#(it IS normal to like things and to praise the things you like. it IS normal to give positive feedback. essential even.)

[heejamas]

MANCHILD

➢ pairing: cowboy!jake x fem!reader … ﹒cowboy au, strangers to lovers, smut \\ ➢ synopsis: you’re trouble, and jake sim knows it. you flirt like it’s your job, wear sin like perfume, and make men beg without even trying. he’s the only cowboy who doesn’t chase you. so naturally, he’s the only one you want. a small-town, slow-burn, filthy little game of who breaks first. ➢ word count: 9.5k

➢ warnings: smut!! minors dni. oral sex (f and m receiveing), unprotected sex (dont do it!!), public-ish sex, dirty talk, possessive!jake, softdom!jake, bratty!reader, spanking, cum eating, praise and degradation, cowboy kink™, jake is a menace but so are you, yeehaw but make it slutty

you’re wiping down the counter when you say it, voice low and lazy, like it’s just another tuesday night and not the kind of sentence that rearranges a man’s brain chemistry.

“i like my boys playing hard to get.”

you don’t mean it to land anywhere in particular. you’re just talking, tossing it out there between gossip, your voice sweet, meant only for the girl beside you. so she laughs, nudges you with her hip. “you mean the ones who ghost you after three days?”

“no,” you sigh, stretching like a cat behind the bar. “i mean the ones who pretend they don’t care. the ones too proud to beg. makes it more fun when they do.”

you say it like it’s a joke, but you mean every word. and across the room, jake sim hears you.

he hadn’t meant to. hadn’t even realized he was eavesdropping until the words tangled around him. he’s not the type to pay attention to chatter. he’s been coming to this place for years, knows how to tune out the flirting and the country drawls and the clink of empty glasses. but your voice is different. and he’s seen you around, of course. everyone has.

you’re the kind of girl people build myths around. the kind they write country songs about, because you have a laugh that could ruin a man. and every guy in town’s tried his luck. most ended up a little poorer, a little dumber, and twice as obsessed. and you never even blinked.

so when you breeze past his table, tray balanced on your palm, perfume trailing like a challenge, jake doesn’t move. doesn’t shift, doesn’t look up from his drink. not obviously, at least. he doesn’t give you the satisfaction. and you notice. oh, you notice. because you’re used to stares, to whistles and clumsy compliments and boys who fall over themselves to hand you things you never asked for. you’re used to the way they sit up straighter when you walk by, the way their words fumble out of their mouths like dropped coins.

but this one? this one just sits there. quiet and unmoved.

you catch him watching only once, just once, when you lean forward to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf, and when your eyes flick up, his are already somewhere else. not pretending, not faking it, just gone. and it pisses you off more than it should.

you don’t say anything. you just toss your hair over your shoulder and smile at the other girl again, louder this time. “i like my men all incompetent,” you declare, tucking a dollar into your apron, “and i swear they choose me, i’m not choosing them.”

jake lifts his beer to his lips, slow. doesn’t smile. doesn’t even smirk. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel in control of the game. you hate that, but you also love that.

but you definitely hate rodeos.

too loud and sweaty. too many men with too little brain and too much cologne. it’s just the same loop every time—horses, hats, hollering, and someone calling you “sweet cheeks” like that’s supposed to make you blush instead of gag. normally, you stay far away. but tonight’s different. because you heard jake sim was riding.

so you show up. late, of course, on purpose. your boots crunch over dirt and beer cans as you make your way through the crowd, hips swinging just enough to remind everyone you don’t walk, you arrive. every man you pass straightens his spine like you might look at him if he behaves, and every woman rolls her eyes in that half-jealous way they always do.

but you don’t care. you’re not here for them. you’re here for the man on the horse.

and when you spot him, out in the pen, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting light against his thigh, you feel that slow, low flutter in your stomach that tastes a little like trouble. because he’s wearing that stupid hat again, the same beat-up one that sits just low enough to make his eyes a mystery and his mouth a promise. his shirt’s rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned, forearms dusted with dirt and sin. he looks like sin. he rides like sin.

you lean against the fence, pop a piece of gum into your mouth, and pretend you’re not watching. but you are, everyone is. but he doesn’t look into the crowd, not once. he doesn’t wave, doesn’t show off, doesn’t even smile. he just focuses—on the gate, on the bull, on the seconds ticking down before the chaos. there’s something precise about it, almost like he’s not here to perform, just to win.

and you hate how hot that is.

when the gate finally opens and he bursts out, body moving like he’s part of the beast beneath him, the whole crowd goes wild. people scream, hats fly, beer spills. but you just chew your gum and watch. he holds on longer than anyone else that night. and when he lands, smooth and sharp and smug, your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

he still doesn’t look at you. not even when he walks past, later, towel slung over his shoulder, shirt sticking to his back, sweat dripping down his neck like something out of a country girl’s fantasy.

you’re standing by the concession stand now, pretending to look at overpriced chili fries when he walks right past you again. and for the first time, maybe in ever, you don’t know what to do with that. because everyone looks at you. everyone wants something from you.

but jake sim? jake sim doesn’t even blink.

you pop your gum again, louder than necessary. he still doesn’t turn. bastard. so you lick your lips, tilt your head, and mutter just loud enough for the girl next to you to hear—just loud enough for him to maybe hear, too— “god, i hate cowboys.”

except you don’t. you really, really don’t.

so you decide to wear red on saturday. not a soft red. not a muted, tasteful, wine-country red. no, this is bright, dangerous, stop-sign red. the kind that glitters when you walk and blasphemes when you bend. you slip it on slow, knowing exactly what it does to your body and your ego. it’s the kind of dress that starts fights and finishes them.

you don’t wear it for him, not technically. but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t check your lipstick twice before heading to the bar, or if you hadn’t spent a good three minutes wondering if jake sim was the type of man who noticed sequins.

(it turns out—he isn’t.)

he’s already there when you walk in, sitting in his usual corner like a piece of furniture carved from patience and denim. same hat, same shirt, same maddeningly blank expression. he doesn’t flinch when you walk by. doesn’t scan your legs like every other man. doesn’t lean over to whisper something to his friend and then laugh too loud. he just looks. once. and then looks away.

you could scream. instead, you smile. you spend the next hour putting on a show—not for him, of course, never that. just for… the atmosphere. you take extra time leaning over the bar. you laugh a little louder, let your fingers trail longer. you flirt, you twirl, you dance like you’re made of sugar and smoke.

and he just sits there. solid. steady and stoic in the face of sin.

when the jukebox shifts to something slow and sweaty, your friend pulls you out from behind the bar and spins you onto the floor. you go willingly, you always do. you dance with her, and then with some other guy, who’s a terrible flirt but a decent dancer. you laugh as you move, hips swaying, hands up, hair stuck to your neck. people cheer, whistles echo. someone shouts your name.

and still, jake sim doesn’t look. he sits there, beer untouched, fingers drumming slowly against the table. his eyes are on the wall, or the floor, or nowhere at all. you want to throw a chair at him. instead, you press your body just a little closer, let your head tip back, your laughter bubble out like champagne. 

and for half a second, just half, you swear you can feel his gaze. but by the time you glance over, it’s gone.

you finish the dance anyway, cheeks flushed from effort or ego or something worse, and when you walk past jake’s table again, you pause. just enough. he still doesn’t say anything. but his knuckles are white around the bottle, and that’s something.

and ​​you’re not much of a smoker, not really. it’s more about the image. the ritual of it—door swinging shut behind you, the hum of the saloon dulling into background noise, a lighter flicked slowly. you like the weight of the cigarette between your fingers, the way it makes your mouth look meaner. you especially like the way people look at you when you do it.

on sunday, though, the sidewalk is mostly empty. the neon sign above the door buzzes like it’s dying, and your heels click against the pavement. you’re alone, almost. because he’s there. leaning against his truck—of course it’s a truck, stupid and long and matte black— arms crossed, hat low, chewing on a toothpick like he was placed there by god.

you try not to look. but of course you fail.

“you always stand like that,” you say, taking a drag and blowing smoke sideways, “or is this a special occasion?”

he doesn’t turn, god, he doesn’t even smile. “like what?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he only uses it when necessary.

you flick ash toward the gravel and shift your weight, one hip out, just enough to suggest: i am here and i am wearing very little. so you say: “like you’re being painted,” you say. “by someone too obsessed with denim.”

that gets a reaction, barely—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. nothing close to a smile, but you count it anyway. “you don’t like denim?” he asks.

“i like it just fine,” you say, letting your eyes travel up and down. “i just think it likes you a lot.”

he hums, quiet and unfazed. the toothpick shifts from one side of his mouth to the other with devastating nonchalance. “you always flirt like that?” he asks finally, and it’s almost cruel, the way he says it—like he’s calling you out without even looking at you.

you tilt your head. “like what?”

“like you’re bored.”

you take another drag, slower this time. it buys you a second. maybe two. “i’m not bored,” you say. “i’m offended.”

he finally looks at you then. really looks. not a glance, not a flick of the eyes, but a slow, full scan that starts at your boots and ends at your mouth. “offended?”

“yeah,” you say. “you’re the first man in town who hasn’t tried to get a shot with me.”

he raises an eyebrow. your breath hitches, and you curse yourself for it. because god damn it. he pushes off the truck, and he steps forward, just one step, just close enough for you to smell him. smoke and leather and desert heat. “that why you came out here?” he asks. “to collect another admirer?”

“no,” you say, a little too quickly. “i came out to smoke.”

he nods, glances at your cigarette. “you’re holding it backwards.”

you look down, you are. shit.

he walks past you then, amused and infuriatingly tall, back toward the saloon. and just before the door swings shut behind him, he tosses the toothpick into the dirt and says, without looking: “you’ll have better luck with someone who gives a damn, sweetheart.”

you stand there for a minute, blinking smoke out of your eyes, lips parted in disbelief, cigarette still backwards in your hand. you don’t know whether to chase him or marry him. probably both.

the annual summer festival happens a week later, and the whole town’s lost its damn mind. kids run wild, drunk uncles argue, and there’s a man singing country ballads off-key on the main.

and you look stunning, obviously.  short dress, boots too clean to be from here, a pair of sunglasses you don’t need but wear anyway. you walk through the crowd like you’re not sweating like everyone else. and your arm? it’s linked tightly through lee heeseung’s. the sheriff’s son. walking cologne bottle. he thinks calling women “sugar tits” is flirtation and not a felony. you smile like he’s the most charming thing this town’s ever coughed up. and across the lot, jake sees everything.

he’s standing near the fence, drink in hand, chewing on his pride. he looks like a warning sign, his arms crossed so tight his biceps look like they’re planning a mutiny. he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even pretend not to be watching. you glance at him once, and once is enough.

you laugh louder. lean closer to heeseung, who’s talking about god-knows-what—his truck, his workout, his daddy’s badge—and you nod like you care. every move is calculated. every smile is a weapon. because you know exactly what you’re doing. so you excuse yourself after a while, muttering something about needing another drink, slipping away from heeseung before he can say something else that’ll make your ears bleed. you walk through the back, your boots clicking fast.

you’re halfway to the bar when you feel a heat at your back. 

“fun night?” his voice is behind you. dry and quiet. 

you don’t turn around right away. you let the moment hang. and then you say, “depends,” running a hand through your hair like it’s not dripping down your neck. “you havin’ fun watching?”

he steps in closer. you feel him before you see him, his chest just a breath away from your shoulder. “you always hang off men you don’t like?” he asks, voice low enough to make your knees consider collapsing.

you shrug. “what makes you think i don’t like him?”

“you’re bored. i know what you look like when you’re havin’ fun.”

you hate how that line makes your stomach twist. hate it more that he’s right. so you finally turn to face him, hands on your hips, head tilted with mock sweetness. “what, jealous?”

he laughs. it’s short and dark. “of lee heeseung?” he scoffs. “sweetheart, i’m jealous of his dog before i’m jealous of him.”

you bite your lip to hide the smile, and you fail. “then why are you here?” you ask, eyes locking onto his. 

he leans in, just enough to make you dizzy. his gaze dips—down your lips, down your throat, down your dress—and lingers there, shameless. he looks like he wants to say more. or do more. and you kind of wish he would. but instead, he straightens up, steps back, and lets the space between you fill with heat again.

“because, darling, next time you wanna get under someone’s skin,” he says, “maybe pick a man who ain’t wearin’ daddy’s badge.”

and just like that, he turns and walks off. no touch. not even a goddamn smirk. you’re left standing there, pulse racing, drink forgotten, mouth parted like a woman halfway to disaster.

you fan yourself with your hand, mutter to no one, “fuck my life.”

and over the next few weeks, jake sim makes a habit out of losing his mind quietly.

he tells himself he’s just thirsty. that’s the only reason he keeps showing up to the saloon. he tells himself that every night he parks that stupid truck in the same stupid spot and walks through the same door into the same bar where you’re working, and where you, lately, won’t even look at him.

and that’s what kills him. because you used to look. all big eyes and evil little smiles, like you were constantly cooking up something sinful and he was the poor bastard about to taste it.

but now? now you barely glance in his direction. you walk past him like he’s just another part of the furniture. take other tables. pour drinks with your back to him. laugh at other men’s jokes.

and jake watches silently. desperately. he tries not to, he really does. but his eyes betray him every time. they flick to you the second you walk by—legs bare, hair pulled back with a pen, lips glossed to hell. you smell like vanilla and cigarette smoke, and it’s infuriating how much he wants to bite that smell off your throat.

and the worst part is that he knows you’re doing it on purpose. because sometimes, just sometimes, he catches the way your mouth twitches when you pass his table. the way you shift your weight a little slower, lean over a little further when you’re grabbing something. and when he doesn’t look up—when he pretends not to notice—you bite your lip like you’re trying not to laugh.

you’re playing hard to get. which is adorable, really. but it works. fuck, it works.

jake sim, who’s spent most of his adult life being aggressively unbothered, now sits at this bar like a man possessed. he sips beer and imagines things he shouldn’t. he watches your mouth wrap around straws and thinks about how it’d look wrapped around something else entirely. he stares at your hands pouring drinks and thinks about them fisting in his shirt, pressed against his belt, sliding down—

he coughs. shifts in his seat. takes another sip and pretends like he’s not half hard just because you leaned against the fridge five minutes ago.

he doesn’t talk to you. hasn’t, since the festival. because that would mean giving in. and if there’s one thing jake sim is worse at than feelings, it’s losing. but god, the way you walk? the way you smile at the wrong people? the way you drop the occasional “cowboy” into a sentence like it’s not meant to ruin him?

it’s almost sweet, the way you’re trying to get under his skin. but also: it’s working. and he thinks, not for the first time, that if you asked—if you looked at him a certain way—he’d let you wreck his entire life. you could tie him to the back of his own truck, spit on his mouth, call him useless in front of god and the sheriff, and he’d probably thank you. 

but you don’t look at him anymore. you just brush past him one more time, close enough for your skirt to kiss his knee, and say to no one in particular, real sweet: “why so sexy if so dumb?”

and jake swears to god he’s gonna start a bar fight just to calm down.

but the moment you step onto the dirt lot of the fairgrounds, sundress fluttering and sunglasses perched high on your nose, his brain short-circuits. ​​he sees you the second you walk in. he pretends not to, of course. jake sim has made an olympic sport out of pretending you don’t exist. but you’re here, again. and he’s fucked. 

he’s in the chute, adjusting his gloves, boots already caked in dust, chest strapped down tight like it might explode. he tells himself to focus on the ride, on the bull, on anything but the way your thighs are peeking out from under that goddamn dress.

you shouldn’t be here. he was hoping you’d show up, obviously, but now that you’re actually here, it feels like a setup. like god’s decided to make him fail in front of everyone and look good doing it. so he refuses to look directly at you. not while you’re standing near the fence, leaning against the railing like you’re modeling for the “ruin a man” calendar. not while you’re laughing at something some poor bastard just said, tossing your hair over your shoulder. and certainly not when you suck on that red snow cone.

he adjusts his hat lower. counts backward from ten. tries to remember how to breathe.

he’s still got it under control—mostly—until the moment he’s mounting the bull and glances toward the crowd just once. just a peek. and there you are, watching, with your lip between your teeth and a look that could sterilize holy water.

he slips. just a little. just enough for one boot to miss its mark and his hand to falter on the rope. no one notices. not really. but he does.

the ride still goes fine. better than fine, actually. he makes it the full eight seconds, lands smooth, wipes the sweat off his brow like he’s not a mess on the inside. like he didn’t almost fall off a 1,500-pound animal because you were licking syrup off your finger.

later, after the noise dies down, after the dust settles and the crowd starts dispersing into beer and music and gossip, you find him. he’s near the back of the stables, away from the noise. hat off, hair damp, shirt sticking to his back in places that make your hands twitch.

you lean against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted. he sees you coming. of course he does.

you don’t say anything right away. just look him over like you’re checking for bruises. “didn’t fall this time,” you say.

“not for lack of tryin’,” he mutters.

you raise an eyebrow. “the bull or me?”

he doesn’t answer. you take that as a win. so you step closer, slow. toe the dirt with your boot, pretend to be casual. but everything about you tonight is a performance, and he knows it. the cherry lip gloss. the dress with buttons that strain when you breathe. the way you keep shifting your weight like your thighs are begging for attention. you’re trying to get to him, and you are. but he’ll die before he admits it.

“you always ride that well,” you say, voice syrupy and cruel, “or was that just for me?”

“don’t flatter yourself, darlin’.”

“too late,” you grin. “flattered myself the whole way here.”

he laughs at that, but he still doesn’t move. you take another step. now you’re in front of him, barely a breath of air between your bodies. the tension crackles, like something’s about to snap. he looks down at you, his jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. you could kiss him, you could push him. you could drop to your knees and he wouldn’t stop you. but he stays still. and you know what that means. he’s losing it. slowly and deliciously.

so you just smile, all teeth and trouble, and say: “you gonna say thank you for coming, or do i gotta leave and come back so you can do it right?”

he looks down at you and decides—fuck it. if this is a game, he’s gonna play. so his hand lifts. two fingers hook lazily in your belt in your dress, just enough to make your breath hitch and your knees forget how to behave. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t tug, just lets it sit there. you blink up at him like you weren’t expecting him to do this. because you weren't.

“thought you came to watch the ride,” he says, voice like gravel and heat. “didn’t know you were hopin’ to start one.”

you’re stunned for a second, flustered. but you recover fast. your hand comes up, trailing a single finger down the buttons of his shirt, slowly. and you giggle. you say nothing, you only giggle and smile. then you step back, leaving him standing there with nothing but the smell of your perfume and a growing problem in his jeans. he blinks once. twice. and you’re already gone.

a few days later, he sees you again at the gas station. you’re sitting on the hood of your car. your car is pink, of course it’s pink. girly in that deadly way. floral air freshener, fuzzy dice, a sparkly steering wheel cover and a bumper sticker that probably says something like “yee-haw, bitch.”

you’re licking a cherry lollipop. wearing the tiniest pair of shorts known to mankind and a tank top that does nothing to hide your agenda. your legs are crossed, one foot bouncing lazily in the air like you have nowhere to be and every intention of being stared at. and people are staring. two guys walk by, heads snapping so fast they nearly sprain something. an old man in a tractor cap gives a long, disapproving look that lasts until he crashes into a trash can.

you? you smile sweetly. wave. keep sucking on that lollipop like you’re not ruining lives. and jake watches from the far pump, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying so hard not to enjoy the sight of you doing exactly what you do best.

and then, just like you’ve sensed him from across the lot, you slide off the hood, sway your hips across the concrete, and approach him with the most dangerous sentence in your arsenal: “cowboy,” you say, “i think i got a flat.”

he raises an eyebrow. looks at your car. no flat. you grin like the liar you are. “could you check for me?” you ask, voice all syrup and fake innocence. “i’d do it myself, but—” you shrug, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “i don’t wanna chip a nail.”

he stares at you and you stare back. he knows what this is. you want him on his knees. and god help him—he’s thinking about it.

“you sure?” he says, tone dry. “seems like you’re the type to pop a tire just to see what crawls out the woodwork.”

“you caught me,” you beam. 

he sighs, but he walks over anyway. you trail behind, delighted, watching him crouch down in front of your car, like he is your personal cowboy-themed thirst trap come to life. he’s in front of you, all strong hands and dirty jeans, touching your tires like it’s a performance.

you lean back against the hood. cross your legs the other way. suck louder on the lollipop, just to be mean. and jake knows the tire’s fine, he also knows he’s losing. and when he looks up—sweat on his brow, eyes half-lidded, gaze landing right between your crossed legs—you don’t say a word. you just smile and keep chewing. you got what you wanted: him on his knees.

and it happens on a thursday. the saloon’s half-full, sticky with the usual noise, and you’ve got a tray in one hand. you spot him before he sees you. or maybe he lets you think that. he’s sitting at the bar, same stool as always. sipping something dark with his hat tipped low and one leg stretched out like the floor belongs to him. he’s talking to someone, a girl you don’t recognize, leaning in just enough to make your stomach twist.

he’s smiling. he never smiles, at least not like that. and that’s when it hits you: he’s doing it on purpose.

your first instinct is to roll your eyes. your second is to walk over there and ruin both their nights. instead, you drop off your tray at the counter, smooth your skirt, and remind yourself that you’re not bothered. not even a little. so you circle around the bar, busy yourself with orders. chat with a guy in a cowboy hat, laugh too loud, lean too close. and eventually, you feel that static buzz that only comes from being watched.

you turn your head, and of course he’s looking. not just looking, jake is devouring. his eyes trail down your legs, up your hips, pause at your chest like he’s making a list of crimes he’d commit if the sheriff weren’t his boss’s daddy. and your heart stutters, your mouth dries. you take a step toward him before you even realize it.

but then he gets up and walks past you, doesn’t say a word. and you think, what the hell?

but then his hand brushes yours, just barely. like an accident that wasn’t an accident. you whip around to say something sharp, but he’s already halfway to the door. and you follow. you don’t mean to, really, but you do. you catch him near the back hallway, one hand braced against the wall, like he knew you’d come after him.

you open your mouth to say something clever, but he steps in real close. close enough that your back hits the wall and your knees almost collapse. “somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” he asks, voice all silk.

“what was that?” you hiss, trying not to stare at his mouth. “flirting with that girl like i wasn’t in the room?”

he smirks. smirks. “didn’t know i needed permission.”

you cross your arms. push your chest up just enough to be annoying. “you’re playing games.”

he shrugs. “so are you.” his hand lifts, not to touch you (the bastard’s too good for that), but to brush a piece of lint off your shoulder. “you looked a little jealous,” he murmurs, voice dipped in sin. “cute look on you.”

your pulse stutters, but you refuse to show it. “you’re gonna die alone,” you say, breathier than intended.

“probably,” he says. “but not before i ruin you first.”

you suck in a breath. his face is right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, you’d taste the whiskey on his lips. you think he might do it, you think maybe this is it. but he doesn’t kiss you. instead, he leans in slow, his breath hot against your cheek, then presses a kiss right there, soft and warm and maddening. the kind of kiss that doesn’t take anything but still leaves you ruined.

then he pulls back. smirking, so smug and infuriating. “goodnight, sweetheart,” he says. and then he walks away, like he didn’t just light a fire in your chest and leave it burning.

and there’s a party on the edge of town on that week—somebody’s cousin’s birthday or maybe just an excuse to drink next to a fire. there’s music blasting out of speakers in the back of a lifted truck, people doing shots, and you’re there, of course, making every poor bastard lose his mind just by existing.

you’re wearing denim shorts and a little white top that ties in the front, and jake sim wants to fight the concept of clothing for making something that looks that illegal.

he sees you before you see him. and he sees heeseung before you do. pretty boy with too-white teeth and too many opinions about his own biceps. he’s been in love with you since high school and never got the hint. but tonight, you’re letting him talk. you’re laughing, you’re standing close. and you don’t even have to look across the fire to know jake’s watching.

you toss your hair over your shoulder. heeseung says something about his new truck and how it “purrs like a mountain cat,” which isn’t a thing, but you smile anyway. you’re about to make some flirty comment just to push it further when a hand wraps around your arm.

not rough, not mean, just firm. you whip around and there he is. jake. his face is unreadable. calm, almost. but his grip says something else entirely.

you blink. “well, hey there, cowboy—”

“walk,” he says.

you try to act annoyed, dramatic. “what if i don’t feel like—”

“walk.”

so you do. he leads you away from the fire, away from the crowd, toward the gravel lot where his truck is. you expect him to say something, yell, maybe. accuse you of something dramatic and delicious. but instead, he spins you around and presses you up against the passenger door.

his hand is still on your arm. the other braces beside your head. his body doesn’t touch yours, not really, but he’s close enough that you can feel the heat off his skin and the tension coiled under it. you blink up at him, wide-eyed and fake-innocent. “is this how you treat all your women, cowboy? dragging them into parking lots and pinning them to cars?”

“no,” he says. “just the ones who know better.”

you gasp softly, it’s almost a laugh. “oh, so now you’re mad?”

he leans in, mouth inches from yours, eyes dark and hungry. “you wore that top on purpose.”

you smirk. “maybe i was hot.”

he looks down, pointedly. “you are. and you know what you’re doin’.”

“do i?”

he exhales sharp through his nose, like he’s trying not to combust. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “you really want him to touch you? that what you’re lookin’ for?”

you blink slow and wet your lips. “maybe i just want somebody who actually does it.”

the look on his face shifts just slightly. then he leans in. you think this time it’ll happen, finally, the kiss, the collapse. the moment the game ends. but instead, his lips graze your jaw, not your mouth. his hand dips low, fingers brushing the hem of your shorts like he’s thinking about it.

“you don’t want ‘somebody,’” he whispers. “you want me.” you’re not breathing. he pulls back again, just enough to leave you gasping in the space between what was almost and what still isn’t. “but you’ll have to beg, sweetheart,” he adds, smirking. “and i don’t think you’re ready to do that yet.”

he turns like he’s going to walk away again, like that’s the last word. like he didn’t just light a match and drop it between your legs. but this time, you don’t let him. your hand shoots out fast and grabs his belt loop. he pauses and stills, and slowly, turns his head back toward you.

“you think i won’t?” you ask, voice low and deadly sweet.

he looks down at your hand, still fisted in his jeans like a challenge. then his eyes flick back up to yours—dark, wild, curious. he steps closer, just one step. then another. until he’s right in front of you again, and this time there’s no space. no teasing, no gaps. just you, caught between a truck door and the worst mistake you want to make.

he leans in. both hands come to rest on either side of your head. caging you in and claiming the air between you. “careful now,” he murmurs, voice rough. “you’re not the only one who likes to play.”

and then his knee presses forward, between your legs. you gasp. it’s not subtle, not even a little. he fits it there, deliberate and slow, until your thighs part just enough to make room for the solid weight of him. his thigh is strong and warm. your breath catches and your fingers twitch where they’re tangled in his shirt.

he’s watching your face. watching your mouth, like he’s trying to memorize the exact second you lose composure. but you don’t, you smile. then, slow and wicked, you roll your hips just a little against his thigh—enough to make him grunt, low in his throat, like he wasn’t ready for it. “you started it,” you say, feigning innocence. “don’t get shy now, cowboy.”

he exhales sharp. one of his hands drops and wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him. your shorts ride up. the pressure of his thigh against you gets sharper, filthier, almost unbearable. “you think this is a joke?” he growls.

“no,” you breathe. “i think it’s foreplay.”

his hand tightens. he shifts his thigh just barely upward, grinding it between your legs, and you have to bite your lip to keep the sound in. he leans in, mouth ghosting over your ear. “i could make you come like this,” he says, voice like a sin you want to confess over and over. “right here, against my truck, with nothin’ but my thigh between your legs.”

you shiver, but you smile. “you talk a big game,” you whisper, lips brushing his jaw. “but so far all you’ve done is flex in tight jeans and give me blue balls.”

he lets out a sharp laugh, dangerous. then his hands drop to your hips, grip possessive, and he rolls you against his thigh again. this time harder and filthier. like he wants to see how far you’ll let it go. your knees almost buckle. your head hits the truck window. but your hands are in his hair now, pulling, tugging, dragging his face closer.

and still he doesn’t kiss you. you pant, flushed and desperate and mad as hell. he just smirks. “look at you,” he says. “makin’ a mess on me and i haven’t even touched you proper.”

you glare at him and your lip curls in frustration. “maybe you’re scared.”

he arches a brow. “of what?”

