.

You hadn't reached your climax.

Finishing the water, he silently thanked you, and before you could stand up he stopped you, cupping your hand on his face with his own.

“But I’m– I’m your good boy, right?” His wide, shining eyes blinked up at you, the innocence in them belying the desire to be praised, laid bare behind those expressive orbs.

His words left you momentarily disoriented. Honestly, you had been willing to take care of your own needs alone, and there would have been no issue with that. But Heeseung was clearly eager for more, and the sight of him rubbing his cheek against your warm palm was more than enough to reignite the spark in you.

“You are,” you nodded again, lowering yourself just enough to kiss his soft, flushed lips. “My good boy,” you whispered against them, your words carrying a promise – a silent vow of how grateful you were to have him with you. Then, you pulled back, returning to your previous position.

Heeseung watched you with both curious and excited eyes, watching how you climbed on top of him, reoccupying the earlier position just to sit directly on his sensitive length. His abs clenched with the immediate and unwarned touch, his back curving forward while his hands flew to grab your waist.

You smirked, though it showed more than just raw desire; it had, lying underneath, the very affection that warmed your chest by knowing Heeseung would be down to anything with you. He let out another groan when you started to move back and forth ever so slightly to coat your own arousal around his cock and lubricate once more.

Also, it helped to make him hard again, and it was obvious how easily sensitive he was once you felt the stiffness growing beneath you.

“There you go,” you murmured cheekily, adjusting your height only to align Heeseung’s dick in your pulsing hole, not waiting a second as you felt it filling you. It was your time to choke a moan.

Your body relaxed almost completely to welcome him inside, leaning slightly forward as the overwhelming sensation of finally being filled with friction surged through you. You were just as eager as he was, and soon enough, your movements started without hesitation.

His touch lingered in the exact spot he once held you, and you had positioned yourself on the right angle so you could feel your clit rubbing against his pelvis, only deepening, urging, your pleasure.

With Heeseung’s length dragging across your tight, sensitive walls, it was undeniable your growing desire to finally cum, and with that you searched for the right pace to please both of you. Your eyes were closed as you focused on moving your hips in a steady motion.

On the back of your thoughts, however, there were the beautiful whimpers Heeseung was letting out, as he felt the third orgasm of the day building up too quickly. 

And you noticed, of course; you could feel him leaking in you. And… You couldn’t hide or prevent your teasing side to show up, so you asked, your mouth whispering moans and his name, but also having a grin that made you too lustful to look at.

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?” 

You slowed your pace deliberately, watching Heeseung’s body react. A sharp gasp left his lips, his chest heaving, but no answer followed.

“Heeseung,” you called his name again, voice soft yet commanding, hoping to anchor his mind back to you, to keep him tethered amidst the pleasure clouding his thoughts. You purposely clenched. “Can you give me one more?”

A strangled noise caught in his throat, and his hips jerked up instinctively, chasing the friction he was so desperately losing. “Nnngh, fuck!” He was a writhing mess beneath you, legs trembling, unable to stay still as he practically fucked himself into you, searching for the sensation that had him spiraling. A quiet sob echoed from his lips.

“Babe, I won’t move until you answer,” you murmured, slowing your hips until they stilled completely. “I need your words.”

“Ah–no! Please, please, don’t…” His voice broke into a whimper, his entire body shuddering with the withdrawal of pleasure.

A burning sensation coiled deep inside him, pleasure and frustration mixing into something unbearable. His hands clutched desperately at your flesh, definitely marking the extension; his lips parted as he let out a shaking breath, his body twitching for any form of relief.

“Please…” The plea left him again, raw and unfiltered, but even he wasn’t sure what exactly he was begging for. For you to move again? For you to let him fall apart? For you to ruin him?

Your gaze flickered up, catching sight of his tear-streaked cheeks. His big, round eyes fluttered between half-lidded and tightly shut, brows furrowed in pure, pathetic desperation. His lips, swollen and parted, trembled slightly, whether from the overwhelming sensation or from how hard he had been biting them, you weren’t sure.

Then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Heeseung finally looked at you. You smiled at him, something soft, something appreciative, as if silently letting him know just how much you adored seeing him like this, completely unraveling in your hands.

But you wanted something. Something simple. Something so easy. Just his words.

“Hee…” Your tone turned warning, coaxing. “Words. Need your words, yeah?”

It was like a switch flipped inside him, acknowledging you would easily stop and leave him without his release, frustrated and helpless. His breath hitched, and then his entire body jolted like a shockwave had run through him, with his eyes flying open and his back arching as a frantic urgency flooded his tone.

“Yes! Yes, fuck–yes! I can give you–” His words cut off in a choked moan as you tightened your clenching, circling your hips in slow, deliberate motion. His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white, thighs trembling as his brain melted into pleasure.

But then you stopped. His whine was downright pathetic.

“Another,” he rushed out, panting, the desperation laced thick in his voice. “I can. I can give you another.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you leaned forward, already going back to roll your hips.

“Good boy, Hee.”

Due to the proximity of your mouths, you even tried to initiate a kiss, but it quickly turned messy, chaotic even, though your lips didn’t fully part. You both moaned into each other, breaths, sounds, and whispered desires blending into the creaking of the bed that shifted slightly under your relentless movements.

There was a deafening determination in the way you grinded against him, fast enough to give you pleasure and leave Heeseung completely broken.

And then, silence. At least, on his part. You tried to open your eyes to meet his, and through the blur, you caught a glimpse of his lips slightly parted, breathless, his eyes shut in the intensity of the moment.

Fully committed, you pushed yourself closer to the finish line, feeling the familiar tightness in your core signaling your impending climax. You also managed to get his dick brushing against your most sensitive spot, propelling you faster towards the edge.

Suddenly, Heeseung gasped for air and moaned loudly, filling you with his release, the pressure inside you intensifying. It was different from all the other reactions, and it would definitely stay with you. 

He was gorgeous, his neck completely exposed and glistening with sweat, his body trembling as he gasped and moaned beneath you. And, finally, with one last powerful movement, you reached your own peak, your body shaking in the aftermath, clinging to him as your world spun with the intensity of it all.

Heeseung, still a little lost in the moment, hugged you back. There were no words needed to express that this had been a significant moment for both of you, a journey through uncharted paths, where you respected each other’s desires and understood your own limits, while still daring to push beyond them a little.

It felt different and fulfilling to be with someone like that, your thoughts syncing in unspoken understanding. And that simple embrace, though messy and sweaty from your shared experience, was more than enough to mark the beginning of something new.

A new chapter.

[cultkinkcoven]

Things Lord Lucifer would like beginners to know

I original made this post on reddit, but I thought it relevant to post here too. I’ve spoken about some of this stuff on my page already but a little reminder never hurts.

This is in no way a comprehensive list, these are just things he has expressed to me over time that he would appreciate me sharing with others.

1. Lucifer will never approach two different people in the same way.

Lord Lucifer, unlike some other deities or spirits, is extremely in tune to human psychology and will manifest to each human in a very personal way. He will intentionally take a form that communicates something very specific to you, he will utilize your fears, dreams, and the things you do not yet know about yourself to make himself known to you. To me, Lucifer has appeared in a variety of forms depending on the context. Sometimes he appears as a young human man with black hair and blue eyes. Sometimes he appears as an older man with blonde hair and red eyes. Sometimes he appears completely inhuman, like a serpent, a dragon, a raven. Sometimes he appears like a garden, or a planet, or a mountain. All of these forms are used to communicate different things. An older Lucifer is meant to communicate how ancient he is. When he appears as a planet or mountain, he’s communicating how gargantuan he is, a serpent to communicate how subtle, sneaky, and manipulative he can be. Don’t be all too surprised if he appears very differently than he did yesterday.

2. Lucifer really despises begging.

This was something he made clear to me right away. Do not beg Lucifer to manifest, do not beg him to pay attention to you, he hates it. It’s okay to be genuine and express how much you may need him for whatever you’re doing, or to want to be recognized. But do not beg for him to appear as if you were a peasant begging for food. You are a sovereign in your own right, you have every right to a response, you are important and worthy enough to be in his presence. Act like it. Do not grovel and beg him to have pity on you. Absolutely show respect and gratitude. But do not act like you’re “so lucky” that he’s paying attention to you.

3. On the same note, self degradation is a big no no

Beyond just talking down to yourself, Lucifer hates people who fish for compliments. If you’re constantly calling yourself ugly, Lucifer isn’t going to be the one to reassure you that you’re pretty. Sure, he can definitely be the one to give you a little extra confidence, he gives me compliments all the time. But if you degrade yourself enough times, he’ll start to agree with you. Yeah, you are ugly. He’s not going to give in and shower you with the compliments you’re looking for. A large part of this journey with him is finding our own power and confidence. You’re preventing him from doing his job any time you degrade yourself. And if you’re preventing him from doing what he was created to do, then he’s going to start ignoring you.

4. If you think you know everything you’re already wrong

You will always be a student, regardless of how long you’ve been practicing or how mature you are in that practice. When you assume you know and have done everything, you cut yourself off from the possibility of learning more. There is always something new to be learned, and you will be forced to change your mind and evolve. You will never be done learning from him.

5. He doesn’t demand loyalty, but he definitely appreciates commitment. He will not trust you if you do not trust him.

Lucifer is the morning star, but he is also the mourning star. He is an entity that has been betrayed and has lost companions time and time again. He is very used to his followers eventually leaving him and going on to do something else. He’s not going to demand you devote your eternal soul to him if that’s not something you actively and passionately want to do. He greatly values loyalty and commitment, he wants followers that are going to stick with him through this life and beyond, and he will reward his followers that remain loyal to him. But unless you are truly, and I mean seriously and truly willing to devote your life to upholding his principles, *do not* say you will. Your word is bond, and to betray your word means it is worth nothing. If you go back on your promises, he isn’t going to hurt you for it, but he’s also not going to trust you and he is not going to prioritize you.

6. Morality is a human concern. It is your job to define your boundaries, not his.

You need to be very aware of your boundaries and limits before you reach out. Lucifer is not going to be the one to discourage something because it’s mean, immoral, or illegal. It is your responsibility as the human to have morals that you can remain firm on, regardless of if Lucifer himself disagrees or not. Murder and animal abuse are off the table for me. I don’t care what the ritual calls for, I am not going to kill a cat or hurt a child. It’s not Lucifer’s responsibility to ensure that I have good morals, it is mine.

7. He will test your boundaries and convictions, he isn’t always being serious.

Connected to the last point, Lucifer will mess with you just to test how firm you are in your morals. He will say things he doesn’t agree with, just to hear you justify your reasons for believing what you believe. If Lucifer tells me I have to hurt a child for him, it is my job to put my foot down and say no. You are allowed to disagree with Lucifer, in fact sometimes he will force you to. He finds it very admirable when someone is able to hold their ground against him. He will force you to reaffirm what it is that you believe and why you believe it constantly. If he says something heinous, and you truly disagree but meekly agree just to appease him, he will know your will is fragile. You do not have to appease Lucifer. Remain true to yourself.

8. Lucifer does not know shame nor will he reject you because you did something wrong.

Just be honest. Don’t lie and don’t try to hide it, he can see everything. If I make a mistake or resort to some behaviour I am ashamed of, I can always rest assured that Lord Lucifer will help me approach it with unconditional acceptance. He will not cringe or turn away from your most repressed parts, he will help you acknowledge them and move forward. Having the strength and bravery to say “I know that I shouldn’t have done this, and I need help to ensure it doesn’t happen again” is far more admirable than hiding it and running away. You need to be willing to admit when you’re wrong and ignorant so you can be given the tools to grow and get right.

9. Please experiment

This was one of the points he stressed the most. Stop asking for permission and just do it. Maybe it’ll work out and maybe it won’t. As a God of Enlightenment, Lucifer is most excited by the pursuit of knowledge. That sometimes means failing. Before you ask someone else if Lucifer likes a certain offering, just try giving it to him. He prefers when his followers learn from experience rather than just following the advice of others. “Will Lucifer like it if I-?” Maybe! “Will Lucifer be offended if I-?” Ask him! “Is it okay if I-?” Who knows! Try it out and record your results.

10. Worship yourself above all else, but leave room for empathy.

“Empathy is the greatest tool of intellect. In order to understand oneself they must first understand the world that created them, and the people who created the world. Once they understand the people who created the world, they can begin to change themselves, other people, and the world.”

- Lord Lucifer

Above all else you should be honouring yourself and treating yourself as divine. However, do not forget that every other human you share this Earth with is also just as divine as you are. The goal isn’t to become a narcissist or to think you’re better than others. Understanding how your actions impact others and being able to empathize with their experiences is essential to spiritual enlightenment. Learn from others, continue to seek knowledge from unexpected places, and do not ever turn your back on humanity.

