#we have this thing called table of truth

[piratefalls]

So I’ve been doing my chores like I do most Sundays, and I was thinking back on a conversation I had with a friend the other night when we discussed the details of our yearly Friendsgivesmas. (For those new here, my friends and I created a holiday in 2021 that combines all the holidays into one day.) I’m hosting, cooking, drink acquiring, which I enjoy doing, and she was giving me the money to do it. All good. And it hit me today that the only solid plans I have with my friends is four months from now.

And I know life happens and all of my friends are married and have kids and other obligations. It’s fine. Mostly I’m just mad that all I ever heard growing up, about being an adult, is that you have a partner and kids and a house and a job, etc. No one tells you how to navigate adulthood when you only have the house and the job when everyone else you spend time with has all those other things. And for the record, I’m absolutely fine with the lack of crotch goblins. That’s not a regret I’ll ever have. But it does get lonely sometimes when it’s just you and the dog. No one prepares you for how hard it is to meet new people as an adult. Especially when you’re painfully awkward around new people.

And that really suck.

[impossible-rat-babies]

sitting w lae’zel like oh baby girl you are becoming so painfully disillusioned to what you were raised in huh

[queervegancryptid]

Part of what Cory Booker is doing with this filibuster is reading things into the record. Sometimes when people do a filibuster, they just say shit. I think one time Ted Cruz read "Green Eggs and Ham" into the record. Another dude sang the Mets theme song or whatever the shit.

If you actually have substantial things to say, you don't have to do that. I mean, not for nothing, but what we're watching here is a man doing the job he was elected to do. Our public officials work for us, the people. It's nice to see some of them take that obligation seriously.

Booker is standing there with a binder that he's not even halfway through reading. *Over 42k people are watching it just on YouTube. I haven't watched the news yet today, but I've got the live feed of this open on my computer.

I hope he has a catheter and/or a diaper on. He said he'd continue as long as he's physically able. Probably he's been on a liquid diet for a day or so. I would plan ahead for this.

If Republicans are going to refuse to do the work, if they're going to refuse to take up serious business and would like instead to fuck shit up... Well, we've got a choice to make, don't we? I don't know what the long-term solution looks like. But we can and should talk about it. We can and should take steps to make sure the public record reflects reality to the extent possible.

Really, if we want to come back from this, we have to talk about it. And we know that the official records during this time especially will be, shall we say, less than reliable. So there is value in speaking the truth into the public record.

I'm not in love with the Democratic party as an institution. But this can also be energizing and inspiring for people. He's setting an example, and hopefully his example will shame others into growing a backbone. Hopefully.

I really don't have any hope for Schumer. But Booker, along with folks like Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, AOC, and Jasmine Crockett, are doing what they can do, and I respect it.

This is definitely a coordinated thing, though. Finally, Dems are showing that they have some strategic ability. Booker is the main speaker, but other Dems are asking questions, while allowing him to retain the floor. In this way, it's clear that they're working together, and several people in the room have jobs to do in support of Booker's efforts. They're expanding on his points and doing a call-and-response thing, which is an effective tactic in more ways than one, and it allows him to rest his voice for a few moments at a time.

So I'm not becoming a cheerleader for anybody yet. But what he's doing is important, even if it doesn't change anything directly.

Miss me with bipartisanship talk though. I really can't see that as a viable option at this point. Unless something radical changes, I wouldn't trust that at all. So anytime somebody like Schumer talks about Republicans coming to the table, I can't be bothered to listen. They have repeatedly shown us that they have no intention of doing that and that they further do not care about right and wrong at all. Or if they do, they think their actions are right, and I'm not sure which is worse, but in both cases, I would not call them trustworthy. Their priority is being in lockstep with Trump and the prescribed agenda of the party, not the American people.

At least Booker is trying to do something. Shit.

* When I started typing this, the number of viewers was just over 42k. Now it's over 45k and climbing.

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[pellucid-constellations]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down. 

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh. 

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him. 

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient. 

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled. 

Well, most were. 

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future. 

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others. 

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere. 

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim. 

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him. 

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!” 

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain. 

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?” 

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine. 

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting. 

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?” 

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.” 

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?” 

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.” 

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.” 

“And why should I choose to go home with you?” 

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.” 

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump. 

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table. 

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.” 

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes. 

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him. 

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past. 

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty. 

Warren was a nice man. 

But Azriel— 

“You are so beautiful.” 

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified. 

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow. 

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!” 

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.” 

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours. 

Maybe he had known. 

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage. 

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?” 

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening. 

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left. 

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?” 

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over. 

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing. 

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.” 

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions. 

“What?” 

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.” 

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.” 

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.” 

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.” 

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.” 

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.” 

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs. 

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.” 

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp. 

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.” 

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.” 

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you. 

It had seemed like there was another path. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.” 

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner. 

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter. 

It had been months without seeing him. 

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then. 

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.” 

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices. 

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband. 

That’s what made this even more tortuous. 

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy. 

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.” 

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—” 

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.” 

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.” 

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter. 

“I would do anything to be with you.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.” 

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.” 

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists. 

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—” 

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.” 

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.” 

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that. 

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.” 

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.” 

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—” 

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—” 

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down. 

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back. 

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.” 

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?” 

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?” 

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.” 

“I left.” 

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.” 

“We had no mating bond.” 

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.” 

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—” 

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.” 

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.” 

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.” 

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice. 

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy. 

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.” 

“When?” 

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.” 

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed. 

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.” 

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement. 

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.” 

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face. 

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.” 

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked. 

“Not to me,” you affirmed. 

~~

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court. 

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell. 

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings. 

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House. 

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task. 

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed. 

You hadn’t knocked on it in years. 

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again. 

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.” 

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift. 

You knocked again.

No answer. 

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway. 

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before. 

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered. 

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.” 

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track. 

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you. 

“I am not getting married.” 

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt. 

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name. 

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist. 

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up. 

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly. 

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—” 

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t. 

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—” 

“Look at me.” 

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm. 

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours. 

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. 

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks. 

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—” 

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.” 

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.” 

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered. 

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.” 

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.” 

“I know.” 

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist. 

“Wanted?” 

You drew back. “What?” 

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.” 

You could only stare at him. 

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?” 

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.” 

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave. 

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

“Please don’t marry him.” 

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.” 

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—” 

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.” 

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.” 

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.” 

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?” 

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?” 

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.” 

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?” 

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.” 

“And when did you begin to worry about that.” 

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.” 

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.” 

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.” 

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.” 

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.” 

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

[norristrii]

HELP APPRECIATED.

Your brother Lando has a knack for teasing you, especially when it comes to padel matches. But when his friend, Max, steps in to support you and help turn the tables, the dynamic shifts—giving you the perfect chance to prove Lando wrong.

pairing. Max Verstappen x Norris! fem! reader.

warnings. annoying older brother Lando (again, but we love).

For my newfound friend @haniette 🫶🏻 love you girlie!!

LANDO KNEW—oh, he absolutely knew—how much you loathed going with him to play padel. It wasn’t the sport itself; you actually enjoyed it when it was with your girls, the laughter and camaraderie making it fun. But with Lando? In front of his friends? That was an entirely different story. He thrived on teasing you, poking fun in ways only an older brother could. It was borderline humiliating, but somehow you always got roped into it.

And now, here you were. The padel court was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the thwack of balls hitting the racket. Max and George were there too, their easy banter filling the air while Lando shot you an all-too-smug grin. The question lingered in your mind: Why did I agree to this? It wasn’t money—that was for sure. It wasn’t sibling love either; let’s be real, Lando’s idea of sibling love involved making you his personal entertainment.

No, you were here for one simple reason—you wanted him to shut up. You wanted him to stop his nagging, his comments, his relentless pestering about coming to play “just once.” And if enduring an hour of him flaunting his supposed skills in front of his friends was the price to pay for peace, well… so be it.

Teamed up with George, you quickly realized he had drawn the short straw. Lando was relentless, targeting you with every shot as if the game were a personal vendetta. The ball zipped toward you time and again, leaving you scrambling to keep up. It wasn’t just padel at this point—it was a one-sided showdown, and Lando was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Come on, Y/n!” Lando teased after yet another missed return, his grin so smug it was almost criminal. George shot you a sympathetic look, muttering something about how impossible it was to defend against Lando when he was this focused on being a menace.

The score kept climbing, and not in your favor. You were losing—rapidly and spectacularly. But through all the chaos, you couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. It was frustrating, yes, but it was also so Lando. His ability to turn even a friendly padel game into his personal theater of mischief was almost admirable.

“Is this payback for something?” you called out, trying to match his banter despite the sweat forming on your brow.

“Maybe,” Lando replied with a smirk, effortlessly returning another shot. “Or maybe I just like seeing you try.”

Poor George, indeed. He deserved a medal for putting up with this, and you were going to owe him a drink after this for sure.

Max waved his racket dramatically, his exasperation clear as he took in the situation. “What about changing teams?” he suggested, his tone laced with playful disbelief. It was obvious he’d noticed your struggle, and maybe—just maybe—he was trying to save you.

You sighed, tossing a glance at George, who was already chuckling. “Yeah, George deserves to win at least once,” you replied, the humor in your voice lightening the moment.

But then Max chimed in again, his suggestion catching you off guard. “I’ll be with Y/n,” he said confidently, and you froze. The words echoed in your head, and you felt your cheeks heat up almost instantly. Because, truth be told, you’d always had a little thing for Max—a crush that had lingered quietly for longer than you cared to admit.

And, of course, Lando noticed. He always noticed. He had that infuriating ability to see right through you, to catch on to even the smallest hints of vulnerability or emotion you tried to keep hidden. You didn’t even have to look to know he’d clocked your reaction, storing it away as ammunition for later. This was just another golden reason for him to tease you mercilessly once you got home.

Max stood beside you, his presence impossibly magnetic as he shot you one of those grins—charming, effortless, the kind that made your knees weak. You could feel your heart race, the flutter of nerves threatening to pull your focus entirely away from the game. Across the court, Lando watched with an expression that screamed l know exactly what’s going on here. His knowing look was equal parts teasing and mischievous, and you knew you’d never hear the end of it later.

Max began explaining tactics, his voice confident yet patient as he gestured with his racket, pointing out positions and strategies. His energy was focused, but yours… yours was entirely elsewhere. You were too busy taking him in—the way his eyes lit up as he spoke, the way his enthusiasm made him so impossibly endearing. You nodded along, pretending to absorb his words, but in truth, they barely registered. You were a little too captivated, lost in the sheer of him.

The game ahead didn’t matter. In that moment, it was just you, Max, and the chaotic, undeniable realization that maybe your crush wasn’t as inconspicuous as you’d hoped. And judging by Lando’s smirk across the court, he wasn’t missing a single second of the drama unfolding. Oh, he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

Suddenly, your game took a dramatic turn for the better. The shots you missed before were now connecting effortlessly, and your energy seemed to shift entirely. You couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason—was it the fact that Max was next to you, his presence calming and motivating all at once? Was it the way he encouraged you with subtle tips and grins that felt like small victories? Or maybe it was pure determination, driven by the desire to show off, to prove that you weren’t just here to flounder under Lando’s relentless teasing.

Or, let’s be honest—it could have just been the burning need to get through the game and finally go home.

Whatever it was, you felt the momentum change as each shot landed, Max offering the occasional “Nice one!” or “That’s the way!” with a grin that sent your heart fluttering. Even Lando seemed taken aback for a moment, his teasing replaced with a slightly furrowed brow as he realized you weren’t giving him the easy victory he’d hoped for.

“Wow, Y/n, what’s gotten into you?” Lando asked, his voice laced with breathless disbelief as he wiped the sweat from his brow, clearly struggling to keep up with your sudden surge of skill.

You barely spared him a glance, shrugging with an air of nonchalance. “Luck,” you replied, pausing briefly before adding, “or help,” and shot a quick smile at Max, who chuckled beside you. The subtle compliment didn’t go unnoticed, and judging by Lando’s narrowed eyes, it fueled his competitive streak even further.

Gripping your racket, you adjusted your stance, ready for the next hit. The game wasn’t over yet, but you were more than prepared to show Lando—and maybe Max too—that you weren’t backing down anytime soon.

The final hit landed perfectly, sealing the win for you and Max. The cheers erupted, and before you could fully process what had just happened, Max was rushing toward you, his face lit up with excitement.

“Yes, Y/n!” he shouted, his voice filled with unrestrained joy. Before you knew it, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight hug. The next thing you felt was your feet leaving the ground as he lifted you slightly, his laughter mixing with yours. “You did it,” he said, his grin so wide and genuine that it made your heart skip a beat.

From the sidelines, Lando rolled his eyes dramatically, but the small, amused smirk playing on his lips betrayed him. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he called out, but the teasing couldn’t dampen the electric moment between you and Max. Winning had never felt quite this good.

“I fear that’s it for today,” you said with a playful smile, slinging your racket over your shoulder. Lando groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes before striding off the court, muttering something under his breath about needing a rematch. Classic Lando.

But you and Max lingered, the energy between you softening as the adrenaline of the game faded. The two of you stood there, just looking at each other, smiles tugging at your lips. “Thank you for the help,” you said, your voice carrying a warmth that matched your grin.

As you turned to leave, Max moved closer, draping his arm around your shoulders with an easy confidence that sent your pulse racing. Flirting? Oh, there was no mistaking it—he was absolutely flirting. And you couldn’t help but let it happen, your stomach doing little flips as he leaned in slightly.

“What about us going to play padel alone some next time?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, a hint of mischief in his tone.

You blinked, caught off guard for only a moment before a smile broke across your face. Alone? Just the two of you? Suddenly, padel seemed a lot more appealing. This was going to be interesting.

“Yeah, but I still suck at this stupid sport—or whatever it even is,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head in mock defeat.

Max grinned, his confidence unwavering. “Don’t care,” he replied, his tone light but determined. “I’ll teach you.”

The way he said it, so effortlessly sure, made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he looked at you, like he genuinely believed you could conquer the court with him by your side. Maybe padel wasn’t so bad after all. Or maybe it was just Max making it feel that way.

“Stop flirting!” Lando’s voice rang out dramatically as he turned around, his tone halfway between annoyance and entertainment.

Max didn’t even flinch, rolling his eyes as if this was just another typical Lando moment. “He should shut up sometimes,” Max muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with exasperation.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the moment too absurd not to enjoy. “That would be really nice,” you replied, shooting Max a grin.

Even as Lando stomped away, likely plotting his next round of teasing, you felt that lightness in the air—the perfect blend of chaos, camaraderie, and just a hint of something more. With Max beside you, you could tell this was going to be far more interesting than any game of padel.

As you walked towards Lando’s tiny Fiat Jolly, parked with its quirky charm, you spotted him waiting with an expression that screamed "disappointed dad." Arms crossed, brows furrowed—it was as if he were channeling every ounce of parental annoyance into that one look. You couldn’t help but smirk; his dramatic flair never failed to amuse.

Max caught up with you just before you reached the car, pulling you into a warm hug that sent a flutter through your chest. His lips brushed softly against your cheek, a barely-there sensation that lingered far longer than it should have. You could feel the heat creeping up your face, and in the corner of your eye, you saw Lando rolling his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head.

“See you later, Y/n,” Max said, his voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that made promises out of simple goodbyes.

You smiled, your voice carrying a hint of something more. “I’m really looking forward, Max.”

Sliding into your seat next to Lando, you barely had time to get settled before he shot you one of his trademark smirks, already loaded with teasing. The Fiat buzzed to life, its tiny engine rumbling as the city lights blurred into motion. You braced yourself, knowing full well that Lando’s commentary would start as soon as you hit the first corner. And yet, a small smile tugged at your lips—you wouldn’t trade this chaos for anything.

Lando’s voice cut through the hum of the car engine, his tone dry and pointed. “Did you enjoy flirting with my friend?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, not even sparing you a glance.

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Actually, yeah,” you replied casually, the humor in your voice unmistakable. “I’m sorry your love life is shit,” you added with a laugh, knowing full well the rumors swirling around him were as entertaining as they were ridiculous.

“Haha,” Lando mocked your laugh, his sarcasm sharp but not unexpected. You could tell he was gearing up for a comeback, but your attention shifted as your phone buzzed in your lap. Glancing down, you saw Max’s name light up the screen.

can hear him complaining even from here. i’m excited to see you again ;)

© norristrii 2025

[carnalcrows]

LOST AND FOUND - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x top male reader

synopsis: A man starts noticing his belongings disappearing after every visit to his best friend’s house—until he stumbles upon the unsettling truth.

content warnings: 18+, bottom salesman, reader is fucking salesman's son, dubcon, blackmail, cheating, fingering, anal sex, implied stalking, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at your best friend’s house is always an experience.

Not because of the food—his dad’s a damn good cook, actually—but because of the company.

“Hyung, I’m telling you, this lady at work keeps calling me ‘oppa,’ and I don’t know how to tell her I hate it,” Jiho complains, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “Like, I get it, I’m devastatingly handsome, but can we have boundaries?”

You snort, reaching for more rice. “You could just tell her to stop.”

“I did! And you know what she said? She said I ‘look like the type to enjoy it.’” Jiho groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of his chair. “I feel violated.”

Across the table, Jiho’s father hums, slow and thoughtful. “Perhaps you give off the impression of someone who enjoys attention,” he muses, sipping his soup.

Jiho gapes at him, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

You chuckle, glancing at Jiho’s father. He hasn’t said much tonight, but that’s not unusual. The man is a quiet observer, the kind of person who listens more than he speaks. You’ve had dinner here plenty of times before, and the pattern is always the same—Jiho chatting away, you chiming in, and his father interjecting with the occasional dry remark.

But tonight… feels different.

Jiho’s father has been watching you. Not obviously—just little glances, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than usual. His face remains unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes, something calculating.

It’s not unfriendly, exactly. Just… unsettling.

“Hyung?” Jiho nudges your arm. “You good?”

You blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. Just thinking about how you probably deserve that treatment.”

Jiho makes a wounded noise. “Et tu, Brute?”

Across the table, his father chuckles. A deep, quiet sound. When you glance at him, he’s already looking away, refilling his tea like he wasn’t just assessing you like a goddamn science project.

Yeah. Something’s up with him tonight.

You just don’t know what.

And that? That should’ve been your first warning.

You should’ve gone home.

Jiho had texted that he’d be late—something about running an errand for work—but you figured it was no big deal. You’d been to his house a thousand times before, and waiting around wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But the house was too quiet without him.

It’s why you found yourself wandering, aimlessly at first, then with purpose when you noticed something odd.

A door. Slightly ajar.

You didn’t remember Jiho ever mentioning this room before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you nudged the door open fully—only to freeze in place.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. Not with books or storage boxes, but with you.

Your bracelets. Your books. Your toothbrush.

And—most horrifyingly—your underwear.

Stacks of them, folded neatly. Some draped over surfaces, others tucked away like a grotesque collection. And at the very center, in a glass display case like some kind of prized possession, was a used condom—your used condom.

A sickening chill crawled up your spine.

What the fuck was this?

A shadow moved behind you. Before you could react, a deep voice spoke, low and amused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop?”

You turned sharply. Jiho’s father stood in the doorway, watching you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You opened your mouth—whether to demand an explanation or to throw up, you weren’t sure—but he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a click.

Trapping you inside.

“You’ve been quite careless,” he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the shelves. “Leaving so many things behind. Did you ever wonder where they went?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “What the fuck is this?”

Jiho’s father merely chuckled. “Just a collection. I like to keep things that interest me.”

Your stomach churned. This wasn’t just interest—this was obsession.

You tried to move past him, but he stepped in your way, his smirk widening. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

You clenched your jaw. “Move.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice was light, conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “You could run to Jiho. Tell him. But then I’d have to tell everyone something too, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath caught.

“I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “How would your workplace react? Your friends? Your family?”

Your hands curled into fists. You knew what he was implying. Being outed in this country—where tradition and reputation mattered—was a death sentence for your social life, your career, everything.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So, what will it be?”

Oh.

Oh hell no.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, because there is no way this is happening. “Dude,” you blurt. “You do realize your son and I have been—”

“I’m very aware,” he interrupts smoothly, his gaze flickering down your form. “And I must say… I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

You should leave. You should run. But your legs don’t move. Because the way he’s looking at you—intense, predatory, like he’s testing something—sends a very different kind of shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifts.

He’s close now. Too close.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmurs, reaching out—not grabbing, just hovering, his fingers barely ghosting over your arm. “Most people would be terrified right now.”

“Oh, I am,” you say, flashing a weak grin. “But I also have really bad coping mechanisms.”

His lips quirk up. “Is that so?”

Then, before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—you grab him by the tie and pull him in.

His smirk barely has time to widen before your lips crash together.

The kiss is messy. Heated. Too much, too fast, but neither of you seem to care. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, while yours tangle in the expensive fabric of his suit. He tastes like something rich and intoxicating, and damn it, you hate how much you like it.

Your hands move to his waist as his move up to your shoulders, slightly changing the dynamics of the situation. He groans against your mouth at the friction against his crotch, making you hard.

This is wrong, so wrong, but there doesn’t really seem to be another way out.

You tug at his work pants, bringing them down with a firm grasp while pushing him onto the bed in the corner of the room– more like a shrine.

His cock emerges, hard and leaking. Your thumbs trails at the head-- picking up the precum that builds up at the slit. He shudders; he hasn’t touched himself like this in so long.

Wanting to finish what he wants as soon as possible, you shimmy down your own pants, revealing your own erection. You find yourself feeling ashamed at the fact that your grew hard from kissing your fuck buddy best friend’s father.

Searching through his coat pocket, the older man finds a small packet of lube and tosses it at you. You catch it before it flies past you– glaring at him. 

“You're no fun,” he grins, as you rip the packet with your teeth and pour the cool liquid onto your fingers.

You take your lubed digits to his awaiting hole and press them at his entrance, before pushing in. You weren’t going to give this man the mercy of your patience.

His back arched as he let out a loud moan. If your fingers felt this good, how would your cock feel in him?

His thoughts were interrupted by you moving your fingers in and out of him sloppily, not caring if the sudden intrusion hurt (he was a masochist, so you supposed it didn’t matter anyway).

Feeling that he had been prepped enough, you slid your digits out of his hole, and replaced the emptiness with your cock.

The head caught on to the slick of the lube, pushing in slightly– before you slid all the way in. You groaned at how tight he was– even tighter than Jiho if that were possible. You chided yourself for thinking like that before you pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in.

The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head– your cock hitting the right spot with every thrust. You felt so, so good inside him, and his hole involuntarily clenched around you at the thought.

You held tightly onto his waist as you practically abused his hole, profanities leaving your mouth every now and then.

“Hah– never thought you would get of to being fucked by your son’s best friend, hm?” He could only mumble incoherently at the jab, his brain just too full with being fucked dumb.

He had been waiting so long for this to finally happen, for you to take him like this. He was aware of the relationship between you and his son, and he chose to exploit it instead of doing what a normal dad should do.

But it wasn’t like he was a normal person anyway.

At that thought, he felt himself clench around you more, fucking psychopath. You groaned, feeling his warmth, thrusting into him even further as though you were an animal in heat.

Soon, you felt yourself close to a climax, so you pressed your cock into him all the way, letting yourself come undone– painting his insides a pearly white, before whispering in his ear.

“You can throw away that condom now– you have the real thing in you anyway”, he came, almost violently, when he heard you say that– his semen staining his pristine suit.

You were going to pull out of him, when a sharp knock suddenly echoed through the house.

“Dad?”

You both freeze.

Oh. Oh, hell.

The door creaks open, and there stands Jiho —his son—staring at the two of you like he’s just walked into the world’s worst nightmare.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“What. The. Fuck.”

You sigh, forehead dropping against the older man’s shoulder. “Welp,” you mutter. “Guess I am gonna start screaming now.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[maskedbyghost]

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. You stood by the kitchen counter, rinsing off the dishes after dinner.

“You left your boots by the door again,” you called over your shoulder. “I almost tripped over them this morning. I swear, one day you’re gonna send me straight to the ER.”

No response. Not that you expected one.

You wiped your hands on a dish towel and turned toward the living room. Simon sat on the couch, one arm draped over the back, watching you with that small, amused tilt of his head. He looked so at ease, so peaceful. The lamp beside him cast a warm glow over his face, softening the usual sharpness in his features.

“I was thinking,” you continued, walking toward him. “We should take a trip. Nothing crazy, just a few days. Somewhere quiet.” You leaned against the back of the couch, nudging his shoulder lightly. “You always say you hate vacations, but I know you. You’d like it.”

Simon hummed, a sound deep in his chest. “Where to?”

You smiled, considering. “Maybe a cabin in the woods. Somewhere with a lake. We could fish, have a fire going at night…” You glanced at him. “You ever made s’mores?”

He scoffed. “Course I have.”

“Liar.” You nudged him again. “I bet you’d hate the marshmallow part, though. Too messy for you.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. That was how it always was—Simon let you ramble, let you fill the space with words when his own were scarce. It had never bothered you. It still didn’t.

You sighed and let your head rest against his shoulder. The steady rise and fall of his chest was comforting. “We could leave next week,” you murmured. “Just pack up and go.”

The room was warm, the kind of warmth that made your eyelids heavy. The kind that made you forget about the outside world. You closed your eyes, let yourself sink into it.

And then—

A gust of wind rattled the window. The lamp flickered. The air shifted.

You opened your eyes.

The couch was empty. The warmth was gone.

Your breath hitched. Slowly, your gaze moved across the room. The coffee table was untouched, no boots by the door, no forgotten jacket draped over the chair.

Simon wasn’t here.

Your throat tightened. You blinked hard, forcing your eyes to adjust, to see things clearly.

The apartment was silent. The couch cushion beside you was untouched.

The last time Simon had sat there, the last time he had really been there—

Your chest ached, the kind of deep, hollow ache that never truly went away.

You swallowed, pushing yourself upright, gripping the edge of the couch like it could ground you. Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…We were supposed to go.”

But you knew the truth.

Simon had been dead for months.

And you were still waiting for him to come home.

PART 2

--------------------------------------------

come cry with me my friends

@daydreamerwoah

[thelostconsultant]

Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: Oscar finds out he has a son, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to be the father he deserves.

Note: Oscar is in his early 30s in this. Also, I've been going through the trash can (exported posts from the old blog), so most of it might be familiar.

“We would like to meet Oliver’s father. His biological father,” the principal clarifies as he glances over at your boyfriend. You’ve been together for three years, he has been by your five-year-old’s side for over half his life, why isn’t he enough?

But he insists on meeting him, saying if he was dead and you could prove it, or if your boyfriend was your husband, they would move on with the enrollment, but you have confirmed that you aren’t married and the biological father is alive, so now they want to have a chat with him. He doesn’t even care about the tiny little detail that said father has absolutely no idea he has a child. 

What a bunch of morons.

In the evening, while your son is reading a book about cars in his bed with your boyfriend, you sit by the dining table with your phone in hand, trying to figure out what to do. This fancy private school is perfect, they know how to handle intelligent kids like Oliver, and you want the best for him. You want to make sure he doesn’t get bored, that he will get the kind of intellectual challenge in school that he needs.

At the age of five, he can read on his own just fine, he even learned some Spanish from your boyfriend, and he’s a quick study in general. It’s infuriating how he’s a mini version of his father, from his intelligence to his looks, everything reminds you of him. 

And if you meet F1 fans together, someone surely goes, “He looks so much like Piastri at his age!” Sadly, that isn’t a coincidence, and the poor kid picked up on the whole you-look-like-him thing and chose him as his favorite driver.

Sometimes you consider telling him. Oliver, not Oscar. God, there’s no way you will ever tell him the truth. He has his own, certainly busy life and he probably doesn’t need a child in it. Yes, you saw the photos, he’s good with kids, but meeting one for a few minutes isn’t the same as having your own. 

Your son on the other hand can find out when he gets old enough to understand why you left and went no contact with his father. That was over five years ago anyway, so you had time to figure out what to do. Until then, you make sure the few photos of you and Oscar are stored somewhere safe in case he wants to see them when the time comes.

Now you are cornered, your hand forced by that damn principal. You have no idea if he’s still using that old social media profile of his, but you have to try. So, you take a deep breath and start a video call, deep down hoping he won’t answer. You aren’t ready to talk to him, not yet, but you have no choice. And then his face shows up on your screen, the sight bringing back memories you’ve been trying to forget for years.

“Hey. Are you sure it’s me you wanted to call?” he asks, although there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

Nodding, you let out a sigh. “Hi. Yeah, um… I don’t even know where to start.”