“of me.” you press down hard against his thigh again—your move now, your game—and you feel him tense. feel him curse under his breath like you’ve just won a round he didn’t even know he was playing. you lean in and whisper against his mouth: “i could ruin you.”

he inhales sharp. you swear you hear him mutter fuck. but still, still he doesn’t kiss you. he pulls back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile.

and then he steps away. leaves you there. aching and panting. blinking like you just came out of a trance. “one of these days, sweetheart,” he says, adjusting his belt like he needs a minute. “you’re gonna be the one beggin’.”

and then he climbs into the driver’s seat and drives away. you stare after him, thighs trembling, heart racing, and mutter:

“i’m gonna set his truck on fire.”

and jake sim spends the week trying not to think about you. which is stupid, because you’re everywhere. in his sheets, in his hands, in his mouth when he mutters fuck at two in the morning and fists his hair like it’ll shake you out of his head.

he sees you in the curve of a beer bottle. in the red of a stoplight. in the fucking grocery store, standing in front of a watermelon display like you invented sin.

he can’t focus. can’t sleep. can’t work. every time he bends over a fence or climbs into the truck, he hears your voice in his ear: i could ruin you. every time he closes his eyes, he sees your thighs wrapped around his fucking leg. he’s losing it. actually, clinically losing it.

and the worst part is that he let it happen. he swore he wouldn’t. told himself he wasn’t like the rest of them—the boys who lined up for your attention like fools in heat. he used to watch you tease and twist and toy with every man in town and laugh. not because he didn’t get it, because he did. but now he’s just another name on your list. and he hates it.

he’s a grown man. a cowboy, for christ’s sake. he should be immune to lip gloss and flirty banter and skirts short enough to send him to jail. but he’s not. and the worst part is that you know, you know what you’re doing. you know exactly how to stand, how to talk, how to glance up with that little tilt of your head like oops, did i break you again?

and he’s fucking gone. he’s a freak for it. a perv. he thinks about your mouth at church. he imagines your legs wrapped around his waist when he’s driving. he’s so far gone it’s pathetic.

so on thursday, when the thought of you cleaning up at the saloon alone hits him like a truck, he doesn’t fight it. he gets in the truck, drives like the devil’s chasing him. when he gets there, the bar is dark, empty. just the faint sound of clinking glasses and a broom dragging across the floor.

you’re behind the counter. sweaty and tired. loose hair falling around your face. still the hottest thing he’s ever fucking seen.

the door creaks open. you don’t look up. “we’re closed,” you call out, distracted.

then you lift your head, and you pause. your lips part. 

his boots hit the floor. he doesn’t say a word. just crosses the room in four heavy steps, reaches for your wrist, and pulls you in like he needs you to breathe. and then— he kisses you.

not sweet. not shy, not teasing. hot, open and filthy.

he groans when your mouth opens under his, when your fingers clutch his shirt like you’ve been waiting for this just as long. his hands are everywhere, your waist, jaw, the small of your back. he kisses like he’s mad about it, like this is a punishment.

your back hits the counter. your teeth knock. a glass falls off. and still, he kisses you like he’s trying to erase the space between you. 

he pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your cheek. “you win,” he mutters. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you’re panting, flushed. “not yet,” you whisper. “i like my man playing real hard to get,” you whisper, breath ghosting his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to tease.

and that’s the moment he snaps. his hands come up, cup your jaw like he’s trying to memorize it, and he kisses you hard, messy and desperate. and you moan, you can’t help it. he tastes like whiskey and salt and everything you’ve been dreaming about at three in the morning.

his hips press forward, tight against yours, grinding you back into the edge of the counter like he wants to leave a dent in your spine. and you grin against his lips. you reach back blindly, “you gonna keep kissing me like a saint,” you pant, pulling back, “or you gonna bend me over something, cowboy?”

his eyes go dark. “oh, you wanna act like a brat now?” he growls.

you smirk. “what gave it away?”

he grabs you, lifts you right off the floor and sets you down on a table like you weigh nothing. your legs part without hesitation and he steps between them, his hips hard against yours, and his hands gripping your thighs like he’s trying to decide which one he wants to ruin first. “look at you,” he mutters, eyes trailing down your body. “pretty little mouth, dirty little attitude.”

you tilt your head, all fake innocence. “you like it.”

he leans in close, mouth against your ear. “i’m gonna fuckin’ break you.”

your breath vanishes. his fingers trail up your thigh, slow, teasing, maddening. he doesn’t go where you want him, but just next to it, brushing the edges, watching you squirm. “i know what you need,” he murmurs. “you need someone to shut that mouth. teach you some fuckin’ manners.”

you wrap your legs around his waist. “you volunteering?”

he laughs, low and filthy. “baby, i’ve been applying for that job all month.” then he grinds forward, slow and mean, dragging a moan out of you that echoes across the empty bar. you gasp and clutch at his shoulders. he grabs your hips, presses them down, holds you there. “no running now,” he mutters. “you been beggin’ for this.”

you roll your hips up into his. “you liked it.”

he groans, kissing down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp again. “liked it so much i nearly wrecked my truck thinkin’ about you.” his hand slips under your top. calloused fingers on your skin, rough and reverent all at once. he palms your chest like he’s claiming it. like he’s mad you let anyone else look. you arch into him, moaning. “so impatient,” he teases, voice a growl. “what happened to makin’ me beg, sweetheart?”

“shut up and fuck me.”

he smirks against your throat. “say please.”

you groan, kick your heels against his ass. “cowboy—”

“say it.”

you hiss, then lean in and bite his lip. “please.”

he pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “please what?” he asks, voice low, gravel rough.

you glare at him, or at least, you try to. but your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hips aching for friction, and his hand is already creeping up your thigh like he’s got nowhere to be but inside you. so you say it, no shame. no power left to pretend. “please, fuck me, jakey.”

he groans loudly, like the words physically hit him. then he mutters something that sounds like jesus fucking christ, and crashes his mouth into yours. and this kiss is different. it is hungry and starving. he grinds against you, slow and hard, pressing you down into the table with the full weight of his body. your shirt rides up. your back arches. the wood creaks underneath like it might give out, and honestly—if it breaks, let it. you’ll thank it for its service.

his hands are everywhere. palming your thighs, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist like he owns it. “look at you,” he rasps, lips trailing down your throat. “fuckin’ dream girl of the county. all these poor bastards lining up for a smile, and here you are—legs open for me.”

you gasp and whimper and dig your nails into his shoulders. he presses his hips harder, grinds right against where you need him most. your head drops back, your moan echoes. “you love this,” he says, panting now. “bein’ up here where anyone could walk in. where anyone could see you gettin’ ruined by me.” you don’t answer, you can’t. “what happened to that bratty mouth, huh?” he growls, dragging his teeth along your jaw. “where’s all that sass now?”

“shut up,” you breathe. “just—please.”

“beggin’ again?” he taunts. “thought you didn’t do that.”

“i’m making an exception.”

he laughs, dark and hot, and grabs your hips tighter, pulling you to the edge of the table. “you should see yourself right now,” he mutters, undoing his belt with one hand. “look so fuckin’ pretty like this. so desperate.”

“you’re the one that came after me.”

“yeah,” he admits, lining himself up, voice breaking a little, “because i’m a goddamn fool for you.”

and then he pulls back. his hand wraps around your jaw, gentle but firm, tilting your face up to look at him. he’s flushed and panting. pupils blown wide. and his voice, when he speaks, is low and dangerous and thick with control he’s barely holding. “get on your knees.”

your heart stops and your grin widens. “you asking or telling me, cowboy?”

he presses his thumb into your cheek, leans down, kisses the corner of your mouth like he’s being nice before doing something awful. “i’m tellin’ you,” he mutters, “be a good girl and make me feel good.”

you blink slow, mouth open, pretending to think about it. “what’s in it for me?”

his hand slips down, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make you feel it—not choking, just owning. “my cock in your mouth,” he growls. “and maybe if you do it right, i’ll let you come later.”

your knees buckle, but your pride doesn’t. you hum, all fake sweetness. “guess i could use something to suck on.” you drop to the floor, knees hitting the sticky saloon wood like you belong there. he watches you, chest heaving and jaw tight. trying not to come just from the sight of you looking so cute on your knees for him. you look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. “you nervous?” you tease.

he barks a laugh. “just waitin’ to see if the mouth that talks so much can finally do something useful.”

you pout. then reach for his belt, slow and dramatic, undoing it like it’s the last gift under a christmas tree. and when his cock springs free, hard, flushed, huge, your mouth waters. you glance up again. “you been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you?”

he hisses as you wrap your hand around him, thumb brushing the tip. “every fuckin’ night,” he admits, voice ragged. “jesus, i’d wake up hard just rememberin’ how you looked struttin’ around in those little shorts behind the bar.”

you stroke him once, twice, slow and sweet. then you lean forward, kiss the tip. just a whisper of a touch. he groans. his hand finds your hair, pulling it already. you drag your tongue along the underside, all the way down, then back up again. he swears, low and filthy. “look at you,” he rasps. “knees on the fuckin’ floor, pretty mouth full of me. you know how many men in this town would give their right hand for this?”

you hum around him. smile with your eyes, because you do know. and you love that it’s you doing this to him. so you take more of him in, then more. until he’s deep in your throat, and he’s gripping the edge of the table so tight you think he might snap it in half. “fuck,” he moans. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that. takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

his hips twitch forward. just a little, just enough to make you gag—on purpose, and he loves that. he loves the sound. he loves how messy your mouth is for him. so he starts to move in shallow thrusts. hand in your hair, not rough, but claiming. “you gonna let me come in your mouth, baby?” he groans. “gonna swallow it all, show me how good you are?”

you nod and moan, sucking harder, and that’s it. he gasps, his hips snap forward. his whole body shudders. he comes hard, hot and thick on your tongue, fingers tangled in your hair, voice wrecked. you swallow it all, slowly. wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, like a brat.

you’re still on your knees, lips wet, tongue peeking out in satisfaction like you just finished dessert and might go back for seconds. he looks down at you, utterly wrecked. and then he laughs breathless and disbelieving. “jesus christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like you just short-circuited every last nerve. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you grin, smug as sin. but then he leans down, and his strong arms slide under your shoulders, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you squeal, half-laughing, hands flying to grip his shirt. “hey—!”

“shut up,” he breathes. “my turn.”

he sets you down on the table again, right where you were before. but this time, he doesn’t kiss you yet. doesn’t even touch you. he just steps back, eyes dark and hungry. and says, “spread.”

you blink, chest rising. “what?”

he tilts his head, steps back in, hands firm on your knees. “you heard me, sweetheart. open up. now i’m gonna make you feel good.”

you part your thighs slow, watching his eyes drop, watching his breath hitch. you lean back on your elbows, head tilted, and he glances at the wet mark through your shorts. he drops to his knees, his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge like he’s pulling you into hell with him. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and reverent, like you’re a prayer and a sin at the same time.

“you wet for me already?” he murmurs, hot breath brushing your core through your shorts.

you nod, breathless. “since you walked in.”

he grins. bites the soft skin just above your knee. “should’ve told me. i’d’ve come sooner.”

he yanks your shorts and panties down fast, like he’s impatient. because he probably is. so then—finally—he licks you. one long, slow stroke that makes your back arch off the table. you gasp. grab the edge and moan his name so soft it sounds like a confession.

and he devours you. not gentle, not slow. just hungry and precise, like he’s got something to prove. his tongue works you open, circles and flicks and drives you fucking wild. he hums when you buck your hips, groans when you moan. his grip on your thighs bruises. his tongue never stops. “so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against you. “no wonder they all wanna taste.”

you whimper. he slides a finger in, then another. crooks them just right. your whole body tightens. your breath catches. “that’s it, baby,” he whispers. “ride my face. let go. give it to me.”

you do. you shatter, legs trembling, back arched, voice gone. you’re gasping his name, tugging his hair, begging him to stop or keep going—you don’t even know. he doesn’t stop. not until your whole body is shaking. not until your thighs twitch and your breathing turns ragged and your hand slaps the table in surrender.

then finally he pulls back with his mouth glistening with you. his smile is wrecked, his eyes wide and wild. he looks up at you like you just handed him the goddamn meaning of life. “holy fuck,” he whispers, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “you came so good for me, angel.”

you try to glare, you really do. but your limbs don’t work. your knees are jelly. your stomach’s still twitching in aftershocks. and then he stands, towering. glowing like he just found religion between your legs. and then he leans down, kisses your jaw, and says—soft and cocky— “think you can take one more?”

your eyes flutter open, you blink at him. “you’re insane.”

he grins and kisses the corner of your mouth. “that ain’t a no.”

you roll your eyes. but you’re already lifting your hips, already turning. and then his hands are on your waist, firm and steady, spinning you around until you’re bent over the table. your cheek presses to the cool wood. your arms stretch forward. “fuck,” you whisper.

he hums behind you, hands sliding up your back, bunching your shirt at your ribs. “look at you,” he mutters. “so goddamn ready. still drippin’ for me.” he leans over you, chest to your back, mouth at your ear. “tell me you want it.”

you inhale shakily. “i want it.”

his hand slides between your thighs. fingers glide through your wetness. “tell me who’s gonna make you come again.”

you gasp. “you are.”

“say my name, sweetheart.”

“you, jakey.”

he groans. lines himself up. and then he pushes in. you gasp, you arch and whimper. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, controlling the pace. his hips move slow and deep, dragging a moan out of you every time he bottoms out. “so tight,” he pants. “like you’re fuckin’ made for me.”

you moan his name again, cheek still to the table, one hand reaching back to grab at his wrist. he laughs low and feral. “no runnin’ now,” he growls. “you said you could take one more.”

his thrusts get faster and harder. the table starts to creak. your moans start to sound like pleas. and he’s loving every second. he leans in, bites your shoulder, mutters against your skin, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget how to sass.” you gasp and grin. you push back against him just to be a brat. he grabs your hips, pulls you back onto him hard. “jesus,” he hisses. “you like this, don’t you? bein’ used like this.”

“i like you like this,” you pant. “all obsessed.”

he grunts, and slaps your ass with a sting that makes your knees wobble. you yelp. and then he laughs, breathless, wicked. “i’m not lettin’ anyone else touch you again,” he mutters, voice cracked open, raw in your ear. his hand comes down to your hip, gripping. “this?” he growls, grinding into you harder, deeper. “this fuckin’ mouth, these thighs, this perfect little pussy— all mine.”

you moan, loud and shameless. he leans in, mouth hot on your neck, and his hand slips around you, fingers finding your clit like they never forgot it. he rubs in tight, fast circles, exactly how your body begs for. “come for me again, baby,” he pants. “show me how fuckin’ pretty you fall apart.”

and you do. you break, and your cry punches through the empty bar, your walls clenching so tight around him it nearly knocks the air from his lungs. your hands scrabble for the edge of the table, your face buried, your voice gone, just moans, sobs, his name like a prayer you can’t stop saying. and then—still shaking, still high on it— you whisper, broken and filthy: “inside. jake. please—come inside.”

he fucking loses it. his hips stutter, his breath catches, his hand grabs your ass roughly. “fuck, baby—” his head drops to your back. his rhythm falters, he’s right there. “you want me to fill you up?” he growls, desperate. “want me leavin’ you dripping with me?”

you nod, frantic. “yes—yes, please—i want it, i want all of it—”

he groans, loud. his thrusts go messy. erratic. wild. “goddamn, you’re gonna ruin me,” he gasps. and then he comes, deep and hard. body shuddering as he spills inside you, hips pressed tight, your name falling from his lips like a sin he’s finally ready to be forgiven for.

his hand stays in your hips. his forehead pressed to your back. both of you panting. shaking. wrecked. and you smile, eyes closed, face against the table, voice barely above a whisper:

“told you you were obsessed.”

he laughs—hoarse, drunk on you—and kisses your spine. “shut up,” he murmurs. “you fuckin’ love it.”

after, at your place, after he wrecked you in every possible way, you watch him fall asleep beside you, arm slung across your waits like he is still trying to stake a claim. cowboy hat on the floor. love bite on his throat. your lipstick on his chest.

you smile to yourself. “i like my men playing hard to get,” you whisper.

lucky for you, he never stood a chance.

author’s note: soooo i saw this edit of jake in full cowboy mode and lost every functioning brain cell i had left. then i watched manchild by sabrina carpenter and went wait what if… so this fic accidentally became the most porn-with-plot thing i’ve ever written. but i regret nothing. cowboy jake has a chokehold on me and the saloon girl in my brain wouldn’t shut up until he was wrecked and begging. anyway, yee-fucking-haw 🤠

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© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[suiana]

Would y'all fw a crossdresser! yandere who pretends he's a girl just to get close with you⁉️⁉️⁉️

Because I would 🤤 He'd wear the prettiest dresses, be beautiful, AND actually take care of himself. Unlike your average stinky guy, yuck.

Maybe it's like, the first day of a new university semester or you're new to a city. Perfect opportunity for him to approach you. Heard you like guys who take the opportunity so here he is! Just... Not as his normal guy self.

But hey! It works, surprisingly. Even he himself is shocked. He never considered himself to be super masculine but for you to not even be suspicious about his identity? Well geez, maybe he should just dress feminine all the time from now on.

You two get close to one another. He's... Surprisingly good at this thing. He talks to you about his feelings, asks about yours, treats you, and basically does what a normal girl does. He thinks he's doing well. Maybe you'll actually like him? He doesn't know if you like girls but when he eventually reveals himself as a guy you'll probably say something like 'oh i actually liked you all this while bla bla bla'. Or that's what he fantasizes about anyway.

But when he hears you say something like a guy who is praised in society is just what a normal girl does? That... Did something to him. That's why he goes the extra mile now! Spoiling you to the next extent, being there emotionally and physically through tough times... Oh, if only you knew the friend you call 'boy' as a term of endearment was actually one.

He's the type of guy to comfort you when the guy he paid to break your heart actually breaks your heart. He'll be crying with you, hand stroking your hair as he holds you close to his chest. How dare someone break your heart! Absolutely outrageous!

Then he goes and thanks the guy for his amazing job well done. Make up your mind bro!!! 😂🤣

Don't worry! He'll take you out on dates too, platonic ones of course! Girls night out, right? Who cares if he touches you a little too frisky? Who cares that he's kissing your neck and staining your skin red with his lipstick? You're both girls!

Right?

Of course, everything comes tumbling down when you walk in on him changing. Both wide eyed, one in shock, another in horror. Uh oh.

The jig's up, boy.

[bernardsbendystraws]

Bf .ᐟ Matt lets Chris use a sex toy on you

⚠︎ smut, sex toys, chratt stuff, cuck!matt, sub!reader, dom!matt, praising, degrading, freak shit ! (would a part 3 be too much)

part one

Honestly, what the fuck were you doing. Nothing about this was normal—nothing about this was morally okay. Your boyfriend shouldn’t be sharing you with his brother. 

He shouldn’t be enjoying it this much either. 

Last time, Chris was only watching. He was hesitant to even touch your knee, but now? Oh god. He couldn’t help himself now. The man’s hands were curious—needy and selfish. 

“Oh my—” 

Your mouth drops open as you feel Chris push the sex toy into you. There’s an attachment that stretches you with the perfect vibration, another smaller one that creates the exact pressure you crave on your clit. 

“Shit—you–you’re clenching around it so much…I can–can barely fuck you with it,” Chris swallows thickly, hesitantly looking over at Matt and then over to you. The sight of your face contorted with pleasure makes his dick ache in his jeans—but this was the deal. 

Just watch. 

He wants to touch you—truly touch you—but this was the closest thing Matt would let him get for now. Technically, Chris is still only observing. His hands aren’t directly on you, not anywhere inappropriate at least. 

His palm is flattened on the middle of your inner thigh, keeping you spread as Matt holds your other leg open. The echoing vibration from the toy only adds to how overwhelmed you feel with euphoria. 

Two pairs of eyes and so many hands.

All on you. 

“Is he making you feel good, sweetheart?” Matt coos, his tone dripping in a layer of sympathy that doesn’t reach his sadistic eyes. He enjoys this—way more than he should. 

Your boyfriend is obsessed with how overwhelmed you seem, how utterly lost you are in all the sensations piling down on you all at once. 

“Babyyyy…” Matt sings, leaning down until his lips graze your ear. 

Oh god.

You shiver as he nibbles on the rim of your ear, your back arching as Matt presses his hand harder on your thigh, dragging it until your knee is pressed against your chest as he starts to kiss sloppily along your thumping pulse. 

“Is he makin’ my princess feel good?” he asks again, his tone sickeningly prideful as he laughs at the pathetic noises spilling from your lips. 

He knows your body. Matt made it his mission to learn more about what makes you squirm—what makes you fall into a sobbing mess for his own entertainment. 

The way he’s pressing your leg to your chest allows the sex toy Chris is fucking into you to hit just the right spot. 

Your vision turns white, your head spinning as you feel your hips erratically spasm. 

“-cum! I—fuck!” you scream, being met with zero mercy as Chris continues to plunge the vibrations into your wet cunt, letting the friction on your clit dig against your swollen bud. 

Another sound scratches through your throat. It feels like so much—too much—but all you want is more. 

Matt lets his teeth and lips eat at your sensitive skin along your neck, his smile apparent as he pins your leg against your chest even harder to keep you in place. None of your frantic squirms make him loosen his grip. 

And it hits you—it hits you hard. 

The high that ripples through your system is overbearing. Tears leak from the corner of your eyes, your entire body going rigid as your muscles tremble. The butterflies in your stomach erupt like a storm, every vein coursing with an electric pleasure as your breath catches in your chest. 

“Thaatttt’s it, fuck—look how good you’re doin’ for us,” Matt husks.

You tremble from the echoing vibrations of the toy as it comes to an abrupt stop. Chris slowly removes it, his chest tightening as he watches your entrance clench around nothing. 

And he can’t help himself. 

Something drags his fingers between your legs, something that makes him feel so lightheaded that he can barely think. 

“Holy shit…” Chris whispers, his fingers gently touching your swollen, sloppy folds. 

The sound that leaves your lips and the way your body twitches calls him back to reality. His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s done, he looks over to see Matt glaring with a disapproving squint. 

“Sorry.” Chris mumbles. He tries his best to stop looking—to stop staring at your sloppy wetness that seems to beg for his attention. But he can’t. 

His hand moves up to your knee, his lip stinging as his teeth gnaw into the soft muscle as he attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. 

The reminder echos in his head as he takes in the heavenly sight of you fucked out and breathless;

Just watch.

a/n: pls match my freak bro. i'm just tryna be horny and vibe. anyhow, any interaction is appreciated! im too scared to use my taglist so i'll tag the ppl that specifically asked to be tagged in the comments cus im a pussy <333 lmk if a part 3 would be wanted or if this is too much LMAO. anywayyyyyyys

with love and big tits, rose ꫂ ၴႅၴ

[reminiscingthesea]

Thinking about.. comforting Khaslana (aka dead eyes Phainon from the 3.4 story) in one of the million cycles..

Warning- Spoilers for 3.4 story quest, angst

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.

.

He lay across on your lap, his head nestled upon your soft thighs, as your fingers gently combed through his icy white hair, twirling a few strands around your nimble fingers. His gaze was fixed upwards, but not at you, but towards the sky, the sky that praised the two of you with beaming light and its warming radiance from the godlike sun. The same sky he knew was hiding the Destruction’s gaze from afar. A wretched, fake sky. The same sun he knew would bleed red soon. He has seen it all too many times.

But you? You were an exception- an anomaly- your occurrence in these millions of cycles were fleeting- rare. Almost by chance. He knew your presence made whatever above seethe with pure rage and anger, as you slowed down the Destruction’s synthesis.

There was something he didn’t quite understand, however. How was it that you knew who he truly was? How did you know that Amphoreus was of cyclical existence in nature? There were things you knew that you shouldn’t know. But, in every thousand of those millions of cycles where he had the chance to meet you- to ask these questions, he never found himself the courage to ask. Not once. Were you simply a cruel string of code curated by Lygus himself to keep him going? God, he hoped not. So why did he never find himself questioning you of your origins?

Was it his love for you? Yes. Was it because he didn’t want to find out something he shouldn’t know, for the sake of his and Cyrene’s mission? Also, yes.

“What’s on your mind, Khaslana?” Your voice was a soothing balm to his wound of a body, his body blazing with raw memoria, will, and passion. Even for a fleeting, sorrowful moment, he wished he could stay by your side like this, forever.

Turning his gaze to you, he saw how your kind eyes flickered with worry, and your expression contorting from one of peace and indulgence, to one of concern and love. It must’ve been his eyes. Cerulean blue, full of emotion and colour, with the faint shape of Kephale’s halo within, encasing small, bright yellow pupils. But they weren’t filled with light or shine, no matter how beautiful they may look. They were dead. Emotionless. Unmoving. Cold. Yet, you always kept eye contact with him, why?

“Things on my mind, that’s all.” He replied quietly, his tone unintentionally cold and distant as he spoke. He saw the way your eyes very briefly flickered with slight pain and sadness, before quickly being hidden by a mask of sympathy, a small, sad smile adorning your pretty face.

“I know that’s not true. But I won’t go into detail, since I know someone like you must have a lot on your mind. Though, tell me one thing. How many coreflames is it that you bear now, within you?”

“Two million, seven hundred-and-ninety-five thousand, eight hundred and sixty.” He answered without a beat, having known the feeling of the burning heat of over two million coreflames that burnt to brightly within him, the fire not weakening once, the light, not dimming a fragment.

Your face was was blank, expression, unreadable, but full of thought as you processed what he had said, temporarily seizing the comforting ministrations on his scalp, to which he gave you a slightly hurt look.

“Ah. So this must be the thirty-third million, five-hundred-and-fifty-thousandth, three hundredth and thirtieth cycle? Hmm.. that must mean something, right?” You pondered inquisitively, as you looked up, a finger on your chin as you thought.

When Phainon didn’t respond, you knew something in him must’ve switched. Normally, he had something to say or retort back with in an instant- having gone through identical moments in the past too many times before now.

But this? This was unexpected? Unrehearsed for. He didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to say anything. I realise I may be out of line for asking that, reminding you of.. your mission and the memories it may bring back.” After a few beats, you carefully coerced him to look into your eyes, hooking two fingers around his chin to secure his almost lifeless gaze.

“But, what I do know, Khaslana, is that you’re strong. Strong, determined, willful. I know the horrifying experiences you must face each cycle, the overbearing responsibilities you’ve had to bear as Khaslana during each cycle up until now, to avoid a complete Destruction. But for now, please. Just rest. I see it in your eyes, the pain and suffering behind them, the weight of so many wishes and memories.. The same eyes that yearn for respite.”

Your tone, so soft, so sweet, so loving, so reverent, so you. Rest wasn’t something he grew accustomed to over these long, torturous cycles, the memories he bore within screamed cries too loud for his mind to keep out, to keep quiet.

But, for some reason here, he found himself at peace. Devoid of thought, of memory, of the wishes of thousands. The scolding heat of the coreflames now engulfing him in a rather comforting warmth, rather than its usual fiery burns and flames. His lips separated slightly, trying to find the words to speak. But nothing. He knew he wanted this. He wanted respite- even for a few fleeting minutes or hours, even if it did cause jeopardy to his lifelong, eternal plan.

As if moving on his own accord, he lifted himself up, feeling weightless as he now sat next to you, back against the large trunk of a tree, looking at you with fuller eyes now. You swore you could see the smallest, the quickest of flickers of life pass through his empty, ocean eyes that resembled the sun, before immediately disappearing once more.

And then, without either your accords or his, your eyes closed, as the two of you leaned closer, lips capturing the other in a deep, intimate kiss. On your side, you were gentle, slow, and loving. But on his side, he was passionate, needy, and twice as loving, pulling you closer as his tongue made its way past your soft, full lips, and into the expanse of your mouth, the hot muscle loving it properly. You felt his teeth nip and bite at your lower lip, eliciting a soft moan out your throat as you held onto him tightly, wanting more and more, to which he responded to eagerly.

After some time, the two of you pulled back, your faces flushed, breath gone, panting hurriedly to make up for the lack of airflow due to the lovingly long kiss. Your lips, now wet with his and your saliva, placed big, sloppy kisses onto his cheeks, which drove out one of the sweetest, most beautiful sounds you hadn’t heard in so long. A laugh. Phainon’s laugh. Not the delirious or distant, shallow, fake laugh of Khaslana. But the bright, warm, contagious laugh of Phainon.

“You look better now, I can almost see the light returning back to your eyes.” There was a warm smile on your face as you spoke. You gently pinched his cheek with the pads of your fingertips, squishing it slightly as you did. Phainon, who now had a look of closeness and trust on his face, carefully brought down you hand from his cheek, and over his chest, where you could feel the enthusiastic, strong beat of his heart behind his bones.

“You feel that? That’s the beating of my heart. When you’re around in every odd cycle, it beats harder, faster, as if it knows you’ll be here in the next cycle. I.. don’t know when the next time we meet will be, but in every cycle, I’ll always love you. [Name].” Placing a delicate kiss on your knuckles, he looked up at you once more. His eyes, still dead with no shine, seemed to glow a brighter blue, yet the hue of his sun-yellow pupils glowed even harder, the dawn tattoo on his neck seemed to burn brighter now.

Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you gave him a peaceful, look of love, one full of adoration and affection.

“I’ll always love you too, Khaslana. Now then, you must rest now. Time won’t wait for you, you aren’t in Aedes Elysiae.” Slowly, he smiled and lowered himself back down, so his head was back resting onto the comfortable expanse of your soft, pillowy thighs. His eyelashes, long and pretty, fluttered daintily as his eyes shut once more, his pink lips parting slightly as he dozed off once more, to the heavenly embrace known as the land of dreams.

.

.

Once he was asleep fully, you shifted him off roughly, his head landing onto the grass next to you, a look of disgust writing itself onto your face as you watched him unconsciously nuzzling his nose against the dirt.

“Pathetic.. Lycurgus was right when he said he was truly nothing more than a child at heart, such a mangy dog. I hate having to get close to him..”

Pulling out your tablet, you began noting down some things onto the indigo blue screen.

>

>

>

>>[33,550,330 Computation]

>>Subject: “Neikos496”

>>Observation: In each cycle, Neikos496 —Khaslana— reacts differently around Admin- [Name]. Upon closer inspection, his physical body pumps golden blood—The Destruction— quicker around his body.

>>Admin notes: This is just as I predicted, as similar, affectionate behaviour from him was exhibited around me in each computation I was present in.

>>Conclusion: The Destruction synthesis of Lord Ravager, Irontomb, and Neikos496 progresses faster around Admin [Name]’s presence. Therefore, Irontomb’s presence grows stronger, leading to a greater likelihood of nearing ascension.

>>Strategy: Create more versions of Admin ‘[Name]’ in each cycle to speed up the development of Irontomb’s presence within Phainon Neikos496.

[psycholuvrgirl]

birthday sex

featuring... satoru! suguru! megumi! yuji! kento! toji! toge!

summary: how the boys do you on your birthday

warnings: NSFW content; p in v (all characters are aged up)

a/n: this is in honor of my recent birthday

satoru gojo — against the window

your birthday can’t be just a normal day, not when satoru is involved. not when he insists on grand gestures and outrageous theatrics every day, and especially on your special day. so you shouldn’t have been surprised when he pressed you against the floor-to-ceiling window of a tokyo high-rise, the city glittering far below like a backdrop.

your legs lock around his waist, clinging to him as his strong arms effortlessly hold you up. the cool glass presses into your back, his warm body on your front. the contradiction is something only gojo could make feel so right.

he kisses you like he owns you, moves in and out of you like he wants everyone down there to know that he does.

“view’s nice, huh?” he murmurs against your neck.

you don’t respond. you can’t. you’re all moans and whimpers, hard breaths as your head falls back against the glass.

“i think you look better.”

you open your mouth to retort, but he rolls his hips just right, stealing the words and your breath. 

suguru geto — lotus position

the room is quiet, bathed in the warm glow of flickering candles. everything is soft and slow, intentional. suguru sits cross-legged on the futon, arms resting loosely around your waist as you straddle him. your bodies are so close that it leaves no room for distraction.

you set the pace, suguru insisted, and he follows like a man in prayer. every movement is reverent, every breath shared between parted lips. his hands roam gently, not greedy, just adoring your body.