11. These things take time. Consistency is key

Try to get to a place where your rituals actually become *rituals*, things you do routinely every day until you don’t even have to think about it anymore. If you’re working on mantras or enns, say them while you doing something you do every day like showering. You’re not going to have that breakthrough right away, you’re not going to see results right away. Part of the commitment of the Luciferian path is patience. Some things can only be understood in retrospect. Don’t rush anything.

12. He’s a therapist.

He will make you cry, he will make you remember things you’d rather forget. He will make you aware of all of the factors and childhood experiences that have made you the person you are today. Your locked box is now open, there is no secret he does not know, no fetish or fixation he hasn’t seen. Let him help you. His goal is to make you aware and give you the tools to change.

13. Talking shit about other Gods, angels, spirits, or religious will not gain you points with him.

Lucifer is in many contexts considered to be a separate entity than the biblical Satan. He doesn’t care about Christianity or Abrahamic religion and its followers, and he gets bored extremely fast when people assume he wants to participate in complaining about Christians all day. Don’t get me wrong, he does at times get agitated by organized religions and the way they have historically suppressed knowledge and freedom, he doesn’t agree with the biblical doctrine, he’s not a fan of the church, he doesn’t necessarily like or agree with the Abrahamic God, and you might catch him throwing some shade from time to time. But he also doesn’t have a great hatred towards that God or his people either, in fact I’d say he is largely apathetic. He despises spiritual slavery, supremacy, and the doctrine that dominates Christianity. But to actively hate God or religion would be to allow them to have power over him. That power would inform his decisions, it would control him. Lucifer does not care enough to shit talk angels, nor will he encourage you to spend your precious minutes ranting about Christians. His philosophy with me has always been “forgive God and move on.” Do not forgive out of righteousness or kindness. Forgive so you can no longer be controlled by your hatred. This doesn’t mean be complacent or nice for the sake of being nice. When you see injustice, call it out. But don’t obsess over a religion you’re not apart of and a God you don’t worship.

14. Bigotry is a huge turn off

Lucifer is the God of liberation. He is the lord of the liminal, the atypical, and the rejected. If you hold any kind of belief that places one human below another, he’s really really not going to entertain it. It doesn’t matter what kind of discrimination it is. Racism, homophobia, transphobia, islamphobia, antisemitism, fatphobia, ableism etc. He doesn’t care. Lucifer truly values diversity and appreciates those who have been hated the most. He is a God of the minority, and he holds the greatest solidarity with those whom society has outcasted. The queer, the freak, the insane and the obscene, Lucifer is the patron of. If you see those who are different than you as lesser than, if you reject the immense diversity of the human race, and if you look down upon others because they are too weird, or too difficult to understand, Lord Lucifer is not going to take you seriously at all.

15. Say thank you

Lucifer likes recognition. If you’ve recently received some blessing that you think came from him, some kind of recognition or thank you is appreciated.

I think that’s it! These are all the major things we’ve discussed most recently and have remained consistent in all the conversations I’ve had with other Luciferians. Lord Lucifer is an incredibly patient and truly wonderful presence in my life and I hope the same is true for you! Ave Lord Lucifer and Hail Thyself!

[uhhhj13iguess]

more rick sanchez. I NEED IT. I’m a fein for him. I need him bad. can you possibly make more head cannons about him? that’s if your stilling writing him lol. preferably nsfw? if that’s okay with you. please and thank you.

rick sanchez nsfw headcanon

enough people have asked for this. i yield! take it! it was written with much shame and strong confidence that i am correct about everything i'm saying. nothing gender-specific used for the reader!

wc: ~600

rick sanchez is one cocky motherfucker.

everyone knows that. and it does NOT fade away in the bedroom. he wants to be in charge, in control, and have all the power.

rick has a god complex, in the bedroom and out. that's just canon. he demands to be worshipped, to be the best at everything. he is al-fucking-mighty and makes sure you know it (and say it). for someone who doesn't believe in any religion, everything about his self-esteem in the sheets is downright pious.

and while he needs you to know that he is your god, rick's praise kink goes the other way too. he loves to tell you how good you are for him, how proud he is of you taking him so well, fucking him so good. he loves to hear the moans in response to his gentle words, a stark contrast to everyday demeanor.

thinking about rick throat training you lmfao. he's big, a challenge, but it was a feat you wanted to conquer. you had asked him about it one day, and he had his lips on you and undressed himself in an instant as he guided you down to your knees. he'd lead you down the length of his cock with his long fingers intertwined in your hair, downright whimpering as he praised you; good fucking job, that's it, you can do it, fuck baby, that's so fucking good falling as moans from his lips.

but just because he's an asshole, doesn't mean he doesn't care about you. i stand by that.

listen, i think he loves to degrade you. throw you around and manhandle you, tell you that you're nothing compared to him. i think he's an absolute dick. but the way he feels about you, it's a way he hasn't felt since her — he loved you too much to hurt you. he's excited to use you, to fuck your throat. he wants you to take all of him — but, not if you're uncomfortable and not enjoying it yourself.

again, please don't get me wrong. rick loves to see the bruises on your body after he's done with you. to deny you an orgasm to the point of tears and absolute misery. but, he isn't into it if you aren't. while he loves to push your boundaries and test the limits, he never wants to be the cause of your actual pain/distress. so, as soon as you tap out, say the safe word, or he can sense something's off, he's out immediately.

on a completely different tangent, i also think that rick loves to fuck you while intoxicated (duh). no matter how drunk or intoxicated you both may be, it's a kind of euphoria that can't be topped. everything is mixing together, and the amplified pleasure coursing through both of your veins is unbelievable. that being said, secretly, his favorite sex is when you're both fully sober, fully aware and involved in the actions taken. he loves that you can get him higher than anything else, a kind of bliss he's never felt before, when he feels how tight you are around him.

also, rick has 1000% created a lab-grown aphrodisiac before and used it on you. consensually, of course. at least, the first time. after he has the go-ahead on free use with it, rick loves to surpise you every now and then with an afternoon of insatiable pleasure. he loves getting to use you to get off, and how much you just can't get enough of it. it wasn't often, just sometimes as a treat ;)

overall, and so unfortunately, i really think i'm just down bad for rick sanchez.

masterlist and taglist!

[mononijikayu]

merry–go–round–of life — ryomen sukuna.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.” Your reply is instant. 🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’” 👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.” He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words. 👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babes.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovers, Marriage, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Long Distance Relationship, Frustration, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Husband! Sukuna, Wife! Reader;

Words: 9k words.

Note: i wrote this in a rush while im constipated and suffering in bed about it. and honestly, im glad i did because this is going to be a happy one, i know a rare treat. but there will be quite a lot of heartache here soon enough. also, yes, the signatures were created by me. i write like that irl. and yes, they both have autographs (reader gets asked by little kids who are interested in science for her signature). anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. i love you all so much!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT. It was fulfilling to be able to go and pursue your passions in your respected fields, that was true enough. But you knew this would happen. Your schedules aren’t overlapping the way you need it to be, and you hate it.

You hate how you and Ryomen Sukuna, your famous Olympic volleyball fiancé are like two stars in separate galaxies, orbiting each other from too far away to touch. You both were wanting to meet each other but the thousands of light years prevented you from even finding each other. 

It wasn’t always like this. Back when his training was domestic and your research wasn't demanding 80–hour weeks, you used to cook dinner together at least twice a week.

He’d lift you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, kiss you until the pasta boiled over, and say things like “We’re gonna have the loudest wedding in Japan.”

But now it’s missed calls, unsent voice notes, messages like “call me when you wake up.” followed by hours of silence because time zones are ruthless and the Olympics don’t wait for love. You’re lucky if you catch his voice once a week, muffled through tired laughter and stadium noise. 

And it’s bad that you were the same as him too.

You weren’t just the one being left behind you were running too, just in the opposite direction. You hated that about yourself. Hated how the very ambition that had once made him fall in love with you was now the same thing keeping you from each other.

The worst part?

Missing ten missed calls.

Sometimes more than that.

Seeing his name flash on your phone hours after he tried to reach you — each notification a little wound that you picked at without meaning to. Not because you ignored him. Never.

But because sometimes, you genuinely didn’t hear the phone ring over the sounds of your team discussing propulsion flow models or thermal regulation equations.

You’d come home and find the lunch he packed still untouched in your work bag. Rice cold, vegetables a little soggy from condensation. A sticky note on the lid with his handwriting which was messy and fast, like he was rushing out the door but still thinking about you: “Eat well, genius.”

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you forgot. Or because you were calibrating simulations past lunchtime. Or because you were sitting in some dark conference room answering questions from engineers twenty years your senior.

And the coffee, the one he brewed at 5:30 a.m. with the beans you like, poured into your favorite thermos? You’d leave it on the kitchen counter by mistake, still warm when you got home twelve hours later. That’s how you realized how bad it had gotten. You weren’t just missing him, you were starting to miss yourself too.

Ever since they assigned you to the development of a new rocket mechanism system, this new revolutionary propulsion array meant to change the trajectory of long–range space travel—you knew, in your gut, that this would take everything.

And it did. Your time. Your sleep. Your calendar. Him.

He was lucky to see you after 10:00 p.m — not in the romantic way, but in the “quick, I have five minutes before I pass out on this couch” kind of way. You'd sit side by side, half in your work clothes, his shirt still damp with sweat from training. 

You’d hold pinkies like kids and talk like strangers trying to remember the rhythm of your old conversations. Sometimes you’d fall asleep mid–sentence. Sometimes he would. Everything about it has just been rough.

It’s been a year and a half since he proposed to you. A year and a half since you said yes with tears on your cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours in a moment so still, so real, you swore nothing could ever pull you apart. And yet here you were. Not even a date set. No dress. No venue. No plans.

Not because you didn’t want it. Hell, you’d marry him in your scorched lab coat with grease stains and ink on your fingers if it meant being next to him when you woke up. If it meant not having to count days between kisses. You knew that. He knew that.

But life doesn’t care about how much two people love each other.

Every time you tried to plan, something got in the way. A training camp for the upcoming FIVB league, where he was captain and poster boy and MVP all rolled into one.

Then a week later it was the National League games or in the International Qualifiers. Or a media appearance. A charity match. A recovery period he had to take seriously or risk injury.

And for you, it was just the same. A last–minute research grant that couldn’t be passed up, not when it would fund your entire next project. A call from the head of the department asking you to lecture at an aerospace symposium.

Sometimes it was a request to mentor new hires or new interns. A sudden data spike that cracked open a new theory, one that would require late nights, recalibrations, endless documentation.

It always felt like one step forward, two steps away from each other.

No one was to blame — not him, not you. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Because when he told you “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

And you told him “Then let’s do it, babe.”

The world said, “Not yet.”

And you both obeyed silently, painfully, hoping one day it would stop asking so much of you.

You’re sitting in the corner of the office lab today, shoulders slumped over your desk, staring at an untouched to-do list. You’re not crying, not really. But certainly, there’s a tiredness in your bones that not even coffee can fix.

Maryu Hana notices first. She always does. She walks over quietly, sits next to you, and just wraps her arms around your side like she's trying to hold the pieces of you together. Her hair smells like cherry lip balm and lavender softener. She doesn’t say anything yet, just rests her cheek against your shoulder.

“You okay?” Hana asks after a moment, voice soft and small, like she’s afraid that being too loud might break you further.

“No….not at all.” you admit. You don’t bother sugarcoating it. There’s no energy left to pretend you’re fine. “I miss him. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Hana. I don’t even know when he’s going to get home from his match abroad.”

Your voice cracks slightly on that last word. You hate the way it does. You hate that your chest feels heavy every time you think of him, of Sukuna with his duffle bags, his passport tucked into his pocket like a lifeline, his voicemail always full. 

You used to tease him for being impossible to reach. Now it just feels like the universe is playing keep–away with the one person you’re trying so desperately to hold onto. You could only sigh into your hands and feel the devastation.

Kenji, ever the loyal office goblin and chaotic gremlin of the lab, rolls over on his squeaky stool like a knight on wheels. His hoodie is inside-out, and he’s clutching an energy drink like it’s a sword.

“You need me to hack into the work calendar and ‘accidentally’ reschedule his matches?” he says, completely serious.

You let out a breathy laugh, weak but real. “That would start an international incident.”

“I’ve started worse, bestie.” he deadpans to you. And he was not lying. You knew he had. That’s why they can’t fire him. “Just say the word.”

“I’d….rather not.”

Haruki looks up from his soldering station, holding a screwdriver like it’s the Holy Grail. “Wait. WAIT. I volunteer as a wedding planner.” He rises with the gravity of someone delivering life–altering news. “I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. I’m emotionally equipped.”

“Yeah, me and Haruki could help!” Hana says, looping her arm around yours with a bright, unbothered smile. “After all, it would be like me and Haruki planning our own wedding. Since we had a court wedding.”

You blink. You’d almost forgotten that. It happened so quietly. A lunch break turned into a courthouse appointment. A blurry photo of them holding hands and a paper certificate posted in your group chat with no caption. You remember being stunned, speechless. But not surprised. They made it work.

