#floral prick...

[creatureinthecrevice]

SPOILERS FOR THE "WELCOME HOME" SPRINGTIME SALUTATIONS UPDATE!! (second post now)

Much smaller post than the last, but i was scrolling twitter in the #juliejoyful tag and i saw something when looking at this image:

IS THAT THE F**KING BLACK-PETALED PROBLEM FLOWER ON TOP OF THE CENTER GARDEN!? What are you DOING HERE?? Like before, i need some investigation into this STAT.

[poirott]

Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple → Fave outfits in Season 2 AGATHA CHRISTIE'S MARPLE (2004 - 2013)

[gojosconsort]

AAAAA OMGGG

Plsss more of feral/freak Nanami and innocent/oblivious wife! I beg you 🙏🙏🙏

“did i gain weight or something?” you muse, voice chipper and light, twisting around to peer at yourself in the reflection of the glass cabinet. you’re holding a pair of jeans—those tight ones he secretly prays you’ll wear every damn day—yanking them up over your hips. they snag, too tight, and you hop, tugging. your ass jiggles, soft and full, straining against the denim and rippling with every bounce, and HUSBAND!KENTO’S coffee mug freezes midair. his jaw locks, teeth grinding so loud he swears you should hear it.

“these used to fit,” you pout, frowning as you shimmy them higher, bending slightly to wrestle the fabric. the jeans inch up, but barely, hugging every curve too tight, and that bounce—fuck, that bounce—sends a jolt straight through him. his eyes lock on it, feral and unblinking and he bites the inside of his cheek, hoping the sting will snap him back but he can only imagine sinking his teeth into that ass, marking you, claiming you, pounding you into the counter ‘til you’re a drooling mess.

“they look fine,” he grits out, voice like gravel, low enough that you don’t catch the edge. you turn to face him, still wrestling the zipper, and the way your tits bounces with the effort makes his slacks tighten painfully and a faint dampness begins to prick at the fabric. he shifts in his seat, the chair groaning under him, and sets the mug down with a hard thud, splintering the handle, and he doesn’t blink.

“fine?” you laugh, oblivious, spinning to give him a view of the back. “kento, they’re literally cutting me in half!” you wiggle again, testing the fit, and he swears he sees every ripple of your ass in slow motion. his control frays, thread by thread, and he’s picturing it: hands sinking into that plump ass, fucking you right there, ramming into you from behind ‘til the cabinets rattle and you’re dripping with his cum.

“you look… good,” he manages, the words clipped, barely civil. suddenly his tie feels like a noose, and he yanks at it, loosening the knot as he fights the urge to tie you up with it, wrap it around your wrists, arms pinned behind you while he knots it into your skin, leaving red marks he’d lick later. he shifts his weight again, thighs flexing, trying to will it down, but the sight of you in those jeans already has heat pooling low, threatening to spill over if he doesn’t get a grip.

you beam at him, all sweet. “good? well, that’s a relief,” you say, finally getting the jeans zipped, though they hug you like a second skin. you smooth your hands over your hips, turning side to side, and he tracks every movement. “i was worried i’d have to toss these. they’re my favorite.” and his too.

“keep them,” he says, too fast, too rough, standing abruptly. the chair scrapes back, loud, and he stalks toward the sink, dumping the rest of his coffee to give his hands something other to do than to pin you down and fuck into you like an animal. he’s losing it—really losing it—and you don’t even notice, chattering on about your day like he’s not two seconds from gagging you with his cock, stuffing you ‘til your throat’s full.

“—and then i’ve got that meeting at noon, but i’ll be home early,” you’re saying, stepping closer to grab an apple from the bowl. you brush past him, hip grazing his thigh, and he exhales hard through his nose, gripping the sink’s edge until his fingers ache. your scent hits him, floral and clean, and he’s feral, imagining fisting your hair, yanking your head back, fucking you hard and fast.

“kento?” you pause, apple halfway to your mouth, tilting your head up at him. “you okay? you’re all… tense.” your eyes are wide, soft, and he wants to ruin you—mark that pretty throat, choke you with his fingers, fuck you ‘til those pretty lips can’t form words anymore.

“just—” he clears his throat, stepping back, forcing distance. “long night.” a lie, weak, but you nod, accepting it like always. he adjusts his glasses, hands shaking slightly, and turns away, pretending to rinse the mug. his slacks cling to him, the wet spot dark against his thigh, precum soaking through the fabric as his cock throbs, painfully hard, leaking with every jiggle of your ass he can’t unsee.

he shifts, trying to hide it, but the friction only makes it worse—his balls ache, tight and heavy, and he bites back a groan, imagining unloading inside you, painting your insides until you’re dripping with him. the sink’s cold edge digs into his palms as he grips it, desperate to keep from yanking his pants down and fucking you right there.

“finish getting ready,” he says, voice tight, controlled by a thread. “i’ll drive you.” he doesn’t trust himself to stay here, not with you prancing around like that, all innocent and ripe for the taking. you smile, oblivious, and bounce off toward the bedroom, ass jiggling one last time as you go. he watches, jaw flexing, and knows—he’s not making it through the day.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ part one ♡ masterlist

[buckysleftbicep]

high for this 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (sex pollen trope)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sort of dub-con (bucky and you under the influence of the gas), loss of control, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, regret, angst

summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, it’s not the mission that haunts you both, it’s what happened behind that door. based on this request! | requests are open

word count: 3.8k

author's note: hi everyone! i've been wanting to write a fic with this trope and i got a request for it so yay! i hope you enjoy it, and if you did, please drop a comment or reblog, thank you my loves!

look at him, oh my god

The air in the underground lab hung heavy and stale, thick with the sharp metallic tang of rusted machinery and decades of neglect. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically overhead, casting a sickly, pale glow across the cavernous chamber.

You and Bucky moved through the shadows with practiced precision, each step deliberate but silent, your boots barely whispering against the cracked concrete floor.

Around you, the vast expanse was filled with obsolete equipment, dented metal tables, shattered screens, and tangled wires like forgotten veins pulsing beneath the surface. The hum of distant generators mixed with the faint drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels. 

“Keep it tight,” Bucky whispered in your ear through the comms, his voice low and steady, though you could feel the sharp edge of tension beneath his calm breath. The subtle hitch in his tone told you he was bracing for whatever was lurking just beyond the next corner.

The mission itself was deceptively simple: locate and retrieve experimental tech that had been developed in secret—a weapon rumored to be devastating in its scope.

But simplicity was a lie, twisted by every step you took deeper into the compound. You could feel it pressing down on you, the weight of what might go wrong.

Ahead, the vault door loomed like a sleeping beast, slick with grime and age, its steel surface cold and unforgiving. The locking mechanism was an intricate, ancient system, blinking red lights and mechanical clicks that echoed faintly in the vast silence.

You crouched down beside the control panel, fingers trembling ever so slightly as they danced across the cracked screen, searching for an override.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a hammer strike against your ribcage. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on your back, scanning every shadow, every inch of the room, the quiet intensity radiating from him like heat.

“I’ve got your six,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

“Door’s locked tight,” you muttered, frustration pricking beneath your calm facade. “Trying to bypass it… come on…”

The screen flickered, the system stubbornly resisting. Then, suddenly, the entire room shifted, an ominous metallic groan echoed off the walls, and a sudden blast of air slammed into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Shit.” Bucky’s voice snapped, sharp and urgent.

Before you could react, a faint hiss whispered from the vents above. It was thin, almost imperceptible, like a silent breath but the moment you inhaled, a strange sensation exploded inside your chest. Your lungs clenched painfully, as if something inside had turned razor sharp.

The air was saturated with a scent that was disarming in its sweetness, floral and delicate, like jasmine petals crushed beneath a gentle hand. But beneath that softness lurked something far more dangerous and intoxicating.

Your heart lurched in your chest, thundering wildly.

“Gas,” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth instinctively, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep your breath shallow.

Bucky’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant—firm and grounding. He yanked the collar of his tactical jacket up over his nose and mouth, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. “Hold your breath,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

But it was already too late.

A sudden, searing heat flared beneath your skin, blooming like wildfire beneath the fabric of your suit.

Every nerve ending ignited, the heat crawling along your spine, pooling low in your belly with sharp, urgent hunger. Your body betrayed you, trembling uncontrollably with the unfamiliar ache that twisted deep and raw inside.

You swallowed hard, throat tight, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours, those pretty cerulean blues now dark, blown wide, fierce, flickering with a storm he was desperate to hold back. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought the invisible pull clawing at him, every muscle taut beneath his black tactical gear.

“We’re locked in,” he said finally, voice tight with frustration and warning. “This is a trap.”

You swallowed again, heat pooling heavier now, your thighs pressing tightly together as you tried to contain the growing ache spreading between your legs.

“We need to find a way out. Fast.” Bucky added. But the walls seemed to close in on you, the air thickening with something more than just the gas. Your hands slick with sweat, trembling slightly as they brushed the cold, unforgiving metal of the walls for balance.

Bucky paced like a predator caught in a cage, jaw clenched, muscles coiled and ready to strike. He fought the pull dragging at him, every glance between you charged with a raw, electric tension—too close, too volatile.

You could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his breath hitched just slightly when you shifted too near. Neither of you wanted to admit what was coming.

Neither could deny it.

The silence in the sealed lab wasn’t still anymore.

It hummed.

Low and thrumming, like the room itself was breathing heavier. The air had thickened, heady, warm, wet. A weight pressed down on your chest as your body rebelled against you, desire twisting deep and low, hotter by the second.

Your skin tingles, flushed with fever. Every breath burned down your throat. Every shift of fabric made you ache.

Bucky stood a few feet away, frozen mid-movement.

His hand was still gripping your shoulder from when he’d tried to shield you. But he dropped it now, like touching you had scalded him. His metal fingers flexed once, twice, before curling into a fist.

“…You okay?” he asked roughly, though his voice already knew the answer.

You swallowed. “Not really.”

He nodded once. Barely.

You could see the war raging inside him, written in every tense line of his body. His jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching beneath his stubble, as his gaze darted, your face, the floor, the wall, anywhere but the place he was dying to look.

But then his eyes dragged back to your chest, lingering just a moment too long, and you saw it, the unraveling. The want. The fight that he was losing, second by second.

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning away.

He was pacing again, but slower this time. Almost as if he was trying to bleed something off. Shake it loose.

Sweat shimmered at the base of his neck, catching in the hollow of his throat before trailing downward, disappearing beneath the clinging fabric of his black tactical shirt. You watched the slow, measured rise and fall of his chest, controlled, but only just.

His fingers twitched, betraying him as he tugged at the collar like it was strangling him, like air itself had become too thick to breathe. There was a tremor in him, small but unmistakable, and it wasn’t from exertion.

It was restraint. Barely contained. Ready to snap.

“It’s not just pheromones,” Bucky said, his voice low, rough around the edges like it hurt to speak. “This shit’s tactical. Weaponised. Hydra created it back in the day to override judgment. Strip you down to the parts of you that can’t say no.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I’ve seen it before. They used it in field tests, watched how soldiers broke,” his eyes finally met yours, heavy with something close to shame. “It wasn’t about pleasure. It was about control.”

Your stomach flipped.

You leaned against the wall, heart pounding. “How long until we’re not?”

He paused. Didn’t answer.

His fists flexed again.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t turn.

“I don’t know.”

That was when you saw it, the change. Not just restraint. No, this was something else. He was coiled, like a wire stretched to its limit, every muscle taut beneath his skin. His shoulders curled inward, not in defeat, but like the very weight of his body was suffocating him. When he finally drew a breath, it shook on the way in and left his chest more like a growl than air.

“I can feel it crawling under my skin,” he muttered. “It’s not going away.”

He braced both hands on the metal table at the center of the room, head bowed between them. His back heaved with the effort of staying still. You could see the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades, the veins in his arms standing out.

“I can’t stop thinking about…” he cut himself off, slammed a fist into the table.

Metal dented under his knuckles.

His head snapped toward you, and this time he didn’t look away.

“I shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.”

You stepped forward slowly, drawn by gravity. “But you are.”

He let out a sharp breath, jaw ticking, lips parted like he couldn’t get enough air. “You have no idea what this is doing to me.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

He turned again, pacing tighter now, like a predator testing the edges of its cage. And every time he passed, you felt it. The heat radiating off him in waves. The tension rippling beneath his skin.

His eyes dragged over you, your mouth, your chest, the curve of your hips, each pass lingering longer, darker, more dangerous than the last.

“It’s like… like my whole body’s screaming for it,” he hissed. “My skin’s burning, my fucking senses are haywire. I can hear your heartbeat from across the room, and I can smell you."

He was unraveling. And so were you.

Your thighs pressed together, instinctively chasing even the slightest relief from the ache building low in your belly. It wasn’t subtle. He saw it, caught the motion with sharp eyes and his jaw locked tight. A low, filthy curse slipped from his mouth, barely audible but ragged, like it had been dragged straight from his chest.

“We have to wait it out,” he said, but his voice was more plea than order. “We just have to, fuck, fuck, don’t look at me like that.”

You hadn’t moved.

But your lips were parted. Your eyes wide, dark, matching his hunger.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered, then dipped lower, much lower. His jaw worked once, twice, before he turned and slammed both hands into the wall.

“We’re not doing this,” he snapped. “Not like this. You don’t want me. It’s the gas talking.”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

That stopped him.

He turned, slow, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words. His chest heaved, a muscle twitching at his temple, sweat trickling along his jawline. He looked wrecked already—and you hadn’t even touched him.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice raw.

“I do.”

He swallowed hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was trying to keep himself from lunging. “You say that now, but if I lose control-”

“Then lose it.”

That broke something in him.

He looked away, hands curling at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to something real. But there was nothing real left in this room—only heat, the smell of your arousal, and the sound of your name caught between his teeth like prayer and curse.

“We’re not gonna make it,” he said softly. “Not without…”

His voice trailed off.

But the implication hung thick in the air, like smoke after a fire, suffocating and inescapable. His eyes found yours again, and this time, he didn’t look away.

They were no longer the cold steel-blue you’d grown used to. They burned. Not with restraint. Not with discipline. But hunger. Raw, untempered need. And something darker beneath it, something primal and barely held together by the thinnest thread.

This wasn’t the Bucky who stayed silent in briefings, who watched you with veiled eyes and clenched fists. This wasn’t the careful man who always pulled away before his hands could linger too long.

This version of him was stripped bare, instincts flaring in a space where consequences didn’t seem to exist.

And yet, he hesitated. Chest heaving, jaw tight, voice a rasp: “Fuck… I can’t—”

“You can,” you whispered, throat dry, mind drowning beneath the ache between your legs. “Please Bucky… I need you.”

That was all it took.

His restraint shattered like glass under a hammer.

Bucky surged forward and crashed into you like a wave, hands grabbing, mouth consuming. Your back slammed against the wall, but you didn’t feel the impact over the way his lips crushed yours.

There was no finesse, no caution, just teeth, breath, heat. He kissed like a man starved, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away to bite down your jaw, your throat, the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

His metal hand twisted in your hair, forcing your head back so he could taste you deeper, tongue leaving the sweat from your collarbone as a groan vibrated against your flesh.

“Been tryin’ to hold back,” he growled into your neck, his voice fraying at the edges, broken and desperate. “But you, fuck, you’ve been killing me.”

You could barely think. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling at his gear, desperate to feel more. You arched into him, gasping when your thigh brushed the heavy bulge straining against his pants.

“I need you to fuck me,” you breathed, shaking. “Please. I need to feel you-”

“You will,” he bit out.

His hands were merciless, stripping your gear away with a speed that spoke of long-suppressed fantasies. The moment he pulled your suit down and dragged your soaked underwear to the side, the cold air hit your swollen, dripping core, but nothing could compare to the blistering heat of his fingers pushing between your thighs.

“Jesus,” he hissed as he slid two fingers through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before thrusting them inside in one hard motion. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

Your knees buckled, body lurching into his chest with a whimper as he fucked you on his fingers, deep and fast, curling just right to make your eyes roll back. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you trembling before he even gave you his cock.

“You that wet for me?” His voice was low, thick with lust. “Or is that gas still makin’ you a mess?”

You moaned, barely able to breathe. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

That made him groan, from deep in his chest, his mouth crashing against yours again, swallowing your whimpers as he fucked you harder with his fingers, the metal hand at your hip bruising with how tight he held you in place.

“You’re so goddamn tight,” he snarled, voice muffled against your lips. “This pussy’s beggin’ for me.”

He yanked his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip. You barely had time to register it before he grabbed your thigh, hiked it around his waist, and lined himself up.

“You want it?” he demanded.

You nodded frantically, breath ragged, nails sinking into the kevlar on his shoulders. “Yes, god, fuck me like you need it.”

“I do need it,” he growled, and then he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs. He was so big, the angle so deep, your body clamped around him like it didn’t want to let him go. The pain and pleasure blurred, and all you could do was hold on.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “You feel like heaven, feel like you were made for me.”

He started to move, fucking into you with unrelenting force, fast, rough, each thrust shoving you against the wall with a dull thud. It was messy, desperate, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t stop the moans pouring from your lips, each one higher-pitched than the last as his hips snapped harder, deeper, relentless.

“You like this?” he hissed into your ear. “Like being used?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Fuck, yes, I love it.”

He growled again, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight, just firm, his other bracing against the wall. His thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming into yours with bruising force as he drove you higher, closer, the pressure building fast and sharp at the base of your spine.

“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned against your neck, voice wrecked and shaking with restraint. “Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll still be leaking days from now.”

You whimpered, barely hanging on, the pressure inside you coiled so tight it hurt. “Please,” you gasped, eyes brimming, breath catching. “I want it, want all of it.”

His pace faltered just enough to press in deeper, harder, his body trembling with the force of it. “You don’t get to beg for this and not fucking mean it,” he snarled, every word rough and fraying at the edges. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

Your head fell back, voice hoarse and breaking. “Want you to cum in me,” you choked out, every word laced with desperation. “Want you to fuck it into me, wanna feel like you own me.”

Bucky groaned at your words. He thrust once, twice, then held himself buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled into your cunt with a growl so guttural it vibrated through your chest. Hot spurts of cum filled you, leaking down your thighs as he trembled, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.

You were a mess, panting, shaking, skin flushed and damp with sweat. His body was still pressed to yours, breath ragged against your neck, his cock twitching inside you even as he softened. His lips dragged along your jaw, your temple, soft now, almost apologetic.

“You okay?” he whispered, softer, voice thick.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yeah. Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stayed there, holding you, forehead pressed to yours, while the silence thickened again, and the weight of what had just happened started to settle over both of you.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was thick and deafening, a heavy weight that pressed in from all sides. You were still against the wall, your body cooling far too fast, thighs sticky with his release and your chest rising and falling beneath your half-unzipped tactical suit. 

Bucky’s body hadn’t fully left yours, his forehead was still resting against yours, breath hot and shallow, jaw clenching like he was physically holding something back.

But his hands had already dropped from your waist. Like he’d realised what he’d done. What you both had done. What it meant.

He wouldn’t look at you.

You swallowed the rasp in your throat and whispered his name, barely a breath. “Bucky. Are you okay?”

He flinched like the sound of your voice cut through whatever fragile control he was clinging to. And then, without answering, he stepped away from you. Just a few paces, but it was enough. Enough for the heat to dissipate, for the air between you to feel cold and wrong. 

He dragged a hand through his damp hair and adjusted his pants with sharp, efficient movements, his jaw tight. His eyes were dark with conflict, shame. Something he didn’t want to name, but couldn’t quite suppress. It was in his posture, in the stiffness of his spine.

“We shouldn't have done that,” he said at last, the words raw and thick. “Not like that.”

The words hit you hard, cut deeper than they should have. You reached for something solid, something to hold on to. “You didn’t hurt me,” you said quickly, too quickly, as if easing his guilt might cut through the tension between the both of you.

But Bucky only shook his head, the bitterness in his voice almost enough to drown you both. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” He paused, eyes flicking to the floor like he couldn’t bear to see your face. “You were dosed. So was I. None of that was real.”

You could feel your breath catch in your chest, tight and painful. “You think I didn’t want it?” The question hung in the air like smoke, curling between you, dangerous and impossible to take back.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. Just clenched his jaw and turned away further, the tension in his shoulders wound so tight you thought he might snap. His silence said enough.

And then the comms crackled to life, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. Ava’s voice came through the static—concerned, clipped. “Bucky, (y/n) report. Are you two clear?”

You froze. Your eyes met his for half a second, and he moved faster than you could react, snatching the comm piece and answering before you could even open your mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, voice stiff, cold. “Copy that. We’re fine. Situation’s contained. We were exposed to something, but it’s neutralised now.”

A beat of silence followed.

“You sound… off,” Ava replied.

“Just prep extraction,” Bucky said, sharper now. Then he cut the line before she or anyone could ask anything else.

Silence returned. But this time it wasn’t laced with tension or heat. It was suffocating. You pulled your suit back into place with shaking hands, not from aftershocks of pleasure, but from the sudden emptiness. 

From the way he wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something that had already crumbled beneath your feet.

“Don’t shut me out,” you said quietly, though it already felt like he had.

“I’m not.” But the words were flat, hollow, too calm to be true. He still wouldn’t look at you. “I just need air.”

“You mean you need to not look at me right now,” you murmured, the words escaping before you could temper them. They came out too sharp, too raw, but they were true. And they stung like hell.

His body stiffened. “I just don’t wanna say something I’ll regret.”

That of all things hit the hardest, not because it was cruel, but because it was honest. You wrapped your arms around yourself as the chill of the room settled into your skin, as the weight of what he wasn’t saying started to suffocate you.

“That makes one of us,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He turned away, moving toward the sealed vault door like it offered an escape he didn’t deserve. Like if he just got it open, everything could go back to the way it was before. 

But nothing had changed that vault more than what happened inside. You saw the tremble in his hands as he reached for the control panel, the way his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t over. Not even close.

The door would open. The team would come. They would ask questions. They would assume you were fine. But the real damage wasn’t the mission. It wasn’t the gas.

It was here, in this room, with sweat and skin and bitten-back moans, with words neither of you could say now without setting off the final detonation.

Because the real explosion, the one that mattered had already happened.

And there was no undoing it.

[sanakiras]

SINNERS

PAIRING — kim mingyu x reader

WORD COUNT — 11k

SYNOPSIS — the sudden, unwanted merger of your father’s company and his biggest rival’s causes a rising tension between everyone involved. you weren’t planning to be the reason everything turned around.

TAGS — frenemy!mingyu, age gap (mc is in her early 20s, gyu in his early 40s), gyu is a hot perv, dubcon sort of but both sides are into it, explicit sexual content, anal play, panty stealing™, smoking cigarettes solely for the aesthetic of it :D

NOTE — very loosely based on the main ship of the show rivals (2024-) which is super juicy with sexy and talented people in it. so go give that a watch. enjoy! <3

YOUR FATHER HAS ALWAYS BEEN A STUBBORN MAN. it’s him you get it from, probably.

despite being a wealthy, influential ceo, your father had no ground to stand on when practically the entire board voted for a merger with the company that’s always been their biggest rival.

a company that is led by kim mingyu — a rich prick with a surprisingly good eye for business. as per your father’s words, anyway. you know little of the man. business has never been up your alley, so you’ve never really cared much for your father’s affairs, or his associates for that matter.

but this one seems to concern the whole family.

your father is not just against the merger, he’s against mingyu. as dramatic as that might sound. apparently, he believes mingyu has the plan to take over as ceo of the new, merged company and cut your father out of it entirely.

which isn’t good, if true. you know for a fact that your father is great at his job and has built the company from the bottom up into the million-dollar business it is now, whereas mingyu only came into his position as ceo because his sister was running the place before him and she wanted him to take over.

the conflict has been stirring for a while now. even the employees sitting lowest in the company’s hierarchy are talking about it, leading to the board making a proposal — albeit an odd one.

with the summer holidays approaching, mingyu has offered for the main investors and some of the people occupying the top positions to take a few weeks off and stay at his estate in spain for a little while. your father certainly didn’t feel like attending, but not going meant mingyu could get everyone he needed to persuade right into the palm of his hand, so the choice was made easily.

the invitation goes for the whole family, so your parents expected you to come with as well. something along the lines of ‘putting up a strong front’ as your mother told you.

it wouldn’t be the first time they used your prominent grades in law school for their own gain, but since they’re paying for your tuition, you don’t see a reason for them not to.

and you work hard to achieve those good results, so why not brag about them a little?

truth be told, even though your dad would much rather be at home right now, you do have an appreciation for the massive estate. it’s gorgeous on both the inside and outside, equipped with every luxury imaginable while still having a classy style. after all, the kim family is notoriously well-known for their wealth. ambitious, driven, impeccable at what they do — each generation bringing in more money than the last.

you’re certainly much more privileged than other people your age, and you’re lucky to have a father that has worked so hard to achieve what he has. perhaps that’s why it angers you so much that he now has to fight for his position as ceo; you can’t fathom why the guy who got everything handed to him, someone who could easily land any other job, is supposedly more deserving of being ceo than your father.

so you’ll try to do your best to come across as the perfect daughter for these next few weeks — impressions are everything, with these people anyways.

the first party, organized to celebrate the merger and the start of the holidays, is a sight to behold. floral dresses, freshly mown grass, blooming flowers, the shining sun and clinking glasses all but floods your senses.

then people open their mouths, and things are not as fun anymore.

a gorgeous day in a gorgeous place — wasted by talk of business, talk of things that are so painfully uninteresting that you’re really considering going back into the kitchen and drown yourself in whatever bottles of booze they’ve got down there.

from your secluded place by the porch, you find yourself in the best spot to stay away from all the chatter but keep a good eye from a distance.

“god, this is fucking bullshit.” you mutter to yourself before taking a sip of your champagne.

“took the words right out of my mouth.”

a man who was just passing by has taken an apparent interest in you. you hardly bother to look him in the eye, only glancing at him for a split second.

“did i?”

“yeah, it’s all just a bit… over the top, isn’t it?”

“oh, no, i mean, everything’s beautiful. couldn’t have picked a better day for a party like this, probably. i guess i’d just hoped to see more people here who aren’t…”

“… old?”

“well, maybe they should’ve extended the invitation to some folks who don’t already have one foot in the grave. to put it plainly.”

“fair. though they are the biggest investors out there.”

“right. i keep forgetting i’m here for business. albeit not my own.”

“whose business are you here for?”

“the fight for the new ceo. to put it plainly.”

that seems to change up his body language a bit — he tenses up, yet nothing of the sort can be found on his face. if anything, his smile seems more playful. “so who’re you betting on then? who do you think is gonna make the finish line first?”

you pause a moment before answering. “my dad.”

“wait, your father is—”

“yeah.”

“in that case, you should probably be mindful of your words. you never know who you’ve got in front of you here. you don’t know these people, after all.”

“unless you’re the competing ceo, i should be fine.” when he remains awfully quiet beside you, a devilish smirk rising to his face, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “oh, hell—”

“no, no, go on.”

“you’re the guy who’s trying to steal my dad’s job.”

“steal is a strong word.”

“i know. that’s why i used it.”

now that you’re finally facing him completely, your eyes locking with his, you seem to realize something.

your father’s main enemy is ridiculously attractive.

tall, dark, handsome. straight out of one of those romance novels your best friend can’t stop gushing about. he’s wearing a white dress shirt that clings onto his skin, accentuating every single curve and muscle he’s got. pitch-black hair that reaches the bottom of his ears, the front pieces framing his sharp features perfectly. his long sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, baring veiny arms and a pair of big, strong hands. he’s a big man in general. broad shoulders.

the man is clearly older than you, and you vaguely remember your dad saying he was only a couple years younger than him — but when he said that, you didn’t see this coming.

luckily, you don’t need to snap yourself out of it, because mingyu does it for you, by being the petty bastard that he is. “hey, i understand. you’re fighting for him to be head of the firm ‘cause he’s your family. all good and well. but that’s not how this works.”

lord, he’s certainly living up to the expectations your father set for him.

his borderline derogatory tone is starting to piss you off. “do you really believe that’s the only reason i’ve got to think he might be the better fit?”

“yeah. it’s glaringly obvious. you think he’s the most deserving of the position because he’s your father. biased judgement.”

“absolutely not. look, my dad started at the bottom. you got everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

“maybe. still doesn’t equal him being a better businessman.”

“oh, please. he built that company, all you had to do was keep yours steady. you can claim you’re a better businessman all you want — my dad’s been holding that position for years. you started, when? a couple months ago?”

“two years.”

“same thing. and funnily enough, so far you’ve failed to give any reasonable arguments as to why you should win this.”

“because i’m better.”

“wow. compelling — no substance, but hey, that can probably be said about more than just your reasoning.”

mingyu is somewhat taken aback by your sharp insults, but they intrigue him more than anything. how long has it been since someone’s talked him down like this? he’s not sure, but what he does know for certain is that a part of him enjoys it.

not allowing him to say anything else, you harshly set down your glass onto the thick railing, continuing your complaints.

“and i hate champagne. why don’t you people ever serve anything else?” you huff before walking away from him, and he watches you leave with his hands still in his pockets, absolute amusement on his face.

blinking a few times to himself, he processes what just happened. all he can think about when he downs his second and third and fourth glass and when he speaks to the investors is you.

some girl he had a brief conversation with.

every time the person he’s talking to is distracted with something else, he subtly looks around the garden, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

for hours, he can’t seem to find you anywhere. that is, until your father out of all people comes over to him to introduce his wife — and his daughter.

for a split second, he catches some kind of worry in your eyes when your dad introduces you. that you fucked up earlier by speaking your mind, that he may use the insults you’ve thrown his way against you.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he pretends to never have seen you before. “lovely to meet you.”

he stretches his hand out to you, and when you accept his greeting, giving him your name, he has to fight the urge to repeat it just to feel it roll off his tongue.

like a schoolboy with a crush, he thinks of you when he goes to bed that night, hoping to see you again as soon as possible. it’s a foreign feeling to him.

who knows. he might just try and see where it leads him.

the next gathering takes place two days later. you’re wearing a bright red dress this time, your skin glowing under the heat of the sun. it doesn’t take long before you move to stand into the shadow for a moment, allowing yourself a slight break from the intense heat.

“miss? what drink would you like to have?” one of the hired waiters asks, making you frown, since everyone else is drinking either champagne or water, and there’s still plenty of filled glasses available.

“um… a martini, please.” you stumble out, and mere minutes later, he comes back out of the kitchen with a single martini on his platter, which you take with a still very confused expression on your face. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome. courtesy of mr. kim.” he says with a gentle smile before walking away, and you mindlessly stare at your drink, almost as if you’re unsure what to do with this gesture.

“is it not to your liking?”

looking up from the glass, you find him standing in front of you in a white suit that emphasizes his tan skin. he’s a hulk of a man, anything but subtle. the type to always be the center of attention, even when he’s not asking for it.

his dark eyes are utterly shameless when drinking the sight of you in, something that causes heat to rise to your cheeks — you’d absolutely fuck him under different circumstances.

not that he needs to know that.

“i’m just... wondering if it’s been poisoned.”

mingyu chuckles. “nah, that’d be way too obvious a method. poison’s gotta be done subtly.”

“maybe i’ll try that out sometime soon.” you give him a fake smile, happy that you don’t seem to be planning on toning down your insults one bit.

“didn’t peg you to be a martini kinda girl.”

taking a sip of the drink, you enjoy the feeling of the bitterness running down your throat. “usually i’m not. just needed something stronger to get through the evening. why did you have a drink made for me?”

“because you don’t like champagne.”

“yeah, but why do you care?”

“oh, that’s just my personality. i’m very caring. generous, too. great qualities for a ceo.” he jests, and for a guy you so strongly dislike, you have to give it to him — he is charming.

“you’re hilarious.”

“i’m just messing with you, princess.”

“flattery will get you nowhere. not with me.”

“no? and what will?”

“wouldn’t be any fun if i outright told you.”

“why? afraid that i might sway you?”

“as long as my brain is functioning properly, that’s not happening.”