“At the beginning?”

Silence follows his words, your brain in overdrive as it try to find the best way to start. But maybe being straightforward is the right answer. “I have a son. He’s five,” you add, hoping the meaningful look you’re sending his way can be seen over the screen.

After a few seconds of heavy silence, you can see the wheels turning in his head as he does some math. “Wait, five? We… That was a bit over five years ago. Could he…?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “He’s your son.”

His face is emotionless for a while as he tries to process the news, but this is nothing new, he’s the king of hiding emotions. But then, just as you think he will end the call, he lets out a sigh. “Why now? What do you want from me? Money?” he asks, although you can tell he’s unsure about this whole situation.

The fact he assumes you want money only makes you angry. “It’s not your money I need. Hell, I don’t even want you to meet him,” you snap. “The thing is, there’s this private school I want to send him to, and they have this stupid rule to have both parents present at a parental interview. Since my boyfriend and I never got married, they want to see the biological father. That’s all I want. A meeting with the principal.”

Oscar puts up a finger as he bites on his lower lip, his eyes focusing on something behind his phone’s camera. “Let me get this straight. After all these years, you say I have a son, but I’m not allowed to meet him?” he then asks, looking back at you.

“Yeah.”

“One meeting,” he then states, his voice serious. “You let me meet him once and I’ll talk to that principal.”

“Oscar, come on.”

“That’s the deal I can offer.”

You don’t have a choice, you know that. If he doesn’t do it for Oliver, he will have to go to another school. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you nod. “But we don’t tell him that you’re his father. He watches F1, and since he looks a lot like you, he decided that you’re his favorite driver. That’s all you’re gonna be, nothing more.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I,” Oscar begins hesitantly, and you can see as he sits down on his couch and looks up at the ceiling. “You just told me I had a son. What do you want from me, to forget it? I want to meet him. I want him to know who I am.”

“He’s five. If he finds out, he’ll want to see you again. He will want you to be a part of his life. I don’t want that.”

You can see he’s uncertain about this. He probably understands that becoming his father would mean he will have to regularly visit the two of you, and even if you all kept it a secret, there is still the risk of the truth slipping out and making it into the headlines. “Is he anything like me?” he suddenly asks, his eyes softening as he watches you. 

A smile creeps on your lips as you think about this, because it’s so painfully obvious to you that you can’t deny it, no matter how badly you want to do that. “He’s a highly intelligent little smartass, just like you. And his looks… A mini you, no doubt.”

Oscar nods. “Then I want to be a part of his life. Let me spend time with him,” he asks, seeming relaxed. 

“Two hours.”

“No, I’ll stay for a week, and I want to see him every day,” he’s quick to clarify. “I can look out for him while you’re at work.”

Whatever happened to the idea of meeting Oliver once? That’s not what you have just discussed, and now he’s changing his demands? “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all you say in the end.

“You said it yourself, I’m his favorite driver,” he points out with a smug smile. “We’ll be fine.”

You are doing this only because of the school. You remember what Oscar can be like; if he makes up his mind about something, he definitely isn’t about to let his plan go. Now he wants a week with his son, and you know that’s the only way he will do what you need from him. “All right. Can I send you the school’s number so you can make an appointment? I told them you travel a lot, so they’ll need to be flexible.”

“Sure, I’ll call them as soon as I can.” You thank him, and are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up again. “Wait, can you send me a photo or a video?”

“Yeah, I have a few hundred of those,” you reply with a smile.

Oscar remains silent, but he lets out a sigh and you know something is on his mind, something he wants to tell you. “I still have a hard time believing it, you know.”

“You seemed pretty confident when it came to getting to know him.”

“I wanted to use my chance to corner you,” he admits. “But this? That I have a son? Hard to believe.”

“Well, he’s yours. You’ll understand it when you meet him,” you tell him kindly. 

After you say goodbye, you go up to check on Oliver and your boyfriend, but by the time you get there, they are sleeping soundly with the open book resting on your son’s chest. With a smile, you take the book and lean down to give both of them a soft kiss. You can’t help but wonder how your little family’s dynamics will change with Oscar’s presence. 

Well, it isn’t really your son you are worried about, the main issue is your boyfriend. Oscar is a famous F1 driver, someone your son idolizes, of course he feels threatened. You told him it would be okay, that you didn’t have feelings for him anymore, but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe if they meet and he sees you are indifferent, he will finally trust you a lot more. One can hope, right?

A bit over a week later Oscar is sitting in his rented car in the school’s parking lot, thinking about how this conversation could go. According to you, they are aware of the fact he didn’t know Oliver existed until recently, so he hopes they don’t expect him to talk about what he’s like. Sure, over the past week he asked you about him, he wanted to prepare for meeting him, but they haven’t met in person. How could he know what to say? After taking a deep breath, he gets out and goes inside, feeling more nervous than he does when he’s getting in the car before a race.

If he’s this nervous now, what will he feel like before meeting his son? 

Spending years in a boarding school prepared him for this meeting, and the principal is everything he imagined him to be. He’s polite, not making a fuss over the fact he is–let’s say–famous. He even apologizes for the mess he caused, saying he understands it was probably quite a shock for him, but this is the protocol, and they can’t make an exception. Oscar keeps nodding, even assuring him it’s okay, although deep down he’s still confused and unsure of things. 

All of this despite his conversation with his mother, who was overjoyed when she saw a video of Oliver, saying he was truly just like him, and she couldn’t wait to have the chance to meet her grandchild in person. But she also told him maybe this was the best thing that could happen to him. Having a child is truly an experience, and since he was still five, they had the chance to have a wonderful relationship. “You say he loves F1. Just imagine how happy he would be if he could go to some race weekends with you. You could teach him so much about racing, and you could bond over that,” she said. 

After he parks in front of your house in the afternoon, Oscar goes to the trunk to get everything he brought with himself. From signed merch from both himself and Lando–just to be sure–to toy racing cars, he has a wide variety of gifts. Something will hopefully become a favorite, an item that he will keep close to himself. Maybe he went overboard, maybe he could’ve brought only one thing, but he had no idea what Oliver liked, so he couldn’t pick just one item. 

“Please, don’t tell me you brought all this for him.”

He looks up with a questioning hum, only to find you standing next to him on the sidewalk. Seeing you again brings back memories of your time together, of all of your little adventures during the short time you spent together, and he can’t help but wonder if you fled because you found out you were pregnant. If you didn’t leave him so suddenly, would things be different now? Would you be a big happy family? 

Clearing his throat, he flashes a sheepish smile at you. “I couldn’t choose,” he admits as he grabs the duffel bag and follows you to the front door. He can’t help but wonder what he can expect, and he has to ask you the most important thing. “Did you tell him that he was meeting his father today?” You nod. That’s good. “Is he excited?”

You bite on your lower lip as you watch him, clearly thinking about how to answer the question. But after a short break, you let out a sigh. “He’s a little confused, I think. My boyfriend, Alejandro, met him when he was only two, the three of us spent a lot of time together, and he moved in last year. Oliver… He assumed my boyfriend was his dad, which in a way he is, but we had to sit him down and explain the situation to him,” you say, looking sad all of a sudden. 

It’s clear now why you were so against telling Oliver the truth. You want him to be close to your boyfriend, and you’re probably afraid things between them will change once he gets into the picture. Maybe you’re even afraid things between you and your boyfriend will change too. He can’t blame you for that, but now that he knows he has a son, Oscar wants to be a part of his life. He doesn’t want to be some asshole who ignored his own blood. 

Once inside, he puts the bag on the floor and follows you to the living room where Oliver is watching some cartoon on TV. Now that he sees him in person, he feels warmth spread through his body, because this kid looks exactly like he did at his age. You clear your throat next to him to get your son’s attention, and when the kid notices him, his eyes grow wide from surprise. He gets off the couch and slowly walks over to them, his eyes never leaving his face as he tries to process who their guest is. 

“Hello, Oliver,” Oscar says as he crouches down. 

“You’re Oscar Piastri!” he yells excitedly. 

Oscar can’t help but chuckle at this. “I am.”

You reach out to ruffle your son’s hair, then lean down to be on somewhat eye level with him. “Honey, remember when I said your daddy was going to jump in to see you?” The little boy nods. “It’s Oscar. He’s your dad,” you tell him softly.

Suddenly the excitement is replaced by disbelief, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you as he tries to process what he’s just been told. The corners of Oscar’s lips curl into a smile as he watches him, waiting patiently for the child’s decision. 

“So he’s my dad?” Oliver asks, earning a nod from you. “Does this mean I’m a Piastri?” It’s Oscar’s turn to nod. “Mom, why am I not called Piastri?”

His eyes move over to you just in time to see you gulp, clearly having trouble figuring out what to say to that. He can’t blame you for your confusion, it probably haven’t occurred to you that one day you will have to respond to this question. 

With a kind smile, he puts a hand on your arm, then turns to his son. “Because I’ve been away for a little too long. But I’m here, your mom and I can discuss if we could change that if you want,” he finishes, barely daring to glance up at you, expecting to meet an angry look in your eyes.

But you don’t look angry, if anything, you seem relieved that he came to your rescue. There’s a glint in your eyes, though, that tells him you aren’t happy that Oliver brought up his surname. As he thinks about it, it occurs to him that you have mentioned how you considered your boyfriend to be his father in a way, so maybe you will have rather given him his name. 

You place a soft kiss on your son’s head, then inform him that you will leave the two of them alone so they can get to know each other. Father and son watches you leave the room, then he turns back to the child with a smile. “I brought you some things. Wanna see them?” he asks him, and when the little boy nods, he goes to grab his bag. 

As he opens the zipper, Oliver stands by his side, watching his every move with a happy smile on his face. Oscar pulls out the gifts, one by one, and can’t hold back his laugh as he watches his son proudly wearing his new baseball cap and shirt as he examines the toy car in his small hands. He begins to talk about the last race, excitedly recounting the most memorable moments, including the end when his father crossed the finish line first. His big brown eyes turn to him, then he says that he’s so happy he’s here. 

When he wraps his short arms around him, Oscar does the same and even presses a kiss on the kid’s head. There is undeniably a certain connection between them that he can’t explain, but they both know it’s there, otherwise his son probably wouldn’t be this chill with the idea of being alone with a stranger. Okay, that and the fact he’s his favorite driver.

They sit down in the middle of the living room, and Oliver decides to talk about his favorite books, proudly telling his father that he knows how to read, and that, according to you and your boyfriend, he’s really good at it. “The other kids can barely read yet,” he says with a smug smile, “and I’m already learning math!”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Oscar asks him, but the boy only shakes his head. “I should teach you. I started when I was younger than you, and my mom refused to play with me after a while.”

“Because you were so good?” 

With a shrug, he stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know, but I guess I was better than her. Not sure about other people, though,” he admits with a warm smile.

Oliver lets out a thoughtful hum. “Is she as awesome as my mom?” he suddenly asks, looking back at him. 

A laugh escapes him at the thought, which makes his son tilt his head to the side in question. “That depends on who you ask. She loves to embarrass me online, which isn’t always a good thing, but I love her, she’s the best mum I could ask for. And there are a lot of people, especially my fans, who absolutely adore her for this gentle bullying,” he adds with a laugh.

“My mom would never do that,” Oliver states, his little nose scrunching at the thought. “She loves me too much.”

The two of them spend the next hour or so talking, sometimes stopping when the little boy gets distracted by something he caught on TV. But he seems interested, he wants to learn as much as he can, and it’s true the other way around, because Oscar asks a lot of questions too. He hasn’t even noticed how much time have passed until you walk in to tell your son it’s time for dinner, a statement that comes with the question whether or not his dad is allowed to stay. 

You don’t let him stay, saying he’s probably tired from traveling so much, then give him a begging look to make him speak up too. Oscar lets out a sigh and forced a smile on his face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying for a few days and your mum let me come to see you every day,” he says happily. “In fact, I’ll be looking out for you tomorrow while she’s at work. How does that sound?”

Oliver squeals from happiness before he hugs you both, thanking you over and over again for letting him come over. “Can we go to the zoo?” he asks with bright eyes as he looks over at his father. 

“Sure, whatever you want,” Oscar responds with a nod. 

“Okay, time to wash your hands, Alejandro will be home soon, so we can start to eat,” you ask your son. Once he says goodbye to Oscar and disappears, you turn to him with a forced smile. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

With a sigh, he steps closer to you. “You were right, he’s a lot like me,” he begins quietly, then stops to consider what to say. 

He knows deep down that you want him to stay away, you don’t want him to ruin the balance of your little family, but how can he give you that after getting to know his son? Oliver is his blood, he’s truly a mini version of him, there’s no way he will turn his back on him now. 

You know. After all these years, despite your time together being so short, you still know him well enough to know what was going on in his head. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?” you ask, earning a nod from him. “Thanks for… everything. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“Are you a hundred percent sure you want to take him to the zoo?” his mother asks later that day when he calls her. 

Despite being excited to hear everything about her grandson, she seems a little uncertain since hearing about his plan for the next day. Oscar, obviously, knows the problem. Oliver looks just like him, if people see them together—and they will, there’s always someone who recognizes him—the rumors will spread like wildfire along with some photos to prove it. 

And then some journalist will figure out he’s your son, and they’ll check every paparazzi photo of him with his past girlfriends. 

So, yeah, he knows the risks, but deep down he doesn’t care. And if they find out, then what? He likes this kid, he wants to be a part of his life, he wants to be the kind of father Oliver deserves. 

“Sooner or later the secret would be out, Mum,” he points out.

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, but are his mother and her boyfriend ready for this?” 

Crap. This he selfishly didn’t consider.

The two of them chat a little longer, and this time he’s willing to listen to a lecture and some advice without interrupting his mother. He needs all the help he can get at this point. Anything to make the right decision at the end of the day.

Two hours later he’s standing in front of your house, leaning against the side of the car with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over your name as he’s trying to decide whether or not to call you at this time of the night. 

The clock says it’s almost midnight. Maybe you’re already sleeping, maybe—

“Oscar?”

His head snaps up, and he sees you stand in the door. Gulping, he pushes himself away from the vehicle and walks over to you. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but we need to talk,” he says.

You nod. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

And then he explains everything; the zoo, the possibility of the world finding out his connection to Oliver, the rumors, the gossip sites, the scrutiny. This is more than what you went through while dating him, and it will affect all three of you.

He can see the exact moment you understand the weight of it all, he sees the way the blood drains from your face and you rub your eyes with the heel of your palms. 

This is the point where you’ll say that’s enough, Oscar’s sure of it, but then tears appear in your eyes, and he instinctively cups your face to force you to look at him. He doesn’t have to ask anything, you start to talk without his question.

“Alejandro moved out. Temporarily, at least that’s what he said. Oliver… He kept talking about you, about how cool it is that you’re his father, and he got a little upset that I didn’t point out he was technically a stranger unlike the man who’s been raising him.”

With a sigh, Oscar pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I can talk to him if you want me to,” he offers. 

You look him in the eye, then shake your head. “No, and… I think you shouldn’t be around Oliver either. Birthday, Christmas, one visit during the summer break. The only times you can see him,” you state quietly. 

“What? No!”

“Do what’s the best for him. Please.”

For a moment, Oscar hesitates. Yes, he understands your point, but he doesn’t want to let go of his son. Not now that he knows what a cool kid he has. Anger slowly takes over, and before he can stop himself, he says, “Don’t want me to start a custody battle,” he says. 

“Come on, you travel around the world for the best part of the year, you’re single as far as I know, no judge would give you custody.”

He’s not like this, he barely loses his temper, but now he’s so angry he might blow up. “Why do you have to complicate things every single time?!” he spits. “I’ll talk to your boyfriend and put an end to this nonsense. He’ll have to accept that I’m here, and I’m here to say. Damn it, I’ll even move here if that’s the only way I can be around Oliver.”

This leaves you speechless, and then you just slap him across the face and march back inside the house. 

Well, that’s not what he expected. 

[gurugirl]

Truth or Dare | slumber party!h

Summary: Y/n's coworker, Harry, has never been to a slumber party so she decides to remedy that and give him a sleepover he'll never forget.

A/N: Based off this request. Thanks anon! I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 6,752

Warning: smut

. . .

By her third glass of chardonnay, her stomach was feeling the acid from the wine but she was having such a good time talking to Harry from the operations department that she didn’t care. She’d have another before calling it a night. Just one more glass so she could sit with him a little longer and listen to him talk and watch as he ran his finger along the edge of his pint glass.

He was probably looking at her like he was because he was also three pints of lager in and he was kind so he was holding eye contact to be polite. Certainly, it wasn’t because he found her attractive (though she’d have welcomed that).

The company’s management meeting was long over and everyone else had gone home but Harry and Y/n stayed for another round. They rarely ever got to talk at the office. She’d always wanted to pick his brain about why he decided to move to the US and how, of all companies, he chose to work at Dunn Services.

Y/n laughed on cue as he mentioned something from his childhood with his sister having her friends over to stay the night. He grinned, a healthy row of teeth aimed at her before he looked down and laughed at himself, “In truth? I never did have a sleepover or anything like that.”

“Really? Surely you had friends…”

Harry nodded, “Oh yeah I had a lot of friends. But I never stayed over at anyone’s and they never came over to mine either. Just… I don’t know. Never happened.”

Placing her nearly empty glass down she turned and waved with a smile as the waitress walked by, “Can we get another round, please?”

“How are you getting home?” Harry asked when she faced him, crossing her leg over her knee toward him.

“Taxi. You?”

“Might walk. I’m not far from here.”

Nodding she placed her elbows on the table, “So, I think that you’ve missed out on an integral right of passage, having never had a slumber party. You should definitely remedy that at some point. I highly recommend a fun sleepover. In fact, if you need pointers on what to do during a sleepover, I’m your gal.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your go-to during a slumber party?” Harry teased before taking another sip of his beer.

“Well, I think there are like two main components. The first is entertainment and I’m always keen on a good movie, or a dumb one, either way… a movie for sure if I’m picking. Some people like to play board games or whatever, but I like to stuff myself into a pile of blankets and pillows and just lie, or drape,” she spoke using her arms to demonstrate herself draping into pillows. “Occasionally, if the mood is right, I’ll enjoy a little truth or dare.”

“Got it. A movie and maybe if the mood is right, truth or dare. And what’s the second component.”

Y/n crossed her fingers together and raised her brows as if she were about to say something very important, “Snacks. Beverages. Good ones. Usually just small bites but here’s my list…” She cleared her throat, “Buttered popcorn, and possibly potato chips. Definitely something chocolatey, and maybe something like a cookie or a snack cake. If not potato chips then tortilla chips and if it’s tortilla chips, salsa should also definitely be on the menu.”

Harry held back the laugh in his throat as he nodded, “Wow. Okay. What about like a burger or Chinese food? Would that be allowed?”

Y/n shrugged, “It’s your party. You can do what you want. I’m just telling you what I’d do and what would be a hit with your sleepover buddy.”

Harry breathed out a laugh. Y/n could tell he was getting bashful. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. She watched him for a few seconds before the waitress returned with their drinks.

A quick gulp of wine and she nudged at his shin with her shoe, “You wanna have a slumber party with me?”

Harry blinked and tilted his head, “What? You mean… Seriously?”

She shrugged, “Why not? Then next time someone asks if you’ve ever had a proper slumber party you can say that you have.”

He laughed loudly, his husky voice was like music to her ears. Pointing at her with his finger he grinned, “Now how I can argue with that? I mean,” he shook his head, a glint in his eye, “Every time someone asks me if I’ve been to a slumber party and I tell them I haven’t, it’s such a disappointment! The look on their faces when they realize my whole childhood was a sham…”

They both laughed, leaning in toward one another, tittering toward the edges of their stools.

Harry tilted his head, “Actually I think it sounds fun. You just name the day and I’ll be there.”

Y/n smiled at him. She knew it was crazy. Having a grown man at her place for a slumber party. Typically adults didn’t have those kinds of sleepovers – it was usually with the intent of something far more salacious. But she’d show him a good time, she thought, raising her glass toward his, “Deal.”

.                 .                 .

Y/n had her sofa bed pulled out and piled high with extra blankets and pillows. She had all her favorite snacks plus she ordered cheeseburgers and fries for the guest of the night. It was silly. Truly she hadn’t had a real slumber party in ages, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit of excitement that she’d be hanging out with Harry all night. It was possible that her small crush on him was making her feel all giddy but she’d push down that feeling until he gave her any extenuating signals.

Because the truth was that they were both single, young adults and this was such an unlikely scenario. No one would look at this and say Oh how cute of these two grown adults hanging out in bed together for a sleepover. So innocent! No, she knew better. While maybe nothing would actually happen it certainly wouldn’t look innocent.

And of course, she did pick out the perfect pijama set. Something a little more flattering on her body but not too hey I really need to get laid tonight. It was a happy compromise. Cotton shorts and a button-up, matching short-sleeved top. This was just supposed to be a slumber party after all.

Right?

Besides, the little paper invitation she gave him on Monday morning told him to arrive in his sleepwear so she had to look the part. And not to toot her own horn but she made a very cute invitation just for him tucked into a pink envelope with a separate little response card that had space at the bottom for him to mark yes or no if he could come. It was a yes. Obviously.

When Harry finally arrived he was wearing a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt. And for some fucking bizarre reason he looked so much hotter than he did when he wore his well-fitted suits at work.

Because goddamn did his shirt somehow just hug his torso in all the right spots and it allowed her to take a good look at all tattoos on his arms that were normally hidden under brushed wool jackets or long-sleeved button-up shirts. She knew he had tattoos. She’d seen him roll up his sleeves a couple of times but she never wanted to be rude and stare for long.

And then the sweatpants, while loose in the legs, fit his waist and hips and…

“You okay?” Harry was still standing in the doorway with his backpack draped over his arm waiting to be invited in.

“Yeah, sorry. Not used to seeing you dressed down like this. Almost unrecognizable.”

Harry let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling as Y/n stepped aside to let him in, “Would you like to see my ID? Swear I’m the Harry Styles, the guy you invited over for chips, popcorn, and truth or dare. I’ve even got your invite somewhere in my bag…”

She breathed a laugh through her nose and watched him enter into her space, “Movies too. Oh, and I also ordered cheeseburgers. Remembered that you mentioned that.”

He seemed quite pleased with the burgers as she handed him the bag. She got those small ones, five to an order, “Thanks. Fries too, huh?” He reached into the bag and pulled out three crinkle-cut french fries then stuffed them into his mouth.

“So should we settle in and pick out a movie?” She gestured toward her couch.

Harry had seen the pull-out couch with heaps of pillows and blankets when he walked in. He knew that that would be where they’d be spending most of the evening. It was the glaring thing about the whole slumber party slash sleepover. That they’d be probably sleeping next to one another. As two young, healthy, attractive adults.

“Sure,” he nodded and waited for her to pick which side she was going to take before climbing in next to her, the thin mattress and metal frame giving way gently under his weight before he leaned back against a mountain of pillows, bag of burgers safe in his hands.

Y/n had a few video streaming services at the ready and they settled on a cheesy comedy from the late 90s before Y/n reached over to her coffee table and then lined up all the snacks between them.

They chatted a little, having both seen the movie already. Topics were anything from what their plans were for the rest of the weekend to what they’d eaten for lunch at work. And it was only a little awkward when they both reached into the bowl of M&M’s at the same time, fingers brushing together.

Harry moved his hand away, “Sorry. You go…”

Y/n grinned at him, scooping a handful of candy into her palm, and then sat up, adjusting her seating as she crossed her legs together, “Wanna do truth or dare? Pretend like we’re 15 again having a sleepover. Really get into the whole slumber party vibe, ya know?”

Harry dug out a few M&M’s and let out a chesty laugh, “If I’m 15 again we’re in big trouble.”

Y/n snorted a laugh, “Why? What do you mean?”

He shook his head, a wide grin on his face with deep set dimples carved into each cheek as he turned his head to look at her, “If this were happening when I was 15 I’d already be in the bathroom hyperventilating and probably trying to will away a boner after our hands touched in the M&M’s bowl.”

Y/n guffawed and threw her head back, nearly choking on her bite of chocolatey candies as Harry laughed with her. Honestly, it was the best icebreaker she could have asked for. Things had been kind of clunky between them up until that moment as they were still trying to navigate how to act around one another. And she knew he was teasing but the good belly laugh that she got from Harry’s story was exactly what they needed.

“Okay fine. We’ll just keep going about it as adults then. No fifteen-year-olds here tonight,” Y/n chuckled as she shoveled a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.

Y/n kept her eyes on him as she chewed her mouthful, “So truth or dare?”

Harry cocked his head at her, “So the mood is right then? For truth or dare?”

Y/n’s brows furrowed, “The mood?”

“Yeah. You said it over drinks. Remember when you were telling me what the most important components are to a sleepover and you said you liked truth or dare if the mood was right.”

Nodding slowly, she thought back to what she’d said, “Yeah. I guess I did say that. And I mean… I think the mood’s right for a little truth or dare. Movie’s almost over and you just pretty much kicked us off with that truth.” A breathy laugh was pushed from her mouth.

She could tell Harry was mulling on another question as he bit the inside of his cheek, head tilting in agreement, “So that means it’s your turn. Truth or dare?”

Biting her lip as she pondered, she pressed her back into the soft pillows behind her, “Truth.”

Harry shifted to his side, long legs stretching the length of the mattress as he propped his head up in his hand, a pillow under his arm, “Have you ever kissed a co-worker before?”

Scoffing Y/n moved to her side, mimicking Harry’s position on her side, “No,” she grinned. It was true. She’d never once done anything with any of her coworkers. Having Harry over at her house was the closest she’d ever gotten to doing anything like that. “Now you. Truth or dare?”

His green eyes slid over her features, “Truth.”

She laughed to herself, trying to think of something funny, “How many stuffed animals do you own?”

Licking his lips he nodded, “Think maybe two? Gifts from my niece… Truth or dare?”

“Mmm… dare,” she giggled.

Harry lifted a brow, “Ahhh… feeling bold yeah? Okay… hmm…” He pursed his lips to the side as he considered the dare. “Read to me the last text you sent to anyone. And you have to show me to prove it was the last one. And it can’t be any texts you and me, cause that’s not fair.”

Y/n blinked. She wasn’t exactly sure what her last text was besides Harry. But she was slightly worried because if it was what she was thinking… lifting up her message app she scrolled down to the text thread below Harry’s and it was a text with her sister. Which was what she had been worried about. She gulped, hoping that the things she said about her “coworker” who was coming to stay with her weren’t the last things she and her sister texted about.

Puffing out a breath she covered up all the previous texts to show Harry the last text from her sister – God knows you need it. Sending you good vibes, sis ;)

Harry squinted as he looked at the message and pointed, “That’s to you. The dare was to show me the last text you sent to someone. Let’s see it…”

Feeling her neck heat up she angled the phone away from him and read what she’d sent her sister. And there was no mention of Harry but if he were even halfway decent at picking up clues he might be able to figure out what was being discussed prior.

She shook her head and looked up at him. She couldn’t believe she was about to show him what was on her screen. But a dare was a dare. What was the worst that could happen?

lol I doubt anything will happen but I wouldn’t turn him down. Got condoms just in case 😜 send all your good vibes my way

Harry’s brows squished together as he looked at the text and back to Y/n and then down again at the words on her screen. She saw his throat bob and she knew the look on his face. He fucking knew what that was. He had to know.

She had to look away. She pulled the phone down and killed the screen. The awkwardness between them thick and uncomfortable as she peeked back at him. The edge of his mouth was pulled upward in a smirk, “That’s to your sister?”

Nodding she blew out an exasperated breath, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Harry grinned as he positioned his knee closer to Y/n, his eyes still on hers, “Dare.”

Swallowing her embarrassment down the best she could she decided to ask him the same, “Now show me the last text you sent anyone besides me.”

Harry’s smartass grin told her all she needed to know. That his last text probably wasn’t nearly as risqué as hers.

And it wasn’t. Not even close.

You can have two pounds for free. I’ve got so many growing I can’t keep up. As long as you come to pick them up on Monday they’re yours.

“I have a bunch of zucchini growing in my garden,” Harry pulled the phone away and laid it down next to his hip. “Got a neighbor who wants some.”

Of course, his last text to anyone was about zucchini. Jesus, she was so far out of her depth.

He was still wearing that shit-eating grin as he said, “Truth or dare, Y/n?”

And the way he said her name, all slow and sexy-like had her insides heating up. Well, maybe she made up the sexy part but he was definitely teasing her. She could just feel it.