“you feel like divinity,” he whispers against your throat.

he continues to touch, softly. he’s thorough, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. his eyes don’t leave yours, not even when yours close in pleasure. 

megumi fushiguro ��� doggy style, chest pressed down

he doesn’t make a show of it, he never does, but it’s your birthday and something in megumi slips. that quiet storm beneath the surface is close enough for you to feel.

he takes you with your chest pressed to the sheets , one hand firm at your lower back, the other roaming your body. his hips roll with unrelenting purpose, deep and controlled, breath hot and uneven against the back of your neck.

there’s no teasing or playful banter. just the sound of skin meeting skin and the low, broken groans he tries to keep quiet so the neighbors don’t complain. but he can’t, not tonight.

he murmurs your name, soft and reverent like a prayer. his touch says more — that you’re his.

yuji itadori — missionary with legs pushed up

there’s no hesitation with yuji. just raw, radiant need. it’s your birthday and he’s all in. he’s wide-eyed, breathless, and determined to ruin you in the best way possible.

you’re on your back, legs pushed up around his waist as he leans in close, driving into you. he moans freely, praise tumbling from his lips. his hands never stay still. they grip your hips, thread through your hair, press into the mattress as he chases every reaction from you like it’s the only thing that matters.

“let me see you come,” he breathes out, eyes locked onto yours.

and when you do fall apart beneath him, he’s right there with you. his mouth is on yours, body trembling with the effort to hold back just long enough to make sure you come first. just like always.

he’s the kind of lover who needs to please, not just wants it. and afterwards he shows up with your favorite snack, still shirtless and grinning like he’s won the lottery.

kento nanami — bent over the desk

nanami, punctual as ever, clocks out at 6:00 pm sharp. no meetings. no distractions. just you on his mind.

by 6:30 you’re bent over the dining room table, cheek against the cool wood, wrists held gently, yet firmly in one of his large hands. his tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up, and not a single wasted movement as he thrusts into you from behind. he’s controlled, efficient, and devastating.

at first it’s all precision. there’s a measured rhythm, deep strokes, soft praise spoken like gospel. it doesn’t stay that way, not when you fall apart beneath him and gasp his name out. that’s when his control slips, grip tightening, pace stuttering. then he breaks. he’s still a gentlemen, but he’s completely undone in a way only you get to see.

when it’s over he gathers you close, lips brushing your temple with a soft voice. “you did well.”

toji fushiguro — full nelson

birthday or not, toji fushiguro doesn’t do gentle. but for your birthday he makes sure you feel every inch of what he’s capable of.

you’re folded up, legs in the air, back arched, his arms locked beneath your knees. it’s brutal and consuming, your body being stretched open as your moans are punched out by every deep, relentless thrust.

toji’s breathing ragged in your ear, low growl vibrating through your spine. “look at you,” he murmurs, almost amused. “so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

he doesn’t hold back in the way he drives into you or the way his grip tightens when you start to come undone. he wants you ruined with trembling thighs, a blank mind, and a body wrecked enough to still feel him tomorrow.

when it’s over he lets your legs fall and leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he wears his trademark smirk.

“happy birthday, sweetheart.”

toge inumaki �� spooning

toge doesn’t need to use his words to make you fall apart, he never has. his touch speaks all on their own, more precise than any language he could speak. and on your birthday? he uses every inch of that touch to unravel you.

you’re curled together on your side, his chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other guides your hips back onto him in a slow, deliberate rhythm. every thrust is measured, deep and intimate, his lips brushing your shoulder with warm breaths fanning your neck. 

he doesn’t speak, but you can feel everything he wants to say in the way his fingers tighten when your breath hitches, in the soft moan that vibrates against your skin. he lets that cursed energy hum through you in quiet pulses, making your body tremble in ways even he can’t explain.

it’s slow, intense. a kind of worship that doesn’t need a loud volume to leave you gasping. and when you finally collapse into him, blissed out and boneless, he holds you tighter than before. his forehead meets the top of your spine, a hand over your heart.

[formulafanfics13]

Hiiii can you please do one where it’s reader and Daniel, (and Oscar)

So basically Oscar doesn’t know reader is dating Daniel so he asks her out but then finds out they’re dating and then gets super shy and mad at himself for hitting on a taken woman but reader didn’t mind and neither did Daniel and they ask him to join

You can have her too - DR3 & OP81 🔥

masterlist

Summary: Oscar quietly falls for you, only to discover you’re already seeing Daniel Ricciardo — until both of you reveal you’re into him too. What starts as heartbreak turns into the night of his life, with Daniel and you seducing him into a shared, worship-heavy threesome that leaves Oscar dizzy, ruined, and adored.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, threesome (M/M/F), oral (F receiving, M receiving), praise kink, voyeurism, light cuckquean/cuckolding themes, emotional intensity, soft dom!Daniel, gentle first-time energy with Oscar, group sex dynamics, aftercare.

Oscar didn’t mean to fall for her. It started the way these things always did, too many weekends in too many paddocks, laughing over coffee in the hospitality lounge, catching her smile across the motorhome hallway. She was smart, quick-witted, way too pretty to be single, but she never mentioned anyone. Never posted anyone. Always alone.

So he asked her out. Simple. Quiet. After a long day of media. She was packing up her laptop and he scratched the back of his neck, leaned on the doorframe of the McLaren motorhome, and said:

“So, uh. Would you want to maybe… grab a drink sometime?”

She blinked. Looked up from her screen. “You’re asking me out?”

“Only if you want me to.”

A beat. Then she smiled. “That’s really sweet, Oscar.”

He smiled too. Nervous. A little hopeful. But then she added, softly, “I should probably tell you… I’m seeing someone.”

He deflated immediately. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I probably should’ve said that earlier. I didn’t think-"

“No, no, it’s totally fine,” he rushed out. “I just… didn’t know.”

There was an awkward silence.

And then, of all people, Daniel strolled in. “Hey babe,” he said, casual as ever, leaning down to kiss the top of her head and steal the pen out of her hand. “Ready to head back?”

Oscar froze.

She met his eyes. A little sheepish. “Oscar, you know Daniel, right?”

“Yeah,” Oscar muttered, staring at the man who’d just kissed the girl he’d asked out sixty seconds ago. “We’ve met.”

He avoided them for two days after. Not in a dramatic way. Just… subtly. No shared rides. No lingering in hospitality. No stupid jokes in the engineering room. He couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking stupid he must’ve looked.

Flirting with someone Daniel Ricciardo was dating. Asking her out when Daniel had probably been fucking her for months.

He hated himself a little. But then came Saturday night. Post-qualifying. Team dinner. A little too much wine. And she sat beside him again.

"You've been quiet," she said softly, when Daniel got up to grab drinks. "Avoiding me?"

He flushed. “No. I mean-maybe. I didn’t want to make things weird.”

“They’re not,” she said. “We liked it.”

He blinked. “You… what?”

“The way you looked at me,” she said. “The way you asked. It wasn’t creepy. It was sweet.”

Oscar opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Then Daniel came back, slid into the booth beside them, and dropped a hand to her thigh like it was normal. “You tell him yet?” Daniel asked her.

She smiled. “Just did.”

Oscar stared between them. Daniel grinned. “Mate,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I asked out your girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “And she liked it.”

Oscar flushed again. “That doesn’t mean-”

Daniel leaned in. “It means,” he said slowly, “if you want her, you can have her.”

They didn’t take him back to his room. They took him to Daniel’s. The door locked behind them with a soft click.

Oscar stood awkwardly for a second. Jacket still on. Shoulders tense. You stood in front of him, hands on his chest, and looked up through your lashes. “You nervous?” you asked gently.

He nodded. Daniel came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, pressed his mouth to your ear.

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “You’ve got two people here who want to make you feel really fucking good.”

And then you kissed him. Oscar melted. Soft at first. Tentative. Your hands cradled his jaw, lips warm, slow, patient. Daniel stood behind you, hands moving up your sides, watching as Oscar’s hands settled on your hips.

When the kiss deepened, when you tilted your head and slipped your tongue past his lips, Oscar groaned.

You smiled. “That’s it.”

Daniel moved around you, caught Oscar’s mouth in a kiss of his own, and fuck did that break him. He let go.

The clothes came off in pieces. Your dress. Oscar’s shirt. Daniel’s hoodie. Shoes kicked into corners. Laughter and breath and skin against skin. They laid you down on the bed like you were something sacred.

Daniel kissed your neck. Oscar kissed your thighs.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Oscar whispered, mouth hovering just above your pussy. “Can I-?”

“Please,” you moaned.

He licked a stripe through your folds. Shuddered. “Fuck…”

Daniel smirked, watching your body arch, one hand on your chest, the other stroking himself lazily. Oscar buried his tongue in you like he was starved. Like he’d been dreaming about it. Messy. Deep. Moaning into your pussy like he couldn’t help it. His hands gripped your thighs, kept you open, took everything you gave him.

You came once on his mouth. Then Daniel pulled him up and kissed him, licked your taste off his lips, and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Oscar’s breath caught.

You looked back over your shoulder. “You ready, baby?”

He nodded.

“Come here.”

Daniel lined himself up behind you. Slid in slow. Deep. Familiar. You moaned, head dropping, body trembling.

Oscar sat in front of you, panting, hard, unsure. You reached for him. “I want you,” you said softly.

He let you pull him forward. Let you take him in your mouth, slow and careful, eyes locked as Daniel fucked you from behind.

The bed shook. Your moans were muffled. Daniel’s hands gripped your hips.

���Such a good girl,” he groaned. “Letting us both use you. So fucking perfect.”

Oscar came first, with a hand in your hair and your lips around his cock, eyes wide, chest heaving. Daniel didn’t stop. Just moved you back onto your back, lifted your leg, fucked you into the mattress until you were crying his name, coming again with his mouth on your tits and his cock deep inside you.

He came with a low fuck, buried inside, forehead pressed to yours. They collapsed on either side of you, breathless. And you just smiled. “Told you it wasn’t weird.”

[skulldaughter]

I'm SO glad you asked let's break it down cause I have so many blorbos. I included some who don't really have sex just because I wanted to consider everyone on my plate right now (I'm In Too Many Tabletop Games).

Senna: I don't think she speaks much during sex, and she probably just calls Rose by her name. She might slap the possessive on it like "my Rose." Rose has called Senna her little bear before but I don't think that would carry over to sex.

Lyn: Lyn doesn't really have an appetite for sex, but she's more than happy to act on behalf of her partner. I think she would call her partner something sweet and earnest, to go along with the sex being primarily about Lyn touching them and not the other way around.

J: J doesn't have a partner (that she knows of) and likely doesn't fuck? Maybe if she reclaimed her name and got her memory back she could but I don't think she can fully access that part of herself while her name is held by a fey empress.

Tisre: okay Tisre is definitely a daddy guy. That feels right (I don't know of any rabbit related pet names to augment that with).

Red/Rjona: I get the feeling that due to how intense the connection would have to be for her to open up to anyone she would completely flip her caustic personality and become an extremely doting lover. Constantly whispering praise and cute pet names like "my bride" or "princess" or "sweetheart" (she would call anyone bride regardless of gender it's so vampire coded).

Ven: I think Ven's sexuality is one of the parts of her that was suppressed while she was an unholy assassin, so as she slowly recovers the different pieces of her personality I think each new emotion or desire starts out unbearably powerful, then normalizes as she processes the healing she's going through. Ven has only just had her first crush so I don't think she's ready to fuck yet but if she did I think she'd be a "chant their name" type of lover.

Astrid: whatever Tess tells her to say and nothing more 🫡

Raelus: he's too sad to fuck! If he did fuck he would not be able to speak because he hasn't gotten any in eighty years. He'd just be very grunty and animalistic out of need. He'd cry afterward.

Kel: please, this bitch is a virgin. She doesn't know the first thing about sex. Well she knows the first thing but probably not the second or third things. She's spent her whole life dedicated to her martial training so she might not even jerk off honestly.

Everyone is tough and ready to overshare OC details until we start going into waht they call their partner during sex. Then its "to much" and "Morgan its not even noon" and "NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW THAT"

[adoresia]

BREAKING NEWS !! giant gets gianter… based off that official art he’s wearing heels in for some odd reason because i was bored, could’ve been revising but like nah

cw // crack crack crack craxk

Nagi doesn’t like going outside. doesnt like the blazing heat of the sun, the people, the walking, the conversing with random strangers and having to force a smile, the prices, the lines, the “can I help you with anything?” literally all of it. and usually when you drag him around from store to store he lets you, quietly grumbling once every fifteen minutes before melting back into your side

but today he was too cute to bother :( dead asleep in your bed with one leg kicked out dramatically to the side, blanket halfway off his body and his head burried in a mountain of mismatched plushies. his hair was stuck to his cheek and his mouth was barely parted, so you left him… you kissed his forehead, whispering a silent “I’ll be back.” took your bag and went out to do the shopping yourself.

Unfortunately…you deeply regretted this decision when you returned with seven bags and no one to help you carry them inside. so you called Nagi to come out and help you. you called, it rang, it ended. so you called again… and then again… and then.. again?

finally after the ninth missed call your phone buzzed with a single sluggish facetime request. you answered to an angle of his neck and a bit of his chin “…what.”

“sei…I told you to help me when I got back.”

your voice strains under the weight of the bags, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you try not to drop a handle. “oh, I was sleeping.” he sounded like hes talking through five layers of fog, voice raspy and not even fully awake, and you swear you can still hear the faint crinkle of your sheets in the background. “You’re always sleeping...”

“and I was doing such a good job at it…” you hear him yawn and something shifts in the distance — probably his leg falling off the bed. “come help me i’m outside. My arms are about to fall off.” theres a pause and an expected heavy groan, and then the sound of fabric being shoved back lazily. then a shuffle, and a dull thud as if he dropped his phone on the floor or maybe even walked into a wall. another beat of silence. then the call disconnects, you roll your eyes.

two minutes later the front door creaks open and there he stands, on the porch, wearing your red heels?? They’re visibly too small, you can see toe poking out the side; his pajama pants are crumpled just above his ankles; his shirt is half tucked; and there’s still a faint crease on his cheek from your pillowcase as he walks towards you with a stuffed frog tucked under his arm as if he forgot he was holding it.

the sun frames him like some ridiculous renaissance painting, its warm and soft and makes the heels look shinier than they deserve to be on his feet. He looks completely unbothered, like this was the most normal thing ever. “Sei…where are your slides?”

“couldnt find them” he shrugs. “these were near the door.” you just stare at him “…Are you being for real right now.” he yawns “didnt wanna go barefoot.” You drag a hand down your face but he just blinks at you, head tilted like he’s waiting for some kind of praise. you walk over to him half ready to strangle him — yet you stand there for a second tilting your head up to kiss him, or atleast attempt to…

he shifts backward in response and you squint. “hello why are you dodging me”

“…not dodging.”

“you literally backed up??” he scratches the side of his neck. “It’s just weird.”

“me kissing you is weird now?”

“no… im too tall. dont wanna bend down so far” you blink up at him, realising that the do in fact heels make him cartoonishly taller. you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. “…your so silly sei. was 6’3 not tall enough for you? I can’t even reach your mouth without a running start.”

“Then get your own heels” he mumbles, jokingly. Yet he still puts down the groceries he’s carrying and dips down slightly — just enough to plant a kiss to your temple. You melt into him, heels clicking quietly beneath him as he shifts his wait from one foot to the other, almost as if he never planned to go back to bed at all

a/n :: ENOUGH NAGI NOW omg his masterlist is literally overflowing thats enough sorry i cant stop help. ‘and’ ‘and’ ‘and then’ ‘and’ bitch expand your vocabulary??? does anyone want to send me a list of synonyms 💔 does this count as a drabble or is it leaning towards a oneshot its 722 words… hmmm… who is playing halo by beyonce outside my window hello

click here to get notified whenever i post a fic !!

gen taglist : @livteracts @s6rine @mayyhaps @lizbix @l4zystab @arisreadsalot

[ford-tamblyn]

Ford had a much bigger impulsive streak when he was younger. The him now would have never had the nerve to join a reality show the way he’d done it when he was in his early twenties. He wishes he was as brash as he used to be back then, but there were a lot of things that over time wore him down. It just got more difficult to do it by the end. “ I didn’t want the press to go after them. Not when they deserved a chance to have normal lives and not be connected to this horrible thing our parents had done” ford admitted as he glanced back at Romina. “ yeah it came up often. They only offered me the show because of who my parents were and what they had done. But I was able to turn things around a bit more. “

“ I like a different perspective “ ford added giving them their praise regardless if he’d already done it or not it. “ that’s a fair point. Cause I can’t stand here and say it didn’t change me. Cause it did. It made me want to run back here “ he said with some humor to his voice. “ but I get how you can see how the fame can really turn someone into the worst version of themselves. Do you ever get sad about it? Like if they weren’t terrible at the start?” @rominacortez

Romina had already formed some respect for him but learning that he'd went into fame in the hopes of changing the narrative that surrounded his family name was impressive and courageous. She was certain it must have come with some consequences and hadn't been a full proof plan. There were some people, whether in interviews or journalist, that could have done their due diligence and dug up the dirt on his family in terms of catching him off guard. "So you threw yourself into the limelight to ensure they remain in the shadows. That's very brave. I doubt that was easy. You must have had to answer some things about it regardless. It's a lot of weight to put on your back alone." She hoped his family was appreciative of his sacrifice.

"You don't have to thank me. It's just a different perspective." He'd done a lot with his work and it had helped him pay the bills so there wasn't much shame in that. "It's hard to tell who's terrible at the start because I feel like fame changes you and, most of the time, in bad ways so you've got to wade through a lot of shitty people to find the least horrible of the bunch."

[heestruck]

BAD DESIRE ; Lee Heeseung

synopsis ; It was never meant to be more than a secret. But between late night kisses, and everything they never said, she fell harder than she should have. And he let her. Now they’re both left chasing something that was never built to last.

In which y/n and heeseung's paths probably shouldn't have collided. with his raging addiction, and her undying love for him, they navigate their way through a love that was never meant to last... or was it?

pairing ; student!fem reader x addict!heeseung

genre ; smut, angst

warnings ; drug use, and lots of it, heeseung using, reader smoking/attempting to use, emotional abuse, lying, kinda cheating if you squint, gaslighting, p in v smut, pet names, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, degrading, praise, unprotected sex (be safe pls), oral fem rec, like... kinda breeding kink, heeseungs lowkey possessive, heeseung is lowkey manipulative, reader is really naive, slight drug glorification, heeseung and reader kinda don't like each other at first, arguing, heeseungs a major asshat, they yell at each other sometimes, very will they wont they/back and forth, like I cannot stress how much heeseung is in the wrong here, let me know if i'm missing anything

do not read if any of this makes you uncomfortable. minors do not interact. !!! there is a lot of heavy themes in this fic, so please read the warnings carefully before reading.

I also CANNOT stress enough that this is purely a work of fiction, this story does not reflect against the real Lee Heeseung.

wc ; 22k 

read below the cut!

The lecture hall hums with quiet conversation as your professor’s voice fades into the background, the final slide of the presentation still glowing on the screen. You close your notebook with a soft snap, already organizing your mental to-do list for the night: finish your reading for psych, review your flashcards, maybe rewrite your biochem notes. 

As always, you're the first to have everything packed and neat, your pens color-coded, your planner tucked under your arm. “God, y/n, you’re like a walking academic weapon,” a voice teases from your right. You glance up to see Nina, your roommate, tossing her long curls over one shoulder as she stuffs her laptop into her bag. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you smile, slinging your tote over your shoulder.

“It is a bad thing,” she says, widening her eyes playfully. “You need to touch grass, or at least touch a vodka cran.” You laugh, shaking your head, but she’s already leaning closer with a mischievous look on her face. “There’s a party tonight off-campus. A few of our friends are going, Kira, Wren, Koda, just a chill thing. Music, drinks, maybe a little dancing.” She nudges your arm. “You in?”

Normally, you’d say no. You’ve turned down more party invites than you can count. But something in Nina’s tone, or maybe the way the late afternoon sun filters through the windows and paints the classroom in gold, makes you pause. You think about the endless cycle of lectures and labs. The four color-coded exam prep calendars on your wall. The silence of your room after everyone else has gone out.

“Yeah,” you say, surprising even yourself. “Why not?” Nina’s mouth drops open in mock shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my roommate? I didn’t even have to get on my knees and beg!” You just laugh again, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not promising anything wild. I’ll come, I’ll dance, I’ll hydrate. That’s it.”

“Perfect,” she grins, grabbing your arm as you walk toward the exit. “You’re going to look so cute. Don’t worry, I already know exactly what you’re wearing.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bass hits before you even step inside.

The house is already pulsing with bodies and strobing lights. Smelling like cheap beer, too much cologne, and the unmistakable scent of a college party deep in its prime. Mina’s got a hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the crowd like she’s on a mission, her glossy lips already curved in excitement. “You look so good,” she says over her shoulder, practically yelling. “Like, who is she good.”

You tug your jacket tighter with a small smile. It’s not nerves, you’re just not used to feeling like this. Not used to the way the black ripped jeans hug your legs, the way your fitted crop top clings to your frame. Hair down, just enough effort to look like you didn’t try at all. The moment you step into the living room, the lights flashing soft pinks and purples, a voice cuts through the chaos. “Y/N! Oh my god, babe, look at you!” Wren comes flying toward you with open arms, all bright eyes and glittery eyeshadow, wrapping you in a one-armed hug while still balancing a red Solo cup. “You look so hot,” she says, already pulling back to get a full look at you. “Like, I’d kiss you hot.”

“Same,” Kira calls from the couch, where she’s sitting sideways in someone’s lap like she owns the place. “You’re giving mysterious bad bitch and I’m obsessed.” “Seriously,” adds Koda, who’s perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and sipping some blue drink out of a mason jar. “If I saw you walk into a party and didn’t know you? I’d be too intimidated to talk to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all ridiculous.” “And you’re stunning,” Mina says, giving your waist a quick squeeze. “Now, drinks?” As if on cue, Wren jumps up and heads toward the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. “We’ve got vodka, tequila, mystery punch… ooh, and something that tastes like peach rings.”

“I’ll just do water,” you say quickly, holding up a hand. “I’m good.”

Four pairs of eyes snap to you in unison. “Y/N,” Kira says, scandalized. “You wore that top and came to this party and think you’re getting away with water?” Koda laughs. “Girl, you agreed to come. That means at least one fun drink.”

Mina reappears with a bottle of something pink and barely fizzy, holding it out to you. “Light. Not even strong. You’ll barely taste it. It’s like a Capri Sun.” You hesitate, but only for a second. The bottle is cold in your hand, the condensation slick on your fingers. One sip won’t hurt. It tastes like candy. Sweet and a little fake. Easy. “There she goes,” Wren says, raising her cup.

“You’re officially fun now,” Kira adds, looping her arm through yours. The music shifts, bass vibrating in your chest. Someone yells something in the next room. Outside, people are already spilling onto the porch, drinks and laughter echoing into the night. You feel it in your skin, that slow buzz of being alive, being here, with the girls who make everything feel lighter.

But you still feel an unsettling feeling creep up the back of your neck. Maybe because you don’t notice the eyes watching you from across the room.

Not yet.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bathroom reeks of bleach, stale smoke, and whatever cheap cologne the guy before them doused himself in. Heeseung wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing once, slow and deep. The burn is already fading, replaced with the familiar clarity and a weightless buzz under his skin.

Outside the door, the music thrums like a second heartbeat. Sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his lips. “You know one day your brain’s gonna just leak out your nose, right?” Heeseung shrugs, eyes half-lidded. “Better out than rotting in there.” Jay laughs, pulling the door open to let the sound of the party spill in again. “You two sound like you’ve had this conversation before.” There’s a pause as the two exchange a glance. “We have,” Sunghoon says. “Every time he does something dumb.” His words accompanied by an eye-roll that comes to him naturally, “Which is often,” Heeseung adds with a grin, snagging the cigarette tucked behind Sunghoon’s ear and lighting it like it’s his.

They step out, smoke trailing behind them, the heat and noise of the party rushing in all at once. Heeseung’s eyes flick lazily over the crowd, bodies pressed too close, red cups in every hand, neon lights catching on sequins and sweat. Sunghoon elbows him. “You gonna dance tonight, or just brood in the corner like Batman again?” “I’ll dance when hell freezes and you get laid,” Heeseung mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Ouch,” Sunghoon says with a mock wince. “Low blow. Even for you.”

Jay doesn’t laugh.

He’s staring at something, no, someone. Eyes locked across the room, jaw slightly slack, like he forgot how to act. Heeseung catches it immediately. “Dude,” he says flatly. “You good?” Jay doesn’t respond, causing Heeseung to follow his gaze. She’s standing with a group of girls near the kitchen, laughing at something, her drink cradled in one hand. Her hair catches the light, eyes wide and sparkling in that way that’s too fucking pure for this place. Black jeans. Black top. Sweet face, too clean for the party grit.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, stop staring at her like a fucking perv.” Jay finally snaps out of it. “She’s just… I don’t know, man. She’s got-”

“What?” Heeseung cuts in, tone biting. “That good girl trying to be bad energy? The innocent preppy type who probably says ‘sorry’ when she bumps into furniture?” Sunghoon snorts. Jay shrugs, unfazed. “She’s cute.”

“She’s boring,” Heeseung says immediately, taking another drag. “Can already tell. Probably straight-A’s, runs on caffeine and validation, thinks this party is some edgy detour in her perfect little life plan.”

“You got all that from one look?” Sunghoon raises a brow. “I’ve seen that type before,” Heeseung mutters. “They don’t stay.” Jay watches her again. “Still wouldn’t mind finding out.” Heeseung doesn’t reply, but his eyes linger just a little too long this time. Something about her smile makes him twitch. Like she doesn’t belong here, and for some reason, that pisses him off more than anything else.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You’re laughing as Wren spins you around, both of you stumbling through a fit of giggles. The music’s loud, the floor slightly sticky under your shoes, and the lights paint everything in neon. It’s the first party you’ve let yourself really enjoy in... well, ever. Koda hands you another drink, something sugary, and you take a cautious sip before letting yourself be pulled back into the small crowd of dancers.

You move with Kira and Wren, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, swaying to the beat. It’s easy to forget the stress of deadlines and grades here, wrapped in the warmth of your friends and the hazy buzz of the night.

“Dude, you’ve been staring at her for like ten minutes,” Heeseung mutters, leaning against the wall, eyes following the glow of the neon lights. “What, you suddenly into honor roll girls now?” Jay smirks, eyes still fixed on you as you laugh and twirl with your friends. “She’s just… different.” Sunghoon snorts into his drink. “Different how? She’s got two arms and two legs like everyone else.”

“She’s not like the other girls here,” Jay says, straightening a little. “She’s not sloppy, not trying to start drama. She looks like she’s actually having fun.” Heeseung scoffs. “Yeah, because she probably drank half a white claw and hit her sugar quota for the week.” Jay grins. “You’re just mad you have a type and it’s emotionally unavailable.” Sunghoon lets out a wheeze. “He’s not wrong.”

Heeseung glares at both of them. “Nah, I’m just saying, girls like her don’t come to parties like this unless it’s a pity invite. She’s not gonna go for you, Jay. Especially not with that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“The one that says, ‘I’m trying to hit it before the night ends.’” Jay rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure, I wouldn’t mind that. But I’m not an asshole. I just wanna talk to her. She seems cool.” Sunghoon nudges Heeseung. “Translation: he wants to hit it, but he’ll settle for a couple of texts and a chance to pretend he reads books.” Heeseung exhales a laugh, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Alright, lover boy. Go shoot your shot. Just don’t cry when she says you’re not her ‘type.’” Jay ignores them both, already peeling off the wall. “You two can stay here being bitter. I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Heeseung mutters. “Take the rejection like a man,” Sunghoon calls after him with a grin.

You’re mid-laugh when someone steps into your circle. “Hey,” he says, smiling like he’s known you for years. “Sorry to interrupt, I just had to come over and tell you… you look amazing tonight.” You pause, blinking up at him. He’s tall, casually dressed, but something about his smile is disarming. Genuine. Your friends glance at him, then at you, smirking behind their drinks.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard. “Thank you.”

“I’m Jay,” he offers, holding out a hand. You shake it. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I hope this doesn’t come off weird, but I’ve kinda been watching you and your friends for a while.” You raise a brow. “Not in a creepy way,” he adds quickly, laughing. “You just look like you’re having the best time.” You laugh, unsure how to respond. “And, you know,” he continues, “you’re kind of the most gorgeous person in this room.”

That gets your cheeks to warm. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” Jay chuckles. “Life’s short.” Then he leans in a little, voice lower. “I’m not gonna lie and pretend I don’t wanna get to know you in every sense. But I also get that it's not everyone’s vibe.” Your expression must shift, because he adds quickly, “No pressure. I just figured I’d shoot my shot.” You lift an eyebrow, but you’re smiling. “I don’t really do the hookup thing.”

Jay’s eyes flicker, disappointment, maybe, but brief. “Totally fair. In that case, I could always use a new hot friend that has killer dance moves.” That earns a soft laugh from you. “You’re smooth.”

“I try,” he says, shrugging. “So... can I still get your number? No expectations.” You nod, handing him your phone. He types quickly and hands it back, slipping his own into his pocket. “You wanna dance with us?” you ask, tipping your head toward your friends. Jay grins, “Thought you’d never ask.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s been a couple of weeks since the party, and somehow, Jay has become a fixture in your life.

He fits weirdly well with your friends, easygoing, funny, never tries too hard. Koda teases him constantly, Wren talks music with him like they’re soulmates, and Kira insists he’s basically the sixth member of your group chat. You didn’t expect him to blend in so seamlessly, but you’ve found yourself laughing a little more since he started hanging around.

Tonight, he invited you out to a local concert. You weren’t sure at first, small venue, grungy vibe, loud music wasn’t exactly your typical scene but he promised it would be fun. Said some of his friends were going, too. You agreed, mostly because it sounded like a decent Friday night, and Jay had been nothing but good company.

You arrive with him just as the opening set’s starting, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Jay gives your hand a brief squeeze as he pulls you through the people, heading toward a cluster of guys by the wall. “That’s them,” he says, nodding. “Heeseung and Sunghoon.”

You spot them immediately. Sunghoon is the first to notice you, his hair dark, pierced lip, leaning casually with a beer in hand. He smiles, straightening up. “Jay’s plus-one, huh?” he says, giving you a once-over, not in a sleazy way, just curious. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile, warm as ever. “You too. I’m Y/N.” Sunghoon tips his beer toward you. “Cool name.” And then your eyes drift left. And time sort of stops.

He’s leaning against the wall, one boot propped against the concrete behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Messy dark hair, sharp jawline, silver rings catching the low light. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t move. Just looks at you.

“Oh,” you say before you can help it. Jay gestures between you. “This is Heeseung.” Heeseung gives a single nod. “Hey.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. You clear your throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Nice to meet you.” He doesn’t say anything else, just holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary before looking away, like he’s already bored of you.

You blink, shaken just enough to feel it. Because he’s gorgeous. Like, unfairly gorgeous. But it’s more than that. There’s something about the way he carries himself, he seems so detached, and unreadable, like nothing really touches him, and for some reason, it sticks with you. 