You found yourself envious of that. Not in a bitter way, not in the why them, not me way. But in the aching, quiet kind of way. The kind where you smile and congratulate them and then cry into your pillow later because it reminds you that love can happen right now if you let it. If life lets you.

And yet here you are. A year and a half into your engagement with Ryomen Sukuna, and still floating in that weird limbo where you’re so in love and so ready but so impossibly stuck with the needs to please the roles you were meant to play.

Your colleagues, they had trouble even getting a proposal out. Haruki couldn’t string a proper sentence together and Hana had to say, “Do you want to marry me or not?” with a pen already in her hand.

But they got married. Quick. Simple. Straight to the point. No ceremony. No guests. Just them and their decision. And it was beautiful in its own way. It was what suited them and their personalities and wants, after all.

But you and Sukuna wanted something different, however. Not necessarily bigger, but shared. You wanted time. The time to plan, to invite everyone you loved, to dance until the floor cracked beneath you.

You wanted him there to argue over cake flavors and sigh at venue tours. You wanted photos in a sun–drenched field and stupid wedding favors no one would keep but you.

But time has not been kind.

“I’m happy for you guys, really.” you say softly, glancing at Hana and Haruki. And you mean it. But your next words are a little quieter. “I just wish we’d had that chance too.”

Hana squeezes your hand. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will.”

“Unless Sukuna gets abducted by aliens.” Kenji adds. “Then I’m legally your backup husband.”

Haruki gasps. “Unacceptable. I already wrote my vows.”

Hana raised a brow. “Um, I am right here, as the actual deserving title of wife?”

“Well, if he does show up, I promise you, the wedding would be perfect if I plan it with you.” Haruki says, winking at you.

You snort through the lump in your throat. “Yeah? You're gonna walk me down the aisle too?”

Haruki grins. “In full 1920s suit attire. Ruffles and everything.”

Kenji adds, snickering. “And I’ll build you a hologram of Sukuna to stand in until the real one gets back. Super realistic. Only mildly cursed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Really laugh out loud. and it spills out of you in a way that’s raw and grateful and a little watery around the edges. Like your ribs were too tight until now, and something cracked open.

“I just…” You tug the sleeves of your lab coat down over your hands, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Being in love with someone whose life is on a global clock.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hana murmurs, pulling you in closer, her cheek resting against your shoulder. “It’s hard. But not impossible. You and Sukuna are like… built different. You’ve always made it work, even when it sucks. And you know he hates it just as much as you do.”

You nod slowly. “He texted me last night… paragraphs of it. He said if he could, he’d cancel everything. Just to eat instant ramen with me on the couch. No cameras. No schedules. Just us. In our socks. Watching the same dumb reruns we’ve already memorized.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, like your pain settles into her chest too. “That’s love right there. Instant ramen and reruns.”

“Haruki doesn’t even like instant ramen,” she adds with a pout, throwing a side-eye at her husband, who glances up, blinking in defense.

Haruki frowns. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just make healthy options for us. Gotta keep you from living off potato chips and soda.”

Hana gasps dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how much junk I sneak when you’re not looking?”

“Yes!” he says, flinging his hands in the air. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, babe!”

“You say that,” Hana points at him like she’s presenting Exhibit A, “as if you don’t drink an absurd amount of Asahi Dry every night.”

Haruki, affronted, gestures to himself with wide eyes. “That’s my only vice! And it’s cultural!”

“You’re such a hypocrite, aren’t you?” she groans, nudging him with her foot.

Kenji, never one to waste a perfectly chaotic moment, raises his energy drink like he’s toasting at a wedding. “Ah yes. Romantic, romantic ramen. Love brings you together!” he says sagely. “The cornerstone of any healthy relationship.”

You cover your mouth to muffle another laugh. “You guys are idiots.”

“Correct on that, captain.” Kenji says proudly.

“But you’re my idiots, to be sure.” you add, blinking away the dampness in your lashes. 

And for the first time in days, you feel… lighter. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even okay. But held. In this tiny lab full of solder smoke, caffeine, and nerds with poor sleep schedules, you are loved. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.

You look down at your phone, Sukuna’s texts still sitting there, glowing softly against your palm like a heartbeat. Instant ramen, huh? You think you’ll message him back soon. Maybe you should even leave a voice mail.

Maybe even send him a picture of the lab gang yelling over takeout later.  Let him know you're not alone. Let him know you’re still here. Still his, still waiting for some time to just be together again and love each other again.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your gentle fingers lingering against it like maybe….Just maybe. You could go on and press hard enough. Maybe, you might let him feel you from wherever in the world he is right now.

Hana gently nudges your side again. “You should text him. Or call, if he’s awake. You’ll feel better.”

You nod, already thinking about it. You’ll do it. After this moment. After sitting in the warmth of people who don’t ask you to be okay before you’re ready to be. “Yeah….I should….”

Kenji spins once on his stool, as if the energy drink has finally hit his bloodstream. “Alright, I’ve made an executive decision. Emergency wedding planning simulation. Just for morale.”

Haruki blinks. “What?”

Kenji claps his hands. “You’re going to hate this, but—boom. Picture this: rooftop wedding. At sunset. Hana officiates. Haruki cries.”

“I don’t cry!” Haruki objects.

“You absolutely do, a lot!” Hana says, smirking. “You sobbed at that ad with the puppy and the blind man.”

“It was emotional!”

Kenji continues like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “Reception at a space museum. Guests get party favors that are actually mini thrusters. There’s a robot bartender. And instead of a first dance, you and Sukuna spike a ceremonial volleyball at a target shaped like all your problems.”

“I can 3D print that target.” Haruki mutters as he opens his tablet. “Give me two days. I can reuse the program from the last rocket thrusters. Just need to edit them to smaller size, of course—”

You throw your head back and laugh again, tears still clinging to your lashes but now glinting with amusement instead of grief. “Stop, stop.” you groan, covering your face. “This is the dumbest thing—”

“—and yet you’re smiling,” Hana sings, pulling you closer. “Which was the point.”

You drop your hands and meet her eyes. “Thanks, everyone.” you whisper. “I’m grateful for all of you.”

Kenji gives you a goofy little salute. “Anything for our favorite overachiever–in–love.”

“You mean resident astrophysicist–in–love, no?” Haruki corrects, tossing a bolt across the table like a mic drop.

You shake your head, heart sore and full. There’s still that ache, that missing piece in your day-to-day rhythm that only Ryomen Sukuna fills. But tonight, for just a little while, it’s dulled by something soft and familiar. Love that stays close, even when your person is far.

Later, maybe after everyone’s gone home or dozed off at their stations, you’ll sneak into the break room and video call Sukuna. He might be in a different timezone, maybe halfway through his physio routine or brushing his teeth in some hotel room you can’t pronounce.

And when he picks up, and sees your face lit up under the sterile break room light, you’ll tell him: "Let’s eat ramen together this weekend. You, me, whatever city you’re in. I’ll bring the pocket Wi-Fi, baby. You bring the cup noodles. I love you."

Because if there’s one thing this moment reminds you, it’s that love like yours doesn’t disappear. It adapts. It lingers. It waits. And finds its way back. Always. Because love wins all in the end. It will always win in the end. 

IT HAS NEVER GOTTEN THIS BAD BEFORE. But now it has and there’s just really no way to stop it. Usually, there was a way to calm himself down. Yet, it's not working right now.

Since you are busy like him and you can’t call him often or spend time with him. Ryomen Sukuna is just as frustrated on the other side of the world. No, maybe not just frustrated. Since his spikes are getting everywhere.

The volleyball slams against the court floor with such vicious precision that it echoes like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls in a wild blur of movement.

Coaches flinch. Teammates keep their distance. Balls aren’t just being served. It was like they’re being launched like warheads, and everyone knows better than to say anything about it now.

Everyone except Vice Captain Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru stands just beyond the service line, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses still on like he’s at a beachside photo shoot and not inside a national Olympic training gym. His expression is unreadable, but even he knows something’s off.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t talk.

He trains. He spikes. He glares. He barely sleeps.

And it’s getting bad. Because he misses you. Because he hasn’t held or seen you in over a month at the very least. Because he hasn’t heard her voice since three time zones ago. And it was obvious to everyone that he was just upset.

His chest is tight. His lungs feel too small. Every part of his body is coiled with an energy that doesn’t know where to go. Except into the ball, into the court, into whatever’s in front of him that isn’t her.

Another spike. Another blur of motion. Another dull ache in his wrist. But that didn’t matter. He doesn’t care about that right now. He cares about being able to air his feelings. And probably hearing your voice later, if you pick up.

“You’re gonna fracture something, Captain!” Satoru finally calls, breaking the silence.

Sukuna says nothing, panting through his nose. He’s drenched in sweat. Muscles straining. Every vein on his arm is a live wire right now. He huffs a breath as he goes on and picks up another ball.

“Y’know, Mr. Lover Boy….” Satoru continues casually as he fixes his jacket. “Most people go for a walk or write sad poetry when they miss their fiancée. You? You look like you’re trying to kill the floor.”

Sukuna turns his back on him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, or spoken to her in days.” he mutters, so low Satoru barely catches it. “Didn’t even get to call last night. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.”

His voice is rough. Like gravel dragged across asphalt. Like the exhaustion finally caught up to him. But that’s probably how it just is with his schedule.

He’s both in the National Team and in the V.League. Then there’s the training camps and the other stuff like the press. And it’s rinse and repeat, as always.

Satoru sighs and strolls over, dropping down into a squat like a coach babysitting a storm. “That’s rough, really.” he admits to him, still a bit playful. “Real tragic. Definitely calls for alcohol and sad jazz music.”

Sukuna’s jaw ticks. “We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, you know that?” he says after a long pause. “It’s been a year and a half. We haven’t even picked a damn date.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to offer empty platitudes. “She’s got this new rocket system project. Her team’s finally getting funding, which is good. She deserves it.”

“Hm, you said that the other day.”

Sukuna’s voice is softer now, but bitter–edged. “But every time we try to plan anything….anything and absolutely anything, something comes up. Her lectures. Our training camp. Her research. The World Cup qualifiers. Another damn seminar or match or trip across the globe.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Satoru says gently.

“She doesn’t say it, but I know it’s wearing on her too.” Sukuna looks down at his hands. The same hands that have sent balls flying like missiles, the same hands that haven’t been able to hold hers. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s putting everything on pause for me. Or that I’m putting her last.”

Satoru’s expression softens, sunglasses slipping down just enough for his eyes to show. “She wouldn’t stay if she felt that way.”

Sukuna finally meets his gaze. His voice is low, threaded with an ache he rarely lets show. “She’s the only thing I want more than this game.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Ryomen Sukuna, who loved volleyball with everything he was. Whose entire life has been volleyball since he was tall enough to touch the net. But he loved you more. He loved you more than volleyball. You were his life. You were his everything.

Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Then keep wanting her. But don’t burn the rest of your world down in the meantime. You’ll get back to her. Sooner than you think.”

But Sukuna’s heart is elsewhere. With you. Always with you. He dreams of the way you tug at your lab coat sleeves over your hands when you're tired.

The sound of your laugh through the phone when you’ve got your headset still on. The way you’d always try to make time, even when you couldn’t. Even when the world was pulling you in a thousand directions too.

He’d give up all of it in a heartbeat. He knew that. All the fame, the medals, the arenas, if it meant just waking up beside you every morning he has in this life, then he’d give it all up. No alarms. No training. Just you in his arms. Breathing soft against his chest. Home, in its purest form.

But he can’t. Not yet. So he breathes, barely.  And spikes another ball, like it’ll keep his heart from shattering. Sukuna’s next spike hits the far wall so hard it rattles the bleachers. It echoes loud and sharp, like the crack of something breaking. Satoru doesn’t flinch. He sighs, long and theatrical. 

“Well, that’s something.” he mutters, “He’s officially in full sad, long–distance lover mode. Talk–jutsu failed. We’re in phase two: Rage Despair.”

“Is that like a boss level, Gojo–san?” Itadori Yuuji asks, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. His cheeks are pink from drills, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat still trailing down his temples. “Because he looks like he’s about to go feral.”

“Yuuji–kun.” Satoru turns to him, hands on hips. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Satoru grins, wide and devious. “Operation Cheer–Up–Sukuna–With–Sheer–Stupidity.”

Yuuji blinks. Then lights up like a puppy who just got the go-ahead to fetch. “YES.”

Before anyone can stop him, Itadori Yuuji barrels toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna like a human golden retriever missile, arms open for a completely uninvited hug. Sukuna glared at him as he saw him coming towards him.

“RYOMEN SUKUNAAAAAA!” he yells mid-run. “YOUR SOULMATE WOULD WANT YOU TO SMILE!!!”

Sukuna turns just as Yuuji launches at him. His first instinct is to side-step and deck him. His second instinct is still to deck him. But he hesitates just long enough for Yuuji to latch on, full koala-style, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs bracing like he’s riding a moving train.