“Truth.”

She was sure she’d regret that. Truth or dare. It didn’t matter. She was still reeling from showing him her texts.

“Was that text about me?” Shit-eating grin in place as he asked. Fucker.

Y/n’s eyes grew wide dropping her mouth open in surprise. Of course, he was going to ask that. Of course!

“Oh come on, Harry…” she pleaded.

He lifted his brows and awarded her a larger grin with those cute indents scoring into his cheeks, “Them’s the rules, baby. You chose truth and now you have to be honest.”

Clearing her throat she sat up to her bottom and leaned forward so she didn’t have to look at him as she put her head in her hands and laughed in disbelief, “Jesus. Seriously?”

“Yep. Spill. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. Fine. Yes. It was about you.”

Keeping her eyes on her lap she waited for a smug remark. Some kind of teasing reply but it was quiet. Slowly she turned to look back at him and he was still lying on his side, head in his palm as he watched her, his eyes fixed to hers.

She shrugged, “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Harry flattened his lips and squinted at her before cocking his head, “Hold on… Really? That was about me?”

Sighing she rolled her eyes, “Yes. Sorry. I was… it was just funny… it was me joking around with my sister is all.”

He blinked and looked down at the space between them as he nodded, “Okay. I see. So you didn’t actually mean it?”

“Well… I guess… We were joking. Obviously, nothing has to happen. I would never expect that. I…” she breathed out exasperated.

“Obviously nothing has to happen. Did you want it to happen?” His pupils were pinned to hers again.

Opening her mouth she stopped herself for a moment. She knew her answer was yes but she didn’t want to come off like a creep. She hadn’t expected it and assumed it wouldn’t. But the truth remained; she hoped it would happen.

Deflating her posture she laid back to her side to face Harry, tucking a pillow into her chest, “The truth is that I think you’re attractive and I haven’t been with anyone in kind of a long time and… she knows that, my sister. So we were just… it was lighthearted but yeah I mean… without any expectations, cause I would never… I hope you know that. But I did think it would be nice.”

“Nice. Yeah. I agree. It would be nice. And just so you know,” he swung his head to look over his shoulder before looking back at her, “I brought condoms as well. You know… just in case.”

She was a bit stunned at that. Was he…

“Dare me to kiss you,” he grinned, irises dropping to her lips for a second before looking back into her eyes.

She laughed, “That’s not how the game works. The rules are you can’t–”

“Fuck the rules. Dare me to kiss you.”

Shaking her head with a wide smile stretched across her face she felt like her skin was pricking as her heartbeat picked up. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

Looking back into his eyes she inhaled deeply, “Fine. I dare you to kiss me.”

Harry’s smirk was unreal. The way he dragged his gaze over her face and down to her mouth was almost lewd, “Didn’t need to play truth or dare to get me to kiss you, Y/n,” he scooted in, grabbing the pillow she had tucked into her chest and tossing it away before he drew a hand up to her face, “You just needed to ask.”

She held her breath as he closed in slowly until it was as if all the tension in the room had popped and fizzled when his lips met hers.

He was so soft and gentle. Lips winding easily, carefully at first. And then she parted her lips more, kissing him back and letting her mouth press into his bottom lip before their tongues were meshed.

She moved her knee out to stabilize herself and knocked over the bowl of popcorn between them. Laughing into his mouth she gasped as she parted from him but he only reached for her again, placing his palm at the back of her head to pull her mouth back against his with a grunt from his chest as he pushed the bowl away and drove his arm underneath her side to keep her from getting too far.

Harry was softly moaning as his tongue worked its way into her mouth gently. It was clear he’d wanted to kiss her. That he liked it. And that notion made her head spin combined with the feel of his thumb traveling over her jaw. There was not going to be any stopping the momentum that had begun.

Well, except for when the bowl of M&M’s poured out against her leg. She had to push at him. As much as she would have loved to have kept making out, she would not have been able to enjoy melted chocolate on her legs or the bedsheets tucked around the mattress (think of the scrubbing she’d need to do!).

“Sorry,” she panted and looked down at the smashed pieces of popcorn and the chocolate candies strewn between them, “I’ve gotta pick this up. Our body heat will melt all these and it’s gonna be a big mess.”

Harry grinned, “Why don’t we just move this party to your bed for a little bit? Clean up later? The M&M’s won’t melt if we’re not laying on them.”

She laughed, already feeling overwhelmed and overheated from the kiss and now he was suggesting taking it to her bed? This was really happening, wasn’t it? She nodded and they both moved off the sofa sleeper to their feet, Harry following behind Y/n as she led him to her bedroom.

She already had her bedside lamp on. Bed made perfectly, everything tucked in and neat.

She turned to look at him and he stepped against her, palm splaying at her low back, “I dare you to get onto your bed and take your clothes off.”

A small laugh burst from her chest, “Oh, so now we’re just doing dares?”

He nodded, “Making up our own rules for this game. S’more fun this way.”

Letting go of her he watched as she stepped backward toward her bed and began to unbutton her nightshirt until it was shed from her body before she pushed her shorts down her legs. She was left in a pretty white bralette (something soft for bedtime) that stretched around her breasts and a pair of thin cotton panties that matched. She kneed up onto her bed and let her feet dangle off the edge and pointed, “Now I dare you to take off your clothes.”

He peeled his white t-shirt off, his hair mussing in the process. She watched with her lips parted at the gorgeous man stripping before her. Not only was he built exactly like what she dreamed of (tattoos, beefy, muscular, a touch soft, very masculine) but the boner tenting his sweats was hard not to home in on.

Harry stuck his fingers into the waistband and looked up at her, “M’not wearing any underwear, so be warned…”

She swallowed as the material lowered, belly button, happy trail, a bit of dark hair and then he pulled the stretchy waistband away from his body so his cock could push free and she was already clenching at just the sight as he removed his sweatpants, cock full and heavy between his strong thighs.

Jesus Christ.

Harry stepped forward, nudging himself between her knees and she leaned back to look up at him, “I dare you to take off the rest of this. Since I’m completely naked feels only fair.”

She bit her lip and looked down at his girthy dick. He was clearly not shy of his body, standing there like that, cock right in front of her. But why should he be shy when he looked like that?

Scooting back further into the bed she got up to her knees and pulled the bralette off first, feeling the heat of his gaze on her tits as she then slid her panties down her thighs. She wasn’t nearly as confident as Harry was as she quickly pulled at her top blanket and covered herself with a small laugh.

Harry stepped forward, one knee on the mattress before climbing in next to her, nosing at her cheek softly before his lips were connected to hers again. And she melted into him just like before. His mouth was magic or something because before she realized it, he’d pulled the blankets off her body and he had a big palm sliding up her thigh and over her hip, “Don’t cover up. So pretty. Knew you would be.”

She pushed her fingers into his thick wavey hair and felt her side hit the mattress as Harry pulled at her again, mouth still smeared against hers. He grabbed at her thigh, hitching it over his hip as he tucked in closer and it was warm and she could feel it. Feel him against her hip.

His giant hand smoothed against her bottom and up her spine until he was wrapping his long fingers around the back of her neck. Y/n nudged in closer, driving her hips forward until she was practically straddling him. So Harry took that as his cue to move to his back, taking her hips in his hands so she’d follow with him.

It had caught her off guard, the sudden change in position but her lips never stopped moving with his. Their kisses were wet and she could smell their saliva, and a touch of onion even from the burgers he’d eaten.

He guided her hips down, his thick cock hot under her thigh until she felt her pussy drag against warm skin at the base of his dick. A small gasp escaped her mouth as he pulled her up, letting her pussy glide up his length, “So wet already, Y/n…”

She was. It was embarrassing. Every inch of his shaft her pussy dragged against, coated him, wetted his skin. He kept pushing and pulling at her hips, using her slippery pussy like a soft wet toy he could run up and down his length.

Then she felt his fingers move around to her backside, digits sliding against her pussy as he licked into her mouth.

Gently she rolled against him and when she moved herself further down he pushed a fingertip inside, “Go on. Fuck yourself on my finger a little bit,” he whispered against her mouth.

He was filthy. She had no idea. He’d always been so sweet at work. So polite and respectful. But here he was reaching around her ass to get a finger inside of her cunt as she rubbed her pussy over his cock.

She panted into his mouth as she slid down around his finger, her clit smushed into his dick, slippery as she rolled up and down. But then he began to assist as he added another finger and began to fuck into her pussy, letting his digits curve into her the best he could from his angle. Slushy wet, she stopped moving her hips and parted from the kiss as she looked down at him. She could tell she was gushing all over his palm and probably his dick as she moaned.

“S’that feel good. You’re gettin’ my fingers all wet like it feels good.”

Nodding she gasped, “Yeah. Feels so good…”

Harry rutted up against her, his cock still pressed into her clit, and she panted, eyes still searing into his. She didn’t want to look away. She almost couldn’t believe he was in her bed fingering her like that.

“Your turn to dare me to do something. What do you want, Y/n?”

She moaned and closed her eyes. She was certain of what she wanted as she listened to the way his fingers gushed with each plunge into her.

“Fuck… dare you to… put on a condom.”

She popped her eyes open to peer down at him as he slid his fingers out of her, wiping her arousal on her ass, “They right here?” He moved his hand toward her bedside table, a knuckle tapping at the wood.

Climbing off of him she opened the drawer, “Yeah, a whole box. Hold on…”

Reaching over to pull out the condoms she felt Harry’s hands on her hips as he moved to sit up, then his lips were on her back, dotting warm kisses to her shoulder blades as she finally plucked a condom from the fresh box.

She watched him put the condom on and as expected, it didn’t cover his entire length. He was kind of a big guy. Well, maybe there was no kind of about it. Before today she had no idea he was packing like that. Though he always did come off as very confident and sure of himself.

She bit her lip as she watched him toss the wrapper away and then he kneed up to her, arm sliding to her back and carefully lowering her to the bed before spreading her legs apart as he fit himself there, sturdy thighs pushing against her soft ones.

“Gonna tell your sister her good vibes worked?” He smirked down at her, hands scouring her hips and tummy and then kneading softly at her tits.

Y/n laughed and reached a hand down to his knee before he pulled at her, making her thighs drape over his as he inched in closer.

“Hmm?” He was awfully teasing, she thought, grinning at her waiting for an answer.

“Probably,” she spit out in a laugh.  

Harry gripped at her thighs, lifting her a bit more to fit her bum over his bent knees and she wanted to scream in embarrassment when she realized he was inspecting her sodden vulva. She’d gotten herself all tidied up for him, should anything like this happen, so at least she had that going for her.

He smoothed his thumb through her pussylips, spreading them apart, and softly blew out a breath, “That is very pretty. Think we get him in there?”

She rolled her eyes as she watched him wrap his palm around his base and lay his fat cock over her mons, the condomed-tip reaching to her belly button, maybe further past, “Well, it’s made for it, so I’m pretty sure–”

“What… your pussy’s made to fit around my cock?” A cocky dimpled smirk gave way to a laugh.

“You know what I meant. It’s meant to… like…” she breathed out a laugh.

“Oh, I know… just fucking with you, Y/n.”

He gazed at her as he reared back, painting his cockhead through her labia, up and down, a soft bump into her clit before he repeated, spreading her soft lips apart as he watched the way his crown smeared her arousal between her creases.

When she moaned and wiggled her hips he pointed himself right at her little muscle, nudging softly forward, opening it up for himself. And she felt that first push, the way his tip fit into her, spreading apart and then stretching to accommodate his circumference.

“Oh god…” she breathed as he slipped in halfway and then pulled back.

“Almost there,” he panted as he kept his eyes on where they were connected, pushing and pulling back until she was swallowing him whole, his cock enveloped in her soft, warm pussy.

When he’d buried in whole, he moaned and watched her face twist up in ecstasy. Her lips were dropped open and her neck stretched long as she grasped onto the forearm of the hand he had gripping her waist.

Slowly he began to thrust, viscous liquid seeping from her pussy and sticking to his shaft. It was filthy. She was so wet that every time he bottomed out there was a splat and a plap sounding between them.

She let out a deep moan and her lips curled up, humid breath escaping her mouth as she felt him driving into her guts. He was taking it easy. Languidly fucking into her with wet claps every time he plunged in.

When her cunt was taking him easier and she was dripping down to her ass he moved in a little harder, faster. Angling himself over her, a palm down on the mattress so he could work into her with more gusto.

“Ah! Harry…” she squeaked at the stronger thrusts and clung onto his lats. He was panting, lips parted and pink, a curl falling over his forehead as he plowed into her splooshing pussy.

“Fuck you’re wet. Pussy is gushing, Y/n…”

Her brows pushed together as she gasped, her body knocked upward every time his hips met hers making her tits bounce. Harry didn’t know where to keep his focus. He loved watching his cock disappear into her hole but he kind of liked being right over her so he could see her face crinkle up every time he bottomed out and then her pretty breasts sway up and down. Or maybe he’d like to fuck her from behind, watch her ass jiggle as he pounded into her.

“Mmm… fuck that’s big!”

Harry groaned, “Yeah? Sure know how to sweet talk a man don’t you, pretty? S’hurt?”

She watched his face, a lusty grin, droopy eyelids as he continued muscling his way in deep.

She hissed when he bucked in, as if he was showing off just how deep he could push in and she coughed out, “Mmm… a little!”

Harry was going to lose his mind with her if she kept squeaking out moans and splatting around his cock like she was but he would be a gentleman and pull back a touch. Slowing down a little he sat up and moved his hand between them, smushing his thumb into her clit, which was so sticky wet even that swished and slid under the pad of his digit.

“Yessss…” she breathed out before murmuring on about how good it felt. “Oh fuck, that’s it. Oh god… please don’t stop… Harry, fuck, yes…”

The clit. The magical little nob that worked wonders as long as the man knew where to find it. Clearly, Harry knew right where it was. Knew how to circle over it, pressing against it just right. Knew how to fuck into her as well. Sliding his length through her vaginal walls, spreading her open, and grazing against her gummy little spot on the inside that had her buzzing and liquifying for him.

He watched her whine and squirm under him, loving how she was so into it. God that was an ego boost, “Like that, Y/n? Gonna come for me? Yeah?”

Her ears were already ringing when she lost herself, gripping around him and crying out as her orgasm washed through her tummy. Harry’s cock made her feel so full, so incredibly stuffed to the brim that it weighed her down and she could hardly move as he bulldozed into her, the pad of his thick thumb smushing fast circles over her throbbing nub.

Fucking her through it he gasped at how she spasmed and milked around him, her pussy trying to siphon his come right through his condom. But Harry wouldn’t come just yet. He had something to prove. Wanted to make a show of his prowess and give her something to tell her sister about.

So when she was finally calmed and her pussy wasn’t clamping around him like a vice grip he slid his hand under her head and kissed her gently, speaking low and soft against her lips, “Gonna have you flip over, okay? Just need a little more yeah?”

When he parted from the kiss she blinked up at him, fluttering lashes and out of breath, “You didn’t come?”

He shook his head, pulling himself out, gently before he placed his hands on her hips, “Not yet. I will soon, though. M’right on the edge. Won’t take me long.”

She rolled to her side as he lifted her hips and helped her get to her tummy. She felt his hands on her ass, squeezing and rubbing each meaty globe in his big palms. Then he was straddling her thighs as he spread her gently and she felt him push his thick tip back into her pussy, sharp and hot. It was tighter, felt a lot fuller like that as he began driving in deep and then pulling out to his tip, before plowing back into the hilt.

His moans grew louder and, even he could admit, sounded quite whiny, pathetic. He was shaking as he watched his dick spread her in half, her soft ass jiggling as he smacked into her, skin patting, his cock leaking precum steadily into his condom.

He hissed when it felt too good. His balls squeezing and his fat dick throbbing inside of her. He thrusted forward, landing a palm down next to her shoulder, his chest pressed into her back as he rutted himself in, tucking his cock through her insides and puffed out a hot groan into her ear, “Fuck you feel good. Gonna make me come, baby…”

She moaned and nodded, “Come for me, Harry…”

He might have held out for another thirty seconds, possibly a minute longer but her breathy words, all sultry and pleading had him pumping into his condom in an instant. He gargled on a moan and squeezed his eyes closed as he buried in and stilled his hips, ass flexing so he could push in further if it were possible.

Y/n felt him crushing her back as he collapsed over her, panted breaths in her ear, cock still throbbing in the aftermath of his orgasm.

She didn’t mind it. Liked his weight on her like that. Enjoyed the way he seemed just as fucked out as she was. She could even feel his heart pounding in his chest against her back.

With a moan, she turned her head and nuzzled her face into her blanket with her eyes closed. She’d fall asleep that way if he couldn’t get up. It was quite warm and comforting. Like a weighted blanket draped over her body. And maybe she did doze off for a bit because when she opened her eyes she felt him moving off of her before he crashed down next to her, the springs in her mattress bouncing under him.

Pushing herself to lie on her side she ran a hand over his chest and he turned to look at her, a dopey smile on his flushed face, “So this is what happens at slumber parties, huh? I’ve really missed out all these years.”

She giggled and nodded into her pillow, “Yep. They’re just like big orgies really. Normally there are more than just two people. It’s how I lost my virginity.”

Harry sputtered a laugh, “Really?”

Y/n couldn’t help but to cackle loudly and roll to her back, the biggest grin on her face, “No, silly. I was teasing.”

He slid a hand over her tummy, “So this isn’t what happens at slumber parties, then?” She could hear the cheeky smile in his voice.

She turned her head to look at him, “Well, not usually. But I think we made our own rules for this one today.”

“Yeah? Well, I have to give it to you. You throw a hell of a party. I’m certain this is gonna go down as the best sleepover in history.”

. . .

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[bcksbarnes]

between a dream - final

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 9.2K

read the: previous chapter

a/n: thank you all for the love and support with this fic! this has been such a wonderful series to write for. i hope you all like the last chapter! + shoutout to whoever sent in this prompt

To say that Steve was angry after he found out what happened in the training room was the understatement of the year. Steve rarely got upset … unless it had to do with someone on his team getting hurt, then yeah he was pissed . 

You had been called into Steve’s office a few minutes prior, blindsided by his immediate anger. The office was more modern than the man himself, though the exposed steel beams reminded him of the industrial life in Brooklyn he once had, a personal touch from Tony. But, the floor to ceiling windows, the cool grey and blue tones, and everything feeling high tech made him itch. 

The vein that ran down his neck popped, strained from how red his face was. You had been through hell and back with Steve out there in missions, there was always a chance you’d get hurt, but for some reason this ? This seemed to tick him off.

“You could have died!” He yelled, though he didn’t mean it in a way to talk down to you, but more in a way where he was concerned for your safety. “We had one rule! One !”

Steve’s hand slams down on the table in front of you, the loud smack echoing in the room and ringing in your eardrums causing you to wince. You weren’t exactly sure how he found out about Bucky’s lapse of judgement in the training room, you certainly didn’t tell him because you knew he would act like this, you knew he would get upset.

“Goddamnit!” Steve snapped again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathed out your name like a curse. “We’re pulling you out of there.”

“No!” You quickly interjected, standing up from your seat so fast that you didn’t register it had fallen back until you heard the soft thud against the carpet. “No, you can’t pull me out of there. It won’t happen again.”

“I told you when we talked about this that if he did anything out of line we were pulling you out of there. Did I not make myself clear?” 

“Steve –.”

“I said, did I not make myself clear?” He cuts you off, his voice thick with emotion and anger.

Of course you remembered what Steve had said, it was the sole reason you didn’t run to tell him about Bucky’s … episode. How did he expect Bucky to come to his senses in a week? 

“You’re not pulling me out of there.” You said back, your voice cracking slightly. The anger rose in your chest; you could feel it stick to you like honey. “A week is not long enough to train anyone. One session was not enough to expect him to snap out of this. You know that.”

Steve wants to argue with you, he wants to knock some sense into you and make you see his fear. Bucky’s not well and he knows it’s hard for him to even admit that about his best friend, it was the very over complicated truth. But the way his eyebrows raise at your words tells you that he’s momentarily reconsidering. 

It was your chance to persuade him again .

“Come on, Steve. If no one took a chance on you then you wouldn’t be here.” You remind him, taking a step forward. “I was never expecting this to be easy, I know he can snap at any moment, but someone’s gotta help him. He has to trust one of us.”

Steve’s anger had seemed to simmer for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gently swallowed all his anxiety.

“And, I know my limits, I know what I can handle.”

It seems like this entire week has been you begging Steve to see your side of things. You understand his hesitancy, the way that he wanted to protect you and Bucky, but you knew that treating him like a vicious animal was only going to end up hurting him more.

“I’ll go talk to him.” You say, standing your ground. “We'll figure something out.”

Steve lets out a sigh, a silent cue that he’s been persuaded by your efforts. He knows it’s not worth the argument, because you’re going to do what you want anyway. Gesturing vaguely towards the door, Steve watched as you quickly made your way out of the office, bending down to pick up the chair you had dropped.

All you could think about on your way back to the dorm room were one very important question: how did Steve know about the incident?

You shake your head as you push open the door; the room was dark, silence lingering in the air and you could just make out Bucky’s outline under his sheets. It was comical how giant he was in comparison to the size of the bed, but you were in no laughing mood. 

Using the darkness to your advantage, you quickly got ready for bed tossing on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. It felt like your mind couldn’t stop thinking like it was running a million miles a minute.

How the hell were you going to try and train Bucky without him killing you?

It seemed impossible the more you thought about it because, unfortunately, Steve was right. Bucky could overpower you in every scenario. 

You didn’t even know where to begin with working with someone who is clearly in need of an intensive psych eval, which no one would be able to perform until Bucky got his temper under control … which was your job. A vicious cycle that all pointed back to you.

You approached your bed with a sinking feeling in your chest, the anxiety eating you alive as you pulled back the covers, sinking down onto the mattress. The sheets were cold from the lack of body heat, and a bit scratchy, making you more uncomfortable than you already were.

You can’t help but let out a loud sigh, your palms pushing into your eyeballs as you try to not let the weight of the last few days linger too long. 

“You’re doing that thing again.” 

The voice startles you, your hands pulling away from your face almost immediately. 

It was Bucky.

His voice was a bit muffled since he was facing the wall, his way of shutting you out, but the room soon filled with sounds of the blankets shifting as he turned on his other side to face you.

“Doing what thing ?” You asked, a frown on your features though he couldn’t see it.

“Overthinking.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, because did Bucky even know you enough to know the signs? You didn’t think so, though he would argue otherwise. Because despite how quiet and reserved he was, Bucky paid attention.

“Lucky guess.” You mumble, shaking your head. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Yeah, and I thought you were grabbing a drink.” He says quickly, like he was waiting for a fight.

Another sigh leaves your lips, you could feel him staring at the side of your face, but refused to turn your head to meet his gaze. You could understand that he didn’t appreciate your little white lie, but deception wasn’t your motive here, you didn’t need him getting involved in this conversation with Steve.

“Steve’s right, you shouldn’t be training me anymore.” He breaks through the silence, his voice unwavering.

“What the hell do you know about Steve being right? You couldn’t stand the guy yesterday.” Your response is quick and snippy, even if your brain was telling you it sounded harsh there was no stopping you now.. You were wound up like a rubberband, and you were ready to snap.

“Isn’t that what you went to do? Go talk to Steve?” It sounds like a question he already knew the answer to.

“I’m not answering that.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He presses for more.

“Bucky, it’s not important what I went to do. Okay? Let’s drop it.”

You really weren’t in the mood to have this conversation, especially not now. 

Staring up at the ceiling, you run your hand through your hair gripping it a little tighter than normal as if you wanted to rip it out of your head. Frustration seeped into your bones at this feeling that nestled itself deep into your bones. Bucky didn’t need fixing, he needed someone to guide him and all you wanted to do was show him that he’s more than the monster inside. Kinda hard to do when the monster had already showed himself.

“I told him.” 

And there it was. The answer to the nagging question you had all night. 

A chill suddenly runs through the room, the crackling of silence lingering in the air as you let out a shaky breath. Bucky had done nothing but talk about how little he trusted Steve, but the second something went wrong in your training session he ran right over to tell him. It felt like a betrayal, a knife right to your back.

“You what ?” You ask, feeling taken aback by his admission. Sitting up in the bed and turning your head to face in his general direction, you can feel the anger clawing at your chest again.

“I said , I told him.” Bucky repeats himself as he mimics your position and sits up now, the sheet slides off his torso as he swings his legs to hang off the edge of the bed.

Maybe it wasn’t his best idea to go to Steve, but after that training session all he could think about is how easy it would have been to press a little bit harder on your back and cut off your air supply for good. 

Actually, a part of him wanted to.

The Winter Soldier did not want to stop.

It scared the fuck out of him.

“You know what happened in there could have been much worse. You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck or kill you for God’s sake.” Bucky says, his own emotion rising in his chest. He extends his arm as he talks to make his point.

“I’m a professional, Bucky!” You say back, your tone suddenly sharp. 

It was one thing to be concerned for your safety, it was another to completely undermine your entire career and ability.

“And?” He snaps now, his tone growing more agitated. “You’re not supposed to get killed in a training session!” 

“Lucky for me I didn’t!” You say.

You throw the covers off of you as you swing your legs over the bed, your feet hitting the solid ground, standing in one swift motion. 

While Bucky is still sitting the two of you are eye to eye, and despite how dark it is in the room you can both feel how tense your gazes are on one another. 

You so badly wanted to scream at him, to tell him that you were capable of handling yourself and you didn’t need him or Steve to step in and protect you. Especially not when you were supposed to be the one protecting him, helping him.

Bucky, on the other hand, wanted to shake some sense into you. It didn’t matter how trained you were, he was an unstoppable force. His brain was hardwired to kill. Point blank.

“Yeah, dumb luck.” He spits back at you. “What aren’t you understanding?” Bucky feels like he’s grasping at straws now, trying to convince you to listen.

“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a child.” You snap back at him, taking a step forward. 

It’s all bubbling in your chest, this unfamiliar feeling of anger with him. Not only did you make sure he felt safe on that first night, but you stuck your neck out for him, convinced Steve to give him a shot before they went poking and prodding with doctors.

Now all Bucky was asking you to give up? To let someone else step in? Not happening.

“I will when you stop acting like one.” 

Bucky slowly rises from the edge of the bed, his stature looms over yours in a way that still feels intimidating as it did the first time. The air is electric, crackling like lightning was about to strike, as if Zeus himself is waiting for a moment to throw the bolt.

Both of your eyes adjust to the darkness, it’s the only way either of you can make out the other's features. You can see the way his jaw is set and his nostrils flared; Bucky watches as your lips turn down into a frown, your eyebrows creased together as you refuse to back down. 

Why couldn’t you see what either of you were trying to do? 

Protect each other.

Bucky only thought about how you were the only person he could trust, and that included himself. So what was he going to do if he eventually hurt you? Or worse killed you? How would he ever look at himself again?

“You have a lot of nerve.” You growl.

Your hand coming up to poke his chest, it’s solid from the sheer mass of him, and he’s unyielding, but you poke him again to hone in on your point. Bucky does all that he can to ignore the tingling sensation that erupts through his veins at your touch, the same way he did when you touched his shoulder a few nights prior.

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me. I’m here to help you, whether you like it or not, Bucky.”

Your voice wavers slightly again, feeling the emotional moment between you and Bucky pouring onto you. A second of silence passes allowing you to collect your thoughts and emotions, clearing your throat you’re about to continue but Bucky cuts you off.

“Fine,” he growls out, his hands curled into fists at his side. “And when I either try to kill you again or you get called to another mission that’s more important than I’ll make sure to hold back my ‘I told you so’s’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You quip back.

Bucky opens his mouth as if to speak but he decided to shut it instead. It wasn’t worth the argument anymore. He had gotten out what he needed to say and that was that. 

He writes off these feelings that bubble deep in his gut as … confusion. He’s starting a new life, his brain is all fucked up, the anger and sadness he felt about you was confusion, that’s all. That’s all .

“Forget it.” Bucky mutters, his hands moving to run down his face as shakes his head, a piece of his hair falling in front of his eyes as he does so. He wants this conversation over with.

You don’t want to forget it. This anger lives inside of you now and it wanted to surface, you needed Bucky to understand that you weren’t giving up on him, but the words won’t come. They get stuck in your throat.

“Fine.” You manage to say instead. “I expect to see you in the training room tomorrow morning. 7am. Sharp.”

Neither of you speak as the tension dissipates leaving an air of awkwardness in its wake. The room feels like it’s spinning as the two of you quietly climb into your respective beds, turned away from each other, completely closed off and not looking forward for what was to come.