The music picks up and Jay starts chatting with Sunghoon, joking about some old band they saw live. You try to focus on their banter, try to enjoy the show and for the most part, you do.

But every once in a while, your eyes drift sideways. Just quick glances. Just curiosity. You’re subtle about it, at least, you think you are. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even move much. Just leans there, stoic and silent like he couldn’t care less about the music or the crowd or you. But he sees it.

He catches every glance. And he doesn’t let it show, but your eyes aren’t the only ones wandering.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The line to the bathroom is long, but thankfully it moves fast. You’re in and out within minutes, winding your way back through the dim hallway toward the venue floor when someone steps out of the crowd and cuts you off.

“Hey, pretty thing,” the guy says, reeking of beer and something sharp underneath. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You here alone?” You freeze. Your first instinct is to be polite, a soft no, a quick smile, excuse yourself and walk away. But when you try to step around him, he blocks your path, one hand brushing your arm. “Don’t be shy,” he adds, voice lowering. “You were lookin’ at me earlier, weren’t you?” Your stomach twists. “I wasn’t.. excuse me.”

You glance back toward the crowd, hoping maybe Jay’s nearby, or anyone, really but it’s too loud, too dark, too many bodies in the way. The guy steps closer, and suddenly your pulse is in your throat. You take a step back, but the hallway feels too narrow now, the music from the concert a distant thump behind you. You don’t know what to say and you don’t even get the chance to think of something because, suddenly, he’s being ripped away from you.

One second, the guy is looming over you. The next, he’s slammed up against the wall with a sharp thud, a hand fisting in his collar. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Heeseung growls, jaw tight with fury. Your eyes widen. The guy holds his hands up, stammering, “I-I didn’t mean anything-” Heeseung shoves him once, hard, then lets him go. “Then walk away before I mean something.” The guy bolts without another word.

And just like that, it’s quiet again aside from the music still thumping from the venue. You and Heeseung stand alone in the dim hallway, the silence heavier than it should be. Finally, he looks at you. “You good?” he asks, but the words are mechanical. No concern in his voice. Just a blunt check-in. He doesn’t soften his expression, if anything it hardens.

You nod. “Yeah… I think so. Thank you.” You expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a slow step toward you. You feel the shift in the air like pressure behind your eyes. His eyes rake over you, not with hunger, not exactly. Almost like he’s trying to figure you out, and already doesn’t like the answer. “I don’t get it,” he mutters, almost to himself. You blink. “What?” He steps closer. “Girls like you…” He chuckles once, humorless. “You play dress-up for the night, think you’re bold for showing up to places like this. But it’s all pretend, isn’t it?”

You don’t respond, you can’t. His voice is low and steady, but it cuts like a knife. “You don’t belong here,” he adds. “And you know it.” He moves in just a little more, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his words brushing your skin.

“You should stick to safe things, princess.” You’re frozen, breath shallow. He’s staring right at you, and for a moment, his eyes drop straight to your lips. The tension swells, thick and unbearable. Then his expression shifts. That edge of something cruel curling at the corner of his mouth. “Before something bites back.”

He brushes past you without another word, his shoulder bumping into yours hard enough to knock you slightly off-balance, and he doesn’t look back. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You knew you shouldn’t have come.

Jay had texted that it wasn’t a party, just a small hangout with “the guys,” whatever that meant. You figured you’d sit on a couch, maybe order some pizza, suffer through video games you didn’t understand. Easy enough. But now you’re standing in Sunghoon’s living room, and the first thing you see is Heeseung perched low on the couch, head ducked, dragging a line of coke off the glass coffee table like it's nothing.

His hair is darker now, richer, nearly black. It hangs messily in his eyes, but you catch the flicker of them through the fringe as he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and leans back, lazy and unbothered. You freeze in the doorway, a cold shiver crawling down your spine. You hadn’t seen him since the concert. “Yo,” Heeseung says, tossing a small plastic bag across the table to Jay without looking. “You bringing her around now?” Jay catches it with one hand, unfazed. “She wanted to come.”

Heeseung’s gaze lifts slowly, dragging up your legs, your torso, your face. Not like he’s checking you out, more like he’s dissecting you. “You want a line, sweetheart?” he asks, voice dry, already knowing the answer. Your lips part in surprise. “No. I’ve never done that. And I’m not going to.” He snorts, ironically this time and leans forward, elbows on his knees, his grin a slow, sharp cut. “Didn’t think so,” he mutters as he rubs the remaining powder from beneath his nose. “You look like the kind of girl who cries when she gets a parking ticket.”

You stiffen, heart skittering in your chest. “Jesus, Heeseung,” Sunghoon cuts in from the kitchen, cracking open a beer. “Can you chill for like five minutes? You don’t gotta scare off every girl that walks through the door.” Heeseung just shrugs. “I’m not scaring her. I’m educating her.”

“Yeah, well, educate yourself on shutting the fuck up,” Sunghoon fires back, walking over and smacking the back of his head with the flat of his hand. Heeseung swats him away without real force, rolling his eyes. “Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist.”

“You’d cry before you tried,” Sunghoon retorts, falling onto the couch beside him with a grin. You don’t say anything, standing awkwardly at the edge of the room while Jay nudges your shoulder and gives you a small smile, like ‘sorry about them’. “I vote for movie night,” Sunghoon announces, grabbing the remote and flipping through options. “Unless you all want to keep playing who’s got the smallest dick.”

Heeseung slouches further down, arm thrown over the back of the couch, that same unreadable smirk still tugging at his mouth as he watches you take a hesitant seat across from him. You’re quick avoid his gaze, but to your dismay, you feel it anyway. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The movie had been playing for a while, some half-serious thriller that Jay insisted was good, even though Sunghoon kept making snide comments about the plot holes every five minutes. You’d nestled onto the couch between the two of them, a big bowl of popcorn resting in your lap. Mostly, it was Jay and Sunghoon grabbing generous handfuls while you only occasionally picked at the edges.

Now it was empty. Sunghoon let out a dramatic groan, slumping against the cushions like someone had just shot him. “No more popcorn? I’m gonna die.” Jay rolled his eyes. “You’ve had more than half the bowl.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon huffed. Then his eyes landed on you. “y/n. Sweet. Lovely. Beautiful y/n, would you be an angel and make some more before I shrivel up and perish?” You laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m hungry,” he whined, clutching his stomach. “C’mon, I’ll owe you forever.” You shook your head, grinning. “Fine. Where are the packs?” He answered immediately, a victorious smile already painting his lips, “Kitchen cabinet above the stove.” You stood, smoothing your hands over your jeans, and padded toward the kitchen. The lights in there were dimmer than the living room, quieter, more removed. You found the cabinet, pulled out a pack, unwrapped it, and popped it into the microwave. The hum of it spinning was oddly soothing. You stared at the digital countdown, absently brushing popcorn kernels from the now empty bowl.

A presence, heavy, and close pressed to your back like it belonged there. You immediately froze. Then his voice rang through your ears, low, rough. “I told you to stay away.” Your breath caught in your throat, it was Heeseung. “I’m not afraid of you.” You managed to get the words out, albeit quiet, but still firm. He laughed, his tone quiet and mocking, more like a breath than a sound. “You should be.” You felt the edge of his nose brush against your skin, trailing lazily from the curve of your ear down to your jaw. “I don’t like girls like you,” he said. “So preppy. So perfect. Good grades, straight A’s, praise from mommy and daddy for not being the family embarrassment.” His words weren’t sharp, they were slow, and poisonous, like honey laced with something rotten.

“You’re just a good girl who’s playing pretend. Hanging out with people who’ll ruin you just by standing too close.” You stayed still, your heart pounding. But, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching. “You’re wrong about me,” you said quietly. He didn’t respond right away, instead he spun you so your back hit the counter with a dull thud. His hands barely touched you, but they didn’t need to. The heat of him, and the intensity of his gaze was more than enough. “You think so?” he murmured. “Prove it.”

Your brows pulled in. “What-” He leaned in, just a fraction. His breath ghosted over your lips. “If you’re not who I think you are,” he said, “kiss me.” Your lips parted but no words came out. You blinked up at him, heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your chest. “I can’t,” you breathed. “They’re right there.” He didn’t move, he just let his lips brush yours, soft enough to barely count, cruel enough to make it feel like everything. Then his voice dropped right against your mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

Ding.

The microwave broke the silence with a loud chime. Heeseung stepped back with a lazy smirk, turned, and walked out without looking at you again. You stood there for a second longer, heart thudding in your chest, your palms gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You were curled up on your bed, legs tucked beneath you, a pillow hugged to your chest as Mina filed her nails at the desk and Koda nursed a half-empty iced coffee from the floor, where she sat cross-legged on the rug. The dorm room smelled faintly of vanilla and tteokibokki from earlier, a candle flickering on the windowsill, low music humming from Mina’s speaker. It was one of those quiet nights meant for decompressing after a long day.

Instead, your head was spinning.

“He hates me,” you said flatly, staring at the wall like it held the answers. “I don’t even know what I did. One second he’s saving me, the next he’s saying I don’t belong. He’s just.. ugh! He’s so confusing.” Koda raised a brow. “You mean Heeseung, right?” You nodded, clutching the pillow tighter. “I still don’t understand why you’re hanging around them,” Koda muttered, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Like… okay, Jay and Sunghoon seem nice enough, barely, but Heeseung? I don’t get the appeal.”

“Oh, come on,” Mina cut in, smirking as she leaned back in the chair, legs propped up on the desk. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Koda blinked. “About what?” Mina arched a brow at you. “Sleeping with him.”

“Mina!” you yelped, your face immediately flushing. “What?” she grinned, unbothered. “You’re clearly into him. And if he’s that hot and that frustrating, that’s probably the kind of hate-sex that ruins lives in the best way.” Shaking her head, Koda muttered, “You’re seriously insane,”

“Maybe,” Mina said cheerfully. “But I’m not wrong.” You buried your face in the pillow for a second. “I just don’t get him. Like, he offered me drugs and then told me I should stay away. He gets in my space like he’s trying to start something, and then leaves like I disgust him.”

“That’s because he’s probably bad news,” Koda said, serious now. “You said it yourself he was high out of his mind. He was rude, cold, and clearly not stable. Why are you still entertaining this? Why are you still hanging around them?” You sat up a little straighter, defensive without meaning to be. “Because Jay and Sunghoon aren’t like that. I like hanging out with them. Jay’s sweet. Sunghoon’s funny. They’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Okay,” Koda said, slow and firm, “but they’re close to Heeseung. Like, really close. Don’t you think that means something?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “I’m just saying,” Koda continued, “maybe think about not going to these hangouts anymore. Just until you know what you’re getting into.”

“She’s getting into Heeseung’s pants, hopefully,” Mina said under her breath.

“Koda has a point,” you said softly, ignoring Mina for once. “But… I don’t know. I feel like I want to understand him. He’s not just cold. There’s something else.”

“Trauma,” Koda said flatly. Mina laughed, but you only sighed. Then Mina sat up straighter, snapping her fingers. “Wait. I have an idea.” Koda narrowed her eyes. “Oh no.”

“You should go with her next time,” Mina said, pointing a glossy nail at Koda. “You don’t trust them? Go see for yourself.” Koda made a face. “Absolutely not.”

“No, this is perfect,” Mina said, grinning. “You’re like, the judgment queen. If anyone’s gonna get a read on those guys, it’s you.” Koda looked at you, visibly unimpressed. But you leaned in, hopeful. “Koda… would you? Just once? If you hate it, I won’t ask again.” She groaned, throwing her head back. “God, you’re lucky I love you.” You smiled, warm and relieved. “That’s a yes?”

“One time,” she warned. “And if that Heeseung guy looks at me wrong, I’m lighting him on fire.” 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s Koda who hails the cab, you slide into the backseat beside her, a nervous excitement twisting in your stomach as she scrolls through her phone, totally unfazed. You, however, are still trying to wrap your head around why Sunghoon of all people invited you out tonight, not Jay. Koda raises an eyebrow as she tucks her phone away. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope,” you say, giving her a faint smile. “But we’re already on our way, so…” She just sighs, shaking her head fondly. When the cab pulls up to the restaurant, the evening air greets you with the smoky scent of grilled meat wafting from inside. You spot them immediately, Sunghoon and Heeseung standing by the entrance, dressed down and looking effortlessly cool beneath the soft glow of the signage. “Hey!” you call out, stepping forward with Koda in tow.

Sunghoon waves, flashing that easy grin of his.m as he greets you, “Hey, you made it.” Heeseung meets your gaze for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey,” he says flatly. At least he acknowledged you. You turn slightly, “This is Koda, my friend. She’s tagging along tonight.” Sunghoon’s eyes flick to her, and it’s immediate. The pause that feels a second too long. “Hey,” he says, suddenly sounding a little different. “I’m Sunghoon.” Heeseung nods at her in silent greeting, but Sunghoon’s already gesturing toward the doors. “Let’s go in. I’m starving.”

Inside, the place is buzzing, smoke curling above tables, the clatter of side dishes, laughter mixing with upbeat K-pop playing from overhead speakers. As you approach the booth, Sunghoon slips into the seat next to Koda without hesitation, sending you a smug little grin. That leaves you standing there with Heeseung.

You slide in beside him, stiffly at first, trying not to focus on the heat radiating off his body, or the way he hasn’t even looked at you since you sat down. Koda and Sunghoon fall into conversation almost immediately, easy banter, shared music tastes, laughing over which side dishes are superior. You watch them with a small smile, heart swelling at how happy Koda looks. It’s peaceful for a while, until it isn’t.

You feel Heeseung lean toward you, his breath warm against your ear. “You really don’t know when to listen, do you?” You tense, eyes flicking to the grill in front of you. You keep your voice low, only for him. “Maybe you should tell your friends to stop enjoying my presence, then.” There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales a quiet laugh, sharp and dry. “I forgot how much you like being wanted.” You blink at the burn in his words, jaw tightening. You don’t respond. Neither does he. The rest of the meal is a quiet war zone, chopsticks clinking, laughter echoing from Koda and Sunghoon’s side of the table while you and Heeseung sit in a thick, charged silence. But you feel his eyes. The occasional glance, the flicker of attention he tries to make seem accidental. You steal them back.

When the bill’s paid and you’re all stepping outside into the cool night, Sunghoon stretches, keys jingling in his hand. “I’ll take Koda home.” Koda immediately steps forward. “No, it’s fine, I’ll go with-”

“I insist,” Sunghoon cuts in smoothly, shooting her a crooked smile. “Heeseung can take care of Y/N.” Heeseung groans. “Seriously?” Sunghoon leans in, murmuring something only Heeseung can hear, likely a warning, something along the lines of Don’t fuck this up for me. Heeseung exhales through his nose. “Fine.” You turn to Koda, and despite the weird tension curling in your stomach, you offer her a reassuring look. “It’s okay. Go. I’ll be fine.” She hesitates, but Sunghoon’s already opening the door to his car like a gentleman. She gives you a subtle text me later glance before sliding inside.

And then it’s just you and Heeseung, standing outside the restaurant. The street’s quiet, golden lights from the sign above casting a faint glow over him. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks out at the empty street, lips parted like he’s about to sigh.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Heeseung unlocks his car without a word, the click of the doors breaking the silence between you. You follow, half-expecting him to just drop you off like Sunghoon had asked. Instead, he mutters, “We’re making a stop.” You blink, hesitating before opening the passenger door. “A stop?” Sliding into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t look at you as he answers, “Ran out of weed.” Your brow furrows. “Do you really need me to come with you for that?” He finally glances over, one hand gripping the wheel. “Relax. It’ll be quick.”

You huff but buckle your seatbelt anyway, crossing your arms as he pulls out of the lot. The drive is quiet, streetlights flash across his face, highlighting the soft shadows beneath his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the brown hair falling messily into his lashes. Eventually, he turns into the parking lot of a gas station, the kind that like it shouldn’t be open for business. Heeseung shifts into park and wordlessly gets out, hoodie up, posture casual in a way that’s still somehow threatening.

You watch as he approaches a guy standing by the side of the building, hooded and slouched, hands buried in his coat pockets. They exchange a few words, you can’t hear any of them before Heeseung pulls some crumpled bills from his pocket and the other guy produces a few small plastic bags in return.

Then, the dealer’s eyes shift. He’s noticed you. Even from the car, you see the smirk that curls across his face. He nods toward you, saying something you can’t make out but you see the way Heeseung’s entire demeanor changes. His back straightens, and his hand curls into a fist.

Then his voice raises loud enough for you to hear, “Say another word, and I’ll make you eat your fucking teeth.” The guy just laughs, hands raised like he means no harm, backing off with a mock bow before disappearing into the alley behind the station. Heeseung stomps back to the car and throws himself into the seat, slamming the door shut causing you to flinch at the sound.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. He shoves the little baggies into his jacket pocket, jaw still tight. “I’m closer to my apartment,” he says eventually, as he starts the car again. “Jay can drive you home from there.” You don’t respond, you just watch the city lights flicker by through the window, wondering how the hell this night went so sideways.

When the car finally rolls to a stop in front of an apartment building, Heeseung gets out first. You follow, unsure if you’re supposed to. The elevator ride is short, and when he steps into the hallway, he freezes. A sock hangs from the doorknob of his apartment. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters. You look between him and the door, confused. “What… is that supposed to mean?” He turns, looking at you like you’ve just asked him the dumbest question alive. “It means Jay’s getting laid. And unless I wanna walk in on him butt ass naked, balls deep in some girl, I’m not going in there.”

Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out at first. A strange pang of something twists in your chest. Discomfort? Curiosity? You’re not even sure. You shouldn't say anything. You know you shouldn’t. But the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “You can come hang out with me for a bit.”

Heeseung blinks like you’ve just said something crazy. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady like your heart isn’t currently threatening to crawl up your throat. “It’s better than smoking in your car, right?” He looks at you for a long second. Then his tongue clicks against his teeth, and a crooked, almost disbelieving smirk tugs at his lips. “Sure, princess,” he says finally. “Lead the way.” And with that, you both turn and head back to the car, neither of you saying what you’re thinking.

That this is a bad idea.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The drive to your dorm is quiet. Neither of you speaks, and you’re oddly thankful for it. You already know Mina’s gone for the weekend on some family trip she wasn’t thrilled about, so sneaking Heeseung in isn’t necessary. You don’t even hesitate as you unlock the front door and lead him straight to your room.

He steps inside like he owns the place, scanning the space with an expression that borders on smug satisfaction. Your room is exactly what he expected, soft colors, string lights, a clutter of textbooks, and the sweet scent of your perfume in the air. 

Without asking, he drops into the chair at your desk, pulling a small bag from his jacket along with a metal grinder and rolling papers. You sit on your bed, wordless. Watching. Careful not to speak too soon, not to ask the wrong thing. He grinds the weed with practiced ease, rolling it all up into a neat joint before lighting it. The smell hits you fast and you wrinkle your nose as he takes a long drag, eyes flickering up to meet yours.

You hold eye contact, steady as you can, even as the smoke curls around his face like a halo of sin. He exhales, lazily. “You want a hit?” You shake your head immediately. “No thanks.”

“It’s just weed,” he says like that’s supposed to reassure you. “Won’t kill you.”

“I’ve never done it before.”

“Exactly why you should.” He shrugs, leaning back as he takes another drag. “You’ll be fine.” You hesitate. He’s not pressuring you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the sharpness behind the laziness in his tone, that makes your pride itch. “Fine but only one…” you mutter, reaching for it before you can psych yourself out.

He watches with amusement as you take a cautious inhale and immediately dissolve into a fit of coughing. Heeseung laughs, full-bodied and unbothered, while you wave at the air and curse under your breath. “You’re such an asshole,” you wheeze. “I knew that would be your reaction,” he says, taking the blunt back and drawing from it like a pro. “Weed’s gross, huh?”

“It is.”

“You get over that pretty quickly,” he mumbles through the smoke. You glare at him, still blinking the burn from your eyes. He exhales again, tapping ash into an empty coffee mug on your desk. Then he asks it, just casually enough to sting. “So why’d you invite me over?” You blink. “Because…you couldn’t go back to your place?”

“Bullshit.” He fixes you with a look, sharp and knowing. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t have a real answer. Heeseung leans forward just a little, the curve of his smirk cruel and charming all at once. “Is it ‘cause you’re stupid and think I’m hot?”

“No,” you snap, instantly. He chuckles, standing from the chair. You stiffen as he crosses the room and drops onto the edge of your bed next to you, close enough to make your heart stutter. “You sure?” he asks, voice low. You say nothing. You can’t say anything. Your skin feels too hot. Your head swims, not from the weed, but from his nearness, the scent of him, the way he’s looking at you like he already knows the answer.

He sees your blush, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. “You’re too easy,” he mutters, shaking his head with mock disappointment. He stands again, this time strolling to the window, opening it halfway before flicking the burning joint outside. The end sizzles somewhere below. When he turns around, he’s already pulling off his jacket and tossing it over your desk chair. Then he drops to his knees. 

You gasp as his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the bed until you’re practically nose-to-nose. “Tell me you want me,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Say the words, and I’ll give you what you want.” You shake your head, heart hammering, “I don’t want you.” He scoffs, one brow raising. “Sure. I’m an asshole. I’m repulsive. You’ve made that very clear.”

Your spine straightens, your jaw tightens. “You are,” you bite. “You’re an asshole, and you’re repulsive.” Something flashes in his eyes. Maybe he expected denial. Maybe he wanted it. Instead, he just laughs under his breath, dark and low. “Yeah?” he says. “Then why are you still sitting here?” You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, his hand reaching up, fingers slipping under your chin and tilting your face up until there’s nowhere else to look but at him.

His gaze is intense. Like he’s peeling you open with nothing but his eyes. “Tell me you want me,” he says again, softer this time. “One last chance.” The silence stretches. And then, barely audible, your voice cracked.

“…I want you.”

It’s all he needs. He surges forward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a kiss that’s messy and impatient, all smoke and heat and tension finally snapping. His lips moved against yours like he owned them, tongue sliding past the seam of your mouth before you could even catch your breath. His hands dug into your waist, pulling you against him as if he needed more. And you kissed him back with a kind of clumsy desperation that had him groaning into your mouth.

“You kiss like you’ve never done this before,” he said between breaths, smirking against your lips. You blinked at him, dazed. “I haven’t.” That made him pause, just for a second. His eyes searched yours, dark with something unreadable. Then came the low, almost pleased laugh. “Of course you haven’t.” His tone was laced with something cruel. Not surprise. Satisfaction. “I knew you were a fucking virgin,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief second. “You’re so fucking obvious.”

You tried to pull away, but he caught you, dragging you back in with a hand curled around your waist. “And so desperate,” he added, voice velvet-wrapped venom. “You let me touch you like this, let me get in your head, just because I smiled at you for two seconds?”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” he cut you off, his hand sliding up your spine, fingers pressing just beneath your bra clasp. “Didn’t fantasize about me when I cornered you in that kitchen? Didn’t think about what it’d feel like to have me ruin that perfect little image you try so hard to keep?” His mouth ghosted over your neck, not kissing, just breathing, and it made you shiver. “You’re pathetic,” he said against your skin. “And I mean that in the hottest fucking way possible.”

Your whole body was trembling, but not with fear. It was something else. Something that couldn’t be named anything other than desire.

He pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab your hands and guide them to the hem of his shirt. “Take it off.” You hesitated for a beat. “Be a good fucking girl,” he said, voice rough. “Do what you’re told.” So you did. Fingers shaky, you pulled the shirt over his head, revealing smooth skin, inked ribs, and lean muscle that flexed with every breath. He looked sinful.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and for some reason, your stomach flipped. But just when things were spiraling faster than you could handle, his hands were on your hips, mouth back on yours, it was so overwhelming you couldn’t help but pull back.

“I… I can’t.” He stilled. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted, voice small, eyes locked on the space between you. There was a beat of silence. And then, to your surprise, he pulled back. Not with annoyance. Not even frustration. He just looked at you, unreadable again. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stood. “You really are something else.” You waited for him to storm out, to curse, even to make a cruel comment.

Instead, he just leaned down again, brushed a thumb over your flushed cheek, and said, “You’re lucky I’m not a total piece of shit.” And with that, he grabbed the rest of his clothes, tossed on his jacket, and muttered something about needing a smoke before he lost what little self-control he had left. You sat there, breathless and buzzing, completely unsure of whether you’d just made the best or worst decision of your life.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The music thrums low through the walls, bass pulsing like a heartbeat as laughter drifts in from Sunghoon’s living room. You’re curled up in an oversized armchair with a ginger ale in hand, Kira and Mina arguing over which song to queue next while Jay and Wren are deep in a debate about movies that neither of them can name correctly. Somewhere across the room, Heeseung sits with a drink in one hand and a lazy smirk stretched across his face. His hair’s a little messy, pupils blown wide from whatever he snorted in the hallway earlier, and despite the chaos of the party, you can feel his eyes on you like a brand.

It’s not obvious, no one else seems to notice. But you do. Every glance. Every slow rake of his gaze down your frame. Every time his tongue wets his lips like he’s tasting a memory. And even though you try not to, you glance back, too. Then your phone buzzes in your lap.

heeseung: bathroom. now.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even think, you simply mutter an excuse to Koda about needing to pee and slip down the hallway. The party noise fades behind the door when you step into the bathroom. He’s already there, leaned up against the opposite wall with that same devilish glint in his eyes.

You blink. “Are we gonna talk about-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Heeseung says flatly, pushing off the wall and closing the distance in one stride. His hands cradle your jaw and then his mouth is on yours, hot and aggressive and unforgiving. There’s no hesitation in his kiss, no slow build, just his tongue exploring your mouth, and the taste of liquor as he presses you back against the door. Your fingers fist in his shirt before you even realize it.

You pull back breathless. “Heeseung, what the hell are we doing? We need to talk about the other night-”

“I don’t do relationships,” he says with a scoff like it’s a disgusting word. “So if that’s what you want, you better wait for hell to freeze over.” You blink at him, heart hammering in your chest, anxiety rising in your throat. “But,” he adds, voice lower now, more dangerous, “I do want to ruin you.” You swallow hard at his words. He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. “So here’s the deal, princess. You’re either in or you’re out. No strings. You wanna play with fire, or do you want me to walk away?”

Your brain screams run. But your body’s already betraying you, your anxiety fizzling away as his scent reaches your nose. You grab him by the collar and pull him back into a kiss, just as messy, just as desperate. His hands find your waist like they’ve been there a thousand times before, fingers curling tight. For a moment, you forget how to breathe. Heeseung groans against your mouth, then pulls away, forehead resting against yours as both of you catch your breath.

“We should get back,” he murmurs. You nod, pulse still thundering. He opens the door, peeks out, then gives you a quick nod. “You first.” You slip back into the party, lips still tingling as you slide into your spot on the armchair as if nothing happened.

A few minutes later, Heeseung strolls in, eyes scanning the room until they find you again. You go to look away, but it’s already too late.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You weren’t supposed to fall into this.

At first, it’s just sneaking around, his hands on your hips in the back of someone’s house party, his lips slanted over yours in the shadows of a hallway, his messages short and demanding: Come over. Now.

It never goes further than making out. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because you always stop it, and for some reason, he listens. But he toys with you. Pushes you to your limits. Tugs at your waistband just to hear you whimper and tell him no. He always listens, barely, but he never makes it easy.

Heeseung has fun with it. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

But then something shifts.

You don’t show up to one of the guys’ get-togethers and he spends the whole night pissed off. You don’t answer his messages during midterms and he fights the urge to call you. And when you finally reply that you’ve been studying, he just stares at the screen for a long moment, jaw clenched, fingers twitching with something he doesn’t want to name.

Because there’s one thing Heeseung promised himself he’d never do… develop feelings. Especially not for someone like you. But somehow, you become his. His little secret. His personal puppy. Always coming when he calls, even if it's just to follow him to meet a plug. You make him food after he gets too high and starts spiraling. You learn what bands he listens to, what kind of ramen he likes, what makes him laugh on those rare days when he lets his walls fall just enough.

And the worst part?

You never ask for anything back.

For months, he keeps choosing you. He stops fucking around with other girls, ignores his late-night calls from the ones who’d been more than willing to drop to their knees. It didn’t matter. The only lips he wanted on him were yours. And he hasn’t even had that in weeks. Heeseung starts to feel like you belong to him and it terrifies him.

So he does what he does best. He pulls away.

You come over to his place one night, unannounced, because he hadn’t answered your texts in two days and it made you worry. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, just annoyed. You barely step inside when his voice cuts sharp and flat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was worried,” you say quietly, trying not to flinch. His laugh is humorless. “Worried? What the hell for?”

“You weren’t answering and-”

“I don’t owe you shit, Y/N. I don’t have to text you back.”

“I know that,” you whisper. “I just… I care, that’s all.”

He sneers. “That’s your first mistake.”

You don’t fight back. You don’t yell. You just stand there, eyes wide, shrinking under the weight of every bitter word. “I never needed you,” he says. “Don’t know what kind of delusion you’ve been living in, but this,” he gestures vaguely between you “was never anything. Just convenient. You were easy.” Your throat burns. Your eyes sting. But still, you stay. “You don’t mean that.”

He steps closer, expression cruel. “I do. Get the fuck out, Y/N.” You’re crying now, but you nod. “Okay… I hope you have a good night.”

You’re halfway to the door when he throws in one last jab. “Keep crying, sweetheart. Shows just how fucking weak you really are.” The door slams behind you before you can blink away the tears. Jay is standing in the hallway. He freezes when he sees you, eyes wide.

“Y/N? What happened?” You don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just keep walking, hand trembling as it wraps around the stair railing, the apartment door shutting behind you like punctuation at the end of a sentence you never wanted to write.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

A week passes. And it’s miserable. You barely leave your dorm except for class. You come back, bury yourself in textbooks or pretend to scroll your phone, hoping your friends won’t notice how much darker your eyes look now, how much quieter you’ve become. But they do notice. Mina tries to talk to you, but you just keep saying you’re fine. Kira gives you looks full of concern. Wren keeps asking if you’re sick. You’re not. You just feel hollow.

And Heeseung… He’s no better.

Jay’s fed up with him. He’s been smoking and snorting himself stupid. He’s always high, barely coherent, lying around their apartment with bloodshot eyes and a shorter temper than usual. No girls, no snide comments. No joy.

Until tonight.

There’s a knock on your dorm door. Mina opens it, expecting maybe a neighbour or a classmate needing something. Instead, she finds Heeseung. He looks wrecked, eyes red, pupils blown wide, hair messy. Jacket hanging off one shoulder, reeking of weed. “What the hell…” Mina starts, furrowing her brows. “Why are you here?” He doesn’t answer her. Doesn’t care how insane he looks. “Is Y/N here?”