“You smell like rage and heartbreak!” Yuuji wheezes against his chest. “Let it out, Captain!”

“I will kill you, Itadori!” Sukuna growls, trying to shake him off. “You best be fucking ready to do dive serves, you punk!”

“You need love!” Yuuji cries.

At the same time, Satoru pulls out a Bluetooth speaker from absolutely nowhere, presses play — and suddenly “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from Grease begins blaring through the gym. All the staff and coaching team were either about to laugh or disappointed. The rest of the team looks like they were used to this. 

“Oi, are you actually serious right now?” Fushiguro Megumi barks from the sideline, dropping his water bottle.

Nanami Kento walks in from the hallway, pauses at the doorway, and squints at the scene. Ryomen Sukuna dragging Itadori Yuuji across the court like a furious god with a clingy barnacle.

Gojo Satoru dramatically sings into a protein shaker. The ridiculously loud Grease soundtrack echoing like it’s karaoke night in hell. It was just not something that anyone can see everyday. And yet, this was the normal of the Japan National Volleyball Team.

“No, no.” Nanami says flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

He marches toward the chaos with his usual calm menace. “Itadori–kun, get off him. Satoru, turn that off. This is a place of discipline. Not a high school musical.”

“Aw, come on, man!” Satoru whines back at them.“It’s a classic!”

“Sukuna doesn’t need musical numbers, Vice–Captain.” Megumi deadpans as he drags Yuuji off the fuming captain. “He needs peace and a phone call with his fiancée, probably followed by a ten–hour nap too.”

Yuuji flails dramatically in Megumi’s grip. “He needs love! Let the man feel things!”

“I am feeling things, you punks!” Sukuna growls, voice low and dangerous. “Like the urge to end your entire career.”

“You see?” Nanami says out loud. “This is what happens when you let emotions run unchecked. He needs focus. Structure. Calm.”

Sukuna, despite himself, lets out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost. “I need her, right now.” he mutters instead, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. “That’s it.”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat.

Megumi, releasing Yuuji with a shove, glances at him sidelong. “Then call her.”

Satoru grins. “Yeah. Do that. And then I’ll serenade her on speakerphone so she remembers how charming we are.”

“Try it, Gojo. I’m telling you it will not end well.” Sukuna mutters, grabbing his towel. “See how fast I put you through a wall.”

But there’s less venom in his voice now. And maybe, just maybe…. a flicker of peace behind his eyes. Because even halfway across the world, in a gym where every breath feels like a battle, he can still hear her voice in his head. And maybe, if he hurries through the cooldown, he’ll get to hear the real thing.

Sukuna sits on the bench, finally. Shoulders hunched, towel draped over his head like a ghost of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers threading into his hair as he exhales sharp through his nose.

He’s not broken, he knows he’s not. But god, he’s tired. Of the distance. Of the ache. Of pretending it doesn’t chip away at him every day.

Megumi hands him a water bottle without a word. It’s cold. Reliable. Exactly what you’d expect from him. Sukuna takes it, mutters, “Thanks.”

Nearby, Yuuji’s still pouting on the floor with a bruise forming where Sukuna elbowed him. “I was trying to be supportive, you know!” he mumbles. “Hugs are powerful.”

“They are, Itadori. We know.” Megumi replies blandly. “But not when they come from a hyperactive golden retriever on suicide watch.”

Yuuji gasps. “I am a comfort animal, I’ll have you know.”

“More like a feral street dog, with Gojo around.” Nanami mutters, adjusting his glasses as he heads toward the exit. “You two make it too much when you’re together.”

Satoru lounges next to Sukuna now, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand like the whole near–homicide was just another Tuesday. “You know…..” he says casually at you. “You could surprise her. Hop a flight, spend a day with her before qualifiers start. No press, no entourage, no distractions. Just you and the astrophysicist hottie of your dreams.”

Sukuna gives him a side–eye like he’s grown a second head. “You do know how training schedules work, right?”

Satoru shrugs. “Yeah. But I also know how you work. If you don’t see her soon, you’re gonna combust and take the rest of us with you. God help us, we might even lose a game and miss international spots if this keeps up.”

“He’s not wrong, Captain. Stupid as he is.” Megumi adds, already back to stretching. “You’re like a ticking emotional bomb right now.”

“I could forge some documents, you know.” Yuuji pipes up from the floor. “Like a fake conference about biomechanics in volleyball and propulsion—”

“Absolutely not.” Nanami cuts in from across the court without even looking back. “We’re not being fined by the FIVB because of that, Itadori–kun.”

“But come on!”

“We’re abiding by propriety. No other words.”

Sukuna’s quiet now. Still. Because the idea’s in his head. You’re probably in her lab right now, probably up to your ears in data and test simulations. Probably hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably sipping cold coffee because you’re too focused to remember it’s there. 

You’ll have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even with the heater on, hair in a bun you forgot to redo, typing with that deep furrow in your brows you always get when you’re close to a breakthrough.

God, he wants to see you. He wants to hear you mumble something scientific he won’t understand and then laugh when he repeats it wrong. He wants to lean against your chair, press a kiss to your temple and feel the tension in your shoulders melt. He wants to hold your hand. Fall asleep beside you all day in your comfortable bed, for once.

He stands. “Where are you going?” Satoru asks, though there’s a smirk forming already.

“To shower, you punks.” Sukuna mutters, already walking. “Then maybe check flights.”

Yuuji gasps. “IS THIS A ROM–COM AIRPORT MONTAGE IN THE MAKING?”

Sukuna points at him without turning. “You say one more word and I’m dumping you in baggage claim.”

“Don’t worry, you can come back in two days, one day at most.” Gojo Satoru says with a beaming smile. “We can say you needed the break. So, don’t worry too much. Plus, I’m sure Yuuji–kun here can cover your spikes while you’re out.”

“I’d be honored to do it in the name of love, Captain, Vice–Captain!” Yuuji beams at them, blush echoing in his face. “Let’s go, Fushiguro! I need to practice some spikes!”

“Itadori, wait! Fuck, you’re shoe laces are untied!”

For some reason, he didn’t hear that. What mattered to him right now was that his heart already feels lighter. And somewhere, even across time zones and orbit paths and Olympic demands, you’ll be surely feeling that too.

Steam still clings to his skin when Ryomen Sukuna steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, hair wet and dripping onto the tile.

The exhaustion that weighed heavy on his shoulders during practice hasn’t disappeared, not completely, but it’s dulled now. It has softened at the edges like an ache he can almost bear.

He rubs the towel over his hair, muscles tense and jaw tight, still debating whether he should risk flying out or at least try to call again. And then his phone buzzes on the sink counter.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hands, just grabs it, breathless with the kind of hope that still manages to knock the air out of him.

It’s from you.

🧪🌌: “Just made instant ramen. No one to eat it with. Kinda dramatic of the universe, don’t you think?”

He stares at the screen. And for a long, quiet moment, his heart actually hurts. Not in the dramatic, movie-score way. In the real, gritty. It was like the ‘I’d give up gold medals and glory if it meant I could teleport into your kitchen right now’ kind of way.

Another buzz.

🧪🌌: “Don’t worry, I made two bowls. Yours is getting cold.”

He sinks down onto the bench, towel around his neck now, water still dripping down his back. For a man who could crush a ball at 130 km/h, his hands are shaking. It always is like that when it comes to you. 

👹: “I’ll eat it. Even if it’s cold.”

👹: “Save it for me.”

He stares at the screen for a second, then types again. This time slower, like the words are peeled straight from the ache inside his chest. In this moment, he feels like he could breathe again, even just a little bit.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.”

Your reply is instant.

🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’”

👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.”

He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words.

👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babe.”

There’s a pause. You were taking your time to reply to him once again. He stares at the screen, every second dragging like an eternity until the typing bubble finally appears. He blinks at your reply.

 🧪🌌: “Come home, Ryomen Sukuna. Even just for a couple hours. Let me kiss you and love you. Please.”

He lets the phone drop onto the bench beside him, chest rising with something like relief, something like need. And then he stands. He felt renewed, unstoppable. It was like nothing could hold him down now that you're waiting with ramen in hand and love in your voice.

Because cold noodles and long-distance calls weren’t meant to be the shape of your future. You were. And he was going to get on the next flight home. Even if it was just to eat that cold bowl of ramen while holding your hand under the dim kitchen light.

YOU RUSHED AS SOON AS YOU GOT HIS TEXT. You barely told your lab mates where you were going. Just a rushed sentence was left in a haste: “Cover for me, I have to pick up my fiancé.”

And then you were out the door, heart pounding like a reactor core, goggles still pushed up on your head, lab coat half off one shoulder. You could feel everything in you alive for the first time in weeks.

Hana yelled something like “GO MARRY HIM ALREADY!!!” as you ran down the hallway, and you think you heard Kenji dramatically play wedding bells through his phone speaker. You didn’t care.

Not when you were already halfway to the airport, biting down the grin on your face like it might escape and take flight without you. And then you see him. He didn’t pack much. He just brought his so little with him. He had to leave in two days, after all.

Through the arrival gates, in sweats and a hoodie and still somehow the most magnetic thing in the entire terminal. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic volleyball menace, shoulders hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and a duffle bag, eyes locked on you like a man who’s been starved for years.

You drop your bag. He drops his. And when you run, you run. Straight into his arms, into the kind of kiss that knocks all the loneliness out of your lungs. You felt laughter bellow through your body, with him following.

“Hey, my love.” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re real.”

“I’d say pinch me, but I’ve been doing that all flight.” he mumbles into your hair. “You saved me some ramen?”

“Half of it.”

“Liar.”

You grin. “Okay, none of it.”

He laughs into your neck, voice low and raw, and holds you tighter like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. And then, while you’re still pressed into his chest, flushed and breathless and so deeply in love it almost hurts, you murmur it.

“Let’s get married.”

He stills. Pulls back just enough to look at you. You meet his gaze, steady and sure, eyes bright even in the cold artificial airport light. “Not next month. Not next season. Not when everything settles. Now.”

His brows raise slightly. “Like… now now?”

You nod. “I don’t care if I’m in my lab clothes and you’re in flip-flops. I just want to be your wife already. We can do the big wedding later, during the off-season, when your training calms down. When I’m not deep in grant applications or papers. But right now, I just…” you breathe, “I want to marry you. Today.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

And then, he grins.

Big. Wide. Unbelieving.

“You really mean that?”

“Dead serious.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, you are so lucky I look this good in sweatpants.”

You laugh, swat his chest, then tug him closer with fingers curled in his hoodie. “So, my love? Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes, babe.” he says, already pulling out his phone. “Let’s find the fastest courthouse and the slowest cab.”

And just like that, as the world rushes by in blurry foot traffic and airport announcements, you and Ryomen Sukuna make a decision that was never really a question. You’re getting married. Right now. No frills. No formalities. Just love, loud and impulsive and completely yours.

You ended up in a government office less than two hours later, still in your lab coat, with Ryomen Sukuna beside you in his travel hoodie and scuffed–up sneakers.

Both of you were flushed with adrenaline, sleep-deprived, and radiating that wild, half–delirious joy that only comes when two people finally give in to the gravity between them.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. The walls were horribly beige. The seats were squeaky and plastic. A toddler was crying somewhere in the background and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a glitch in a simulation.

But your beloved Sukuna was holding your hand.

And that was all that mattered.

This was all you could ever want.

He kept sneaking glances at you while you filled out the paperwork, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Like at any second, you’d change your mind and vanish back into the lab, sucked up by equations and theories and spaceflight mechanisms.

But you didn’t. You squeezed his hand instead. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered, voice hoarse from flying and feeling too much.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, my love.”

His throat worked around a quiet swallow. Then: “I love you too.”

You signed your names.

Handed over your IDs.

And when the officiant finally called you up and asked, “Do you take each other—” you didn’t even wait for the full sentence. Your yeses overlapped, rushed and breathless, like neither of you could wait another second.

There were no rings. No music. No fancy outfits or curated vows. Just the sound of your heart thudding in your chest and the feeling of Sukuna’s hand trembling ever so slightly as he slid a makeshift band, his silver thumb ring, onto your finger until you got something more permanent.

It was messy. It was spontaneous.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Afterward, he kissed you outside the courthouse under gray city clouds, holding your cheeks in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You were just laughing, happily against the tenderness of his warm skin.

“We’re married, my love.” you said, stunned.

“We’re married.” he echoed, forehead resting against yours, breath caught between laughter and awe. “Wow.”

You ended up eating convenience store ramen in the backseat of a rideshare, legs tangled together, laughing with your mouths full like you were teenagers again. You fed him from your cup. He pretended not to burn his tongue. 

And when he leaned back and looked at you, really looked at you. It wasn’t the Olympic athlete who stared at you. It was Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. The one you knew was the love of your life. Your beloved one and only.