The next day was … interesting to say the least. Bucky had shown up at 6:58am to be as punctual as possible. If you weren’t going to heed his warnings then he would be prepared, a good soldier. God, he hated thinking about it that way.

You decided to pausing on sparring for the time being, instead putting him through a vigorous workout routine that included enough cardio to knock out a horse, and strength training that would make Heracles’ knees buckle. Bucky didn’t break a single sweat, which was quite impressive. 

Then came the mental aspect of all of this. You needed to push his boundaries and see how far you could go before the Winter Soldier mask slipped back on. You were trying your best to break him.

There were a few close calls during some of your sessions; one of your boxing sessions while he was doing a few rounds with the punching bag. You must have said something that triggered a memory because one second he was hitting combinations and the next second it was flying off the chain it was strung by, landing loudly against the concrete wall. 

The impact was enough to make you both stop, your jaw slacked in awe as you turned towards him. Bucky’s chest heaved heavily, his shoulders rounded as he could feel the anger coursing through his blood.

Don’t attack. Do not attack.

Those are the only words flowing through his brain. You didn’t turn on the same switch as his trigger words, but there was always that instinct in the back of his mind when his rage simmered too close to the surface.

It happened again a few sessions later, but this time while he was running on the treadmill at full speed. He could feel the itch to protect himself, to make you stop shouting things to infuriate the beast  within him. His metal arm was itching to get you to stop. But, the guilt of hurting you again is what held him back. He ran so hard and fast, his feet making loud thumping sounds on the belt that he ended up breaking the whole machine.

Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone but every night before he fell asleep, all he could remember was the sound of you sputtering for air as his knee dug into your back on that day that you two sparred. It ate him alive to know that he was capable of such things, it hurt even more to know how badly his brain couldn’t discern you from an enemy.

He knew you were equipped for this, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t scare the shit out of him to think of how fragile you were in comparison to him. He was a super soldier, an assassin, and as much as he wished he could assure himself that you were safe around him, it felt harder and harder every day.

Though the weeks passed quickly, you were seeing significant signs of improvement within Bucky that maybe he couldn’t see in himself. 

They weren’t all related to his training either. 

He would talk to Steve more, trying to make small talk when he saw him in the tower (though he still shied away from him when he brought up any mentions of the ‘30s, not feeling ready to delve into those memories yet). 

Or after your training sessions, he’d bring you a cup of coffee - light and sweet - exactly how you liked it; either as a way to thank you for your time or an excuse to see you again that day, the jury was still out on that.

And by the time the six month mark had passed, Bucky had seemed to be flourishing, the two of you falling into a rhythm. The mornings were filled with training, your nights spent checking in with Steve on Bucky’s progress, and any down time trying to make him feel like he’s not some prisoner locked away.

“Hey,” you said one night as you entered the dorm room, your eyes immediately falling on him. 

“Hey.” He responds back, his head tilting up to look at you. He was laying on top of the bed with his new cell phone, trying to figure out how to use the damn thing. Who invented such stupid devices? 

“Come with me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise at your words, and watches as you wave him over towards the door, gesturing to him to follow you. You don’t need to tell him twice. Tossing the phone onto the mattress he climbs out of bed to keep up with you.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the idea of spending more time with you. He found solace in those early morning training sessions, it was doing wonders for his mental health to not feel like he was going to snap every second. Plus the added bonus of getting your attention all to himself.

You lead Bucky down the hall to the elevator, pushing the button to the top floor. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Bucky’s gaze tries to remain in front of him on the metal doors. He so desperately wants to look over at you, to try and catch a glimpse into what you’re thinking; he barely understands his own mind, but he needs to know yours.

“Where are we going?” The hoarseness in his voice shocks him for a moment, clearing it as he flexes his metal hand. He seemed more fidgeted around you these days, like there was an itch that needed to be scratched.

“Somewhere different.” It’s vague, but it’s a response.

The elevator doors open up to a room built of glass, the warm lights lining the bar and the overhead steel beams. Hundreds of bottles of liquor line the wall and the floors are covered in a dark carpet that despite its years still looks brand new. It was something right out of Architectural Digest , a billionaire’s dream lounge room, but this wasn’t the place you wanted to take Bucky, it was only the passage, not the final destination.

“No one’s usually up here when it’s not the weekends” You explain as you lead him through the room. Bucky’s hot on your heels, never more than a few steps behind. “I figured since you probably haven’t had some fresh air since you’ve been here that it’d be nice to get outside.”

When you approach the door, all it takes is a swipe of your badge and the small beep to signal that it had unlocked. Pulling it open, you and Bucky are greeted with the balcony that overlooks the helipad landing at the tower, but more importantly the entire city right in front of you like a deck of cards. 

Bucky didn’t realize he missed the fresh air until he found himself walking past you to stand at the railing, his eyes closed, sucking in a deep breath. His lungs fill up and it feels brand new. He might not have been free from the demons, but this new found freedom had given him so much to live for. 

His hair blows softly in the wind, the night sky is dark above his head, and all you can do is stand back and watch in awe. He was so different from the night you first met him, maybe still closed off but not nearly the same person who wouldn’t eat his food in fear it was poisoned; now he was relishing in moments, enjoying his peace.

The warmth of your body standing next to him is immediately welcomed by Bucky when he hears you approach, his eyes flickering open and looking at the scene in front of him. It hits him all in that moment that he doesn’t remember the last time he took in the view? It had to be decades, maybe longer. 

“Fresh air, hm?” He asks, his arms resting on the railing in front of him.

“Are you complaining?” You can’t help but tease him a bit, it was fun to poke the bear.

“No.” He stares out ahead of him, his eyes watching the streets below, the faint sounds of car horns and people talking hit his ear despite how high up it was. “It’s nice.”

“When I was a trainee they refused to let us out of the building, scared we were going to never want to come back in.” You chuckle at the memory. “Maybe they were right.”

Bucky chuckles with you. “Yeah, I can see how tempting that is.”

“I’m sure you haven’t had much downtime in a while.”

“No, not really.” He says, shaking his head. “Maybe since the war? Probably before it. And any time I get here is full of figuring out what the next thing is going to be.” 

He speaks candidly with you because he knows he can. As much as he was trying to warm up to Steve, and he knew there was a soft spot inside of him for the man, he could be a little rough around the edges to talk to. Not that Bucky was delicate by nature, but it was different.

It takes a moment to find the courage within him before he speaks again.

“I’ve been really trying to remember who I was before all … this.” He vaguely gestures. “There’s been a lot of big gaps in my memory, but from what I can remember I was never this … this volatile man. I never felt out of control and now it feels like every second of the day I’m on the verge of some breakdown that is going to make it hard to snap out of.”

It’s wildly authentic and heartbreaking to hear Bucky’s words. You watch the side of his face carefully, you can see the way his emotions are written all over his features, the way he can feel the tightness in the back of his throat. 

“You don’t see the improvements you’re making.” You say quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not.” He swallows a bit, his fingers tapping on the railing. “Or maybe you and Steve see something in me that’s just not there.” 

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I told Steve what happened on that first training session because I was terrified that if I killed one more person than I had no chance of ever recovering.” He admits, his head bows slightly before he turns to face you, his hands grip the railing a bit tighter. “ Especially if it was you.”

The admission makes your features soften, your eyes searching his face for something, you’re not entirely sure what. But all you can find is a man who is terrified, who is chipped – not broken, as fragile as a piece of porcelain. His blue eyes are a bit brighter than when he first came in, and if he looks in a certain light you’re positive that they glisten. There’s a faint scar on his forehead, a stark reminder of the pain that he inflicted when he felt like it was all too much.

“I never thought you were going to kill me.” 

Was this sentiment good enough to even explain to him how absolutely fucked up this whole situation was? This man had a kill list that was miles long, but you? You were the one he couldn’t hurt.

“That’s not the point.” His tone is firm. 

You knew it wasn’t, but what were you supposed to say?

“The point is that if something happened to you… if I did something to you…” Bucky’s voice breaks as he speaks, turning his body towards you. All the emotions were so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to handle them. “Then there would be no purpose in trying to help me. I’m too far gone - the Winter Soldier won.”

Panic settled in your chest as you watched Bucky bare his soul to you, the simple matter of fact was he was terrified, of himself, of how much he trusted you, and of the world.

“Hey, hey.” You can’t help but take a step forward, only letting a few inches in between the two of you. Your hand moves to rest on his shoulder like it did that night he had a nightmare. It amazed you how warm he was under your touch. “That’s not true. You’re not too far gone.”

All of the training sessions the two of you had together slipped into both of your minds. Bucky saw his failures, the moments he was so consumed by his instincts. You saw all his accomplishments, the moments after his failures where he pushed forward and continued doing the work.

“What if I am?”

Your eyes catch his and the both of you stand in silence. You can’t help but rub circles into his shoulder gingerly, something about the tenderness of the moment making you want nothing more than to comfort him. 

Bucky’s heart stammers in his chest at your kind touch, the only real thing that lets him know he’s alive and not in some fucked up dream. Bucky doesn’t think anyone has ever touched him so carefully before.

“Then we keep trying.” You whisper, there’s a desperation in your tone because you want him to believe you. You need him to. “We don’t stop trying until you're better.”

Would Bucky ever truly be better? He’d spent a lot of time over the last few weeks wondering about that exact question. There was a point in this recovery where he had to accept that he was a tortured soul that would not be able to ever go to bed again without seeing the faces of the innocent victims he killed. 

But you’re so convincing, your words make him feel something he hadn’t felt since the 40s when Steve found him tied down in that basement being experimented on; hopeful.

“When I sleep at night I don’t just see the people I’ve killed.” Bucky’s jaw tightens as he admits this to you. “I see all of the people who …” He can’t bring himself to say it, shaking his head. “...Who hurt me . I didn’t know what they were doing because the shit would get zapped right out of me and they’d put me on ice again.” 

Bucky swallowed his emotions, trying not to let the memories come back too clearly in that moment. He’d always wake up more and more a shell of himself than the last.

“ Torture . They’d torture me then use me as a pawn to hurt innocent people.”

“How many do you remember?”

“All of them.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at the idea that he could still hear their screams, or their begs for mercy, or worse … their last breaths. 

“I saw Steve and it was like someone punched me right in the gut, and turned back time. I saw him then I saw myself. Then I met you and I knew I had to figure this shit out.”

It’s unexpected for both of you, but Bucky brings his metal hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist. It’s cold against your skin, the material is smooth and polished despite the many divots that coat it. You want to run your fingers on it, to see how it moves and retracts with the heat of your touch, but he quickly snaps you out of that thought. 

Bucky watches your face carefully as he moves your hand until it rests against his cheek.

“Bucky …” Your voice is soft, his eyes closing to relish in the moment and your touch.

Your thumb caresses his cheek and he leans his head into your palm. His face is scratchy, yet exceedingly warm in contrast to the metal. He lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, but maybe he had always been holding it in. 

You were his comfort during these times, the only way he stopped himself from losing his goddamn mind.

Your touch reminds him of the day he found out you weren’t coming back after your first initial meeting. 

Steve had explained it was for a mission, he knew it was important, but you had been the only thing tethering him down to earth. It was hard to cope with the fact that he didn’t know when he would see you again, so he tried to stay busy, to stay out of his own head. He failed miserably.

Bucky had needed your comfort during that time, needed someone grounding him to earth, but he would settle for it now instead.

“I want to be better. I want to get better.” 

He knew this awakening was deep inside of him, this need to move forward, and now he was ready to bridge that gap. To start fresh. But below that need was another feeling, one that was not regret nor hope. No, this feeling was foreign to Bucky, an intense aching  want. For what? For love, of course. For who? Guess.

His eyes open and he doesn’t realize he’s taken a step forward until the two of you are pressed together. His hand that rests around your wrist tightens slightly because he’s afraid that if he lets go that you will slip away.

“I never thought you were coming back after that mission. Now I’m finding it really hard to let you go.” His voice is sweet like honey despite how deep it is.

A blush creeps onto your features because it seemed the soft spot you had for Bucky was now only making room for the feelings that were starting to grow. 

Your eyes swept over him taking in the fine lines by his eyes, down to the little marks he had on his cheeks. Despite being so close together in your sparring matches it had seemed like this was the first time you had really seen Bucky. Like really seen him.

“You know, you’re not allowed to say things you don’t mean.” You teased quietly.

“And who said I didn’t mean them?” He asked back.

A pair of matching smiles graces both of your features as he does. You swore for a half second you saw him gaze down at your lips, but by the time your brain had a chance to catch up he pulled your hand off of his face, intertwining your fingers together at your sides.

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here.” You whisper.

That remainder of night ended in a way neither of you had expected, hands intertwined together until the very moment you two climbed into your separate beds across from each other. Bucky could feel his skin tingle at the way your fingers slide across his as you unravel from each other. He thought about it all night.

A few more months had passed, and time seemed to have flown by in a blink of an eye because it was now a one year from that day Steve had brought Bucky back to the tower, changing his life.

Bucky was determined now more than ever to get himself help; he didn’t lash out during training practices and he actually allowed Steve to set up some doctor’s appointments for him. Physicals, therapists, neurology shit; he didn’t even care at this point.

You made sure if you couldn’t be there for all his sessions that you’d at least check in with him afterwards to see how he was doing. You and Bucky had moved out of those dorm rooms, you were back in your old room - a much more spacious area that felt more like a one bedroom apartment. 

Bucky was moved back to his room as well, which happened to be at the other end of your hallway. He hated the memories that came along with being back here, the vividness of him slamming his head against the wall always made a chill run down his spine. There was still a dent where it happened. But, he was happy to have a bigger bed to sleep in and stretch his body out. 

He hated how you weren’t an arms length away anymore.

Unfortunately for him, Bucky’s heart seemed to have grown tenfold after that night on the rooftop. He had opened the floodgates and it left him tingling from head to toe. 

When there were team meetings he found himself glancing at you more than actually listening to Steve. When he saw you in the common room reading a book, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what it was about just to hear your voice.

The hardest times for him to concentrate were the sparring practices. 

Initially, Bucky had begged you not to start them up again, he was fearful that the voice would creep back and he didn’t want to have a repeat of your first time together. 

He was able to persuade you for a while, always coming up with a new excuse why it would be better to focus on something else, but eventually it was time. Bucky had to prove he was capable of doing it.

The first few practices were slow and simple, working on carefully building a rhythm and never taking it too far or letting it get too heated. In those moments, Bucky felt like there were specific ways that his body moved that felt instinctive of the Winter Soldier; he avoided those for a while.

But, as most things did as those months went by, the sparring picked up to an easier flow. It soon, to his dismay, became Bucky’s favorite way to spend time together. Not only was it the intimacy in the time together, early in the morning when the sun was still rising, it was the moment that you and Bucky were the closest, where your touches mattered. Walking a fine line between a beautiful dance of two trained professionals doing what they knew best and two people looking for something more. 

His hand would brush against your arm trying to grab you and win, not for the sake of the kill, but the sake of the competitiveness that was now inside of you. Except, it was that exact moment he touched your arms that would throw him off the attack. His brain would be all consumed by the feeling of you that made him hesitate; you used the leverage to grab his arm and flip him onto his back, your foot resting on his chest as you had effectively won.

“Oof.” He let out a puff of air again, because this happened every time.

“I swear, Buck, you’re letting me do that now.” You said to him during this practice. 

It was exceptionally early in the morning, the windows showed a dark city skyline. Neither of you had been sleeping well since you had left your shared dorm rooms, and now this felt like the best way to get out some of that pent up energy.

“You don’t get to call me that.” Bucky says, his hand on his chest as he panted. “Steve barely gets to call me that.”

It made you happy to see the way the two friends had reconnected again. Bucky had remembered so much of their time together; two estranged brothers making up for lost years. 

You chuckle as you hold out your hand to Bucky, wanting to help him up off the mat. He eyes your hand for a moment, slapping it playfully a few times; he didn’t want to get up yet. 

“I feel like I’ve earned the honor, you don’t?”

“Hmmm, let me think about it.” 

Bucky places his finger on his lips, tapping on them as he feigns being in deep thought, wanting to tease you.

“No.”

“Asshole.”

Bucky’s features soften letting a smile creep onto his face as he grabs your hand, pulling you down onto the mat so that your shoulders were touching. His head turned to face yours, the lighter feeling in his body evident by the smile that lingered on his features, so opposite of the darkness that consumed him when he had first arrived.

“I’d rather be an asshole than a killer.” He says. 

Although it’s meant to be a joke, Bucky is still walking the line with learning how to be funny again; it comes across more as awkward humor. You crack a smile though as you turn your head, your cheek resting on the mat; the least you could do was pity him.

“I still kicked your ass.” You taunt.

His hand is still holding yours, actually he maneuvers it so that he can intertwine your fingers together feeling the way they lock like puzzle pieces. If there was a time where two heart beats synced together - it would be in this moment.

“Dumb luck.” The familiar words don’t make you angry as they did the first time he used them, now they made you laugh.

“You really underestimate my abilities, Barnes.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs a bit, his thumb now tracing patterns into your skin. “I know you’re more than capable of kicking my ass. I just think you have an unfair advantage.”

“And what’s that, hm?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hums, his eyebrow raising a bit. “It’s already an unfair advantage, now you want me to tell you? So what? You actually know what it is and use it against me even more? Not happening.”

You laugh loudly as you playfully kick his shin, biting down on your bottom lip afterwards as you try to keep your composure. Neither of you were too sure when the change in your relationship went from trying to get Bucky to a state of not losing his mind to … this but neither of you were going to complain either.

“Ow.” He squeezes your hand as he feigns the injury, gently knocking his foot into yours back.

“I should never have given you two free access to the training room.”

Steve’s voice calls out as the delayed click of the door signals his arrival. You and Bucky sit up, your fingers slip out of each other's grasps. Bucky doesn’t want to let go of you though, so he keeps his pinky pressed against the side of your hand making sure you’re right there.

Footsteps echo in the room until Steve approaches, his arms crossed over his chest, his normally tidy blonde hair damp from the shower he must have taken. Bucky flexes his metal hand as he looks up at Steve, giving him a short nod.

“Afraid we’re going to hog it?” You ask, feeling Bucky’s finger wrap around yours.

You swear in that moment your heart drops. It takes everything in your body to not let your gaze drift over to him.

“A little bit. We have a new class of trainees coming in this morning, the last thing I need is to have them find you two goofing off. We’re a serious team, you know.”

Despite how stoic Steve could be at times, and you were sure his statement was serious, there was always a bit of playfulness in his tone. 

“We didn’t think anyone would even be awake yet.” 

The clock on the opposite wall said 6:25am which was early even for you and Bucky. Steve cracks a soft smile as if he knows that the two of you would be searching for a way to be alone.

“I’m kidding .” He reiterates what you already know. “ But you two do need to leave, I need to prep the room for the recruits.”

Bucky sighs as he stands up, brushing any dust off his pants before he outstretches his hand to you. You clasp onto it, Bucky helping you up off of the ground in one swift motion. You mimic his movements and brush yourself off once you’re standing.

Your hands drop from each other, though Steve catches right away how they linger for a moment before they do. He’s not naive.

“Don’t go too hard on them.” Bucky calls out as the two of you make your exit.

“Oh I will!” Steve calls back, laughs leaving your lips as the doors open to the hallway. 

“He’s ridiculous.”

“You’re just figuring that out?” You say, tempted to elbow him.

“No, unfortunately when my memories came back all his stupidity came with it.”

Laughter filled the hallway as you two made your way to your respective rooms, caught up in chit chat and banter that seemed to fill most of your conversations now. 

Your brain doesn’t even realize that you’ve made the wrong turn and followed Bucky to his room until you’re standing in front of his door. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving you.

“Stalking me now?”

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes, playfully reaching out to shove his shoulder. “What can I say? When you’re not brooding you’re actually pleasant to talk to.”

“Mmm.” He hummed. “I should be offended.”

“No, it is actually fun to watch. It’s like you can’t stop yourself from pouting.”

“I don’t pout.”

“Oh you absolutely pout.” 

Bucky chuckled as his hand wrapped around the door handle, letting it slowly turn as the door opened behind him.

“I don’t pout.” He argued with you as he nodded you into his room, a silent invitation.

The situation is so natural like the flow of a waterfall, fluid. You enter his room like you’ve done it a million times.

“Bucky, you absolutely pout.” 

It’s all fun and games now as you hear him close the door behind you, this connection the two of you have built has made this transition a lot easier. Bucky had put in the work, you had done your job, and now it felt more like two friends who were enjoying their time together.

Bucky’s room is dark aside only broken up by the light from the lamp in the corner. The shades on the windows are closed and he seemed to have gathered some more personal belongings; his leather bound journal sat on his night stand, the string unwound letting you know he had probably used it that morning, and his phone sitting at the edge of his bed probably filled with dozens of missed calls and unread texts.

You don’t think he ever managed to figure out how to use it.

“I don’t pout, and you’re getting on my nerves.” He teases as he moves past you. 

Bucky made his way over towards his closet, his hands gripping the end of his t-shirt as he slowly pulled it over his head, tossing it over to the chair next to him. It didn’t even cross his mind that you were seeing him without his shirt on, he couldn’t see how your eyes were fixated on him.

Now it was all that consumed you. His muscles were taut, you knew the serum kept him in shape, and golden for someone who had barely seen the sun in a few months.

It was as if someone had molded him right from stone. 

But it’s the weave of scars that wrapped around his back and shoulder that really caught your attention. They were red, raw and dug deep into his skin. The metal around them was a stark contrast. Man and machine sewn together.

There was an ache deep in your chest to touch him to fix the wrongs of all people who hurt him. His past was etched into his skin and you wanted to erase every single part of it.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at you, still covered in a thin layer of sweat and he needed to take a shower. He catches your eye and tries to tell himself you’re not looking at him the way he thought you were. The way he hoped you were.

“Plan on watching me the whole time?” He asks, his eyebrow raising.

You want to make a funny joke, start back and forth with him that would make both of you feel at ease, but the words die in the back of your throat. 

Instead, you step forward until you’re standing behind him. Warmth radiated off him like the sun, but you knew you wouldn’t burn the same. Your hands shake as you bring it up to his shoulder, your eyes intently watching yourself skim your finger over his scars.

Bucky’s head feels dizzy at your touch, his head bowing as he sucks in a deep breath. Your name leaves his lips; he’s warning you to not go further and pleading with you not to stop.

Finally, Bucky turns his body so he can face you, his eyes closing at the tenderness. The two of you seem to find yourselves caught in these moments of tenderness that never push the envelope. Maybe it was time to start.

“I’m fine.” He says despite there not being a question asked. You don’t believe him, and the way the frown on your features tells him that. “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“They hurt you.”

Your fingers trace the scars, your throat tightening at the idea of how much torture he went through. Decades. 

When he fell from that train Bucky was dying, he thought he was being saved and instead he was brutally tormented. All he got with his second chance at life was PTSD and these scars. 

Bucky’s breath shakes again at your touch, you made him believe, even if just for a second, that he was worthy of such kindness. 

His eyes flutter shut as he grabs your wrist like he did on the night you two spent on the rooftop. Bringing your hand away from his shoulder and pressing it to his cheek, he does something this time that surprises you. Turning his face, Bucky presses his lips into the palm of your hand, his eyes opening now to watch you carefully.

He sees how your features soften, though he doesn’t realize how your heart beats a little faster or feel how your shoulders relax at his touch. 

Every single second over the last year has led the both of you to this moment, it had all fallen so perfectly in place. Now was your moment.

“I’m fine.” He whispers against your palm.

Bucky’s hand grabs your wrist as he pulls your arm over his shoulder, his lips sliding down to your wrist then your forearm ending at your bicep, peppering trails of kisses as he mumbles I’m fine after each one.

The words are a mantra, a promise to himself all while pleading with you. He was fine.

Your body is begging you to call out to him, but instead you wrap your hand around the back of his neck threading your fingers through his hair. He had barely any time to cut it since that day at the river so it was a bit longer than he liked to keep it, brushing right above his shoulders. You thought of how you wanted to tie it up for him, get it out of his face. 

You wanted to take care of Bucky again, not in the way you had with these training sessions. 

No, you wanted to care for him in the way a lover would. The way soulmates did.

Your name leaves his lips as he leans his head down now only inches away from yours, it immediately snaps you back into reality. You breathe out as you realize how close the two of you are, the warmth spreading through your body like a wildfire. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly, the very last of his control slipping in the back of his mind trying to stop himself from crossing that line. He thought of his therapy sessions, and how he was told he needed to start thinking about what he wanted in this life. 

He wanted nothing more than you. 

Bucky whispered your name again. His hand moved from your bicep to your neck, holding it tenderly as his thumb rubbed circles into your soft skin. 

Life never prepares anyone for these moments; you know, the moments where the world spins a little faster and two souls feel like they’re intertwining. No, life never prepared you for the moment, but you never really cared what life threw at you.

You reached out to cup Bucky’s face with both of your hands pulling him forward until both of your lips pressed against each other; like it was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.

There’s no gasps of surprise or moments of shock because this was not surprising at all; actually it was the most instinctive thing either of you had done with one another. A song and dance that blended in perfect harmony. 

The kiss isn’t rushed despite how wanted it is. Bucky’s hand grasps your neck a little tighter, needing to feel your skin under his touch. You don’t realize he’s backed you up against the wall until you feel the smooth surface, the soft thud of your body joining the sounds the two of you were making.

“Don’t do that.” He mumbled, nipping at your bottom lip playfully.

“Don’t do what?” You ask.

“Make me want you more than I already do.” 

You don’t have time to respond with a moan or even a chuckle because Bucky’s leaning down to grasp your thighs, picking you up effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist. There was a desperation in the way you two touched each other as if both of you had been starved and now you were served a feast.

There’s soft murmurings that fill the room while the two of you continue to kiss:

  I need you

You’re the best thing that has happened to me

Never leave me

Neither of you knew which voice said it anymore, because at this moment you are more connected to Bucky than your own body.

The sounds of breathless moans and pants fill Bucky’s room as you're soon carried over to his bed, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed over you. Contrary to how intimidating his size once was to you, you see him in a different light now. He’s softer, kinder, and full of this amazing wonder that makes you excited to see what the future has in store for him. 

He stares at you like you hold the secrets of the universe.

He places his arms on either side of your head as he brushes his nose against yours, causing your head to tilt up and press your lips against his once more. It’s a quick kiss this time. His hands running up and down your sides while yours rest on his biceps; these touches felt like they took a lifetime to get, now neither of you would take them for granted.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I met you and I’ve been fine ever since.”

Your heart aches in your chest as you squeeze his arms tenderly, the smile on your features growing. You knew deep down that you had made a promise to yourself that you would always care for Bucky, but it was right then and there that you also promised yourself that you would love Bucky until your dying breath.

Don’t worry though, he had already made those vows to himself for you long ago.

“Promise me one thing.” You whisper back to him.

“Anything.”

“Don’t start pulling your punches now when we spar.”

He laughs at your words before he leans down to peck your lips again a few times, trailing them down to press against your jaw and collarbones. He couldn’t get enough of you now.

“You have nothing to worry about. You will kick my ass fair and square.”

He looks up at you as he rests his chin on your chest. There’s a brief pause and you watch each other, all of the moments you had shared in the last year had now been neatly wrapped up in a bow. He presses one more kiss to your skin before nuzzling his head on your chest; he was home.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxed against your frame.

Bucky Barnes was in front of you, not a perfect man, but a new one.

[pucksandpower]

Shameless

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: you + Lestappen + a sex tape leak + one very unamused head of communications … need I say more?

Based on this request

The Red Bull Racing communications office smells like stale coffee and impending doom. Portia, the team’s head of communications, sits stiffly in the center of the storm, knuckles white around her phone. She stares at the video playing on her laptop, horrified but unable to look away.

The footage is intimate, explicit — grainy but undeniably clear. Three people, tangled up in sheets, moaning names, gasping into each other’s mouths. Max Verstappen. You. And, unmistakably, Charles Leclerc.

Her inbox is a dumpster fire of urgent PR memos, emails with subject lines in all caps, and press releases that have already been revised half a dozen times. She hasn’t even responded to half of them yet. No point.

This is beyond damage control.

The door swings open violently, smacking into the wall. Max strolls in first, looking every bit as casual as if he just finished a training session. You follow behind him, your hair in a messy bun, holding a half-eaten croissant. Charles is the last to enter, chewing gum like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Portia blinks at the three of you. “… What the hell?”