“well, you should at the very least give me the chance to find out. so... talk to me like you would to all these other people. i heard you’re in law school.”

narrowing your eyes at him, the distrust is clear in your features, but you shrug to yourself. if you’re going to have to bear his presence for the summer, you might as well give it a shot to be somewhat civil with him. for your father’s sake.

and for what it’s worth, he seems genuinely interested in your life, even if you still don’t trust him. you tell him how much you hated high school, how your grades used to be incredibly low, until you graduated and got into university and things changed for the better. you’re in a good spot in your life.

mingyu finds you have a refreshingly healthy ambition — you have a solid determination to get far in your career, but you don’t need to be the best of the best if that’s what will give you a better balance between your work and private life. he comes from a family with high expectations; living the way you described has always been a dream for him, and never a reality.

he asks what your fellow students are like, mentioning he always thought the students from the law faculty were stuck-up assholes back when he went to college, causing you to roll your eyes as you so often seem to do in his presence.

you tell him about your friends studying other things, and how some of them are in completely different phases of their lives, but you’re completely fine with that, and you eventually end up talking about your love life.

mingyu has to force himself to keep a straight face when you tell him you’re single, and you have been for a few months now. what the fuck kind of hold do you have on him? he’s never felt this impulsive, this... out of control.

it doesn’t help that you’re wearing this gorgeous dress that makes you look even prettier than you already are.

you fail to register his eyes looking you up and down, and he takes his time analyzing every curve of your body, every inch of skin you’ve chosen to bare, the way the fabric of your dress hugs your hips. if only you could hear how sinful his thoughts are when he gazes upon your figure.

eventually, when you decide to leave him behind and go to bed, you say your goodbyes, and he realizes he doesn’t deel like talking to anyone else anymore, so he heads up the stairs to into his own room as well.

while he knows that he needs to pass your room to get to his own, he doesn’t think much of it at first, but then he bites his lip, standing still for a moment.

the estate is older than it looks — it’s got creaking floorboards, dark hallways and high ceilings, and in some rooms, there’s a slight crack between the door and its post, just big enough to peek inside if you’re standing close to it.

mingyu should know better than to get closer to that door. he should know better than to wish he might catch a glimpse of you. he should know better than to keep looking at your almost entirely naked body while you undress.

deep down, he does know better.

but his lust is stronger. the sight of your curves, your fingers pulling at the straps of your bra, the way your skin glows in the dim light. it gives him air and immediately takes it away.

it’s so wrong. yes, he’s been sleeping around plenty since his divorce, but a girl as young as you are… you could’ve been his daughter. he’s only a few years younger than your dad, for christ’s sake.

and yet he can’t help himself.

there’s something about you that makes his head spin. a beautiful, intelligent girl who, in spite of your age difference, isn’t afraid to knock him down a peg. he relishes in your presence.

he’d just treat you so fucking good. much better than any of those college guys.

the sound of a door opening somewhere at the other end of the hall pulls him out of his perverted thoughts, and with a prominent bulge in his pants, he backs away from your room and heads to his own.

over the course of the next few days, he doesn’t see you as often, much to his annoyance. he’s so bored, and his mind constantly working its way back to you almost has him forgetting why all these people are even here in the first place.

as if it were a chore he’s been putting off for months, he engages in the mandatory small talk with that charming attitude he always sports. the brief moments you share with him become the highlight of his day, his internal conflict about really being way too old for you getting pushed under the rug like some dirty secret no one can know about.

it’s a friday afternoon when he’s suddenly called into a shareholder’s meeting, after a mishap back in the main office due to some bad communication. nothing worthy of his time, in his opinion, but as always he does what is asked of him.

the humid weather has him sweating through his tailored clothes. once the meeting is over, he heads outside, genuinely considering jumping into the pool with everything he’s got on, but he spots a familiar figure sunbathing in one of the lounge chairs, which puts his thoughts to a halt.

he recognizes your curves as if he’s known you for years. you’re lying on your back, the striped bikini you’ve got on making his breathing quicken. yet he can’t help himself, and he’s already heading over to you before he knows it.

“a suit in this weather?” you ask when he walks up the stone walkway, lifting your sunglasses to sit on top of your head. “are you actively trying to get a heatstroke?”

“they don’t allow anything different at a meeting, i’m afraid.” he says while using his index and middle finger to remove his tie.

“aren’t you at the head of the company? you could always set a different dress code. not like anyone’s gonna stop you.” you suggest, at which he smiles.

“i like the way you think.” he chuckles, shrugging off his jacket, loosening the top buttons of the white dress shirt. his eyes rake over the drops of sweat shining in the crook of your neck and cleavage.

moving your feet to the side, you give him room to sit across from you on the lounge chair, and he gladly takes you up on it.

“looks like we’re both not suited to this heat, huh? pun intended.” you chuckle at your own little joke, which has mingyu smiling at you.

“you seem to be doing just fine.” he answers, willing to try out the oldest trick in the book. “you need me to put some sunscreen on your back? if you’d rather have someone else do it, that’s fine, too.”

“no, i’d… appreciate it.” you hand him the yellow bottle, switching from lying on your back to your stomach, proceeding to undo the back of your bikini so he can properly apply the sunscreen.

lord, why did he propose to do this again?

with smooth motions, he massages the thick substance onto your skin, trying not to focus on the heat of your body, his hands trailing down to your hips or the fact that your ass is on perfect display for him to stare at. jesus, he needs to get a fucking grip.

so he distracts himself. or tries to. “your dad seemed chipper in there. must be having a good day, huh?”

you clench your jaw, since you know exactly why your father is so happy today. when you walked out of your room this morning, you overheard him talking to your mom about the dirt he was digging up on mingyu, all in the hope of finding something bad enough to use against him in the fight for the ceo position.

smart, but childish.

“yeah, he’s...” for a moment, remain quiet, but then you turn your face to lock eyes with him. “mingyu, i need to tell you something.”

the seriousness in your tone has him worried. “is everything okay?”

"if i say this, you can’t tell anyone.”

“you’re scaring me. what’s wrong?”

you turn around to check whether anyone might be able to listen in on the two of you, but the coast seems clear, so you tell him the truth. “i overheard this morning that my dad doesn’t think he’ll get the ceo position if he plays fair, so he’s gonna play dirty instead. he’s poking around in your past, trying to find something to use against you.”

mingyu scoffs. “what a class act he is. but i gotta give it to him, it’s a good strategy.”

“he mentioned something about... your divorce. that’s what he’s looking into. maybe i shouldn’t be saying this, but… i think you should be careful. i’m worried he’s gonna do something awful. he certainly doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”

his face is close to yours, an unspoken tension filling the air between you.

“is that so?” he asks while you slightly sit up with a serious face, “do you? have my best interests at heart?”

it’s a bold thing to ask while he had his hands on you just seconds ago, and you’re holding your bikini top in front of your chest, which does little to actually hide your perky nipples from him.

“maybe.”

one corner of his mouth curls up. it’s clear to you both that you enjoy his presence and he enjoys yours, and that whatever dynamic it is that you have can never see the light of day as long as your father still roams this earth.

“why are you telling me this? could be your dad’s golden ticket to getting that position.”

yeah, you should’ve seen that question coming. honestly, you’re not sure why you’ve grown to like him as much as you have, but to you, he’s not the bad guy your father has always described him to be. and that scares you, because mingyu has a point — why would you tell him something that might put your dad’s job at risk?

“i just... want my father to beat you fair and square, i guess. consider it good sportsmanship.”

he’s smirking now, coming to exactly two conclusions: one, you’re a terrible liar, and two, you like him.

“careful, sweetheart. i might start to think you’re switching teams.”

“mingyu.”

“i’ll be fine. promise.” he tells you in a manner that’s a little too smug for his own good, and it has you tilting your head at him. “i’ll pinky swear if that’s what you’d prefer.”

he’s got you rolling your eyes at him, making him smile, and your moment together is interrupted by the sound of your father’s voice somewhere near the driveway, which is enough for mingyu to know he should get the fuck away from you and your tiny bikini.

“i’ll see you later, alright?” he says, his ego suddenly boosted through the damn roof.

you like him.

he doesn’t even give a shit that your father is looking into his past. hell, maybe he’s curious to see what’ll come out.

and while heading back into the estate, planning to go into his room to change into some clothes more fitting for the heat, he walks past your room again, and he notices the door is slightly ajar. he assumes you must’ve left it open on accident, so he should probably close it up for you.

but he makes the mistake of looking inside as he puts his hand on the doorknob.

because right in front of him sits your opened suitcase, a pretty set of red lingerie on top of some neatly folded skirts.

no, this is a line he can’t cross. sure, the knowledge that you’re still lounging by the pool would be perfect if he wanted to take it, but this — no, he can’t go as far as to do something like that without your permission.

clenching his jaw, he sighs to himself.

maybe he should feel like a pervert when he walks out of your room with your red panties stuffed in his pocket. in a way, he kind of does, but he enjoys the feeling. he feels good, knowing the piece of fabric that you’ve worn is in his possession.

he feels even better when he uses it to jerk off later that night, hot spurts of cum hitting his abdomen while he thinks of fucking you. just the sight of your panties coated in his release is enough to get him hard again, so he continues to fist his cock, imagining the curves of your body.

and he decides it doesn’t matter what it’ll cost him — one way or another, he will have you.

with a heavy sigh rolling past your lips, you switch from your back to lay on your side.

you’re not sure why you’ve been tossing and turning for the past two hours or so, but it has you frustrated and sweaty. it’s too hot in the room to sleep under the covers but it feels wrong not to have some sort of blanket over you, and closing your eyes forcibly isn’t working as you’re still wide awake.

checking your phone, the light hurts your eyes in the darkness of the room. it’s in the middle of the night, and according to your weather app, it’s supposedly cooled down significantly outside, so maybe a short walk through the garden might do you good.

pulling on a thin top and a soft pair of shorts, you step into your slippers and quietly leave your room, carefully walking through the hallway to make sure you don’t wake anyone up.

you head down the stairs, softly closing the door to the outside behind you, and you’re about to walk down the steps to the garden until you look to the side, and you’re pretty sure there’s someone sitting at the terrace. it’s at a distance, so it’s hard to tell, especially in the darkness.

then you recognize the dark hair and the broad shoulders, even from behind — mingyu.

it’s enough for you to walk over to him, and he looks up at you once you’re standing beside him, a cigarette between his lips and a glass of whiskey to go with it.

“hey,” he greets you softer than ever before, “what’re you doing up, sweetheart? it’s late.”

“couldn’t sleep. what are you doing up?”

“can i give the same answer?”

“sure.” you shrug, and he gestures for you to sit in the chair across from him, which you do.

he leans back in his chair. “you know, i just realized i didn’t thank you for warning me about your father yesterday.”

“you don’t need to.”

“i do. i appreciate it, so... thank you.”

you roll your eyes as if to casually play it off, but you both know better. while the silence that follows between you is comfortable, you just can’t help yourself. “i didn’t even know you’d been married until i heard my dad say it.”

“you sound surprised. is the idea of someone marrying me so strange to you?” he asks, pouring you a glass of whiskey, which you gladly take.

“no, the idea of someone divorcing you is.” you answer, and when he looks at you suggestively, you shake your head. “don’t take this as a compliment, but… from the outside, you seem like the type of guy who’s got it all.”

“and what would that all be?”

of course he knows the answer to that question. he just wants to hear you say it.

which leads you to shrug. “you’re a handsome, smart millionaire from a prominent family. for most people, that’s everything, right?”

mingyu sighs. staring into the massive fields of grass in the distance, he runs a hand through his dark locks. “yeah. just not for everyone.”

you sit up straight, tilting your head, the teasing in your tone gone entirely. “your wife... left you for someone else?”

“she found love elsewhere. i couldn’t blame her. we were in a loveless marriage.” he doesn’t know what it is about you that’s making him open up, but he does. there’s no stopping the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “it was a business proposition to me, but in hindsight, it wasn’t for her. she genuinely liked me. and when i agreed to marry her, i thought to myself — surely i’ll grow into that love. and it just never happened.”

his clear disappointment in himself makes you hesitate before speaking up. “was the divorce messy?”

“oh, it was terrible. the woman hates me. with good reason, i guess.” he rubs at the inside of his eye with his finger. “and you know what the thing is? i didn’t even give a fuck. i don’t think i’ve ever even been in love. or i hadn’t been, back then.”

the sudden confession falling from his lips surprises both of you. mingyu tells himself it’s the alcohol that’s making him open up to you, but in reality, he doubts it.

“is that what’s keeping you up at night? not having fallen in love?”

“for a really long time, it has.” he breathes out, not having the guts to say to you he’s pretty sure he is in love now — it’s such a foreign feeling to him that he doesn’t know how to deal with it. “but it’s more than that. it’s my job that i hate, my life that i hate, the face in the mirror that i can’t stand. i’m just... tired. always surrounded by people yet always alone.”

god, he needs to shut the fuck up. saying things like these is terrifying, and he’s afraid of how you might respond to it, but you don’t seem to be judging him at all.

“i thought you enjoyed working in this business.”

“no, i hate it. i like the praise and the money, but... doing something you’re good at doesn’t automatically equal liking it, as i’ve discovered.”

“but then — why are you fighting so hard to regain that position?”

“because it was my sister’s company. she got sick two years ago, begged me to look after it. she did a remarkable job at expanding it, and her career is everything to her. she didn’t trust anyone else to take over, and i couldn’t let her down. and my family has always worked in this industry, meaning they won’t respond well to my leaving it. but just the knowledge that i’ve been doing this for the past twenty years, and probably having to continue until i retire... i despise it.”

“so if you don’t want to do this type of job — what is it you’d want to do?”

the question makes his face light up. “i’ve always had the dream of setting up a label that represents artists in different industries. musicians, actors, dancers, filmmakers, producers — along those lines.”

“really? i didn’t think you’d be into that kind of thing.”

“oh, i am. one of my neighbors with a house down the road, she’s an exceptional painter. has some of her art up for sale but really doesn’t see how good her paintings are — i’ve bought several of her pieces. everyone who walks into the house for the first time asks about it. i just wanna give people like that a chance to showcase their art to more people.”

he speaks of it so passionately, and as he continues to talk about it with you, you realize how well you get along with him, how you have a lot of interests in common with eachother, and that neither of you wants to leave the other’s presence.

but as the hours pass, you’re both starting to get sleepy, and with the whiskey bottle practically emptied and his last cigarette sitting put out in the ashtray, he decides it’s time for both of you to go to bed.

mingyu shushes you in the hallway when you laugh at something he said, unable to help the smile on his face.

when you arrive at your room, you turn to face him. “look, i just wanted to say that... i think you should chase your dreams, as cliche as that might sound. it’s your life, you should do what makes you happy. your family can’t expect you to live by their standards forever.”

“then you haven’t met my family.”

“how bad could they possibly be? hey, if your parents end up banishing you from coming over during christmas or something, you can come over to our place instead. promise.”

there’s amusement on his face now. “i doubt your father would welcome me.”

“i’ll invite you over as my guest. so no need to worry.”

“okay. i’ll keep it in mind, yeah?”

“yeah, you do that, mister.” your fierce need to make him feel better about himself is endearing, he finds.

“alright, c’mon. time to go to bed.” he tells you, opening your door for you. the booze in your system is making you daring, so you look at him like his words have a different meaning, which he catches quickly. “to sleep, sweetheart.”

it makes you roll your eyes, but you do as he says. “fine. goodnight, mingyu.”

“goodnight.” he watches you go into your room with a sweet smile, which he reciprocates, and while he walks back to his room, he finally understands — this is what it must feel like to be in love with someone.

the next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache. you really drank one glass too many last night, and after pulling yourself out of bed and going downstairs to get breakfast, you join your parents already sitting at their usual table.

the weather is much more bearable today, as the temperate has finally gone down significantly compared to the past weeks. the cool breeze blows through your hair as you put some of the scrambled eggs onto your fork.

“did you sleep well, honey?” your father asks, looking mildly concerned at the bags underneath your eyes.

“yeah, fine. just got a bit of a headache.” you shrug, certainly not planning on telling your parents that you were up nearly all night, secretly hoping to jump your father’s worst enemy like a tree.

after a few minutes, your dad walks away to go to the restroom, and your mother’s tone changes into something sharper. “what were you really doing last night?”

“nothing?”

“don’t you lie to me. i went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. just when i’m about to get back into bed, i see you, through the window, sitting outside next to kim mingyu on that terrace.”

shit. that’s certainly not good.

“mom, i just—i couldn’t sleep, so i was gonna go on a walk, and i just greeted him, and he offered me a drink. that was it. why are you acting like i did something wrong?”

“has he tried anything with you?”

“you don’t understand—”

“no, you’re the one who doesn’t understand. yes, he’s charming and good-looking and rich — but he’s also a man who will do whatever’s necessary to take what he wants. and currently, that’s your father’s position.” she tells you, everything she says completely unfiltered. “convenient that he’s getting closer to you of all people, right? has he made you feel special? wanted?”

the words are like a punch to the gut. you want to tell your mother that she’s wrong, that he’s not like that. that he wouldn’t do such a thing.

but the little voice in your head begins to creep in. what if he is like that? what if he’s indeed just using you as a means to an end? you’ve always thought you were smart. you can’t let yourself end up betrayed like that. really, how long have you known him now? a couple weeks?

your mother’s tone is softer this time. “i don’t want you to get hurt, honey. i wouldn’t say something like this if i didn’t think it was true.”

and you lower your head, not saying another word — but your facial expression says enough. you feel ashamed, in a way. how did you let some guy play you like this?

she turns to look behind her to see if your father has returned yet, and when it’s clear he hasn’t, she sighs. “they’re planning to host a gala here, in three days time, during the last night of the stay. and based on what we’ve heard, that’s when the higher-up will be announcing who got the position.”

a feeling of nervousness floods through you. surely the information you’ve given mingyu won’t be the dealbreaker for his career, right?

oh, fuck.

you don’t have it in you to come clean to your mother about the things you’ve said to him. “do you think dad stands a chance?”

she shakes her head. “i wish i knew, but both your father and mingyu have people on the board backing them up. it’s hard to say. the investors are tight-lipped.”

taking a deep breath, you can barely swallow the last bite of your breakfast. “mom, i didn’t ruin dad’s chances, right?”

despite her harsh tone earlier, she puts her hand on your back, comforting you. “no, i think it’d take more than this to do so. but you need to promise me one thing — you’ll stay away from mingyu these next couple days, or at least until the announcement has been made. okay?”

with an anxious sigh, you nod in agreement. “yeah. i promise.”

over the next two days, you somehow manage to avoid mingyu like the plague. you watch him from a safe distance, and you try not to think he must be looking for you every time his eyes scan the room. the few times he spots you, you sneakily slip away, and you’re gone from his field of view before he can comprehend it.

he doesn’t understand why you’re keeping your distance from him all of a sudden. he doesn’t think he said anything bad — matter of fact, he was under the impression that your last conversation went well. really well. why don’t you allow him to get close anymore?

it’s the morning of the final day, and he’s heading into town to get a new tie for the event tonight when he suddenly spots you in the store across from him, looking as gorgeous as ever.

you’re checking out a pair of heels to wear tonight when you feel the presence of someone behind you.

so you turn around, met with the sight of him, and he knows something is wrong when you don’t greet him as you used to. no kind smile, no teasing — just the face of someone who really doesn’t want to be around him.

“can i help you?” you ask with a voice cold as ice.

he refrains from making any snarky comments, since you certainly don’t seem in the mood for it. “why are you avoiding me?”

taking a deep breath, you shrug. “it’s the last week. the vacation is practically over, we’re going back home tomorrow.”

“so everything that we talked about the other night — you were just planning to never talk to me again after that?” he asks, not believing you at all. he knows you’re hiding something from him. “what’s this really about?”

your cold attitude shifts into anger. “look, i’m not falling for your act anymore, so you can just drop it.”

“what the hell are you talking about?”

“you were just using me to get closer to what you really want. my dad’s position.” you hiss at him, body heating up from how close he’s standing to you. “i’m not gonna be a pawn in your game for one more second.”

with a deep frown etched into his forehead, he scoffs in disbelief. “you’re kidding, right? do you really believe i’d stoop that low?”

“i don’t know what to believe. what i do know is that today is the final day, and i wanna be able to enjoy it. so just... stay away from me.”

before he can protest, you’ve already walked past him, leaving the store all by yourself. he’s frozen in his spot, upset that you’d think he’d go that far. there’s no way you completely switched up on him like this out of nowhere — someone must’ve said something to you.

whatever caused you to think this is irrelevant. he only has tonight to prove you wrong, and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

hours later, he’s standing in the estate’s huge main hall, which has been beautifully decorated with flowers and candlelights. the men are all in their tuxedos, the women in their long gowns.

anxiety is a rare thing for mingyu, yet it’s all that’s rushing through him right now. he has yet to spot you, even though most people are here already, and he’s wondering why the fuck you’re not here yet.

but then he sees you walk into the room through the other entrance. just the sight of you in that stunning dress is enough to steal his breath.

you lock eyes with him from your spot next to your father, having to force yourself to tear your gaze away from him. he looks utterly handsome in his expensive suit and styled hair, and as upset as you feel by the sudden change in your dynamic, you’re still so fucking attracted to him.

maybe, deep down, part of you still wants him. but you can’t allow yourself to think about that.

two hours have passed when the music suddenly stops playing. one of the men you recognize as an associate of your father’s gets up on the first few steps of the staircase, tapping on the microphone to test if it’s on.

he begins to talk about how the two companies have each had quite a history, that the merger marks the beginning of an exciting new chapter — you don’t care much for it.

but then he goes on about two men who each led their company as best they could, and you could cut the tension in the hall with a knife. anxiously, you fiddle with your rings, wishing the announcement could just hurry up already.

and then, they call your father’s name, saying he will take over leadership as the new ceo.

everyone in the hall claps at the announcement, and your parents look very controlled with their big smiles. while your father goes up to his associate, taking the microphone to give a brief speech, you turn to look at mingyu.

he’s clapping for your father just like everyone else. he doesn’t look surprised at all — but it’s not exactly happiness that paints his features, either. you can’t put a finger on it.

when everyone else is raising their champagne glasses in a toast, mingyu exits the room, taking the other staircase to get away from everyone.

you clench your fists, unable to shake the itch that wants to follow him.

you and him can’t part like this — you need some kind of closure with him. you need to know the truth.

getting up the stairs, you find him standing in his study, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it in one go, the alcohol burning in his chest. his back is still facing you, but somehow, he’s already figured out it’s you behind him.

“you know, it doesn’t really matter who told you i was trying to seduce you for my own gain.” he says without looking back at you, pouring himself a second glass. “because the thing is — if i wanted to have that position, i wouldn’t need you to get it.”

the words make you frown. “and how do you know that?”

there’s a smug look on his face once he finally turns around, and he sets the glass onto his desk with an audible clink. “they were gonna do it; make me the ceo. you know that influence is always gonna win, sweetheart.”

“what the hell are you doing? bragging about the victory you didn’t get?” you sneer at him.

but mingyu is not composed as he usually is. matter of fact, he seems desperate in some way, like he’s utterly falling apart, his breathing heavy and uneven. “your father only became ceo because i quit. i told them i wouldn’t do it anymore.”

“why? after all these weeks of this ridiculous competition—”

“you wanna know why? i did it because of you.” he breathes out, and you take a step back every time he steps forward. “i hated that fucking job. but more importantly, i couldn’t have you think that i played you to get it back. because i didn’t.”

he’s slowly backing you up against the wall, and you’re letting him, the distance between your bodies closing bit by bit. “i thought you only got close to me ‘cause you wanted to win.”

oh baby, he thinks, you have no idea.

bumping into the shelves of books behind you, he’s got you caged, his left arm resting beside your head. your gaze briefly flicks down to his lips, and as if you shouldn’t, you make eye contact with him again.

“c’mon, doll. you know in your bones that i’ve wanted to fuck you for weeks now. you actually believe i only got close to you for some job?”

“didn’t you?” you choke out rhetorically, curious to see how much he’ll say about his desire for you — curious to see how perverse his thoughts have really been.

mingyu presses his lips together, having to restrain himself. “at that first party, you looked like you just stepped out of my dreams. you were so mean to me... god, i already liked you from the start.”

“i don’t—i don’t believe you.” a blatant lie. you do believe him; you just want him to keep going, to keep admitting how your mere presence here has been driving him up the wall.

he knows exactly what game you’re playing, and he’s more than happy to indulge you. his hand trails up the side of your hip.

there’s a quick, sinful laugh that rolls past his lips at your reaction.

“that bikini you had on…. i tried not to stare. you let me rub sunscreen on your back, and then you told me you were worried about me with only your hands covering your tits. i almost began to think you were doing it on purpose.” he lowers his head, taking in the floral scent you’re wearing before pressing a kiss to your neck.

a hot wetness rises between your legs. all you want is for him to bend you over his desk, to touch you all over your body, to finally give you what you’ve been wanting him to give since you met.

his right hand runs through your hair, going down to your cheek, his thumb brushing your lower lip, and he’s about to lean in and finally kiss you when someone walks in.

one of the waiters, apparently. “mr. kim, there’s people asking for you downstairs.”

“i’m busy.”

“they’ve asked for you several times already.”

mingyu huffs, but agrees to come with, even though he really doesn’t want to leave you. “fine, fine. just give me a second.” his gaze turns much softer when it’s directed at you again, his face still mere inches away from yours. “we’re not done.”

all you can do is nod, and much to his frustration, he has to walk out of this damn room without getting to kiss you.

both of you end up in the main hall again. people ask him why he decided not to continue in this business and congratulate you for your father’s win. you all respond to them mindlessly with the same lines over and over again.

all you can think about is him — all he can think about is you.

eventually, while your parents and many others are still dancing and drinking downstairs, you decide to retire for the night and head up the stairs. you just figure mingyu’s gonna be too busy tonight to spend any more time with you anyways, in spite of your heated moment in his study earlier.

in your bedroom, you pull your dress off and change into something much more comfortable, planning to lie in bed and scroll on your phone for a little while.

about thirty minutes later, you’ve put your phone away, half-asleep when you catch the noise of the doorknob being twisted around in the distance, and you think you register someone coming in. assuming it’s just your thoughts, you sink deeper into sleep.

just being in your room is enough to make mingyu want to claw away at the walls. how many times has he walked past this room, stopping to catch a glance of you as you undressed? how many times has he gotten hard from just thinking about you, or seeing you all dolled up? how many pairs of your panties has he snatched away, safely tucked away in the secrecy of his nightstand?

the desire he feels for you might be considered unhealthy. he’s not sure.

then again, he also doesn’t care.

not when you’re in this bed, wearing nothing more than a white tanktop and dark blue panties.

his twitching cock presses against the fabric of his pants. biting at the inside of his cheek, he gets into your bed, positioning himself behind you, and the creaking of the bed causes you to wake up. when you turn to look beside you, you gasp, saying his name louder than you intended to, after which he shushes you with a finger to your lips.

“the walls are thin here, doll.” he warns, his eyes travelling down to your cleavage.

you talk to him in a quieter manner now. “what are you doing here?”

honestly, you don’t even know why you’re asking. it seems clear enough.

“i’m here because—” as if he were suffering from overheating, he feels the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, “—you are driving me insane to the point i can’t think anymore.”

turning you around so your back faces him and then pulling you closer, his hand begins to lower itself towards your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your panties.

you let him breathe down your neck, and you certainly don’t stop him when he tests out the water by dipping two fingers underneath the cotton of your panties, slowly getting closer to touching your pussy.

he rubs his hard cock against your ass, groaning to himself at the feeling of your clothed skin against his. “do you want me to do this? tell me to stop and i will.”

but you don’t refute him, gasping when he rubs at your clit for the first time. he kisses down your jaw, breathing heavily by your ear as his fingers dip into the heat between your legs.

“i knew i was gonna find you wet,” he whispers in a tone that’s almost mean, “this is what you wanted me to do all night, isn’t it?”

the pressure he applies to your clit is what gets your first moan out. he smirks to himself, moving himself to get on top of you, and you go on to lie on your back for him.

it’s then that he finally kisses you. it’s full of wanting and lust and pent up tension that’s finally getting out after weeks of being torturously restricted. your hands slide over his shoulders, up his neck, your fingers slightly pulling on his hair as he’s fantasized about so often.

you return the kiss like it’s the air you need to breathe. his mouth is like a brand on your lips — he pours his whole heart into that kiss, making him forget about every single thing that was running through his head.

his hands are moving down, pushing your top to sit above your breasts, and his tongue wets your nipples, licking them, taking them in his mouth.

he squeezes your tits, hungrily touching and kissing every square inch of your body. he’d melt into your skin if he could.

god, it feels like the heat is just dripping down your legs at this point. you’ve thought about those big hands and strong arms of his more times than you can count — and now you’ve got him in your bed, your hand sliding up his chest while he pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it on the floor, your panties off and thrown away just as easily.

he plays with your clit again, teasing you on purpose, watching you squirm under him.

“please, mingyu—” you breathe out, bucking your hips up against his hand, reacting just as he hoped you would.

“don’t worry, ‘m gonna take care of you, baby.” he promises, moving back onto the bed a little so he can put your legs over his shoulders, his tongue on your pussy.

the sudden sensation causes you to grab onto the sheets, a whimper escaping you.

the sound of his name on your lips has his chest swelling with pride. it slices through him all the way to his core, the eroticism of it making his carnal needs flare up.

it’s hard to tell whether the excessive wetness between your legs is his saliva or your arousal, but he certainly doesn’t care, his fingers digging into your thighs in greed. even with the moisture dripping down his chin and his jaw aching, he wants to taste more of you, get as close as humanly possible.

his grip on your waist turns so severe that he knows you’ll have some finger-shaped bruises there later.

another mark left by him — proving that you’re his.

the stimulation of your nerves causes your legs to clamp around his head, thighs nearly suffocating him, but he wants to tease you a bit more. “you can keep ‘em open for a little longer, can’t you?”

he clearly won’t continue until you give him an answer, so you nod, struggling to push the words out. “yes. please, just—touch me.”

like the smug asshole that he is, he pinches your clit, keeping you on edge. “what was that? i wanna hear it clearly.”

honestly, you don’t even care anymore. you just want his tongue back on your pussy, and you’ll get that one way or another. sitting up, you kiss him again, tasting your arousal on his lips.

“please eat me out, mingyu. i wanna cum on your tongue.”

a shiver goes down his spine. every time he thinks he’s got complete control over a situation, you get into his head like a siren, and he wants nothing more than to give you whatever it is you want from him.

and when he pushes you down on your back again, face diving right back into the heat between your thighs, you giggle to yourself, because you know it, too.

mingyu would eat you out for hours if you asked him to. he pulls at your thighs so he’s completely smothered by your wet, pulsing cunt, refusing to waste any time, picking up right where he left off. the scent of your pussy drives him into a frenzy, two of his fingers mercilessly rubbing at your clit.

you were trying your best to keep your noises down before, but at this point, you can no longer find it in you to care — the sensation of his tongue on you like this is too much to keep quiet.

while his lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen, he feels you’re close, hips bucking into his face while also trying to push him away out of reflex, the building pressure in your stomach starting to get too intense.

breaking away from your sopping wetness just for a moment, he murmurs, “c’mon, pretty girl. i wanna feel it. let go for me.”

his tongue is back on your skin, and you feel yourself hit your peak, your hand acting on its own when it pushes his head down, much to his pleasure.

warm sweat drips down your neck when you slightly regain your senses, cunt clenching around nothing as your legs tremble from your orgasm. mingyu is pretty sure just seeing you be this sensitive from his touch made him cum in his boxers.

even with the dark pants of his tuxedo still on, his erection is glaringly obvious, and the only thing going through your head is that you want him inside you.

he catches you staring and finally decides to take his pants off, his boxers rapidly following.

his hard cock springing free makes your mouth water. if you didn’t need to be fucked as desperately as you do right now, you’d have your mouth on him already.

he flips you onto your stomach, giving a smack to your ass, and he immediately notices how sensitive you are, assuming it’s from your orgasm.