“Okay, okay.” he said, mouth tugging up in that crooked grin. “Big wedding after the league. Deal?”

You nodded, cheeks hot and full of stars. “Yeah. With a venue and guests and upgraded rings this time.”

“And cake.”

“And fireworks.”

“And you in a real dress this time.”

You reached for another bite of ramen and grinned. “I dunno. You kinda like the lab coat.”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically into the seat. “God, I married a nerd.”

You turned toward him, your heart finally quiet, finally full. 

“Yeah.” you said. “You did.”

He laughs for a moment. When he calms down, he finds himself leaning close to you and kisses you with all his heart. This time as your husband, right there in a cab filled with instant noodles and laughter and the quiet, steady hum of forever.

IT WAS INSANE. The crowd is deafening. The overseas lights are blinding, white-hot and cinematic as the announcer calls Ryomen Sukuna’s name and the stadium roars like it’s shaking the foundation of the earth. 

He walks out of the tunnel with his signature swagger, jaw tight, warm-up jacket half-zipped, the captain’s patch sharp against his arm. He’s calm. Focused. Unshakeable. More than usual. Something’s different. Very different.

The people in the crowd began to notice it before the cameras did. Before the commentators do. Before even Vice Captain Gojo Satoru, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lollipop between his teeth, leans forward slightly and mutters with a grin. “Oh, look at that.”

It’s small. Just a glint.

But unmistakable.

It was a bright shining ring.

Plain, silver, worn on his left hand.

For a second, the crowd is silent. It’s like the whole stadium collectively holds its breath, squinting as Ryomen Sukuna stretches out his fingers, flexing them as he preps his stance. There it is again. It was a shimmer of metal against calloused skin, just below his knuckles.

“Is that…?” someone whispers from the VIP box.

“No way fucking way—"

The commentator nearly chokes on his mic. “Wait—wait, do we have confirmation that that’s—?”

He doesn’t say it. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Ryomen Sukuna was married. And as he takes his place by the net, tossing the ball with deadly precision, his eyes flick up, not at the court, not at the crowd but at you.

Seated just behind the bench in a crisp jacket, your hair pinned back lazily, badge still clipped to your belt like you came here straight from the lab. Which, in a way, you did.

You flew in two hours before the match started, thanks to a miraculous two–day leave and Haruki nearly forging an emergency form just to make it happen.

Ryomen Sukuna catches your bright eyes and grins, subtle but real. Then, as casually as if it were part of his routine, he walks toward you during warmups, slipping the ring from his finger. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t explain. 

He just approaches the barrier separating the court from the sidelines, hand outstretched. You stand up, breath caught in your throat. And when he places the ring in your palm, his fingers linger over yours like a promise.

“Hold this for me, yeah?” he murmurs low, so only you can hear.

You nod, fingers curling around the warmth of his wedding band. “Always.”

He smirks. “If I lose this match, it’s your fault.”

You smile, teasing, “If you win, I get the credit.”

“Deal, babe.” he breathes, leaning in close just enough to brush his forehead to yours. “....My wife.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Go do your thing, my love. My husband.”

And then he’s gone, with a grin that could never be wiped from his face ever again. 

Back on the court. Back in his element. The game starts, and it’s brutal. Fast. Electric. Ryomen Sukuna spikes like he’s got fire in his veins and gravity’s got nothing on him. Every serve is a message. Every point, a love letter sent from across oceans and time zones.

But that ring, that ring is safe with you. Pressed to your heart, warm in your hand like the echo of his pulse. And every time he scores, every time the crowd loses its mind over the King of the Court.

Your husband giddily glances at you, just for a second. Because the whole world might be watching him now, but he only ever plays for one. And you know who it was.

The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts. The crowd is a storm of cheers, roars, and flashing lights, but amidst it all, the most intense sound Sukuna hears is the pounding of his own heart.

The adrenaline is still rushing through him, every muscle humming with energy as he pulls off his jersey and throws it to the side. He’s sweaty, bruised, and panting but the grin on his face says everything.

They’ve won. They’re in the semi–finals of the World Cup. He stands at the edge of the court, fists raised to the sky, basking in the electric atmosphere. His team is all around him, celebrating, high–fives and back slaps, but Sukuna’s eyes? 

They’re already searching for you. He doesn’t need to look long. You’re there, right in the front row of the stands, looking at him with that warm, steady gaze that’s always been his home.

His heart shifts. The crowd might be screaming his name, but there’s only one person he’s looking at. A reporter catches his attention as they move in for the first interview.

“Sukuna, congratulations on the victory! Amazing performance tonight! You’ve led your team into the semi-finals — how does that feel?” the interviewer asks, microphone outstretched, camera flashing.

He grins again, though it’s different this time. Not the typical cocky. ‘I’m untouchable’ grin. This one’s softer. Real.

“Feels like we’re one step closer to the real prize.” he answers, voice cool, collected. “But you know…” He pauses, glancing over at the crowd, catching your eye again. “It’s always worth more when the right person is watching.”

The interviewer blinks, confused, and the camera operator swivels to follow his line of sight. “Ah….” the interviewer says with a raised brow. “Is that—? That’s your wife?”

Sukuna’s smirk returns, a devilish edge creeping back into it. He nods, a single motion that sends the reporters scrambling to adjust. The camera zooms in on you as you wave back at him, smiling.

Your hand still holding his ring like a token, your face a picture of pride. In that same hand, your own wedding band was present with your engagement ring.

“That’s her, everyone.” he says, the words surprisingly quiet, but they carry more weight than the roar of the stadium. “I promised her I’d be back for her ramen. So I did come back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd catches on. Laughter and gasps ripple through the reporters, murmurs and shock sweeping through the air. Sukuna, the ever–intense, world-renowned athlete, has just casually dropped that he’s married.

“You’re married?” the interviewer asks, genuinely taken aback. “Since when? How did we miss that?”

Sukuna shrugs nonchalantly, “Two days ago. A bit spontaneous, but when you know, you know.” He’s almost too cool about it, though there’s a softness to his voice that gives away how much it really means to him. “This game… this whole journey? The merry go round of life, of everything, doesn’t matter without her.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder. “And the ring?” the reporter asks, now genuinely curious. “Why wear it in the match? You took it off before the main bout, but you still wore it. Why?”

“I wear it because she holds the game for me,” he says quietly, though the words carry in the microphone, clear and true. “She’s my anchor. Keeps me grounded, keeps me sane. So yeah, I’ll wear it every time I step onto this court. She’s got my back. Always.”

The camera pans to you in the crowd once more, this time catching your reaction. You blushed hard, clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but you hold up his ring in your hand like a silent promise.

Sukuna catches your gaze again and, for just a moment, the world quiets down. The noise of the stadium, the flashing cameras, the cheers of the fans. Everything fades. It’s just him. And you. The way it’s always been. And then the interview continues, but his focus is only on you.

When it’s finally over, and he’s walking off the court, his teammates high-fiving him and calling out congratulations, he spots you at the exits to the back stage rooms.

You’re already standing, pushing through the crowd, and he’s there in an instant, his steps purposeful and quick. He’s still sweating from the match, still in his jersey, but nothing’s more important right now than getting to you.

You barely have time to meet him halfway before he’s pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing against your temple, his breath fast and heated, still catching up with the victory and the emotions all swirling around him.

“We’re in the semi-finals, wife of mine.” he whispers, grinning. “It’s gonna be amazing!”

You smile, gazing up at him. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You better be, babe.” he says, his tone playful but genuine, eyes sparkling. “Next stop, finals. Then we’ll get that celebration.”

You laugh, bright eyes softening as you glance at the ring still safely cradled in your palm. “And then we can plan our real wedding. Just the way we want it.”

Sukuna leans in, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet moment. “I think the ‘real wedding’ has already started, don’t you think?”

You nod, your fingers curling around his hand, where the ring once rested. It’s just the beginning. The semi-finals are just a step on the way. But you and him? You’re already winners. And that, above all else, is the prize.

epilogue 

The day the statement went live, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. It was carefully calculated, perfectly timed. The World Cup season had come to a close, and the volleyball world was already moving on to the next tournament, the next match. 

But for Ryomen Sukuna and you, it was a different story. You both knew that the media storm was coming. The moment was too significant to let slip by.

So, you’d crafted a statement and not just a post, but something real. Something that would speak to everyone about the choices you’d made, the life you were choosing to live together.

It had taken a little longer than expected. Between the match finals and the whirlwind of excitement after Sukuna’s performance, you both finally found a quiet moment to put it together. The statement would go live at the same time, both on your accounts — a simultaneous declaration that would make waves.

[ Sukuna's Instagram Post : ]

The caption was simple, a few words that carried so much weight. He posted it with a picture of the two of you from the day after the World Cup finals.

The two of you standing side by side, laughing, relaxed, far from the intensity of the courts and the public eye. Your smile was soft, his grin was wild and carefree.

“Hello, this is the Japan National Volleyball Team Captain, Ryomen Sukuna.

For the past several years, my life has been defined by training, by competition, and by a relentless drive to be the best.

But none of that means anything without the people who support you. Without the person who truly makes the journey worth it. 

My incredible and loving wife, who’s been my backbone, my partner, and my everything for almost all of our lives.

Today, I’m announcing the effectivity of my break from the Volleyball field in order to have some adequate rest and focus on my personal life.

A break from the national team, from the spotlight, and from the game I love, to focus on what truly matters — her and us. Our marriage. And of course, our beloved dog.

I’ll be back, stronger than ever. But for now, I’m going to be the husband I promised to be all those years ago.

Thank you for all your support, not only for me but also for my beloved wife. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for respecting this decision.”

[ Your Instagram Post : ]

You followed the post up almost immediately, a little more formal, but still deeply personal. The photo you chose was one taken earlier that morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You both were leaning against the window in your shared apartment. The light from the early morning sun illuminated both of your faces, your eyes soft, your hearts content in each other’s company.

“Hello, this is astrophysicist of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Ryomen [name].

After supporting my husband at the World Cup, it became more than clear that my work, my research, and everything else I’ve dedicated my life to doesn’t matter nearly as much as the person standing next to me.

I’ve spent countless hours in the lab, in meetings, in papers, all for the sake of progress. Doing what I can for our country and continuing my passions.

But today, I’m choosing progress of a different kind in my life. Ryomen Sukuna, my husband, my partner, the love of my life, have decided that we deserve some time for us to build something beautiful with this time.

I will be stepping away from my research and academic work for the foreseeable future to focus on resting and enjoying the beginning of our beautiful marriage.

This is a break I’ve been waiting for, and one I’m so grateful to take. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.”

As soon as you both posted, the world’s attention shifted. The responses came flooding in, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch up to the news. Headlines erupted from every corner of the internet.

“Olympic Star Ryomen Sukuna Steps Away From National Team for Personal Time”

“Breaking: Award–Winning Astrophysicist Ryomen [name] Takes Hiatus to Focus on Marriage” 

“Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen [name]: Power Couple Taking a Break from Their Respective Careers”

It was unprecedented. No one had expected it. No one had ever seen athletes or academics alike step away from their careers at the peak of their success, especially after such a massive season.

Fans were stunned, others were supportive, and some were even more curious than ever about the couple who had kept their relationship so private, so guarded, up until now.

And then the follow–up began. Interviews with close friends and teammates started popping up. The bright eyed Gojo Satoru, ever the wise and eccentric vice–captain, was the first to speak out about the happy news.

“I can’t blame him. The man’s been running on fumes for years. And [name]? She’s been working like a machine, too. It’s about time they take a breath, enjoy life a little. I told him after the finals to take a damn break, and I’m glad our beloved Captain finally listened!” Gojo Satoru laughed in an interview with a sports outlet.

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about how he’s taking a break from the sport, but… he’s been juggling this whole marriage thing for a while.” Itadori Yuuji added when he was asked by a local news outlet. “He’s been way more chill lately. I think it’s the wife effect. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

Meanwhile when the Astrophysics department of the NAOJ were interviewed about this situation at a recent project you had finished together by the press, Keiji was the one who stepped in and spoke for everyone.

"It's important that Ryomen–sensei gets some time to just enjoy being married right now." Keiji smiled, leaning into the microphone. "Ryomen–sensei's worked incredibly for the past few years without any break whatsoever. This is the only time she's asked. Someone with such incredible contributions to the field like herself should get the chance to just relax too. Congratulations to Ryomen–sensei and her husband!"

Hana sent you a message in the middle of all the press: “You two are seriously the most chaotic but adorable couple ever. You deserve this break more than anyone I know. Have fun with it! You earned it. Me, Haruki and Keiji are cheering you on!”

The reporters were relentless, asking about future plans. Was Sukuna leaving for good? Would you ever return to the lab full–time? But you and Sukuna, in your quiet way, just smiled at the chaos from your apartment, reading the headlines side by side.

It wasn’t about what the world expected. It wasn’t about making any more headlines. It was about what you both had decided. To take the time to truly be together.