Max plops into the chair across from her, sprawling out like he’s just arrived at a friend’s house. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Portia repeats, incredulous. “You-” She gestures frantically toward her screen. “The video. The world just saw everything, Max! You, her, him-” She throws a desperate look at Charles, who only shrugs.

“Yeah. We saw,” Charles says casually, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Max. “Kind of funny, no?”

Portia makes a strangled noise in her throat. “No! It is not funny, Charles. None of this is funny!” She can already feel the migraine creeping in, sharp and mean behind her left eye.

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Listen, it’s not like we were hiding it. We’ve been-”

“Friends,” you interject, your voice calm as ever. “Very close friends.”

Charles grins. “Really close.”

Max winks. “Super close.”

Portia pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop saying that.”

“You’re the one freaking out,” Max says, as if that makes any of this better. “It’s not a big deal.”

Portia throws up her hands. “Max, it’s not just a sex tape. It’s a scandal. Sponsors, shareholders, media outlets — everyone is calling. Red Bull is losing its mind, Ferrari is fuming, and the internet-” She gestures vaguely toward the air, as if the internet is some wild animal loose in the building. “-is losing its collective shit.”

Charles leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “The internet always loses its shit.”

“True,” Max agrees, glancing at you. “Remember when they thought we broke up because I didn’t post anything for two weeks?”

You hum thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your croissant. “They were so mad.”

Portia stares at the three of you like she’s trapped in some bizarre fever dream. “Are none of you remotely concerned about this?”

Max shrugs. “Not really.”

“It’s out now,” you say, wiping your hands on a napkin. “What’s the point of stressing?”

Charles nods like you just delivered the most profound truth of the century. “Exactly. It’s not like we can put it back in the box.”

“Oh my god,” Portia mutters, pressing her palms to her temples. “You’re all insane.”

Max flashes her a charming smile — the kind that usually gets him out of trouble. “Come on, Portia. You handle worse than this all the time.”

“Not this, I don’t!” She groans. “I mean, sure, we’ve dealt with crashes, team infighting, broken engines, drunk interviews-” She shoots a pointed look at Max, who grins unapologetically. “But this? This is next level.”

Charles checks his phone, seemingly unbothered by her panic. “The fans seem to love it, though. Look-” He flips the screen toward Portia. It’s a Twitter thread full of memes and heart-eye emojis, captioned with things like Lestappen and Y/N living their best lives and Honestly, goals.

Portia glares at the phone like it just insulted her family. “This is not helping.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Actually, it kind of is.” He points at the screen. “If the fans are cool with it, the sponsors will calm down eventually.”

“Sponsors are not fans.” Portia slams her laptop shut, as if doing so will somehow make the problem disappear. “Sponsors are very rich, very conservative people who do not want their logos anywhere near a video of you having a threesome!”

Charles clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Technically, it’s not just a threesome.”

Portia shoots him a death glare. “I swear to God, Charles-”

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Max notices, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nudges you with his elbow. “See? Even Y/N thinks it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit, which only makes Charles beam with satisfaction.

Portia looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “This is not funny. None of this is funny.”

“I think you need to relax,” Max says, as if that’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s not like we committed a crime.”

“It might as well be,” Portia snaps. “Do you know what Ferrari is going to do with this? They’re probably drafting some moral code violation complaint as we speak.”

Charles waves a hand dismissively. “They can’t fire me. I bring too much to the table.”

Portia gives him a flat look. “Charles, you are the table.”

“Exactly.”

Max turns to you, his hand casually resting on the back of your chair. “Do you think we should put out a statement?”

You consider it for a moment, then shake your head. “Nah. Statements are boring.”

“Agreed,” Charles says, pulling his phone back out to scroll through more tweets. “No one likes statements.”

Portia exhales slowly, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience she has left. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Your solution to this PR nightmare is ... to do absolutely nothing?”

“Exactly,” Max says with a satisfied nod. “We just let it blow over.”

“Like Austria,” you add.

Portia stares at you, aghast. “Austria? You cannot compare this to a racing incident in Austria!”

Max looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of similar. People get mad for a while, then they forget.”

Charles grins mischievously. “By next week, someone else will do something stupid, and no one will care about this.”

Portia groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You are all ... impossible.”

Max reaches across the table to pat her shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

“Max,” Portia says, her voice low and dangerous. “If this mess costs us a single sponsor — just one — I swear I will make your life a living hell.”

Max’s grin widens. “You already do.”

You burst out laughing at that, and even Portia can’t suppress a reluctant smile, though it’s clear she’s fighting it with every fiber of her being.

“This isn’t over,” she warns, but there’s no real bite in her voice.

“It never is,” Charles says breezily. “But that’s half the fun, no?”

You lean into Max’s side, content and completely unbothered, and he drapes an arm around your shoulders. Charles glances over at the two of you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “See? We’re all good. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Portia shoots him a murderous glare. “Do not say that.”

Max laughs, the sound low and easy, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the room doesn’t exist — no scandals, no cameras, no angry emails. Just the three of you, stuck in the strangest mess, but somehow, perfectly fine with it.

And, really, isn’t that all that matters?

***

A few weeks later, Portia is sitting at her desk, sipping her second coffee of the morning, when her inbox pings with a new email. She glances at the subject line, hoping it’s something routine — maybe a press update, or an invitation to a sponsor event.

Instead, her heart drops.

URGENT: New Video — Verstappen, Leclerc, and Y/L/N on Beach Vacation

She groans audibly, slamming her head down on the desk with a dramatic thud. They didn’t listen to her at all.

Opening the email, her stomach churns as she scrolls down to the attached link. The video loads instantly — there’s Max, Charles, and you, sun-kissed and carefree, lounging on beach chairs somewhere tropical. The sound of waves crashing in the background is almost soothing.

Almost.

And then, without warning, it escalates — hands everywhere, tangled limbs, kisses that start off playful but quickly turn into something else entirely. A bottle of rosé tips over in the sand as Max pulls you onto his lap, and Charles leans over, dragging his mouth along your shoulder with a grin.

Portia shakes her head in disbelief, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill them.”

Another ping. This time, a text from Max.

Saw the email. You’re gonna love the next one.

She screams into her coffee mug.

[floralpools]

Professor Howlett

Warnings: Minors dni, smut, no protection, fingering, vaginal, doggy, pet names, squirting, age gap (legal!), first person

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Student (Mutant) reader

Summary: Your history professor always seemed uninterested in you—well, that was until you missed his class.

Word count: 2.7k

…

Throughout high school I’ve always kind of stood out. To be honest, I only have myself to blame. But, you see, bright colours and statement pieces are just so much more appealing than wearing something bland. And unfortunately, I did more than just “stand out” that day, just three weeks away from senior graduation. That fateful day… I was so close to the finish line when my stupid ex-boyfriend discovered my secret and outed it to the entire student body.

Truth is, i’m a mutant…

That’s what led me across the coast for most of the past year, running from god knows what. I had heard the stories of mutants being hunted and missing, and I didn’t intend to stick around long enough to be next on someone’s hit-list. I prayed I’d at least make it to my 20th birthday.

But then, my days of swindling folks for cash and food came to a stop, when I spotted a man with red-tinted glasses watching me. His invested gaze observed my every movement, so, I quickly grabbed all my shit, and the last bit of petty change I managed to get, and sprinted into the crowd.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, my face collided with a broad, firm chest. I pressed the heels of my palms into it, and felt the cotton of his white shirt, and the rough, yet smooth texture of his worn leather jacket.

Logan Howlett—or should I say, Mr. Howlett, my history Professor...

After he and Scott captured me, I was dragged by the ankles to their school for the “gifted.” I still remember cringing when they told me where we were headed. But once we arrived, and I saw all the kids who were like me, going about their lives freely, I knew everything would be more than okay.

And one thing I knew for sure, is that I wouldn’t mind attending Mr. Howlett’s class. Did I know jack-shit about history, yes. But I’ve always had a thing for the older guy, and from what I’ve heard, he’s more than enough in that department.

...

This morning, racing out of my room, I swore profusely at the time... Just my luck. The one day of the week I get to see and listen to Logan talk for an hour straight, my alarm malfunctions.

Multitasking between attempting to put on my hot-pink heels, wrapping my sparkly bag over my shoulder, and locking my door, I missed the approaching figure behind me.

“It’s past 11, where do you think you’re headed?” I swivel on my toes, spinning to face Storm.

“Class?” I sound meekly, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“The only class you have left today is at four. You’ve already managed to miss the rest,” she scolds plainly.

“Noooo,” I fake astonishment and defeat, as I slowly back away from Storm's scrutinizing stare.

She calls my name after I’ve taken at least two large steps backward. “Logan wants to see you,” she states, visibly exasperated.

“Oh?” I straighten my spine, stopping my next step short. “Ok!” I exclaim, a little too perky. She huffs a faint smirk and walks off, and I take flight, zooming to Logan’s class room where he’s most likely waiting, dozing off in his chair.

Lo and behold, after knocking once and receiving no response, I open the door to see him snoring. With his legs fully extended, and feet resting on his desk, I bask in his lengthy physic. Then I giggle, moving towards him.

“Mr. Howlett?” I call politely before clearing my throat rather loudly. He grunts in his sleep and I smile. “Mr. Howlett?” I repeat even sweeter. A second later, I swear he mumbles my name and my heart stutters, and yet, he’s still sleeping.

I move in closer to his ear. “Logan,” I announce rigidly, and the change in tone makes him flinch, legs falling off the table, eyes popping open.

He rasps my name, his voice echoing throughout the classroom. I refused to move away from where I stood, despite the closeness. I wanted to seem unaffected by him, though in truth, I was anything but.

With his lazy eyes roaming over my skin, my heart thrashes wildly, beating against the cage I call my ribs. Logan then clears his throat, and rolls his eyes to look away from my attire, as he usually does—giving me a once-over before hauling his focus back to his lecture.

“You missed class. ‘sn’t like you,” he notes, almost to himself.

“Yes, and I’m sorry-“

“I hope it wasn’t cause you were too busy picking that outfit.” Logan scoffs and my eyes widen.

He’s always made snarky comments, and this wasn’t anything new, but every damn time he does, I still can’t help the boiling feeling in my lungs that makes me rise to defend myself.

“No, maybe I just felt like sleeping in?” I declare. A short-lived chuckle escapes him.

“And you’re just gonna admit that?” He smirks as he faces me. “I don’t like kids skipping my class.”

“First off, I’m an adult, second, you don’t care when kids skip your class,” I retort with a grin that beams across my face. His smile drops the second mine comes into full form.

He’s never seemed fond of my smile, or maybe it’s just me…

“You don’t skip my class.” He states once again, and my head quirks in confusion.

“Um, I’m sorry?” I try to compromise, “It won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” He remarks dangerously.

My brows furrow. “Okay…? I don’t get why it matters so much to you Mr. Howlett.” I place my hands on my hips, gazing down at him in his chair like I'm reprimanding a child. Which he is not akin to, especially given the fact that he’s the teacher, not me.

Logan lifts off his chair, standing up, leather heels hitting the wooden floor. I almost gasp when he towers over me, clearly trying to intimidate. “Watch your tone, or I’ll fail ya,” he counters, fighting a smirk.

“What?” I yelp, and his smirk breaks through his stoicism. My jaw goes slack. “Mr. Howlett, that’s not funny!”

“What isn’t funny, is you pretending like calling me 'Mr. Howlett,' doesn’t turn you on.”

I freeze, suddenly drowning in disbelief.

Was this one of my daydreams? Am I really awake right now?

“You heard me— you damn highlighter,” he asserts, eyes flickering to my outfit again. “Call me Logan for fucks sake, if you’re really an adult.” His gravelly voice loses all its humour, and I stay glued to the spot. “Get outta here, would ya,” Logan then orders before he leisurely retakes his seat, getting comfortable for his next nap.

Unable to drag myself away, my eyes refocus on the subject of my desires. A wave of urgency takes over. “Why do I have such a thing for assholes.”

Before Logan can respond to the insult with some more hostility, I sit on his lap, dropping my purse to straddle his hips. I then cup his perplexed face and crash our mouths together. He grunts in surprise, as if he didn’t expect me to retaliate, as if he didn’t expect that I would actually want him this way.

He really is all bark.

Half-heartedly, Logan tries to pull away in between kisses, whispering my name as a small protest, but he immediately gets muffled by my lips. When I grind on his lap, his objections quickly turn into a fierce groan.

Logan then takes my hips into his large hands, tightly gripping my flesh to push me back onto his desk. I whimper as his crotch stays stuck to my core, even as he manhandles me. One hand then moves from my hip to my neck, holding it, then it slowly sliding to my jaw, grasping it to give me a hungry, pressing kiss. His tongue laps my mouth, completely dominating the kiss. I struggle to breathe.

Just as I’m about to pull away to comment on how eager he seems, his other hand flips me over with ease. My stomach is now on top of his desk, his crotch, like iron against my ass, and his hands trace down from my shoulder blades, to my bum. With my head hung over the desk, I pant, practically drooling.

“You’re asking for detention pinky,” he mutters, and I respond by pushing back into his hard cock.

“I'm a sucker for extra attention, teach,” I breath out as sensually as I can muster. He chuckles lowly, and I shudder. The pressure of his crotch doesn’t change, and his hands continue their unhurried venture of me.

“You like attention?” Logan asks, his tone becoming surprisingly soft. His voice makes me shiver and whimper, yet again.

“I like yours.”

“Just mine?” He questions darkly, telling me exactly what he wants to hear.

“Yes,” I whisper.

His voice drops an octave when he swears, rolling his hips into me once more. I moan loudly. “Shhhh princess, you tryna alert the entire building?” He asks with amusement evident. I shake my head, no, and he just dips his head to laugh by my ear. “Good, because I don’t like sharing your attention,” he says passively, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “And I’d like to be the only ‘asshole,’ that gets to see what’s under these ridiculous clothes.”

“Hey!” I object weakly, and feel his smile before he leans back. I turn my head over my shoulder to catch him peering down at where our bodies meet.

“You probably want me to fuck you on this desk.” He speaks as though I’m not here to hear him. “Ya probably want to be taken right here, so that every time you’re sitting in my class, you can imagine me inside you.” He trails off as his hand pushes up my shirt, touching my lower back. “But we can’t do that,” he sighs hoarsely.

“Why?” My reply is so quick that I have to grimace.

He chuckles without humour. “Because… if we did, I’d get hard every time I’m in this fucking room, and that ain’t the smartest idea.” I moan at his crudeness and gasp when he suddenly pecks my naked spine, just below the clip of my bra. “Christ—even your lingerie is pink huh?” His chuckle sounds like silk. “Imagined it would be.”

My legs rub together at his words.

“You imagined it?”

He pauses. “Hell yeah I did, though I tried to fight it,” he muses in between a groan. “It didn’t take me long to figure you wanted this too, princess,” he murmurs almost proudly.

After a long beat of silence, and a little grinding, I speak up again. “So now what? If you’re not going to make love to me here.”

He slowly pushes the hair over my face, behind my ear, tilting my head to face him just a bit. He then leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ll come to you,” is all Logan says as he reluctantly wrenches himself from me, just after giving my ass a mellow slap. I gasp and nearly pout at the loss of touch. We then hold eye contact as he backs away. “Get going, otherwise you’ll be late for class,” he teases airily, and the edge of his lips twitch upwards. I nod and rush out the room with a grin plastered on my face—which stayed on my face for the rest of the day.

...

After a long, vigorous day, I finally collapse onto my plush bed with a hefty sigh.

“Took you long enough,” a dark voice rings out. There’s a hint of a familiar sass that makes me jolt upright. I spot Logan leaning on my wardrobe. His tight shirt strains against his chest when his arms cross. “Been waiting to ‘make love' to ya all day,” he claims with a goading tone, repeating my earlier remark.

(My best guess is that he assumes I’m a virgin from that sentence alone.)

In an attempt to remedy my reputation and sexual appeal, I sit up on my bed, elbows bracing my body upright, and I slowly spread my bent legs. Biting my bottom lip, I feel his eyes shift down and blacken. “Get on with it then, Logan.” His name rolls off my tongue. The challenge makes his head jerk in an almost feral manner, and I gulp.

“You’re asking for it,” is all he mumbles before pouncing on me. Our limbs tangle and I moan as his leg presses into my clothed clit.

“Please,” I just about sob, to which he responds with an aggressive kiss and another crushing rub of his thigh.

I moan louder, and he grunts, “You like that?” I shove my hands into his hair, running my fingers through the thick strands. He lets out a coarse groan.

Loving how vocal he is, I decide to encourage him by groping his cock over his rugged jeans. “Fuck, baby,” he groans out when his mouth leaves mine. He then runs his tongue over my neck and collar, soon nibbling on my earlobe. His thigh continues to make work of me, and I match his pace, grinding against his jeans. “You're so dirty,” he grins while his nose brushes my rosy cheek, and then he's kissing me. “I love it,” he professes with amusement, and something more gentle.

Just as I begin to undo his belt, he flips me over onto my stomach just like before. Then, when I'm lying flat underneath him, he grabs my hips to lift them towards his crotch as he kneels above me. “That thong better be pink,” he jokes as he strips me bare. He groans in satisfaction when I’m left in just my underwear, tailored for his viewing. “Unreal,” Logan practically purrs.

I wiggle my ass playfully, and he growls and smacks it harder than he did in his classroom. I squeal into my pillow, immediately going quiet when I hear his belt being ripped from the loops of his denim. Leaving my underwear in place, he runs his digits over the lace, making me whine, "Logan."

With his name on my tongue, it shortly turns into a cry as the lace covering my clit gets moved to the side, and two meaty fingers dive into me. "Shit, princess," he rasps. "How am I gonna fit?" He asks rhetorically, and I choke a sob, as he wastes no time building up an energetic pace, with his fingers.

He swiftly tears an orgasm from my trembling body, still holding my hips up with one hand. When his fingers leave, I hear his mouth clean them, and I swing my head to face him hastily, but he shoves my head back into my pillow. "So eager," he more or less snickers.

"Very," my smothered voice emits, barely audible.

I nearly shriek when his tip swipes my wet slit. Logan, without notice, suddenly pushes himself inside me, with an agonizing slowness, but I quietly persist. "Atta girl, that's it," he lazily groans out encouragements. My hands pathetically slide onto his thighs, unsure if I'm urging him for more, or begging for discretion.

At once, he shoves himself in all the way, and I let out an extensive sigh. His palm, which was just holding down my head, joins his other hand on my abandoned hip. He lets out various curses, along with my name, and begins to move, in and out. Soon enough, he's pounding into me at a savage rate, completely untamed. As well, it seems purposeful, how he simultaneously bends down to growl and moan in my ear, still thrusting.

He stirs another orgasm, still notably, not experiencing his own. "You look real pretty like this princess," he begins to ramble. "Gonna do this every fucking day." The rest of what he says gets lost in translation, as I grow overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Thoughtlessly, I try to crawl away while he still has my lower half hoisted up. Once Logan realizes what I'm up to, my pitiful effort has him laughing. "Where ya going?"

"Lo, it's too much-"

"Lo? Call me that again, it's cute," he hums.

"No more," I whimper, ignoring him.

"Just one more baby," Logan coos, while somehow increasing his pace, making me cum instantly, squirting a little. His moan rumbles in his chest, and he doesn't stop hammering into me. I grip my headboard, and one of his arms stretches alongside mine, to do the same.

When he cums, his grip snaps the wood, breaking a part of the headboard, making me shout in between sobs. He seems to not notice the damage, too busy finishing on my backside.

After a long minute, he slumps his large frame beside me. One of his arms stays drifting across my skin as his eyes intently coast over my features. "Maybe consider skipping my class more often," Logan expresses as his lips slightly tip upward. He presses his lips onto my shoulder.

I smile, giggling, "Why?"

"Cause it doesn’t matter where I fuck you, there's nowhere I won't get hard looking at that pretty face," he smiles dreamily, "And you're impractical wardrobe.”

I giggle, "You have a way with words," I pause and smirk, "Mr. Howlett."

He rises onto his elbow with a devilish grin, "Now you're just begging for it princess."

Part two

[affableramen]

them apologising for calling you bad names

hurt/comfort, established relationships

(Pantalone, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Tartaglia, Capitano, Alhaitham, Dottore, Dainsleif, Baizhu)

Pantalone

You avoid him for the rest of the day but eventually in the bed time Pantalone meets you. He enters the bedroom with a grave expression in his eyes, eyeing you sit there on the bed with a book in your hands. Distracting, he thinks, she is distracting herself. 

“You know I didn't utter those words seriously”, Pantalone says, omitting the usual ‘darling’ on his lips. You roll your eyes and shake your head dismissively, showing him apparent unwillingness to chat over the issue any longer.

“Say”, Pantalone leans to the door, his fingers, at this moment of time, bare, scratching the roof edges of his antiquated mansion wall, “Are you deeply offended by my comment? It is but something… trivial.” Seeing no reaction from you Pantalone slowly makes his way to the bed and sits down, his body making an impact to the mattress, that being gently pressed on.

“I should have held my tongue.”

“Your tongue is poisonous”, you say abruptly. Upon hearing this, Pantalone reaches his hand to your hand and takes it in his. 

“Hear me out… Please, darling, I would never honestly speak so ill-mannered of you. It was out of stress. You are not… pathetic. Never have been.”

“Mhm. How about ‘brat’? How about ‘loving me only because I provide for the family?’” 

Pantalone closes his eyes and shakes his head. You can see how his own words inflicted upon you sting. 

“Nonsense! Not a single word I spoke then was truthful.”

“Pantalone, if I ever made you doubt my affections, please do let me know.”

You abruptly put your book on the bedside table and switch the lights off. 

Wriothesley

“Why do you keep insisting on these things? You think I don’t know them?”

“I think you’re simply less educated than me. You should understand, Y/N that in some aspects you may be less intelligent. Stupid even.”

“Less intelligent! Stupid!” 

Wriothesley covers his face and bites his own lip when he realises what unruly language he just used. 

“I didn't mean that-”

“That I’m stupid?” Your patience blows up and you decisively start strutting to the exit door of his office.

“I didn't mean to sound that harshly!” Desperately Wriothesley follows; but to no avail. You already shut your door before his nose.

A few hours after Wriothesley finds you in your two’s favourite café, of course it would be the place where you’d go to reflect on your irritation. 

“Here, your favourites”, he puts the bouquet of vivid red flowers on top of the coffee table, next to your hand, and does it with such carefulness of behaviour you would least expect from him.

You look at him, facing Wriothesley’s eyes at last and as if having your thoughts read the duke says with regret:

“And sorry.”

You take a look at the flowers, your fingers caressing the petals.

“Okay”, you respond quietly. Wriothesley receives approval from you and takes a seat, his attitude nothing but amiable, a far cry from his roughness in the morning.

Neuvillette

“I told you that some matters I unfortunately, willing or not, have to solve on my own. There is no place for you in some of my business, because you’re just one weak-” Neuvillette holds his tongue, realising how personally offensive the words he said sounded. How villainous he suddenly appeared before you.

“Human? Yeah, I know. But me being human doesn't mean I can’t think and analyse, and there’s no way I’d approve the responsibility you’re about to take on yourself. I strictly dissgree.”

“Strictly disagree?” Neuvillette does not believe his ears, for you had always been a quiet amd obedient one, quite agreeable and supportive of his opinions. Yet this time you could not stay silent, seeing how your precious husband puts himself in danger for the hundredth time.

“You are to not take on that mission, are we clear, Neuvillette? And I am not weak, neither am I dumb or uninformed.”

In awe, Neuvillette stands there, looking at you. At last he takes one careful step closer, his hand in his hair, pulling it back as he’s thinking on something with raw intensity.

“If my wife is ready to convince me so much to not do something, if she finds my impulses false, then I will do my best to refrain. Knowing how worried you might be for me, perhaps it would be wise to reject the mission first and utmost.”

You nod, your face grave, uninterested as you turn away from him and walk out of his office. Only then Neuvillette stops you, his wrist tightly on yours. 

“Please, beloved, if you could forgive me for my poor choice of words and underestimating your judgment.”

“It doesn't happen first time, Neuvillette, for being a dragon sovereign makes you incredibly stiff to perceiving others’ opinions. But I’m glad if you do truly believe me now.”

“I do. Please, don't stay furious and frustrated for long.” 

You finally smile, forgiving your dragon husband as you make haste to leave the court, otherwise dramatic Fontainian society that loves gossiping and tragedy so much, will turn your little banter into a lavish scandal.

Tartaglia

“Peanut, I just said that you can’t fight as hard as I do, I didn't mean it in a bad way.”

“Of course, Ajax. You meant it in the way ‘I’m the coolest, and you are inferior’.”

“No, no, no. It’s a misunderstanding! Hear me out, babygirl…” Tartaglia gently grips the both of your shoulders and stares intimately into your eyes.

“I just wanted… You know, I just meant…” he blushes crazily and his expression radiates sheer embarrassment as he tries to seek excuse to explain himself. “I, uhh… Consider myself a great fighter, and you are exceptionally good, too…”

“Exceptionally good?” 

“Absolutely exceptionally good, babygirl. But I am simply worried, okay? I’m scared”, he rubs your shoulders up and down, as if trying to comfort you, but in honesty it rather comforts himself. “I don’t want you hurt. So you better stay home. Training.”

“Training only, nice. I will never fight real enemies if I am constantly kept hostage in Fatui training camp.”

“You’re just… so fragile. You know what I mean?”

“Uhuh. The Eleventh considers me a weakling. Nice discovery, if you weren't my boyfriend”, you free yourself from his grasp and go about the narrow long corridor of headquarters. “I thought you would trust in me and my power a tiny bit more.”

Ajax follows you immediately, his steps agile and steady as his hand gently takes yours.

“You may come with me next time. But tomorrow, I want you safe. Okay? And please… I’d never call you weak… Never.”

“Mm…” you gently caress his gloved hand with your thumb, almost failing to see him in the dim light, but feeling his erratic breath caused by quick talking.

Capitano

“I can’t let you do this, woman. You are acting immature. You have always been a bit naïve, but this is where you should start obeying me”, Capitano says with a harsh, yet genteel aura around him.

“And my love for you, Capitano, is also naïve?”

At that moment Capitano drops his expressionless, emotionless act and looks at you with horrified glint in his eyes. He wants to comfort you, to apologise for his words but realises that was once said cannot be taken back. Oh how he wishes he would hold his tongue for a little while longer!

“I didn't mean that, woman. You know that I would never-”

He shuts his eyes for a second, a storm of overwhelming thoughts crosses his mind over and over while you are standing before him, patiently waiting for an answer and expecting your husband to provide you with a proper one.

“You are weak… no not weak; you are frail. You need protection. And I want to protect you, but I may not be able to do it in Natlan. Not when I am wounded myself.”

“Oh, believe me, Capitano, I can and will protect myself. And you know what, big guy? I don't even need your permission to come with you anymore. You will accept me, because I am your wife, and I will be by your side. Especially, when you are wounded.”

Capitano raises his hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles, light-weight.

“You are going to get yourself in trouble, love.”

“I know my limits, and I can clearly see that my husband needs me, even though he won't ever admit it.”

The raven-haired tall gracious man with impeccably sharp aura around him speaks with emotion:

“But if you get hurt, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself.”

You stand on your tiptoes and cup his cheeks.

“Oh, Capitano, I will take care of myself just to spare you the trouble.”

Dottore

“You’re a dork, I don’t even have pity for your stupidity. You got this chemical burn deserved.”

“Said who? You’re the one treating it right now, Doctor”, you respond with a tiny smug smirk, watching how carefully and gently Dottore is working on your palm. The burn is not too big, but painful enough to prevent you from completing your tasks for today.

Dottore reveals his teeth, groaning at you, his self highly dissatisfied and frustrated. He smoothly applies a herbal-smelling ointment and covers your hand with tight bandages.

“I insist you staying home tomorrow. I will speak with Pierro and describe him the accident.”

“Surely you don't have to go to such lengths for me only, Dottore. You know, I could speak with the Jester myself.”

Dottore stabs the knife with which he had been cutting the bandages, into the desk.

“NO, he won’t even speak to you. He is very uneasy to find”, he lets out a long held sigh. “Besides, brat, I think I made it clear you need to rest at home.” He glares at you with his poisonous ruby eyes. “Primarily, in your bed.”

“If the doctor says so”, you shrug, too exhausted to argue and too grateful for his help to deny him of this small favour. “I do not mind staying in my bed for a little while.”

Once the treatment has come to an end, Dottore once again checks your hand; quickly, lightly, without a single unnecessary touch or glance. 