“gyu, wait, i’m—” you try to tell him, but he’s already caught sight of it.

a shiny, heart-shaped, red jewel stares back at him, and if he thought this night couldn’t get any better, he was sorely mistaken.

“when did you put that in, sweetheart?” he asks, trying to come across as calm when in truth, he’s losing his shit at how badly he wants to fuck you, his lust increasing to levels he’s never even experienced before.

“couple minutes before you came in.”

lord, if you were to tell him you’ve slipped an aphrodisiac in his champagne, he would believe you. just imagining you put some lube onto the steel buttplug, inserting it in your ass, having had it inside you this whole time he’s been touching you—

his hips are pressed up against your ass when he licks a long stripe up your back, putting one hand on the back of your neck. “have you ever worn it around me before?”

“you remember that time we talked by the pool?” you answer, and his heartbeat shoots through the damn roof.

jesus christ.

so you were wearing that plug when he was putting sunscreen on your back. he remembers feeling you tense up a little — fuck, just thinking about it makes his cock twitch.

“oh, you fucking slut. i like you.” his palm hits your ass again, at which you let out a low chuckle.

“then fuck me.”

“in which hole, sweetheart?” he so nicely asks, at which you shrug.

“your choice.”

he’s reaching inside his wallet, ripping the package open with his teeth and rolling the condom around his cock. he chooses to leave the buttplug in your ass, as it’ll offer you some extra stimulation while he fucks you.

slowly burying himself inside you to the hilt, his eyes roll back while letting out a low groan. god, he’s only pushing himself in, but you’re so warm, so wet — it’s a miracle he’s not immediately emptying himself inside you.

you arch your back for him, his hands reaching to hold onto your hips. he slowly begins to move, making you feel every inch of his cock as it slowly drags in and out of you.

“feels good, doesn’t it? being all filled up.” he breathes out, ever so slightly increasing his pace, still making sure he keeps burying his dick into you as deep as it can go, each time. “if i’d known you wanted my cock this badly...”

“then what?”

“then i wouldn’t have had to steal so many panties of yours.” he confesses, lowering his upper body so his chest is pressed against your back as he fucks you from behind. “i would’ve slipped into your room and fucked you night after night.”

his words make your eyes widen. over the past weeks, you noticed a few pairs go missing, but you shrugged it off. only once did it cross your mind that maybe someone took them, but you found it such a reach that you swiftly shrugged it off.

you had no idea his desire for you made him go to these lengths, and maybe it shouldn’t be something that turns you on — but you’re well past the debate of what you should and shouldn’t be doing.

“stealing a girl’s panties? that’s a little perverted, even for you.” you challenge him, and he smirks at the statement.

breathing into your neck, he whispers, “if that alone is perverted to you, you’re not gonna like what i did with them.”

“you gonna tell me?”

well, if you’re asking him — who is he to deny a request from you?

“the first pair was the red lacy one. i just couldn’t stop imagining you in that, with a matching bra, sitting on top of me. riding me, taking whatever you want from me... i hoped that maybe, eventually, you’d stand at my door, asking if you could come in, wearing nothing but that set. or that night when we talked for hours — if you wanted to get in my lap and fuck me right then and there, i would’ve let you.”

the confession has you clenching on him. he fucking knew you’d like hearing that.

a really filthy part of him wants nothing more than to record this, just to throw it in your father’s face — just to say yeah, i fucked your little girl.

the way he fits in you is so — perfect. like he belongs there. he’s buried so deep, you swear he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out. the pace of his hips rocking against you is slow and mean, the noise of his cock going in and out of your wet pussy so utterly pornographic that it makes his head spin.

with his left hand, he pulls at the handle of your buttplug, enough to make your hole clench around it but ensuring it stays in all the same. it’s so much; it makes your legs tremble, your arms beginning to give out on you, yet at the same time, you want more.

like clockwork, he fucking knows it.

“tell me what you need. i wanna hear you say it, baby.” his voice is firm and authorative, sentences coming out through gritted teeth. “i’ll give it to you.”

you have to force yourself to push it out of your throat. “fuck me harder, gyu—please.”

mingyu isn’t sure what it is that makes him snap — the nickname you’re now using for him, the sheer need in your voice, your body looking like you’re absolutely crumbling under him or the request that’s just crawled out of you.

his arm loops under your chin, right around your throat, and he drags your body back against his chest his chest like you weigh nothing. you’re breathless, tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts as he bends you into a headlock.

you’re completely soaked. his pace is something close to vicious now as he slams into you from behind, the force of it causing your body to jolt in his grip. your legs are shaking, but he’s fucking you so hard that you can’t even think about the possibility of not being able to sit up properly.

“is that what you wanted? this hard enough for you?” he rasps with his lips by your ear, breathing heavily into your neck. his tone is so mean and degrading that you tighten around him, making him hiss out, “yeah, that’s it, huh? you like being fucked like this.”

you nod at his words, gasping a little with every thrust. his pace doesn’t falter in the slightest. the sound of skin slapping echoes through the room, and jesus christ, if no one in the estate has heard anything so far with how loud you’re both being, it’d be a damn miracle.

too fucked out to speak, you moan at the deep pressure building in your gut, so close to your orgasm that it makes you want to sob. it has your pussy clenching around him, and he can feel how close you are.

it has him groaning behind you. “i’m not stopping ‘til you cream on my cock. c’mon, sweetheart.”

him spurring you on is enough to make you hit your climax. your orgasm hits violently, and he fucks you right through it until a long, dragged-out moan escapes him. his hips jerk and body shudders as he spills inside the condom.

for a brief moment, he keeps holding you in the same position, both of you sitting still, your shaking bodies leaning against eachother. you’re both panting, covered in sweat, his cock twitching as he remains buried deep inside you.

you’re like a limp wreck in his arms. he releases you from his hold, gently letting you down onto the matress, flipping you over so you lie on your back, able to breathe properly.

he kisses your collarbone, letting himself collapse on top of you, and you cough from his entire bodyweight pushing you down. “gyu, you’re crushing me.”

“sorry.” he chuckles, and you’re able to laugh at it, his exhaustion making you grin in satisfaction — after the fuck he just gave you, he can crush you like this for as long as he wants.

the rays of sunlight shining on your face the next morning get you to realize you fell asleep mere minutes after what might’ve been the best sex of your life, and the man who so kindly gave it to you is still in your bed, snoring soundly by your side.

and he’s still entirely naked, just like you.

wait, you suddenly think to yourself, what time is it?

turning around to look at your phone, you notice it’s nearly ten o’clock — you promised your parents you’d be ready at that time, to have breakfast together and then head to the airport for your flight back home.

“shit!” you push at mingyu’s body, trying to get him awake. “mingyu!”

he frowns, still half-asleep. “why the hell are you being so loud?”

“because i overslept, and my parents are about to check in on me, and they cannot see you, or i’m as good as dead.”

mingyu rubs at his eyes, unable to refrain from snickering when he watches you get out of bed, having a hard time walking around from how sore you are. “tell your parents you’re not feeling well and take a flight later.”

“yeah, no. they don’t tolerate that sort of thing.”

“we can hide in my room, if you’d prefer. in bed. together.”

throwing his pants at his face, you try to snap him back to reality. “get out, gyu. seriously.”

“hey, are you still wearing that buttplug?” he cheekily asks with that damn smirk on his face again, at which you continue to throw clothing at him — the blazer of his tuxedo, this time around.

you walk over to his side to drag him out of the bed, and he hurriedly puts his pants from last night on, huffing when you shove his remaining clothes against his chest. “i gotta get ready, and you need to go. make sure no one sees you.”

when he’s almost at the door, he stops his movement. “are we really not gonna talk about what we did? you know i like you.”

“i’m so charmed.” you quip at him, but he tilts his head.

“doll.”

“yes, we’ll talk about it. just not here, and not now. will you please just go?” you’re nearly begging him, and he sighs, nodding at you. the mere idea of taking you out on a real date is making his chest swell up in excitement.

“i’m holding you to that.” he says, and you nod, gesturing for him to get to the door already.

once he finally opens said door to leave, you press your lips together the very moment there seems to be someone right outside — someone who looks angry.

mingyu’s smirk slowly fades from his face when he recognizes your father, and he looks down at his bare chest, realizing you’re barely dressed as well, proceeding to smile awkwardly at himself.

this is bad. really bad.

but he’s always had the habit of making things worse.

“well, um…” he scrapes his throat, “morning. great weather outside, right?”

to say he receives the worst black eye he’s had in his life so far would be putting it mildly.

thank u for reading, let me know if u enjoyed it <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ hell isn't a place, it's a person ]❜

ft. hwang in-ho x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ after the failed rebellion, the frontman takes you for his own┊2.4k words

contains: smut!! dom in-ho & sub reader┊extremely dubious consent due to drugging (via needle, sedative & aphrodisiacs), yandere in-ho, obsessive possessive behaviors, unspecified but obviously legal age gap, guilt & jealousy, receiving oral, unprotected piv, cockwarming, rushed/abrupt ending 

➤ author's note: fuck the ending of squid game and fuck the ending of this fic

now that the revolt had been squashed under his polished shoe like a stubborn roach, he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it all. the past few days were meant for him to keep an eye on you and seong gi-hun after you two teamed up to bring an end to the games, but he found himself forming a bond with his teammates that grew stronger as they overcame all of the obstacles thrown their way together. you all made him smile and laugh in ways he had forgotten how to, bringing warmth to his ice-cold heart and making him forget, even if it was just for a moment, the real reason why he was there. despite being the orchestrator of these sadistically savage games, he managed to find his soul that he thought was ripped away from him before, and it made him wonder late at night if there was a possibility of redemption.  

well, obviously, there wasn’t anymore, not when the pastel walls were painted with red and the grounds were littered with the bodies of the rebels who considered him to be their friend. at least they don’t know the truth of his betrayal, no, that’s something he has to carry on his own. the fight was over before it even started with how outnumbered they were, but they certainly made a mess of things before going out with a bang as the automated voice over the speakers called out their numbers when the guards were scanning them with their devices for signs of life.

the only one left alive was you, as per his orders, but you looked dead enough with the blood of your comrades splattered across your face and your entire body stiller than a statue. there was a little barely noticeable mark on your neck, showing where you had been pricked with a sedative after putting up quite a fight. unfortunately, you were no match for the guard who was holding the syringe when it came to wrestling. he’s sure it’s less painful than a bullet to the skull, but you might have preferred to die alongside the others rather than suffer the fate he had in store for you. you look so peaceful when you were knocked out, like you hadn’t just spent the past half-hour fighting for your life, a look he’s never seen before when you’ve been nothing but on edge ever since you got here. 

it’s pretty, and a shame that he’ll never see it again.

by the time you come back to reality, you feel sluggish and stiff, like your limbs were wooden planks that were rotten underwater. everything was hazy, and there was a nonstop ringing in your ears every time you tried to raise your head to examine your surroundings. there was a burning candle somewhere in the background, but you couldn’t pinpoint what the scent was, if it was fruity or floral, or where it was when all of the lights were a dim orange. all you could feel was silk, the expensive kind too: silk pillowcases, silk bedsheets, and a silk dress you don’t remember putting on. the stink of sweat and death that clung to you for the past few days was gone too, replaced with a pleasant vanilla as all the filth was washed off your body, leaving your skin in a soft state. it was all so opulent, like how you used to dream of waking up in the morning surrounded by all the luxuries money could buy and not a single care in the world. it was too bad you felt ill in a way you couldn’t explain, feeling warmth like a fever coursing throughout your veins and a strange ache blooming in your core that confused you.

the need only seemed to intensify with every passing second, and as you turned to your side, all you could do was lazily rub your thighs together. your breathing grew more labored as your hand reached down to the source of the heat, dipping your fingers in as in a poor attempt to soothe it. your movements are uncoordinated as if you had forgotten how to do it, like all of the experience from late nights spent alone or after an underperforming boyfriend was thrown out the window.

you heard the faint sound of a door unlocking and swinging open followed by footsteps, repeating as the door was locked behind them. the person stood at the foot of the bed as ominously as a sleep paralysis demon, tall, dark, and handsome, unsure of what to do about your current situation. not quite unsure though, more like hesitant.

“young-il?”

he hates the way you called out that name, so light and airy, full of trust and relief now that there was someone you recognized. you didn’t even care about the embarrassing state you were in, you were just happy that he was there with you. you had blind faith in him and believed he was a good person, there was no reason for you to believe otherwise. as one of your teammates, he always helped protect you during the games, defended you from a few male players who wanted to pick a fight with you because of rejection, and gave you some of his food to ensure that you never had to go hungry and had the energy to do your best.

it’s not him you were happy to see, it was young-il. you saw the kind older man who cracked jokes you would only laugh at out of pity, not the real him, who you would probably be screeching at and finding a way to attack him despite all of the physical difficulties you needed to overcome. 

is he jealous? what a stupid word for a man of his age and occupation, and a stupid sentiment too— jealous of the stupid alter ego he made up just so that he could fit in more seamlessly. you would never feel anything but pure hatred towards him unless he maintains the facade. he did all of this and kept you alive because he wanted to have something with you, something that wouldn’t be possible outside of the games, but he was foolishly naive to believe that. it was going to haunt the two of you for the rest of your mortal lives, but at least it was going to be spent together, whether you liked it or not.

“young-il,” you called out to him again, breaking him out of his thoughts, “could you please help me?”

you didn’t even know what you were asking from him, if you wanted him to help you figure out what was going on, or if you wanted him to help you alleviate your arousal. although it didn’t really matter what you had intended when you said it, there was only one thing he was willing to help you and it wasn’t the former. 

the mattress sank under him as he joined you on the bed, his movements slow and careful as if he were approaching a wounded wild animal. you looked confused about his clothing, why he was in a pitch black coat rather than the teal tracksuit you were given at the beginning, but didn’t question it since you were also dressed in something other than your usual clothing. his hand reached over to your forehead, measuring the temperature radiating off of your body, before cupping your face with his palm. 

you instinctively nuzzled into his touch, panting softly. the aphrodisiacs he had given you were really starting to kick in the presence of another, making you all pliant and needy for him like he dreamed of having you as, easy to influence however he pleased. “help me, please.”

he didn’t say anything but moved to do as you asked, situating himself between your legs as well as holding you under his arms and his intense gaze that was wandering all over your body, drinking in the sight of you looking up at him with those doe eyes he could drown in and your willingness to submit to him. it’s only because of the drugs affecting your mind, he knows that, but if he ignores that little voice in his head that reminds him that you would never love the real him, he could pretend you do and are admiring him as in-ho rather than young-il.

you kissed him first, pulling him towards you as his lips crashed onto yours, your limbs trapping him in your grasp as your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs around his. you wanted him in such a way that didn’t feel possible, like you would die if you didn’t have him right now to quench that insatiable thirst that was drying up your throat. what an irredeemable monster he is to be getting off to your desperation that he caused, but he would be an even bigger one if he left you to suffer alone.

“please, i need you so bad right now…”

“you need to be patient. i want to take my time with you.”

“no,” your whisper strained to a whine, “i want you now, please—”

his eyes trailed down your torso until they landed on your baby pink panties, an evident wet patch of arousal leaving a sticky, honeyed mess in between your thighs as you spread them a bit wider for him. he could smell the sweetness mixed with the soft vanilla scent from the bath the guards had given you, driving him insane to the point that he could feel himself salivating like a damn dog and losing all restraint as he shoved his face in for a taste.

you let out a mewl when his tongue made contact with your heat, laying flat between the folds with his nose nudging at your delicate clit as your fingers tangled with his dark locks and tugged on them to push him closer. normally, he wouldn’t have allowed you to be so bossy and exert any semblance of control over him. he would have halted all of his movements and tied you up to the bed as a reminder of who was really in charge, but decided against it. it’s not like you would have listened anyway, not when the desire of the flesh was overtaking any ounce of rational thinking you might have had left in that pretty head of yours.

all the while, you called out his name through frivolous cries and moans, the loveliest sounds from the song of the angel, only for you to shatter the illusion by calling out that cursed name instead. young-il, young-il, young-il—

“stop calling me that,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous, his hot breath fanning over your spit-slicked cunt and sending shivers down your spine, both at the sensation and at his tone of voice. you looked at him in confusion, understandably, but you seemed to be more annoyed at the fact that he stopped more than anything.

“okay, okay, i won’t, i won’t call you that,” you rambled, “just please don’t stop, please.”

needy, needy, needy, so good awfully needy and desperate for him to bring you to your peak. it might be one of his favorite sides he’s seen in you so far, before the side of you at complete peace from before, after the side of you displaying fiery rage and determination to help your friends out during the rebellion. now that he’s had his way, he’ll be seeing this every single night, keeping you as a companion for him to spoil and admire, away from your previous fate as a debt-ridden nobody. 

he continued with his ministrations, tongue-fucking your tight little slit and holding you down to prevent you from rocking against his face. there was a mixture of clear fluids starting to trickle down his chin and onto the sheets, but he paid it no mind, focused on nothing but making you climax so that he could finally take you for himself. his cock was rock-hard inside his trousers, oozing at the tip and clinging like cobwebs all over the inner fabric, wanting nothing more than to throw your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until you were leaking with his load. 

you’re quickly reduced to a mess, melting like putty in his hands and falling apart at the seams, head thrown back into the plush pillow and unable to stop yourself from squirming even though his fingers are digging into your sides as a warning. you’ve never felt anything like this before, a pleasure so intense you thought ecstasy would have been a better word to describe it. you chalked it up to his age and experience rather than knowing the extent of his obsession, but it didn’t matter to you what the reason was. all that mattered was that he made you finish, thighs trembling with a loud cry as your cunt gushed all over his lower face. 

he wasted no time in pulling down the waist belt of his slacks, allowing his cock to spring free and lining it up with your entrance. you couldn’t quite see him from this angle as your vision was covered by the black of his suit jacket, but you could certainly feel his size as his fat tip slowly started to bully its way into you. even though you were so soaked, there was still a noticeable stretch that was painful for the first few seconds before dissipating into pure bliss.

your breathing grew even more labored than it was before, letting out little pants as you tried to adjust to his thickness. he was getting impatient now that he’s started, bullying his way into you with shallow thrusts until he finally bottomed out with a groan. this is the closest he’ll ever be to heaven in this life and after, with his length buried in your warmth so deeply that he could feel his outline if he pressed down on your stomach. 

“... let’s stay like this for a bit…” he decided. he wanted to stay inside you like this forever, or at least for the rest of the night, appreciating every inch of you with the heavy head of his cock resting against your sweet spot and your velvety walls twitching around him. you didn’t protest, but you didn’t really have an option to say otherwise anyway, all you could do was fall asleep in his arms, blissfully unaware of what he had in store for you.

[bouqette]

tattoo artist!vi who was surprised to see you walk into her parlour for the first time. she had been eyeing you since you opened your florist across the street a few days ago. how could she not? you were just so pretty in your little floral sundress, always sending her a small smile whenever you caught her eye through the tinted windows of her shop. 

vi greeted you with a smirk, letting her eyes brazenly trail down the length of your body as you made your way over to the counter. she half expected you to be shy away from her gaze, to act a little flustered. but boy, she was not prepared to see you looking straight back at her with a teasing glint in your eyes.  

“hey,” you smiled.

gosh. if she thought you were pretty from afar, you were absolutely stunning up close.

vi chuckled under her breath, leaning forward to press her palms against the counter. you mirrored her movement, resting your forearms on top of the dark wood, the sweet smell of your perfume filling her lungs.  

“how can i help you, doll?”

vi found her usual confident tone oddly strained. was she nervous? heavens, no. of course she wasn’t. the heat blooming on her face was most definitely because of the hot weather outside, and had nothing to do with the way you were staring at her through fluttering lashes.  

“i was just wondering if you had any free slots today.” 

you tilted your head in faux innocence, and vi almost scoffed out loud. she knows that you know she doesn’t accept walk-ins — it’s written in big, bold letters on the sign plastered just outside her shop. still, vi didn’t hesitate with her response.

“i’m open any time for you, cupcake.” 

two can play the game. 

tattoo artist!vi who finally led you to the inside of the parlour, sitting you down on a smooth leather chair. she was wearing a sleeveless hoodie, giving you a clear view of the intricate tattoos that painted the back of her arms. you silently thanked her for her choice of clothing, appreciating the sight of her muscles flexing when she sanitised the workspace and laid out her tools.

“so, where do you want this, pretty girl?”

you snapped out of your thoughts, clearing your throat to still your nerves. your fingers fumbled with the hem of your dress, before slowly pulling it upwards. vi sucked in a sharp breath, the intensity of her gaze making your heart thud heavily against your chest. 

“here.” you said, shaking a little as you pointed at the bare skin just below your hip bone. 

you didn’t miss the way her pupils dilated at the sight of your exposed thigh, despite your nervousness, her reaction fuelled your ego. your fingertips danced along the edge of your lace underwear, hitching it up just an extra inch so she could have full view and access to the exposed skin. 

“right… there?” 

vi’s voice was low as she pressed a medical wipe to disinfect the area with a few swipes of her hand. her wrist felt stiffer than usual, and she was trying to suppress the urge to rip off her gloves, to feel your soft skin under hers. 

“y-yeah.” you stuttered under the heat of her touch.

vi laid down the stencil, the way her hand lingered for a moment longer sent a shiver down your spine. “you nervous, princess?” 

“a little.” you swallowed thickly, not wanting to admit that her presence itself was the major contributing factor, and not the idea of needles pricking at your skin. vi placed her gloved hand onto your thigh, giving it a squeeze. the action did little in calming your racing heart.

“let me know if you need a breather, yeah?”

tattoo artist!vi who tried her best to focus on inking the design onto your delicate skin, and to not think about just how exposed you were in front of her, on top of all the other things she wished she could be doing for you instead.

she thought she was going to lose her mind when you let out a quiet whimper when her needle pierced through a particularly sensitive part of your skin. the way you clenched your fists, trying to suppress the soft sounds from bubbling up your throat — it only proved to rile her up even more.

“you’re doing so good, doll.” vi murmured.

the rough praise made your face heat up. for once, you were grateful that her head was dipped down in focus, so she couldn’t see your dreadful attempt at keeping a straight face.

tattoo artist!vi who was relieved to finally finish up your small, fine line tattoo. it was one of the quickest tattoos she has ever made, but the entire process was nothing short of pure torture.  

“does it hurt?” she asked, her voice surprisingly soft. 

you bit your lip, shaking your head. “no.” your obvious lie making a genuine laugh slip through her lips.

“aw, couldn’t handle a little tattoo, princess?” vi cooed, her gloved hand resting on your inner thigh. your muscles tensed under her lingering touch, something which didn’t go unnoticed by the pink haired woman. 

“fine… it hurt a little, okay?” you admitted, turning away at the satisfied twitch of vi’s lips.

vi laughed, her hand brushing against your jaw, gently turning your face back towards her. she down looked at you smugly, leaning across the armrest of your chair. “lucky for you, i know a few things that can make you feel better.” she drawled out, the warmth of her breath fanning over your cheek.

“what’d you say, doll?”

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

don't lie to me

part I — part II — part III

pairing: boyfriend's!dad!ben x girlfriend!reader

content warning/s & word count: ben being his own warning, forbidden relationship, power imbalance, dubious morality, age gap, language, toxic relationship, heartbreak, smut (dirty talk, fingering, clitoral stimulation, squirting, oral, p in v, marking, biting kinda, degradation, gentle humiliation), minor guilt, sneaking around, I think that's it. 6.4k

The sheets were still warm where he'd left you.

You shifted slowly, the ache between your thighs blooming all over again the second you moved. It wasn’t pain, not really. It was heat. Stretch. Residual slickness clinging to skin that hadn’t even had a chance to cool. You could still feel the dull throb of his last thrust, the lazy weight of his mouth on your shoulder, the way he’d sighed after whispering that he wanted it to stay in you.

Now he was gone, and the room felt louder without him—too bright, too still, too aware of the mess you'd both made.

You rolled onto your back, exhaling sharply through your nose as you winced at the feeling of slickness gathering again between your thighs. It was leaking out of you. Still. Hours later. As if your body couldn’t quite let go of him. As if it didn’t want to.

The sounds downstairs were soft at first. The creak of old floorboards. The whistle of the kettle. Then—

His voice.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

Your whole body jolted.

Ben leaned against the doorframe, bare-chested, coffee in hand, sweatpants slung low on his hips. Hair wild. That slow, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth like he hadn’t just ruined you in a dozen different ways. Like this was all normal now. Like you were his.

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” he said, voice low and rough. “Looked too pretty all curled up like that.”

You pulled the sheet tighter around yourself, heart skittering in your chest. The words were so casual. So offhanded. Like you were just his girl, and he was just your man, and last night hadn’t been a war waged on everything you used to be.

“I made coffee,” he continued. “Bacon’s on. You hungry?”

You hesitated. Opened your mouth. Closed it. Then nodded, eyes downcast.

He smirked.

“Thought so. After the stuffin’ I gave you last night, I figure you earned a proper breakfast.”

Your cheeks burned so hot you could feel it down your neck. He knew what he was doing. The way he said it—like it was sweet. Like it was a compliment. Like he hadn’t been balls-deep in you not twelve hours ago, making you sob his name into the mattress.

“I don’t want to eat with Jamie,” you said quietly, almost a whisper.

Ben’s mouth twisted.

“Ah, fuck that little prick,” he muttered. “He’s lucky I didn’t knock his teeth out after that stunt yesterday. Don’t worry about him. He can eat his dry-ass cereal in silence. I’m cookin’ for you.”

Then, softer, eyes dragging down your bare shoulders. “Go get dressed, baby. I’ll keep him busy.”

And just like that, he was gone. No kiss. No I’ll see you downstairs. Just those broad shoulders disappearing down the hall, like it was already settled. Like this was your house now.

You sat frozen for a moment, heart pounding. Then—movement. You scrambled out of bed, legs unsteady, the sheet tangling around your ankles as you made your way to the door, every step making that dull ache inside you pulse again.

The house was quiet except for the kitchen. You could hear the low rumble of Ben’s voice from down the stairs. His tone was light. Teasing. The kind of tone he’d used last night when he’d kissed the inside of your thigh and said, "bet Jamie never even touched you here, huh?"

Your chest tightened.

You padded down the stairs as quietly as you could, toes brushing cool wood, hair a mess around your face. The hallway was empty. You ducked into the downstairs guest room, rummaged through your bag for something clean. A sundress. Light and soft and floral—something innocent to wrap around all the filth still clinging to your skin.

You pulled it on quick, no underwear. Not after last night. You couldn’t even imagine trying to get panties on over this much slick. Your thighs would stick together. You’d feel him all day. You already did.

You were halfway back to the hall when you saw it.

Your top. Crumpled on the floor beside the living room sofa, like a forgotten warning. You squeaked—literally squeaked—and lunged for it, snatching it up with shaking fingers. It smelled like sex. Like sweat and his cologne and everything you shouldn’t have done.

You stuffed it into your bag.

The voices from the kitchen drifted louder now, Ben laughing at something Jamie said. Your breath hitched.

“She’s got better taste than you ever deserved,” Ben said, voice smooth as whiskey.

You didn’t breathe.

Not until you were pressed flat to the wall just outside the kitchen, bag clutched tight, your entire body trembling with the weight of what you’d just heard.

And what he really meant.

You stepped into the kitchen like a girl stepping into a bear trap—slow, silent, a little breathless. The sundress felt too light on your skin. Too floaty, too innocent, like it didn’t belong in this house anymore. Not after what you'd done.

Ben was at the stove, back turned, spatula in one hand, the morning paper folded neatly on the counter beside him. He didn’t look at you. Not yet. But you saw the way his shoulders straightened when he heard your footsteps. The way his voice didn’t lift in greeting—just deepened slightly, like he was already bracing to go to war for you again.

And then Jamie looked up.

He was hunched at the table in yesterday’s hoodie, spoon limp in his cereal bowl, eyes puffy from lack of sleep or regret or whatever brand of self-loathing he pretended not to feel these days. When he saw you—really saw you—his entire face twisted.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped.

You flinched.

But before you could even open your mouth, Ben turned and launched the spatula across the room.

It clattered off the fridge with a sharp crack, making Jamie jolt like he'd been shot.

“Watch your fuckin’ tone,” Ben growled, low and lethal. “She stayed in the guest room after the shit you pulled. You’re lucky I didn’t tell her to pack your crap instead.”

Jamie flushed hard, colour crawling up his neck like shame. He stared into his cereal, suddenly very interested in his off-brand cornflakes, mumbling something you couldn’t make out under his breath.

Ben didn’t push. He just moved to the table, pulled a chair out—your chair—and nodded toward it.

“Sit,” he said, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t laced with everything he’d done to you. “How d’you take your coffee?”

You sat, heartbeat stammering. “Um… milk. No sugar.”

He nodded once, poured, slid the mug toward you with quiet ease.

Then he set a plate down in front of you—bacon, eggs, a slice of toast, all still steaming.

“You need to eat,” he muttered. “Don’t want you faintin’ in my house.”

He finally looked at you then—really looked at you—and it was too much. There was heat in it. Pride. That same dark satisfaction he’d worn last night when he was fucking you through the mattress, whispering about filling you up. But now? It was wrapped in domesticity. In routine. In the illusion of normalcy.

To anyone else, it would’ve looked like nothing.

But to you?

It felt like a hand on your throat.

Ben took the seat between you and Jamie, unfolded his paper like he hadn’t just threatened his son with a kitchen utensil, and bit into a strip of bacon.

Silence stretched.

Jamie shifted. “So…” he started, eyes flicking toward you. “Can we talk, or…”

You didn’t even look at him. Just picked up your fork, poked at your eggs.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Jamie scoffed. “Seriously?”

You turned your head, slow and deliberate.

“You broke up with me,” you said, voice steady. “While you were in another girl’s car. I could hear her laughing. You didn’t even have the decency to wait until you were alone. So no—I don’t want to hear whatever half-assed excuse you’ve got lined up.”

There was a beat of stillness. Then the soft crinkle of newspaper.

You glanced at Ben.

He wasn’t looking at either of you—just scanning the news, chewing his bacon—but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk that made your stomach twist. Like he was proud of you. Like this whole exchange had been a test you’d just passed with flying colors.

Jamie was still staring.

“Dad?” He said, flat and wary. “Why is she still here?”

Ben didn’t look up.

“‘Cause she’s been keepin’ me company lately.”

That made Jamie pause.

Ben flipped a page, folded it over, finally looked at his son.

“Been comin’ over. Waitin’ for your sorry ass to come home from whatever you’re out doin’. Vaping in a fuckin’ parking lot or some bullshit, I don’t know. You invite her over, disappear for hours—what was I supposed to do, let her sit on the porch like a stray?”

Jamie blinked.

Ben shrugged.

“I’ve grown fond of her,” he said simply. “She’s sweet. Thoughtful. Dotes on me while you’re out bein’ a goddamn disappointment. Makes a better pot of coffee than you ever did, too.”

You stared down at your plate, hands trembling slightly on your fork.

It wasn’t what he was saying. It was how he said it.

Every word was technically clean. Civil. Parental, even. But beneath it—buried like a razor under satin—was the truth. The weight of last night. Of his body pressed to yours. Of his cum still sticky between your thighs.

Jamie didn’t speak again. Just scowled into his cereal.

And Ben?

Ben leaned back in his chair, paper in hand, and reached across to steal a piece of your toast—chewing slow, fingers brushing yours like it was nothing. But you felt it. Every glance. Every graze. Every unspoken sin curling between the lines.

And all you could think was:

You’re fucked. You’re still fucked. And somehow, this time… you want to be.

You finished your breakfast slowly, more aware of yourself than you’d ever been at this table. The fork felt too loud against the plate. The mug too warm in your hands. And Ben—Ben was silent now, calm, relaxed, the morning paper rustling faintly with each turn of the page like none of it touched him.

But you could feel it.