A few days later, as the media storm began to settle, Sukuna took your hand as you sat together on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “You know, babe, we’ve got all the time in the world now. So... when should we take our honeymoon?”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “When you’re ready to let the press calm down a bit. I think we’ve given them enough for now.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lovely wife.” He smirked, his scarlet eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m just happy to spend everyday with you.”

And in that moment, as the world calmed down around you, you realized that this was the true victory. It was not the World Cup, not the research papers, not the games or the acclaim. It was simply being together. And for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

You looked up at Sukuna, catching his gaze. “Let’s take it one day at a time. Together, my love.”

He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Deal, wife. Let’s take it all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

[avelera]

I mentioned this on Twitter but I feel like there needs to be more acknowledgement in the whole, “Jayce/Caitlyn/Mel are bad for making/using/promoting Hextech weapons” argument about the fact that Viktor very much made Hextech weapons too!

Like, to see his cultist robots in S2 or even his own evolved form with the Hexclaw laser beam and not say, “Hey wait, those are ALSO Hextech weapons!” Is borderline willfully obtuse. Though, to be fair, it’s obtuse in a way that I think Viktor is in the moment when he makes them, so I kind of excuse people who like Viktor don’t realize they’re weapons but let’s be clear: Viktor’s cult bots are VERY MUCH Hextech weapons that are just as deadly as any created throughout the course of the show, and arguably they are the most sophisticated Hextech weapons we ever see. (“No beast is more savage than man.”)

I’m sure Viktor would argue that his Hexbots are not made to be weapons, that they’re made to capture, incapacitate, and assimilate enemies in order to stop conflict. I’m sure he’d argue his Hexclaw was only used to cut opening in walls and ceilings during his fight with Jayce and not, say, intentionally used to intimidate or threaten Jayce by blasting it right next to Jayce’s face.

But that’s because I think the whole point of Viktor’s villain arc is how much he’s LYING to himself, or the Hexcore is lying to him, depending on how much you subscribe the mind control theory. But saying the Hexbots forcefully assimilating people isn’t a weapon is ludicrous. Saying the Hexclaw laser beam isn’t a weapon has been ludicrous ever since Viktor first invented it! It put his naïveté on full display when he was shocked that anyone would use it as a weapon instead of as a tool for artisans omg it’s a fucking DEATH LASER!

And the reason I think it’s important to pull into the debate that Viktor very much made Hextech weapons too is because it stops the debate from being about who is right and who is wrong, who should be put on a pedestal and who should be damned.

Because Arcane isn’t about who is right or wrong it’s about how humans act and react during times of stress, and because of love, and because their loved ones come under attack.

Caitlyn is AGAINST Hextech weapons UNTIL the Memorial Attack pushes her over the edge, just as it was meant to when Ambessa orchestrated it.

Mel was IN FAVOR of Hextech weapons UNTIL she realized the true cost and that it was all a play by her mother to get them for herself.

Jayce was AGAINST Hextech weapons UNTIL his beloved city came under attack. Between Jinx’s terrorist attacks, Silco’s pressure campaign, and Marcus as the insider traitor whispering poison in his ear, and finally Ambessa’s expert manipulation, Jayce was at the center of a paranoia campaign pushing him to a single conclusion that they were needed. UNTIL the Shimmer factory and the death of Renni’s son when he realized the true cost of war when he once again was against them.

But, I’d argue, like with Caitlyn, Jayce’s switch to being against Hextech weapons again gets outmaneuvered by Ambessa orchestrating the Memorial Attack. Tensions are just too high to not do anything so I personally see the strike team’s personal Hextech weapons as an attempt to make the best of an impossible situation because there IS in fact an arms race going on between Piltover and Zaun and Shimmer DOES make Zaun more powerful than normal humans in a ways that seems to demand an escalation only Hextech can answer. The show doesn’t say it’s right it just says this is an imperfect decision made in desperate times by those who are otherwise against Hextech weapons. I’d argue make a half dozen weapons for an elite strike team is VASTLY different than arming an entire invasion, BUT the show doesn’t excuse it. It asks if this is ok and leave the answer deliberately gray (haha no pun intended)

But I digress.

The point is, EVERYONE has a shifting view of the merits of Hextech weaponry, and not even Viktor is exempt. Viktor tries to be a pacifist, until HE TOO faces a violent situation that destroys his faith in humanity, just like Caitlyn did at the Memorial Attack and from there he’s angry and hurt and doesn’t see any way forward except to meet wrath with wrath, ally with Ambessa, forcibly convert those who refuse to convert willingly to his vision, and remake the world in his own image using the power of Hextech and Shimmer as weapons in this cause.

And lest we forget, Viktor’s vision would lead to more widespread death and destruction through Hextech than any other character is shown to be capable of in the whole series!

Arcane is about human choices and emotions, actions and unintended consequences, not humans competing to win the Morality Olympics. Refusing to acknowledge that every character is capable of making violent decisions and turn on their own dearly held principles during moments of stress, terror, pain, and disillusionment, in favor of arguing about Who Is Better is just such a flat and unnuanced way of looking at the nuances of this story.

Viktor made Hextech weapons too. No one in power is ever innocent.

[black-fist-order]

BREAKING: Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy breaks his silence on Donald Trump's disastrous Oval Office outburst with stunning grace and class — but refuses to apologize to Trump as demanded by MAGA.

And the best part? He did it on Fox News.

This is what a real world leader sounds like...

"President Trump said after your meeting that you disrespected him and the vice president and all of America in the Oval Office," said Fox News' Bret Baier when Zelenskyy appeared on his show. "Do you think you did? And do you think you owe an apology to President Trump?"

"Thank you so much. First of all, thank you for the invitation, for this dialogue and good evening to all of your country, to all Americans," said Zelenskyy. "I'm very thankful to Americans for all your support. You did a lot. I'm thankful to President Trump and to Congress's bipartisan support and I was always very thankful from all of our people."

"You helped us a lot from the very beginning, here in three years of full scale invasion. You helped us to survive and anyway we are strategic partners," he continued.

"And even in such tough dialogue — and I think we have to be very honest and we have to be very direct to understand each other because it's for us very necessary," said Zelenskyy.

"To President Trump — and with all respect that he wants to finish this war — but nobody wants to finish more than we because we in Ukraine we are in this war, we are in this battle for freedom, for our lives," he went on.

"So I'm just telling that I think we have to be on the same side and I hope that the president on our side together with us and that is very important to stop Putin," continued Zelenskyy. "And I heard from President Trump a lot of times that he will stop the war and I hope he will. And we need to pressure him with Europe, with all the partners."

"And I think this dialogue had to be a little bit earlier to understand where we are," he continued. "Like you know, I don't remember exactly, but like President Reagan said that peace is not just the absence of war."

"Yes, we are speaking about just, lasting peace, about freedom, about justice, about human rights and that's why I said that 'I think so' to ceasefire," he went on. "And you know Putin, he's broken twenty-five times ceasefire during all these years, ten years."

"So I'm not hearing from you Mr. President a thought that you owe the president an apology," said Baier, clearly trying to pander to Trump who was almost certainly watching at home.

"No I respect the president and I respect the American people and if — I don't know, I think that we have to be very open and very honest and I'm not sure that we did something bad," replied Zelenskyy.

"I think maybe somethings we have to discuss out of media, with all respect to democracy and free media but there are things where we have to understand the position of Ukraine and Ukrainians," he added. "And I think that is the most important thing."

"We are partners. We are very close partners. We have to be fair. We have to be very free," said Zelenskyy, sounding far more like an American president than Donald Trump did today.

This is an astonishing display of statesmanship. Rather than give into ego or pettiness, Zelenskyy is rising above Donald Trump's childish bullying to serve his people.

Zelenskyy isn't interested in following Trump down into the gutter. He's interested in securing a lasting peace for his innocent embattled country, a task made all the more difficult by Trump's kowtowing to Vladimir Putin.

Zelenskyy is also correct that these conversations should take place behind closed doors instead of being exploited to create a media circus. Trump and Vance ambushed him in the Oval Office in front of reporters because they knew that it would make headlines and entertain their base.

They are not serious leaders. Zelenskyy is...!

Please like and share!

[thewertsearch]

JOHN: are you sure you can't make it go any faster? JOHN: i mean, not to sound too demanding, but… JOHN: didn't you say you can teleport stuff? JOHN: why not teleport us there? JADE: i cant! JADE: not here, at least

I thought as much. Jade's powers probably don't work in the Furthest Ring, because if they did, she could have brought Rose, Dave and the trolls to this Prospitian ship during Cascade. Her teleportation is probably limited to contiguous areas of conventional space, and the Hussieverse is anything but conventional.

JADE: becs powers draw from the green sun JADE: and the green sun presides over our universe JADE: many universes actually! and the sessions that created them, as well as the sessions created within them JADE: including the trolls universe and their session JADE: think of it like a giant solar system, but instead of planets revolving around the sun, there are many universes

Back when Rose was outlining the Tumor plan to Dave, I referred to the Green Sun as a core of reality - and it seems that's even more true than I thought.

In addition to powering the First Guardians' magic, the Sun also serves as the metaphysical nexus point of all Sburb-generated universes, as well as their associated sessions. Since we've never been given any reason to believe that non-Sburb universes exist, the Sun appears to 'preside' over all possible universes.

It almost sounds like the Sun is reality - and its creation was masterminded by Doc Scratch. The more you think about it, the worse it gets.

JADE: so, bec was able to teleport anywhere in the universe he wanted in an instant, much faster than light JADE: jack was able to do this too, within our session, and then when i inherited those powers from jadesprite, so could i JADE: but we could only teleport locally JADE: which means, bec could jump to anywhere in our universe, but not to another universe, or into a session JADE: and jack could jump to anywhere in our session, but not outside it

In other words, First Guardians can only teleport to locations they could physically travel to, from their current position.

During Cascade, for example, Jade could teleport to anywhere in her session, but it was impossible for her to reach other sessions, because those sessions didn't have a consistent physical location relative to her own. Similarly, Bec could teleport from Earth to anywhere else in his universe, but not into sessionspace, for the same reason an observer on Earth couldn't point towards a Sburb session. They're on different planes entirely.

tl;dr: to reach a given location via Space, Jade needs a well-defined direction to move in...

...and since moving to another session involves Furthest Ring travel, no such direction exists.

JADE: we cant even jump to the green sun itself, even though we sort of serve as a gateway to it, and all its energy

This, I believe, is the one notable exception to the rule above.

No matter where they currently are, a First Guardian can always open a portal to the Green Sun.

It doesn't sound like they can enter this portal themselves, though. Well, I suppose that makes sense - after all, they are the portal, and you can't move through your own body.

Could Jade reach into that portal, and fetch someone from the Sun, though? I suppose if that was possible, Jack would've just pulled Aradia right back out again, so I think the portal is completely inaccessible to the Guardian who embodies it.

JADE: and once we leave the suns domain, our travel is limited by the speed of light, like everyone else! JADE: for example, the furthest ring is not in the suns domain JADE: it is more like the suns medium, allowing it to exist

The Sun's domain includes, at minimum, every Sburb session in existence, alongside every universe they've produced. The Ring, however, can't be a domain, because it's not really part of conventional reality.

Yes, it may be the scaffolding on which reality is built, but the scaffolding is not part of the building.

[augustwinesworld]

in love with “I look in peoples windows”

if you’re willing to share do you have any headcanons about Noah 🥹 since he’s also kinda unconscious, what kind of kid is he? What type of relationship does he have with his mom? What is he obsessed with/are his interests ?

i just want to know more about these characters you’ve created!!!

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

series description: 

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x  female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe?

notes: Hiiiii, omg I am so sorry it took so long to answer this! I had a lot of shit going on last week, so I didn't write anything (and wasn't planning to tbh). Between exams, a three day opening event at the gallery, my birthday, and some other things I was very much overwhelmed. But finally, this headcannon is complete and I hope you like it<3<3

NEWS FLASH! : NEW CHAPTER WILL BE COMING OUT THIS SUNDAY, 18/05

word count: 2.1 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Noah used to be obsessed with Dinosaur King:

The cards, the DVDs, the battered Nintendo DS game with the cracked hinge. His room is still a shrine to it: plushies arranged like sentries on the bookshelf, the limited-edition holo cards in a binder under his bed. Legend has it the only thing that soothed him as a colicky baby was the sound of Jurassic Park playing in the background—Mom swears by it, even if he now covers his eyes during the T. rex scene (but peeks through his fingers).

But that was, you know, a year ago. Back when he was a kid. Now he rolls his eyes and says things like “I outgrew it,” but the second someone gets a dinosaur fact wrong—like claiming Velociraptors were the size of humans—he’ll practically combust. He’ll start with a scoff, then a “That’s not even close,” and launch into a very serious correction, complete with citations. Then he’ll go back to pretending he doesn’t care, cheeks a little pink.