“Uh… yeah?”

He brushes past her before she can stop him. He marches straight to your door and opens it. You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, startled as he walks in and shuts the door behind him like he belongs there. “Heeseung?” you breathe out, eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just walks over, dazed, and sits on the edge of your bed. You can instantly tell he’s high, and not just weed this time. His gaze is hazy, his voice low and hoarse when he finally speaks.

“Can I… lay with you?” Your heart twists. You don’t know what to say. You’re confused and hurt, but even so you nod.

He kicks off his shoes, shrugs out of his jacket, and slides onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then he curls behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist like it never left. His breath warms the back of your neck. You can feel his heartbeat against your spine. For a long while, neither of you speak. Then somewhere you work up and courage and quietly, you whisper, “Why are you here?” He presses a soft kiss to your neck, another. His voice, when it comes, is slurred but raw. “Be quiet.” You shiver but stay silent.

“I hated it,” he mutters after a beat. “Being without you. Hated knowing you were out there and I’d pushed you away.” Your breath catches. You don’t know how to respond. He nuzzles into your neck, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You belong to me.” And you should argue. You should push him away. But you don’t, you just let him hold you.

“I didn’t mean the shit I said,” he murmurs. “I was scared. Of how I feel about you. I didn’t know what to do with it.” You stay still, soaking in every word, every slow beat of his heart against your back. “I’m not gonna push you away again,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” You don’t say anything. You just reach down and thread your fingers through his, and you hold on.

You don’t know how long you laid there. The silence is full but not uncomfortable. Just soft breaths and the quiet beat of something new blooming between you. Eventually, you shift in his arms and roll over, facing him.

Heeseung looks at you like he doesn’t know whether he’s dreaming or hallucinating. His pupils are still blown wide, but they’re focused on you. You lean in slowly, tentatively, and press the gentlest kiss to his lips. It’s so featherlight it nearly doesn’t land. But it’s enough.

Heeseung moves before you can pull away. His hand cradles the side of your face, and he kisses you back softly at first, almost reverent. But the longer your lips linger, the more the hunger seeps in. It grows, consuming, like it’s been building up inside him for the last week. The kisses get deeper, needier. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt as he shifts, pressing you down onto the mattress, his body moving to hover over yours. He cages you in without hesitation, kissing you like he’s starving and you’re the first thing that’s ever made him feel full.

His lips bruise yours, but you don’t care. You only kiss him harder. His hand trails down your side, gripping your waist as his body presses flush against yours. The way he moves, the way he kisses, it’s all too much. But you don’t want to stop. You want more. And for once, the fear doesn’t outweigh the ache. You pull away just slightly, your breaths tangled in the tiny space between you.

Your eyes lock, and his gaze is burning, pupils heavy and jaw tight, like he’s trying to hold back. And then, softly you say the words he’d been waiting to hear.

“I’m ready for more.”

His entire body stills above you. Then, slowly, he leans in until your noses touch, his voice rough against your lips. “Say that again.” You swallow. Your chest rises and falls with every shaky inhale, but your eyes don’t leave his. “I’m ready,” you repeat, just as softly. “For more.”

Your words are all he needs. The moment they leave your lips, he closes the gap, kissing you again, but this time, it's slower. More deliberate. Like he’s finally allowing himself to savor something he’s been craving for far too long.

Clothing falls away piece by piece, scattered carelessly to the floor. There’s no rush. Just quiet anticipation, mounting tension, and the weight of something neither of you wants to name. When you’re beneath him, completely bare and he’s left in nothing but his boxers, Heeseung just looks at you.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, the words low and genuine before he leans down, mouth trailing kisses along the curve of your neck. His lips brand you, soft at first, then hungrier as they dip lower. His teeth graze your hip bone, then your inner thigh, dragging a gasp from your lips.

This is the first time you’ve ever let someone see you like this. So vulnerable and exposed. Your hands instinctively rise, trying to shield your face from the heat of his gaze. But Heeseung clicks his tongue and reaches up, fingers gently curling around your wrist. “Let me see that pretty face while I make you feel good. Can you do that for me, baby?” And really, how could you ever say no to him? You drop your hands to your sides, surrendering completely, and he smiles before dipping between your legs like he owns the place.

His tongue is confident, practiced, and devastatingly precise. You feel every deliberate flick against your clit like a jolt of lightning. He kisses you there, hungry and unrelenting, like he’s starving for every sound you make. You moan his name, loud and needy. “Heeseung…”

His groan hums against your core, vibrating through you in the most sinful way. That one moan, the way his name rolls off your tongue, it spurs him on. He pushes your legs further apart, then back, just to hear your sounds more clearly, just to feel how wet and desperate he’s made you.

The pressure builds quickly. It’s not gentle. It’s overwhelming. Your body trembles under the weight of your pleasure, muscles twitching as your moans dissolve into shaky little whimpers. You’re right on the edge and he knows it. His gaze lifts to yours, locking eyes with you just as you begin to come undone. Gone is the cold detachment you’ve come to expect from him. There’s a glimmer of warmth now, mischief dancing in his eyes, his lips curved into a smirk as they press against your pussy again.

That’s all it takes.

You shatter beneath him with a broken cry, back arching, hips lifting off the mattress. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, hot and all-consuming, setting every nerve on fire. It’s bliss and chaos wrapped in one, your chest heaving as you ride it out, moaning his name like a prayer, and Heeseung just watches. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he lifts his head from between your thighs, lips slick with your arousal. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy from the high but they burn into yours with something heavier than lust. Hunger so deep it coils in your stomach and twists your insides.

Then he kisses you hard, desperate, a filthy blend of your taste and his need but the moment is short-lived. You feel it immediately, the thick bulge in his boxers grinding against your soaked core, the friction dizzying despite the barrier. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest, and his lips hover just above yours.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice hoarse with restraint, his breath warm against your mouth. You nod, quick and breathless. “Yes,” you whisper, eyes pleading. “I need you.”

He pulls back with a groan, sitting up on his knees as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. Your gaze drops, your breath catching when he tugs them down and tosses them aside. His cock springs free, long and thick, veins prominent, the flushed tip already glistening with pre-cum. It slaps against his abdomen with a heavy thud, and your thighs instinctively part wider.

Heeseung catches the way your eyes lock on his length, the awe, the need, and it pulls a slow smirk from his lips. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, but there’s no hesitation in his tone. He knows what your answer will be before you give it. “I don’t care,” you breathe, voice trembling with desire. “I just want you.” His smirk deepens, dark and dangerous. He leans forward just enough to press his tip against your entrance, dragging it slowly through your folds, collecting the slick that’s been pooling for him since the moment he walked through your door.

“You keep saying shit like that, pretty girl,” he rasps, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me to put a baby in you.” The words are low and filthy, and they send a tremor through your body. He holds the base of his cock in one hand, teasing your dripping entrance, circling it, pushing just the tip inside and pulling back again. “Is that what you want?” he taunts, voice all mock-innocence, even as his jaw clenches from the restraint it’s taking not to bury himself inside you. You whimper, back arching slightly as you try to rock your hips forward, but his hand presses down on your thigh, keeping you in place. “Heeseung, please,” you cry, nearly breathless. “I need to feel you.”

That’s all it takes to break him. His eyes flash, the playfulness gone in an instant, replaced by something ravenous. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he sinks into you, stretching you slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every part of him as your walls flutter and tighten around his thick length. A guttural moan rips from his chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut. “You feel so fucking good.”

And for a moment time stalls. All that exists is the feeling of him inside you for the very first time, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling from the stretch, and Heeseung’s hands gripping your hips like he never plans to let go.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Heeseung pushed deeper, stretching you open in a way you’d never felt before. The pleasure was overwhelming, laced with a faint sting that had your eyes welling with tears. Heeseung saw the tremble in your lips, the way your brows drew together and for the first time, the ever-composed boy above you froze completely.

“Shhh,” he murmured gently, his voice too soft for the boy who usually only knew how to tease and taunt. His thumb brushed at the tears slipping down your cheeks, wiping them away with a reverence that left your heart aching. “I got you, baby. You’re okay.” He leaned down, pressing featherlight kisses across your face. From your cheeks, to your jaw, to the corners of your mouth, almost like he was trying to kiss the pain away. Your eyes met his, and there was something new there, something fragile and raw. You gave him a small nod, and he didn’t need anything more.

The moment you gave him permission, he exhaled a groan like he’d been holding it in for years. The restraint it took him to not completely unravel was evident in the way his arms trembled on either side of your head. He knew it was your first time, and for once, Heeseung wasn’t out to ruin you. He was here to worship you. He started to move, slow and deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady, designed not to overwhelm, but to let you feel every inch of him. Every time his hips rolled into yours, you swore he carved a piece of himself into your body. He never looked away from you, not even for a second. 

You wrapped your arms around his back, nails digging deeper into his shoulders as the pleasure slowly overtook the pain, and then eclipsed it entirely. Your moans spilled freely now, rising with each thrust, and Heeseung’s breath hitched at the sound of them. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice breaking against your ear. “You hear me? This pussy is mine.” His lips brushed your throat, but his eyes were starting to flutter closed, head tilting back as the pleasure threatened to undo him. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

He shifted suddenly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pushing them forward, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion. The angle had your breath hitching, your back arching up off the mattress as he buried himself even deeper, grinding against the spot that made your entire body tremble. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in as he began to fuck you in earnest, hips snapping forward with a brutal rhythm. You were a mess beneath him, moaning, whining, hands grasping at his forearms for something to hold onto. That knot in your stomach tightened fast and hard, your whole body going taut with it.

You could barely speak. “Hee.. Heeseung, I think I’m gonna-” But his pace didn’t falter. “I know,” he grunted. “I can feel you, baby. But you’re not allowed to cum yet.” You sobbed at his words, a desperate cry breaking through your lips. “I can’t.. I can’t hold it.. please!” He growled low in his throat, his pace faltering just for a moment to lean closer, his lips right by your ear. “You do what I say,” he hissed. “You hold it until I tell you. You always do as you’re told, right?”

Your nod was frantic, broken by whimpers, and you could feel his cock twitch inside you as your walls fluttered around him, desperate to release. His own breathing was ragged now, sweat dotting his forehead, jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself back.

Then finally, like a reward he gave in. “Cum for me,” he groaned. “Now.” Your release hit like a wave crashing over your body, your vision going white at the edges, back arching as your orgasm tore through you. The tightness in your abdomen snapped with a force that had you nearly screaming, shaking beneath him as the pleasure ripped you apart. Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs harder as your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck.” he cursed, voice shaking, hips stuttering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

His own orgasm hit seconds later, spilling into you with a guttural groan as his body collapsed slightly over yours, his arms catching his weight just in time. He chanted your name like it was the only word he remembered, praises falling from his lips as he rode out the high with you. The room felt too quiet in the aftermath, filled only with the sound of your shared heavy breathing. Your skin burned, a soft glow spread across your body like you’d been touched by something divine. Heeseung didn’t pull away immediately. He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, your jaw, your temple, anywhere he could easily get his lips on..

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, murmuring soft apologies at your wince. He cleaned you up with surprising tenderness, making sure you were comfortable before crawling back into bed beside you. No words passed between you. They weren’t needed. Not with the way you curled into his chest, and the way his arms wrapped around you like he didn’t plan on letting go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

A few months had passed, and things between you and Heeseung had shifted but not in the way you'd hoped.

Word had spread quickly among your friends that the two of you were something. You were always together, always touching, always tangled up in some form of each other. Heeseung never bothered denying it, and though you weren’t officially dating, he didn’t let anyone so much as look at you the wrong way. You were his, even if you weren’t his.

At first it felt like enough.

The two of you started going on double dates with Sunghoon and Koda, who had become disgustingly official. Public hand-holding, matching lockscreens, soft smiles traded when they thought no one was looking. It made something twist in your stomach every time you saw them together. Because you wanted that with Heeseung. Not just in secret, not just in the dark, not just in bed.

You’d asked him about it more than once, about putting a label on whatever you were. Every time, he gave the same answer. “Labels are overrated.”

And somehow, every time, you let yourself believe him. Let yourself agree. Because what else could you do? Walk away?

Now the entire friend group was gathered at Sunghoon’s place, celebrating the unthinkable. He’d gotten back into college. The same guy who once slept through an exam while tripping balls was suddenly clean, smiling more, standing a little straighter with Koda by his side.

Jay raised his red solo cup. “No way you’re really quitting for good,” he snorted. Heeseung chimed in with a lopsided grin. “Bet you relapse in a week.” Sunghoon only laughed, draping an arm over Koda’s shoulders. “For her? I’d give up anything.” The room buzzed with soft awe, with that sticky sweetness of love that had you glancing at Heeseung out of the corner of your eye.

But he didn’t look back.

Later that night, you were curled up in Heeseung’s bed, the city lights bleeding through the blinds in slanted strips of white and gold. He sat at his desk, rolling a bill between his fingers, lining powder up with mechanical precision. You bit your lip. Waited. Then finally, quietly, “Would you ever quit… for me?”

He paused, just for a second. Then he laughed. “Don’t be stupid.” The words hit like a slap, and your stomach sank. “I’m not being stupid,” you said softly. “I’m asking.” He didn’t even look at you. “I’m too deep in, princess. You knew that from the start.” You sat up, sheet clutched against your chest. “Yeah, but maybe you could want more. Maybe you could try for us.” That made him turn. He swiveled slowly in his chair, coke still untouched, eyes bleary with something unreadable. “Us?” he echoed. “What us, Y/N? We're not married. We're not even actually dating.”

The words landed like stones in your chest. You blinked at him, stunned, your voice breaking as you whispered, “That’s so mean, Heeseung… how could you say that after everything?” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” He shrugged, looking away. “I just don’t think about the future. I never have. Shit like that doesn’t work for people like me. Whatever happens, happens.” You were silent for a moment. Then, with a quiet sigh, you turned away from him and laid back down, facing the wall. You didn’t cry, not this time. But something inside you hardened.

Behind you, you heard the faint snort of his line. A few seconds later, the bed dipped under his weight as he slid in behind you. His arm draped around your waist like it always did. But tonight, it felt heavier. He buried his face into the crook of your neck. He smelled like sweat and powder. And though he didn’t say it, you felt the smallest whisper of apology in the way he kissed your shoulder. Still, your eyes stayed open long after his closed. Because no matter how close his body was to yours, you’d never felt farther from him.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The next week, Sunghoon waited at the bottom of the steps, his hoodie half-zipped and a protein shake in hand. “Damn, you look like death.” You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to stifle a yawn as you adjusted your backpack. “Didn’t sleep.” Sunghoon let out a small chuckle as he walked beside you, “Let me guess. Study bender?” You gave a tired half-smile. “Something like that.”

The truth was heavier than you let on. You were burning the candle at both ends. Studying until your vision blurred, then sneaking off to Heeseung’s apartment in the middle of the night because he needed you. He always needed something. A distraction. A fix. A warm body. You never said no. Not once. Not even when your body begged for sleep and your brain screamed for rest. By the time you and Sunghoon reached class, your chest already felt tight. Your skin was clammy, your thoughts muddy and disjointed. You hadn’t even remembered this essay was being handed back today.

The second your professor placed the paper facedown in front of you, your stomach sank. You flipped it over, and there it was, a huge, angry 57% scrawled across the top in unforgiving red ink. For a moment, your world stopped. You blinked at the number, uncomprehending. You’d never seen a grade like that in your life. Never anything under a 93. Not even close. You remembered writing it, or rather trying to.

Heeseung had been pacing his apartment, high and impatient, asking how much longer you were going to be. “Come on, babe,” he’d said, already tugging at your shirt. “You’ll finish it later.” You should’ve said no. You should’ve finished it, you knew better. “y/n…” Sunghoon’s voice was gentle beside you, too gentle, then you realized he’d seen the grade too. “I’m sorry-” You didn’t let him finish.

Before the first slide even hit the projector, you grabbed your paper, shoved it into your bag, and bolted. “y/n?” your professor called out as the door closed behind you, but you didn’t stop. The tears were already falling, hot and silent down your cheeks as your legs carried you on autopilot. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Jay opened the door with a lazy grin. “Hey, look who it is-” His expression dropped instantly when he saw your face. “Whoa, hey. What’s wrong?”

“Is Heeseung here?” you asked, voice hoarse. He shook his head, stepping back to let you in. “He went out. Should be back soon, though.” You turned like you were about to leave, but Jay caught your wrist. “Wait, come inside.” You hesitated, wavering on your feet. But then his arms opened, and your resolve broke. You fell into his chest, sobs wracking your body as he pulled you in close.

Jay guided you to the couch, settling in beside you without a word. His hand rubbed slow, steady circles along your back while you cried until your throat ached. “I’m so tired,” you finally whispered. “I’m tired of loving someone who doesn’t want to love me back. He wants me to be his, but he doesn’t want to be mine.”

Jay didn’t respond right away. He let you speak, let your words settle between the two of you before he finally said, “You know that’s not fair to you, right?” You just stared at your hands, shaking in your lap. “I know. But I keep choosing him anyway.” You reached into your bag, your fingers clumsy, and pulled out the crumpled essay. “And now my life’s falling apart because of it.” You handed it to him, shame rushing up your throat. Jay’s brows knit together as he read the grade. “Jesus. y/n…”

“I was working on it that night and he kept trying to rush me so I could give him my attention. I was almost done, but he didn’t want to wait.”

“And you dropped everything for him.”

“I always do,” you whispered.

He was quiet for a second, then gently nudged your leg with his. “Heeseung actually invited me out tonight. Some new bar opening nearby.” You looked over, startled. “Jay, I can’t.” His voice was calm, “Just hear me out. Come with me and just to talk to him.” You exhaled sharply, your head already shaking. “He doesn’t listen.”

“Then make him listen,” Jay said, more firm this time. “Tell him what you told me. That you’re tired. That you’re drowning trying to hold up both of you. That you’re not asking him to change overnight but you are asking him to care enough to meet you halfway.” You swallowed hard. “What if he doesn’t?” Jay shrugged. “Then you’ll know. And I think deep down knowing is better than dragging this out in the dark.” He rested his hand on yours, “You love him. That’s obvious. But love shouldn’t break you down like this, y/n. Not over and over again.”

Your eyes welled again, but you held back the tears. Instead, you nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll come.” Jay offered you a small, “Good, and hey… no matter what happens, I got you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bass thumped through the floor of the bar, pulsing in your chest as you followed Jay inside. The space was crowded but stylish, with low amber lighting and a haze of laughter and smoke hanging in the air. You looked stunning but even with your makeup perfect and your dress hugging you in all the right places, something inside still felt off.

Jay leaned in close, his voice pitched low near your ear. “You good?” You nodded, even if it was a lie. “Let’s just get a drink.” You posted up at the bar, side by side as you sipped your cocktails. You scanned the room absentmindedly, heart thudding against your ribs, wondering if tonight would finally be the night something changed between you and Heeseung.

Then Jay spotted him. “He’s over there.” You turned as Jay nodded toward the far corner, where a group of guys lounged around a table with half-drunk beers and a few girls clinging to their arms. Heeseung sat relaxed and smirking until your eyes locked on the girl on his lap. She was curled against him like she belonged there, her lips attached to his neck, one hand teasing the hem of his shirt.

You froze. Jay’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Heeseung noticed Jay first, and he waved lazily, like nothing was wrong. It wasn’t until you approached that his face dropped, and you didn’t say a word. 

“y/n..”

The girl was shoved off his lap without ceremony, confusion written all over her face. But you weren’t looking at her. You were looking at him like you’d never seen him before. Like something inside you had finally snapped. You let out the smallest, most broken sigh, then turned to leave. Jay moved as if to follow you, but Heeseung reached for his arm and shook his head. “I got it.” Jay just stared him down like he might hit him, but he stepped back, lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

The air outside the bar was sharp and cool, biting at your skin as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to breathe. The muffled thump of bass inside faded behind you, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of your heartbeat, loud and aching in your ears. You stood on the curb, phone pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah… can you come get me?” Your voice cracked on the last word, barely above a whisper as you got Kira to come pick you up. The moment you hung up, you heard the door swing open behind you. “y/n.” You didn’t turn, you couldn’t. You kept your eyes on the street, watching headlights blur behind the film of tears already clouding your vision. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” Heeseung said, his voice a little breathless. “She meant nothing. I didn’t even say two words to her before she climbed on top of me.”

You didn’t respond, but your shoulders tensed. He noticed. “She wasn’t you,” he added. “She never could be.” That got you to turn, enough to glance over your shoulder. Enough to let him see how wrecked you were, even beneath your makeup and perfect dress. “Do you even hear yourself?” you asked, your voice low and raw. “Why was anyone on you in the first place?” He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he had excuses lined up. But instead, he stepped closer, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “I was drunk. I was bored. I’ve been losing my fucking mind.”

You blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. “I’m not good at this, Y/N. I’m shit at it. But I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” His eyes searched yours, his voice a little quieter now. “If I’d known you were coming with Jay… I wouldn’t have even looked at anyone else.” Your throat tightened. You hated how easily your heart twisted at his words. How even now, even like this, part of you still wanted to believe him.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” you murmured. “Then don’t,” he said, taking another step closer. “Come back inside, or come home with me. Let me fix this.” You turned to face him fully now, biting your cheek to stop the sob sitting at the base of your throat. “Heeseung…” you started, but your voice faltered.

He saw it, the softening in your eyes, the hesitation in your stance. The way your hands twitched like you didn’t know whether to shove him or hold him. He saw it all, and his mouth curved into the smallest smirk, hopeful and cocky all at once. “I knew you wouldn’t walk away that easy,” he said under his breath, stepping forward again, close enough now that you could smell him. Close enough to pull you back in. But before he could reach you, headlights flashed across both your faces.

Kira’s car.

You wiped your cheek fast, hoping she didn’t notice. As she pulled up to the curb, you turned back to Heeseung, taking one shaky breath. “I’m not done with this conversation,” you admitted. “But I can’t do this right now.”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk you down, smooth things over, maybe even kiss his way out of the wreckage but the door to Kira’s car swung open with a quiet click, and the moment slipped through his fingers like smoke. You slid into the passenger seat without another word, not even looking back as Kira pulled away. Heeseung stood on the sidewalk, watching the car disappear, jaw tight and eyes glinting with the ghost of a grin. Because for better or worse, he knew it wasn’t over.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than peaceful. You stood outside Heeseung and Jay’s apartment, your arms crossed against the early chill, uncertainty churning in your stomach like a storm on the brink. You didn’t even remember the walk here. Your legs had carried you on instinct, like some pathetic magnetic pull that wouldn’t let you stay away.

You raised your hand and knocked softly on the door, almost like part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer, but he did.

Heeseung opened the door looking like he hadn’t slept, eyes red, hair a mess, the fabric of his hoodie wrinkled and worn. For a second, he just blinked at you, as if unsure you were real. Then he stepped back silently, letting you in. You didn’t speak as you made your way to his room, the familiar scent of his cologne and faint smoke clinging to everything around you. You sat on the edge of his bed while he shut the door behind him. The air felt thick, like it could snap under the weight of whatever you were about to say.

He sat beside you, a little too close. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you said quietly, hands resting in your lap, fingers digging into your own skin. “I’m tired, Heeseung. Everything in my life is falling apart, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. And it’s not fair. I shouldn’t feel this… pathetic.” He didn’t say anything at first. Just let your words hang in the air between you. Then, finally he whispered, “I know.” You turned to look at him. “Do you?”

Heeseung’s jaw tensed. “I know I’ve hurt you. I’ve been selfish, and I’ve dragged you into my mess. But I meant what I said last night. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Y/N. I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m not good at this. I’m scared of needing someone like I need you.” You stayed quiet, heart hammering in your chest, desperate for something real from him. “I’m not ready,” he admitted, voice low. “Not for the kind of love you deserve. Not yet. But I swear to God, I’m trying. And I don’t want you to leave me before I figure it out.” Your throat tightened. You hated him a little for saying the right things. For always knowing just how much honesty to give to keep you hanging on.

“I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone who won’t choose me,” you whispered. “I am choosing you,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Just not in the way you want. Not yet. But I will.” You looked down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, slow and reverent, like maybe he knew how close you were to walking away. “I need time,” he said again. “But I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t make me lose you.”

Your heart ached with how badly you wanted to believe him. And then, he leaned in and placed a genuine kiss on your lips. Not rushed, not greedy. Just a kiss. Sweet and gentle, which was rare for Heeseung. It didn’t burn like normal, you completely melted into him, and that was the problem. When he pulled back, your eyes were still closed. You breathed in slowly, “Okay,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep waiting forever.”

“I know,” he said. “I won’t make you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It had been months since that night at the bar. Somehow, Heeseung had surprised you. After that, he showed up. Not in grand, sweeping gestures, but in smaller ways. Less disappearing, fewer girls, and a real effort to be present. He still got high more often than you liked, but he wasn’t the same careless version of himself. There were even days he stayed sober just for you. He still refused to label what the two of you had, but there was no denying it anymore, you were his. And despite everything, he was still yours.

Finals came and went in a blur. You buried yourself in your notes, slept less, ate less, and practically lived in the library. Heeseung didn’t love it. He was pissy about the time you spent away, complained under his breath, picked little fights but when you reminded him how important this was to you, he’d try to pull it back. You knew he didn’t mean to be cold. It was just that being second to anything, including your future, never sat well with him.

So when your final marks came in, high scores across the board, including a ninety-six on the rewritten essay that had nearly broken you, you practically floated to his apartment. You didn’t knock anymore, you hadn’t for months. Jay barely looked up from the couch when you breezed in. “Heeseung’s in his room,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chips.

Your heart pounded with something close to glee as you padded down the hallway. For once, it felt like things were right again. The pressure was off your shoulders, and all you wanted was to share this victory with the person who made you feel like magic even on your worst days. You pushed open the door, and he was on the edge of his bed, hunched over, dollar bill between his fingers, a thin white line in front of him on the desk. He didn’t flinch when you walked in. Just looked up, red-eyed and lazy-smiled. "You’re here," he said, voice low and drowsy. You didn’t hesitate. You were in his lap before he could blink, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. "I did it," you whispered between kisses. "I killed those exams, and got the makeup essay back too, your girl got a ninety-six."

His hands landed on your waist. "Of course you did. You’re brilliant." You kissed him harder, and he returned it, sloppier than usual but still full of heat. Then, somewhere between his hands gripping your hips and his lips trailing up your jaw, he murmured, “You deserve better than me.” You froze. Just for a moment. “What?”

He pulled back, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You’re up here,” he said, motioning vaguely upward, “and I’m down here, snorting lines off my goddamn desk.” You gave a breathless laugh, like he’d just told a bad joke. “Stop. Don’t ruin this.”

“I’m not trying to,” he said. “I’m just being real.” The air in the room shifted. He kissed you again, slower, deeper, more tender, and when he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper. “You can do better than me.”

“No,” you said immediately, pulling yourself off of his lap, “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.” He breathed out, lips pink from the kiss you two had just shared. “Heeseung..”

“You’re the kind of girl who makes it. Full ride, top of your class. Everyone sees it but you. And I’m the guy who drags you out of study sessions to fuck, who gets high instead of helping you write your essays.” The tears start to form in your eyes, the feeling of whats about to come claws at your throat and shakes your entire body. “I don’t care. None of that matters to me. I don’t want any of it without you.”

And that’s when he breaks. It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s subtle in the way his jaw tightens, the way he blinks a few times too fast, the way his breath hitches and his eyes gloss over, but you see it. He doesn’t cry, not fully, but the tears are threatening to fall. “You don’t want this life,” he says, voice low and brittle. “You think you do now, but you don’t know what it’s like to drown in it. You’d ruin yourself trying to save me.”

“I want to ruin myself for you!” you scream, throat sore from the truth of it. “I would do anything just to keep you. I don’t care what it costs me.” And it’s like a switch flips in him. His expression twists, darkens. He stands suddenly, turning away from you like he can’t bear to look. “That’s the problem,” he snaps, voice sharp now. “You’d throw everything away. Your future, your mind, your fucking soul for me? What kind of person lets someone do that for them?” He spins back toward you, breathing heavily. “You say I don’t hold you back, but I do. I already have. Look at you.”

You flinch like he’s slapped you. His chest heaves, while yours trembles. The room feels too small for the storm you’re both creating. “You think I want you to end up like me?” he says, quieter now, but with just as much heat. “Snorting lines in the dark because it’s the only way I know how to function? You’re not built for this, y/n.” You take a step forward, desperate. “Then help me understand it, let me in, Hee…”

“No!” he shouts, eyes wide now. “I can’t let you in. You don’t belong here with me.” Your voice cracks as you plead, “Then let me love you, please, you’re my life.” Heeseung stares at you like you’re breaking his heart just by standing there. And maybe you are. Then, something in his eyes shifts. The fight drains out of him all at once. His shoulders fall. His brows pinch like he’s physically in pain. He steps forward slowly, and he presses the softest, most painful kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there longer than they should. As if trying to memorize the way your skin feels before he forgets what warmth is.

“I’ll probably never love anyone the way I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. You shut your eyes tight. “Then don’t let me go.” He pulls back, and this time when he looks at you, it’s like he’s already saying goodbye. “I have to.” Your hands fall limp at your sides, you don’t protest again. There’s no grand door slam. No final dramatic words. Just the sound of your footsteps as you walk out of his room and down the hall. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It had been a month. A month since Heeseung kissed your forehead and told you to leave. You hadn’t left your bed much since it happened. Your sheets still smelled like him, and you refused to wash them. The air in your room was stale, but you didn’t open a window. You just laid there, still, like a corpse. 

Every single one of your friends had tried. Mina was the first. She’d climbed into bed with you in the early days, stroking your hair while you stared at the wall. She ordered in your favourite food, but you hadn’t touched a bite. Kira had shown up next, with a playlist titled “Healing Shit (or at least trying)” and a bag full of overpriced face masks. But your face stayed buried in your pillow, unmoving, no matter how gently she whispered your name. Koda and Wren came as a pair. They took turns talking to you like it was a script they rehearsed, one soft and hopeful, the other blunt and real. But even they couldn’t pull you from the hollow place you’d sunk into. Not even Koda’s dumb jokes could summon a smile.

And now it was Jay and Sunghoon. You heard the front door creak open from your spot in bed. You knew it was them before they even reached your room. Something about the heaviness of their footsteps. The way their voices dropped in the hallway like they were already mourning what they were about to see. “y/n?” Jay said your name softly, like he wasn’t sure you’d still respond to it, but you didn’t. Sunghoon stepped in behind him, his brows creased with concern. “Hey. Can we talk?”