His thigh pressed close to yours under the table. The occasional glance over the edge of the paper, the faint tug of his lip every time you shifted in your seat and winced at the reminder of how thoroughly he'd ruined you.

The quiet intimacy of it all made your chest ache.

When your plate was empty, you stood without thinking—fingers curling around your mug, your fork, Jamie’s empty bowl, the now-cold pan from the stove. You moved on instinct, barefoot and soft-footed, gathering up the remnants of the morning like they were yours to handle. Like this was your place. Your home.

You didn’t even realise you were humming something under your breath until you reached the sink and flicked the tap on.

Ben cleared his throat behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, voice low and curious.

You blinked. “I’m… clearing up.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. A sound closer to a groan than a sigh.

You turned just in time to see him drag a hand down his face, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying to suppress something inappropriate.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth.

“Jamie,” he said, louder now, voice cutting clean through the kitchen air. “Go on out to the garage. Or get on with whatever dumb bullshit you’ve got planned for today.”

Jamie looked up from his phone, brows pulling together. “Why?”

Ben didn’t look at him. Just leaned back in his chair, eyes on you.

“Because I said so.”

Jamie scoffed, cutting his gaze to you.

“When are you going home?” He asked, too direct, too sharp.

You opened your mouth.

But Ben beat you to it.

“She’s stayin’ as long as she wants,” he said firmly, voice like gravel and heat. “And maybe if you pulled your head outta your ass once in a while, you'd realise she’s the only reason this place still feels like a home.”

You froze at the sink, fingers tightening around the sponge.

Ben kept going.

“Look at her. She’s cleanin’ up without even bein’ asked. Sweet as hell. Thoughtful. Not sittin’ around all goddamn morning scrollin’ through TikTok or whatever the fuck you waste your time on.”

You flushed so hard it made your toes curl, shoulders hitching as you tried not to let it show. The implication hung thick in the air. Heavy. Drenched in everything you’d done. Everything he’d seen.

Jamie stared at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, groaning like he was fifteen again. “Just fuckin’ adopt her already.”

He pushed his chair back with an obnoxious scrape and stood, grabbing his phone and trudging out of the kitchen.

“I’m gonna shower,” he muttered on his way out. “And then I’m leaving for work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ben called after him. “Don’t forget to wash behind your ears, champ.”

The second the door clicked shut upstairs, you let out the breath you’d been holding.

You didn’t hear Ben move.

But you felt him.

His presence behind you was instant—hot and heavy and close. You stilled as his hand slid over your hip, slow and familiar, palm splaying across the curve of your waist like it belonged there.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice a slow drag of sin across your neck, “you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy in this little dress.”

You swallowed hard, fingers slipping against the wet ceramic of the plate in your hand.

Ben leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Lookin’ like springtime and sin, all soft and sweet and drippin’ all over my goddamn kitchen.”

His hands wandered—slow, casual, practiced. One curled around your waist, the other skimming up your thigh beneath the hem of your sundress.

And then he paused.

Froze.

His fingers flexed.

And then—

He gasped. A soft, mock-shocked little sound that made your knees go weak.

“Well fuck me,” he rasped, sliding his hand higher, knuckles grazing bare, sticky skin. “No panties?”

You whimpered.

He chuckled—low and delighted, the sound vibrating straight down your spine.

“You wanted me to find this, huh?” He whispered, mouth hot against your neck. “Wanted me thinkin’ about it all mornin’, sittin’ at that table while you pretended to be a good little guest?”

His fingers slid lower, knuckles trailing between your thighs, collecting slick like evidence.

“Christ,” he muttered, almost reverent now. “Still so fuckin’ messy.”

You bit your lip, knuckles white on the edge of the sink.

Ben leaned in tighter, hand splayed flat across your stomach now, the other still ghosting over soaked skin.

“I should bend you over the counter,” he murmured. “Right now. Let the whole house hear you.”

You whimpered again, head tipping back, breath catching.

He kissed the spot beneath your ear, soft and slow, then nipped it.

“Still wanna tidy up, sweetheart?” He asked, voice a husky tease. “Or you wanna show me how grateful you are?”

You didn’t speak.

Just turned slowly in his arms, breath catching when his hands slid instinctively to your hips. He held you steady, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment—like he was always ready to catch you.

Your back hit the counter with a soft thud.

He leaned in, nose brushing against your neck, the drag of his beard making you shiver. Then came his mouth—hot, open, slow—pressing kisses up the curve of your throat, nipping just beneath your jaw like he wanted to mark you again.

Your fingers curled in the hem of his shirt. You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not yet.

Instead, your gaze lifted—up, toward the ceiling. The sound of the shower was steady now, running loud overhead. You could picture Jamie a floor up, scrubbing away last night like it meant nothing, while this—while you—were being undone again down here.

Ben followed your eyes, and when he clocked it, he smiled.

“Don’t worry about a damn thing,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “He ain’t got a clue. And if he did?” A pause. A darker smile. “Too late now.”

He kissed down your neck, dragged his teeth across your collarbone, muttering like he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re drivin’ me outta my mind, y’know that? Standin’ up to him like that, wearin’ this little dress, cleanin’ up like you belong here.”

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, slipped under the hem of your sundress, and hoisted you up onto the counter with one smooth motion. Your legs parted automatically, instinctively, letting him step in close, slotting between them like a puzzle piece made just for you.

Then—his fingers. Right between your legs. No warning. Just pressure and heat and slickness already pooling.

Ben let out a low, rumbling sound that made your breath stutter.

“Still wet?” He muttered. “Still so soft for me, baby. Jesus.”

Two fingers eased inside, slow and deliberate, curling just right.

You bit your lip, tried to hold it in, but a soft moan escaped before you could catch it.

Ben’s hand came up fast, clapping gently over your mouth as his eyes narrowed, wicked and amused.

“Shhh,” he hissed. “You wanna alert my son to what we’re doin’?”

You shook your head, thighs already starting to tremble.

He started moving his fingers—slow, deep, precise. You couldn’t stop the noises now, muffled and desperate against his palm. Every curl of his knuckles hit a spot that made your stomach twist.

Ben dropped his mouth to your ear, voice so low it barely made it out.

“I’m gonna make you come just like this,” he whispered. “Nice and quiet, baby. Let me feel you pulse around my fingers.”

He moved faster. Your hands gripped his forearms, knuckles white.

“Keep those pretty little noises to yourself,” he said, a teasing growl curling under his voice. “Jamie’s got the water runnin’, but he’s not deaf.”

You whined.

Ben’s breath hitched like he felt it happen. He bent, pressing a kiss to your cheek like a reward, then moved back to your neck, teeth catching your skin again, fingers not letting up for a second.

You were so close. Too close. The pressure was tight and fast and climbing—sharp at the edges, like breaking glass.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let it go for me.”

And you did.

Your whole body locked up, thighs clenching around his waist, hands scrambling for purchase as your release hit hard and fast. You gushed around his fingers—slick and hot, soaking his hand and the countertop beneath you.

Ben groaned—groaned, like he was the one coming.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching you with hungry eyes. “That’s my good girl.”

He slowed his hand but didn’t stop right away, working you through it, thumb brushing gentle circles as you trembled.

When it was over, when your breath was shaky and your muscles weak, he leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Still hungry?” He asked, all grin and sin. “Or you wanna say thank you first?”

Ben helped you down from the counter like you were something fragile—hands warm under your thighs, easing you gently to the floor even though your knees buckled on impact. He caught you before you could stumble, mouth curving in a crooked, quiet smile.

“Jesus,” he muttered, low and amused. “You really are fucked.”

You flushed, heart pounding, dress clinging to your sweat-damp skin.

He stepped back just enough to drag a hand through his hair, then nodded toward the stairs.

“Go shower. Take your time. Use my bathroom.”

His voice was casual, soft. Like this was normal. Like it wasn’t still dripping down your thighs.

You nodded, legs shaky as you turned toward the hallway. Barefoot. Sticky. A little dazed. You made it almost to the stairs.

Almost.

Then you heard him.

“...Fuck it.”

You turned just in time to see the look on his face. Dark. Hungry. Decided. He crossed the space between you in three long strides, grabbed you by the waist, and hauled you up against his chest like a man possessed.

You gasped.

“Ben—?”

But he was already walking you backwards, already pushing you toward the pantry door like he had to—like you were oxygen and he’d gone too long without breathing.

“Can’t let you leave my sight lookin’ like that,” he muttered, kissing your jaw, then your mouth, then down your neck. “Little fuckin’ sundress. No panties. You tryin’ to kill me, baby?”

Your back hit the pantry door.

He opened it blindly, one hand still gripping your waist, the other dragging up your thigh. Then he spun you both inside, kicked it shut, and slammed you up against the shelves so hard the flour tin rattled beside your head.

His mouth was on yours in the dark—hot, greedy, filthy. His hands groping, kneading, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

“You keep this shit up,” he panted, teeth scraping your bottom lip, “I’m gonna fall in love with you or some shit.”

You whimpered. Instinctive. Helpless.

His hand snapped up over your mouth.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he whispered, grinning. “You want him to hear?”

You shook your head, trembling.

Ben groaned—actually groaned—as he reached down, shoved your dress up over your hips, and pulled himself free with one hand. He was already hard. Already leaking. Already fucking huge.

You braced for it. You didn’t brace hard enough. He pushed in deep. One thrust. Slow and thick and overwhelming.

You screamed against his palm.

Ben’s eyes rolled back.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, voice cracking. “Feels like comin’ home.”

You clawed at his arm, gasping through his fingers as he bottomed out and stayed there, hips pressed flush against yours, body trembling from restraint.

He leaned in, breath hot against your ear.

“I ain’t pullin’ out,” he whispered. “You hear me, baby? This fuckin’ pussy’s mine now.”

You nodded frantically, legs wrapped around his hips, already pulsing around him.

He started to move. Slow at first. Deep. The kind of thrusts that made your whole body rock against the shelves. Cans shifted. Something clattered behind you. Ben didn’t even blink.

“Christ on a cross,” he muttered, pounding into you harder now, breath catching. “You got a fuckin’ mouth on you, huh?”

You whined again—too loud.

He slapped his hand back over your lips, grinning.

“Keep it down,” he hissed, voice shaking with laughter. “Keep it down, baby girl. Wanna be good for me, yeah?”

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes now—not from pain, but from the stretch, the depth, the overwhelming pressure of it all.

Ben groaned into your neck.

“Too fuckin’ tight,” he whispered. “Like you were made for this cock. Like your body knows who it belongs to.”

You whimpered.

He fucked you harder.

“I’m gonna knock you up,” he rasped. “Right here. Right now. Stuff you full ‘til you’re leakin’ for hours.”

You came. Hard. Screaming into his palm, nails dragging down his arms, thighs squeezing like a vice.

Ben shuddered, swore, voice breaking apart into a feral moan as your pussy spasmed around him. He came seconds later. Deep. Loud. Raw. Buried in you to the hilt.

“Never fuckin’ leavin’ this cunt,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “You hear me? I live here now.”

Ben was still inside you. Still deep. Still thick. Still twitching every time your muscles fluttered around him. His chest rose and fell against yours in slow, heavy waves, both of you breathless and coated in sweat, your dress bunched around your waist and your thighs sticky from everything he’d just poured into you.

He leaned back slightly, looked down between you both like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Don’t wanna pull out yet,” he muttered.

You blinked up at him, dazed, lips parted in a silent whimper.

And then—

The water shut off upstairs. Both of you froze. A beat later, footsteps—loud, impatient—thudded across the floor above your heads.

Ben groaned quietly, like he was in pain. Like this was all too much for one man to handle.

You buried your face in your hands, mortified.

He laughed softly—low and warm—and pulled your hands away from your face.

“C’mon, don’t hide those pretty flushed cheeks from me,” he whispered, kissing the apple of one.

“It’s dark in here,” you mumbled. “You can’t even see if I’m blushing.”

“Oh, I know you are,” he said, grinning like the devil. “Know you well enough by now. I know what gets you all hot and bothered, sweetheart.”

You clenched around him—instinctive. Unthinking. He groaned hard, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” he panted. “You’ll get me ready for another fuckin’ round.”

You giggled, breathless, lips brushing his ear.

He sighed. Long. Dramatic. Tragic. Then, finally, he pulled out—slow, deliberate, like he didn’t want to go. You whimpered at the stretch and the slick, at the obscene warmth spilling down your thighs all over again.

Ben stepped back and exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

“Damn shame,” he muttered, tucking himself back into his sweats with a faint shake of his head like he was trying to come back to earth. “Absolute fuckin’ tragedy.”

He opened the pantry door and stepped out like a man leaving confession, body loose and casual—only to jump a foot in the air when Jamie appeared in the kitchen doorway, towel slung over one shoulder, hair dripping wet.

“Jesus, Jamie,” Ben barked. “What’re you skulkin’ around like a fuckin’ ninja for?”

You scrambled to smooth your dress down, cheeks burning, trying to push your hair back into some semblance of order while still half-hiding behind the doorframe.

Jamie squinted.

“Why are you jumpin’ like a frog on coke?” He shot back.

Ben barked a laugh. “Don’t be a smartass.”

You stepped out a second later, trying to keep your legs from shaking, brushing invisible dust from your dress.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. He looked between the two of you, slow and suspicious.

“Why were you in the pantry?” He asked, tone flat.

Ben didn’t blink. “Helpin’ her find the sugar.”

Jamie’s eyes dropped to your hands. “You don’t have any sugar.”

You blinked once, then shrugged. “I just put it back.”

There was a pause. Ben smirked, watching Jamie squirm.

You cleared your throat. “May I use the shower?”

Ben turned to you like you’d just offered him salvation.

“Look at that,” he said, grinning. “So full’a manners. Jamie, you takin’ notes? That’s how a guest behaves.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. Loud.

Ben jerked his chin toward the stairs.

“Go on, sweetheart. Use my bathroom.”

Jamie scoffed. “That’s not fair. I never get to use your bathroom.”

Ben snorted. “That’s ‘cause you’re a filthy little shit. Don’t want your cum or your clap on my fuckin’ tiles.”

“DAD!” Jamie shouted, scandalised.

Ben just laughed. Full-bellied. Gleeful.

You bolted up the stairs before the tension could snap all the way in two, dress swishing around your legs, thighs aching, breath short. You didn’t stop until you were behind his bedroom door, heart racing.

You were dripping. Full. Ruined. And still—God help you—you wanted more. 

The bathroom was still fogged over when you stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped loose around your body, another in your hands as you scrubbed gently at your hair. Your skin still buzzed—clean, but not untouched. No amount of soap could rinse out the way he’d held you. Bent you. Filled you.

The ensuite was quiet. His bedroom quieter.

You stepped out, expecting to find your clothes waiting. Only they weren’t. No bag. No sundress. You’d left it all in the guest room. Shit.

You exhaled softly, brushing your damp hair out of your face—and that’s when you saw it.

A jersey. Thick. Oversized. Slung over the foot of the bed like it had been waiting.

You stared at it for a second too long. It was so obvious. Too obvious. A jersey he’d never even worn in front of you. Probably not in years. Folded, casual, but placed with intention.

It should’ve made you roll your eyes. Instead, you dropped the towel and pulled it on. It swallowed you. Soft and dark and warm, the collar wide around your collarbones, sleeves halfway to your elbows. You smelled him in it—soap and sweat and that spiced musk that clung to his shirts even after a wash. You felt obscene in it. Marked.

You padded downstairs barefoot, skin still damp, hair dripping against the cotton.

The living room was dim. You heard the hum of the TV before you saw him.

Ben was sprawled across the sofa like he owned the fucking world. One foot kicked up on the armrest, the other planted wide on the floor, head tipped back against the other end. He looked ridiculous. Massive. The kind of big that made you forget how small you were until you were underneath him.

He looked like comfort and destruction and something you weren’t supposed to want again so soon.

You glanced toward the kitchen. When you looked back, his eyes were on you. Wide. Slack-jawed. His gaze dropped—slowly. Took in the jersey. The bare legs. The still-damp hair clinging to your temples.

Then his hand dragged up into his hair, pushing it back as he let out a groan so low it vibrated straight through the floor.

“Knew you’d look good in that one,” he muttered. “Knew it.”

You felt the heat bloom down your throat. Your cheeks. Your stomach.

He patted his lap.

“Come on over, baby.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking once more toward the kitchen, toward the windows, toward the hall.

Ben saw it. “The little prick’s gone to work,” he said, voice rough and fond. “Won’t be back for hours.”

You nodded once. Your feet moved before you could think. Slow. Careful. You stopped in front of him, unsure of where to sit.

He didn’t wait. One big hand reached up, curled around your hip, and tugged.

You let out a soft breath as you collapsed against him, legs falling to either side of his hips, your body folding easily into his like a magnet finding its opposite. Your head dropped to the curve of his neck, breath catching when you inhaled him all over again.

Ben groaned.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You love doin’ that, don’t you?”

You smiled against his skin. Didn’t answer.

His arms came up around you slowly. One cradled your spine. The other slid around your waist. He didn’t touch you like a fuck. He touched you like you were his. Like you were delicate. Like you were exactly where he wanted you.

“You good watchin’ the game with me?” He murmured.

You nodded against his throat.

“Good girl.”

The room settled into a slow, heavy rhythm. The soft murmur of the commentators. The flicker of the screen. And the sound of your breath, caught against his collarbone.

His hand rubbed slow circles on your back. Yours curled against his chest, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

You should’ve felt calm. Safe. Instead—you felt like a wire pulled taut.

It started slow. Your hips shifted. Barely. Just a twitch. A nudge. The smallest roll. Ben didn’t react at first. But then—you felt it. The echo. His hips moved too. So soft. So lazy. So deliberate.

You dragged your breath in through your teeth.

He kept rubbing your back. The movement never stopped. Like he wasn’t even aware. Like you were just cuddling. Your thighs clenched where they bracketed his.

He let out a breath. Didn’t say a word. But now he was grinding too. Barely. The softest friction. Cotton on cotton. Heat on heat. You could feel him through the fabric. Hardening slow. Your lips parted. Your fingers tightened in his shirt. Still—he said nothing.

You weren’t watching the game anymore. And neither was he

The room was warm with stillness. The kind that settled heavy in the air after something wicked. The kind of quiet that followed a storm and promised more thunder if you dared stir.

Ben’s hand was soft against your back. Slow. Rhythmic. The kind of absentminded touch that would’ve felt sweet from anyone else. But from him? From him it was a warning. A claim. A leash disguised as affection.

You lay across his chest, thighs wrapped around his hips, your breath syncing to his as the football game flickered across the screen in front of you—ignored.

Your heart thudded heavy.

He hadn’t said a word since you climbed onto him. Hadn’t moved. Just that hand. Just that calm, steady breath. But you could feel it. The tension in his muscles. The shift of his thighs. The low, deliberate grind he kept sneaking in beneath you.

You tilted your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him. He wasn’t looking at you. Smirking. At the TV. Like he hadn’t already rearranged your guts this morning and was now slowly driving you insane with the laziest friction known to man.

Your eyes narrowed.

Fine.

If he wanted to play it cool, so could you.

You shifted in his lap, hips rolling down with a little more pressure this time—more intent. You dragged your cunt over the front of his sweats in one long, slow grind, your breath catching at the friction.

A soft whimper slipped out before you could catch it.

Ben didn’t look away from the screen. But you heard it. The sharp inhale through his nose. The pause. The subtle flex of the hand on your back.

Still… no words.

You did it again. Lower this time. Deeper. The movement slow and lazy, your hips rocking like waves, like sin, like worship. You shifted your weight just enough to drag the thick line of him against you through the jersey and the cotton of his sweats, your thighs already slick and trembling.

And then—your hand. It slid down his chest. Over the jersey you wore. Down across his stomach.

Ben didn’t flinch. Not yet. But when your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats and dipped just beneath, then he moved. His head snapped toward you like a whip. Eyes wild and dark and low-lidded with disbelief.

“The fuck do you think you’re doin’?” He asked, voice low and frayed, rougher than it had any right to be.

You looked up at him through your lashes, bit your lip, and said, “Whatever I want.”

His eyes rolled back like he’d just been hit.

You didn’t wait. You pushed yourself up just enough to slide down between his legs, your knees brushing the floor, your hands dragging his waistband down.

Ben lifted his hips before you even asked. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. Just watched. And when you looked up at him again, wrapped one small hand around him, leaned in and took him into your mouth in one slow, wet inch—

He growled. Not a moan. Not a grunt. A growl. A deep, guttural, primal sound that rattled out of his chest like he was losing his goddamn mind.

“Jesus fuck,” he gasped, hand flying to your hair. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You moaned around him.

He cursed again. And the game kept playing. Forgotten.

He was already shaking. One hand tangled in your hair, the other clenched white-knuckled on the sofa arm. His thighs were spread wide, twitching beneath you, and his chest rose in jagged stutters—like he couldn’t catch his breath, like you’d stolen it from him.

You dragged your mouth along the base of him slow. Deliberate. Spit-slicked and sinful. And when you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, swallowed around the thickness of him, his entire body jerked.

“Fuck,” Ben choked out. “Oh fuck, that’s it—baby girl, you’re gonna kill me.”

His voice was wrecked. But his mouth kept running.

“You hear me? I ain’t ever—fuckin’ ever—felt a mouth like this before. You were made for it.”

You moaned around him. He twitched in your mouth.

“Shit—don’t you fuckin’ do that. You’re gonna make me—”

Another groan. Broken. Ripped out of his throat like confession.

“You’re so goddamn good, sweetheart,” he rasped, hips stuttering up into you. “So fuckin’ pretty like this, all needy and eager—lookin’ at me like you know you’ve got me by the fuckin’ balls.”

You swallowed him again. Deep. Slow. Unrelenting. His head hit the back of the couch with a thud.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” He panted, jaw slack, eyes blown wide. “That it? Want me to ruin you so bad you never even look at another man?”

You hummed—dark and low and deliberate—and he gasped like you’d sunk your teeth into him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby—god, you’re perfect—fuck, you’re perfect—gonna keep you, you hear me? Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

His hand tightened in your hair. Not yanking. Just holding. Possessive. He looked down at you—sweat beading on his temple, brows drawn, mouth slack with need—and all he saw was devotion. Wreckage. Heaven with teeth.

“Shit—fuck,—you’re gonna make me lose it,” he groaned. “I’m tryin’, baby, I’m fuckin’ tryin’, but your mouth—goddamn, your mouth’s a fuckin’ miracle.”

You worked him harder now. Faster. Your hands braced on his thighs. Your eyes locked to his.

He broke.

“Christ on a goddamn shittin’ cross,” he bellowed, voice cracking, “you wanna be his step-mom?! That it? You wanna live here and wear my fuckin’ shirts and sit on my face after makin’ pancakes?! Jesus, sweetheart—marry me. Fuck.”

You moaned around him again—sweet and ruined.

His whole body jolted. Then—

He growled. It was feral. A snarl from the chest. And it came right before he slammed a hand over his mouth, like he knew if he didn’t, he’d shout it to the gods.

His other hand clutched your jaw—gentle but shaking.

“Baby,” he gasped, “I’m—gonna—I’m right there—”

You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He saw it in your eyes. You wanted it. Everything he had. Every drop.

And when he came?

It was violent. Hot. Thick. Endless.

He shouted into his hand, hips lifting off the couch as you swallowed him down in heavy, deep pulls. His thighs trembled. His abs clenched. His head dropped forward, eyes blazing, watching you take it—take him—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He sagged into the cushions, panting.

You swallowed. Licked your lips. Looked up at him with innocent eyes and a ruined mouth.

Ben stared. Still trembling. Then muttered, hoarse and ruined, “…fuck me sideways.”

He was still catching his breath. One hand limply resting on your thigh, the other dragging up through his hair like he couldn’t believe what had just happened—even though he’d orchestrated every filthy second of it.

You were curled back up in his lap now, warm and pliant and tucked against his chest, the echo of everything you’d just done still clinging to your skin like sweat. You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek, could smell the mix of both of you on his skin.

His fingers brushed over your hip. Then your ribs. Then up your spine in long, slow strokes. Soft. Reverent.

He exhaled into your hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice gone hoarse. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You hummed sleepily against his shoulder. Smiled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Then—his mouth again. Against your temple, your cheek, the side of your throat.

“I mean it, y’know,” he said, quieter now. Like it wasn’t just a line anymore. “I’m keepin’ you.”

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just nodded against his chest.

Then, soft—dry—smiling: “Jamie’s gonna have a hard time dealing with that.”

Ben snorted.

“Fuck that little punk.”

You laughed.

But he wasn’t done.

“I’m about ready to make a whole fuckin’ litter with you,” he said, voice like gravel and honey. “Tie you to this house for good.”

You grinned, wide, into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Put you in my bed, my shirt, my fuckin’ will if I have to.”

You were still laughing softly when he reached for your face. He cupped your jaw. Pulled your head gently from where it lay against him. Made you look at him.

And when you did?

Everything stilled. His green eyes were on fire. Not wild. Not smug. Certain. Like he knew exactly what he wanted. And it was you. His thumb dragged along the hinge of your jaw. Then down. Pressing gently—commandingly—until your lips parted.

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

Then he kissed you. Deep. Slow. Ruining. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t greedy. It was like he was erasing you. Like he was kissing every old name off your skin. Every memory. Every man. Every touch that wasn’t his.

When he pulled back, his eyes were still locked to yours. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He’d already said it all.

And you? You were his now. Completely.

a/n: okay, finally. i knew a part three would come to me eventually, and here is it. i love it. i needed some intense aftercare in there because i stg i need me an older man who will just take fucking care of me. not treat me like my manchild of an ex did... you know? anyways... hope y'all like. i like. hehehehe. let me know! all the love.

Ben/Soldier Boy taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @tinas111 @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @mostlymarvelgirl @itshellfire @drakulana @deansbeer @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @adoredawn @sunnyfuffly <3

[sashiavi]

HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT!!.....Big voy Zhongli...I MEAN-- THE Geo archon? Morax? Come on! He has to be a big boy, after all he shaped Liyue's mountains!!

♡ Genshin Impact Big Boys ♡

You're so righttt omg BigBoy!Zhongli/Morax my king ♡ I'm writing this in his prime Morax era I hope that's okay mwah ♡

My fave genre of Zhongli cough I even have two fics about it cough ◇ ◇

Warnings : 18+ Smut | Morax!Zhongli | possessive | dumbification | dom/sub & master/pet | abuse of power dynamics | Size Difference | monster cock - knotting - belly buldge- breeding | God/Mortal | potential dubcon | the more I write the more warnings come up | 'cunny' as a descriptive word for afab anatomy |

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

♡Be in charge of your own reading and look after yourself♡

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

BigBoy!Morax who towers over many. Easily over twice the size of an ordinary mortal, effortlessly tall, thick, strong, with heavy muscles coursing with omnipotent power. Carving and shaping the mountains of Liyue, with the effort of a minimal wrist flick.

BigBoy!Morax who lazes on his throne, heavy robes draped off of his body, legs spread apart, cheek pressed into the palm of his hand. His body absolutely dominates over your own, dwarfing you while you rest in his lap. His other arm practically cups you, coddling, with you napping away, head agaisnt his chest, your own pretty peppery floral robes water-falling off of his throne.

BigBoy!Morax with the sheer power of a mighty Dragon, supreme, pre-eminent, forced to take extra care and precaution with you; His pretty little pet.

BigBoy!Morax with a hand easily over twice the size of your own. His thumb longer than your jaw, swiping over your cheek and ear. He practically engulfs your face when he cups the side of it, fingers cradling the back of your head, thumb gently dancing over your closed eyelid. The soft core lapis glow of his hands illuminates your pretty, soft features, allowing him to admire you for hours on end- chanting sweet praise and compliments over and over.

BigBoy!Morax who's hands absolutely shrink your stature. Curving over your waist, gripping your hips, fingers effortlessly wrapping themselves around for frame, tickling at the soft bumps of your spine.

BigBoy!Morax who eyes you from above when you walk by his side - On the rare occasion he allows you to walk, much rather opting to carry you everywhere you went - height barely grazing up to his waist, your hand wrapped around just a few of his fingers.

BigBoy!Morax with his even bigger bed, covered in waves of soft silks, the space around dazzling in pretty little things belonging to his hoard. Archons, the treasure-hoarding being marvels at the prettiest little thing in his collection, all splayed out just for him.

BigBoy!Morax with a thick, forked tongue, perfect for hot, spitty kisses, barely battling for control, relishing at how his pretty pet just submits to him. Archons, the feeling of your little tongue sliding over his own, suckling on him obediently.

BigBoy!Morax and his appetite. Eagerly licking and lapping, tongue fucking that sweet little spot inside your cunny, swallowing down all those sweet juices. His large mouth practically engulfs you, thick fangs pin pricking gently into your cunt, lips suckling on your achey clit. His massive hands wrap around your waist, pulling your pretty self into him, forcing his lips to smush, fangs to bite, tongue to curl over and over.

BigBoy!Morax with claws all too sharp to press into your prefect pussy, forced to tongue fuck you into your first orgasm, stretching you out for him.

BigBoy!Morax with a heavy, thick cock. Standing tall despite its size, holding its own, drooling agaisnt his stomach. It was almost otherworldly, ever so slightly unhuman, with ribs and ridges, a pointed tip and a thick, fat knot right on the base of his length. He's always marvelled at your silly reaction, the awe in your eyes, swallow of your throat, eyeing the dribbly tip of his pudgy cock with a look of unease. He laughs, almost purs, soft in his chest, hand on your cheek.

BigBoy!Morax who has to go slow. Just the tip, juuust the tip. Circling your sticky clit with his thumb, rough, slow rubs forcing your cunny to gush, wetting his cock, letting him slide in bit by bit.

BigBoy!Morax who bottoms out in your cunt, cock pressing into your tummy, bulging up into your guts, leaving the lovliest indent of his cock on your front. He cuddles you, coddling his pretty pet, hushing and soothing away all the tears and hiccups with kisses and licks to your face. Oh, you're so full, aren't you? It's not easy taking the cherishing gift of a God, pretty pet doing such a lovely job.

BigBoy!Morax absolutely relishes in the sweet squeeze of your cunny on his thick, bullying length. Hugging him tight, drooly, sticky pussy lips kissing agaisnt the knot on his base, poor pink little clit grinding on his pelvis.

BigBoy!Morax who is not at all afraid to manhandle your body, giant hands latching to your waist, fingers almost intertwining with themselves over your back. Up your hips go, only your very upper back and shoulders lay on the bed as Morax sinks you down on him, himself. You're forced to wrap those legs around him, barely managing to properly anchor yourself, obediently taking him in like a perfect, little, fuck doll.

BigBoy!Morax watches that fat bump in your gut press up over and over, his thick pudgy head soothing under your belly. He can't help but press a thumb into it, massaging over that spot, listening to those insolent little whines and begs your dumb little mortal brain spews at him.

BigBoy!Morax who was still a merciful God, spitting hot globs of spit on to your cunny, keeping it nice and wet for his cock, letting that knot slip in just for a moment. His other thumb comes down, down, down, rubbing large and slow circles into your clit, forcing out those little gushes and squirms.

BigBoy!Morax, gentle as he is, still managing to to fuck you silly. Long, rhythmic slides of his cock, hands guiding those pretty hips, lifting and pulling in delicious motions- Tip to knot, thick inches squelching in and out, filling up that pretty cunny, little Pet so full, pretty dolly servicing his weepy cock.

BigBoy!Morax who can only last so long with that tight gushy squeeze on his length. Poor Morax who looses himself a little. Prettiest cunt sucking him in so, so well? Can't just dangle that sweet, juicy forbidden fruit in front of him and expect him to not take a bite.

BigBoy!Morax who let's his hips fuck into his precious, darling Pet's cunt. Meeting those hips he forces into his own, thick and slippery knot edging, pressing, slipping- The God growls, capturing your lips with his, thick tongue swirling around your own, forcing you to suckle and nip into him.

BigBoy!Morax hums low when he finally slips that thick, swollen knot into your dumb little mortal cunny, fat tip squirting and oozing thick spurts of cum into your tummy. Oh, he needs to be deeper, nestle his breeder cock up in your gut, paint your cervix white with seed.