He plays junior hockey, has from a very young age, but only started playing in a team three years ago. The ice is the one place where all the noise in his head seems to hush. He wears his Pittsburgh Penguins every game day, knows the team’s stats better than his times tables, and can name every position on the ice. 

Noah plays center, because of course he does—he’s the kind of kid who needs to know where everyone is, what’s coming next, and how to quietly keep things from falling apart. Center demands focus, balance, foresight; it gives his overactive brain a job and his anxious heart a place to breathe. He’s not the fastest on the ice, but he sees things—reads the play like a puzzle, always thinking three moves ahead. It’s the one place he doesn’t feel too much--it’s just enough.

The rink smells like cold rubber and somebody’s gross old socks. It’s loud, too—like whistles and stomping and parents yelling even though no one can really hear them over the buzz of the ice machines. 

Noah squints under the bright lights as he adjusts his helmet. It’s too tight. Again. “You’re gonna squish my brain,” he told Mom this morning, wrinkling his nose while she buckled the strap. She just kissed his forehead and said, “Squished brains make better decisions.” Dumb. A bit lame. But still kinda funny. He laughed.

Logan skates up and shoves him, grinning. “Race you to the bench after,” he says.

“Last time you tripped.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They bump shoulders. No one's mad. Logan makes a gagging noise.

“Ugh, dude, you smell like syrup.”

Noah shrugs. “Had pancakes.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re like, sticky through your gear.”

“You’re just mad 'cause your mom made oatmeal again.”

Logan scowls. “That was private.”

They both start giggling, helmets clacking as they lean into each other, the kind of laugh that gets stuck in their throats.

Coach then shouts something about spacing and lines from the other side of the ice, but it’s kind of whatever. Noah just nods. He knows the basics: chase the puck, don’t fall, pass to Milo if he’s waving his arms around like crazy. He wipes his glove across his mouthguard and spits onto the rubber mat. Feels cool doing it. Like a real player.

The ref drops the puck.

He goes.

The ice makes that squeaky sound under his blades. His lungs burn, in a good way. He doesn’t see Mom, but he knows she’s watching. She always is. She claps louder than everyone, even yells his name sometimes—Noah hates that part—but today, when he glanced up at warm-ups, she was smiling with her hand over her mouth, talking to Logan’s dad. Mr. Harper. He’d laughed at something she said and leaned in a little. He’s standing kinda close. Like...close.. Noah doesn't know why he noticed. Or why it made his stomach feel weird. He just skates harder.

He wants her to watch. Just her.

LOOOOOVES boardgames. Especially the ones with many rules that his mom can’t understand so he has to explain with the utmost patience.

His routines. He likes knowing that every Friday night means takeout and a movie, or that Mom will play with his hair, leaving one or two braids hidden behind his hair after a bath if he’s tired. These things soothe the low hum of anxiety he doesn’t always have words for. Also, pancakes for dinner every Sunday. Chocolate chips for him and blueberries for mom. 

He shuts down emotionally under pressure. Especially if he’s scared or feels like he’s disappointed someone. So he might say, “I’m fine,” and then refuse to make eye contact for the rest of the night.

He gets jealous. Especially when it comes to his mom. If someone takes up her time—whether work, or even a friend—he might act out in subtle ways. Maybe he interrupts more. Maybe he pretends to “need” something he really doesn’t.

Milo’s sitting at the kitchen island, feet swinging, watching Noah’s mom slice apples like she’s doing magic.

“That smells so good,” he says, wide-eyed as she pulls cookies from the oven. “You should open a bakery or something.”

Noah stiffens. “She’s just making snacks,” he mutters.

His mom laughs, brushing flour from her cheek. “Milo, you’re sweet. But trust me, no one would buy cookies shaped like blobs.”

“She’s so nice,” Milo whispers to Logan, who’s already elbow-deep in the cookie plate.

Noah hears it. Hears all of it. And suddenly he’s on the verge of dying. “Mom,” he says loudly, climbing onto the stool beside her, “my throat kind of hurts.”

She turns to him, brow knitting. “Oh? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he says, too fast. “But maybe you could make tea? Like the one with the honey and the—” He pauses, glancing at Milo.“—the kind you only make for me.”

There’s a beat. His mom looks at him for a second too long. Then she nods, brushing his bangs from his forehead. 

“Alright. Tea for the patient.”

Milo tries to ask her another question—something about the cookies—but she’s already moved to the kettle.

Noah shoots him a look. Not mean. Just... his. 

Like: mine.

Logan, clueless, stuffs another cookie into his mouth. “You’re so weird, dude.”

Noah shrugs, smug now. His mom's back was to Milo, and that’s what mattered.

He can be bossy with other kids. Especially younger ones. He thinks he’s just being “helpful,” but really he hates chaos and wants everyone to do what makes sense to him. This is when his dad’s rigidity shows up.

He’s prone to catastrophizing. He once got a B on a math quiz and whispered, “I’ll never get into a good school”—and he was only nine. A stomach ache? “What if it’s cancer.” Therapy’s been helping him name the spirals when they start, but they’re still real: fast, quiet, and hard to steer once his brain starts running.

A mildly anxious, overthinker. He overthinks, he spirals sometimes, but he's learning. He doesn’t always say it out loud, but it shows in the way he chews his sleeve or double-checks things that don’t need checking. And when he does speak up, he might say, “You should’ve called,” instead of “I missed you,” but the meaning still lands.

The house is quiet when you open the door—but not quiet enough. The TV is still on, humming low in the living room, and the lamp beside the couch casts a low glow. Your mother is passed out under a blanket, one slipper dangling off her foot.

You step further in, careful not to wake anyone. Then you hear it: the soft shuffle of bare feet on tile.

“Noah?”

He appears in the hallway, pajama pants wrinkled, hair flattened on one side. He’s holding his stuffed raptor by the neck, thumb pressed to the seam where the stitching came loose last week. His eyes are wide, but not upset. Just…watchful.

“You were gone a long time,” he says. Not accusing—just stating the facts. His voice is quiet. Even.

“I know, baby,” you say, setting your bag down by the door. “There was a delivery. Complications. I got stuck longer than I thought.”

He nods, like he’s tucking that away somewhere—filing it, the way he always does. You can see the questions lining up behind his eyes—how bad were the complications? did the baby make it? what if it happens again?—but he doesn’t ask.

He glances at the clock. “It’s really late.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” he says, chewing the edge of his sleeve. “I just thought maybe something happened.”

You cross to him and crouch down, brushing his hair gently back. He leans into your hand, just a little, like something in him finally lets go.

“I’m okay,” you say softly. “You can always call me. Even if Grandma’s here.”

He nods again. A pause.

“I checked the front door twice,” he says. No smile, just the truth of it. A quiet ritual. A way to feel safe.

You kiss his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

And he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

He picks up on things quickly—tones, looks, when something’s off. He’s the kind of kid who’ll go quiet when a room turns tense, or who’ll suddenly say, “Are you mad at each other?” when no one’s said a word. It’s not precocious, just… tuned-in. Like someone who’s had to watch carefully, who’s learned to read the air before stepping into it.

Kind but grounded. He has his mom’s warmth and sense of care—the kind of kid who offers his snack to someone who forgot theirs, or comforts a crying classmate—but he also knows when to draw a quiet boundary. He might say, “I think we need space right now,” the same way his mom would calmly de-escalate a tense room.

Funny in a dry, observational way. Robby’s sarcasm filtered through a 9-year-old’s lens. Not mean-spirited, just blunt. He might deadpan when someone tries to fix something with duct tape, then go help anyway.

The pizza place smelled like garlic and the floor was sticky in some spots, but Noah didn’t mind. He liked this kind of busy—clinking plates, soda fountains hissing, Logan talking with his mouth full across the table. He liked it even more when his mom was here, sitting next to him, her jacket still zipped halfway up from the cold outside.

She was smiling politely. Again.

Logan’s dad had been talking for what felt like forever—mostly about the game, a little about his job (something boring, Noah couldn’t remember), and now about how impressive it was that she managed to come straight from work to the rink, and still had energy to take the boys out to eat.

“I’m just saying,” he added, leaning back in the booth like he’d landed a punchline. “If there were a Hockey Mom Hall of Fame, you’d be in it. With a statue and everything.”

Noah stared at him. Then turned slowly to his mom. She looked like she was trying not to laugh—or maybe trying not to roll her eyes. Hard to tell.

“She’s not even a hockey mom,” Noah said, voice flat. “She doesn’t even know the rules.”

His mom choked on her water. Logan giggled into his Sprite.

Logan’s dad blinked. “Well—I mean, she shows up. That’s the important part, right?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just took a bite of pizza, deadpan. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then: “Statues are weird.”

There was a pause. The kind adults make when they’re trying to figure out if a kid just insulted them. His mom reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently.

“You okay?” she murmured.

Noah shrugged. “Mhm.” He took another bite.

He wasn’t mad. Not exactly. He just didn’t like the way Logan’s dad kept looking at her, like she was extra impressive for being tired and kind and good at things. Like that was rare. Noah already knew that. He didn’t need someone else pointing it out like it was a surprise.

Across the table, Logan slurped from his straw way too loudly before adding, “Dad, are you trying to be embarrassing, or does it just happen naturally?”

His dad raised his hands in mock offense. “Hey, I’m charming. This is peak dad charisma.”

Logan snorted. “You sound like the car guy on TV. The one who yells and wears too much tanning lotion.”

Noah, still chewing, finally cracked a smile.

Logan’s dad looked over at Noah’s mom like see what I deal with? but she was just sipping her water, amused and entirely unsurprised.

Noah leaned into her side a little, just enough to feel her shoulder against his. Statues were weird. But this? This was fine.

Protective, especially of his mom. He doesn’t always understand what’s going on between her and Robby, but he feels it. If he thinks someone—especially his dad—is upsetting her, he doesn’t lash out; he just gets quiet and watchful. He notices everything, even when he doesn’t say it.

taglist: @snowflames-world, @nosebeers, @midnghtprentiss, @delicatetrashtree, @thestrals-and-firewiskey, @rosiepoise88, @miss-me-jack, @jojodojo02, @whimsicalfungiforager, @whos6claire, @melsunshine, @foolishseven, @misshoneypaper, @iceb1ink1uck, @kmc1989, @vlightning95, @girl-who-loves-books, @qardasngan, @madprincessinabox, @equallyshaw, @memoriesat30, @justobsessedwithyou,

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[stellaspectral]

I just recently found your blog and to say I absolutely love your writing is definitely an understatement.

I really love your post about Dating rise Donnie headcanons, and was wondering if you could do a version of it for rise Leo? Of course, if this has already been requested or you can’t or don’t want to write it for any reason, no hard feelings!

Remember to take breaks and drink water!

A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the kind words! It truly means a lot! 😊 I can totally do a version of dating headcanons for Rise Leo! I haven’t had that specific request until now, so here they are 💖

(And I appreciate the reminder about breaks and hydration; I need to remember more often!)

Dating Rise Leo (SFW)

💙 ROTTMNT Leonardo/Gender Neutral Reader 💙

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Leo is always trying to look cool to impress you. Expect unnecessary flips to grab something, leaning against walls/doorframes, etc. This is almost always accompanied by a smirk that’s trying its absolute hardest to be charming, and probably a wink or two.

He’ll find excuses to sling an arm over your shoulder, playfully nudge you, or ‘accidentally’ brush hands when reaching for the same thing. It’s his way of breaking the touch barrier under the guise of casual confidence.

Leo frames asking you out as a challenge: “Bet you can’t beat me at [video game/contest here]. If I win, you gotta go on a date with me. If you win …” He’ll pause and smirk. “… you still gotta go out on a date with me. ‘Cause winning is awesome and you should celebrate with someone equally as awesome—like me.” Then he’ll wink, hoping the bravado masks the nervousness.

Get ready for a barrage of cheesy pickup lines, usually delivered with finger guns and a hopeful smirk. “Are you a portal? ‘Cause I feel like I could just fall right into you.” or “Did it hurt? When you fell from … that moderately high ledge I just portaled you away from?” He thinks they’re hilarious and peak romance.

Playful teasing is Leo’s primary love language. He’ll gently poke fun at your quirks, engage in witty banter (or what he considers witty), and try to get a rise out of you. If you can dish it back, he’s absolutely thrilled. It becomes a friendly verbal sparring match he finds incredibly engaging.

He bestows upon you a series of increasingly ridiculous (and often pun-based) nicknames. He uses them frequently, testing them out to see which ones make you laugh, groan, or blush. It’s his way of creating an intimate inside joke between you two.

Leo will turn almost anything into a playful challenge, enjoying the lighthearted competition with you. He’s genuinely happy even if you win, though he’ll demand a rematch.

He’s not shy about showing affection. He’ll sling an arm around your shoulder, casually grab your hand, maybe even attempt a dramatic dip-kiss when the mood strikes. He wants everyone to know you’re his awesome partner.