“Sorry for calling you a dork. I didn't mean it wholeheartedly”, he clears throat. “Though I still think your ass is highly careless.”

“I will work on it, hopefully my curiosity doesn't lead me to any other injuries”, you wave to him upon leaving the lab. “Can’t have my doctor worry too much.”

“Remember to look closer what you touch in my lab next time, silly creature.”

Dainsleif

“I think you’re forgetting how difficult it is to fight Abyss alone. I can’t believe you disobeyed me again and went seeking for abyssal hounds. This is infuriating, Y/N. I have never seen a woman act so stupidly and rashly before”, Dainsleif says roughly, through gritted teeth. His expression is grave and ominous.

“I feel strong desire to take your Vision away and lock you home until you learn to respect my rules.”

“Your ‘rules’?” You raise your eyebrow, looking at Dainsleif no less infuriated and frustrated than he is currently. “You think if you’re older than me, I have to act like your little puppet on strings who does everything that is ordered? Hell no, Dainsleif. We won’t have it this way.”

“FOOL!” He yells, his arm grabbing you tightly and pressing you against a wall. “You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have been hurt! You don’t know the thoughts running through my mind when I imagine you hurt; I want to burn the whole world for you.”

“Let me go, Dain. Please, this is uncalled for, you know that, right?” As you gently ask him Dainsleif slowly, but hesitantly releases your arm and takes a step back, closing his hands behind his back.

“I ask you once again to refrain from getting yourself harmed by the hand of Abyss.”

“Did you just call me a fool? I thought you were better than that.”

“For that ruthless language, I apologise. However I need your obedience when it comes to survival matters.”

Slowly, you walk over to look into Dainsleif’s eyes.

“I understand your tragedy wholeheartedly and I sincerely respect your wish to protect me, but you need to understand that my fighting skills are not low anymore, I can be efficient and agile.”

Dainsleif’s head hangs down, you see that he is contemplating something in the depth of his heart.

“I see”, his hand reaches out to you, even though he is not looking in your direction. Dainself intertwines his fingers with yours and speaks, much quieter and softer words:

“I’m sorry for calling you a fool. That was uncalled for”, his hand gives you a light but worried squeeze. “Just… be careful, Y/N.”

Alhaitham 

“You’re acting like a child. Your opinions are too dreamy, irrational and irrelevant”, Alhaitham speaks briefly as he opens his book and hides his sharp gaze somewhere in the middle of the paragraphs.

Having acknowledged his disregard to you with pain in your heart you throw your arms around and ask him with bright feeling which is contradicting his own manner of speaking.

“Speak about irrelevance! You are the embodiment of irrationality yourself, for guilting me into thinking that you actually care for me.”

Alhaitham stays still for a moment but a tense squeeze he gives the book in his fingers raises even more contradictory emotions between you. 

“I knew you are a difficult person to get intimately acquainted with, but your actions proved that you had at least a bit of attraction towards me. If not, then your choice of words and manner of speaking to personally me was too extreme. If not, and you are dreaded by the mere thought of me being intimately honest with you, spit it out. I don’t want you to play the romance where it no really belongs. I don’t want you to like me out of pity.”

“But I don’t”, Alhaitham finally closes the book and removes from his seat. “Your opinions and decisions make me question whether or not we are compatible enough.”

“That is because you are thinking too rationally.”

“And you are thinking too irrationally.”

“You were the one to touch my hand and hug me in a very personal way. And if I am not mistaken, you are the man who never touches anyone and is dreaded by a mere thought of being pulled out from your serenity.”

Alhaitham then shivers slightly, his body mannerisms betraying distress and frustration that is not by a long shot defined in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry for calling you these words. These are bad words, I should not be disrespecting you so”, he looks away, giving his lip a strong bite whereas finally giving you a relief: “I always thought and I still think that you are a perfect companion for me, but our opinions are very unlike.”

“So you think two people cannot get accustomed to living with each other if they have different choice of words or thinking! Alhaitham, this is laughable.”

“The only laughable thing right now is that I desperately want to hug you”, without further hesitation he pulls you into his arms, an embrace filled with warmth and dedication, while his fingers gently stroke your back. “I apologise, my love.”

Baizhu

“You are being too nosy and impatient, sweetheart. I asked you to not ask me specifics of my contracts and yet here you are - interrogating me like some sort of criminal. I am feeling pressured and most frustrated!” He throws his arms around. “Darling, if you could give me some space, I would finish what I started with no further delay.”

“Am I violating your space by simply caring for your well-being? Baizhu, your contract has gone way too far; your help to people robs you of your own happiness, can you not see it?”

“I will be most contented if you simply leave me to finish my work. I would be happy if you simply encouraged me, but I’d be even more grateful if you stopped asking me so many questions.”

You know perfectly well what it’s like to sacrifice yourself for other people’s sake however you could not any longer bear seeing your love life being disrupted by Baizhu constantly feeling sick and suffering. You want nothing more than him to feel safe, secure and well, but instead this curious pharmacist only risks more and more his life in exchange of knowledge and improvement.

Though, Baizhu did recognise your words as a simple statement of care, he only admitted it in a few days. While you were helping him sort his things out in the pharmacy, Baizhu dropped his formal act and gently touched your hand.

“Darling?”

You stopped sorting at once when you heard what he declared:

“I’m sorry, I was so rude to you speaking about my health.”

You turn to face him and notice the sincerest apology in his snake eyes.

“I just wish you’d understand that my worry for you is not intended to make you uncomfortable or distressed.”

“I do understand it now. I will try my best to not bring you suffering from seeing me suffer. I cannot reject what I had started, but I will seek ways to heal both me and you from this torture.”

The gentle confession ends with Baizhu rubbing his thumb against the top of your hand. 

[hannieween]

gambler | heartbreaker series | c.sc

Plans do not always come to fruition. That was one of the hardest truths that Seungcheol had to come to grips with.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, fluff, smut (MDNI) ✧ aus: established relationship, boss seungcheol, gambler cheol, bartender reader ✧ word count: 14.9k

✧ warnings: descriptions of depression. cheol is possessive, mentions of therapy, alcohol consumption, smut with plot, daddy kink, dom seungcheol, sub reader, reader is on birth control, big dick seungcheol, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, jealousy, exhibitionism: sex in the workspace, they have a voyeur. dirty talk. pet names: love, pretty, baby, angel (hers) babe, boss, daddy (his)

›🎧: ghost – baekhyun | amnesia – kai | losing game – leo | love is banned – gemini | can we talk again – purple kiss | i'm fine – d.o | night view – monsta x | mood – dpr ian | rainy days – v | last night – jxw | sapphire blue – jiwoo

✧ thank you to @hhaechansmoless and @coupsiedaisee for proofreading this for me ♡

› series masterlist – general masterlist – taglist

✧ author's note: i cannot for the life of me not insert myself into my fics. some of the story beats in this one are too close to my heart. might be the most personal one so far so pardon the angst ? this chapter is an emotional roller coaster if i do say so myself

✧ author's note pt. 2: this chapter is told in a non-linear way. so it has a lot of time skips. you're warned. bye ✌🏻

✧ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

part v

Two years ago 

Plans do not always come to fruition. That was one of the hardest truths that Seungcheol had to come to grips with. No matter how much effort or heart he put into something, sometimes it still wouldn’t be enough. 

But what he could never reconcile, was that he had lost you. 

Even though, deep down, he knew that he wasn’t entirely to blame for the breakup, the thought haunted him. He could’ve done more. He should’ve fought harder. He had always feared he would lose you someday, as if something so good was never meant to belong to him.  

Still, the day you left felt wrong. He replayed it in his mind ten times, twenty, a hundred. Every word you said, every change on your face, everything leading up to the end. He should’ve done this, he thought, his stomach twisted painfully. He should’ve said that. He fell into an endless spiral of what ifs, mourning the version of his life where you were still in it. 

He missed you.

Turning over in bed, he wrapped an arm around a pillow and sighed. He couldn’t even cry anymore.  

It was four in the morning. He knew before he even checked his phone. He had become an expert in tracking the time spent in silence, in ignoring the missing calls, and unread texts from friends trying to reach him. None of it mattered. 

His eyelids felt heavy, but sleep was no escape. In his dreams, he always found you. Flashes of secret glances across the library tables, the way you’d lift your head just to peek at him—smiling shyly because he always caught you looking. Other times, the dreams turned into nightmares, reliving the abrupt ending of what you had together, the last moments before you walked away. 

The pad of his finger hovered over the shared folder on his phone. He swallowed hard, the familiar knot twisting in his stomach. 

Apparently, you had forgotten about the folder. The folder where your photos were automatically backed up. Seungcheol never moved a single thing, as though keeping it untouched might preserve his last connection to you just a little longer. Before you noticed and end that too. 

One week after the breakup, you erased all the photos of you together. Every trace you had together was erased on social media. But somehow, you had forgotten about the shared folder. Or maybe you missed him too. Maybe you wanted to hold on a little longer.  

At first, he avoided his phone entirely, pretending his phone didn’t exist. But then—something happened. 

One night, the folder updated.

Seungcheol felt a pain so sharp, he was sure it would kill him. Seeing your name on his screen made the pain in his chest tighter. He stopped dead in his tracks, bringing a finger to press on your name, he held his breath.

Updated a minute ago

His heart had pounded in his ears. He braced himself to see you to be wrecked all over by the sight of your face. 

But no. The photos weren’t of you. They were of the sky. A sunset, painted in soft pinks and burning oranges.

That was the first night of his downward spiral.

He almost felt embarrassed by what came next. He didn’t fall to his knees. He didn’t scream or break down sobbing. 

Instead, he checked the folder every single night. Waiting. Hoping. Not for the sky. Not for another sunset or sunrise. 

For you. 

It soon became his addiction, this quiet, but self-inflicted torment. The nights without an update were the worst. Just like this one. The thought of you realizing he still had access to the folder made him sick to his stomach. Maybe you had figured it out, maybe that’s why the updates had stopped. 

Seungcheol locked his phone and tossed it somewhere in the tangled sheets. 

Were you as lonely as he was?

Staring at the ceiling, he let the memories play again in his head. It was a dangerous game, replaying his own heartbreak like a song stuck on repeat. 

Why did he like hurting so much?

If he could only hear your voice again. But he made a promise to himself: no matter how bad it got, no matter how much it tore him apart, he wouldn’t reach out to you. He wouldn’t do that to you. 

His hand groped blindly for the whisky bottle on his nightstand, but he met nothing but the empty glass. 

The phone buzzed somewhere in the sheets. He went rigid. The vibrations drummed against his ear. He ignored it at first. 

But what if it was you?

The knot in his stomach tightened unbearably as he reached for his phone, his heart slamming against his ribs. His fingers fumbled through the sheets, desperate searching. 

The aching feeling inside him was soothed at the moment he saw your name on the screen. Relief flooded his chest—you were still there. He even felt rewarded, in some twisted way. You always updated him around this time. 

But the relief was fleeting. 

The pain returned a thousand times worse. 

He shot up too fast, dizziness crashing over him, not just from the alcohol, but from the sheer force of you. Blood rushed to his head, leaving him unsteady. 

There you were. Your eyes. 

He could read it in them instantly—you were sad. That was undeniable. But there was something else too, something softer. A glint. Catching in the pale morning light that bathed your face. Maybe it was hope. 

Seeing your face for the first time in what felt like a lifetime was brutal. The image blurred. His vision swam. The phone slipped from his fingers, landing somewhere on the bed as he pressed his hands to his face. Don’t cry, don’t cry, he repeated, a strangled sound muffled against his palms. 

He should have stopped you from leaving.

It was seven in the morning when he finally surfaced from the spiral. 

Sunlight leaked through the cracks in the curtains, stabbing at his tired eyes. The bedsheets were tangled around him. Clothes were scattered across the floor—abandoned, forgotten. The whole room was a mess, but none of it compared to the mess inside his heart, his head. 

Still, he sat there. A near catatonic state. Eyes open but seeing nothing. 

He could not keep living like this. 

His chest felt heavy as he reached for his phone. Seungcheol scrolled through a hundred and fifty-seven texts from Jeonghan before typing two words. 

I’m fine.

His fingers hovered over the screen. Switching tabs to see your face one more time. And with a pause of hesitation, he opened his phone settings, hitting the hard reset button. 

He had to let you go. 

It was nine in the morning when he heard an urgent knock at the front door. He had gotten good at ignoring that too. But this time, he went to get it. He already knew it would be. 

The door creaked open. “Hi,” Seungcheol croaked, realizing he had not spoken to a living being in days.

Jeonghan’s head snapped up from where he had been staring at the ground. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The way his shoulders tensed, the caution in his every movement, it told Seungcheol everything. 

Jeonghan entered the apartment, gaze flitting over the place—the place Seungcheol once shared with you. Your things were packed into moving boxes, stacked in the corner, waiting to be sent back to your parents’ house. 

His stuff was in moving boxes too.

Because there wasn’t a single corner of this place that wasn’t haunted by you. So, he had to let go of that, too. 

Seungcheol had to take life’s lessons the hard way. Plans do not always come to fruition, yes. But that could also mean that he had the chance to make new plans. Or at least, that is what the therapist told him.

Breakups are hard. 

After moving to a different neighbourhood, Seungcheol quit his office job. Then, in what everyone around him thought it was a fit of madness, he purged his entire life of you. He got new clothes. He died his hair, he let it grow. He re-did the piercings in his earlobes. He got a new phone. 

If burying his past self meant forgetting you, he’d dig that grave himself.

“Are you sure about this?” 

Changkyun leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the money stacked neatly between them. 

“I’m sure,” Seungcheol replied, tone flat.

Changkyun clicked his tongue, tilting his head. “It’s a big investment.” 

“One I’m willing to make.”

The money had been purposed for something else once. Something permanent. Something that, at one point, had been his future. 

It was the money he had saved to start a life with you. Now, it lay before him in neat stacks, repurposed for something else entirely.  

“I’ll tell my guy,” Changkyun shrugged, unconvinced. Then, a pause, a frown. “What exactly are you planning to do with the place?” 

Seungcheol knew it was a gamble. This plan might fail. This plan might succeed. He did not know for certain. But he wanted to say that at least say he tried it. 

With every fiber of his being, he wanted this.

“I’m turning it into a bar.”

Starting a new chapter in his life felt odd sometimes. Even if he had made it forbidden to think of you, he would wonder if you felt the same too.

Breakups are odd.

This new chapter of his life had him rewriting bits of himself that once included you in some way. It was seeing things with brand new eyes.

As the plan of opening a bar was in the works, new opportunities were falling to his lap. Jeonghan decided to take the offer of co-owning the bar, thus absorbing part of the investments too and making it a little bit easier to open it sooner.

Also, it was gaining some traction. People would stop and ask what the old pizza place would turn into.

“I have a friend that might be a good addition to your bar. He’s clever, and made for this, he’s kind of a night owl,” Changkyun mentioned one night in passing, looking around the place with an impressed look on his face.

“Bring him in,” Seungcheol nodded. He had been thinking of putting up hiring ads somewhere, but he kept pushing the task out of procrastination.

However, Changkyun’s friend was a true blessing in disguise. The guy turned up the following day as Seungcheol was putting up the shelves where he meant to display bottles of whisky and rum.

Crossing the doorway with a curious look on his face, he knocked on the countertop to draw Seungcheol’s attention over the loud hammering.

Upon looking at him, he knew it was Changkyun’s friend.

“You are?” Seungcheol pushed his eyebrows up.

The guy was about to utter something, but after hearing Seungcheol’s dry words, he just stammered: “Jeon Wonwoo.”

Seungcheol made no follow-up comment whatsoever, the moment dragged on silently, he arched his eyebrows higher this time.

“I-I’m here for the job offer. I’m a friend of Changkyun’s,” he explained, pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Have you ever managed a bar before?”

Jeon Wonwoo nodded his head once. “Yes.”

“Right. Come here tomorrow at five. We can cover all of the details then.”

Seungcheol felt glad he took that leap of faith. Most nights, he would walk around his bar feeling proud to have come this far and have a successful business all by his own. 

He felt glad that the pain in his heart was starting to heal. 

Breakups are funny. Because sometimes—though not often—he would wonder what you would think of him now. And when he did, he surprised himself. The thought of you didn’t hurt anymore. Seungcheol had nearly forgotten the sound of your voice, the way you used to say his name. 

Two years had passed since that night. Two years of nothing but himself. The bar had become his whole world—the buzzing sounds of conversations over loud music, clinking noises, people laughing filling the silence where your voice used to be. The people he met now became small anchors to keep himself afloat and not think of the ghost of you. 

He had built something from the ground up, he found something that was entirely for his own. 

Even if he dared to think of you, it no longer felt like a punch to the gut. The weight of missing you, the constant need to look for you everywhere he looked was no more. The pain had grown dull, the memory of you something distant. Seungcheol had, at last, moved on. 

Or he thought he had. 

The busier he kept, the better. That had been his mindset for the past two years, and time had passed in a blur. And if he let himself be honest, he’d have to admit that he was content with his life. 

Seungcheol sank into the lounge chair in the living room, a heavy sigh slipping past his lips as he reclined against the soft leather. A glass of whiskey rested on his thigh, his fingers loosely curled around it.

Silence reigned in his apartment, a stark contrast to the loud buzzing noise from the bar, it almost left him feeling overwhelmed. It was three in the morning—the usual time he got home after another long night at the bar. By now, it was routine. Second nature. 

He licked his lips, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was one of those rare nights when his mind drifted where he didn’t want it to, wandering down a path that always led to you. Were you alright? If so, were you loved?

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he saw you. He saw you sitting across the uni library, smiling because he caught you looking at him. His grip tightened around the cold glass, a flicker of something sharp twisting in his chest. 

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, opening his eyes to take one generous gulp from his glass. The whiskey burned deeply, it was sharp and smoky, lingering in the back of his throat. He looked at the bottom of his glass, thinking of pouring another to quiet down his thoughts before going to bed. 

After all this time, he shouldn’t be thinking about you. 

But it was impossible to stop now. He tilted the glass on his fingers very slightly, his gaze unfocused. He remembered the way your fingers used to trace shapeless patterns on his skin, the quiet hum of your voice in the mornings, the way you would giggle in between morning kisses. Seungcheol wondered if you still did that, if someone else was on the receiving end now. 

His chest tightened, the pain so hard that he had to take another large gulp of whiskey, deciding to pour another one. He had convinced himself he’d moved on. But nights like this, when the world seemed to stop and his thoughts were so loud they buzzed in his ears, he wasn’t so sure. 

Because even after all this time, even after building himself a life in opulence and arduous work, he still thought of you. 

He leaned over the coffee table, pouring more whiskey into the glass and the half-melted ice spheres. The apartment was too quiet, too still, so much so that he felt a prisoner to it. Like somehow the stillness was to blame that he was thinking of you. 

Seungcheol tilted his head back against the chair, swallowing hard to try to dissolve the feeling coiling around his throat. Staring at the ceiling, the grip around the glass of whiskey loosened, right before he allowed himself to remember. 

It was a late night. You were curled up on his couch back at his old, tiny apartment. You were currently fighting sleep while waiting for him to finish looking over something. Seungcheol was working late, going over some accounts from his old office job. He didn’t remember what had him so busy, but it didn’t matter now. What he remembered about that night was that you refused to go to bed without him. 

You were staying over at his apartment, he doesn’t remember the reason why. But you were slightly irritated that you were staying over, and he was working on some accounts. 

“Just a few more minutes,” he had told you, glancing over the stack of papers. 

You had hummed something in response, your eyes already slipping shut. 

When he finally had set the papers down, you were already deeply asleep on the couch. Seungcheol sat down beside you, and you had barely stirred, except that some seconds later, you had leaned into him, your body instinctively seeking out for him even in sleep. 

Seungcheol had smiled to himself, welcoming you in a careful, but loving embrace. The seconds passed, but he made no move to carry you to bed yet, he enjoyed the peace and quiet moment with you. 

It was nothing special. It was just a regular night. And yet somehow, it was everything he ever wanted. 

And now, he was sitting alone and in silence. 

Seungcheol let out a quiet scoff in amusement, and regret. 

Funny, the things you miss.  

The next morning, he woke with a sharp inhale. His neck felt stiff from the awkward angle against the headrest of the couch. A deep groan left him as he blinked lazily, the morning light spilling through the window made him grimace a bit. 

Running a hand down his face, he groan, his brain feeling sluggish and struggling to catch up with the fact that he had fallen asleep thinking about you. 

Seungcheol hated falling asleep on the couch. It always left him feeling unrested, and disorientated, like he’d lost track of something. 

The now empty whiskey glass sat in front of him on the coffee table. He wanted to lay the blame on the alcohol, but deep down he knew that he had just gone through a moment of weakness. 

The memory of you still clung to him, like an echo refusing to leave his mind. Even out of his life and far away from him, you were still stubborn. Still refusing to leave, branding a mark within him deeply. Irritation flared beneath his skin, making his blood boil. He didn’t have time for this, not today, not ever again. 

He pushed himself up, his steps taking him straight to the bathroom to have a shower. Even as the scalding hot water hit his back, the weight in his body refused to leave.  

It didn’t matter. He had a job, he had a bar to run. And if there was one thing that he’d learned in the past two years since that, it was that staying busy kept the ghosts at bay. 

For now. 

The bar was barely active with the first tasks of the day. The kitchen was getting ready, the noise from the staff moving around, the clatter of glassware carried all the way to the front of the bar.

The tables were vacant, everything was tidied and ready for the day ahead. Wonwoo, who was sitting on one of the booths was already active and sorting out what tasks needed to be done before the first costumers showed up. 

The bar had a unique smell every morning before opening hours. The low humming noises from the staff gearing up for the day, everything around him felt like home to Seungcheol. Work, it was what grounded him. At least it usually did. 

But today, the weight of the restless night clung to him, the ghost of you still following him wherever he turned to. 

“Rough morning?” 

Seungcheol glanced to the booth that was pushed all the way back. “Didn’t sleep well,” he replied to Wonwoo. 

“Yeah, well,” Wonwoo sucked in a breath slowly. “That makes two of us,” he exhaled. 

Seungcheol sat down on the booth too, crossing his arms on the table. He rolled his shoulders before sitting back on the seat, brush those thoughts away, he told himself. 

“What do we have today?” Seungcheol nodded to the notes sitting beneath Wonwoo’s hands. 

“Let’s see,” Wonwoo began, skimming through his notes. “We have suppliers coming in two hours. I have a newbie to show the ropes to. And we haven’t paid the Haze boys yet,” he mentioned aloofly.

“I already did last night,” Seungcheol replied quickly. 

“Got it,” Wonwoo said as he checked the reminder off. He lifted his head, looking at Seungcheol, but then something else caught his attention. “Oh, the newbie is here.”

“Hi,” a tiny voice replied in the background.

He should have listened to the alarm bells in the back of his head, the ones screaming at him to pay attention to that voice. But Wonwoo was already moving, an eager smile on his face, Seungcheol, and he should’ve noticed that too.

Seungcheol may have forgotten the sound of your voice. But he would never, never forget your face.

And in that moment, he wished he was seeing a stranger. 

Because the way your expression froze, the way the light in your eyes dimmed, told him everything he needed to know.

He was seeing a ghost. 

It couldn’t be you. You were on the other side of the planet. This had to be a joke. A dream. A nightmare.

The shock hit him so hard, it left an echoing pain in his chest, so deep he nearly dropped to his knees. His breath turned shallow. The floor beneath him suddenly felt unsteady, he almost began to think that the entire place around him had turned against him, showing him a mirage of you. 

The following moments were a blur. He made up some dumb excuse—he didn’t even remember what he had said—and ran away from the bar, barely registering Wonwoo’s confused look as Seungcheol made his exit to the nearest bathroom. 

There, leaning face-first against the door, his hands braced against the cool surface, he had to make a choice.

He could pretend to not know you at all. Accept you in his bar, his safe haven and keep his distance like a stranger. 

Or he could refuse. Tell you to look for a job elsewhere. 

The first choice meant keeping you close while never going near you. 

The second meant losing you all over again. 

It was another gamble.

But there was one thought he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried. Why on earth were you looking for a job? His mind reeled uncontrollably, he lost track of his surroundings, his body. Months before you broke up with him, you had taken on a part-time job—but that was different. That had been your choice, something temporary. 

This? This felt like something else entirely. 

Seungcheol had cut off all contact with you, so he had no idea about your family either. He never imagined that you had been cut off, this time completely. 

Even after years of not seeing your face, he could still read you perfectly. One glimpse, and he noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the slight off-color on your cheeks and lips. You were tired. Worried.

When he finally mustered the strength to move, he went back to the bar. And there you were—sitting in the same spot he had occupied moments before. 

Something happened. Something baffling. 

He felt his heart and mind split between the person he used to be and the person he was now. 

For a moment, it was as if time had folded in on itself, pulling him back to the first time he saw you sitting in the library all those years ago. He remembered the way he felt then—the quiet pull of intrigue and fascination, the way he used to watch you from a distance before he ever worked up the nerve to ask you out. 

You were the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. 

And God, he had missed you.

Every cell in his body screamed at him to move, to go near you. His fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to prove that you were real and indeed not a ghost. It was almost funny—how the world stopped the moment he saw you, yet in his mind, everything was happening at light speed. 

He felt angry at you for showing up in his life like nothing happened. He felt angry that with one look at you, his life came apart. 

And then, realization settled deep in his chest. 

If he let you walk away now, he would wonder about you every day. Again. And he refused to go through that a second time. 

So he took another leap of faith.

Present time 

“So?” 

“So, what?” you asked slowly as you tied the apron behind your back. 

Jeon Wonwoo was leaning on the countertop, elbows planted, phone in hand. “You spent weeks playing me for a fool,” he said with a sheepish smile—one that he didn’t quite hide all the way as he stood upright, rubbing the tip of his nose with his knuckle.

“Listen,” you begun with a light chuckle, eyes flickering around the room in case Seungcheol was nearby. “I was just curious, and-,” 

“I get why you did it,” he said, lifting a palm and shaking it dismissively. 

“Oh. Then why—”

“I think I am owed an apology,” Wonwoo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“I am sorry,” you said dumbly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. And that I… took advantage of that and snooped a bit.”

Wonwoo tilted his head back slightly, the grin growing on his face. “I don’t want a verbal apology.” 

You gaped at him. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like where this is going?” 

He pursed his lips—the same look he always had when he was toying with a cheeky idea. “One day I’m going to ask a favor from you. And that is how you’ll repent.” 

“That’s blackmail,” you pointed, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“No different from you playing dumb and ask me questions about your ex for weeks,” he rolled his eyes. “So?” 

“Are you being serious, Wonwoo?” 

“Dead serious.” 

You sighed, looking around one more time. The bar was already in open hours, but it was still early to have a lot of customers, to the exception of the ones who regularly showed up within the hour of opening. 

“Fine,” you gritted. 

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, returning to his task behind the bar. “I do forgive you,” he said. “But I will ask a favor from you. Soon.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, throwing your arms in the air. “I’m at your disposal, I guess.”

“It’s just something I need help with, no big deal,” he shrugged.

“Is it about… work?” You grabbed a dishcloth, pretending to clean the nearest cup.

Wonwoo tilted his head, considering his words. “Yes and no.” He chuckled lightly, but his gaze lingered a beat too long.

“I hate the suspense,” you said, trying to keep your voice flat.

“And I hate being lied to,” he shot back, though his smile was small, almost amused. “I’m keeping the suspense until I claim that favor.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, knowing full well you were pressing his buttons.

“So you’re not even going to deny it?” Wonwoo’s smirk stretched as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Would it make a difference?” You sighed, already regretting every choice that had led to this moment.

“Not really,” he admitted, tilting his head. “But I figured I’d give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Is it going to be like this now?”

“Blackmail is suddenly very acceptable now that I found you out,” he said sweetly, but the glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying this way too much.

“Wonwoo.” You shot him a warning look.

“Fine, fine.” He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “But you have to admit, this is a fascinating situation. The two of you, playing strangers while making eyes at each other when you think no one’s looking—”

“We are not making eyes at each other,” you snapped, a little too fast.

“Oh?” His grin widened. “Must I remind you how I found you two out?”

Your stomach twisted. You sent a quick glance around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Look, you wouldn’t understand—”

“Exactly why wouldn’t I understand?” His smirk faded, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the checkered floor. The real reason felt too raw to say aloud. You had spent weeks toeing around Seungcheol’s life without stepping directly into it, and Wonwoo—whether he realized it or not—had been your connection to the pieces of him you hadn’t been brave enough to face. You needed to know how broken he had been before you could allow yourself to be closer again.