BigBoy!Morax eggs his lovely pet on, those hands pulling your hips into his still, now grinding that juicy abused clit on his lower tummy. He feels that pretty cunny squeeze, hears those cries and moans, feels them vibrating agaisnt his tongue. He thrusts as much as he can with that locked knot in your pussy, clicking wetly with the hot pressure of him all stuck in you. His heavy balls continue to squeeze, bursting hot ropes of heavy, thick seed into you over and over. Slow and drawn out, his orgasm could last for minutes on end.

BigBoy!Morax who finally, finally gets that sweet cunt to squirt, making a mess all over his lap, gushing and pulsing, letting that buldge press in, impossibly deeper. Another hot weep of cum, milked out by that heavenly squeeze of you wrapped around him.

BigBoy!Morax laying peppery kisses over your face and neck, maneuvering your smaller-than-his frame around, hushing your sweet mewls when your poor body quivers. Poor, poor overstimulated little you, body reacting to the slighted of touches.

BigBoy!Morax who has you laid on his chest and tummy, thick cock stuck in your cunt, nestled and still drooling. His massive hands soothe over your thighs, massage into your back, pat your hair and caress your teary face. Awh, sweet girl. His lovliest, prettiest little doll. It's alright, your God is here, he'll soothe those aches and kiss away the pain. In the meantime, take a little rest, right on his chest, nice and comfy. Poor little mortal, always so tired. Keep him nice and warm now. Just like that.

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

I may have gotten carried away.. but I hope you enjoyed regardless ♡

A Small Risa Message: You are loved, you are appreciated and you are allowed to enjoy this kind of fiction ♡

Property Of; SashiAvi

[bloomseishiro]

CHOKI’S NEW FRIEND — NAGI SEISHIRO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: nagi hasn’t been able to spend time with choki due to all his away games, so he decides it needs a friend. he visits the local flower shop and meets a…strange florist.  ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, pro football player!nagi x florist!reader ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.6k ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: i wrote this before seeing today’s leaks aha let’s cry and cope together 

Nagi Seishiro didn’t want to take care of others. He was hardly able to care for himself. If it weren’t for the team chef and nutritionist that came with being a professional player, there was no way he’d be able to eat well enough to sustain his current physique. 

Eating was a pain enough as it is, and cooking a completely balanced meal was almost out of the question. 

The moments Nagi was able to have a break from football and training were spent gaming and sleeping. He didn’t have much time for anything else. 

And yet, as he greeted his pet cactus this morning, he felt a strange desire to get it a friend. 

Getting Choki helped fulfill Nagi’s communication needs, but he’s been busy and away from his apartment for longer periods since being scouted. Maybe Choki needed another cactus to keep it company. He hoped a florist would have a recommendation for another low maintenance pet. 

He sighed in resignation. He knew what he had to spend his valuable day off doing.

Nagi shrugged on a hoodie and slipped on some joggers, flashing Choki a peace sign as he left his apartment to head to a nearby flower shop. 

The door chimed as he entered the small store, the flowery smell immediately hitting his nose. 

“Hi, welcome in!” 

Nagi looked around to find you sticking some roses into a large piece of foam. He had no clue what you were doing, but the foam seemed to be in the shape of a heart, and he assumed you would be filling the rest of the space with more flowers. 

You must have sensed him observing you, as you stuck one last stem into the craft and wiped your hands off on the front of your apron. Meeting his gaze, you shoot him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’m just finishing up this order, but please let me know if you need any help! It’s for a guy who wants to ask someone to be his girlfriend! Isn’t that cute?” 

Nagi nodded wordlessly, though inside he thought of how troublesome that sounded. That seemed like a lot of effort to put in just to confess to someone. Then again, it’s not like he had much practice in that department. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Yes. Please give me a plant that isn’t a pain.”

Your head tilted to the side as you comprehended his request. “As in, something easy to take care of, you mean?”

“Yes.”

You hummed understandingly, gesturing for him to follow behind you to a section in the corner of the shop. “I have some options for you. Believe it or not, but I don’t have much of a green thumb myself. I’m quite well-versed in non-troublesome plants.”

“Aren’t you a florist?”

“I’m good at making floral arrangements and designs,” you said with a grin. “That’s why they hired me. I didn’t let them know I couldn’t grow plants.”

Nagi gave you a small glance as you brought some leafy green plants over to an empty countertop. “I’ll trust your judgment, then.”

You giggled, holding out what appeared to be a vine-like plant. “This is a pothos! Really easy house plant. It doesn’t need direct sunlight, and you only have to water it every one or two weeks.” 

“Does it do well with other plants?” 

The corner of your lip quirked up as you tried to hide a smile. “You have a plant friend already, then?”

He nodded.

“Well, yes, I’m sure this pothos would get along well with it!”

“It’s a cactus. Choki.” 

“Choki and…Tsuru maybe!” you suggested, pointing out the long vine coming from one of the leaves. 

Nagi considered it for one moment. “Maybe. What else is there?” 

“A tough customer, huh?” you teased, but placed Tsuru back onto it’s shelf nonetheless. You reached in the back for another pot, but yelped as your hand pricked something. “Ouch, shit—!” 

“Are you okay?” He walked over to your side and glanced down at your finger. There was a small bubble of red pooling at the tip. An inconvenience for sure, but thankfully nothing too serious. 

Nagi watched as your lower lip jutted out into a frown as you stared intently at your finger. “Yes, I’m used to this. It was just surprising, is all. I didn’t see the cactus back there!” 

He wasn’t one to carry around frivolous things. All he brought when he left the house was his phone, the clothes in his back, and a method of payment. Nothing else seemed necessary. But this was one of the few moments when he realized the merit of bringing around a handkerchief. 

“Here,” said Nagi. 

You glanced down at Nagi holding his arm out at you, brows furrowing. “What do I do with that?” 

“To wipe the blood.”

Giggling, you gently pushed his arm away with your clean hand, walking past him with a small bounce. “There’s a sink behind you, silly. But thank you…”

He realized you were prompting him for his name. 

“It’s Nagi.” 

“Thanks, Nagi,” you chirped, turning the sink on to sanitize your wound. “That was cute of you to offer.”

Cute…? 

Nagi felt a strange burning in his face and slapped his cheek to get rid of it. It didn’t work. 

Weird. 

After placing a small adhesive bandage on your finger, you walked back to the table of plants and pulled the one at the back out. “So this was the culprit. A tiny cactus.”

“Small, but sharp,” commented Nagi.

“A deadly combination,” you said seriously. “But anyway, this cactus is super easy to care for, too. As long as you watch out for its needles.” 

He looked at the round cactus. Its pot was small, but on top of the body were two little arms that looked like a peace sign. A small Choki.

“I like it. Choki Jr.” 

You nodded in agreement, laughing at the name. “Choki and Choki Jr.! They’ll definitely get along.”

“I think so,” Nagi said. “I’ll buy this one.” 

“Great! I’ll go ring it up for you.” You held Choki Jr. in the palms of your hands and headed over to the cash register. Nagi tapped his card to pay for his new pet and thanked you for your time. 

“Thanks for helping me pick a plant. And…sorry it hurt you.” 

You waved off his apology. “That was my fault for reaching in so carelessly.” 

He nodded once, hesitating as he looked to the door. Talking was usually troublesome, but he felt like there was something else he should say. Unfortunately for him, his main source of communication was with a cactus, so he didn’t know what it was he wanted to verbalize. 

Before the door shut behind him, he heard you call out, “Oh, wait!” 

Nagi looked back. “Yes?”

“Maybe if you need any tips on caring for Cookie Jr…or if you ever want another plant friend, you can give me a call?” You looked up at him with wide eyes before glancing around shyly. 

“But I don’t have your number,” he stated. Then he realized what you were asking. “Oh. Oh— Sure, I can…give you a call.” 

Nagi walked back over to the checkout counter and unlocked his phone. 

Suddenly feeling bashful, you shook your head rapidly. “No, no! You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward! Sorry.”

He held his phone out, the screen open to the ‘Add Contact’ page. “No, not at all. I wouldn’t mind giving you my number.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Nagi wasn’t lying to be polite. He had no need for that. There really was something about you that he found tolerable. “Talking to you… It doesn’t bother me.”

You let out a surprised giggle, finally accepting the offer of his phone. As you typed in your phone number and contact name, you said, “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“It is,” he assured. 

“Well, Nagi. Call or text me when you’re around,” you said, handing his phone back to him. “Even if it’s not about plants.” 

Nagi looked down at the device in his palm. You had saved your contact name with a flower and cactus emoji at the end. That got him to crack the smallest of smiles. 

“I will.” 

You nodded and waved as he walked out the door. He hoped you believed that he would. He wasn’t a man of many words, so if he said them, they wouldn’t just be half-assed promises. 

When he made his way home, Nagi placed Choki Jr. next to Choki and took a picture. It seemed only reasonable that his first message to you would be about the plant you helped him pick. 

Nagi [12:45 p.m.] their first meeting

Y/N [12:47 p.m.] cute! tell them hi for me. 

Nagi [12:47 p.m.] i will 

He placed his phone down, looking between his two pets. “Y/N said hi.” 

Nagi then changed into indoor clothes and decided to spend the rest of his day off reading manga in bed. He only had a few more weeks before the football season started back up and he would have to travel away from home, but he knew before he had to pack up, he wanted to see you again. 

Huh. Weird. 

His feelings surprised even himself. But Nagi lived intuitively, both on the field and off. And if his gut told him he wanted to talk to you some more, he wasn’t one to ignore it. 

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 56: The Wedding : With You. Always. Forever 💍

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, golden rays casting warmth over the room as you stirred awake. Your heart pounded gently against your ribcage, a mixture of nerves and excitement settling in.

Today was the day. The day you became Mrs. Park.

Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you weren’t surprised to see a notification waiting for you.

Lolove: Morning, my Lolove. Last time waking up without you beside me.

You grinned, fingers flying over the keyboard.

You: Morning, fiancé. Not for long.

The reply came almost instantly.

Lolove: I already miss you. Eat breakfast, okay? No fainting at the altar, or I’m carrying you through the vows.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, warmth spreading in your chest. He knew you too well.

Pushing aside the nerves, you climbed out of bed and joined your bridesmaids—Yejin, Karina, Hyein, Yujin, and Yeji—who were waiting downstairs in their silk robes, sipping mimosas with excitement.

“Finally, the bride emerges!” Karina teased, passing you a glass.

“You didn’t even drink last night, and you still overslept?” Hyein smirked.

“I was savoring my last night as an unmarried woman,” you joked, plopping down next to Yujin.

Yejin eyed you knowingly. “Sunghoon texted, didn’t he?”

You hummed, cheeks warming. “Told me to eat so I don’t faint at the altar.”

“A man who knows his priorities,” Yeji laughed.

As you ate, your nerves settled into a buzzing anticipation, the morning slipping by in a flurry of preparations.

Your bridal suite was filled with soft music and excited chatter as the hair and makeup team worked their magic. The photographer moved around, capturing every moment—the gentle swipes of blush on your cheeks, the delicate way your hair was styled into a soft, elegant updo with pearl accents, and the moment you slipped into your gown.

The dress was everything you had dreamed of—an airy, ethereal masterpiece with intricate lace detailing and a flowing train. The moment you saw yourself in the mirror, your breath caught. This was real.

“You’re stunning,” Yujin whispered, eyes shining.

“You look like you belong in a fairytale,” Karina added, hands clasped over her heart.

“You are going to make Sunghoon cry,” Yejin grinned.

Hyein snickered. “If he isn’t already crying, that is.”

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. The wedding planner peeked in. “It’s time for the first look.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

⸻

Sunghoon stood with his back turned, hands clasped in front of him, his shoulders rising and falling in anticipation. The photographers whispered instructions, ensuring the perfect capture of this intimate moment.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, the delicate fabric of your gown brushing against the ground. You reached out, gently tapping his shoulder.

The second he turned, the world seemed to slow.

His breath hitched, eyes widening as they took you in. His mouth parted slightly, as if struggling to find words, and then, without thinking, he reached out, fingers brushing over yours before gripping them tightly.

“Wow,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You’re… breathtaking.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Park.”

A shaky laugh escaped him as he took in every detail—your dress, your hair, the way your eyes shimmered just for him. “I think I might cry before the ceremony even starts.”

“You better not,” you teased, though your own voice was unsteady.

But when the ceremony began, and the curtains finally drew back to reveal you, all of Sunghoon’s composure crumbled.

A hush fell over the guests as the soft melody of Can’t Help Falling in Love began to play. The venue was transformed into an ethereal dream—soft, flowing fabrics, delicate floral arrangements in shades of champagne and ivory, and golden sunlight filtering through the open-air setting.

Sunghoon stood at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, his jaw tightening as he tried to steady his emotions.

Then, the grand doors slowly opened.

A collective gasp echoed through the crowd.

And there you were.

Bathed in soft golden light, you stepped forward, your gown flowing around you like a dream. The delicate lace shimmered subtly under the sunlight, and for a moment, it felt like time itself paused.

Sunghoon’s breath left him in a shaky exhale. His vision blurred, his hands trembling slightly. Jake, standing beside him, patted his back with a teasing but fond smile. “Breathe, man.”

But how could he, when you looked like that? Like you were crafted from every wish he had ever made?

Your father held onto your arm, his grip steady and warm. “Ready?” he murmured.

You nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. The moment felt surreal—the soft melody, the murmurs of admiration from your loved ones, and most of all, the way Sunghoon was looking at you.

His eyes, filled with nothing but love.

As you walked closer, step by step, Sunghoon swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from spilling over. His fingers twitched at his sides, desperate to reach for you.

When you finally reached him, your father squeezed your hand before placing it in Sunghoon’s.

“Take care of her,” he said softly.

Sunghoon, voice thick with emotion, nodded. “Always.”

Your fingers intertwined, a silent promise exchanged in that touch alone.

This was it.

Your forever was beginning.

A gentle breeze carried the faint scent of flowers through the air as the officiant stepped forward, smiling warmly at the two of you. The guests had settled, the soft rustling of fabric and hushed whispers fading into an anticipatory silence.

Sunghoon still hadn’t let go of your hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, as if grounding himself in the moment, ensuring this wasn’t some beautiful dream he would wake up from. You squeezed his fingers lightly, offering him a smile that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“You may all be seated,” the officiant announced.

A soft murmur spread through the guests as they took their seats, but neither you nor Sunghoon looked away from each other. His eyes were glassy, his jaw clenched in an attempt to hold himself together.

The officiant cleared his throat, his voice warm and full of joy. “We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Y/N and Sunghoon in marriage. A love that began with an accidental coffee theft has blossomed into a partnership built on laughter, unwavering support, and the kind of devotion that turns ordinary moments into extraordinary memories.”

A ripple of chuckles passed through the crowd, especially from your friends and coworkers who knew the infamous café story all too well. Sunghoon let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

The officiant continued, “Marriage is more than just the union of two people. It is a promise, a lifelong commitment to choose one another every single day. It is waking up each morning and deciding that no matter what, you will face everything—joys, hardships, and everything in between—together.”

Sunghoon’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a silent vow of its own.

The officiant smiled. “Before we proceed with the vows, let us take a moment to reflect on what brings us here today—the love between these two individuals, a love that has grown through shared dreams, unwavering trust, and the undeniable spark that has been there since the very beginning.”

Sunghoon exhaled shakily. The undeniable spark. He felt it even now, stronger than ever.

The officiant turned to him. “Sunghoon, you may now share your vows.”

Sunghoon let out a small laugh, running a hand through his neatly styled hair before taking a steadying breath. He pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket, but one look at you had him shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

“I wrote something down, but…” He exhaled, looking at you like you were his entire world. “I don’t think anything I put into words could ever fully capture how much I love you.”

A soft gasp rippled through the guests.

Sunghoon swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, you are my best friend, my greatest Lolove, and my home. From the moment I stole your coffee—” another round of laughter, “—I should have known my life was about to change. But I never could have imagined just how much.”

He took a deep breath. “You challenge me, you ground me, and you love me in a way that makes me want to be a better man every single day. You are my first thought when I wake up and my last thought before I sleep. You are my heart.”

Your vision blurred with tears.

“There is no one else I would rather laugh with, dream with, or grow old with. I promise to love you fiercely, to stand beside you in every storm, and to choose you, over and over again, for the rest of my life.”

A single tear escaped down your cheek, and Sunghoon reached up, brushing it away with the softest touch.

A sniffle from behind you revealed that at least three of your bridesmaids were crying.

The officiant smiled warmly. “Y/N, you may now share your vows.”

You inhaled deeply, blinking away the tears threatening to spill. Your hands trembled slightly as you held onto Sunghoon’s, his warmth steadying you.

“Sunghoon, from the very first day we met, you have surprised me, challenged me, and made me laugh like no one else ever has.” You let out a soft chuckle. “Even if our first conversation was me calling you a thief.”

The guests laughed, but you could only see Sunghoon, his lips curled into a tender smile.

“You have been my safest place, my greatest adventure, and the love I never saw coming, the love I prayed for. You are the person who sees me, truly sees me, in ways no one else ever has. You make ordinary days feel special and special days feel magical.”

Sunghoon’s grip on your hands tightened, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.

“I promise to always support your dreams, just as you support mine. I promise to be your best friend, your biggest fan, and your partner in all of life’s chaos. I promise to fight for us, to stand by your side no matter what, and to choose you, every single day, for the rest of my life.”

Tears clung to your lashes as you whispered, “You are my home, Sunghoon. And I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

Sunghoon let out a shaky exhale, his expression completely undone.

The officiant beamed. “And now, the rings.”

Jake stepped forward, handing Sunghoon the small velvet box. Sunghoon took the ring, his fingers brushing over the band he had so carefully chosen.

Sliding it onto your finger, he spoke softly, his voice laced with reverence. “With this ring, I give you my heart, my love, and my promise to stand by you always.”

You swallowed thickly, accepting the second ring from Karina. With steady hands, you slid it onto Sunghoon’s finger, your voice unwavering despite the emotions brimming in your chest. “With this ring, I give you my love, my devotion, and my promise to stand beside you, always.”

The officiant smiled brightly. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A beat of silence.

And then—

“Sunghoon,” the officiant teased, “you may now kiss your bride.”

A grin spread across Sunghoon’s face before he pulled you in, cupping your cheeks as he kissed you—soft and lingering at first, then deeper, as if trying to pour every ounce of love into that one moment.

The guests erupted into cheers, applause echoing around you.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and laughing, Sunghoon whispered against your lips, “You’re mine, Mrs. Park.”

You smiled. “Forever.”

And just like that, your forever began.

The cheers and applause still echoed in the air as you and Sunghoon stood at the altar, foreheads touching, grinning like two people who had just won the greatest prize in the world. Because in a way, you had—you had won each other.

The officiant stepped aside, signaling the musicians, and the first joyful notes of Can’t Help Falling in Love began to play, performed in a dreamy, instrumental arrangement.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, his hand never leaving yours. He looked at you like he was still processing that this was real—that you were his wife. His eyes glistened with emotion, but his smile was nothing short of pure joy.

“Ready, Mrs. Park?” he whispered, squeezing your fingers.

Your heart fluttered at the name. You nodded, cheeks aching from how much you had been smiling. “With you? Always.”

And with that, the officiant lifted his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time, I present to you… Mr. and Mrs. Park Sunghoon!”

A new wave of cheers erupted as Sunghoon gently pulled you forward, leading you down the aisle. Rose petals fluttered through the air, thrown by the bridesmaids and guests, creating a cascade of soft colors around you. The warm sunlight made everything feel even more magical, catching on the delicate shimmer of your dress and the golden band now sitting on your ring finger.

Sunghoon couldn’t stop smiling. He kept glancing at you, his grip firm yet gentle, his steps unhurried as if he wanted to savor this moment for as long as possible.

Halfway down the aisle, he suddenly stopped.

Before you could ask why, he turned to you, his hands cupping your face, and kissed you again—this time with all the excitement, love, and triumph bursting inside him.

The guests erupted into louder cheers and laughter, Jake and Jay whistling obnoxiously from the front row while your bridesmaids squealed. Even the photographers scrambled to capture the moment, their cameras clicking rapidly.

When Sunghoon pulled away, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Just making sure this is properly documented,” he murmured against your lips.

You giggled, lightly smacking his chest before tugging him forward. “Come on, Mr. Park, we have a reception to get to.”

Hand in hand, you both stepped out into your future, surrounded by love, laughter, and the promise of forever.

The guests had settled in their seats, the atmosphere humming with excitement and warmth as the golden glow of fairy lights cast a dreamy ambiance over the venue. The soft chatter of friends and family filled the air, glasses clinking as servers moved gracefully between tables, offering drinks. Everyone waited eagerly for the moment when the newlyweds would finally make their grand entrance as husband and wife.

Then, the music swelled—the unmistakable melody of Forevermore playing through the speakers, and the anticipation peaked.

A hush fell over the crowd as the double doors at the entrance slowly swung open, revealing Sunghoon and Y/N standing hand in hand. A collective sigh of admiration rippled through the room.

Dressed in their wedding attire, they looked like they had stepped right out of a fairytale. Sunghoon, in his white suit, looked at his bride with pure adoration, while Y/N, radiant in her elegant gown, beamed at him. The moment held its breath as they took their first step forward together.

And then, with a playful grin, Sunghoon twirled Y/N in the middle of the dance floor, the movement causing the layers of her dress to float around her like a cloud. As she landed gracefully in his arms, he dipped her slightly, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, whistles and claps filling the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Park Sunghoon and Park Y/N!” the emcee announced, amplifying the excitement in the room.

Sunghoon took Y/N’s hand once more, leading her to the head table as the reception officially began.

With glasses filled and the room glowing with warmth, the first toast of the evening was given. After a heartfelt message of love and gratitude from the couple, the emcee invited Y/N’s sister, Yejin, and Sunghoon’s best man, Jake, to share a few words.

Yejin took a deep breath before stepping up to the mic, glancing at Y/N with a teasing glint in her eyes.

“So, growing up with Y/N Unnie, I can tell you one thing for sure—she’s always been a hopeless romantic,” Yejin started, making the room chuckle as Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“She’d sigh dramatically while watching rom-coms, swearing she’d never find someone who loved her like that. And trust me, there were many nights when she complained about being single while eating an entire tub of ice cream.” Yejin smirked at her sister, who buried her face in her hands in embarrassment.

“But then, this guy happened.” She motioned to Sunghoon, her tone softening. “And suddenly, my sister wasn’t just dreaming about love—she was living it. I saw her happiest when she was with you, Sunghoon Oppa. And if anyone deserves to be loved endlessly, it’s her. Though I must say, she’s as competitive in love as she is in everything else. I mean, proposing right after getting proposed to? That’s my sister.”

The room burst into laughter, and Sunghoon smirked at Y/N, who was laughing with her face in her hands.

“But in all seriousness,” Yejin continued, her voice laced with emotion, “watching you two together is like watching the kind of love stories Unnie always dreamed of. And as her sister, all I could ever want is for her to be truly loved, cherished, and happy. Oppa, thank you for giving her that.”

A collective “aww” echoed through the crowd as Y/N’s eyes shimmered with tears. She reached for Yejin’s hand, squeezing it in gratitude.

Next, Jake took the mic, and a knowing smirk played on his lips.

“Alright, let’s be honest. When I first met Sunghoon, I didn’t think anyone could handle his nonchalant personality. He was the guy who barely reacted to anything, who didn’t care about romantic stuff, who always acted like he was too cool for love,” Jake said, making Sunghoon roll his eyes as laughter filled the room.

“But then, one day, he comes up to me—completely out of character—and starts complaining about this girl at a café,” Jake said, raising his brows.

Sunghoon groaned, shaking his head as realization hit. “No way—”

“Oh, yes way.” Jake grinned. “He goes, ‘Jake, this girl at the café is so annoying. She called me a thief because I accidentally took her order.’”

The entire room erupted into laughter as Y/N gasped in realization, pointing at Sunghoon. “Wait—you talked about that?!”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jake nodded, biting back a laugh. “Little did I know, that annoying girl was going to be the love of his life.”

Sunghoon groaned again, but the amused smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

“But in all seriousness,” Jake continued, his voice growing softer, “I’ve never seen Sunghoon look at anyone the way he looks at Y/N. And as someone who’s known him for years, it’s obvious—this guy loves you, Y/N. With everything he has. He even adopts her personality now!”

Sunghoon turned to Y/N then, their eyes locking in a gaze full of love and warmth.

“And if there’s one thing I know about Sunghoon,” Jake added, “it’s that when he loves, he loves with his whole heart. So, Y/N, congratulations—because you didn’t just marry him. You married a man who will love you with everything he’s got.”

The crowd cooed, and Y/N blinked back the happy tears forming in her eyes as Sunghoon leaned over to squeeze her hand.

“Now, enough of the sentimental stuff—let’s get back to the party!” Jake declared, raising his glass. “To Sunghoon and Y/N!”

“TO SUNGHOON AND Y/N!” the crowd echoed, lifting their glasses high before taking a sip.

With the speeches done, the bridesmaids and groomsmen took the floor for a surprise dance number—something fun, high-energy, and completely unexpected.

Jake and Yejin led the routine, hyping up the guests while Heeseung, Minseok, Karina, Hyein, and Yeji joined in, executing their choreographed moves flawlessly. Even Sunghoon, usually one to stay in his seat, was nodding along in appreciation.

By the end, the whole room was clapping and cheering, the energy infectious.

“That was amazing,” Y/N laughed, shaking her head in delight.

Sunghoon smirked. “Yeah, but good luck getting them to stop talking about it for the next decade.”

Hand in hand, Sunghoon and Y/N approached their elegantly designed wedding cake. With Sunghoon standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, they held the knife together and made the first cut, laughter and cheers surrounding them.

Rather than the traditional frosting-smearing battle, they opted for a sweet, playful moment—Sunghoon offering Y/N the first bite with a teasing smile, while Y/N fed him a piece in return.

Then, the lights dimmed slightly, signaling the beginning of their first dance. The soft melody of their chosen song filled the air, and Sunghoon gently led Y/N onto the dance floor.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, Sunghoon holding her close, whispering little words only meant for her. As the song reached its final notes, he twirled her one last time before pulling her into a soft, loving kiss.

Applause and dreamy sighs filled the room.

The energy shifted to something playful when the single ladies gathered for the bouquet toss. With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, Y/N playfully faked a throw before launching it over her shoulder—straight into Karina’s hands.

As the laughter and chatter from the bouquet toss settled, the atmosphere shifted to something a little more playful, a little more teasing. The emcee grinned, clapping his hands together as he announced,

“Alright, gentlemen, it’s your turn now! Single men, gather around—it’s time for the garter toss!”

The men groaned, but they still made their way forward, laughing and nudging each other. Meanwhile, the women in the audience were already giggling, excited for what was about to unfold.

Sunghoon turned to Y/N, who was perched on a chair in the middle of the dance floor. She was already blushing, her hands fidgeting in her lap. He stepped toward her slowly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“You nervous, Mrs. Park?” he murmured, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

She rolled her eyes at his teasing tone but couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips. “You wish.”

“Oh, I don’t wish, sweetheart,” he chuckled, taking his place in front of her. “I know.”

The emcee hyped up the crowd, his voice booming over the microphone.

“Now, tradition states that the groom must retrieve the garter without using his hands!”

A loud ooh rippled through the guests, mixed with whistles and playful screams.

Y/N swallowed, feeling her face grow warmer as Sunghoon slowly sank to his knees in front of her. His hands traced a light path along her ankles, a teasing touch that made her shiver, before he finally slid them up to her calves, gently parting her knees to make room for himself.

She let out a breath, heart pounding wildly.

Sunghoon was in no rush. He took his sweet time, his fingers grazing her skin just enough to send tingles up her spine. His eyes flickered up to hers, a devilish glint in them as he dipped his head down.

The moment his lips brushed against her thigh, the room erupted.

“Oh my god!”

“He’s really taking his time, huh?”

“Damn, okay, Sunghoon!”

Laughter and cheers filled the air as Sunghoon, still maintaining eye contact with Y/N, took the garter between his teeth and began to slowly slide it down her leg. Y/N bit her lip, torn between giggling and hiding her face in embarrassment.

“Lolove,” she hissed, nudging him with her knee. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He smirked against her skin before finally pulling the garter free with his teeth. Standing up, he shot her a wink before turning back to the waiting crowd, twirling the garter around his finger.

The single men groaned, knowing they were about to be dragged into the next part of the tradition.

“Alright, gentlemen!” The emcee laughed. “You know the drill—whoever catches the garter is next to get married!”

The men exchanged wary looks, but before any of them could react, Sunghoon had already flung the garter high into the air.

It arced beautifully before landing—right in Jake’s hands.

The room exploded.

“Ohhh, Jake!”

“Man, you’re done for!”

Jake blinked, looking down at the garter in disbelief while his friends pounded on his back, laughing hysterically.

“Bro, I wasn’t even trying to catch it!” he protested.

Sunghoon only grinned, slinging an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “Guess that means you’re next, bud.”

Jake groaned, but the playful grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

Y/N, still recovering from the teasing Sunghoon had put her through, shook her head with a laugh.

And just like that, another unforgettable moment was added to the night—one filled with laughter, teasing, and just a little bit of mischief.

As the night began to wind down, the energy in the room softened into something warm and heartfelt. The music had shifted to a gentle melody, and the guests—now full from dinner, exhausted from dancing, and maybe a little tipsy from the champagne—gathered closer, their faces glowing with happiness.

The emcee took the microphone once again, smiling warmly. “Before we officially end this unforgettable night, our bride and groom have something they’d like to say.”

Sunghoon and Y/N stood together at the center of the dance floor, hand in hand. Y/N, still glowing from the magic of the evening, glanced up at her husband—her husband—and felt her heart swell with emotions she couldn’t even put into words.

Sunghoon squeezed her hand gently before bringing the mic up to his lips.

“First of all, thank you all for being here tonight,” he began, his voice steady yet filled with sincerity. “It honestly means the world to us that we could celebrate with the people who have been by our sides through everything. Whether you’ve known us for years or just recently became a part of our lives, each of you has made an impact, and we’re so grateful.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering to Y/N before continuing.

“To our friends—thank you for always supporting us, hyping us up, and occasionally making fun of us when we deserved it.” A chuckle rippled through the room. “Your friendships mean everything to us, and we wouldn’t be standing here today without all the moments we’ve shared.”

He turned toward their families next, his expression softening.

“To our families… there aren’t enough words to express how much we love you. Thank you for raising us, for guiding us, and for always being our home, no matter where we are in life. Thank you for supporting us in this new chapter—we hope we’ll make you proud.”

The emotion in his voice was undeniable. Y/N felt his grip on her hand tighten just slightly, grounding himself.

Then, he glanced at her, the smallest smile tugging at his lips.

“And of course, to my wife,” he said, his tone turning impossibly soft.

A few dramatic gasps and teasing awws could be heard from the crowd, making Y/N laugh under her breath.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Sunghoon continued. “You are my greatest love, my best friend, my peace, and my daily dose of chaos. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Y/N playfully nudged him at the “chaos” comment, making the guests laugh.

Sunghoon chuckled before turning to her fully. “Thank you for choosing me. Every day, I will choose you, too.”

The applause that followed was filled with warmth, and Y/N, blinking back the prickle of tears, took the mic next.

“First of all,” she started, eyes sparkling mischievously, “I’d like to say that I had a speech planned, but after that, I might just hand the mic back to Sunghoon and let him keep talking.”

Laughter erupted, and Sunghoon shook his head with an amused grin.

Y/N took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of loved ones before her.

“This night… this entire journey with Sunghoon… has been nothing short of incredible. And the fact that we get to share it with all of you makes it even more special. Thank you for being part of our story.”

She turned to Sunghoon, eyes filled with love

“I’ve always believed that love should feel like home. And with you, I know I’ve found mine.”

Sunghoon exhaled, his free hand reaching up to brush away a stray tear that slipped down her cheek.