Forget your jacket? Want snacks from the place across town? He’ll use his portal powers for you (and he definitely also uses them to make dramatic entrances when portalling to meet up with you.)

For dates, there will be rooftop picnics with breathtaking city views, some urban exploration, maybe a visit to the Coney Island Boardwalk. Back at the lair, prepare for extensive viewings of the Jupiter Jim franchise, complete with his commentary.

His gifts are … eclectic. Expect things like:

1. A t-shirt with a terrible pun: I Fell For You (Through a Portal) or You’ve Stolen a Pizza My Heart. 2. A coupon book for redeemable ‘Leo Services’: One free portal ride (destination may vary), One epic training montage soundtrack, or One distraction from boring chores. 3. Occasionally, he’ll nail it with something surprisingly thoughtful he overheard you mentioning weeks ago.

Got a big test, presentation, or event? Leo becomes your hype-man. He might leave encouraging (and pun-filled) notes via portal or send ridiculous motivational voice messages. He believes you’re amazing and wants you to succeed, even if his methods are extra.

While he loves being the center of attention, he also loves seeing you shine. If you achieve something cool or demonstrate a skill, he’s your loudest cheerleader. He’ll brag about you to his brothers and anyone else who’ll listen.

He thinks you’re the coolest person ever (besides himself, naturally) and he’ll hype up your interests, even if he doesn’t fully understand them. If you’re passionate about something, he’ll ask questions and encourage you enthusiastically.

If you’re upset or stressed, Leo’s go-to move is distraction. Feeling down? Suddenly, you’re sharing a pizza on top of the Chrysler Building and he’s cracking jokes to help you feel better. He might not always know the right words, but he excels at trying to make you laugh your worries away, even if just for a little while.

He also quickly learns your go-to comfort foods. He might not know exactly what to say, but he’ll appear with your favorite takeout, a specific type of candy, etc. Whatever you like. It’s his tangible way of trying to make things better.

The smirk drops fast if you’re in danger. One second he’s cracking a joke, the next his katanas are out, and he’s placing himself squarely between you and whatever threat dares approach. He might play it cool afterwards, but the fierce protectiveness in his eyes is unmistakable.

He’s not immune to jealousy. If someone else is clearly hitting on you, he won’t make a big scene. Instead, he subtly reasserts his presence with louder jokes, an arm over your shoulder, or suggesting you two leave for some place ‘way cooler.’

He picks up on your specific slang, your favorite obscure references, the particular way you phrase things. He’ll weave them into his own banter, just to see you smile or playfully roll your eyes. It’s his way of showing he listens and wants to connect on your level.

Just as you learn to read his moods beneath the jokes, he becomes surprisingly adept at reading yours. He notices the slight shift in your tone, the way you hold your shoulders when stressed, or the specific sigh that means you’re overwhelmed. He might not always react perfectly, but he sees it, and his attempts to cheer you up become more targeted.

While he projects effortless cool, you catch glimpses of the weight he feels as leader. He might get contemplative after a mission that didn’t go perfectly or seek your opinion on a tactical decision he’s mulling over. He values your perspective, even if he doesn’t always admit it directly.

Beneath the bravado, there are moments when the façade drops. Maybe after a tough mission or when he’s messed something up. He’ll get quieter, rest his head on your shoulder, and implicitly seek reassurance. He might not say he’s feeling insecure or scared, but you learn to read the signs, and being there for him in those moments deepens your connection immensely.

Leo’s gratitude often comes in quieter moments: a sincere “Thanks for putting up with me,” a hand squeeze after you’ve helped him through a moment of insecurity, or just a soft, genuine smile directed only at you. These subtle moments mean more from him than all the jokes and puns.

[separatetheyolk]

Drivers Love Language

ʚɞ featuring: Lewis Hamilton & Lando Norris

ʚɞ how I think they would love and how they would like to be loved

ʚɞ warnings: not proofread

ʚɞ gender neutral

Lewis Hamilton

✰ how he loves - gifts

Lewis would absolutely spoil his other half rotten. He has more money than he knows what to do with and loves to not only support you. But also give you more. He sees no better person and no better way to spend his money than on the person he loves.

He’d buy anything you’d ask for, anything he thinks you’d like. From the smallest of gifts like flowers and a card to the more expensive purchases like rings or a car.

✰ how he loves - affirmation

Lewis is far from shy when it comes to expressing himself. He loves that he can use his platform to lift others up, create spaces for things that need to be talked about. The same could be said for his relationship,

he loves to complement his partner. Whether that’s now you look, how you’re dressed, your body, to your personality, your achievements, how much he admires you. So on, so forth. This man wants or rather needs you to know just how much he loves you.

He understands that often it is him in the spotlight. How could he not be? He’s a 7 time WDC. But he makes sure that you are never left in the shadows when it comes to your relationship. Highlighting everything you’ve done big or small. He never wants you to feel unimportant. Of course, if you would rather keep your achievements to your private life, Lewis will instead keep those complements securely behind closed doors

✰ how he loves/likes to be loved - acts of service

whether it’s helping with a puzzle, helping with cooking, run errands, or something as simple as clean the house Lewis loves to ease burdens from you shoulders big or small. He wants to see you relaxed and comfortable in your own home.

however he also would secretly love when his partner reciprocates this when needed. Even if he insists you don’t. His work can be demanding. Very demanding at times. And there are times where yes, general every day tasks are just too much for Lewis to fit into his schedule. He loves when you would take time out of your day to take Roscoe for a walk, or cook a meal, clean the house, hang his clothes, even something as simple as running a bath or starting the shower. However much he insists you don’t need to, it melts his heart and he falls head over heels in love again every single time.

✰ how he loves/likes to be loved - physical touch

now this is where acts of service goes hand in hand. The more time you have to relax, the more time you have for cuddles and kisses. Away from the public eye, cuddling on the sofa with you hidden away in his side or sitting on his lap watching a movie is up there. A highlight of his day. Doesn’t matter how often they’d do it. To him, it’s never enough.

In public, the touches are very much toned down. However, he still likes to make it clear this partner taken. And who exactly has taken them. Hand holding, arm around your waist, hand resting on your thigh, fixing your hair, the odd kiss on the cheek. All different ways Lewis shows his love. Any chance he can get there’s a hand on you. And he very much likes when you initiate the touch and reciprocate his affection.

Lando Norris

✰ how he loves - learning

This man would learn anything for you. Whether that’s how to style your hair, how to bake, how to make those fake paper flowers. He’d improve his writing just to write letters to you. He’d learn how to fix gadgets that you’ve broken if he can’t find anyone do to it instead. And if he can’t fix something, like a ring or necklace, he will be damn sure to take it to a jewellers the following morning. Absolutely nothing else would matter to him until that jewellery was in the safe hands of a professional.

✰ how he likes to be loved - food

Food is the way to Lando’s heart. Whether that’s bringing him food on stream, or just deciding to bake something. This man absolutely loves that you cook for him.

✰ how he loves - appreciation

If your relationship is known to the public, this guy will talk so highly of you on stream. How you’re the best partner, how lucky he is to have you, how he wants nothing more than to put a ring on your finger, etc, etc.

If the relationship is secret from the public but not to friends, family, and/or the grid. Then he will turn to those closest to him and talk about you to them like you’re heaven on earth.

✰ how he loves/likes to be loved - touch

He is a slut for physical affection. Hand in his hair, cuddles, hand on his back, leg, a kiss. It does not matter to him. He will take any and all that he can get. And he will love you even more for it.

If you want more drivers then lmk I guess lol

This has been sat in my drafts for days and I cba to add more rn but it’s pissing me off by being there lol so enjoy ig

[midnightwrriting]

can you write about reader and patrick finding porn on arts laptop or phone and it js being a bunch of different guys calling girls mommy and stuff like that. reader and patrick then make it their mission to get him subby enough to say it and when he does he’s so embarrassed, reader is nice abt it and finds it cute and hot but patrick is mean abt it even tho he also finds it so hot 😮‍💨

I really like the idea of art being all submissive it makes me giggle.

Warnings : 18 + threesome, fingering (f receiving) mommy kink, handjob... I think that's all?

Patrick zweig x fem reader x Art Donaldson

Patrick and you were borrowing Art's laptop for some random reason. Art was at his last class of the day. You rested into Patrick's side as he snooped. "What are you doing" your voice laced with questioning. "Just seeing what our boy Art has been up to" he types some websites and quickly links are being pulled up. His iconic smirk laid on his face. "there we go" he clicked a video Art had visited often.

In the video it was a blonde guy submitting to some girls. Begging, whines and crying out. "Mommy please" could be heard on the speaker. "Holy shit" You laugh out of shock. "Now we see what our little man is into" Patrick clicks on other videos and the same thing happening.

You and Patrick sat there for twenty minutes finding everything Art had booked mark. "We need to get this little shit to call you mommy" Patrick looks at you with his smirk. Your stomach turned at the idea of him calling you mommy. You knew he was submissive but didn't know how far it went.

At that moment the door opens and Art walks in. You watch him as Patrick quickly turns everything off setting the laptop to the side. "Hey" you softly spoke. Art was tired so he had fallen onto the bed between you and Patrick. His arms hung over the both of you. "Someone have a hard day" Patrick teased. He started laughing see art smash his face into your lap. Your hand in his hair.

"We can make you feel better" Patrick leans down to the blonde ear. Earning a moan from him. "Want us to make you feel good?" You ask softly squeezing his back. "Please" Art mumbles out. Patrick looks at you and smirks "do it" he mouths.

Art moves so he's facing up. You lean forward and grab Patrick's face kissing him. He grabs your throat holding you, his tongue danced in your mouth. Spit mixing together. Art watched below whining, feeling his short get tighter as he felt his dick twitch. Patrick groaned into your mouth when his dick twitched as well.

Your hand laid on Art's chest slowly inching down. Now on his stomach, pushing his shirt up lightly. His hips buckled when he felt your fingertips on his skin. You broke from the kiss with Patrick. "You like that?" You asked he only nodded his head. His hips buckled into nothing. His pants rubbing on his creating friction. "Yes yes" Patrick smirks looking at art fall into your trap. He grabs his face turning him to him  leaning down he meets the blonde boys lips. Your hand run down Art's pants palming him through his underwear. He moans into the kiss with Patrick. "Feel good huh?" Patrick says in-between the kiss. Art breaks the kiss to look at you biting his lip as your hand grasps him.

Patrick leans back palming himself as he watches you tease art. "Go slow" he demands. You look up at him with a smirk, you match his pace as he places his hands in his pants. "Please I- I need more" Art voice is broken and whiney already.

"You want more?" You loom over him throwing a leg over him. Patrick follows you sitting right behind you over art. "Come on beg for it" his hands run over your body as he looks at Art.

You lift your legs up pulling Art's shorts down Patrick throwing them across the room. Your moth waters seeing Art's dick. All hard and wet for you. "Please y/n please" you took him your hand his hips buckled pushing you and Patrick up.

Your breath hitched as you felt Patrick take a hand and push your shorts aside. His fingers tracing your entrance. "Stay focused" he said sternly. Your head fall back for a minute as you squeeze art in your hand. "You like my fingers huh? Such a slut" you moan out grinding your hips.

Art grips your hips watching you and Patrick his dick twitching in your hand as you run it up and down him. Both you and Patrick look at art smirks on your face making art whimper. He feels his body trembling at the sight of you both. The pleasure in his stomach building up, he was close, everyone could tell.

Patrick speeds up his fingers the feeling of you squeezing him makes him groan out. "That's right ride them" you look at art moaning. "Beg me to cum" you lean forward your hips grinding into Patrick's hand.

Art looks at you with pleading eyes. "Please please y/n let me cum I'll do anything" His chest falls up and down his body craving the release. "That's no good enough" you hiccup your words feeling your own release. "Beg me" your voice sharp and airy.

Arts hip buckled up once more throwing his head back he snaps. "Please mommy please let me cum I'll be good mommy" he's so lost in his head, feeling your hand pump him he doesn't realize what he said. Patrick leans into your ear. "Let him cum"

You and him both pick up the pace art let's out a loud moan. His dick twitches in your hand as he comes. Patrick grabs Art's face making him look at you as he does. "That's right cum for mommy" he smirks as he makes you cum right after Art.

It's quiet for a moment as you and Art come down from your high. Patrick removes his hand from your shorts bringing his fingers to his mouth he groans at the taste then looks at Art. "Mommy" he says. Art looks at him his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I didn't I didn't-" art starts to stutter his words feeling like he shouldn't have said it. Your eyes meet his "shhh it's okay you're okay" you cup his face and lightly kiss him. Patrick watches you rolling his eyes. "Oh don't puppy him. He might like it too much" he laughs at himself. You snack him but turn back to Art. "You did so good for me" you coo him he leans into your touch feeling better knowing you aren't mad about it.

Patrick moves to lay next to art and smiles. "That's was hot though" everyone smiles and looks at each other the room feels hot. Everyone already ready for some more.