Your body curled deeper into the mattress, a feeble attempt at self-preservation. You didn’t look at them, didn’t blink, just stared at the nothingness in front of you. Jay approached first. “Come on,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed. “We miss you. Just... say something.” When you didn’t, he laid beside you, hesitantly at first. One arm slid around your trembling frame as he tucked you into his chest, like maybe he could hold your pieces together before they shattered again. That’s when it hit. The sob tore out of you like it had been clawing up your throat for days. A horrible, guttural sound, ugly and loud and drenched in everything you hadn’t said. Jay just held you tighter, his jaw clenched as he buried his chin in your hair.

Sunghoon sat down on the floor beside the bed, leaning against the frame. His voice was low, soothing. “You’re not alone, y/n. We’re here. We all are. And we’re not going anywhere.” You still didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You just cried until your chest ached and your tears soaked through Jay’s shirt. You didn’t know how to live without Heeseung, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to. You cried until your mind shut off and you drifted into a tear induced slumber, you didn’t notice when they finally left.

Back at the apartment, Jay shut the front door behind them with a sigh, tossing his keys into their key bowl. Sunghoon didn’t say anything until they reached the kitchen, and when he did, it wasn’t lighthearted. “She’s not okay,” he said quietly, grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard. “Like, not at all.” Heeseung was sitting on the couch, slumped low, eyes glassy. The remnants of a high clung to his skin with a thin sheen of sweat, and faint tremble in his hands. He didn’t look up or didn’t speak up. He just listened.

Jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his voice laced with worry. “I don’t even recognize her anymore, Hoon. She used to be the brightest one out of all of us. Now she won’t even look at me. Just lies there like she’s waiting to disappear.” Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “She’s not eating. Mina said she hasn’t left her room in almost a week. I saw like five unopened water bottles on her nightstand. She’s not okay, man.”

“She's not even y/n anymore,” Jay added. Heeseung’s throat went dry. He stared blankly at the coffee table, at the rolled-up bill and the near-empty bag of coke. His chest caved in around the weight of their words. His stomach churned. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, trying to breathe. They were talking about her. He destroyed her, and now she was unraveling exactly the way he thought she would if he stayed with her. He stood up slowly, barely steady on his feet, and disappeared down the hallway. The door to his bedroom shut quietly behind him. And for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, he didn’t reach for the coke. He just sat there on the edge of his bed, face in his hands, and tried to figure out how to live with the ruin he’d made of the only person who ever loved him like he was worth saving.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It took everything you had just to lift your body out of bed. You moved like you’d been underwater for weeks, every motion slow, unsteady, and heavy. Your legs shook beneath you as you shuffled toward the bathroom. You didn’t even register the mirror hanging on the wall, you didn’t want to see yourself. You just turned on the shower, stripped out of clothes that smelled like you hadn’t changed out of them in days, and stepped under the scalding stream.

You stood there longer than you needed to. By the time you emerged, your skin was red and raw, your eyes already puffy again. You dried off in silence, tugged on your hoodie, well his hoodie, and slipped your wallet into the front pocket. When you walked into the living room, Mina and Kira were curled up on the couch. They looked up at you like they were seeing a ghost slowly reassemble itself. “I’m going for a walk,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. Kira straightened. “Want us to come?” You shook your head in response. “Just need some air. I’ll be back in a week.” They blinked. “What?” You forced a faint, brittle smile. “Kidding.” But your tone was unconvincing, you just walked out before they could press further.

The late afternoon wind cut at your cheeks as you walked aimlessly, hood up, headphones in, playlist on loop. The same seven songs you’d been playing for the last twenty-eight days. Lyrics you could mouth with your eyes closed, melodies that buried themselves in your bones.

You didn’t know how long you wandered before you reached your destination. One of the countless places he used to drag you to. A forgotten street, somewhere between two buildings that always looked like they were on the verge of collapse. You hung back near a busted fence, pretending to scroll on your phone while keeping an eye out. Eventually, you saw him. Heeseungs dealer. You made your way over slowly. He looked up as you approached, and recognition flickered in his eyes. “Heeseung’s girl,” he smirked, and you didn’t respond.

“I want a bag,” you said plainly. “Whatever you’ve got.” The man looked you over. “You ever done this before?” You didn’t answer, causing him to chuckle to himself like it was all a joke. But he still handed you the small plastic bag. You passed him two crumpled twenties from your hoodie pocket. He pocketed the cash and gave you a lazy nod.

“Don’t take the whole thing at once,” he muttered. “It’s strong.” You didn’t care. You walked until your feet hurt. Until you found a lonely curb near some graffiti covered alley, and you sat down. Your hands trembled as you opened the bag. You watched the powder shift. It looked like nothing and everything at once. Just like him. You shook a little onto the back of your hand, like you’d seen him do a hundred times. Tilted your wrist. Bent forward. But the second the powder neared your face, something inside you cracked. The tears came hard, you couldn’t stop them if you tried.

You pulled your hand away, the powder falling across the asphalt. You clutched the bag with shaking fingers, stuffed it back into your pocket, and stood up like your legs were no longer yours. You didn’t even realize where you were walking until you were standing in front of his apartment. The air felt thinner there. You knocked once, and the door swung open quicker than you expected. Jay stood there, mouth parting as soon as he saw your face. You knew what you looked like. Your cheeks were blotchy, and your eyes glassy. You didn’t even try to hide it. “y/n,” he said quietly. “Please don’t do this.”

“I need to see him,” you whispered. Jay glanced over his shoulder into the apartment like he was searching for an excuse. “You’re stronger than this. You’ve made it this far.” You shook your head, a small sob catching in your throat. “I can’t.. I just can’t.” He looked at you again, really looked. His expression softened, falling into something helpless and hollow. You didn’t need to say anything else, Jay stepped aside.

You don’t even knock on his door, you simply turn the doorknob and step inside, the air heavy and quiet, thick with the scent of old smoke and something sharper, something chemical that instantly floods your chest with memories. Heeseung is on his bed, a half-empty glass in one hand, his phone in the other. But the moment the door creaks open and he looks up and he freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

His entire face drops as your eyes meet his. The weight of everything you’ve been holding in for the last month finally collapses. You burst into tears. “y/n?” He’s already standing, his voice strained with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

But you don’t speak. You just walk toward him, your legs barely steady, and reach into the pocket of your hoodie. You pull out the small bag of white powder, trembling fingers clenched around it like it burns to hold, and you drop it into his palm like it’s evidence. His expression shatters instantly. “No… no, baby, what the fuck is this?” he says, panic rising in his voice. He grips your wrist, gently but firm, and steps closer, cupping your face in both hands. “Did you… did you take this?”

You shake your head, eyes wide and streaming. “I couldn’t.” His thumbs brush over your tear-soaked cheeks as he tilts your head up, examining your nose like it holds the answer. When he sees it’s clean, he exhales in relief and closes his eyes, forehead falling against yours. Neither of you speaks for a long moment. The silence is filled with your sniffles, his staggered breath, the steady beat of time holding its breath, then he pulls you into him.

You crumble against his chest, sobbing so violently your knees nearly give out. His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid of letting you go again. “I love you,” you cry into his hoodie, fists clutching the fabric at his back. “I love you and I can’t live without you, Heeseung. This past month… I wasn’t living, it was torture. It still is.”

“I love you too,” he breathes against your hair, his voice cracking like something inside him is breaking open. “But I’m not good. I’m not safe. I’m a monster, and you’re… fuck, you’re pure light. You’re everything good and I don’t want to take that from you.”

“My light doesn’t exist without you,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, your face flushed from the storm that still hasn’t passed. He just stares at you, jaw tight, guilt swimming in every line of his expression. “You’re my worst desire,” you murmur. “Heaven would be hell without you. And even if we’re doomed to it, I’d still choose hell as long as you’re there.”

His brows knit together, like he’s trying to process your words and stop himself from falling into them all at once. “I don’t want to live without you,” you say again, firmer this time. “My love isn’t conditional. I don’t care about what you’ve done or where you are or what you think you’re becoming. The only place anything feels right is with you.” His chest rises and falls, slow and heavy. “I’m torn, Y/N. Between you and this deeper desire I keep giving into. This path I’m on… it’s dark and it’s fucked and I know it’s going to destroy me. And I don’t want it to take you too.”

You reach up, fingers touching his jaw, gentle and warm. “But I want you. Even through the dark times.” He swallows hard. “I want you. I want to be with you. I want to love you… but I never wanted to destroy you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper, “unless you keep pushing me away.” The war behind his eyes rages on but then, slowly, it softens. His hand lifts to cradle your cheek again, thumb brushing just below your eye. “I don’t know how to stop loving you,” he murmurs. “Then don’t.” You don’t know who moves first. Maybe you both do. But the second your mouths meet, it’s like something primal takes over. He kisses you like he’s been drowning and you’re the first breath of air he’s had in weeks. There’s nothing careful about it now, his hands in your hair, your arms around his neck, bodies crashing together like gravity had finally snapped.

It’s a kiss born from heartbreak, from survival, from all the pieces of your souls trying to find home in each other again. His mouth is hot and desperate against yours, tasting of longing and regret, of everything you’ve both wanted and tried to deny. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your heart pounding so loud you’re surprised he can’t hear it.

Heeseung doesn’t let you go, his lips hover above yours, breath warm and shallow, and for a moment neither of you speaks. You just stay pressed together, hands curled in his shirt, his fingers brushing along your jaw like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your face all over again. Then he kisses you again, slower this time.

His hands cup your cheeks, and your fingers tangle in his hair as he pours every unsaid word into your mouth. It’s messy and a little frantic, but softer than before. Softer because this time, there’s no desperation behind it, just clarity. “I love you,” he breathes against your lips, barely pulling away. “Fuck, I love you so much.” You nod, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “I love you too.” He rests his forehead against yours, eyes shut like he’s trying not to fall apart again. “I’ll try to quit. I swear to you, I’ll try. I don’t want to keep losing myself and I can’t live without you. Not again.” Your hands tighten around him. “I want to be yours,” he says. “Like really yours. Your boyfriend. I want to be better, for you. I want to try.”

Your breath catches in your throat, then you’re nodding, over and over, and your arms wrap tighter around his neck as you pull him into another kiss, this one slower, and sweeter, like the kind of kiss you’d always hoped he’d give you when it finally felt right. Heeseung’s hands slide beneath your thighs, and with no effort at all, he lifts you off the ground and carried you towards his bed. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

He lays you down carefully on the bed, then slides in beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks. You don’t speak for a while, you just lie there, tangled up together in the dark, wrapped in sheets that still faintly smell like him. His hand strokes your hair, your back, the curve of your hip. You feel his lips press gently to your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between kisses. “For everything. For leaving you. For making you feel like I didn’t care. I was scared. I still am.” You reach up and trace his jaw with your thumb, your heart aching at how sincere his eyes look in the dim room. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “You’re here now. We’re here now.” He leans in, brushes your lips with his. “I’ll be better for you.”

“You already are.” You press your face into his chest and he holds you tighter. His heartbeat is loud beneath your ear, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like your body is made of hollow spaces and shattered glass. It feels like safety.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You wake up to the sound of his breathing. It was slow, steady, almost peaceful. For a moment, you let yourself believe that last night wasn’t a dream. That the pain is over, the ache behind you, and this is the start of something real. His arm is slung around your waist, warm and heavy, anchoring you to the mattress. You barely slept, too afraid he’d disappear again. But now, in the soft haze of morning, wrapped in his arms, you let your eyes close just for a second.

Until he stirs behind you. You feel the subtle shift in his body. The way his breath catches in his throat. His arm retracts like your skin burned him. “Wait…” his voice rasps, still thick with sleep, “what the fuck…” Your stomach drops, as you turn slowly, blinking at him like maybe you’re the one who’s confused. “What?”

His eyes are wide and bloodshot. There’s dried powder crusted faintly under one nostril and a tiny streak still smeared across the back of his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asks, genuine confusion etched across his face. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by the sharp contrast to the boy who held you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth just hours ago.

“I came over last night… You said you loved me,” you finally whisper. “You said you wanted to try. That you didn’t want to lose me.” He stares, the silence between you gnaws at your chest like something alive. “I don’t…” he swallows. “Fuck, I don’t remember that.” The words hit you harder than a slap. You sit up too fast, the sheets falling away from your body as you shake your head. “You don’t remember anything?” His eyes flicker. Guilt creeps in slowly. “I was coming down. I’d done a lot before you showed up. I didn’t know-”

“So it didn’t matter?” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper. “None of it was real?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps, defensive now. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything. You don’t even remember me being here.” Your voice trembles. “You don’t remember kissing me. You said you’d try to quit. You asked me to stay.” He runs both hands through his hair like he wants to rip it out. “I meant it, okay? I meant it in the moment.”

“But the moment’s gone,” you say bitterly, standing from the bed. “And now we’re here.” Heeseung gets up too, anger simmering under his skin. “What, you want me to magically fix everything overnight? You think it’s that simple?”

“I never said that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N? You want me to turn into someone I’m not?”

“I want you to have not been high last night!” you yell, the words coming out strangled. “I want you to care! I want you to stop making me feel like I’m the only one who’s trying!” He’s pacing now, barefoot on the floor, frantic and twitchy. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like in my head. I’m not built for this shit.”

“I know you’re not,” you say, voice cracking. “But I thought maybe you’d try. For me.” He freezes. His back is to you, shoulders tense. “I want to. I just… I don’t think I can.” You feel it again, that collapse inside your chest. The same one you’ve been patching together with hope and denial for months. “Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t want me.” He turns slowly, and something in his face softens. It almost breaks you. “I do want you,” he admits. “But I want this too.” He gestures vaguely to the room, the remnants of his high, the destruction he clings to like a security blanket. “And that makes me a monster.”

You step back like the words physically hurt. “You said I was your angel.”

“You are.” His voice cracks. “Which is why I need you to go.” You shake your head. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” he breathes. “God, I do. But I’ll ruin you.”

“You already did. I just got you back, Heeseung…”

The silence stretches thick between you. Then he takes a step forward, like he might try to hold you, but you back away. You can’t do this again, not when he couldn’t even remember the night before. He swallows hard, eyes glassy.  “Please,” he says, voice barely audible. “Don’t make me watch you walk away.” You blink back tears, throat tight. “Then give me a reason to stay.”

But he doesn’t. So you do the one thing you swore you never would.

You leave.

And like always, he lets you go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

four months later

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Four months pass in the blink of an eye. The day is warm, the sun soft and golden overhead as you stand with Mina, Kira, Koda, and Wren, all dressed in your black gowns and sashes, your caps still held in your hands. The air around you buzzes with excitement, laughter, and the kind of bittersweet energy that only comes with the closing of a chapter. The moment your names are called, one by one, a flood of emotions washes over you. Pride, relief, even a sense of sadness.

And then you’re all standing in a circle, diplomas in hand, faces flushed with joy, and on the count of three, you throw your caps into the air, the five of you screaming and laughing as they soar above your heads and fall like confetti. It should feel like the beginning of everything. And in a way, it does. But for you, it’s also the end.

After the ceremony, you spot Sunghoon weaving through the crowd, his smile blinding, a massive bouquet of deep red roses tucked under his arm. He beelines straight for Koda, scooping her up into a tight hug, lifting her right off the ground as she squeals in surprise. “Proud of you, babe,” he grins, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then he turns to the rest of you, handing off flowers and congratulations like they’re going out of style. He hugs you next, warm and genuine and it makes your eyes sting just a little.

Before you can blink, someone else wraps their arms around you from behind. “Graduated and still short,” Jay teases into your ear. You laugh despite yourself and lean into the embrace. “I missed you too, asshole,” you say, wiping your cheek quickly as if that’ll hide how emotional you are. He holds you for a second longer, then pulls back, flashing you that crooked grin. “Proud of you. You did it.” You force a smile at his words, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Later that night, you all cram into a booth at your favorite Korean BBQ spot, the table stacked with plates of sizzling meat, clinking glasses, and side dishes passed back and forth. Everyone’s talking over each other, laughing too loud, singing along to whatever songs are playing overhead. Kira leans into you, whispering about how Wren made eyes at the waiter. Mina’s halfway into her second soju bottle. Koda is pressed into Sunghoon’s side like a missing piece finally clicked into place.

It’s familiar, and yet you feel like you’re watching it from behind glass. When Jay offers to drive you home, you don’t hesitate.

The apartment feels quieter than usual. Like the walls know something is ending. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of your suitcase, folding your last hoodie with shaking hands. The corners don’t line up properly, but you can’t bring yourself to refold it again. Your fingers are trembling too hard. Jay stands by your desk, watching you in silence. He’s been quiet since you let him in. He hasn’t touched his drink. He hasn’t touched anything.

You try to lighten the mood, forcing a soft chuckle as you zip your suitcase closed. “Guess that’s everything.” Jay doesn’t smile. “Doesn’t feel like everything.” You glance up at him. He’s staring at your suitcase like it just punched him in the gut. You swallow hard, “Jay…”

“Are you sure about this?” You turn away, pretending to check the zipper again even though it’s fine. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t.” He takes a few steps closer. The floor creaks beneath his feet. “You don’t have to go, Y/N. You really don’t. You could stay. Start over. We could help you.” Your chest tightens. You press your palm flat against the suitcase like it’ll keep you grounded. “I can’t stay here,” you whisper. “Everything here reminds me of him.” Jay exhales sharply, and it’s the closest thing to a crack in his composure you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N…” He drags a hand through his hair and sits down beside you on the floor. He doesn’t touch you, but you can feel the warmth of him beside you, like a question. “I thought leaving would make it easier,” you admit, voice trembling. “But all I feel is like I’m abandoning him.” Jay finally meets your eyes, and your resolve breaks. 

The tears come without warning, hot and relentless, blurring your vision as you lean into him and bury your face in his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, holding you like he’s been waiting months to do it, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can keep you from slipping away. You sob into his hoodie, shaking like a leaf. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to leave him behind.”

Jay’s hand finds the back of your head, gentle, grounding. “You don’t have to leave him behind forever,” he murmurs. “Just long enough to find yourself again.” You pull back slowly, your cheeks soaked, your throat raw. “Promise me something?” He nods without hesitation. “Look after him. Please. I know he’s not easy. I know he’s… a lot. But I’m terrified he’ll destroy himself without someone watching.” Jay’s jaw tenses. “You really love him, huh?” You nod. “With everything. Even when I shouldn’t.”

He reaches for your hand, squeezes it tightly. “I’ll watch over him. I promise. But you have to promise me something too.” You look at him through watery eyes. “Don’t disappear. Call sometimes. Text. Hell, send a postcard.” You let out a wet laugh and nod, then fall forward into his arms again, hugging him like it’s the last piece of safety you’ll get to hold onto. “Let me take you to the airport tomorrow?” he says against your hair.

You nod into his chest. “Yeah. Please.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The blinds in Heeseung’s room are drawn, bathing everything in a murky shade of grey. His ashtray is full. The rolled-up twenty on his desk is crooked and frayed at the edge from too many nights like this. He’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it holds answers. His jaw ticks, fingers drumming against his stomach. There’s a weight in his chest that won’t budge, no matter how many hits he takes.

The door creaks open without a knock. It’s Jay. Heeseung doesn’t look. Doesn’t move. Just closes his eyes and lets out a long breath through his nose.

“She’s leaving.” The words land like a punch to the ribs, causing Heeseung to blink his eyes open. “Huh?”

Jay steps further inside. “Y/N. She’s moving. Tomorrow. “I’m taking her to the airport.” Heeseung sits up too fast, his heart dropping into his gut. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” A long pause followed. Heeseung scoffs, running a hand through his already mussed hair, the tension rippling through his limbs like a pulled wire. “So let her go.” Jay’s expression flattens. “Are you serious right now?” Heeseung shrugs, but his eyes don’t match the indifference in his voice. “She wants to leave. Let her.”

“She doesn’t want to leave, Heeseung. She’s hurting. Because of you.”

“Well, maybe she should’ve thought about that before falling for a fucking loser.” Jay’s voice goes sharp. “You’re not a loser. You’re just a fucking coward.” Heeseung’s head snaps toward him. “You think I don’t know what I am?!” His voice cracks. “You think I haven’t been dying every fucking day since I told her to go?!”

“Then why didn’t you stop her?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!” Heeseung roars, pushing up to his feet with such force the chair beside his desk shakes. His chest heaves, eyes wild and glassy. Jay doesn’t back down. “Then fight for her.”

“I did!” Heeseung yells again, slamming a hand against the wall hard enough to make a picture frame rattle. “I fought by letting her go. She was dying here! Dying because of me. She had everything in front of her and I kept dragging her back into my mess-”

“So clean up the fucking mess!”

Heeseung’s fists ball at his sides. Jay’s breathing hard now, too. “You sit here pretending you’re some tragic antihero who saved her by breaking her heart. But that’s not love, Heeseung. That’s fear.”

The words hang heavy, and Heeseung doesn’t respond. Jay stares at him a moment longer, jaw clenched, eyes filled with something halfway between rage and heartbreak. “You still have time to fix this. But if you don’t even try… then maybe you never really loved her in the first place.” Jay turned and storms out. The door slams so hard the walls shake. Heeseung doesn’t move, barely breathes.

He lowers himself back onto his bed, collapsing like his body has nothing left to give. He stares at the ceiling again, but this time, his eyes burn. His thoughts race, every image of you, every soft whisper, every tear you’d shed, every moment he threw away playing like a reel behind his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The airport smells like burnt coffee and fresh paper. You stand beside Jay at your gate, your suitcase at your feet, ticket clutched loosely in one hand, passport in the other. Your hoodie sleeves are pulled over your knuckles, and your headphones hang useless around your neck, silent for once. Jay is quiet next to you, his arm brushing yours every so often in silent solidarity. He knows better than to fill the silence with small talk.

Then, the presence of your friend group livens up the airport. You hear them before you see them, but you couldn’t mistake Koda’s excited voice carrying over the low hum of travel noise. You turn and see her weaving through the crowd, pulling Sunghoon behind her with one hand, the other waving high above her head. Behind them are Kira, Mina, and Wren, all bundled in mismatched layers, like they’d rushed out the door without checking the weather.

The sight makes your throat tighten.

They all reach you at once, surrounding you in hugs and laughter that feels too bright for how heavy your chest feels. Kira grabs your hands in hers and squeezes, her smile watery. Mina wipes her eyes before the tears even fall. Wren just hugs you so tightly your back cracks. “I’m proud of you,” Koda says, pressing her forehead against yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Sunghoon mutters, voice quiet but sincere. You try to smile. “Me either.”

But as they all talk over each other, asking about your flight, telling you to text them when you land, suggesting a ridiculous group chat name, your eyes can’t help but drift toward the crowd behind them, like you’re searching. Jay catches the glance. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you for a long moment before gently tugging on your sleeve. “He’s not coming.”

You blink, startled by how calmly he says it. “I talked to him,” Jay continues, keeping his voice low so the others won’t overhear. “But… I don’t think he’ll show.” You nod, eyes dropping to the floor. You expected it, you told yourself not to hope. But hope is cruel. Hope has a sharp edge.

“I know,” you whisper. “It’s okay.” Jay doesn’t say anything. He knows it’s not okay. But he nods like it is, and you’re grateful for it. The loudspeaker crackles overhead, boarding group numbers being called. You glance down at your ticket. That’s you. “Well,” you say, forcing a bright smile, “that’s me.” You start hugging everyone again, slower this time. There’s something about knowing it’s going to be the last one for a while that makes your arms ache to hold onto them longer.

“You’ll call, right?” Kira whispers into your shoulder. “Every day,” you promise. Jay is the last one you face. His arms wrap around you with a familiarity that makes your heart ache in a different way. “Thank you,” you murmur. “For what?” He asks with a small chuckle to his voice. “For everything.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “I got you. Always.” And still, your eyes flick one more time to the crowd, searching for dark eyes, messy hair, broad shoulders. One more time for the boy who made and broke your heart all at once, but he’s not there. So you pick up your bag, and you walk away, waving goodbye to your friends as you approached your gate..

And you don’t look back.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The moment the plane touched down, a strange stillness settled in your chest. You were exhausted, emotionally rung out, and yet the moment the pilot announced your arrival in Sydney, Australia, your body moved on autopilot. New country. New air. New version of you.

You weave through the crowd in the airport, dodging people with overstuffed carry-ons and neck pillows clinging to their shoulders. Your headphones are around your neck now, but they’re quiet. The music that once drowned everything out is replaced by the hum of unfamiliar accents and baggage claim announcements. Your heart is thudding a little too loud as you make your way toward the carousel, scanning for your suitcase. It’s a sea of black and navy bags, all tumbling past with urgency, like they know where they’re going. 

Someone steps in front of you just as your bag slides into view, and you don’t see them in time. The collision is instant and forceful, your shoulder hits theirs, your foot catches something, and the next thing you know, you’re both on the ground, bags and limbs tangled in a graceless heap of chaos.

“Oh my god… I’m so sorry, are you okay?” you gasp, sitting up and scrambling to gather your bearings. “No, no, that was me, I wasn’t watching, shit are you alright?” a voice responds, rushed and sincere. Your hand brushes his arm as you both reach for the same fallen backpack. And then your eyes meet. Warm brown eyes. Tousled blond hair. Sun-kissed skin. A dimple threatening the corner of his cheek as he smiles sheepishly. There’s a pause. A stillness. The universe, just for a moment, seems to exhale.

You blink, and then he extends a hand to help you up, fingers curling gently around yours with a touch that doesn’t feel like a beginning, but like something inevitable.

“I’m Jake.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

a/n ; omg guys I can't believe bad desire is finally here. I've been working on this fanfic for LITERALLY months, and then when bad desire came out I knew I had to find someway to incorporate it. but anyways, thank you so much for the love you gave the teaser and I hope you all like the full story! maybe there's room for a part two?

tag list ; @lostgirlysstuff @hoonprksung @nithxhoon @rayofsunshineeee @wooyugta @fancypeacepersona

[housemdork]

started rewatching house cuz of this blog and aughh,,, ive only just finished the pilot but i already have wilson thoughts,,,,,,

pilot wilson is so interesting to me because of the foundation it builds; he seems like quite a blank slate at first, average guy oncologist, a bit sassy maybe but thats about it - except that lie of rebecca beng his cousin, with the reason being to get house to take the case.

now, we already know house is an ass, and we probably see wilson as his normal friend who just puts up with him; but he manipulated house. he used houses care for him to get house to take the case. whats even more interesting is he doesnt seem to properly think about this until the conversation with rebecca about whether house cares for him. this solidifies the idea that wilson sees himself as the "good guy" who gets forced to manipulate/misbehave due to houses antics. so, though while he may integrate with society better, he has alot in common with house with the way he goes about geting what he wants and tricking people, which we see pop up more as the series goes on (even as soon as 1x11, detox)

or maybe i just like him so much i want to put him in a bottle, shake him around and see what happens idk

"or maybe i just like him so much i want to put him in a bottle, shake him around and see what happens" real asf. me too.

this is such a good point, and it gives me an opportunity to praise the show again lol. early wilson is such an enigma, and he doesn't really get a sense of self/consistency till the last 3rd of season 1 imo, but the Seeds Are There. like you said, in just that one decision to get house to take the case, so much about wilson unfolds: his capacity to care in the first place; his relationship with house; his manipulative tendencies; and how he rationalizes them.

and YES i agree that this is where the "good guy" persona comes from. in the earliest parts of the show, i think they let wilson be self aware about this persona, but i prefer how, as house md goes on, he gets increasingly lost in his own "who am i?" trenches. all the ways in which he's like house elude him because he doesn't want to admit that he can be manipulative, even if it's for the right reasons sometimes. heavy on the "sometimes." the dialogue from the "universal recipient/universal donor" scene belongs here somewhere lol.

tbh i think wilson and rebecca introducing the "love is shown thru actions, not just words" theme is the most important thing about season 1 because it sustains throughout the entire show. when i revisited 1x01 at the start of my rewatch project, i had to take a lap around my apartment to process lol.

i'm so glad to hear that you've started rewatching, and thank you for reading all my posts/recaps/ramblings of biblical proportions lol. it's very fun :)

[thattimdrakeguy]

ya know what, it's so late almost everywhere in the world so i'll just ramble a bit now

but i really, really, really dislike how so many creative people are just absolutely fine with the Bat-Family characters being so generic, and interchangeable these days

Lonely Place of Dying, Under the Hood, the Grant Morrison run on Batman and Robin, and other stuff that I can't name off the top of my head--

These have excellent character work, and made these characters so damn popular to begin with, that they've been kept around this long. You learn what they're like, you get attached to them! Ya wanna read more of them!

And for the past damn near decade, maybe 15 years for some of the characters, they just been erasing what makes them who they are. They're all just snarky crime-fighters with soft hearts and quirky friendships. At best some are just a bit more rough around the edges, or for a few talk a bit differently.

When damn it, guys, these characters were all individuals at one point. They were so unique, and stand-out, and excellent, and so damn good. At one point in time you could tell who was saying what based on the character moment and dialogue

Now they've all been made so normal, I don't even know why people care anymore!

And the thing is, most people don't care! Tim can't keep a series on his own, Jason can't keep a series on his own, Damian can't keep a series on his own.

Does no body care to take the time to think and realize why? Comics are a floundering industry, but enough people still buy them that enough series are still successes. So why can't these characters stay afloat? It's 'cause they suck now. Harsh, I know, but, they do. They just do, man. I have to be a bit harsh. Compare them to who they once where, and it's so sad.

Some have gotten better in some ways, but some of the writing quality is still simply abysmal regardless way too often for comfort.

Fandoms create the illusion that the wider fanbase likes what they're doing, but we have to realize that the fandom mostly consists of people that don't read comics. I'm not being gate-keepy, they just don't. It's not on me that they don't, but look, they don't.

Sales wouldn't be that bad otherwise.

All these excellent work, and stories, and histories, and effort put in by these creative giants of the field, all going nowhere because no one can be bothered to put in the work and give a shit.

Now it's a roll of the dice if the character will look like themselves or not, or act like themselves, or have their relationships with one another be consistent with what they've shown before.

And this fandom praises that stuff so much. And I don't wanna stop their enjoyment, I get absolutely no pleasure out of that. Hence why I keep to myself on this website and everything. It is not helping at all though. We can't deny that. Not anymore.

The results on the greater image of this once magnificent franchise is dire. Absolutely miserable.

Honestly, I don't even get what they get out of it. Fan art of a character that looks nothing like the character? Fan fiction that has them act nothing like themselves? I'm on the spectrum, so maybe I'm missing something, but I don't know what anybody gets out of that. I don't get how you can say you're a fan of something, and not actually like what it is, and you have to change so much about it. Hardly sounds like a fan to me.