“I can’t wait for forever with you,” she whispered, just for him to hear.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and the emcee took over once again.

“Alright, let’s send these two off with all the love and energy we’ve got left!”

With that, the farewell procession began.

As Sunghoon and Y/N made their way through the crowd, the guests waved sparklers in the air, creating a dazzling tunnel of light. The couple took their time, stopping to hug friends and family one last time, exchanging whispered goodbyes, laughter, and endless well-wishes.

“Don’t forget to send us pictures from the honeymoon!” Karina called out.

Jake gave Sunghoon a dramatic salute. “You better take care of her, man.”

Yeji and Yejin both had tears in their eyes as they hugged Y/N tightly. “We love you so much,” Yejin murmured.

“We’ll see you soon,” Heeseung added with a grin, patting Sunghoon on the back.

Finally, as they reached the end of the glowing pathway, Sunghoon took Y/N’s hand in his and pulled her in for one last twirl—mirroring their entrance at the reception.

Only this time, when he dipped her, the kiss he pressed to her lips was slow and deep, the kind that promised forever.

The guests erupted into applause, and with their hearts full, Y/N and Sunghoon turned toward their getaway car, ready to step into the next chapter of their love story.

As the doors closed behind them, Sunghoon laced his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands to his lips.

“Ready to start forever?” he murmured.

Y/N smiled, leaning into him.

“With you? Always.”

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

a/n: ITS HERE!! i really cried writing this part— like my babies are not babies anymore:(( anyways i hope you like and love this act as much as i did and leave a FEEDBACK and RB!! ILY and see you next acts🙂‍↕️💗

taglist: @iboughtnjz @rikidaze @pocketzlocket @jaerisdiction @ijustwannareadstuff20 @doririsstuff @whateveridontcarsheesh @rikifever @firstclassjaylee @jayhoonvroom @heekolazz @teenagecheesecakereview

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh @ramenoil

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝗜𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 || 𝗕𝗶𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗛𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗲 ||

↳ Part Two

Warnings: Billy fantasizing about the reader,body shamming, Destruction of personal property, male solo (aka Billy touching himself to the thought of the reader )

A/n: Part 3 will have smut / female receiving oral, if ya'll want it

The next time he saw you, it was in the library.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself. He wasn’t exactly the book type, but detention had landed him there after he mouthed off in Mr. Harmon’s class again. Typical shit. What wasn’t typical was you—tucked into the farthest corner by the windows, cross-legged on the carpet with a stack of books beside you, as you tugged your cardigan sleeves over your hands.

You didn’t notice him.That irritated him more than he expected.

Billy had been noticed his whole life—for better or worse. People stared. Whispered. Girls giggled. Guys glared. But you? You were in your own world. A little crease between your brows as you turned a page, your lips mouthing the words as you read. There was a highlighter tucked behind your ear and a thermos beside your backpack that probably had tea in it. Because of course it did.

And it shouldn’t have made his palms itch.

It shouldn’t have made him shift in his seat, adjust himself under the table as he stared at you through the bookshelf.

But it did.

You were the kind of girl no one paid attention to unless they needed help with homework. The kind guys like him ignored. Which, Billy realized now, was their mistake.

Because he saw you.

He saw the way your sweater stretched across your chest when you lent forward. The way your skirt tugged across your thick thighs when you adjusted your position. How flushed your cheeks got when someone complimented you—he remembered now, vaguely, someone from band class had said your shoes were cute and you practically tripped over your own thank you.

You were adorable.

And he wanted you.

Billy didn’t know why this felt different. Normally, girls were a game—fun to chase, easy to forget. But something about your quiet, smart, curvy little self made his chest tighten and his cock throb at the same damn time.

So when you stood up and walked to the front desk—still not sparing him a glance—he stood too.

He didn’t make a scene. Not yet. But he walked by close enough that your scent hit him. Vanilla and something floral. Soft. Sweet. Just like you.

You looked up. Finally.

Your eyes met his.

You blinked.

He smirked.

And when your face grew warm and when you immediately looked away, he bit back a groan and kept walking.

'Oh yeah', he thought, tongue dragging along the inside of his cheek. 'She’s gonna look at me like that again. Over and over.'

By the end of the week, Billy had a new routine.

He started showing up early to school—something no one ever thought they’d see. He lingered near your locker. Made sure he was at whatever vending machine she used. Walked past your study hall window just slow enough for you to notice. Always smirking. Always watching.

He didn’t speak to you yet.

Not really.

But he’d make you wait for it. Build it up. Make you wonder.

Because when Billy Hargrove wanted something, he didn’t just take it.

He made it crave him first.

And from the way your eyes flitted to him and then away like you were guilty of something? Like your breath caught just a little?

Yeah.

You were almost there and then he happened.

Jason Carver.

Jason Carver was a prick.

Everyone knew it—rich boy attitude, that smug grin, always running his mouth like he owned the damn school. And when it came to girls, he was worse. Especially ones who didn’t fit his perfect little cheerleader mold. The ones who were shy. Smart. Soft around the edges. The ones he thought were “easy targets.”

Which is why he started in on you.

It started with little comments in the hallway.

“Careful, nerd herd incoming,” Jason would snicker to his friends when you passed by, hugging your books tighter to your chest.

Or worse—when he caught you dropping something.

“Damn, earthquake or just her thighs?”

Billy had heard that one. From behind you, no less. You hadn’t even flinched—just ducked your head like you were used to it.

That pissed Billy the fuck off.

He knew how to spot cruelty wrapped in a smile. Knew the type that needed a lesson in pain.

And Jason? He was asking for it.

But Billy didn’t do warnings.

He did payback.

That night, Jason’s Camaro sat parked right outside his perfect little suburban home. Pristine. Polished. White paint gleaming under the glow of the porch light like it was proud of itself.

Billy pulled up a few blocks away, boots hitting the pavement with slow, deliberate steps. Smoke curling from his lips as he crushed a cigarette under his heel, pulling a pocketknife from his leather jacket like it was second nature.

No hesitation.

No second thoughts.

Just a slow, deep drag of breath as he crouched down and slashed the tires one by one, the hiss of escaping air sweet as a fucking lullaby.

Then came the fun part.

He stood, eyes gleaming, and ran the tip of his key down the length of the driver’s side door with all the force he could manage. Screeeeech.

He carved one word, nice and deep:

PIG.

Then—just to add a little signature—he flicked the butt of his second cigarette into the open hood vent.

Wasn’t enough to start a fire. But it would reek.

He stepped back, admiring his work with a smirk before turning on his heel, leather jacket whipping behind him as he walked off into the shadows.

The next morning, the whole school was buzzing.

Jason stormed into the parking lot red-faced, screaming bloody murder. “Some psycho keyed my car! Slashed my tires!” he shouted, shoving one of the underclassmen who had gotten too close.

No one had proof.

But Billy?

He showed up late that day, sauntering past Jason with a smirk on his lips and murder in his eyes.

And when he saw you down the hall—soft sweater, shy glance, avoiding everyone’s eyes—he leaned close enough as he passed to murmur just loud enough for you alone:

“No one fucks with what’s mine.”

You blinked up at him, startled.

And Billy? He gave you a wink and walked away like nothing happened, the scent of smoke and leather trailing behind him—leaving your heart racing and Jason Carver with four flat tires and a bruised ego that would never recover.

The next few days were a blur as it finally rolled into Summer, he hadn't expected you to turn up at the pool.

Nor did he expect you to look down right sinful.

It wasn’t supposed to hit him that hard.

You'd been sitting by Hawkins community pool with your legs in the water, laughing nervously at something one of you friends said, adjusting the oversized towel wrapped around your waist like you wanted to disappear into it. But it was too late.

Billy had seen you.

Not just a glance—really seen you

The way that black swimsuit clung to your curves like it was made just for you. The soft swell of your tits just barely covered by the scoop neck. The way your plush thighs pressed together when you sat. That little stretch mark peeking out near your hip when you shifted. Things you'd probably tried to hide. But Billy?

He couldn’t look away.

His drink had gone warm in his hand. His jaw tight. And the second you looked his way—eyes wide, shy, startled like you weren't used to being watched—he felt it. A punch of heat low in his gut.

He left the party ten minutes later.

Now he was in his room, door locked, lights low, that same towel-wrapped image of you burned into the backs of his eyelids.

Billy lay back on his bed, one hand already tugging his belt open, breathing shallow, cock hard and aching beneath his jeans. He wasn’t gentle. He never was.

But this?

This was different.

He let out a low groan as he pulled himself free, already leaking, already picturing you sitting by the pool—wet skin glistening, legs shifting like you were trying to be modest.

Fuck.

His grip tightened, slow at first, dragging his hand over his length as he exhaled through clenched teeth. His mind filled in the blanks. How you'd feel under him. How your breath would hitch when he touched you. How your soft thighs would tremble when he spread them.

You'd be shy about it, he knew. Would probably try to cover up.

But he’d whisper to you. Rough and low.

“No, baby. Let me see you. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

His pace picked up. His hips jerked up off the mattress slightly as he imagined peeling that towel away, revealing everything you tried to hide. Holding you still while he buried his face between you thighs. Making you sob his name while you clutched his hair.

“Jesus…” he growled, jaw tightening, sweat beading on his brow as he pumped harder, faster, fucking into his fist like he could feel you around him.

You'd be warm. Tight. Fucking soaking.

His name would fall from your lips in that breathy voice of yours, that sweet little whimper that would drive him insane.

“Billy…”

That did it.

He came with a low, guttural groan, hot and messy across his stomach, hips stuttering as he rode it out, the image of you etched into the haze of his mind.

He lay there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed.

And then he laughed, just once—low and breathless.

Because now?

He was obsessed.

And the next time he saw you?

He wouldn’t just be watching, he was going to let you know how he feels.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Dedication to @nekrosmos' beautiful be-thong'd Nik.

cw: rimming, anal sex, top JP, bottom Nik.

Price’s toes wiggled against the warm sandstone as he stepped onto the patio and breathed in the late afternoon heat. His palms brushed over his naked chest and down his belly as he surveyed the lay of his little kingdom.

Their south-facing garden had been absorbing the sun for the better part of the day and the hibiscus were looking a bit sorry for themselves, drooping miserably in the heat. He’d give ‘em a good drink tonight. They weren't exactly at the forefront of his mind at that moment though. In fact, his attention was entirely occupied by a singular breathtaking fuckin’ vision of a man sprawled out on a sun lounger by the fountain.

Price’s lower lip rolled between his teeth as his gaze dragged down the broad slope of Nik's back, following the progress of a bead of sweat travelling the channel of his spine to the cleft of his perfect arse. His thick thighs were a little spread, and Price could see his damn thong struggling with the fullness of his balls. Oh, it fit just perfect, but that was the beauty of it; it left everything on display, and Nik damn well knew what he was doing. Price groaned softly, toes curling as his prick twitched inside his cargo shorts.

He reached into his pocket for the lube he'd snagged out of the “eclectic drawer of random shit” in their kitchen and turned it over in his fingers. They lived in the middle of nowhere, just outside West Kirby about a five minutes walk from the Irish sea, not a single neighbour for at least five miles, and Price was going to make full use of that isolation. Nik couldn't just sprawl out like some opulent Greek god and get away with it.

The sun had shifted and Nik's bronzing skin was now dappled with shade. He was propped up on his elbows, a novel spread open between his big hands, and he didn't look up from it as Price wandered closer. Neither did he move as Price rested a knee on the sun lounger between his, the soft cushion giving beneath his extra weight. He leaned over to press his nose against the top of Nik’s back to breathe in the salty tang of his sweat and the floral traces of his cologne faded through it. Nik always smelled so bloody good; his skin, his cologne, his clean sweat. Every deep breath drew more of him in, stoking the delicious ache of arousal in Price's gut.

Price’s lips followed the tip of his nose, leaving a lingering kiss as he moulded his body to the shape of Nik's, his hips pressed the hard curve of his cock against Nik's arse, the fur of his chest sticking to the sweat-slick skin of Nik's back. Nik's body gave beneath him, the heft of his balls full and firm, the plentiful curves of his arse shaping either side of Price's girth. “You really gonna pretend t’ ignore me?”

Nik hummed. “I am not ignoring you. I am reading.”

“Urf, Nik, that's cold.” Price chuckled, hot breath puffing between Nik's shoulder blades as he worked lower with another kiss. And then another. Slowly, slowly, he worked over flexing muscle, chasing the odd bead of sweat with the tip of his tongue, making Nik's skin flush with goosebumps of pleasure. He may have kept his tone nonchalant, but his body was a damn traitor to the cause.

Price’s eyes fluttered closed as he ran his nose into the diamond shape just above the curve of Nik's arse cheeks. He took the thin string of the thong in his teeth and tugged it playfully, looking up through his eyebrows to catch the little glance Nik cast over his shoulder, dark shades hiding the smile in his eyes. Nik's strong legs shifted apart a little, his hips tilting, betraying his desire even as he looked back at his novel.

Price grinned. Gotcha.

He nipped the skin of one arse cheek, sliding his thumb beneath the string and slowly down Nik's cleft to lift it out of the way as he worked inwards. His tongue flicked through the soft, damp hair, across the milky soft skin, to reach his destination; the tight, neat furl of Nik's hole. He swiped it with the flat of his tongue, felt the muscle twitch under the wet heat as Nik’s breath hitched, before kissing it as deeply as he would Nik's mouth. That earned his first soft moan, Nik's knees spreading as Price's tongue licked into him, his thumb keeping the damn thing hooked to the side.

Price's eyes rolled as he ate his fill, kissing and sucking down Nik's taint to the soft curve of his sac before working his way back up, saliva running down his chin into the bristles of his beard as a longing growl broke from his throat. The taste was intoxicating, the noise of Nik's enjoyment, the way his body shuddered and relented, surrendering ground and resistance with every bloom of pleasure curling through his hips.

“Blyat, John…” Nik sighed, and Price heard the novel flop to the floor as Nik's chest dropped to the lounger, Nik burying his face in the cushion as he uttered another muffled plea.

The damn thong had to go. Price lifted long enough to tug it down Nik's legs to flick it away. Before Nik's hips could settle on the cushion, Price drew his cock back to suck on his glans, lapping the beads of precum from his slit, nuzzling the seam of his sac, thumb pad pressing against his spit slick hole. Nik spread his knees further, finding the smooth steel of the rails at the edges of the lounger, his back curved in a deep arch. “John, trakhni menya…” he panted.

Price swallowed hard. He didn't need asking twice. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to kick off his shorts and boxers, his leaking cock springing free in the humid summer air. He chucked the lube onto the lounger as he crawled back up Nik's body, the wet tip of his cock slid up the slick cleft of Nik's arse, grinding and catching on the relaxed muscle of his hole. “That wot ya want, love?”

“John,” Nik growled his warning, throwing an impatient glare over his shoulder, but Price shushed him, hands bracing either side of Nik's chest. The slow roll of his hips slid his cock between the thick swells of Nik's arse cheeks, and Price watched down the slope of his chest, admiring the delicious, possessive sight of it. His balls pressed to the back of Nik's as Nik tilted his hips, urging the satin-soft skin of Price's shaft over his hole. Price kissed the back of Nik's neck, across his shoulders, listening to each quivering breath as Nik's desperation built, his glans pressing against Nik's soft rim.

“John, trakhnite menya… pozhaluysta…” Nik breathed, broad shoulders quivering.

“Okay, love… okay. I gotch’ya.” Price grabbed the lube as he sat back on his heels, warming it against his palm before swiping it down the length of his cock and pressing it gently against the eager pucker of Nik's hole. His thumb dipped inside, Nik's body sucking it down effortlessly to the first knuckle. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, sweet’eart. Yer perfect. Look atcha.”

Price took his cock in hand as he leaned forward on his knuckles, pressing the tip to Nik's hole and leaning forward just enough to watch it gape around the flare of his crown. He rocked back and forward, teasing, watching Nik's back muscles flex and tense with eager anticipation. When Price finally leaned forward, sinking the length of his cock into the greedy heat of Nik's body, the pleasure unwound the knot in his belly, the relief of desire sated. His hips pressed forward, the plush of Nik's arse squeezing beneath the pressure, as Price ground into the hilt.

Nik moaned, gripping the sides of the lounger, lifting up a little in a silent plea as Price began to thrust in long, agile rolls. Not waiting for Nik's grip to ease, because he knew that Nik liked being fucked open, hard and raw. “John… mm, John… da, da!”

“Thassit, love. This is what you wanted, teasin’ me like.. ahh, teasin’ me like that… beggin’ me t’ fuck ya, so fuckin’ hot.”

The way Nik arched, fuckin’ presented, drove Price wild. He'd wanted this. Wanted his body worshipped, his hole stretched around Price's cock, to feel him fuck deep. He'd showed off his beautiful fuckin’ body, with its bronzing skin and delicious curves, its hair and its strength; he'd laid himself out like a banquet and waited. He knew how bloody gorgeous he was, and who it all belonged to.

Price growled with need as he gripped the lounger to thrust harder, finding the angle that made Nik pant and groan, spreading his legs in desperate need as Price ground in a slow roll. Price's back curled, spots of cool water from the fountain dappling over his flushed skin, droplets of sweat sliding down his face to drip onto Nik's back below him. Wet, and hot, and needy, every sense filled to the brim with Nik; the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him.

“Da, John, da, da…”

“Come for me, love. G’won, on my dick, jus’ like that, good lad…”

Price wasn't sure what bullshit he was waffling, but he could feel Nik’s body squeezing, coiling, working itself up to a dizzying height at the pleasure of Price’s cock pounding into him. Price nipped his shoulders and nuzzled into the curls of his hair as Nik became louder, fingers biting into the fabric of the cushions as he pushed his face down. Price felt him come, tight, perfect hole bearing down as his orgasm lapped through him in licks of heat, milking Price’s cock in long pulses. “Yeah, yeah, good lad, fuck… fuck… ya love havin’ yer hole filled.”

Price licked the sweat from Nik's skin as he crested, balls pulling tight, one hand squeezing a full arse cheek, his cock pulsing thick ropes of cum deep in Nik's body. Price's eyes rolled, the tingling pleasure spreading to the tips of his damn toes as he laid claim.

Nik slumped, panting, as Price drew back. His cock left Nik's body hollowed out, puffy rim glistening with the evidence of a deep and thorough breeding. He leaned forward to drape over Nik's back, nuzzling into the side of his face. “Gimme ten, an’ then ‘m gonna have yer legs on my shoulders.”

Nik groaned. “Have mercy.”

“You knew what you were doin’ when yer put that slutty li’le fing on,” Price murmured, kissing the back of Nik's shoulder. “‘m gonna grab a beer, an’ when I get back, you better be on yer back with those pretty tits out.”

Price rolled away and sauntered back into the kitchen to rustle up two Peronis from the fridge. When he returned, Nik had turned, the back of the lounger lifted a little, fat cock half hard over the slant of a muscular thigh as thick tits rising and falling with each deep breath, soft eyes watching Price with adoration and excited anticipation. Met by a sight like that, Price felt like the luckiest bloke on earth.

[ankababy]

A Home (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

How come you’re such an angel? Why would you worry about someone like Niragi? Why, sweet little Y/N?

It had become a pattern by now.

You walked in. They ignored each other. They ignored you.

And yet, they never seemed to leave the same room. Even now, you stepped into the living room and found them so painfully far apart—Niragi sprawled across one end of the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table, while Chishiya leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

They should’ve moved.

They didn’t.

They liked to annoy each other too much.

You took it all in, the heavy, charged silence stretching between them, the way their postures were so casual.

God. They were exhausting.

Still, you smiled. “Good morning.”

Niragi didn’t look up.

Chishiya barely blinked.

So, business as usual.

You rolled your eyes, stepping further inside. “Wow, okay, guess we’re doing the silent treatment thing now. Real mature, guys.”

Nothing.

You ignored the urge to sigh.

Brats.

Instead, you made your way toward the kitchen, toward Chishiya—who didn’t move as you passed him, but you felt his gaze drift to you.

You were used to it now. He was always watching. Which was fine, because you were watching too. Chishiya, in all his distant, calculated ways, was easier to read than he liked to think. He never did anything without a reason.

So, when you stepped past him and reached for the pan, you glanced at him, eyes playful. “You never wake up this early.”

“Didn’t sleep much.”

“Mm.” you hummed, turning on the stove. “Thinking too hard?”

His silence was answer enough.

Meanwhile, Niragi groaned dramatically from the couch, stretching like a cat, clearly bored. “If I have to hear one more of your dry-ass conversations, I’m gonna hang myself with the toaster cord.”

You snorted. “So go somewhere else?”

Niragi scoffed, throwing an arm over his face. “You go somewhere else.”

You grabbed a few eggs, cracked them over the pan, and let the smell of breakfast start to fill the air. “What do you guys want?”

Silence.

Of course.

You smiled to yourself. Pricks. “Not answering? Great. I’ll just give you whatever I want, then.”

Niragi waved a lazy hand. “Sounds good, baby.”

Chishiya said nothing, but you knew he was watching. He always was.

You let the quiet settle over you, the warmth of the stove heating your skin, and despite their constant refusal to cooperate, despite their stubborn, endless silence—you liked them.

You really, really liked them.

And you really had no idea what these boys used to wake up to before you found them half-dead on the street, but you weresure it wasn’t the sound of a girl happily rambling while making them breakfast.

Oh well. They’d have to get used to it.

The eggs sizzled in the pan, the warm scent filling the kitchen, and you hummed as you flipped them over, tossing some seasoning in just to be cute. “I think I’m gonna redecorate.”

Neither of them responded. Which was fine. They weren’t exactly the morning chat over coffee types.

Did that stop you? No.

“It’s too boring in here. Everything’s all beige and gray. I think I wanna paint the walls.”

Still, nothing. So, naturally, you kept going. “Like, obviously, pink is the first choice, but I also thought about pastels, you know? Maybe a cute little lavender theme. Or warm tones! Peach, maybe? Ooh, or floral wallpaper!”

Silence.

Niragi had his head leaned back against the couch, arms stretched over the top, legs kicked up on the coffee table—so painfully uninterested. Chishiya, still leaning against the counter, hadn’t blinked in at least five minutes.

You stirred the eggs with a little more enthusiasm. “Maybe I’ll get some new furniture too. Imagine this place all soft and girly, and you two just sitting here looking all…” You gestured vaguely in their direction. “Like that.”

Niragi finally cracked an eye open. “Like what? You’ll live.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing up their plates. “Anyway,” you continued. “I think I’m gonna find some flowers too. Maybe a few paintings. It’s just too dead in here, you know?”

Again, no answer.

You turned around, plates in hand, eyes soft. “You guys have been in enough dead places.” You stepped over to Niragi first, handing him his plate. “Here. Don’t bitch about it.”

He scoffed, as you set it in front of him, your hand patted the top of his head softly. Not a big deal. Not to you, at least. (He froze. Blinked. Then clicked his tongue, muttering a sharp “Oi.” Like he was offended.)

You ignored him, moving toward Chishiya and handing him his plate. “And for you, doctor.”

He stared at you. Then, quietly, “Thank you.”

Oh. That was unexpected.

You smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

Then, with a stretch and a yawn, you leaned against the counter, hands behind you, absolutely beaming.

There was something about watching you.

Not in a weird way. Well—maybe in a weird way. But neither of the boys really meant to do it. It just… happened.

You stood at the counter, humming some gentle little tune, moving effortlessly between the sink and the stove. Cleaning up, putting things away, wiping down the already-spotless counters—like taking care of things was just second nature to you.

It pissed Niragi off.

Not you, necessarily. Just… what you were. What you represented.

Because people like you weren’t supposed to exist anymore. The world should’ve chewed you up and spit you out like it did everyone else. It should’ve taken that soft voice and those gentle hands and crushed them into dust.

And yet, here you were. Still standing. Still breathing. Still smiling.

The worst part? It wasn’t fake. You weren’t pretending.

He’d seen it before—the fragile little acts people put on when they were terrified, when they thought kindness would keep them alive, when they thought smiling meant survival.

But you? You weren’t scared. You weren’t even cautious.

Even now, after whatever the fuck happened that night, after dragging yourself home with barely enough strength to open the fucking door—you were still like this.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t how people worked.

Niragi stabbed at his food with his fork, scowling.

And across the room, Chishiya… thought the same thing.

Only, he wasn’t angry. Just curious. Because he was sure—so sure—that you weren’t naive. You weren’t walking around with that sweetness because you were blind to what this world was. He’d seen it in your eyes from the moment he woke up on that couch.

You knew exactly what this place could do to people.

And yet, somehow, it hadn’t done it to you.

Why?

How?

He didn’t feel much, never had, probably never would—but something about you wasn’t normal.

Chishiya knew people. He could read them, predict them, manipulate them—but you? He hadn’t figured you out yet.

And that was unacceptable.

He let his gaze linger on you for a little longer. Then, slowly, he took another bite of food.

And Niragi—scowling, shifting in his seat, eyes burning into the back of your head—did the same.

You moved and sat down next to him, the couch dipping as you settled in. It wasn’t anything significant—you weren’t all over him, weren’t trying to get in his face, weren’t touching him—just sitting.

And that pissed him off.

Because why the fuck were you like this?

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in you, not when it came to him. Not when you should’ve been looking at him like a bomb set to go off, not when you should’ve been keeping your distance.

Instead, you were right there.

And that fucking smile.

“How do you feel?” you asked softly.

Like tearing someone apart. Like getting up and leaving this stupid fucking apartment and letting this city swallow him whole, because the walls were too close, and you were too fucking close, and—

“I feel great.”

Flat, clipped, sarcastic.

Because he didn’t want to talk to you.

Except he kind of did.

And that was just another thing to add to the list of shit he didn’t understand.

You hummed, tilting your head. “No pain? Nothing at all?”

Niragi smirked. “You think a couple bruises and stitches are gonna slow me down?”

“No, but they should.”

God, you were so sweet about it. Like you actually cared. Like it mattered to you.

And that pissed him off even more.

Because why the fuck would you care?

He’d met people like you before, people who said they were nice, people who acted like they gave a shit, but it was always fake. It had to be. Because nothing in this world was real, not kindness, not comfort, not warmth.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But you? You weren’t fake.

And that… that was a problem.

Because if you were fake, it would be easy to ignore you. If you were fake, he wouldn’t be thinking about you.

If you were fake, he wouldn’t be here.

You let a small silence stretch before speaking again. “Don’t you have to play soon?”

“Tch. Yeah.”

“I can go with you.” Without hesitation. Oh, Y/N.

And something about that, something about your voice, the way you said it like it was nothing made him want to punch a hole in the wall.

And not because he didn’t want you there.

But because he did.

Because you were his favorite kind of person to watch suffer.

Soft. Good. Pure.

Someone who didn’t belong here, someone who shouldn’t be breathing the same air as people like him.

He should’ve said yes just to see you break. Just to see if that kindness could hold up against the kind of games he’d played before. To see you fucking cry and want to kill yourself, to want to escape and scream and screech just for him to get away from you to—

“I don’t need you there.”

Hm.

“Alright, then.” Your voice was soft. Accepting. Like you weren’t about to push him, like you weren’t going to fight him on it.

And that pissed him off even more. Because it would be so much easier if you did. If you whined, if you begged, if you pressed. If you just acted like everyone else.

But no, you were just… nice about it. Like you actually fucking cared if he was okay. Like it mattered to you if he made it back.

And then, to make things worse, you lifted a hand—gentle, slow, unthreatening—and touched his arm. Softly. Barely.

But he felt it.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”

It was harsh. Too harsh. A full-body recoil like you had just burned him.

You just smiled. Like you saw right through him. Like you knew exactly why he was reacting this way.

Like you knew that it wasn’t hate.

Like you knew that it wasn’t because he didn’t want you to touch him—but because he did.

Because no one had ever touched him like that.

No one had ever meant it.

And he couldn’t fucking handle it.

You let your fingers drag away from him, slow, careful, like you were backing off but still letting him feel it. And then, you stood up. Didn’t say another word. Just walked over to the kitchen, reaching for Chishiya’s plate without even looking at him.

Like you weren’t aware of the fact that he had been watching.

The entire time.

And Chishiya? Chishiya had been learning.

Because Niragi wasn’t hard to figure out. Not to him.

And this? This was fascinating.

Because Niragi was a dog. A violent, rabid thing that bit when he got too close, that snapped his teeth when things got uncomfortable.

And what did rabid dogs do when they were backed into a corner?

They attacked.

Not out of power.

Out of fear.

And Niragi was afraid.

Because he was feeling something he didn’t know what to do with. Something that didn’t fit into the world he had built for himself. Something that confused him, that scared him.

And you were the cause.

Chishiya already knew you were different. That you were too soft for this world. That you didn’t belong here.

But now? Now he knew why Niragi was really fighting you.

It wasn’t because he hated you.

It was because he didn’t.

And that was dangerous.

For all of you.

~

Niragi was gone.

You had seen him walk out that door. And now you were here, sitting on the couch, facing the front door like some housewife waiting for her husband to come home from work.

Except this wasn’t a normal world. And Niragi wasn’t a normal man.

And you weren’t sure he was coming back.

Oh, no—don’t think like that.

He was fine.

He had to be.

Because that’s what Niragi was, right? Fine.

A survivor. A violent, ruthless thing that didn’t just exist in this world but thrived in it. The type of person who didn’t need help, who didn’t need care, who would sooner die than admit he was vulnerable.

He’d be fine.

Wouldn’t he?

You exhaled slowly, pressing your hands against your knees, steadying yourself.

It wasn’t him you didn’t trust.

It was the world.

He was a fighter, yeah, but that wasn’t always a good thing.

Because fighters didn’t just survive. They got themselves killed. And Niragi? He had that particular kind of recklessness, the one that made you wonder if he even wanted to live at all.

That wasn’t the same thing as being fearless.

Oh, no.

Fearless people wanted to live.

Niragi? He wasn’t afraid to die.

Because he’d already lost.

Something. Everything.

You didn’t know what.

But you knew that look.

That almost dead, hollowed-out look in someone’s eyes when they had nothing left to lose.

That was dangerous.

Because what do people like that do?

They go too far. They throw themselves into death like they’re testing it, playing with it, seeing if today is the day it finally catches them.

And Niragi was the type to laugh at it. To take the most brutal, most fucked-up games just to feel something, anything.

The type to walk into battle knowing it might be the last time, and not caring.

And that? That scared you.

Because Niragi was already playing with death.

And you were afraid that one of these days, it was going to win.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before Chishiya sat down next to you.

He was quiet, barely making a sound, like a cat slipping into a room unnoticed. You didn’t look at him, just glanced slightly from the corner of your eye as he leaned back against the couch, draping an arm over the back like he had nowhere better to be.

“How are you?”

You blinked. Turned your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t immediately respond, only tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering over you, down to the places where injuries were hidden under your clothes.

“Your body.” he clarified. “How is it?”

Ah.

You almost laughed.

He hadn’t asked out of care.

It wasn’t concern.

It was curiosity.

Because Chishiya wasn’t the kind of man who worried.

You exhaled softly, glancing down at your hands. “I’ll live.”

And he didn’t argue.

Didn’t press.

Because he knew it was true.

But he stayed.

He didn’t move.

And that was enough to know he wanted to talk.

So, you let the silence stretch for a moment, then finally asked, “You don’t talk much, huh?”

He let out a quiet huff, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. “You talk enough for the both of us.”

You smirked. “You’re lucky I do, then. Otherwise, we’d just sit here in silence.”

He didn’t argue with that, either. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’re waiting for him.”

It wasn’t a question. You still answered anyway.

“I’d wait for you, too.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You raised a brow. “Why?”

Chishiya sighed softly, shifting in his seat. “Because Niragi is an idiot.”

You actually laughed this time. “That’s not really a reason.”

Chishiya smirked slightly, glancing toward the door. “He’s reckless. He doesn’t care if he dies.”

You frowned slightly. “Yeah, well… that doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Chishiya was silent for a moment. And then he looked at you again, pretty eyes scanning your face, as if searching for something.