“Because I hurt him too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I was scared to come back into his life. I was ashamed.”

Wonwoo studied you for a long moment before exhaling, his teasing demeanor softening. “Why did you come back?” he asked, like he was peeling away the last layer of the truth.

Your throat tightened. The answer had always been simple, but saying it out loud made it feel so much heavier. You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I never wanted to leave.”

His expression shifted completely, the guarded amusement replaced by something much quieter. “I get it,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand landed on your shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “Hey. Don’t worry,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “This doesn’t make me think badly of you.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Thank you,” you muttered, offering a small smile.

Wonwoo winked before stepping away, getting back to his task before opening hours. But something in the way he left made you uneasy. He wasn’t entirely done with this conversation.

And worse—something told you that whatever Wonwoo was holding back also had to do with Seungcheol. 

It was a slow day that day, only a handful of customers walked through the door, and the hours dragged on. But with the end of your shift approaching, you found yourself more relaxed than eager to leave. 

For once, the guys had behaved. No teasing, no snooping, almost like some rule had been put in place to avoid the subject. You suspected that Seungcheol had something to do with that.

Not that he had much time to show for it. He’d been busy—placing orders, making phone calls, handling payments, coordinating deliveries for the kitchen, and making sure the bar was stocked with everything it needed. And, most importantly, he had taken on the task of training the new hire, Chan.

Chan was in his first week. He was younger than you, bubbly, and had a good attitude. But he’d made one mistake on his very first day. Wonwoo, as a way to get his payback, had decided that Chan would shadow you in some of the complicated tasks, like how to operate the system, or the terminals. 

Having him as a shadow was fine. Except for one thing. 

“You’ll be shadowing her,” Wonwoo motioned to your direction. 

“Hi, there,” you said, offering a quick wave. Then you turned around, resuming to tending your tables. 

Chan barely hesitated before muttering under his breath, “Jesus. She’s fucking hot.” 

Wonwoo tensed up, coughing lightly. “Shut up,” he muttered, throwing a look over his shoulder. 

You thought of turning around and just shut the guy down. But unaware of the silent warning, Chan remained completely oblivious. Especially to the fact that his new boss, Seungcheol, was standing right behind him. 

Seungcheol’s jaw was tightly clasped, deciding to say nothing and looking away instead. Chan unfortunately, remained oblivious and exceptionally bad at hiding his attraction to you. 

And this shift was no different. Chan remained completely unbeknownst to the fact that he had walked straight into dangerous territory, and even more surprising still, he didn’t realize that Seungcheol had him in his sight.

The moment Chan started following you around the bar, Seungcheol just happened to stick around more. At first it wasn’t as evident, since he was normally in the bar doing inventory, paperwork, making calls, he practically lived here. But today, he was suddenly very hands-on. 

“Here, let me show you,” Seungcheol said, stepping in just as Chan was having a hard time learning how to use the shaker. Seungcheol took the shaker from his hands with a practiced ease, his presence instantly noticeable. “Watch carefully. You want to get the grip right, or you’ll make a mess.”

Chan nodded eagerly, completely missing the way Seungcheol’s gaze flickered toward you for a fraction of a second. You did not miss it.

Your stomach tightened, breath hitching slightly. You were sure you saw Wonwoo’s lips curve slightly, what solidified your shame was the gentle nudging of his elbow as you passed beside him. 

This battle continued throughout the shift. Whenever you were nearby, Seungcheol was there too—adjusting bottles, correcting a pour, explaining to Chan how things were done. At one point, you reached for a glass at the same time as Seungcheol, your fingers barely brushing his. A brief, fleeting contact, but enough for you to catch the smug look on his face. He didn’t smile, but there was something flashing across his features. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He just raised a brow in silent amusement, using his tongue to brush the smile that was beginning to form on his lips. 

And Chan? Completely unaware. It was almost as though he felt proud that it was the boss who was showing him the ropes. 

However the most perplexing thing was that Seungcheol made no obvious move to show Chan that you were his girlfriend. Years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Or he wouldn’t have hesitated to call you love or angel in front of everyone.

Seungcheol loved claiming what was his. So the fact that he was not doing so openly made you feel obfuscated. 

“He’s making a point,” Wonwoo said as he walked past you at the bar, muttering just loud enough for you to hear. 

You raised your gaze to meet his. “A point?” you asked dumbly. 

Wonwoo grinned, motioning with the tip of his nose at situation happening across the bar—Seungcheol was talking with Chan. The conversation happening so far away that it was very difficult for you to hear. 

“Oh, this is nothing,” you said, sighing heavily. 

Seungcheol spent the rest of the shift hovering. And it became almost funny to you. It wasn’t that obvious, but every time Chan made a move to get close to you, somehow Seungcheol found a way to intervene. 

Whenever you bent over to pull out something from the fridges, Seungcheol intercepted Chan’s line of sight smoothly. Or whenever you stood on your tiptoes to grab a bottle from the shelf, Seungcheol would call for Chan, asking a dumb favor like passing him a lime, or changing the song playing on the speakers. 

You were turning toward the liquor shelf, reaching for a bottle on the top rack when—

“Careful.” 

Seungcheol’s voice came from just behind you, making you freeze instantly in place. His arm was already extending past you, fingers curling around the bottle with ease. His chest pressed against your back and as he retrieved it, you swallowed hard, heart racing at the way his warmth wrapped around you. 

“I had it,” you muttered, turning around on your feet. 

Seungcheol had a smirk planted on his face. “Sure you did,” he said smoothly, his eyebrow quirking up slightly. “Just wanted to help.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your bottom lip to keep you from smiling at him. “Uh-huh.”

Seungcheol leaned towards you, and you instantly sucked in a breath. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

“Is that what you’re doing with Chan?” you countered, unable to step away, his whole frame was caging you in. 

Seungcheol tilted his head, arching his eyebrow. “I’m doing my job.” 

You had nothing to reply to that. Despite Seungcheol engaging in a petty rivalry against Chan, he was doing his job. 

Seungcheol noticed, a sly grin appearing on his face as he sent a glance across the bar. Chan was looking your way, dropping his gaze as soon as you locked eyes with him. “This guy,” Seungcheol hissed. 

Your face started to heat up. “Seungcheol,” you muttered as he motioned towards Chan. 

He turned back, an innocent look on his face. “What?” 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, blinking innocently at you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, just don’t.”

He grinned, slow and knowing. “I’m just implementing a strict focus during training,” he shrugged with ease. “Can’t have the new hire looking at my girlfriend on his first few days when he should be learning the ropes, right?” 

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Seungcheol.”

“Relax,” he chuckled, pushing off the counter. Then, with an absolutely infuriating wink, he added, “Just having some fun, baby,” he said quietly. And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you to wrestle with the fact that he was definitely enjoying this. 

And worse? So were you.

The usual end-of-shift routine was unfolding. Seungcheol had actually finished his tasks more than an hour ago, and he could’ve gone home already—if he wasn’t your boyfriend. And your ride home.

Somehow, nobody had thought to tell Chan that you were with the boss. And it was too embarrassing for you to just come out and say it. Besides, a small part of you enjoyed the primal reaction Seungcheol had every time Chan so much as looked your way.

So, instead of leaving, Seungcheol kept himself entertained at the pool table, practicing his shots while sipping a beer. Every now and then, he sent glances around the bar. Casual glances, but noticeable—making sure Chan was keeping his comments about you to himself and his eyes on the task at hand.

You were rinsing out a glass when Wonwoo returned from taking out the trash. “Alright, boss,” Wonwoo called. “We’re clocking out!”

Seungcheol was bent over the pool table, eyes locked on the white cue ball just ahead of his stick. He nodded once before executing a smooth shot. “Alright. See you tomorrow, guys. Thanks.”

The door swung shut behind them, leaving just the two of you in the bar. You set down the last piece of glassware to dry on the rack. Washing your hands, you sneaked a glance at Seungcheol, who was biting his bottom lip as he lined up another shot.

“What?” he asked, sensing your scrutiny.

“Nothing,” you huffed, smirking as he looked far too smug about it.

Seungcheol laughed under breath. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re busy when you don’t want to answer me.”

You exhaled, rolling your eyes before walking around the bar and grabbing a cue stick from the rack on the wall.

Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, gathering the pool balls inside the triangle again.

“No,” you replied simply. “But why didn’t you tell Chan about us?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “The topic never came up.”

“You could’ve told him instead of stalking him like he was about to steal your food,” you teased, cackling at your own description.

“It was better this way,” he said easily. “Doesn’t mess with the workflow, and he keeps his cheerful attitude.” He paused, his gaze narrowing just a little. “He didn’t make you uncomfortable, did he?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Please. He barely even spoke two words to me. He’s harmless. While you on the other hand?” you huffed, leaning over the table to line up the first shot. “You glared at him all night.” 

Seungcheol smirked, leaning against his cue stick. “I don’t glare.” 

You made your shot, sinking a striped ball into the corner pocket. “Oh, you definitely do.” 

He hummed, pursing his lips. Then he step closer as you moved to take your next shot. “I was just making sure my bartender didn’t get distracted.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “By what?”

“By some new guy staring at her.” 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “That is a non-issue,” you pointed, refocusing on your shot. “I could’ve told him I’m with someone, call it a day.” 

Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, he ran his fingers down the line of your back just as you were bending down, and placed his palm firmly on the small of your back. 

You hit the cue ball a little too hard, sending it bouncing off the rails without hitting anything else. 

Seungcheol chuckled. “Someone?” he inquired, arching one perfect eyebrow. “Not me?” 

You deadpanned at him. “You know what I mean,” you huffed. 

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “And what do you mean?” he pursed his lips. “Would you have told Chan that you’re with someone instead of just telling him you’re with me?”

Your brows furrowed, straightening up. “What kind of question is that?” 

“A valid one,” he smirked, taking his shot, sinking two balls in quick succession. “You know what, maybe telling him your boyfriend is also his boss would destroy that confidence he has.”

You laughed at him with reluctance. “You’re being kind of a prick.”

Seungcheol didn’t deny it, laughing with you. “Maybe.” He circled the table, standing just behind you now. His voice dipped lower, teasing. “But I think you like it.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back slightly to look at him. “Like what?”

He leaned in just a fraction, enough for his breath to brush your ear. “That you drive me crazy.”

Your throat went dry, breath hitching almost audibly. 

Seungcheol pulled back, his smirk lazy and triumphant. “Your turn.”

You exhaled, gripping your cue stick a little tighter. “Take it back. You’re being a huge prick.”

Seungcheol smirked, stepping back just enough to let you focus, but you could still feel his presence lingering close. Dangerously close. “You haven’t denied it.” 

Rolling your eyes, you lined up your shot, determined not to let him win. You hit the cue ball, this time sinking a solid with a satisfying thump. You straightened and turned to him smugly. “The answer is no. I don’t like that my boyfriend gets all jealous and possessive as soon as he sees other men glance my way.” 

Seungcheol hummed, nodding slowly. “Maybe I should try a little harder, then.” 

You shot him a look. “You should try harder… at the actual game.”

He laughed under his breath. “Alright. Let’s make it interesting, then.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“A bet.” He leaned on his cue stick, watching you closely. “If I win, you owe me something.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds like trouble.”

Seungcheol grinned, his heart palpitating with eagerness. “Absolutely.”

You considered for a moment. Winning against Seungcheol was always satisfying, but the path to losing against him… well, that was dangerous territory. “Fine,” you conceded. “But if I win, you owe me something.”

Seungcheol’s eyes glinted with interest. “Deal. What do you want?”

You pretended to think. “An entire week without you messing with me at work.”

He gaped at you for a second. “A whole week?” he huffed, running a hand through his blond hair. “That’s nearly impossible.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. And if I win…” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You have to go on a real date with me.”

You blinked, thrown off. “A… real date?” you asked dumbly. 

He shrugged. “You know. Something other than stolen moments between shifts or late-night car rides home.”

“That’s...” you arched one eyebrow. 

Seungcheol smirked. “What? Afraid you’ll lose to me?” he challenged. 

You huffed. “No. Afraid you’ll cheat.”

“I would never,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Babe, we live together,” you emphasized. 

“And? We haven’t gone out on a date in…” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Two years and a half,” he said.  

Your heart clenched, realizing he was right. “Fine. Let’s play.”

Seungcheol stepped aside, motioning toward the table. “Ladies first.”

You lined up your shot, focusing harder than before. If you were going to beat Seungcheol, you needed to be unstoppable. 

But just as you were about to strike, Seungcheol muttered, “You know, I really should’ve told Chan.”

You hesitated, glancing up. “And what exactly would you have told him?” 

“That you’re already spoken for.”

Your grip on the cue stick tightened. “Spoken for? That’s one way to put it.”

He nodded, looking way too pleased with himself. “Now I’m beginning to think it would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your shot. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. With me. Playing pool. After hours.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at his words and finally took the shot. The ball sank into the pocket, and you straightened, feigning confidence. “And?” 

Seungcheol chuckled, moving to take his turn. “Oh, baby.” He leaned over the table, eyes locking onto yours just before he took his shot. “You’re terrible at hiding your emotions from your face.”

“I’m not,” you rolled your eyes, again.

“You have a tell,” he said smugly. “You always have.”

You hated that he was right. 

And you really hated that you were probably about to lose this game. And not because of a lack of skill, but because Seungcheol was too distracting for you. 

The way his sleek black T-shirt clung to his body, the posture he adopted as he leaned on his cue, the way his dark jeans hugged his ass. Not only that, but his fucking attitude was driving you crazy. 

“So what?” You placed a hand on the table before leaning over. “It’s not like we’re playing poker.” 

“If you’re keeping us a secret, you might want to work on that poker face,” he mused, tone smug. It was then when you should’ve realized his game. 

You scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything, Seungcheol,” you said, not fully thinking through how that might sound. Your tone resounded across the table, high and swollen in condescension. 

Seungcheol’s smirk deepened, just as you took your shot, only to miss horribly. “Not just bad at hiding your emotions, but bad at pool too.” 

He didn’t even give you time to recover. Seungcheol stepped up, leaning over the table to take the final shot, sinking the last ball into the bag. Game over. 

Seungcheol straightened, casually planting the cue stick in front of him, both hands gripping the top as he leaned on it slightly. You tossed the cue stick on the table while he just cocked his head to one side, then he smirked. 

“Prick,” you gritted, trying not to smile as his smirk widened on his perfect face. You crossed your arms over your chest, going around the table to meet up with him. “You know I wouldn’t hide our relationship.”

Seungcheol turned around, putting the cue stick away back on the rack. “What made you hesitate, then?” 

You gaped at him, having nothing to say. You thought about what you told Wonwoo. About feeling ashamed, where did that shame extend to? Did it go so far as to make you feel unworthy of Seungcheol’s forgiveness? 

“Mmn?” he hummed, taking one slow step towards you, effectively eliminating the space between you. 

“Cheol,” you breathed, bringing a hand on his chest to stop him from pinning your body back against the table behind you. 

“What’s happening, baby?” he cooed softly. 

You blinked. He wasn’t smirking anymore—just watching you carefully, waiting. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t think telling Chan about us would matter. So I didn’t do it.” 

Seungcheol’s lips twitched into something small and satisfied as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, helping you sit on the rim of the pool table. You were now face to face with him, his eyes scanning the features of your face. 

“I think you enjoy it,” he muttered, his voice low and raspy. 

“Enjoy what?” you asked meekly, feeling small as his body practically still towered over yours. 

Seungcheol dipped his head to meet your lips, except that he didn’t kiss you right away. “Seeing me get jealous,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours in the process. 

“Yeah. A little,” you replied in the same manner, a light smirk spreading across your lips. 

“You know, that’s a dangerous thing to admit.”

Your smirk deepened. “Why? Gonna punish me for it?”

He smiled, finally pressing his lips against your own. The kiss was quiet, quick, but you could feel the immediate need for more. You hummed into the kiss, slipping a hand on his nape to pull him closer—to feel the warmth radiating from him, the mixture of his jealousy and the playfulness of it all. 

The world outside was quiet. And something about this moment felt different, but also so familiar. It was as though you both were young again—sharing rushed kisses in the quiet of the library, or making out in secret places. 

But the difference was that you didn’t have the need to hide anymore, at least not entirely. Despite you and him being back together fully, there was no fear of you getting caught or not. 

Seungcheol pulled back, but just slightly. His breath fanned gently over your lips as he smiled. “You didn’t tell Chan we’re together because you knew it would make me jealous?” he asked, the tone sounded genuine, but tiny. 

You made a motion to shake your head. “I don’t know,” you replied, your tone low, almost like a breath. “I just didn’t.” 

“Mmn,” he nodded, pressing his lips to yours. Then with a triumphant air, he whispered. “I win.”

You had forgotten that you were playing pool—that you were playing a game at all. You succumbed to the delicious taste of his kisses, pressing his lips to yours lightly at first. Then his full lips slowly locked with yours, creating a wet smacking sound as he pulled back. 

“You might’ve won, but I—” you touched the tip of his nose with your fingertip. “—never lose,” you cooed, smiling sweetly at him.

Seungcheol pulled back, biting his lip as he looked at you like he wanted to say some quippy retort. But instead, he switched his hands from your waist to your thighs, pushing them apart and grabbing them so he could scoot you closer to the edge of the pool table.

“You know what?” he sighed with a smile, an eyebrow quirking up. “Maybe you do need a little punishment.”

You smiled, humming in delight. Seungcheol slipped his fingers beneath your chin, holding you gently before giving you a featherlight kiss. “But I really want to fuck you right now.”

Your skin came alight with excitement, making you shudder slightly. A sigh slipped past your lips involuntarily. “What’s stopping you?” you whispered, almost afraid you would break the quiet ambience of the bar—the low humming of the fridges, the buzzing of the neon lights that you’d said you would turn off, but forgot.

His hand left your chin, moving to thread your hair through his fingers. “You tell me, angel,” he replied in kind, an amused grin on his face, he enjoyed toying with you.

He softly pulled on your hair, leaning your head back as his lips trailed down your jawline. Your mouth parted, silently moaning as his lips touched the spot below your earlobe. “Cheol,” you muttered.

“Mmn?” he hummed at the sound of his name leaving your lips. “Do you want it, baby?” he asked, his low and raspy tone pouring into your ears.

You wanted to answer, but words just ceased to exist. All you wanted—all you needed—was his hands on you. And Seungcheol knew it all too well.

His hands travelled from your parted thighs to your butt, squeezing lightly as he sighed through his nose. As he did this, his lips kept trailing down your neck with light kisses, each one more delicious than the last. You felt his smile as he reached the dip of your clavicle, knowing that it would elicit a louder moan from you.

“Here?” you squeaked. You grabbed onto his shirt, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he started to push you back onto the table.

“Yes, here,” he answered, the upper half of his body hovering over you as you lay back on the table. Seungcheol smiled, “Unless you want to wait until we get home.”

“Uuuh,” you closed your eyes. Seungcheol slipped a hand beneath your white tank-top, his touch warm and confident as he hiked the fabric up your tummy. His fingers grazed the line of your bra, making you swallow hard.

“Maybe I should make you wait,” he whispered, close to your lips so you felt his breath on you. “That’s the punishment you deserve.”

“No, please,” you whined, linking your arms around his shoulders. Pulling him closer, he crashed his lips with your own, kissing you harder, fervently. Seungcheol chuckled into the kiss, sending a shiver that nearly vibrated in your bones.

“I need to hear it, baby,” he murmured, creating smacking noises with each ardent kiss he propped on your lips.

His hand moved from the center of your belly to the underside of your torso, and slid under your back to command it to arch for him. You deepened the kiss, outlining his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue before pulling back. “Take me here,” you whispered sultrily, a rush of adrenaline going through you.

Seungcheol paused for a brief moment, making you think that he would follow his plan of punishing you, to make you wait. But he pulled back, a sweet grin painting his beautiful face as he looked at you. Then it hit you—all of the moments shared in the past with him, moments like this, moments that felt like breaking the rules, crossing the line.

But you felt safe, all the times he touched you, or kissed you, you felt like it just made sense.

“Are you ready?” he asked playfully, the corner of his lip curving up slightly when all you could muster was a nod. After getting your silent permission, his hand inched upwards on your back, unclasping your bra with efficiency.

The next moments happened hurriedly. Seungcheol started discarding the pieces of your clothing one by one, kissing your lips like a hungry man, barely stopping for air. You mumbled out some incoherencies about wanting him right then and there, but you were too caught up to actually make sense of your own words.

Seungcheol giggled into your lips, the sound only making your blood dance beneath your skin. He was getting rid of your bra, after he had gotten your tank-top out of the way. The bite of the cool surface beneath you made your skin prickle.

But he just sighed at the sight of you, dipping his head to kiss your collarbones again. His wet lips made a trail of light kisses, from the nook of your collarbones down your chest. He kissed your breasts gently, getting soft moans out of you as each kiss felt even sweeter.

You grabbed his blond hair with one hand, keeping your other hand flatly on his lean back. “Cheol,” you sighed.

Your eyes fell out of focus. The sight directly in front of you was stark compared to the stars and colors you saw every time you closed your eyes. Hanging from the ceiling was a lamp, forming a warm yellow pool around you. It hurt to stare at, but Seungcheol was a far better sight.

He pulled back, standing up right. A sigh escaped him as he started taking your sneakers off without looking away from you. You were half naked, torso bare, your hair forming a halo around your head.

Your sneakers fell on the floor, one after the other and you got ready to push your hips up for him just as his hands approached the waistband of your jeans. “Hurry up,” you mumbled, a playful giggle bubbling in your mouth.

Seungcheol clicked his tongue, slapping a hand down your hip before continuing to undo the button and zipper of your jeans. “Patience, baby.”

Then painfully slow, he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your jeans, grabbing your panties too and then started pulling them both down. You planted your feet on the edge of the table just to push your hips up for him to slide down your jeans and panties altogether, letting them drop to the white and black checkered floor.

You sat up on the table, going to grab for the black t-shirt he wore to tear it off him. But Seungcheol caught both of your hands linking his fingers with yours to keep you from undressing him.

You whined pathetically, to which Seungcheol only replied with a joyful giggle. He closed the gap between his lips and yours, kissing you swiftly.

“Behave.” He said, the word coming out of him raspy. “Behave or this ends now.”

A whiny exhale escaped your lips—a complaint that you couldn’t form properly in time. You knew that Seungcheol was a man that loved doting on you, but you also knew that he could keep his word, specially if it meant to punish you.

He loved it—seeing you all whiny, pouty, and pathetic for him. He loved knowing everything that made you subdue to him, every caress, every kiss, and where to place them.

Without any other word, Seungcheol sank down to his knees, his hands leaving yours to grope around the inside of your thighs, pushing them gently. You leaned back on your hands, parting your legs for him.

Your heart palpitated frantically at the sight of him, his hands keeping your thighs spread for him to bury his face between them. He started slowly, making his way with gentle kisses that he littered all over your inner thighs.

“Easy,” he reminded you, a twinge of playfulness in his eyes as he blinked up to your face. His eyebrow twitched up slightly before he dipped his head to run his tongue on your skin.

The feeling of his tongue so close to your pussy sent you in a frenzy, quickly making you forget where you were. You moaned loudly—lewdly, gearing up for the sweet pleasure that would ensue.

You heard a soft gasp—a smile that painted his lips, right before he licked a fat stripe between your folds. The moment you felt his tongue slide on your wet pussy, you instantly dissolved into pleasure. He started teasing you, licking you up and down, drinking you in, lapping at your wetness eagerly.

Slipping a hand on the back of his head, you tangled your fingers around the soft strands of his blond hair. His tongue reached the top of your mound, stopping before trapping your clit between his soft lips. You moaned louder, indicating to him to continue, but soon the bar filled with the sound of your moans.

Seungcheol sucked lightly at your clit, pressing his tongue on the swollen bud before he started moving it from side to side, very softly, gently, as though he were fearful he might overstim you quickly. But it only made your pleasure higher, making the rest of your body go numb, leaving your mind blank.

You nearly froze in place—sitting down at the edge of the pool table, one hand steading you, the other holding his hair. You tried to hold the angle of your hips for him, for his mouth pleasuring your pussy. His tongue kept the side to side motion on your clit, only picking up the pace but slowly, taking his time with you.

Your moans were soft, airy, and he responded in low hums as though telling you how much he loved your taste, the way you sounded. You imagined then how the scene would look from afar—Seungcheol on his knees, pleasuring you as you sat wholly naked on the pool table of his bar.

“Fuck,” you gritted, closing your eyes as you tilted your head back in utter, sweet pleasure. “Cheol, don’t stop. Please, daddy,” you mewled, not caring how pathetic you sounded—because you were close.

And he knew, he knew that you were toying on the line of your release. But he didn’t switch the pace of his tongue, he didn’t stop sucking lightly at your clit. He only kept going, and going, and going.

It was the steadiness of his tongue on you that finally pushed you to the edge. Your orgasm was sweet, like gentle waves washing over you. And your moans were just as sweet, crying out his name as you came apart on the table, taking deep breaths as your climax reached higher, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

You relished the waves of pleasure consuming you, the way they gently subsided, leaving your body languid. You thread back his blond hair with your fingers, just as he gave your pussy a couple of kisses, giggling playfully as you twitched at the feeling.

The next moments happened in silence, fluidly. Seungcheol slipped a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back to plant a kiss on your lips. You parted your mouth for him, just as he deepened the kiss, moving on your lips expertly. He hummed as your fingers searched at his belt blindly, unfastening with one swift move.

Just as you were undoing his pants, Seungcheol broke the kiss, crossing his arms down his belly to grab at the hem of his t-shirt, taking it off in one motion. He kissed you again, as if he would die if one more second passed without his lips on yours.

His breath hitched audibly when your hand reached beneath his boxers, your fingers circling around his girthy cock. You shuddered in anticipation when you felt how hard he was for you, humming into his lips as your hand rolled over the tip of his cock, feeling the wetness of the precum gathering in his slit.

“Hurry,” he echoed, making you giggle lightly.

 You pushed his boxers down, getting his cock out. Seungcheol leaned forward, his forehead bumping with yours lightly as you started rolling your hand on his hard cock. He swallowed hard, grunting a little as you scooted closer to him, guiding him to your pussy.

“Baby,” he whispered, a twinge of desperation echoing in his voice.

You whimpered slightly at the feeling of his cockhead nudging in your entrance as you pushed him with your fingers, every inch stretching your walls deliciously. “Seungcheol,” you mewled.

He placed his hands on your ass, holding you in place as he sank inside your walls, exhaling deeply. “I love you,” he mumbled. It sounded as though he’d been dying to tell you those words, as though he’d been dying to feel your warmth.

“I love you,” you replied, your tone merely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him inside you, stuffing you full. 

His hand found your cheek, the pad of his thumb slipping beneath your jawline to steal a kiss from your lips. Seungcheol started moving his hips with shallow thrusts, as though he wanted to pair his thrusts with the slow movement of his lips on yours.

But then it soon changed—with a raspy groan, the pacing of his hips took a greedy speed. His hand left your cheek, quickly returning to your ass, where he held you as his hips started snapping against you faster.

You gasped, a hand found his shoulder while the other was flatly planted behind you on the table. You parted your legs more for him, leaning back slightly so he could take all of you—take whatever he wanted. You loved seeing him like this—the carnal desire overpowering him, making him nearly feral.

His jaw was tightly clasped, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head back slightly. “Fuck,” he gritted.

You knew something had shifted in the air. What was once flooded with just your moans alone was now accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin, low quiet groans from Seungcheol, and the squelching sounds of your dripping pussy.

The calculated rutting of his hips quickly took over you, and for a moment, you wanted to get lost in him. Seungcheol was utterly glorious, covered in a sheen layer of sweat from his forehead to his collarbones, a lazy smile spreading on his lips as he noticed the glazed look in your eyes.

You slowly lay back on the table, until your back was pressed on the cold surface. Seungcheol quickly grabbed your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders without slowing down the careless rutting of his hips.

The feeling became addictive, Seungcheol knew exactly what to do to bring you closer to the edge. He placed his hands on the table, at the height of your waist, pressing your thighs to your chest as he bent over. The rutting of his hips became deeper, making you feel the length of his cock, the tip hitting one spot that made you crazy. Quickly your moans became airy, until they were mere gasps.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I need you to come, baby,” he urged with a low tone.

“I’m there,” you sighed. “Fuck, daddy. Please come with me,” you said with an embarrassingly honeyed tone.

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, a low grunt coming from him that told you just how close he was too. “Want me to cum inside you, baby?” he asked with fitful breaths.