It upsets me greatly. Even during the past so many years where I didn't pay attention, because why would I if things are so rough, it still upset me.

I want to like this stuff! I wanna be able to read all the comics about them and enjoy myself! Look in the tags, enjoy some fanart, read some fan fiction if I was tempted enough. But there's nothing to get out of it.

If this was any other creative medium (besides maybe radio, who cares about that anymore, or audio dramas, the modern equivalent) people would be furious! My gosh the tweets and posts and everything that'd be happening.

Comics greatest weakness is being so niche, 'cause now that so many people are gone, fanbase wise, buyer wise, and creative wise, I'm not sure if it's realistic to assume DC, at least Bat-Family wise will ever get better

The great stories and moments we've could've had, had more people cared a bit more. It's so tough to think about.

We haven't had a truly iconic Batman stories in so many years. So, so, so many years. At least in the comics.

And not enough people wanna put the work in to change that.

[peachhcs]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjwnSbd3/

Ok, since will reassured Samy and stuck by her side with her ed, I feel like she does the same with Will, when he’s not feeling confident about his play, especially right now after the season has ended and he feels like he will always be 2nd to macklin and not live up to his full potential

i saw that tiktok the other day and i was like omg my shaylaaaa bc like ugh it makes me sad that he's seen as second to mack sometimes, but samy is always there to reassure and comfort him through it all!!!

them being there for each other is so soft to me bc it's so cute how they can lean on one another no matter what

au masterlist

will wasn't one to show his emotions a lot, nor feel down days. for the most part, he was stoic and held himself with grace. never once did people really see him falter about something, always so smiley like a golden retriever. that was why so many people loved him because of his silly personality.

so when summer stated and the season ended, will had a lot more time on his hands which meant he had a lot more time to look back on the season to see what went well and wrong so he could improve in the fall. the blonde was watching highlights on his computer a lot, taking note of what he didn't do quite right, but the commentating was beginning to get him.

they were talking about his playing style, comparing him to mack a lot and how he could never get there fast enough or handle the puck as well as his teammate. normally, that stuff didn't bother the boy, but he was starting to hear all of the commentators say something in comparison to mack and boy, was it starting to get under will's skin.

the doubt formed faster than he could stop it and he started believing them. mack was good, will knew that, it was why the brunette went first overall. will's never really doubted how he played until now. he started paying more attention to how mack played and noticed all the things he did that will didn't do that made him so great.

was will really that bad? sure, the season was a bit of a shit show, but will thought he started to have a good grip on the way the older guys played. after hearing the commentators make the same doubtful remarks about him even at the end of the season, will wasn't so sure anymore.

his mind clouded with anxiety.

samy found her boyfriend on the couch one early morning when it was just the two of them awake before anyone else. she saw him on his laptop watching replays from the season, something she knew he had been doing a lot recently. he had airpods in so she couldn't hear the sound, but she watched over his shoulder for a moment, smiling as she watched him glide across the ice with ease against the bigger guys. watching him play always brought a smile to her face.

she had no idea he was picking himself apart with every move of his stick and turn of his skate.

"hi," samy broke him from the stream. he popped an airpod out, smiling when he felt her arms around his neck.

"hi," will kissed her cheek.

"your coffee is ready. do you want me to bring it in?" she wondered.

"if you don't mind," will smiled. samy didn't mind, so she went back into the kitchen to grab it.

he made room for her on the couch as she set it down on the coffee table and then snuggled in beside him. his arm instinctively opened to make room for her, holding her close and pressing another soft kiss to her cheek.

"what are you doing?" samy asked, looking at his computer again.

"just watching old streams from the season," will shrugged it off despite the negative thoughts in his mind about himself. he just hoped she couldn't see the doubt in his eyes.

"i love watching you play. you just look so natural out there," samy hummed and her words prided the boy.

"you think so?"

"duh, yeah. you were born for this. i know the season was kind of shit, but i thought you always played well. you found your groove fast and it can only get better," she always praised him no matter what and will loved that about her, but right now he wasn't so sure. he looked at himself paused on the screen and he already saw about four things wrong with it already.

"you're just saying that because you have to," will mumbled, half joking half not. there was always a small worry in the back of his mind still that one day samy would wake up and decide he wasn't good enough for her anymore. he's had that insecurity for as long as him and samy started dating and no matter how hard he tried pushing it away, it always came back when he doubted himself.

"i am not, you know i'm not. you're good, baby. best player i've ever seen," she snuggled into him more so her head was on his shoulder and her hair tickled his chin.

will's silence told her something he wasn't saying. she peered up at him, "what's wrong?"

"it's nothing," the boy shook his head.

"you sure?" samy didn't pry, neither of them did, so she didn't keep asking when all her boyfriend did was nod and shut his laptop for the time being. he smiled down at her, the doubt subsiding for now as he enjoyed the quiet morning with her.

a few days later, will was in bed scrolling through tiktok when a video of him came up when him and mack were at the basketball game. there was a thing about how bad they felt for will because only mack's name was displayed on the jumbotron instead of both of theirs. will's chest pinched with a heavy feeling, but he brushed it off and kept scrolling.

a few videos later, there was a new video of himself, except it was some sort of edit with a sad taylor swift song that indicated how will always seemed to be second best. that pinching feeling returned and will felt sick as taylor swift's words "they see right through me" settled into him.

they did see right through him. he tried and tried and tried, but would always be second to mack as long as they were on the same team.

samy came out of the bathroom to her boyfriend staring at his phone with glassy eyes. she quickly went to him with worry on her features.

"will? what's wrong?"

he couldn't hold it back this time. he started crying as soon as samy put a hand on him. the dam broke and all the girl could do was watch her boyfriend cry before her instincts took over and she let him fold into him, tears streaming down his face. she hadn't seen him cry like this in so long.

"hey, it's okay. "i'm right here, i promise," she cooed, letting him get it all out.

his phone was still playing the edit and samy quickly understood what was getting to him. the archer by taylor swift told her what she had been wondering for the past few days and the video showed will always coming up second.

when his tears finally slowed, the boy's cheeks were left rosy and flushed. "fuck, this is so embarrassing," he muttered while wiping the tears.

"hey, don't be. there's nothing to be embarrassed about," samy quickly assured and used her t-shirt to help dry his eyes.

will sat up, slouched over and ashamed of himself. samy sat beside him, her hand on his knee and waitng for him to talk when he was ready.

"i know i shouldn't be so hard on myself, but i guess i have been for the past few days. i just..i worked so hard this season only to be overlooked all the fucking time to mack. i love him, i do, but..god, it hurts so bad sometimes after hearing everyone say how..average i am now compared to when i was in college.." will shook his head like he was stupid for thinking this way.

"will, you are so far from average. don't let 40 year old men commentating a game decide how you feel about yourself. you are good, i promise. it was a hard season, but that doesn't mean your bad or you're not as good as mack. you're your own people with different playing styles. you're just as good as him," samy ducked her head down to try and find his gaze that he still avoided.

"then why do they say that stuff? they wouldn't say it if it wasn't true? it's always about mack and people only see him whenever we're together. i mean look at this fucking edit! even all the fans know it," will shoved his phone in the girl's face. she frowned, slowly lowering his phone and hating how will dropped his face in his hands like he was defeated by it all.

samy knew this season was hard on him as he adjusted to going from college to the pros. the transition was never easy and all of her brothers struggled with it, so seeing will struggle the same hurt to see.

"remember when we were like 14?" samy began.

will mumbled something, but he was listening.

"i was at one of your games in boston after deciding to go with my mom during my winter break. we hated each other still so i didn't want to go at all, but i wanted to go to boston, so i sucked it up and went to your game. your mom was saying how nervous you were because it was your first game playing up with the older boys. there were a few parents she was mentioning that was doubting you playing up saying you didn't have it in you and i thought that was bullshit because i knew you were a good player. we talked a bit before the game i told you to just be confident and play like you knew how to because i wanted you to prove you knew how to play and prove those moms wrong. that was your best game and you scored three goals. everyone was so happy for you and you were so excited that you did so well on the older team.." will didn't know where samy was going with the story. he finally looked at her and there was a soft smile on her lips.

"i'm never saying you're good because you think i have to. you've always been good will and i've always known you are. even when we were 14 and hated each other, i always knew you were a good player and never said otherwise. you proved those moms wrong and i know you can prove everyone else wrong," samy finished and she watched how the blonde's expression softened up.

"a shitty season doesn't mean a shitty career. you went fourth overall for a reason. the sharks see something in you and they want you on a team that can make it just as good," she reached over to squeeze his knee again and this time will clasped their fingers together.

"i guess i've just been in my head way too much lately. it's hard when i have so much time to myself," will admitted.

"i know, trust me, i know. i may not get it like a hockey player does or how you feel, but i know how comparison feels like and it does hurt, but you're so much more than what old men have to say and people online. they say things to say them and it doesn't mean it's true."

will lifted her hand to kiss it. they laid back against the pillows, samy caressing will's cheek that wasn't so flushed anymore and the tears were gone.

"i'm really glad i have you. you make everything better," will hummed and the hughes sister smiled.

"you too, baby. i love you a lot."

"i love you so much more," will kissed the bridge of her nose and he was glad he had her to keep him from getting into his head too much.

she was right. she always believed in him, even when they hated each other's guts. he had so much ahead of him and his rookie season wasn't going to define him forever. he'd find his way soon.

[jjkeverlast]

seven days a week | jjk

✦ pairing fwb!jk x fem!reader

✦ rating explicit (+18)

✦ summary jeon jeongguk has always had crazy ideas, but wanting to fuck you every day of the week was the last thing you expected.

✦ warnings & tags college AU, smut, pwp, oh boi here comes the bucket of fluff, cuddling in the morning all that jazz, foreplay, jeongguk praises reader through it all, fingering, reader has a spit kink, unprotected sex (they didn’t wrap it up..)

✦ word count 2.2k

✦ author’s note this is a re-upload, if you’ve seen this before, this is why:)

masterlist | next chapter

The soft pad of a finger stirs you awake until you realize Jeongguk has softly trailed his fingers on the apple of your cheek, while watching you sleep soundly. 

“Hey.” He says the first thing when you squint both eyes. You’ve never seen Jeongguk like this before,  morning hair and puffy eyes paired with a smile that screams a million words. 

It’s your first morning together. Usually Jeongguk leaves you after sex, both of you returning to your usual routines. For you it consists of homework, maybe even an afternoon nap if time allows it. Jeongguk normally hangs out with Namjoon at home, even though all those times he’s been with you, he’d wished to wake up to your morning state. 

Now he finally has, which explains how the smile dares to vanish even though you’re fully awake. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, therefore you clear your throat while you stretch. You’ve been sleeping in one of Jeongguk’s t-shirts that he kindly offered when you stepped into the shower. His smell accompanied you all night, while his heartbeat was the last thing you heard before snoozing off completely. 

Jeongguk pulls you close to him, nuzzling his nose in the nape of your neck, causing a tickle. You try your best not to laugh, hands landing on his naked chest to push him away but he doesn’t budge. 

“You’re tickling me!” You gasp, trying to escape the ticklish feeling reaching under your skin. Jeongguk finally pulls away, settling on just holding you against him. He softly sighs, running his hand under his t-shirt and tracing circles on your exposed back. The sensation sends a swarm of butterflies to your stomach. 

All of this is new, which is also the reason behind you not knowing what to say or do. Many things were revealed yesterday and you also, fuck, squirted for the first time. Jeongguk’s reaction was still fresh in your memory, especially his facial expression. You were quite embarrassed, unaware you were even able to do such a thing in the first place. 

Trying to grow from the embarrassment, you let yourself enjoy Jeongguk in your arms first thing in the morning. It’s something you’re excited to get used to. His skin feels warmer this morning, due to the sun skimming through the windows and plastering itself on his bare skin. 

Just as you’re about to doze off again, Jeongguk speaks up. “Hey, stay right here. Okay?” You’re surprised he’s suddenly determined to get out of bed, but you don’t ask, nodding along. 

Jeongguk quickly disappears from the room, shutting the door behind him and that’s when you take a moment to notice each detail around you. The colors and small decorations keep you entertained while Jeongguk makes a lot of noise in the kitchen. You don’t want to ask questions, but you’re very curious to know what he’s planning. 

You have zero sense of time, explaining why you’re surprised Jeongguk is walking back towards his room. Your mouth drops at the sight, him carrying a platter with freshly made eggs and toasted bread paired with juice and tea. Your heart melts at the sight, his cheeks puffy from his bunny grin and how he seems so excited to give you breakfast in bed. 

“You didn’t.” You mutter, still processing the awfully sweet surprise. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” He walks closer to you, while you scoot yourself upwards to accept the food easily. Once the platter lands on the bed, Jeongguk pecks you on the forehead mumbling a soft good morning. 

He joins you under the covers, helping you with the tea, as you bite down on the eggs. Your cheeks are full and prominent by all the food you easily swallow down, while Jeongguk swoons in silence. 

Neither of you have any plans today, resulting in no rush to start the day. Jeongguk never wants to leave this bed, his whole self fully enjoying his dream come true, waking up to you. 

As you finish his homemade meal, you go back to embracing each other under the warm covers. Jeongguk kisses you all over, causing your whole face to heat up. 

“So cute.” He coos, pecking his lips wherever they can reach while your cheeks are squished by his hands. Your eyes are closed, smile wide as you try to ignore how much you enjoy Jeongguk calling you cute out of all people. You wouldn’t have allowed it if you didn’t like Jeon Jeongguk. 

“Thank you for the breakfast in bed.” You manage to say when he’s paused to just look at you. 

“Anything for my girl—“ Jeongguk stops, realizing he’s spoken his thoughts out loud. Your brows raise at the unexpected but honest comment. Jeongguk has gone quiet, burying his face in his pillow to avoid your eyes on him. 

“So I’m your girl..?” You tease, nudging your face on his shoulder, trying to get him to come out of his handmade cave. 

“Shut up!” He groans, voice muffled due to the pillow. 

“Jeon.” You call for him, gaining zero reaction. Therefore, you decide to leave a small but gentle kiss on his jawline. “Baby.” You whisper, Jeongguk’s ears moving by hearing the new pet name coming from you. 

It’s not something you usually do, but the thought of calling Jeongguk other things makes you all excited. 

Slowly, Jeongguk turns his face, half of it squished down on the soft white covers. “Call me that again.” 

“No.” You respond with all seriousness, waiting for Jeongguk’s smile to drop and the moment it does, you crack one yourself. “I was joking, baby.” 

“Gosh, I hate you.” He pushes you away from him, laughs erupting in the room. 

“Oh yeah? That’s not what you told me yesterday.” You tease again, enjoying the irritation that seeps through Jeongguk over your small antics. 

“Keep it going and I’ll kick you out.” 

You gasp in offense. “You wouldn’t dare!” 

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, tackling you so he hovers above you, pining both of your hands above your head. “Apologize.” 

You keep quiet, Jeongguk looking hopeful while he awaits the magic words. Instead, you poke out your tongue to him, smiling as he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re impossible.” He leans down, trailing his lips above yours but daring to touch them. 

The atmosphere suddenly changes around you, Jeongguk’s eyes trailing down to your lips, while your mouth slightly drops at the intimate position you’re both in. There’s a certain doubt circulating between the air. Is this leading somewhere or not?

All doubts are answered when Jeongguk decides to let his lips move against yours. They’re soft and warm, his tongue wet as it nibbles your bottom lip. You’re quick to give in, opening a bit wider and inviting it as your head moves upwards, craving more of Jeongguk. He still has both of your hands pinned upwards, enjoying how you’re lying beneath him. 

There is yet to be a clarity of where exactly this is going, yet you move against Jeongguk, lips and tongue all tangled. He sighs against your mouth, retrieving one of his hands to hold your jaw. His thumb begins to trace your bottom lip, before he bites it softly and stops. Both of your mouths are slightly parted, slick as well and Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate to run his thumb on both your lips, sighing when he feels the edges.

With no warning, you lean forward, pucking your lips around his thumb and letting it enter your mouth. Jeongguk raises an eyebrow in question, but watches you carefully. 

As you suck on his finger, Jeongguk’s brows furrow, imagining how they would look wrapped around his cock instead. Maybe that is what you’re implying, with the way your tongue probs at the finger teasingly, eyes locked to his and lips slick with spit. 

Jeongguk retracts his thumb, eyes following the movement of his hand that reaches further down to your core. With a quick look to your pleading gaze, he moves it under the waistband of your underwear and finally touches your clit. The first touch causes you to gasp, the common feeling of electricity seeping through your veins. 

He toys with it for a while, mixing between flicking and rubbing it in circles. You let yourself enjoy the gentle touches, spreading your legs even further than before to give easier access. 

“Like how I touch you, baby?” He asks with a teasing tone, keeping his gaze on your twist of expressions as he changes his pace every so often. The ministrations cause you to grow wetter, Jeongguk’s fingers fiddling between your lips and feeling the wet sensation that he’s caused. Fuck. He loves making you this wet. 

“Jeongguk—“ The veins of your neck start to strain, voice losing its touch as the immersed feeling grows hotter and closer in the room. 

“Want you to come.” Jeongguk nibbles on your earlobe, nose nuzzling on your cheek as he finally slides his fingers inside of you. The minute they’re fully inside, you clench around them and Jeongguk groans. 

“Yeah that’s it. Come on, pretty girl.” 

Pretty girl. 

Jeongguk loves talking you through it but the nickname causes you to buck your hips against his hand, searching for the feeling, wanting to please him and finish as he wishes. 

His fingers begin to move inside of you, twisting and turning until he finds that sweet spot and begins to rub it, while his thumb never slows down on your clit. Jeongguk kisses your neck, his tongue running on your exposed skin, loving the feeling of your veins popping out against it. 

The moans grow wilder, your body tensing as it seeks its final push. 

“Jeongguk.” You breathe out, bringing your free hand to grab ahold of the nape of his neck. Jeongguk stills, moving his face to yours. 

“You okay?” 

“Mhm.” You bite your lip, eyes hooded. Jeongguk is about to continue but you stop him. 

“Want you to spit in my mouth.” You almost beg. 

Jeongguk curses under his breath. “Open your mouth for me.” You’re not that surprised that he’s into it, but you’re grateful because it’s never something you’ve openly spoken about. Therefore you quickly comply, opening your mouth a bit wider and closing your eyes. 

For a second nothing happens, and then you feel it land in your mouth. Jeongguk moans due to you swallowing it so eagerly, before moving upwards and kissing him roughly again. 

While your mouths move at an eager pace, Jeongguk returns to touching you. He grows hotter from every reaction of your body and the sounds you so helplessly let out. 

The grip on Jeongguk’s neck tightens as your body stills, tensing for a split second until it loosens. Jeongguk can feel you come undone all over him, the constant clenching continuing despite his fingers not moving anymore. 

“That’s it baby.” Jeongguk praises you, pecking your cheek as he slowly removes his fingers from inside of you. 

Even though you just came, you already miss the feeling of being full. 

Without saying it out loud, your hand moves on its own, pulling the waistband of Jeongguk’s boxers with neediness. 

“Fuck me. Please.” Your eyelids are half open, a sign you might be a bit exhausted, but you need more.

Jeongguk doesn’t waste another minute, pulling them down to free his cock. His tip is leaking, a sign he’s completely worked up. He pushes your underwear to the side to get better access. 

You press down on his lower back, wanting him inside immediately and Jeongguk begins to chuckle before it dies down the minute he feels your warm heat wrapping around him tightly. 

“F—Fuck.” Jeongguk stutters, always completely overwhelmed by how you make him feel. He doesn’t even think he can last that long with you watching him this way. Your whole expression is so pleased and greedy, pushing him more so he fully settles. 

“So good.” You mumble under your breath while Jeongguk’s hips move on their own accord. He almost lets his tip slip out before he pushes it back in, watching your eyebrows furrow and mouth agape when he does so. 

Gosh. He could watch you like this for hours.

Instead of Jeongguk having his second hand wrapped around your wrist, he moves it to interlace your fingers. The hold is firm and strong, your fingers almost going numb. 

Jeongguk leans his forehead against yours, gazes downwards to watch how his cock disappears inside of you. The sight gets him so worked up, causing him to groan and moan against your lips. You’re no better yourself, gasping and voice almost restraint due to all the pleasure overcoming the both of you. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Jeongguk finishes, his cock sooner enough twitching inside of you. He keeps himself buried while riding out his high. 

“Shit.” He breathes out, stunned by how quick this was but he doesn’t have any excuse. You just drive him absolutely crazy. 

As you’ve both regained your strength, Jeongguk pulls out and strolls to the bathroom to fish after a warm cloth. 

You’re still laying in his t-shirt, legs spread and body warm all over when he comes back. He gently rubs your sensitive area, cleaning you up with ease as he leaves small kisses on your inner thighs. 

The sudden aftercare is new, but you’re loving every minute of it. 

“A spitting kink, that’s new.” He comments in his annoying tone to nag you but you simply shrug it off. 

“Shut up, you love it.” 

He doesn’t respond, the answer hanging heavy in the bedroom. 

Then, sooner or later Jeongguk joins you in bed and cuddles himself against you. Your body leans naturally against his and before you both know it, a sudden snooze washes over you both. 

[beomgyuversee]

The Pen Project

The letters stayed. And so did he.

pairing: Heeseung x fem!reader Synopsis: When your therapist suggests participating in a new project called "The Pen Project, you end up making more than a friend. genre: non-idol AU, letter-writing AU, strangers to lovers, soft smut rating: 18+ (MDNI) warnings: fingering, protected sex (YIPPIE follow Heeseungs example!), aftercare, praise, vulnerability (needs its own warning), fluffy morning after, soft dom!Heeseung, Reader is inexperienced but is not a virgin, a few uses of Y/N during their introductions. I think that's it besides the fact my writing is ass </3 wc: ~ roughly 1.5k

a/n:~ This is the first story i'm putting out, feel free to request more this was fun as hell even if it's trashy.

MINOR OR AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!

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You don't send the first letter for yourself. Rather for your therapist, who seemed very adamant that this would help you.

Your therapist suggested it last week.

"It’s called The Pen Project — kind of like journaling, except the letters actually go to someone. Anonymously. Sometimes it helps people open up."

You nodded along, noncommittal, you weren't really planning to participate thinking this was just a way for vulnerable people to feel loved. But now you're here, sitting cross-legged on the floor, fingers curled around a pen, a blank page staring up at you like it’s asking if you’re ready.

You're not.

But you write anyway.

I already know no one will read this. I don’t even know what to say.

You pause, lifting your pen from the paper and sighing.

"Shit.. no way i'm actually doing this.."

You think to yourself. This is so stupid.. But you continue

I think I forgot how to feel things. Or maybe I just got really good at hiding it. I used to love music. I don’t know when that stopped. It’s like it’s still there — I hear it, but I don’t feel it. Is that normal? I’m sorry this is heavy. Hell I don't know who i'm even apologizing to. —375

You fold it slowly, hands shaking a little.

The Pen Project mailbox is a dusty silver box tucked in the corner of the library. You walk over, making sure no one sees you drop it in.

"This is so stupid." You don’t expect anything to happen.

You definitely don’t expect a letter the next week.

It’s tucked between your mail,no return address, not even a delivery address. It's like someone just dropped it in your mailbox.

Your breath catches when you read the soft script on the envelope.

To: 375 From: H

You open it on your bed, heart thudding.

I read your letter. Every word. You’re not heavy. You’re honest. I used to think music was something I could always rely on. But yeah — I’ve had days where it’s background noise. I get it. You don’t need to apologize. You just sound human. Write again if you want. I'm real. ;) —H

Your chest aches in a good way.

"The wink face is so stupid.." You giggle, before reality sets in.

Someone wrote back.

Someone saw you.

You write again that night, quicker this time.

H, I didn’t think anyone would answer. I’ve never talked about this out loud before. Not like that. But I really didn't think this was real. Thank you. Really. —375

You leave it in the box again. Leaving the library without even greeting the librarian as usual.

And it becomes routine.

You don’t know what he looks like. You don’t know how old he is. But what you do know is, he sends notes in soft ink and always folds his letters neatly. He has good taste in music, quotes poems without warning, and once admitted he still watches animated movies when he can’t sleep.

You learn that his name starts with H.

He learns you haven’t played piano since last years spring.

You tell him your favorite books, your biggest fears, the time you panicked in the frozen food aisle and cried behind a shelf of waffles.

He writes back every time.

You don’t have to be “better” to be lovable. —H

You wanted to cry holding that one, but a part of you still though this was fake. That it was just some computer sending letters to hundred of others.

Weeks pass.

The letters get longer.

You start folding them into little hearts, just to feel like you're giving him something more.

One night, you sit on your bed and write:

Sometimes I wonder what you sound like. Like, your voice. When you laugh. Is that weird? —375

His response a few days later makes your heart jump.

I wonder what you sound like, too. I think I’d know your laugh if I heard it. ;) —H

"Again with the stupid face." You say out loud, talking to yourself. Yet you can't stop smiling at said stupid face.

The next night, everything shifts

You’ve had a long day. Your shoulders hurt. You almost don’t check the mail.

But you remember you're waiting for your monthly bills, and you'll be damned if you're gonna get that late fee. When you open it, there’s a letter — and it feels heavier in your hands.

375, I don’t know if this is okay, but… I think I’ve started caring about you. A lot. And not just in a letter-friend kind of way. I know we don’t know each other, well not really. But I read your words and I feel like I do. I want to know your laugh. Your voice. Your hands. If you want… meet me. Just once. I’ll be at the Blue Spruce Café this Saturday. Noon. I’ll have a green notebook and will definitely look like a nervous wreck. You don’t have to come. But I hope you do. —H

You reread it five times.

You sleep with it on your nightstand. You even read it as you're getting ready.

And when Saturday comes, you go.

You see him before he sees you.

The café is soft and quiet — all warm light and wood tones. Your stomach is in knots as you twirl your necklace.

And there he is.

Green notebook open in front of him. Shirtsleeves pushed up. Hands fidgeting. He’s chewing his lip, glancing toward the door.

You take a breath.

And walk over.

“Hey,” you say.

His head snaps up. His eyes — wide, warm, brown — lock onto yours.

And he smiles.

“Hi,” he says, standing. “You came.”

“You’re H,” you whisper.

“I’m Heeseung,” he replies, quietly. “And you’re 375.”

“Y/N,” you say, smiling.

His eyes soften. “Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s trying it on his tongue. “Finally.”

A few hours pass.

You talk until your drinks go cold, giggling and cringing over the same letters you wrote just days ago.

He’s real.

Gentle. Funny. A little awkward, but incredibly pretty.

He listens like every word matters.

And when he walks you home, he pauses outside your door.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he murmurs. “But… can I see you again?”

You smile softly and nod. “Of course.”

And then he kisses your forehead, so softly it makes your knees weak.

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Many would be baffled that just a few weeks ago, you were strangers who wrote letters to each other with the way you’re curled up on his couch. Heeseung’s fingers are brushing your thigh as you lie side by side, the room lit only by the glow of his desk lamp.

You’ve kissed before, just randomly... perhaps once at a grocery store when he asked for help with a recipe he found online — but who knows.

The usual kiss is slow, lazy, and gentle. But tonight, it’s different.

His mouth lingers longer. His hands press firmer.

He pulls back, breathless, forehead resting on yours.

“Are you okay with this?” he whispers.

You nod. “I want this.”

His hand cups your cheek.

“You sure?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you admit. “I haven’t… done this a lot.”

His smile is warm. His voice even warmer.

“That’s okay. Let me take care of you.”

He kisses you slow — deeper now, his hands roaming with a confidence that never feels rushed.

When his fingers slip beneath your waistband, you gasp softly.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, kissing down your neck.

You whimper as his fingers dip into you, gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs. “You feel perfect.”

Your thighs tremble as he works you open — one finger, then two. Curling just right. Your hips buck and he holds you still, mouth tracing your collarbone.

“Want to feel you around me,” he breathes. “Let me?”

You nod.

He leans over, opens his drawer to reveal a box of condoms. You look shocked to see it, not expecting him to have a whole box of them.

He chuckles at this reaction and tears open the packet with his teeth and rolls the condom on with practiced ease.

When he pushes in, he goes slow.. unbearably slow. His eyes locked on yours, eyes fluttering slightly.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, voice thick. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He makes love to you like it means something. Like he’s been waiting for this. Which he has. for all of 3 weeks.

His thrusts are deep, unhurried. His praise is endless.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he groans. “So perfect for me.”

You can feel your orgasm coming, and so can he. He sees the way your body jerks slightly, the way your noises get less breathy and more eager. You finally cry out as you cum. Your body arching, and your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. And he holds you through it — whispering your name like a promise.

He follows just moments later, breathing ragged, collapsing gently into your arms.

He doesn’t let go.

Heeseung wraps you in his arms, pulls the blanket over both of you, and kisses your temple.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Better than okay.”

His thumb strokes your cheek.

“You’re mine now, right?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yours.”

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He’s making you tea in his kitchen, wearing only sweats and messy hair.

You sit at the table, wrapped in his hoodie, head laid sleepily on his counter listening to him hum to himself.

Your eyes wander to the box on the shelf. Your eyes recognize the numbers instantly.

375..

“The letters,” you say softly.

Heeseung follows your gaze and smiles. “I kept them all.”

Your heart swells and you lift your head.

“I kept yours too,” you say.

He walks over, tea cup in hand and kisses your forehead, then your lips.

“Let’s write new ones,” he murmurs. “Just for us.”

And you do.

Every Sunday.

Even now.

Because the letters stayed.

And so did he.

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a/n:~ This is proofread but if any misspellings are made just lmk !!

[manyimaginativemuses]

He Ate My Heart - Remmick/OC - Chapter 10

Chapter Warnings: HELLA SMUT, Submissive Remmick, remmy boy cumming in his pants, creampie, Maeve being the dominant queen she deserves, Remmick begging and whining like the good boy he is, Remmick has a praise kink, blood play, could be considered self harm but I’m not sure

Read On AO3!

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“Dawn, this is Remmick, he’s-“

“Daddy?” She whispered softly, sitting more upright in her bed and meeting his gaze.

“Wha-How did you know that sweetheart?” Maeve asked in shock, looking back and forth between Remmick and Dawn.

“He-He told me before… when I go night night.” She clarified, “And-and-and I can hear his-his head voice.”

“She means the Bond…” Remmick said, noticing the confused look on Maeve’s face, “She and I share a similar bond to what I have with the rest of the coven. She sees my memories and I see hers. Except somehow she can also hear my thoughts… and I can hear hers.” His voice cracked with emotion as Dawn hopped out of the bed and approached him.