And you wondered—what did he see when he looked at you? What did his brain, his cold, calculating, sociopathic brain think when it tried to figure you out?

Because you knew he was. You saw the way his fingers tapped against his knee, the way his eyes lingered, the way he tilted his head slightly when you spoke.

You weren’t just a person to him.

You were a puzzle.

And Chishiya loved puzzles. He liked people he could tear apart and put back together. But you? You were still a mystery. Still unsolved.

And that’s why he stayed.

That’s why he talked to you at all.

It wasn’t about care.

It was about understanding.

Because if there was one thing Chishiya hated, it was not knowing something.

And youu were something he didn’t know.

You let the silence settle for a moment. Let him watch you, let him try to figure you out like a puzzle with a missing piece. Then, with a soft voice, you asked, “And you? How are you feeling?”

Chishiya blinked, barely, like the question was unexpected. Because it probably was.

He was good at that—pretending. Pretending your question was no shit, that he didn’t care, that you were the one caring too much. He was just sitting there.

But you knew better.

Because you had been the one to find him bleeding out. You had been the one to carry him home. To clean his wounds, to wrap him up, to keep him alive when the world had done its best to kill him.

And now? Now he was here. On your couch. In your home. Sitting next to you.

So, you weren’t going to let him act like none of that happened.

He sighed, dragging his eyes away from you, toward the ceiling. “I’m alive.”

You smiled. “So am I. Doesn’t mean I feel good.”

That made him glance at you again. “You’re too smart for your own good.” he muttered.

“And you’re too good at avoiding questions.”

That actually got a smirk out of him. “Touché.”

You tilted your head, watching him closely. “Do you feel any pain?”

He shrugged slightly. “Less than before.”

You hummed, leaning back against the couch. “Good. I’d feel bad if I nursed you back to health just for you to drop dead in my living room.”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

You smiled. “I’d cry.”

Chishiya gave you a look. “You don’t even know me.”

You shrugged. “I don’t have to know you to be sad if you die.”

His smirk faded slightly. And you knew that had hit something.

Because Chishiya wasn’t used to that.

To people caring.

Not without a reason, not without something to gain in this world. Back in the normal world, sure. He saw crying mothers, fathers, friends and family. But here, it wasn’t people crying over someone they knew surviving, it was crying about themselves surviving.

And yet, here you were, telling him you’d cry if he died.

Not because he was useful. Not because he could offer you something in return.

Just because.

Because you were you. Because you cared, whether he understood it or not.

And he didn’t.

He didn’t understand you.

He didn’t understand why you were like this.

Why you took him in.

Why you let Niragi stay.

Why you were sitting next to a sociopath and a psychopath, making them breakfast, asking if they were okay, talking to them like they weren’t the worst kinds of people.

You were insane.

And yet he liked you.

He didn’t know why. Didn’t know what part of his brain, what tiny, irrational part of himself was keeping him here, making him engage, making him talk to you when he wouldn’t have bothered with anyone else.

But it didn’t matter.

Because here he was.

And here you were.

And you didn’t look away from him. Didn’t pull back, didn’t shy away, didn’t flinch at the fact that he was who he was.

No.

You just smiled. Like none of that scared you. Like you could see through every layer he had built and still thought he was worth saving.

The conversation naturally faded, dissolving into silence. Not an awkward one, not one that begged to be filled—just a quiet moment, a breather. You leaned back against the couch, staring at nothing in particular, lost in your own thoughts.

And he was doing the same.

You could feel it.

Chishiya was next to you, sitting just close enough for his presence to be tangible, but not enough to feel invasive. He wasn’t the type to invade unless it was for his own amusement. No, this was something else.

And, strangely, you liked it. You liked that something else. You liked sitting here, not talking, just thinking.

And that was rare. Most silences were filled with tension, with something left unsaid, with expectations. But this one? It was just that. A silence.

Your mind wandered. To everything and nothing. To him. To the fact that this man had seen your bare tits, had literally touched you, had wiped blood from your skin, and yet, you didn’t fucking care.

And that was strange.

You should care. Should feel embarrassed. Should have freaked out when he walked into the bathroom, should have pushed him away when he touched you.

But you hadn’t.

You had let him.

Because it had been nothing. Guy was a doctor, wasn’t he?

And yet—was that really it? Or was it because, deep down, you trusted him? Trusted a man you had barely known for three days.

You dragged your eyes over to him. He was thinking, you could tell. The way his fingers tapped lightly against his leg, the way his gaze was unfocused, not looking at anything in particular. His mind was probably running a mile a minute, analyzing, pulling apart every little thing that had happened.

What was he thinking about?

You?

Niragi?

The way you sat next to him, comfortable, unbothered, despite knowing what kind of person he was?

You almost wanted to ask.

But you didn’t. Instead, you sat there, your mind drifting again.

You thought about Niragi, about his reaction, about how he had been so mad that Chishiya knew something he didn’t.

Because Niragi felt too much.

He didn’t know what to do with his emotions, didn’t know how to process them, so he turned them into rage.

Chishiya, on the other hand? He didn’t feel enough.

Didn’t get attached.

Didn’t care.

Yet, he was still here.

Still sitting next to you.

Still waiting for something.

But what?

You let out a quiet breath and turned your gaze back toward the ceiling.

Maybe you’d never know.

Maybe you didn’t need to.

Because, at the end of the day, all three of you were just trying to survive.

“Why do you wait for him?”

You blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him as his voice broke the silence. He was already watching you.

There was no judgment in his tone, but you could tell he had already formed his own theory. He always did.

You let out a small breath, turning your gaze back toward the front door. “I don’t know.” you admitted softly. “I just… want to.”

Chishiya hummed, as if considering your words, but you could tell he wasn’t satisfied. He tilted his head slightly, watching you, his fingers drumming lightly against his leg. “I thought, for a second, that maybe you had some dumb little crush on him. But you’re too mature for that. Too smart. You wouldn’t let yourself fall for someone like him.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because he was right.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t reckless. You knew exactly who Niragi was.

And so did Chishiya. Which was why, after a moment, he looked at you, and said, “You know what he’s done, don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement.

You swallowed, pressing your lips together. “I know he’s done things.” you admitted carefully. “But I don’t know the details.”

Chishiya’s eyes gleamed at that. Like he had been waiting for you to say that. Like he had been waiting for an excuse.

“I’ve seen Niragi burn people alive.” His voice was calm, as always, detached, like he was talking about some random animal he had studied, not an actual person.

The words hit like a gut punch. You didn’t react, not externally, but you felt it.

He continued. “He doesn’t kill because he has to. He kills because he wants to. Because it amuses him. Because it gives him something to do.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your lap.

Chishiya leaned back, still watching you. “I watched him shoot a man in the leg once, just to see how long he could crawl before bleeding out. Didn’t even bother killing him. Just left him there.”

A pause.

“He likes power.”

Another pause.

“He likes knowing he’s the worst thing someone has ever encountered.”

Your stomach felt tight.

“You think I’m cruel?” he asked.

You frowned slightly at the sudden shift. “What?”

“You think I’m cruel,” he repeated, slower this time. “but you don’t think he’s cruel.”

“I never said that.”

“No,” Chishiya said. “but I can tell. You think Niragi is lost.” His lips curled slightly. “You think he’s a hurt little boy who just never learned how to deal with his emotions.”

He was mocking you.

But there was truth in his words.

You did think that.

Because it was true.

“You think he can be saved.” His voice was quieter now. Calm. “You’re wrong.”

The words hung in the air, heavy, absolute. Chishiya meant them.

You didn’t know if he was right.

Because Niragi was fucked up, that was clear. He was dangerous, psychotic, violent.

But was he beyond saving?

Chishiya seemed to think so.

You weren’t sure if you did.

You looked at Chishiya, at the way he sat so still, so composed, so utterly sure of his own assessment.

And yetdespite everything, despite all the hatred in his voice when he spoke of Niragi, you could tell.

How similar they were.

How much he hated Niragi not just because of what he did, but because he saw something of himself in him.

And he hated that.

You exhaled, looking down for a moment, gathering your thoughts. Chishiya had spoken his piece, and he had spoken it with certainty—like it was fact, not opinion. That was the way he operated. He observed, calculated, concluded. And he did it all like a machine processing information, stripping away everything unnecessary—like emotions.

But you weren’t like that. You worked differently. You didn’t just observe, you understood. You saw people for more than their actions. You looked past the behaviors, the surface-level brutality, and into the why.

“I think people like this,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “usually have a reason.”

Chishiya made a soft noise—something between a hmm and a scoff, but you continued before he could interrupt.

“Not an excuse.” you clarified. “Not a justification. Just… a reason. Something that turned them into this. Something that made them feel like this is the only way to exist.”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, listening.

You kept going. “I don’t judge people until I know what’s underneath. Until I know why they are the way they are.”

Chishiya exhaled softly, a quiet hmph “That’s a dangerous mindset. Could get you killed.”

“It’s gotten me this far.” you said simply.

He didn’t argue with that.

You studied him for a moment. The way he sat, relaxed, the way his eyes stayed on you—not in a confrontational way, but in a way that told you he was interested.

And that was the thing about Chishiya. You knew he wasn’t a good person. He admitted it himself, in the way he spoke, in the way he carried himself, the way he distanced himself from the world. But he was intelligent, analytical, always multiple steps ahead.

And this—this type of conversation?

This, he liked.

“You said he enjoys killing.” you said. “That he likes power. That he likes knowing he’s the worst thing someone has ever encountered.”

Chishiya gave a small nod.

“But people don’t just wake up like that.” you said, your voice thoughtful, careful. “Nobody is born like that. It’s something that’s shaped. Something that’s forced into a person.”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but you saw the flicker of something in his eyes.

He knew you weren’t just talking about Niragi anymore.

You were talking about him, too.

And he let you.

“People who hurt like that,” you continued“are usually people who have been hurt just as badly. Or worse. People who had no control. People who were victims, so they make sure they never are again.”

Chishiya hummed. “So you think Niragi’s a victim?”

You gave a small shrug. “I think there’s something there.” you admitted. “Something that made him the way he is.”

“And me?”

The question wasn’t playful. It wasn’t sarcastic. It was curious.

You tilted your head slightly, giving him a small smile. “You already know what I think about you.”

His lips curled, just slightly.

He didn’t argue.

Because he did know.

He knew you saw through him.

He knew you saw the walls, the detachment, the way he kept himself above everything.

Now, he knew that you didn’t just see it.

You understood it.

He didn’t hate that.

~

You were tired. Your body ached, your mind weighed down from the long hours of waiting, of worrying—though you wouldn’t admit the latter out loud.

But you stayed.

And so did he.

Chishiya hadn’t gotten up, hadn’t made any move to retreat to his room, even though he had no reason to be here. He wasn’t waiting for Niragi. He wasn’t the type to wait for anyone.

But he was entertained by you.

And maybe—just maybe—he stayed because, in his mind, it was fair.

You had waited for him once, too.

You shifted slightly, pulling your legs up onto the couch, hugging them to your chest. Chishiya remained as he was, his arms resting lazily against the couch, gaze half-lidded.

The silence stretched on.

Until the front door creaked open.

You straightened instantly, exhaustion forgotten. Chishiya simply flicked his eyes toward the door, unimpressed.

And there he was.

Niragi.

He stepped inside, his clothes dirtied but intact, and his face—his face was fine. No blood. No bruises. No sign that anything had gone wrong.

You exhaled.

“Oh.” you breathed, a smile forming. “You’re back.”

Niragi smirked. “Obviously.”

You stood up, stepping toward him, your expression warm. “How was it?” you asked, voice gentle, like you hadn’t just spent hours waiting in quiet anxiety. “Everything go okay?”

Niragi clicked his tongue, stepping further inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Easy.” he said.

“Good.” You nodded, your shoulders loosening. “Come sit.”

He raised a brow. “Bossing me around now?”

You rolled your eyes, but it was light, affectionate. “Sit.” you repeated, softer this time.

And he did.

Not because you told him to. Not because he had to.

But because he wanted to.

And the moment he sat down, you—god, you were an angel. You were all over him, leaning in, your gaze scanning him for any sign of injury, your hands hovering like you wanted to reach out but were waiting for some unspoken permission.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He ate it up.

Every bit of it.

The way your voice softened, the way you cared, the way your whole attention was on him.

Fuck, he loved it.

He leaned back into the couch, stretching his arms over the back, grinning.

“I told you.” he said, all smug. “Easy.”

You gave him a look. The kind that said you weren’t entirely convinced, but you weren’t about to push.

“Good job.” you murmured, and it sounded so genuine that Niragi nearly laughed.

“Good job?” he repeated, amusement in his tone. “What am I, a dog?”

You tilted your head. “I mean… do you want a treat?”

Chishiya snorted. Niragi shot him a glare.

You smiled, shaking your head.

“Well,” you said, placing a hand lightly on his arm, warm. “I’m glad you’re back.”

And Niragi—oh, he was swimming in it.

In you.

The way you touched him—not like he was dangerous, not like you were scared, not like he was some rabid animal. No.

You touched him like he was human.

And maybe that was why he let you do it this time.

Because you were the only person who ever had.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind that.

Niragi shifted, leaning back into the couch with a slow exhale, his body stretching out like a lazy cat, but—oh. He winced. There was the flicker of his eyelids, the barely-there grimace, just enough to be noticeable.

And of course—of course—you noticed.

You were too good, too caring, too fucking soft to miss something like that.

“Niragi?” Your voice came gentle, your brows furrowing just slightly as you tilted your head.

He hummed, like he barely heard you, like he was too busy dealing with the oh-so-terrible pain.

“You okay?”

And just like that, his plan was already working.

He sighed, rolling his shoulders, wincing again, deepening it this time, his smirk barely hidden.

“Dunno.” he muttered. “Think I might’ve overdone it.”

You immediately leaned in, concern flashing across your features.

“What? Where?” Your hands hovered, just inches from him, unsure where he hurt.

Niragi almost grinned, but he kept it just right. Just subtle enough to sell it.

“Shoulder.” he said, rolling it again, letting another small wince slip out. “Think I pulled somethin’.”

And there you were. Your brows knit together, your lips pressing into a small frown as you actually worried. “Do you want me to look at it?”

Oh, fuck. He could have fun with this.

He let a low hum rumble in his throat, acting like he was debating it, like he wasn’t just thriving off your attention.

“I mean…” He let his head tip back against the couch, turning to you with a lopsided grin, eyes lazy, voice deepening, taking his time. “If you insist, babe.”

Chishiya, from the other end of the couch, snorted.

Niragi ignored him.

You didn’t. Your gaze flickered toward Chishiya, as if realizing something, but then back to Niragi, your fingers already lightly touching his arm.

God, you were so fucking easy.

You pressed gently against his shoulder, frowning in concentration. “Here?”

He hummed again, lower this time, just enough to make it something else.

Your fingers twitched.

Oh, you caught that. You weren’t dumb, not at all, and Niragi knew it—but that’s what made this so fucking fun.

He watched you, the way you hesitated, the way you thought about it, the way you realized exactly what he was doing.

And still—you kept touching him.

Fucking perfect.

Chishiya exhaled through his nose, arms crossed, watching. He leaned back, shaking his head slightly. “Pathetic.”

Niragi shot him a lazy smirk. “Jealous?”

Chishiya barely reacted, but that was the fun of it.

He just knew. He saw Niragi’s game the moment he stepped through the door, saw the exact angle, the exact play—all of it. And he also knew why.

Niragi was a fucking sadist, yeah. But that wasn’t the only reason.

Oh, no.

Because if Niragi was really just fucking with you, if it was really just some sick joke to get you flustered, he wouldn’t be leaning into your warmth like that.

He wouldn’t be letting you touch him this long.

He wouldn’t be drinking it in like a dying man crawling toward water.

Chishiya’s eyes flicked to you. Did you know that?

Did you realize that Niragi was so fucking love starved, so touch deprived, so fucking desperate for even an ounce of warmth that he had to manipulate his way into getting it?

Probably.

You probably knew.

And you were still giving it to him.

Fucking idiot.

But then again, Chishiya supposed—so was he.

Because he was still sitting here, too.

You stood up, rolling your shoulders as you stretched slightly. “I’ll make food.” you said, already heading toward the kitchen.

Neither of them answered. Of course. Fucking brats.

“You look like shit.” Niragi turned to Chishiya, slouching deeper into the couch, arms spreading out.

Chishiya, who had been completely unbothered until then, slowly turned his head. “And yet, I look better than you.”

Niragi’s smirk twitched, but he kept it, baring his teeth slightly. “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you got a whole fucking dictionary shoved up your ass.”

Chishiya blinked once. Slowly. “Strange. I thought you’d like that sort of thing.”

Your soft laughnearly startled them. They both looked toward the kitchen, watching as you, still prepping food.

Niragi barely hesitated before turning back to Chishiya.

“Trying to flirt with me, doc?” His voice dripped with amusement, his grin widening. “I get it. I’m irresistible.”

Chishiya’s face remained perfectly neutral, as if he were speaking about the weather. “I’d rather throw myself off the roof.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Niragi grinned wider, leaning in slightly. “I bet you—”

“Shut up.”

It was said with so little effort. So flat. So completely uninterested that Niragi actually stopped mid-sentence.

You heard the silence from the kitchen and had to bite back a laugh.

Niragi? Silenced?

That was fucking rare.

But of course, only for a second.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?”

Chishiya turned away, completely ignoring him now.

Niragi hated that.

You, meanwhile, were enjoying every second of it.

“You two should start a podcast.” you commented, voice way too sweet as you focused on cooking. “So much chemistry.”

Chishiya just sighed.

Niragi threw his head back in laughter. Loud. Sharp. “Shit, baby, you’re funny.”

You smiled to yourself. “I know.”

Chishiya did not smile.

He simply existed, in pure, eternal suffering.

With both plates in hand, you made your way toward them. Niragi stretched out his legs, watching you, while Chishiya remained as he was—arms draped over the back of the couch, relaxed, but his gaze following you like he was analyzing every move you made.

You set Niragi’s plate down first.

“There you go.” you murmured, voice sickeningly sweet as you gently placed it in front of him. “Eat up, bad boy.”

“Ooh, you wanna feed me, too, baby?”

You patted his head.

Like a fucking dog.

So fast that Niragi barely had time to react before you were already stepping past him, placing Chishiya’s plate down as well.

“And for you.” Your voice was just as sweet, gentle, as if the two men before you weren’t literally some of the most dangerous people in this entire city.

Chishiya simply blinked up at you, unreadable as always, but he noticed it.

Something off.

Something in the way you walked.

At first, he wasn’t even sure what it was, but as you stepped away, heading back toward the kitchen, his eyes narrowed slightly.

The way your weight shifted just a little bit wrong. How your steps weren’t as smooth as usual.

It was subtle.

So subtle that even you didn’t seem to notice.

Chishiya knew you by now. You were too perceptive, too aware of yourself, of others. For you to not notice meant that either you were ignoring it or too distracted to care.

Too busy drowning these two absolute nightmares in affection to pay attention to yourself.

His eyes flicked toward your leg, then to your back, then back—analyzing, calculating, breaking it down piece by piece.

Something hurt.

Small, but definitely there.

Chishiya tilted his head slightly.

Hm.

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, tidying things up, like this house wasn’t occupied by two of the worst people to ever walk the earth. Plates stacked neatly, crumbs wiped away, the soft clinking of dishes filling the air while they ate.

Or at least, Niragi did. Chishiya ate slow. Niragi, on the other hand, ate like he hadn’t had a meal in weeks, shoveling food into his mouth without shame.

You finished wiping down the counter, then stepped around the couch, moving behind them.

“Are you two okay?” Your voice was light, gentle, full of something neither of them deserved.

Chishiya didn’t answer. He simply let his head tip back over the couch, glancing at you upside down. He looked painfully cute doing that. Niragi barely lifted his head, only letting out a hum that could’ve meant anything.

“Good.” you murmured. “Good night.”

You walked away, disappearing down the hall, your door closing behind you.

And Chishiya blinked.

You didn’t eat.

Not one bite.

Not while cooking, not after, not even while cleaning up.

His eyes flicked toward Niragi.

And the pieces clicked together.

Niragi, who had devoured the attention you gave him. Niragi, who made a show of being in pain, drawing you in, demanding your focus, stealing your warmth just because he could.

Chishiya knew people. And Niragi was so easy to read it was almost funny.

Every single touch. Every soft-spoken word. Niragi ate it all up like a starved animal.

He might as well have been sitting there wagging his tail.

Chishiya watched him, tearing apart the situation piece by piece in his head, breaking down the sheer fucking need in Niragi’s body language.

And finally, Niragi noticed.

His chewing slowed. He turned his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

Chishiya barely lifted a shoulder.

“You.”

“Getting jealous? Don’t worry, she can touch you too, you just gotta cry for it a little.”

Chishiya only raised his hands.

~

Your body ached the next morning. Not in the usual way. This was something deeper, sharper—a dull, throbbing pain along your side that had you wincing the second you stretched your arms.

You inhaled slowly, trying to push past it as you moved around the kitchen. You’d dealt with worse. You’d gotten through worse. This? This was fine. You were fine.

The sound of footsteps reached your ears before you saw him. Niragi.

You didn’t even have to look. His walk was loud, uneven, slightly off-balance—but still full of arrogance. You knew he had to be hurting, but he carried himself like he wasn’t.

You understood that. You did the same.

He stopped next to you at the counter, peering over at what you were doing. You could feel his presence before anything else—his heat, his height, the way he took up space without even trying.

“You’re up early.” you said, glancing at him.

He didn’t answer, but he sstayed next to you, close. Close enough that his arm brushed yours when you moved, close enough that when he leaned in—pretending to check what you were making—you could feel the warmth of his breath near your neck. He bumped your shoulder, even. An accident. Maybe.

You glanced at him again, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t even look at you, just continued watching your hands, close enough now that you could feel his body heat.

Something about it made you smile.

Niragi was shameless. The way his gaze dropped to your tits as you leaned forward slightly, the way he lingered at your side, subtly drinking in your warmth like he didn’t know how to ask for it.

And maybe he didn’t.

You just let him.

After all, you liked company. And you liked him.

“If I told you to wake Chishiya up, you’d say no, wouldn’t you?” You asked him.

He let out a low hum, tilting his head slightly. “Obviously.”

“Of course.”

Not that it mattered. Because Chishiya was already awake. You heard his footsteps before you saw him.

“Good morning.” you greeted, your voice gentle, warm. You smiled at him, not expecting a response but offering it anyway.

Chishiya didn’t react at first, only letting his gaze flick between you and Niragi.

Ah.

He noticed.

He saw the way Niragi was standing too close, his shoulder brushing yours, his body subtly angled toward you like he was drawn in without realizing it.

And he understood it immediately.

A dog. Niragi was a fucking dog. One that had been kept on a chain for too long, starved of any real affection, biting at anyone who got too close—until someone finally offered him something.

But a dog that had been kicked too many times wouldn’t trust its owner, would it?

No, Niragi didn’t trust you. Not really.

He trusted the fact that you were harmless.

That he could use you without consequence. That you’d let him.

Chishiya could see it so clearly, the way Niragi ate up your attention, the way he leaned into you like he wanted more, testing how much you’d allow.

Pathetic. So predictable.

But then again—if Niragi was a dog, Chishiya was a cat.

Distant. Observing. Keeping his claws hidden until necessary.

And while he didn’t give a shit about you, he cared about being right.

And he was. Again.

Because as he watched you, he saw the subtle shift in your body, the barely-there wince when you moved a certain way, the slight favoring of one side over the other.

You were hurt.

You turned back to the counter, continuing to make breakfast like nothing was out of place, like you hadn’t spent last night holding your side in silence. Like you weren’t hurt at all. Because maybe, if you ignored it, it would go away.

You were always like that, weren’t you? Pushing forward, brushing off your own pain like it didn’t matter. Because there were people to take care of.

Because you were an angel, and they didn’t appreciate you enough.

Niragi was still standing close, watching over your shoulder as you worked, occasionally bumping against you like he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He absolutely was.

His shoulder hit yours again, a slow, lazy nudge that made you glance up at him. You raised an eyebrow, but your voice was nothing but light. “Are you gonna help, or are you just here to make my job harder?”

“I think you like it.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re a fucking idiot.” he replied, watching the way your hands moved, how carefully you handled everything—like you actually gave a shit about doing things right.

Chishiya was still quiet, watching.

You were too sweet to Niragi. He had already figured that much out, but seeing it like this, watching the way you let him get away with so much, was interesting.

It wasn’t because you were stupid. No, you were too smart for that.

It was because you chose to be kind.

And that was something Chishiya would never understand.

Why?

Why did you care so much?

What did you think you were going to change?

You set the plates down in front of them, soft words, gentle hands, just giving and giving and giving, and neither of them deserved it.

Not even a little.

Chishiya watched the way Niragi ate it up, the smug little glances he shot you when you leaned too close, the way he kept testing how much you’d let him take.

And you just let him.

Maybe you liked it, too.

Chishiya could see how you softened around people. It didn’t matter if they deserved it, you still did it.

And something about that annoyed him.

Because it wasn’t sustainable.

At some point, you’d run out.

And then what?

Chishiya ate slowly, watching the way you moved. The way you held yourself. It wasn’t obvious. You were good at hiding it. But he was better at seeing it.

Your side hurt.

He noticed the way you favored it, how your body instinctively protected itself—shifting slightly when you leaned, never putting too much pressure on one side. You never let yourself stiffen completely, but he could see the small moments, the subtle corrections. You weren’t paying attention to yourself, but he was.

Because he was always five steps ahead.

And you were going to come to him eventually, weren’t you?

You had to.

Because you weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb enough to think you could hide it forever. At some point, you’d need him. You’d realize he already knew, and you’d sit down next to him and ask.

“What’s wrong with me?”

And he would tell you.

Because you deserved that.

You weren’t like Niragi. You weren’t some rabid fucking dog who couldn’t control himself, biting at anything that got too close. You weren’t a slave to your emotions, ruled by instinct and nothing else.

You were logical. You thought about things.

And you would think about this.

The question was how long would it take?How long before you realized?

He dragged his spoon through his food, twirling it idly, watching the way Niragi leaned into your space, so fucking obvious it was painful.

What a joke.

Like a dog getting scraps for the first time, like he didn’t even know what to do with it.

You were indulging him.

Why?

Why did you do this?

Why did you let him eat it up like that?

Like he was starved for it.

Like he was owed it.

He wasn’t. Neither of them were.

And yet you still gave.

And gave.

And gave.

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, tapping his spoon against his plate.

You’d run out eventually. That’s just how things worked. At some point, you would have nothing left to give. And then what?

Would you break?

Would you snap?

Or would you just fade?

He thought about that, about all the different possibilities.

You were more interesting than he expected.

A different kind of game.

And he always liked to win.

~

You absolutely didn’t come to him for help.

No, of course not. That would be too easy. Too logical. Too expected.

Instead, here you were. Sitting on the couch, fidgeting with something small between your fingers, taking it apart piece by piece.

Chishiya stilled in the doorway, eyeing you for a moment before stepping into the room.

No Niragi.

Finally.

He walked over, dropping onto the couch next to you without a word. His presence didn’t seem to startle you—you didn’t even look up, just continued working on whatever you were dismantling.

It was quiet for a few moments.

Then, like always, you started talking. “Hey, you finally got bored of your room, huh?”

He didn’t answer, just rested his elbow on the arm of the couch, head tipping lazily against his knuckles. He watched the way your fingers worked, turning the tiny object over, pulling at different parts. You weren’t just fidgeting, you were actually picking it apart.

“What’s this?” he asked.

You glanced at him, then back down. “I don’t know.”

“Then why are you taking it apart?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

He didn’t have a response to that. Not because it was a good answer, but because it was just… so you.

You always had to be doing something. Always had to be moving, like a shark that couldn’t sit still or it would die.

It was strange.

You were the calmest person in this room at any given time, and yet you never fucking stopped.

Maybe that’s why Niragi liked you.

Chishiya watched your fingers work for another moment before speaking again. “Where’s the dog?”

You huffed a small laugh at that, but didn’t look up. “Taking a nap, probably. I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”

He hummed. Good.

That meant he could have this conversation without the extra noise.

Not that this was really a conversation. It was mostly just you talking.

And talking.

And talking.

You asked him things. Small things.

What he’d been doing all day.

“Nothing.”

If he was feeling okay.

“Fine.”

If he was bored yet.

“Not really.”

Your lips twitched slightly, like you wanted to tease him for the short answers, but you didn’t. You just kept going. Talking about whatever came to mind. The apartment. How you’d love to decorate it if you could.

“Pink.” you had said with so much certainty.

He had snorted at that. Pink.

“Not, like, a lot.” you had clarified. “Just a little.”

It didn’t matter, he had told you, because this wasn’t a home. But that didn’t seem to phase you.

You just kept going.

Talking, talking, talking.

Like you didn’t even notice how his gaze kept flicking to the way you moved. The way you leaned. The way your body naturally protected itself.

Your side hurt.

He knew it.

But you didn’t say it.

So he did.

“Your side hurts.”

Your fingers paused on the small device, body going unnaturally still. Then, just as quickly, you were moving again, brushing it off. “No, it doesn’t.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. You were not a good liar. That much, he already knew.

“You’re protecting it.” His voice was flat. No emotion. No concern. Just observation. “The way you lean, the way you sit, the way you move. You haven’t even noticed it yourself, have you?”

You sighed, fingers tightening around the object in your hands before you set it down on the table.

He was right. Again.

Chishiya watched as you chewed your lip, like you were debating whether or not to keep pretending.

“Even if it does, it’s not that bad.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Let me look at it.”

Your head snapped toward him, blinking once. “What?”

“Let me look at it.”

Now you were staring at him, brows furrowing. “…Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I can.”

That wasn’t a real answer.

But you weren’t dumb.

He could see the thoughts turning behind your eyes, could practically hear your brain piecing together the facts.

That he was a doctor.

That he knew what he was talking about.

And, most importantly, that if not for you, he might’ve been left to rot on that street.

And Chishiya wasn’t the type to owe people favors.

But this? This was fair.

He saw the moment you realized it too. Your shoulders dropped, and you exhaled slowly, looking off toward the wall.

“Fine.”

Finally.

Without another word, Chishiya sat up properly, gesturing for you to shift toward him. You hesitated, then turned slightly, letting him face your injured side.

“Lift your shirt.” he said simply.

You shot him a look.

He stared back. Unamused.

With a sigh, you reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose the skin of your ribs.

And there it was. The light bruising. The subtle swelling. Nothing serious. But it was there.

Chishiya pressed his fingers against the side of your ribs, watching the way your body reacted. Your muscles tensed, a small, involuntary twitch pulling through your stomach.

“Tell me when it hurts.” he murmured.

You nodded.

He started at the lowest ribs, pressing lightly, testing the reaction.

Nothing.

He moved higher, fingers working with precision.

Still nothing.

It wasn’t until he pressed closer to your side, near the center of the bruising, that he saw you flinch. Barely. But he caught it.

“Here?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

He pressed a little firmer, feeling for any deeper injuries, any unnatural movement under the skin. Your breath hitched, and his eyes flicked up toward your face.

Still, you didn’t pull away.

Tough little thing.

He almost smirked.

“It’s not bad.” he told you, pulling his hands away. “No breaks. Probably just a deep bruise. Soft tissue injury. It’ll heal.”

You sighed, dropping your shirt back down.

“Told you.”

Chishiya sat back, watching as you flexed your fingers against your knee, still not looking at him.

This whole thing had been weird.

You let him check you over, eventually. But not because you wanted to.

Because you knew it was fair.

And maybe that was why Chishiya had let you take him in that night, too.

Not because he wanted to.

Because it was fair.

You pulled your shirt back down and exhaled, rolling your shoulders slightly, testing the soreness. Then, softly—so softly you almost didn’t say it—“…Thanks.”

Chishiya tilted his head slightly, watching you. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Your lips pulled into a small, lopsided smile as you leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms over your stomach. “Yeah, I do.”