You let out a whiny sound through your lips. “Yes, yes, please,” you gasped, succumbing to another sweet wave of pleasure. And then, before you could even think your words through— “Put a baby in me, Cheol.”

He gasped, his gaze snapping to your face. “You want that?” he asked breathlessly, his hips buckling against you. “Want me to make you a mommy?” 

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so sweet that you could barely talk. You nodded, blinking the tears away from your eyes to see his face.

His mouth parted, a silent moan escaping before the thrusts of his hips went languid. “God, angel,” he groaned helplessly. “I'm cumming,” he whispered, right before the features of his face relaxed, his eyelids fluttered shut, a vein on his forehead popping out as he came with you.  

Seungcheol groaned loudly, and you could tell by the depth of his thrust that he was cumming a lot inside you, filling you up. The thought drove you crazy, it nearly made you ask him to go again—to stop only when you were indeed pregnant. A shudder invaded you, making you whimper slightly.

He gave you a couple of sloppy thrusts, easing your legs gently from his shoulders to let you rest. You were both breathing hard, your ears buzzing as you tried to steady yourself. But the realization of what you said started sinking in. Seungcheol sighed, an eyebrow twitching up as he gave you an inquisitive look.

“What?” you whispered innocently, biting your bottom lip to avoid smiling.

“You’re cruel,” he pouted, standing up right so he could pull out of you, placing a hand on your belly as he pulled his hips from yours.

You shuddered at the loss. “Why?” you blinked up at him.

“Because—,” he giggled meekly, avoiding your eyes. “—you know what saying that does to me.”

You responded with a giggle of your own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, sitting up on the table as he handed you your panties. 

But then—a loud, metallic snap. The shutting of the back door resounded from the back to where you and Seungcheol were. You winced in alarm, a hand quickly going to grab your tank-top.

Seungcheol quickly backed away, his hands steading you before you could make another move. “Stay there,” he cautioned, tucking himself back in his pants. His demeanor was so final that you had no choice but to ground yourself there.

He hurried to the hall that led to the back door, not bothering to put his t-shirt on. You sat on the edge of the table, with nothing to hear but the loud drumming of your heart. But he came back just as quickly, hand ruffling his hair, and a confused look on his face.

“It was Chan. Apparently he forgot his keys,” Seungcheol explained, walking up to where you sat still.

“Oh,” you uttered, frowning in confusion. “Did he…”

“Hear us? See us?” Seungcheol sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “Probably,” he cocked his head to one side then the other. “Most definitely.”

Your gaze fell out of focus. “How long had he been here?” You asked dumbly, but then, realization hit. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You knew he was here.”

Seungcheol’s gaze met yours. “I didn’t know for sure,” he shrugged, hands still parked on his hips. “I heard noises. Only a few of us have the key to get in and I know Wonwoo closed the door on his way out.”

Your mouth fell open. “So he never left?”

He nodded, blinking slowly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he said, placing himself between your legs again, hands finding the border of the table.

You gave him an incredulous look. “You wanted him to watch,” you said, wanting to muster up the slightest bit of annoyance at him. But his grin made it difficult for you to make any more accusatory remarks at him.

“I didn’t expect him to stay for so long,” he said, starting to chuckle at your expression in utter disbelief. “I thought he would just walk out but eventually I forgot,” he said, his eyes turning into half moons as he continued laughing.

You pushed one of his shoulders. “You forgot?!” you exclaimed, aghast.

“Baby, I don’t think you know,” he said, his tone rising as though he had discovered something.

You rolled your eyes. “Know what, exactly?”

He inched closer to you, taking advantage of your perplexion to grab your face with his hands. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered, his tone gruff and low. “You don’t know how good you sound, how good you feel,” he sighed, his eyes coasting over the features of your face. “All I could focus on was you.”

“So you’re telling me that you just forgot that Chan was just down the hall?” you asked in utter confusion.

“Eh—,” he laughed airily, “kinda?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re unbelievable, Choi Seungcheol,” you accused.

Seungcheol smiled at you giddily, bringing a hand to the back of your head to prop a light kiss on your lips. He let out a light sigh, giving you another small kiss. “Let’s go home.”

Your heart fluttered at the sound of those words, a swarm of butterflies dancing crazily inside your stomach. “Okay,” you whispered.

Instead of moving, Seungcheol stayed there, with his forehead pressed against yours. “You owe me a date,” he muttered.

“I do,” you replied in kind, pressing your lips slowly against his.

“How about tomorrow morning?” he asked, laughing lightly at his own urgency.

“You got it, boss,” you said, pulling back to see that smile painting his face. 

And for a moment, it was as though you had never left. Or at least that was how that fleeting moment felt.

The next day, morning light filtered through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the floor. The faint scent of Seungcheol’s deodorant lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of your shared bedroom. He had just finished showering after a workout at the gym downstairs, just as he always did every morning.

You were getting ready for your date—a quiet breakfast at a place of his choosing. He’d assured you that you’d like it. There was still some time before you had to leave, so you busied yourself with organizing your stuff—the small collection of your belongings you had brought into his apartment.

Right now, you were meant to be figuring out where to put your socks. You’d forgotten about them, still tucked away in your suitcase. After a moment of procrastination, you picked one of the drawers and started placing them inside, separated from Seungcheol’s.

“Baby,” he called from down the hallway. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“Mm, yeah. Okay,” you agreed shortly.

It was impossible to ignore the looming feeling that it was odd to be living with Seungcheol. After so many times of wishing to go back to him, you were finally cementing something together.

You opened the first drawer, making space to transfer the clothes from your assigned drawer, carefully arranging his in the process. 

That was until your knuckles brushed against—a velvet, square box buried beneath a apile of socks and underwear. At first, you thought to move it aside, to tuck it into a more secure corner of the drawer. But as your fingers curled around the soft fabric, you didn’t really think about what you were holding. Instinctively, you lifted the box, intending to open it. 

Then, realization hit. 

A sharp breath lodged into your throat, and your hand snapped away from the lid, flying instead to your mouth to stifle an abrupt, overwhelming rush of emotion. A cold shudder ran through your body, weakening your knees, forcing you to stumble back and drop on the edge of the bed. 

“Baby?” Seungcheol’s voice drifted down the hall. “What’s wro–,”

But he stopped. Standing in the doorway, his eyes locked onto the small box in your hand. His expression didn’t shift, but the air in the bedroom grew thick and impossibly heavy. 

Without a word, he took three steps forward, sinking to his knees in front of you. 

“What’s this?” you asked, swallowing your fear, forcing yourself to meet his face.

Seungcheol didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes flickered between your face and the box, reading every emotion weighing down across your features. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely above a whisper. 

“Did you open it?” 

You shook your head. But the weight of the moment pressed down on you, crushing, suffocating. His reaction alone told you everything you needed to know. You knew this box. It resembled the ones he had given you before on anniversary dates or on your birthday. This one was slightly different. The ones before were small, elegant, wrapped in significance. This one was more deliberate. More final. 

“Baby, look at me,” he murmured. A warm hand cupped your face, and you choked on a sob at both the tenderness of his touch and the slow, painful realization of what lay inside that box. 

For the first time, Seungcheol seemed at a loss for words. You could see the war harboring inside him, the regret, the hesitation, the fear. But his first instinct wasn’t to come up with explanations. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, his hands cupping your face again to ground you, steadying you. 

You sucked in a shaky breath. “Seungcheol, what’s inside it?” 

Seungcheol’s expression softened, his head tilting to one side when he saw your eyes begin to brim with big tears. “I need you to know something first,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “When I bought this… I never imagined we wouldn’t be together.”

His fingers curled around the box, as though he could somehow protect you both from the truth inside it. As though he wanted to protect you from the pain he went through. 

“What is inside it?” you pressed again, unable to bring your voice any higher. 

He exhaled sharply, resigned. He locked his gaze to yours, and you slowly got to see how in your eyes he found strength, his breath steadying. His lips parted, but he didn’t need to speak. The answer was already hanging in the air between you. 

“Is it a ring?” Your body trembled as a sob tore through you, pain uncoiling in your chest, sharp and almost unbearable. “Please, Seungcheol, if it’s a ring—,”

“Yes,” he replied with a gentle tone, but you could feel the weight of the grief that he tried to keep away. “It’s a ring,” he admitted, watching you, reading every flinch, every breath. He took in all the pain that you showed. “It was meant to be yours.”

Your throat tightened painfully. “When?” the question left your lips before you could stop it, as though knowing the exact moment would somehow soften the burden. 

Seungcheol let out a tiny, soft breath through his nose, as though composing himself too before facing the shock that his next words would bring you: “For your twenty fourth birthday.”

Your face twisted as you brought a hand to cover your mouth again, a painful sob tearing through you, ripping through the quiet grief looming in the room. Just days before your twenty-fourth birthday, you had left him. That night, you spent your birthday in a different country, alone.  

“Baby, please, listen to me,” he muttered in a raw voice. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he reached to grab your hands. “Everything happened the way it did for a reason. It took me a long time to accept that.”

You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. The ache in your chest spread through your entire body, making your head pulse. Tears burned as they slipped down your cheeks. 

“But we’re here now,” he continued, his voice steadying even as his hand left yours and found your cheek again. “And we’re moving on. I wish things had been different for us, but we weren’t ready.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked in a tiny tone. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you knew that if you did, the expression on his face would only shatter you completely. 

His breath hitched as he suppressed a sob. “Because I couldn’t let that be the reason you stayed. I couldn’t do that to you,” his tone was shaky, and by the sound of it you knew that he was crying.

His words landed like a punch to the gut. You turned to him then, and the sight nearly broke you. His dark eyes were glassy, fearful. But even through his own pain, his first instinct was to comfort you—to hold you together. That was Seungcheol. Always looking out for everybody else before tending to his own wounds. 

“All the time we lost….” You whispered, your throat tightening. “I could’ve stayed. We could’ve—,”

The words caught, breaking apart before you could even finish. Your mind spun, flashing through every possibility. Every what if. If he had proposed, you would’ve said yes. No hesitation. No doubt. Right now, you would be married. Living a different life. No sleepless nights. No endless aching. No running away, no trying—and failing—to forget him. 

His fingers curled around yours and the velvet box, gripping it like it was the last piece of a life you had both left behind. 

“But we weren’t ready,” he said, his voice was quiet, but firm, steady even as his own emotions still warred inside him. “I didn’t want to keep you here. I wanted you to keep going. To chase your dreams.”

“And what about what I wanted?” Your voice cracked as the question left you. Your mind was fogged under the pain you were carrying for years. It reverted you back to all of the times you said this to him, but now—now it felt like the first time you truly wanted an answer from him. 

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in a hard line. He was hurting, too. You could see it in the way he kept his breathing controlled, but deep, like that would dissolve the pain you were also feeling inside your chest. 

“Baby,” he whispered, the word soft in his lips, pleading. “We can’t keep letting this be a problem.” 

He was right. You knew he was right. But you were stubborn.

“I can’t be here right now–,” you mumbled, wiping your tears with the back of your hand quite harshly. You pushed yourself up from the bed, making him stand abruptly too, his eyes widening. You knew that look. “I need to think. I need some fresh air.”

His stomach twisted painfully when you motioned to the door. “Wait–,”

“I’ll be back, I just...” Your lip quivered, and your tone thickened as the tears kept coming: “This is too much for me. I just need to be alone for a moment.”

Seungcheol stood rigid, watching as you hurried out. The sound of the front door snapping shut sent a shudder through him. And then—everything came flooding back. The feeling that had wrecked him when you left years ago. The pain. The abandonment. The heartbreak. He had sworn he would never feel that again. 

But there he was. Breathing hard because the pain made him incapable of doing anything else.

You walked out. You left again.

“Wait,” he muttered, his instincts taking over. In a second, he was making his way towards the front door, and then the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears as he hit the button once, then twice— 

“Come on,” he gritted through his teeth. “Come on!” His palm slammed against the button until the doors finally parted to him. 

The moment he stepped outside of the building, his world spun wildly. The air felt think, suffocating. His heart stuttering like crazy, he felt dizzy. 

Where did you go?

His hand snapped to his pockets, no phone. His stomach dropping when he realized that you hadn’t taken yours either. “Fuck. Fuck!” the words escaped him in a frantic breath as he shoved his hands through his hair. Think, Seungcheol. Calm down.

You could’ve gone to the park, he reasoned. Without another thought, he hurried off, crossing the street without a care. His feet pounded against the pavement as he sprinted in direction to the park, cutting through the people strolling down the sidewalk. His chest burned, his mind raced. 

Frantically, he scanned the park, weaving through the crowd, searching through the sea of faces. 

And then, his heart clenched. A weight lifted from his heart so abruptly it almost made his mind spin again. 

There you were. 

Sitting on a swing, head leaned to the side, staring at the ground. Your fingers brushed under your eyes, wiping away your tears swiftly. The slight sway of the swing, the way your shoulders curled inward—it was all so painfully familiar. 

For years, Seungcheol had believed that he had taken the hardest blow. He was the one who stayed. He had to rebuild on the ashes of what he had lost when you left him. While you—you walked away. He had convinced himself that you had suffered less. 

But now, he saw it. 

The weight of your dreams slipping through your fingers. You raised your gaze when a small child ran across the sandbox, releasing a cry of joy as his mom chased after him. You let your gaze fall to your lap again. 

Guilt churned inside him. 

Slowly, Seungcheol approached, each step forcing him to steady his heart. When your eyes finally found him, they softened at the sight of him as he finished approaching you and sat on the swing next to yours.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol muttered, swallowing a lump of anxiety in his throat. “I know you said you just needed air but... I had to make sure.”

You nodded, sniffing. “I get it,” you whispered shakily. “That’s okay, I was heading back anyways.” You shrugged, it was a small gesture. A tell.

And Seungcheol caught that. “Do you need more time?” he asked, releasing a sigh, as if the weight of all his past fears had made a fool of him again. “I can go back inside. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Okay,” you murmured, rubbing the back of your hand to wipe your tears, still looking at your shoes. “I’ll be there in a moment.” 

“Okay,” he echoed softly, slowly rising from the swing. But just as his fingers slipped from the cold metal chain, yours caught his hand—your soft smaller fingers curling around his, stopping him in his tracks. 

He turned back, encountering the sight of your teary eyes again. His gut twisted. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “Stay. Please?” Your gaze dropped for a moment. “I’m sorry. I panicked,” you released a shaky breath, searching for words. “Can we… talk about this?” 

The knot in his throat loosened, relief rushing through him. “Of course.”

You were still sitting on the swing, so he knelt in the sand before you, leveling himself with your gaze. His heart clenched at the sight of you—rosy cheeks, swollen lips, dark lashes clumped together from the tears you have shed. 

Seungcheol didn’t know where to start. This was a mess, and deep down, he had known something like this would happen the moment you walked back into his life. 

“Seungcheol,” you finally started, your voice quiet, but fragile, “why didn’t you tell me you had a ring?” 

The question was one that you had asked before. But it still made his chest tighten. 

“When I broke up with you, you could’ve told me,” you took in a big breath, trying to steady yourself.

Your hand was still gripping his, so he simply shifted, threading his fingers with yours. “I didn’t want to hold you back,” he admitted. “If I had told you I had was planning to propose, you would’ve stayed. And your plans, your dreams… I wanted you to have the chance to fulfill them.”

Your face crumpled. Eyebrows knitted, lower lip trembling. “I was miserable, Seungcheol,” you whispered, your eyes brimming with sorrowful tears. “I had to give you up to go after those dreams. But what I wanted—what I really wanted—was to start a life with you. I wanted kids, I wanted… everything.” 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, lowering his gaze, feeling ashamed. “I wasn’t ready. You were right about that. I let myself get caught up in dumb things—I thought I wouldn’t be enough for you. That I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.” 

Seungcheol used to think that his mistakes were what led him to losing you. Slowly those mistakes turned into regrets. But when he looked at you now, he didn’t see mistakes. 

He saw the love of his life. The girl who had stolen his heart upon first sight. The one who made him feel alive, who made him feel like he was himself again. 

Reaching into the pocket of his sweats, he pulled out the small velvet box. His fingers trembled as he placed it in your hands again, wrapping your fingers around it. 

“You have always been the one I wanted,” he whispered, voice shaking, tears slipping freely now. “From the moment we met, I knew it was you. It’s always been you.”

You curled your fingers around the small box he placed in your hands, you looked at it for a second before lifting your gaze to meet his. 

He held on tighter, his eyes wide—fear flickering in them. “This is how sure I am,” he whispered. But if you decided to open that box right now, he wouldn’t hesitate. He was ready now.  

You raised the box in your hand, outlining the sides of the lid with the tip of your trembling fingers. The knot in your stomach tightened. “Not like this,” you whispered, lowering the box to your lap. “I don’t want you to propose to me like this,” you could barely bring yourself to mutter those words. 

The summer night breeze brushed the nape of your neck, cool against your heated skin. A slight shiver ran through you. And Seungcheol noticed. He always noticed. He looked at you longingly, as though seeing you in the back of his head too, a distant memory reverting him back to those uni days. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet somehow, his love for you hadn’t faded. 

Slowly, you reached out, cupping his cheek. Your cold thumb brushed away the tear that had slipped down his face. His breath hitched slightly at your touch, but he welcomed it. 

“I love you, Seungcheol,” you said, your voice barely holding back emotion. “But I want us to do it right. We still need to rebuild some things in our relationship before we take the next steps. Maybe… maybe we should wait a little.”

Seungcheol caught your wrist, pressing a long kiss to the center of your palm. “I want that too, baby.” He murmured, pressing another kiss there. “I want us to be stronger than we were before. Let’s wait, then.” 

“But only a little,” you added with a sweet, tearful giggle.  

His chest swelled at the sound. “You’re the boss,” he smiled, and it was that smile, soft at the corners, making his dark eyes gleam. It reminded you of every reason you had ever loved him. 

“Come on,” he said, standing up and slipping the box back into his pocket. “Let’s go home.” 

Home. 

For so long after you left him, that word had lost its meaning. You thought that you’d never get that feeling again with anyone else—the safety, the familiarity. There is no one you trusted more than him.

But you did now, you felt it again. 

You took his outstretched hand, rising to your feet too. Walking side by side through the park with him toward the apartment where you were building something new with him. Something stronger. 

You were home again. 

✧ author's note: life is funny because i started this draft on nov 9 2023 and so much has happened ever since. i thought i'd never understand what going through a painful breakup would feel like. but now i do. and i also know what moving on feels like. funny, huh?

this chapter was shorter than i initially planned though, i hope you guys enjoyed it (?) haha idk, it was really heavy on the angst and i let this draft sit for months and months i feel guilty about that

also, an addendum: in the previous chapter, jeonghan makes a reference to the fic city lights chapter 9 and lights out chapter 1 for those that may not know. for those who do know, i kind of skipped the timeline by a looooong mile haha. but idc, i just wanted the angst and to torture hannie w some heartache

anyway,

✧ STAY TUNED FOR PART SIX !! ✧

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●)

© TO HANNIEWEEN — I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[rafesangelita]

♡ sheriff!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader get into an argument after an old friend spots them together..

warnings: implied age gap, secrecy, implication of rafe and reader’s age gap being taboo, rafe calls reader his niece, arguing, crying, angst, brief mention of reader’s mom leaving her and her dad, reassurance + comfort, fluff

wc: 2.1k

rafe glanced around the room, his guard standing tall as you hummed to the song playing over the old speakers from the jukebox in the corner. flipping through the restaurant’s menu, you looked up and kicked rafe under the table once you saw how tense he was. “you’re stressin’ me out, can you stop that already?” you rolled your eyes, wishing he wasn’t so uptight about someone from back home seeing you two out together. you were already in a different town for crying out loud!!

rafe grumbled an apology before taking a swig from his beer, his eyes softening once he saw the slightly hurt expression on your face. “we’re not committing a crime by having dinner.. for once, can you just let loose someplace that isn’t in private?” rafe swallowed thickly, giving you a curt nod before the waitress walked up to your booth. “are you ready to order babe?” she chirped, flashing you a sweet smile while she held her pen to her notepad. “yes ma’am, may i get your classic cheeseburger, and make the fries extra crispy with that, please?” she hummed, quickly scribbling on the paper.

“and for you.. sir?” you cleared your throat awkwardly at the formality, considering just moments ago she called you ‘babe’. ignoring the implication that rafe was obviously an older gentleman, he gave the waitress his order and let out a scoff once she disappeared into the kitchen. “i think you care too much about what people think about us, rafe.” you took a sip from your cherry cola, your feet rocking back and forth in your boots as the man in front of you eyed you carefully. “i am the way that i am because i don’t want people to scrutinize you. you could only imagine the type of things people say when they see people in a relationship like ours.”

you shook your head, sighing out in frustration. “we’ve been screwing in the motel across the street all weekend, haven’t we?” rafe’s eyes widened at your words, his voice lowering as he leaned in and gritted his teeth. “will you keep your voice down?!” he whispered. “i’m just saying! it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, we’re far past the point of caring, no?” rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he gripped the beer in his hand even tighter. “yeah, you would think that.” your head shot up at his words, your gaze narrowing at him as you felt your stomach churn.

“and why is that? because i’m too young to understand?” you felt your patience dwindling down with each passing second rafe didn’t respond, “i’m not too young for you when you want me to understand how you want me to suck you off.” rafe blinked, his nostrils flaring as he adjusted the hat on his head. “don’t do that.” he warned you, his voice coming out hard and still. maybe it was the angry feeling you had brewing in your chest, but suddenly you felt the urge to keep pushing his buttons. “don’t do what? tell you the truth?” here we go..

“you know— you go around town sitting up on your moral high horse, acting like you’re so righteous, but really you’re just like every man out there. you want to have your way with me, which you ultimately do, but you want me without facing the reality of it, including getting weird looks and being judged. i get in trouble with the law, i party, i drink and i cuss and i look good doing it, and you can’t stand that i don’t give a single fuck about what people think of me. if i cared enough to keep up ‘appearances’ like you do, i wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now, let alone allowing you to take me to an entire different town all so that we could share a fucking meal together. why don’t you try understanding that, asshole.”

rafe tongued his cheek as he glared at you, genuinely at a loss for words. just as rafe opened his mouth to say something, another man’s voice cut in. “holy shit. s’that you, rafe?” fixing your attention on the man who approached your table, rafe couldn’t help but feel his heart drop to his stomach upon recognizing the familar face. “barry?” he got up, extending an arm, “shit, man, how long has it been?” you watched as they shook hands, both of them catching up as if you weren’t sitting right in front of their faces. it wasn’t until you locked eyes with the beefy brunette before he excused himself.

“sorry,” he cleared his throat, “how rude of me.. who’s this pretty little thing?” you smiled sheepishly as he reached for your hand, your cheeks heating once his lips met your knuckles. rafe couldn’t stand the sight. he felt like he could break his beer bottle over barry’s head right now. “this is—” you cut rafe off, completely ignoring the heat of his gaze burning into the side of your face, “y/n.” barry smiled, the gold glint of his tooth catching your attention. “my, that’s sure a fitting name for such a sweet—” rafe stepped between you two, a look of warning passing through his eyes.

“y/n, this is barry, we went to the same police training academy way back in the day.” barry stood upright, his hand coming up to stroke his goatee. “it’s nice to meet you, ‘pretty..” you didn’t miss the way barry’s eyes traveled down your cleavage, his tongue poking out as he ran the muscle along his bottom lip. “she’s my niece, actually, we’ll be heading back to town soon.” the way everything came to a screeching halt, you could’ve sworn you a car crashed inside your mind when those words left rafe’s mouth. barry visibly recoiled, his eyesbrows shooting up at the false revelation.

“oh, wow! that’s great, that’s great..” he trailed off, pursing his lips together awkwardly as the silence between him and rafe stretched beyond their comfort. you still couldn’t believe your ears, surely they were playing tricks on you, right?

..right?

you decided right then and there that two can play at that game. “you should’ve told me you had some hot friends, uncle, i would’ve hitched a ride back to town a long time ago!” you smiled, resting a hand on barry’s arm, “where are you headed off to, handsome?” rafe was sure his face matched the color of the deep red walls of the restaurant, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched you tenderly stroke another man’s flesh. without warning, rafe yanked you up from your seat, a surprised yelp sounding from your lips as he angrily guided you out of the diner.

“it was nice seeing you, man, i’ll catch you around.” rafe didn’t even so much as spare barry a single glance as he dumped you back on your feet outside, an irritated look written all over your face. “your niece?!” feeling your skin grow hot with rage, you shoved him away before he could get close to you again. crossing your arms over your chest, you ran across the street back to the motel, ignoring his calls as he chased after you. bursting through the door of your shared room, you locked it behind you before rafe could catch up. “let me in!” he banged on the thick wood, the force alone seemingly making the walls shake.

“just leave! leave and don’t come back!” you shouted, tears now streaming down your face. for the first time during this entire thing you’ve had going on with rafe, you felt complete and utter shame. unlike him, he’s been living with it knowing that being with you wasn’t socially acceptable. he knew he had a reputation to uphold but he found himself unable to think about anything or anyone else after he first saw you that night topper dragged you into the station. he knew it was wrong, but quickly you had him doing things and feeling things he had never felt or done before. all of it was fucked up.

“please let me in, i just wanna talk to you.. i need you to hear me out and let me explain.” you hiccuped, your chin wobbling as you shook your head at his desperate plea. “you should’ve never let things go this far if you didn’t want me. i don’t need you, rafe.” of course, that was a lie. you had already let yourself become too emotionally invested in this man for you to really mean that, and you hated yourself for it. “i don’t need to hear shit, i heard enough already.” rafe sighed, his eyes screwing shut as he let his fist fall from the door. knowing he was going to have to get in there one way or another, rafe made his way to the outdated receptionist desk where he asked for another room key.

sniffling, you laid yourself down on the bed, your cheeks damp as you dried your face. you just wanted to go home already and forget about everything that transpired, forget about him. speaking of.. you groaned when you heard the lock click open, rafe stepping through the door shortly after. “i’m not talking to you.” you scooted further up the bed as he got closer, his hands shooting up in defense. “you don’t have to, i just want you to listen to what i have to say— can i sit right here?” you eyed the corner of the bed furthest from you before looking away from him.

taking that as you bidding him your permission, he sat down, hating the amount of space between you two. “i’m sorry,” he started, “i’ve never been in a predicament like this, alright? i don’t know the first thing about being with someone, let alone with someone like you. we’re nothing alike, but i find myself drawn to you anyways. i get mad at you, and i tell you shit, because i care. i care about how you go through this world, and i care about how people treat you. i hate hearing the way people talk about you, ‘saying that you just tear through town causing all sorts of trouble when they don’t know anything about you.” rafe swallowed thickly.

“you don’t think i know that already? rafe, my mom skipped town because she decided that the country life wasn’t what she wanted. she left me and my dad for the city when we both needed her and he tried his best to keep me in line, and look where that got me. I’ve been making my own decisions and getting criticized for it for a long time already, i’ve heard just about everything in the book. hell, i find it strange when i don’t get ugly looks. it’s you who can’t stand that idea.” hearing you acknowledge what he’s been scared of all along tugged at his heartstrings.

“if i want to go around screwing with a sheriff then i’m going to do it without caring about anyone else’s feelings but my own. i can’t even say that i just ‘like’ you because i feel way more for you than that.” you knew what you were saying was basically a confession right now, but you didn’t care. rafe felt his chest threatening to cave in on itself as he watched the way your features softened. you loved him while he had been keeping you at arm’s length at that wasn’t fair. with tension still lingering in the air, rafe was debating on whether or not you’d give him a right hook if he tackled you into a hug right now.

“i know we’re fighting, but come here..” at this, you met his gaze. as much as you wanted to hold a grudge and make him feel what you felt when he introduced you as something you’re not, you needed to feel his arms around you more than anything else. jaw clenching, you stood up and made your way over to where he sat. with hesitant hands, rafe held onto your waist before embracing you and taking you into his lap.

“i’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “i’m gonna work on my own shit, i swear it to you.” you let yourself be fully embraced by him, the smell of his aftershave providing you with an odd sense of comfort. “mhhm..” you hummed, refraining from smiling as best as you could. “no i mean it,” he stared down at you, “but i need you to promise me that you’ll work on cleaning up your act. i can’t follow you around in my patrol car every second of the day.” technically rafe already did that, but you figured you could make some changes too if he was more than willing to do the same.

“fine, but just know this; if you ever call me your niece again, you’re gonna have to throw away the key next time i get sent to the station.”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