He studied you for a moment longer before shifting back as well, resting one arm along the back of the couch, fingers tapping lightly against the fabric.

“You hate being taken care of, don’t you?” he murmured.

Your eyebrows raised slightly at the observation, and you let out a small huff. “Says the guy who nearly bled out on the street because he’s too good at mind games to ask for help.”

“You’re right.” he said simply. “I don’t like it either.”

You smiled, though it was more tired than anything. “We have that in common, then.”

He hummed, noncommittal.

You both sat there in silence for a moment, processing in your own separate little worlds, the way you often did.

“…I didn’t even notice it hurt.” you said. “Not really. I guess I was just too busy making sure you and Niragi were okay.”

Chishiya gave you a look.

Not mean. Not mocking.

But something close.

“You do that too much.”

You huffed out another soft laugh. “What, care?”

“Yes.”

You turned your head toward him, arching an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He tilted his head, considering.

Was it?

To him, it was.

To you, it wasn’t.

And that’s what made this so interesting.

“It’s an exhausting thing.”

You sighed. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Chishiya leaned his head against the couch, still watching you. Studying you.

And you let him.

“You don’t think it’s exhausting?” he asked.

You blinked at him. Then you gave him a look. “I never said that.”

Chishiya’s lips pulled into something a little too knowing.

Because there it was.

That crack.

That moment of honesty. The one that told him that despite all your softness, despite all your warmth, despite everything that made you so different from him—you were tired.

But he already knew that, didn’t he?

Because you had a habit of pouring yourself out for people who didn’t give anything back.

And that was something Chishiya would never let himself do. And maybe…that was why he found you so exhausting, too.

~

You were humming softly, standing by the stove, focused.

Dinner was already planned.

You figured if they didn’t come on their own, you’d go knock on their doors—Niragi first, because he’d act like a brat about it, but he’d come. Chishiya after, because he’d hesitate, but you’d convince him.

You were already plating the food in your head. A little more on Chishiya’s plate. He deserved it after checking you out earlier, even if he acted like it was nothing. He was a good doctor, and you owed him.

The front door opened.

You froze.

You turned, and it was Chishiya. Coming back, from somewhere. What?

Your fingers twitched on the edge of the counter. “…Where were you?”

He glanced up at you as he shut the door, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I had to play.”

Oh.

Your shoulders stiffened before you could stop them.

You hadn’t even realized he’d left.

When did he leave? How long ago?

Your eyes scanned him. He looked… fine. There was no blood. No limp. No obvious injury.

Still.

“…You should’ve told me.”

Chishiya blinked. His head tilted slightly, almost as if he didn’t understand why you were saying that.

“It’s nothing.” you murmured, turning back to the stove, stirring the food. “I just… got scared for a second. That you left, or something.”

That made him pause. Not because he felt bad, but because it was interesting.

Why would you assume that?

He never gave you any reason to think he’d just leave.

And yet, the fact that you thought it—the fact that you were scared of it—that told him something about you.

“…I had no reason to tell you.”

You nodded.

Yeah.

You knew that.

You knew he didn’t owe you anything.

But you cared.

And he didn’t.

And maybe that’s why you were standing here, stirring food for them, thinking about their plates, making sure they ate, while Chishiya was standing by the door, looking at you like you were some strange creature.

“You get attached too easily.” His voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Cold in a way that wasn’t intended to be cruel—it was just true.

Your hand slowed over the food, breath catching for just a second.

That was…

Well.

That was a thing to say.

You swallowed, staring down at the pan, feeling his eyes on you.

The worst part was that he wasn’t wrong.

You did get attached easily.

You let people in too quickly, gave them warmth even when they didn’t deserve it—even when they didn’t want it.

And here you were, worried about him, cooking for him, watching the door like a puppy because you didn’t even notice he was gone.

Maybe he had a point.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

You turned to him, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

“Then why do you stay?”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change, but you saw it—the way his fingers flexed in his pockets, the faintest twitch of his jaw.

He didn’t expect you to ask that.

Niragi had a reason to stay. He was healing, recovering from the absolute beating he took. He was too injured to play yet, too injured to run, and deep down—you knew he liked it here.

But Chishiya?

Chishiya looked fine.

If he had any injuries, he was good at hiding them.

So if he really didn’t care, if none of this mattered to him—why was he still here?

“…Because it’s entertaining.”

Your breath left you slowly.

Of course.

Of course that’s what he’d say.

Because what else would he say?

That he felt intertwined to you for dragging his half-dead body out of the street? No. That would imply he felt something like gratitude.

That he felt bad for you, after the way you came home covered in blood? No. That would mean he felt something like guilt.

That he actually liked it here? That he liked you?

No.

That would make him human.

So instead, he stayed because it was entertaining.

That was easier. That was the kind of answer Chishiya gave.

You exhaled, pressing your lips together, nodding slowly.

Right.

You turned back to the food.

“You should wash up.” you murmured. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Like a breath that hadn’t been exhaled yet.

Like something was still left unsaid.

Chishiya watched you for a few moments longer, lingering in the doorway.

BANG.

A door down the hall swung open so violently that it rattled the walls.

“Louder, please.” Niragi’s voice. Flat. Dry. Sarcastic as fuck.

You sighed, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again, watching Niragi step into view.

He was shirtless, looking wrecked. Like he had just woken up—probably hadn’t meant to in the first place, but his ears were too sensitive for Chishiya’s bullshit.

His hair was a mess, face still lined from his pillow, a half-lidded glare pointed in both of your directions.

The moment he locked onto Chishiya, his expression darkened further.

Like he knew.

He didn’t know what exactly—he wasn’t there. But he knew something had just happened, something between you two, something he was left out of.

And fuck that.

Niragi was already on edge. He always had been.

He couldn’t stand Chishiya. Not just because he was an arrogant, smug bastard who thought he was above everyone—but because he was.

He was smarter. Five steps ahead. Always in control.

And Niragi hated that.

Hated that Chishiya was cold while he was burning alive.

Hated that Chishiya could switch it all off while Niragi felt too much.

Hated that you—you—spoke to him like he was a person.

Like he was worth it.

Like he was more than what he had become.

And Chishiya didn’t deserve that.

So yeah. He woke up to this bullshit and wasn’t happy about it.

Niragi groaned, raking a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes before turning back around, dragging himself down the hall.

SLAM.

You blinked.

Chishiya barely reacted.

You let out a slow breath, glancing over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

He had already figured it out.

How Niragi felt everything too much. How it swallowed him alive. How you, somehow, had become a lifeline. How he clung to you like a starving animal.

How dangerous that was.

But Chishiya didn’t tell you.

Because he knew, one way or another… you’d figure it out.

❤︎︎ @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @cherryheairt @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @lizntstoptalking @hellscagee

[eclipixels]

HI! I love your works, and I was wondering if you can write with Reo, with a reader who is his childhood friend that he married but their marriage failed and like years later he finds the reader again and finds out they had a daughter, Thank you! (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Avoid

Reo Mikage x Reader

[3,548 words]

      The first time you and Reo met, you were both wrapped in soft blankets, oblivious to the world and fresh out the womb. Your parents, strangers at the time, struck up a conversation in the hospital waiting room. By the time they left with their newborns, they had exchanged phone numbers and promises to stay in touch.

      Your childhood was filled with laughter and shared milestones. Every birthday was a grand affair, your families going all out.

      "All right, Y/n and Reo, blow out your candles!" your parents would call, the warm glow of cake candles flickering between you.

      "Three… two… one!" Reo grinned at you before you both sucked in deep breaths, extinguishing the flames in unison. Cheers erupted around you, your parents clapping, cameras flashing.

      "You totally wished for something dumb," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

      "Did not! I wished for, " He stopped himself, sticking his tongue out. "Not telling you, or it won’t come true."

      Every school year started and ended with the two of you side by side. You were an unshakable duo, finishing each other’s sentences, stealing each other’s notes, and causing mischief that your parents always pretended not to notice.

      As you grew older, something shifted. Maybe it was the way his gaze lingered a little longer or how his hand found yours naturally, without a second thought. Maybe it was the way your name sounded different when he said it, softer, more meaningful.

      By the time Reo realized he loved you, it wasn’t a revelation; it was a confirmation of something he’d always known.

      "I mean, proximity and like-mindedness are literally the basis of attraction," he joked one evening, lying next to you on the grass, staring at the stars. "Psychology says so. It was inevitable."

      "Oh, so you love me because of science?" you teased, turning your head to face him.

      He smirked, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "No, I love you because you're you. The science just backs me up."

      He kissed you that night, and nothing had ever felt more right.

      When Reo got into the Blue Lock program, you were his biggest supporter. His team quickly learned your name, recognizing you as "Mikage’s rich, pretty girlfriend," someone who matched his energy and belonged in his world. But to Reo, you weren’t just someone who fit his lifestyle, you were the only person he could ever imagine by his side.

      The day he proposed, he was shaking.

      "You nervous?" you teased, eyeing the way he kept fidgeting.

      He scoffed. "What? No! I just, okay, maybe a little." He took a deep breath, then got down on one knee. "But not about asking. Just about you saying no."

      Tears pricked your eyes. "Like I could ever say no to you, Mikage Reo."

      The day you got married was the happiest day of his life. He had everything, the love of his life, his best friend, and his forever.

      The Mikage wedding was the event of the year. No, the decade. Extravagant, luxurious, and dripping in opulence, just as everyone expected. When two people with endless wealth and impeccable taste decided to tie the knot, the result was nothing short of legendary.

      The ceremony took place on a private island, rented exclusively for the occasion. White rose petals lined the aisle, the scent of fresh jasmine floating in the warm evening air. Crystal chandeliers hung from towering floral arches, their glow reflecting off the ocean waves beyond. Every chair was custom-made, embroidered with the initials M & Y, a keepsake for each guest. The sky, painted in hues of pink and gold, looked as if it had been designed just for them.

      Reo stood at the altar, adjusting the cuff of his designer tuxedo for what felt like the hundredth time. His heart pounded as he stole a glance at the guests, business moguls, soccer stars, and high-society elites all gathered in anticipation. His Blue Lock teammates were near the front, some looking uncomfortable in their formal suits, but all undeniably impressed.

      Then, the music started. A soft piano melody, slow and elegant.

      And then, you stepped into view.

      The entire crowd seemed to inhale at once. Even with all the luxury surrounding you, you were the most breathtaking thing there. Your gown, a custom piece flown in from Paris, shimmered like liquid starlight with every step. The train flowed behind you like a cascading dream, and the delicate veil, embroidered with tiny pearls, framed your face like something out of a fairytale.

      Reo swore his heart stopped.

      His hands twitched at his sides, resisting the urge to run to you, to take you in his arms and claim this moment as his forever.

      "Wow," he whispered under his breath, eyes locked onto you. His best man, Nagi, of course, smirked and nudged him.

      "Don’t pass out, man," Nagi teased lazily. "That’d be embarrassing."

      Reo barely heard him. The second you reached him, he grabbed your hands, his touch warm and grounding.

      "You’re shaking," you whispered, squeezing his fingers.

      "Yeah, well, I’m looking at the most beautiful person in the world," he murmured back, smirking. "Kinda hard to keep my cool."

      The ceremony itself was perfect. Vows spoken in soft, emotion-filled voices, fingers trembling slightly as rings were exchanged.

      "I’ve loved you in every way possible," Reo said, eyes never leaving yours. "As a best friend. As a partner. As the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. No matter what comes next, I know one thing, there’s no version of my future without you in it."

      Your breath hitched. His grip on your hands tightened, as if silently promising you that this moment, this love, was real.

      And then,

      "You may kiss the bride."

      Reo wasted no time. He cupped your face, pulling you into a kiss that made the crowd erupt in cheers. It was deep, full of love and possession, the kind of kiss that left no doubts, you were his, and he was yours, forever.

      Reo tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he exhaled softly. The warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, it was the kind of comfort that felt eternal.

      "Do you think we’ll always be like this?" you murmured, nestled against Reo’s side.

      "You’re thinking too much again," he murmured, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm.

      You sighed. "I just… I see it happen all the time. People who were so in love, who thought they'd be together forever, and then one day, " You hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. "They’re strangers."

      Reo was quiet for a moment, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That won’t be us," he said with certainty.

      "But how do you know?"

      He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes searching yours, serious yet full of warmth. "Because I don’t love you out of convenience. Or because it’s easy. I love you because you’re you. That’s never gonna change."

      You bit your lip, still uncertain. "But what if, "

      "No what-ifs," he cut you off gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "If something’s wrong, we fix it. If we change, we change together. And if you ever feel like we’re slipping, tell me, and I’ll fight like hell to bring us back."

      You stared at him, at the sincerity in his eyes, at the unwavering confidence in his voice.

      "I mean, come on," he smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "You think I went through all the trouble of throwing the wedding of the century just to lose you later? Not a chance."

      A small laugh escaped your lips, and Reo grinned, pulling you close again.

      "Fifty years from now," he whispered against your hair, "I’ll still be here, spoiling you, annoying you, loving you. Just like this."

      You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

      "I hope so," you murmured.

      Reo kissed your forehead. "I know so."

      —

      It was dumb. A stupid, pointless argument that shouldn’t have escalated the way it did, but somehow, it was on the verge of ruining everything.

      "Stop it, Y/n," Reo’s voice cracked with frustration, his words heavy with helplessness. "I don’t know what else I can do to make you not feel like this. You don’t think it kills me, seeing you like this?"

      You couldn’t hold back the tears, the fear flooding your chest. The truth was, you needed him. Needed him there with you. But all he seemed to care about was soccer.

      You had been feeling off for weeks, random fevers, migraines, throwing up without any explanation. You’d made an appointment to go see the doctor. You even made sure to pick a day Reo could go with you, not wanting to face the possibility of bad news alone. However, his flight overseas for soccer got pushed up early due to weather issues next week, so they needed his team to leave today.

      That meant going to your appointment alone. The thought of not having Reo by your side while you waited for results terrified you. Especially considering your family’s history with a particular illness, one that usually showed up around this age.

      "I asked you to come with me," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "I thought we agreed, you said you’d be there."

      Reo ran a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. "This is important to me, Y/n," he said, voice strained.

      "I know, but this is important to me too!" You wiped your face, trying to keep your composure. "Can’t you just change your flight? A few hours later, Reo, just a few hours!"

      He let out a frustrated sigh. "We’re on a strict schedule. You know how this works."

      "Strict schedule my ass!" You couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, your voice shaking. "You can’t tell me you can’t make one small change for me."

      "My flight is eleven hours before your appointment," Reo said, his words clipped, defensive.

      Your chest tightened, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. "I feel like you don’t care about me anymore," you whispered.

      "That’s not true," he said coldly, the words stinging.

      The air felt thick, suffocating. You choked on a sob, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You promised you’d never put soccer above me."

      "I’m not putting soccer above you," Reo said, though there was an edge to his voice, his frustration mixing with something else.

      "It feels like you are," you sobbed, the weight of his absence feeling heavier than you could bear. "And it hurts, Reo. It really hurts."

      "I’m doing my best here, Y/n," he said, exasperated. "And if you can’t see that, then fine. I’m not dealing with this." His voice cracked as he grabbed his bag, heading for the door. "Whatever happened to you saying you’d support me no matter what?"

      "I do support you!" You pleaded, but the words felt hollow.

      "Really? Because it feels like you’re distracting me more than anything." His words hit like a punch to the gut. And with that, he was gone. It was his league’s club season which meant he’d be gone for nine to eleven months.

      You stood there, numb, as the door slammed behind him, leaving you in the deafening silence.

      The next morning, you woke up to an empty house. Reo was gone. And the weight of everything, everything that had just been shattered, was unbearable.

      You made it through the morning, each task more difficult than the last. You got out of bed alone, ate breakfast alone, and somehow made it to the car alone. The drive to the doctor’s office felt like a blur, the world moving at a crawl, and yet it was all so quiet. When you arrived, you didn’t speak to anyone. They ran a series of tests and took your blood, checking for the disease you were so scared of, ruling it out with an ease that only made your heart ache more.

      Then, the doctor came in, a clipboard in hand, his expression serious but gentle.

      “Mrs. Mikage, we know the reason for your recent sickness,” he said, his words almost robotic. “You’re pregnant.”

      “Oh,” was all you could manage to say, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of those words pressed down on you like a ton of bricks.

      They explained everything, sent you to an OBGYN, scheduled follow-ups, and reassured you that your tests for everything else had come back negative. But it all felt like a distant hum, like none of it was really registering.

      “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice weak as you gathered your things and left the office, your body moving in a haze.

      The drive home was eerily silent. It was as if the world around you had muted itself. No honking cars, no chirping birds, just a heavy, suffocating quiet that matched the storm in your chest.

      You were pregnant. Alone. And your husband, your husband who you hadn’t spoken to in days, was halfway around the world, caught up in a life that felt impossibly distant from the one you were trying to hold onto. And after the fight you’d just had… you didn’t even know how to fix it.

      You didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want to tell anyone. Not yet. So, you kept it to yourself. Every doctor’s appointment, every milestone, every piece of baby gear you bought, was done in solitude. You didn’t even tell your family.

      But Reo didn’t leave you completely alone. His texts came every day, sometimes multiple times a day, each one a little more desperate, a little more unsure. But you wanted to give him his space, his time to let him focus on his passion. You didn’t want to be a distraction, his words echoing in your mind each time you almost caved and texted him back.

      I wanted to ask on call, but you haven’t been answering. Are you… are you leaving me? His message came in late one night, his uncertainty clear in every word.

      You stared at the screen for a long time before finally responding.

      I just think we need some space, you typed, your fingers trembling as you hit send.

      Oh. That was all he replied with.

      That was it. No questions, no follow-up. Just the deafening silence that followed.

      A few days later, your mother called. She hadn’t heard from you in weeks, and the concern in her voice was clear.

      “Y/n, come over sometime,” she said, her tone warm and inviting. “We haven’t seen you in so long.”

      You hesitated for a moment, but then it all came spilling out.

      “Mom, I… I have something to tell you.”

      “Yes, honey?”

      You took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had begun to form. “I’m pregnant. I’ve been for a while. A few months now, actually. And I haven’t told anyone. Not even Reo. We haven’t been talking. I’ve been ignoring all his calls and texts.”

      There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Y/n…” your mother’s voice was soft but filled with concern.

      “I feel so dumb. I don’t know why I’m doing this all alone.”

      “Y/n, you haven’t talked to Reo in months?”

      “No,” you sniffled, your heart aching. “I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to fix it.”

      “Oh, honey,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “I’m coming over.”

      “Okay. But… don’t tell anyone. Please.” The words came out between sobs. You didn’t want the world to know, not yet.

      Your mother sighed, and then her voice was steady, gentle. “You’re going to have to tell Reo eventually, sweetheart.”

      “I know,” you whispered, feeling the weight of those words hang in the air. "I just… don’t know how."

      —

      I’m coming home.

      The message from Reo pinged through the silence, a message you’d seen but refused to open. A string of missed calls followed, each one a knot in your stomach, each text begging for a response that you weren’t ready to give.

      When he walked through the door, he wasn’t expecting you to be there. But there you were, standing at the threshold of the living room, waiting for him.

      “You’re still here?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

      “Yeah.” You barely breathed the word, your eyes downcast, not sure what to expect or how to say what you had to.

      “You didn’t answer my calls or texts,” he said, his voice thick with hurt.

      “Yeah,” you replied again, your heart sinking with the weight of it all.

      “That hurt,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

      “I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words barely escaping past the lump in your throat.

      “Don’t ever do that again.” Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled you into a tight, almost desperate hug, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away again.

      “Why?” he sobbed, his breath shaking against your neck.

      You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts as the words poured out. “I was… I would’ve called you sooner, but the hormones made me even angrier at you. And I knew if I called, I would’ve said things I didn’t mean. We were already in a bad place. I didn’t want to do anything to make it worse, so I just paused.”

      He pulled back slightly, his face pale, eyes wide. “Baby, no. Nothing could ever make me feel that way.” His voice softened with regret. “You ignoring me made it worse.”

      You started to cry, the tears coming freely now. You couldn’t stop them. You couldn’t stop thinking about how he saw you, how he thought you were a distraction before, and now… Now, knowing the truth, he’d think even worse. He would have to take care of you, and the child he didn’t know about.

      “I just wanted to give you all the time you needed for soccer,” you choked out, your voice breaking with the weight of it. “I didn’t want to be a distraction…”

      Reo searched your eyes, his hands cupping your face as if trying to will the truth into his heart. “That’s what this is about?” He shook his head, his expression filled with remorse. “I never should’ve said that. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. You could never be a distraction. Never ever.”

      “I’m sorry, Reo. I’m so sorry,” you cried, your sobs shaking your body.

      He held you tighter, trying to reassure you as his voice softened. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

      “No.” You sniffled, wiping your face with your sleeve. “It’s not just about that, I—”

      But your baby’s cries cut you off. The sound sliced through the room like a knife, pulling your attention away from the conversation. Reo furrowed his brows, sensing the sudden shift, and followed you as you rushed towards the nursery.

      You turned, cradling your baby in your arms, the tiny body so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. The tufts of hair, the tiny eyes, it was all him.

      Reo stood frozen in the doorway, his voice trembling as he said your name.

      “Y/n?”

      You couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, I found out after you left.” Your heart shattered, knowing that this moment should’ve been shared, should’ve been a partnership. But it wasn’t. It had been a solitary experience.

      “What?” His voice cracked as the realization dawned. “What are you apologizing for? This is…” He trailed off, his emotions overwhelming him as he stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the baby in your arms. “She’s ours?”

      You nodded, your throat tight as you held her close.

      “She’s beautiful.” Reo cried as he held her in his arms. You had given birth only a month ago, you were tired, exhausted, scared, in pain. You were happy Reo was back. You knew you had problems to fix but at least you were together again. You’d get through it, you made a vow to.

      “Oh god…” Reo whispered, his hand reaching out as if to touch the tiny face, his tears falling freely now. “You were pregnant all alone?” His voice cracked again, as if the idea of you going through this by yourself was too much to bear.

      You tried to choke back the sobs, your hand trembling as you held your baby to your chest. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

      Reo collapsed to his knees in front of you, his face crumpling with regret and heartache. “Oh, baby, no… no, no, no,” he cried, his arms wrapping around you and the baby as he pulled you into him. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do this alone. I should’ve been there. I should’ve been here for you. For both of you.”

      His heart ached as he imagined you going through this, carrying your child, facing it all on your own. It broke him to think about how long he’d been absent, too wrapped up in his own world. Now, he had a chance to make it right, to be the partner you needed.

      And he would.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

FAIRYTALE- WINTER SOLDIER

day six of the june bug masterlist

pairing: hades! winter soldier x persephone! fem! reader

word count: 2k

summary: an inspired retelling of hades and persephone, where bucky takes you for himself, sheltering you from the cruel world. it may be cruel- but hes even crueler.

warnings: darkish? kidnapping, arranged marriage, bucky is a bit controlling, petnames, swearing

(this fic is more artistic freedom than anything:) so its more detailed in scene then any kind of smut or romance)

 “ im in love with a fairytale/ even though it hurts/ cause i don't care if i lose my mind/ i'm already cursed" - fairytale, alexander rybak

He was unable to have her.

And that made him want her more.

It was twisted, really. He was twisted.

He was dark and cold, callus and cruel. He was everything she was not.

The Winter Soldier was many things. Kind was not one of them. Which is why he had taken you.

You were not his to take. But he never claimed to be a selfless person. 

He had his eye on you for a long, long time. He knew who you were.

Your desires.

Your dreams.

Your wants, your needs.

What brought you comfort in the darkest of storms, and what caused your outer shell to crack into millions of pieces.

You were not a mere test subject to him, for him to observe.

No, you were a person- a goddess, who had her whole life ahead of you.

One he had stolen.

You had captured his interest, the first time that had happened to a man like him. It was foreign, and immediately he knew he had to do something about the warmth that spread through his chilled body near your presence.

He was disgusted with himself, with the way you plagued his thoughts.

Haunted them.

You would not leave his mind, as if you had been shackled there, to each ridge and neuron in his brain.

Your laugh.

Your smile.

The way your eyes twinkled with excitement and sheer joy when a flower bloomed under your touch, its petals opening wide to bask in your light.

Your smell, sickly sweet- of citrus and warm cherry blossoms in the sun. It clung to him like a second skin, one he could never fully wash off.

His compulsive, obsessive thoughts churned in him, a storm brewing until lightning had cracked and shattered his restraint.

It grew dark that day, so unfamiliar to you. The sunlight you basked in was kept prisoner by rolling grey clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance.

The rain began to pour, the icy cold droplets like pin pricks of a needle on your skin. For whatever reason, you couldn't move. You were frozen in your garden, looking up to the sky.

To Mother Earth.

Was she angry with you? You felt this punishment was needed. Deserved.

So you embraced the pricks of ice on your skin, letting it soak through your white dress that once flowed out around you. Now it clung to you like a marble statue, chilling you to the bone.

A crackle of lightning shot through the sky, illuminating the darkness with crackles of white, blues and deep purples. It was hauntingly beautiful. It was then the sky lit up again- and you felt darkness itself wrap its chains around you, pulling you under.

When you awoke, it was cold.

That was the only thing you could feel. Coldness.

It was a heaviness on you, trying to hold you down as you blinked your eyes open, the room blurring in and out of focus. Dark spots flashed across your vision, a lingering fear it was the darkness around you that was consuming your very soul.

You shuffled upwards, crouched in the corner as you observed the room around you.

It appeared as a showroom. An illusion, an attempt to bring false light and hope between the four walls.

A mirage.

Your hands were unbound, despite your abduction. You were free to move as you pleased, and yet you felt etched to the floor beneath you.

Darting your eyes around, you noted things in the room- presumably your room, that caught your eye.

The bed was large, seemingly soft as it had an old granny quilt, covered in florals. Blankets and piles of pillows adorned its surface, an old oil lamp flickering dimly on the bedside table. A bookshelf was filled with bound classics, different novels you had picked up over the years and read tirelessly under an old willow tree.

A kettle lay on a little counter, shelves above filled with different herbal tea blends and fresh leaves.

He had been watching you. And he had been for the last ten minutes, silent in the shadows as he observed you.

You jumped as he emerged into the light, scurrying back into your corner like a feral cat being cornered. A gasp was stuck in your throat, and you wanted more than anything to scream for help, to scream for anyone to save you from the large man who towered over you, slowly walking over to you- his footsteps silent.

He was darkness reincarnated, a living vision of cold, lonely nights and wilted flowers. Long dark hair curled around his neck, meeting the curled inky swirls that poked out underneath the collar of his shirt. Deep blue eyes watched you intensely, yet a gentle softness lingered in them as he looked into your own.

As if he were seeing someone familiar. Someone who brought him comfort. His arm reached out to touch you, and you flinched, scooting back into your corner until you were trapped by two wooden walls.

“Please-“ you cried out, silenced by the feeling of his fingers stroking your cheek tenderly, and the fresh tears that dripped down them.

“Please don’t hurt me, my family-“

“I’m not going to hurt you, my love. I am going to care for you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine.

“W-what?”

He smiled softly, removing his hand from your skin. Though he missed it. Your skin was so soft, so warm. He did not tell you of how you got here, where you were. He did not tell you of how the vines and the leaves seemed to bend and curl around him, trying to prevent your body from leaving. He did not tell you that you were not going back.

Instead, he stood, so large and tall he seemed to block all the light from view as you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees tightly.

“You are to be my wife.”

Your eyes widened. Voice became stuck in your throat at his words.

“You’re not a prisoner here, my love. Come and go as you please. Explore. And if you need anything, tell me and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find it for you.”

He turned, striding over to the door. It was unlocked. You slowly pulled yourself up to shaky legs, looking like a newborn fawn as you took a step forward.

Then another.

“I need to go home.” you said, voice as shaky as your legs as you stumbled towards the bed, the feeling of darkness overcoming you again.

He frowned sympathetically, tilting his head as he started to shut the door behind him.

“You’ll learn to trust me soon, my цветок. I promise. Now rest.”

And with that, the door was shut. He was gone, leaving you alone with your broken heart and broken thoughts.

But the click of the lock never came. Despite this, all you could do was obey.

Sleep overcame you, and you let it.

════ ✣✤✣ ═════ ═══ ✣✤✣ ════

He repeated those words every single day.

Mentions of trust. Mentions of promise.

And yet, you refused to believe him.

The first two days you refused to leave your room. Looking out the window, you watched the rain run down the glass pane. It was always dark, always cloudy. The trees were barren of leaves, the air foggy and suffocating.

There was no point in leaving. You couldn’t. You were in the Underworld. No one could reach you here.

You had cried and cried until you could cry no more. Your eyes were puffy and heavy, sleep washing over you like a wave throughout the day.

And yet, he did not try and comfort you. He left you be. He knew that trying too much, too soon would leave you feeling more anxious. So he lingered. But didn’t hover over you.

You would come to him when you were ready. It would take time, but he was patient. He had all the time in the world to be patient. But he couldn’t help but worry, just a little.

You were still as bright and radiant as ever, the flowers still blooming in your woven hair. When you emerged from your room to slip to the bathroom, he noted you had put on some of the nightgowns he had left in your dresser.

And though he knew you were sleeping well, and had even done so much as to make some chamomile tea, you refused to eat. It worried him. He knew the change would be hard, and you’d need to adjust, but you needed something in your body.

Your stomach had been grumbling for the last two days, and you grew weak. Your thoughts were cloudy, and consumed with the idea of fresh fruits and berries from your garden back home. You longed for the sweet taste of nectar and honey on your tongue more than anything.

It was late when you snuck out of your room- though sneaking wasn’t the right word, since you were technically free to go where you wished. But you were trying to avoid the man who was now sitting at the kitchen table.

Watching you.

You froze, fingers clutching the door handle to slip back in your room. But sometrhing held you captive, like a deer in headlights.

“You need to eat at some point petal. You grow weak. And we can’t have that, now can we?” he hummed, pushing the chair across from him with his long leg.

You swallowed, slowly making your way over to sit. “I’m not hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach grumbling from inside your room.”

You stared at him blankly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But you were caving.

“I did not want to bother you while you’re adjusting. It makes you anxious, I'm sure. I can feel it rolling off you in waves.”

“You make me anxious.”

He smiled to himself, as if you had told a funny joke he was remembering for later.

“I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure.”

He pushed forward a bowl, and when you peered inside your mouth watered.

Pomegranates.

Oh you had missed the sweet taste of pomegranate seeds. But you couldn’t trust him, or his food.

“How can I trust you? That this isn’t poisoned?”

He shrugged. “You can’t. But you’re a smart girl. You look and tell me if it has any traces of nightbane in it.”

You examined it throughly, finding no traces of the white powder that could be dusted around the seeds. Nothing but deep red juices stained your fingers as you poked around. It looked like blood.

“I want to go home.”

“You can visit home if you eat. I’m trying to take care of you, and you’re making it very difficult.”

Your eyes widened. “I can go home?”

“You can visit.”

You frowned.

“Visit?”

“I’ll make a deal with your father I’m sure.”

You didn’t know of the conditions he had left your homeland in. Whether it was because of his presence, or the loss of you- it had turned dark. The crops would not grow, the clouds would not part.

Mother Nature cried so hard the plants drowned and wilted. There was no sun. The sun was with him, sitting across from him at the breakfast nook.

Your parents were desperate. Not only for your presence again, but for the sun to shine again. Nature did not call to them the way it called to you. The deer had scurried off, skittish, away in the brush, the vines had turned brown and thin.

He watched as you practically scarfed down the fruit, juices seeping from the corners of your lips and down your chin to stain your dress. He smiled, watching as you began to eat another, before he gave you a basket of fresh fruits from your garden.

Licking your lips, your eyes closed as you felt energy seep into your pores. It felt like being bathed in spring water, refreshing and cool.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and watched as you retreated to your room, lips still stained. Unbeknownst to you, you had thanked him for sealing your fate in the Underworld.

You’d see what he needed soon enough. 

To care for you. To keep you safe. To make you his queen.