“It’s ok daddy. I’m not scared.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his legs. That was the last straw for Remmick as he shattered completely. He collapsed to his knees and took Dawn in his arms, pulling her as close as he possibly could without hurting her. He started kissing all over her face and head, tangling his fingers in some of her hair as he picked her up into his arms.

“My baby… my baby girl….” Remmick sniffled, trying his best not to get his bloody tears on her, “I’m here… I’m here now.. I’ll never let anything hurt you, I promise.” He showered her with love and affection, causing Maeve to tear up a little. Remmick began spinning with her and Dawn laughed in response, which is when Remmick noticed her teeth.

“You have fangs?” He breathed, “You’re more like me than I thought!” He then showed off his teeth, his fangs shooting out as he gave her a tearful smile.

“Woaaah!!!” Dawn exclaimed, reaching up and tapping his fangs with her tiny finger, “I-i have those too!” She then opened her mouth in response, poking her own tiny fangs that stood out from her normal teeth. Maeve covered her mouth with her hand, fully in awe of the events unfolding in front of her. Dawn was clinging to Remmick and giggling like crazy. She had never seen her daughter this truly happy before, not even when she got to ride her favorite cow for the first time. It was like she was seeing Dawn completely whole, like she’d been missing a piece of her soul that she wasn’t even aware she was missing. Remmick looked over at Maeve, his face completely stained with bloody tears.

“Thank you, Maeve….” He whispered, sniffling softly as he finally put Dawn down once she started squirming in his arms. Maeve looked at him with tearful eyes, picking up Dawn as she had run to her.

“Thank you for saving Liam… He’ll be ok eventually, right?” She asked as Dawn nuzzled into her neck.

“Yeah… it might just take him a minute. His uh…. His memories are volatile.” Remmick replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

“Is Uncle Liam ok?” Dawn asked sleepily, clearly up past her bedtime.

“Oh yes, he’s ok sweetie, he just got a boo boo earlier, but he’s gonna be ok.” Maeve reassured her, kissing her on the temple before putting her back in her bed, “It’s time to go night night though now, sweetheart,”

“Will daddy be here in the morning?” She asked and Maeve looked back at Remmick with a soft glance.

“No sweetheart, daddy has some things he has to do in the morning, like how mommy goes to work and your Uncles take care of you.” She replied, smiling softly as Dawn yawned and snuggled further into the bed.

“G’night daddy…” Dawn whispered, reaching out for Remmick and the man froze yet again. He looked back and forth between Maeve and Dawn, still trembling a bit until Maeve nodded and smiled. He closed the distance between them and took Dawn’s tiny hand in his. He knelt beside her bed and kissed her little fist, meeting her eyes and offering her a heartfelt smile.

“G’night darlin…. I’m so glad I finally got to meet you.” He whispered, pulling away as Maeve tucked her into her blankets and kissed her on her forehead. She turned off the lights and closed the door, leaving with Remmick into the hallway. The pair stood there silently for a few moments, Remmick especially quiet as he continued to wipe bloody tears from his cheeks.

“You alright?” Maeve’s voice was soft and surprisingly warm given what had happened earlier that night. Remmick nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah uh…. I’m good.” He sniffled, turning to look at the door to Dawn’s room, “Maeve, she’s so beautiful.” His voice broke as he spoke, an unconscious sob audible in his words, “She’s perfect… How I was ever able to help make such beauty, I’ll never know.” He paused and took a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to express how he was feeling, but was failing miserably. Maeve reached out, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady him, hearing his breath catch in his throat.

“If you saw Liam’s memories, then you know why I’m so determined to make sure she’s raised in a good environment. She’s being raised loved and protected and I can promise you, she’ll be safe.” Maeve explained, sliding her hand down his arm to take his hand, “And… despite all your insane behavior and terrifying actions in the past… I know you’ll keep her safe too. After all, you’ve been gone for the past six months and yet, when I needed you most, you came back…

“Well… you called for me. It was only right that I answer.” He looked down at their connected hands and sighed, “Now that she knows I exist, I wanna be in her life… I just don’t really know how since I can only be there for her at night.”

“We’ll figure it out. After all, Liam now can only see her after dark too, or atleast in a windowless building. But we’ll deal with it.” She said before her face grew stern, “Listen to me. If you’re going to stick around and be in her life, I refuse to let our daughter be around a monster. The violence, the manipulation, the insane behavior, it stops NOW.” Maeve’s words cut him deep, but he nodded. However, she wasn’t sure he fully understood, so she yanked him close by the gold chain around his neck, forcing him to look at her.

“I’m serious, Remmick. If you want to be Dawn’s father, you can’t go around killing people for the fun of it. Murder is the absolute last resort now, do you fucking hear me?” She hissed, pulling on the chain again and only then hearing the desperate whimper that tore from his throat.

“Yes… yes ma’am…. I understand.” His voice quivered and Maeve was confused. He’d never really reacted like this before to her demanding behavior, but she had noticed what appeared to be the trigger of it. She yanked on his chain once more and he gasped, his eyes widening as he stared at her, his knees nearly buckling underneath him as she could see the flush of desire rush through him.

That was when a lustful smirk crossed her face and she chuckled darkly, sucking her teeth and shaking her head at him.

“Oh no…. I don’t think you do… and I wanna make absolutely SURE you get it through your thick fucking skull by morning.” Maeve growled, pulling him down the hallway by his chain and back into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Remmick continued to stare at her, words failing him as Maeve began to circle him like a shark.

“You had me trapped like this before… right after Dawn was born, when you found out she existed, you kept us trapped in the house all night. You screamed and cried and threw a whole tree at my porch.” She grabbed his chain and pulled him close once more, noticing the desperate noise he made and smiling as a result, “You once said it was my turn in this game. Well now I’m making my move.” He watched her with wild eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth between red and blue.

“Darlin…. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” He asked. Remmick was barely holding onto his self control. He was torn between either pinning Maeve to the bed and taking her himself or letting her do what he so desperately wanted her to do.

“Oh yes… yes I do. The real question is… can you handle what I want to do to you for all the years of insanity you’ve brought into my life?” Her voice dropped to a growl, her fingers tightening around his chain and watching as he licked his lips. He reached out to touch her waist, only for her to smack his hand away HARD.

“You try to touch me again without consent and I’ll make you leave this house right now.” He shivered at her words, immediately putting his hands behind his back.

“Won’t… won’t do it again… promise….” He stammered and swayed back and forth on unsteady feet. Remmick hadn’t felt this aroused in so long, his cock already beginning to ache in his pants. Maeve raised an eyebrow when she noticed it, as she had pulled him nearly flush to her body and he was shorter than she was.

“For the rest of the night, you belong to me. You’ve basically already been my pet vampire for the past three years, but I wanna make it official. You wanna make up for all the bullshit you’ve put me through? Start by worshipping me. I’m in control now. You’re nothing more than a whiny, desperate little vampire who follows my every command.” Maeve wore power and control wonderfully well. Her whole life, control was something she never had. Her father abused her and her brothers from the day they were born. He was always the one in charge, so now that Maeve had the opportunity to take a tiny modicum of control in her life, she grabbed onto it with both hands. And Remmick knew she needed this almost as much as he did, given the memories he’d received from Liam.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you want.” He breathed weakly, following her as she began walking backwards toward the bed. Maeve sat down once the back of her knees hit the bed, pulling on Remmick’s chain once more to get him to fall to the floor. He knelt before her like a man in prayer, staring up at her like she was a holy being. She smirked at him and pressed her shoe covered foot firmly against the bulge in his pants. He gasped in response, wanting to grab at her leg but he remembered her warning about touching her earlier. He squeezed his eyes shut, arousal shooting through his veins as he struggled to keep his composure.

“You know, I should’ve figured out that you look better at my feet a long time ago. You were begging on your knees from the very start, I should’ve listened to you and made you beg for me even harder.” Her words were laced with desire, the soft bite behind them making Remmick start to hump up against her foot. She chuckled when he did so, looking down at him with a massive smile, “Poor thing, you can’t even control yourself can you?”

“Not around you… especially not when you’re like this. Seeing you in control, finally taking what you want… fuckin hell, makes me need you even more.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her knee, since he couldn’t use his hands to touch her, all while continuing to rut against her shoe.

“You’re just a fucking dog, aren’t you? So needy and desperate for anything I give you that you’re currently fucking my foot because that’s all I’ll give you.” Maeve shook her head and leaned back on the bed, pushing her foot even harder against his clothed cock.

“AHA-Fuck!” Remmick gasped and was unable to stop himself from grabbing onto her calf to get better leverage. Unfortunately the moment he touched her, Maeve slapped him hard, the pleasure of which making his cock twitch even more.

“You can’t even listen to a word I say? You forget that I’m a teacher, Remmick. I will smack your hands with a ruler if necessary to get you to behave.” He whined loudly at her words, his entire body focused on the single pleasure point between his legs.

“P-please… please lemme touch you… lemme make you feel good… please!” He began to beg, continuing to fuck up against her foot desperately. The hot coil in his lower belly began to tighten, the shame and embarrassment from the idea of cumming in his pants just from her foot making him ten times harder.

“Oh so you’re begging already? You want me that badly?”

“Need you! Need you right now, need to fuck you so good, please! Wanna please you, wanna make you scream my name, please!” He started rambling, his thrusts beginning to falter the more pressure she put against his cock. His noises also grew in volume, the ache in his pants becoming the only thing he could focus on. Maeve could feel his dick twitching under the fabric, the need on his face only expressing just how close he really was. And when she started rocking her foot back and forth, making him nearly double over with pleasure, she almost threw her head back with how loud she laughed.

“You’re gonna fuckin cum in your pants? You want me so badly, you can’t even get it out before you soak yourself?” She teased and he whined, nodding feverishly as he continued to push his forehead against her leg.

“Wanna cum… please Maeve, wanna cum so badly, m’so fuckin close, god it hurts so bad, fuckin PLEASE lemme cum!” Maeve smirked as he picked up the pace of his hips, watching him rut like a mindless animal against her foot for a few more moments before she moved her leg away from him. The way he almost collapsed against the floor and nearly sobbed with desire had Maeve almost let out a moan. Seeing this man, the man who had been tormenting her for nearly three years, so desperate for her touch that he debased himself right in front of her, made her wetter than she’d ever been before. She’d been craving control in every aspect of her life since her father’s death, so to have pure unadulterated control over such a powerful being like Remmick made Maeve feel almost high. She wanted to grab him by the throat and force his cock inside her and not let him leave her body until she said so. She needed him begging and desperate and pathetic and she was going to get it that night whether he wanted to give it to her or not.

“You don’t cum until I say you can, is that understood?” Maeve hissed and Remmick nodded, forcing himself to stop grinding against the floor.

“Yes… yes ma’am… Maeve please, I need you… I’ll do anything for you.” His eyes were wide, his hands fisting at his sides to try and calm himself down.

“Good boy… get on the bed and stay there. Don’t even think about touching yourself or taking your clothes off.” Maeve commanded and Remmick nearly scrambled to get onto the bed. He lay flat on his back and stared at her as she pulled his boots off, tossing them aside.

For Remmick, he never really believed in God. Given all he’d seen and all he’d experienced, the concept of God and angels was foreign to him. But seeing Maeve standing at the foot of the bed, her dress clinging to her curves like it was made for her, Remmick swore he was looking at one of God’s angels made flesh. He wished he could go back in time and tell his former self never to let her go. If he had known this was the woman who would carry his child and bring him that family connection he was so desperately craving, he would’ve lived in the ground under her house if that’s what it took to stay with her. He may have been trapped on Earth, kept away from the spirits of his home, but Maeve and Dawn gave him that tiny bit of freedom he desired and that was more than enough for him.

“Now… I’m going to ride you. And I’m going to use you as I see fit. Your cock is mine tonight, do you have a problem with that?” She asked and Remmick shook his head.

“N-no… not at all. Maeve, I L-“ Maeve cut him off, covering his mouth with her hand as she knew exactly where he was going and she didn’t want to hear it.

“Did I say you could tell me anything other than yes or no?” She snapped with Remmick letting out a moan in response. She then crawled into his lap, plopping herself down and humming when she felt his massive erection throbbing against her through his clothes. She kept her hand over his mouth as she began to grind on him, keeping her pace slow and even so she could revel in his delicious moans. His noises got even louder when he started to feel her soaking him through his pants, her wetness making the friction even better. He stared up at her in complete awe, wanting nothing more than to grab her hips and make her grind on him relentlessly. However he wanted her to have control, wanted her to use him however she saw fit, regardless of how madly his body was screaming out for her.

Maeve began to moan softly herself, her dress flowing over his leg and giving him something to grab onto while she rode him. She moved her hand from his mouth and placed both palms on his chest for balance, to which he began panting and whining for more contact.

“Take me… please Maeve, take me… do whatever you want to me, I’m yours…” His voice was rough yet gentle at the same time, like he was trying to get her to open up and free the power she’d had inside her all along. She picked up the pace of her hips, her undergarments now completely soaked through and staining the front of his pants. When she leaned her head back and started biting her lip, Remmick moaned almost painfully. His cock was so unbearably hard that he had no idea how he was going to last, but he was determined to do so no matter what.

“Whatever I want, you say…” She repeated, stopping her movements for a moment before a thought crossed her mind. She then leaned down, staying just far enough away from him that he couldn’t kiss her, “Stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t touch me. Don’t do anything except watch and enjoy…” She returned to sitting upright, a soft smile on her face as she pulled off her dress, sitting atop him once more only wearing her bra and slip. Remmick’s eyes flashed red for a moment, his mouth opening with a breathless expression as he witnessed her dragging her hands down her body. His gaze followed those beautiful hands, his hips twitching unconsciously as he realized one of them was sneaking under her slip.

“Fuck…. Fuckin’ Hell, darlin, you’re gonna kill me…” He panted, watching helplessly as she began touching herself all while his clothed cock pushed desperately against her. Maeve just laughed at him, playing with her clit and arching her back, letting the pleasure begin to overwhelm her.

“Look at you… you poor thing, I can feel you aching between my thighs, your perfect cock just weeping for me. I’m almost tempted to take you in my mouth just to see how you taste… but tonight is all about me, and right now I’m enjoying watching you squirm.” She said, her voice breaking a bit as her body reacted to her own touch. Remmick growled and whined underneath her, fisting his hands in the blanket so he could control himself enough not to touch her. However, the sight of her indulging herself on his body, denying him even the possibility of touching her, caused his fangs to reveal themselves as he struggled to keep calm. The more she fingerfucked herself, the harder it was for Remmick to keep himself under control.

“That’s it baby… take your pleasure out on me. Let me worship you in any way you’ll let me, fucking SHIT!” He snarled when he caught the sound of her fingers entering her sopping wet cunt. The friction of his pants against his dick was driving him mad and he bit his lip hard to try and distract himself from the delicious arousal whipping down his spine. And when Maeve pulled back to undo her bra and pull her slip off, leaving her fully naked in his fully clothed lap, Remmick swore he’d died and been reborn all over again.

“You can’t tell me what to do. Did you forget that this is my night tonight, pretty boy? Or do I need to remind you of that?” She cocked her head as she spoke, tossing her hair back as she returned her fingers to her pussy, sticking two fingers inside herself with one hand while stroking her clit with the other. Remmick was completely addicted to the noises she was making as well as the fact that he was now fully able to see her hypnotic, curvaceous body covered in stretch marks and scars. He started rambling in unintelligible Gaelic, unable to stop himself from giving her praise in his mother tongue. She was a goddess in every sense of the word to him, his undead heart almost given life once more as Maeve blessed him with her beauty.

And then a thought struck Maeve as she pleasured herself, the sight of Remmick’s fangs gave her a delicious idea.

She stopped her touches only for a moment, reaching out and grabbing one of his hands. He stared at her wide eyed, wondering what she was planning on doing, only to gasp brokenly when she stuck two of his fingers in her mouth.

“God, what are you doing to me?” He whispered, his mouth and chin now covered with drool as he was forced to witness the woman he loved continue to tease him. When she removed his fingers from between her lips, lapping up any remaining saliva, she began massaging the palm of his hand and met his eyes.

“Extend your claws for me baby.” She said and he raised an eyebrow, off put and confused by her demand, “Excuse you, when I ask you for something, you do it!” She spat when she noticed his hesitance. Remmick immediately obeyed, his fingers lengthening and his claws sharpening to their monstrous points. Maeve smiled happily at the sight, taking his clawed hand and nuzzling into it for a moment. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles before dragging his hand down her chest, laughing at the feeling of his cock twitching beneath her. She then took one of his fingers and pushed the claw directly into the palm of her hand, hissing with pain as she sliced her hand open.

“Maeve what-“ He was about to disobey her to check on her safety until he realized what she was doing. The smell of her blood filled the air and his pupils blew wide. He was a predator, and his prey had just willingly offered herself to him in the most literal way possible for him. His breathing picked up and his eyes grew even more feral, his claws now outright damaging her blanket as he clenched his fists in them. The torture began with Maeve squeezing her bleeding hand, letting the blood drip down her arm and onto her chest, stray droplets landing on his shirt. He began growling low in his chest, his animalistic hunger starting to take hold as she coated herself with her own blood.

“Darlin, you’re playin with fire right now… You better quit teasin me or this is gonna get bad.” Remmick warned but Maeve just threw her head back and laughed.

“The fact that you think you have any right to say that to me right now is hysterical.” She reached down between her legs and cupped his erection through his clothes, squeezing tight enough to hurt, “This cock is mine. Your body is mine. Your mind is mine. You gifted that all to me when you got me pregnant.” She hissed, her voice deepening as she leaned close to his face, grabbing his chin with her bloody hand which made him moan and arch his back in response, “See? Just further proving my point. At this point, I wanna put you on a leash and make you my little pet. You beg me for treats like one already anyway, might as well put a collar on you like a pretty little puppy.” Her words sent Remmick into an erotic spiral, an obscenely loud moan ripping from his throat to the point that Maeve covered his mouth once more with her injured hand. He immediately began licking at the wound, his moans increasing at the taste of her blood.

“You be quiet now… you don’t wanna wake up Dawn, do you?” She said softly until she realized he was licking her palm, yanking her hand back before backhanding him hard, “Did I say you could have a taste?” Her words had a bite to them almost as strong as Remmick’s, the man beneath her shivering and snarling as it was clear the taste of her blood riled him up even further.

“N-no… but I need it darlin… I need you more than I need anythin else… Please, please, please… I need ya somethin fierce, darlin…” He growled gently, his fangs slurring his words. Maeve shook her head and sucked her teeth, leaning back and moving her bloody hand to her pussy. She gasped and quivered, playing with her clit, the blood slicking her up even further and making everything feel more intense. She smiled to herself as she began to ride her own hand, watching Remmick force himself to grab the headboard rather than grab her body. He knew she’d stop the delicious torture if he touched her, so he settled for wrapping his claws around the poles of the headboard behind him.

“Maeve please, darlin this ain’t fair!” He protested, never taking his eyes off her blood soaked cunt. He began unconsciously pushing his hips up to meet hers, making her hum with desire as the press of his cock only increased the pressure in her groin.

“Neither was you not tellin me you were a vampire, knocking me up, and then being a total asshole to me for two years.” She replied breathlessly, rocking back and forth in his lap while curling her bloody finger just enough to brush her gspot.

“Fuuuuuuuuck….” Remmick whined loudly, his grip tightening on the headboard as his cock ached even more, the pulse of it making him almost nauseous with desire, “Darlin, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take… fuck I’m already so close, wanna cum so badly and the smell of your blood is makin it worse! Please baby, please put me out of my misery! Lemme pleasure you babydoll, lemme make you feel good!” He continued to beg, rolling his hips intentionally then and nearly growling when he felt her knuckles brush against his dick through his pants.

“Too bad baby. You kept acting like a dog, so I’m gonna treat you like one.” She replied, her voice high and breathy as the coil in her belly kept tightening with every stroke of her clit, “Mmmmmm… feels so fucking good.” She purred to tease him, her words making him turn his face so he could practically howl a moan into the pillow. His panting got worse and he was starting to sweat, his lust for Maeve beginning to take over and he decided to toe the line of her demands, deliberately fucking his hips up slowly to meet her movements as he could no longer stand it.

“Maeve, Maeve, Maeve PLEASE! Oh FUCK I’m getting close, please, fuck I need you!” His begging picked up in frequency and desperation, his drool now having dripped down to his chest and the well of his collarbone.

“Oh I know you are, but so am I- Ah! Fuck!- so if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have a special treat..” Maeve replied shakily, her orgasm beginning to build faster and faster. However, Remmick began to violently shake beneath her, his eyes squeezing shut and his head rolling back and forth on the pillow.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck, Maeve, Maeve, MAEVE! M’gonna cum, gonna cum, I can’t stop- OH FUCK!!!” Remmick tried to warn her but he couldn’t stop himself. His cock erupted in his pants, his back arching as he came completely untouched, his painful moans stifled as he didn’t want to wake up Dawn in the next room. Maeve watched in both awe and disbelief, but she wasn’t able to stay focused for very long as her own orgasm slammed into her out of nowhere. Remmick’s orgasm had somehow triggered hers, her body soaking her bloodied hand and the front of his pants. She came so hard and suddenly that she was forced to bite her lip to stifle her cries, the wave of her orgasm so intense she couldn’t even believe it.

It was only once she slowly came down from her high that she had realized what Remmick had just done. She scoffed loudly and looked down at him, his face turned away and flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh… Oh, you poor poor thing. You must be so uncomfortable huh? Well then, let me help you.” Maeve said, her voice almost a growl as she unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out in one swift move. She then squeezed her bleeding hand all over his softening dick, using her blood to slick him up, before lining him up with her core and pushing him inside.

“No no no no, Maeve wait, wait! Sens-sensitive! Aw FUCKING HELL!” Remmick shouted, barely even able to adjust as Maeve began to ride him hard and fast. He tried to squirm away from her, his hips pulling away but she kept forcing him back inside. He was so overstimulated that the pleasure was turning into pain, but he couldn’t ignore how delicious it all felt. He threw his head back and arched up into her, his body simultaneously trying to escape her while also desperately wanting to fuck up against her,

“Maeve, Maeve, Maeve it’s so fucking much! Hurts! Oh god it hurts so fucking good! Please it’s too much! Too much!” He cried out, forcing Maeve to cover his mouth with her bleeding hand yet again to silence him. He practically screamed into her palm, the pleasure overwhelming as she rode him faster, her free hand playing with her clit as she felt him deep inside her.

“I-I told you your cock is mine. And I will do whatever the fuck I want with your pretty cock, including fucking you stupid.” She explained breathlessly, refusing to let up her movements since his cock was so good she was seeing stars. Remmick learned from last time not to lick at her hand, but he reveled in the drips that flowed forth from the wound, howling his pleasure against her palm as he knew she would muffle him. Her tight wet heat was far too much for his body to handle, the overstimulation turning more painful than enjoyable but he could also feel she was getting close once more.

“P-please… lemme touch you…. Lemme hold your hips, lemme fuck up into you, PLEASE!” He begged against her hand, loudly enough that she’d understand him. Maeve just laughed and pulled back, staring down at him and letting out a sigh.

“Alright…” She conceded. The second she did so, his clawed hands fled to her hips and dug in. He also lifted his knees, pressing them against her back so his feet could be planted flat on the bed. Remmick snarled loudly, bared his fangs, and started fucking up into Maeve faster and harder than he ever had before. Maeve almost collapsed onto his chest from the sudden increase in pace, burying her face in his tits and fisting her hands in his shirt for stability.

“Yes, yes, yes! That’s my good boy, fuck me! Fuck me just like that! Remmick, Remmick, REMMICK!” Maeve cried out, sobbing out her pleasure as she could nearly feel his cock in her stomach. He gave a large fanged smile when he saw her eyebrows knit together, her face contorting into one of pure lust.

“Such a good boy, such a good fucking boy, Remmick! You fuck me so well, yes that’s it! That’s it baby! Don’t you dare fucking stop!” Her words increased in frequency and volume, her fingers now digging into his skin through his shirt because he’d picked up the pace of his thrusts. The muffled sounds of his clothed hips smacking her ass echoed throughout the room, his groans and growls getting louder and more desperate.

“Wanna-fuck-wanna cum again! Please sugar, lemme cum again!” He begged through gritted teeth, his claws now drawing blood due to how tight he was gripping her hips. The smell of her blood was even stronger now, the air thick with it, slowly causing him to lose control of his human mask. As a result, he grew more and more monstrous looking; his eyes going fully red and feral, his teeth getting longer and more pointed, his brow and nose becoming more pronounced, and his claws became longer and sharper. Maeve had her eyes squeezed shut from the sheer need that brewed in her belly, so she didn’t even notice these sudden changes in him. However, she did hear him speak, to which she nodded feverishly.

“Cum, cum inside me, fucking cum inside me!” She snarled, “Be a good boy and stuff me fucking full!” Maeve’s voice cracked as she spoke, the coil of her orgasm snapping hot and fast. She pressed her face firmly into his chest as she came, muffling her cries while her body milked him and refused to let up. At the same time, Remmick roared out his orgasm, forcing his entire cock inside her as he exploded. Thick, hot cum spilled deep inside Maeve’s waiting body, her own cum soaking his dick to the point where it leaked out from where they were connected. Maeve began to sob from how good it felt, her whole body trembling like a leaf while she rode it out, barely able to breathe. Remmick came so much and for so long that Maeve swore she could feel his cum in her womb, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was that he was there, with her, inside her, and he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

She practically collapsed on top of him as she came down from her high, shakily panting as she came back to herself.

“Holy shit…” She whispered, blinking and beginning to look around to get her bearings. She sat back up just a little bit, the entire world spinning around her, until she met Remmick’s face and her eyes went wide. There underneath her was a real life monster. It looked like Remmick and wore his clothing, but this was more creature than human being. Maeve knew Remmick was a vampire and she had seen his monstrous form before, but not fully exposed like this nor had she seen it up close. Now he was completely unmasked and right in front of her.

“Maeve?” He whispered, having noticed the odd way she was staring at him, a soft Irish lilt to his voice that he didn’t even realize he was doing. She said nothing, only reaching out to cup his face. Remmick froze under her scrutiny, confusion whirling in his dark eyes as he watched her. Her thumb ran over his cheekbone and her fingers slowly dragged down the rest of his face to his teeth. His whole mouth was covered in drool and blood, his fangs reminding her of the snake she’d found out in the field once as a child.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the Irish accent now fully in his words.

“I’ve never seen you like this… completely like this, I mean.” She replied softly, her eyes traveling down his arms then to his hands that were on her hips. She took one hand and lifted it so she could see it properly, admiring his lengthened fingers. She placed her palm flat against his, gasping softly at how much bigger his hand was than hers.

“You’re not scared of me?” He asked, his voice now just as soft as his eyes.

“Not really scared… more intrigued.” Maeve cocked her head and closed her fingers around his hand just as Remmick did the same. If Remmick’s heart was able to beat, it would’ve been pounding in his chest. He’d always done his best to keep his more monstrous side away from Maeve so he wouldn’t scare her, but now that she’d seen all of him, he didn’t even know how to react. She looked back down at him after a moment, leaning forward and kissing him gently despite all his fangs. He whined into the kiss, barely able to do anything but kiss back as his emotions ran rampant in his head. The mother of his child, the woman that had occupied his mind almost every night for three straight years, had seen his true face and didn’t scream. In fact, she was kissing him softly and delicately like a lover would, and that fact alone had more bloody tears forming in his eyes.

Unfortunately though, having the mask fully peeled back left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. Mid kiss, he returned to normal, his now human hand sliding into her hair and tangling in the long dark strands.

“Is breá liom tú…” He breathed when he pulled away, his eyes meeting hers only for a moment. Maeve didn’t understand what he said, but she had a bad feeling she knew what he meant, and that fear alone had her pulling off of him with a hiss. Remmick shivered when she moved, an expression of concern crossing his face at how suddenly she got off him. She cringed ever so slightly at the feeling of his cum dripping out of her as she stood, reaching for the towel laying in her hamper to clean herself up.

“Maeve?” Remmick spoke, his voice wrecked from their lovemaking but his eyes were soft and caring. Maeve sighed in response, sitting back down on the bed once she’d cleaned herself before handing the towel to Remmick so he could do the same.

“Thank you, Remmick…. For saving Liam… and for blessing me with Dawn. She is the most precious gift you could’ve ever given me.” She trembled lightly when she spoke. Her emotions boiled inside her, threatening to spill forth but she refused to let them.

“You’re welcome.” He replied, his southern accent returning, “She is precious to me, too. Even more so now that she knows who I am and that I exist. I just… wish that you had let me meet her before now.”

“You know exactly why I didn’t.” Maeve snapped back, pulling her clothes back on, “You’re a vampire, Remmick. The first night we met, you lied to me and left me bruised and bloody the next morning. Hell, you didn’t even attempt to come back after that night until you found out about Dawn!” She turned to face him, her eyes full of fire and pain, “You left me. You left me wounded and covered in your seed and you didn’t even care to come back and check on me.”

“But I did check on you. I saw you… in your dreams. Your mind called to me, I answered. And I always made sure you and your brothers were safe. Didn’t you ever wonder why yall were never bothered by any thieves or coyotes or wolves during that time frame?” He had cleaned himself up and put himself away by the time he met her eyes, his beautiful blue gaze flashing red for a moment, “I may not have approached you physically, but I sure as hell kept you safe.”

“You… what do you mean you were in my dreams? That… that was you?!” Maeve stuttered, taking a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, “We will talk about that later. But right now, I need you to tell me what Liam will need to know about being a vampire so that we can keep him safe.”

“Well, seems like ya already know quite a lot, given the memories I can see from him. Your grandparents told you the basic gist of it all. No silver, no sunlight, no garlic. We can’t enter a home or a privately owned building without an invitation and blood is an absolute necessity, obviously. We can eat and drink normal human food, but not very much. It also won’t provide us any nutrition, blood is the only thing that sustains us, darlin.”

“God, I’m sure glad Dawn isn’t like that. One of the perks of being half human I guess.” She mused, shaking her head before sitting down next to him on the bed, “He’s gonna be devastated. Those animals are his whole life. Now that he can’t go out during the day and be with them… it’s gonna destroy him.” She sighed deeply and tangled her hands in her hair, curling in on herself as she was suddenly hit with a wave of conflicting emotions. In one night, she’d lost her brother and saved him at the same time, let her daughter finally meet her father, and let Remmick fuck her within an inch of her life despite trying so hard to tell herself that she hated him. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she lost control, sobs wrecking her body so fiercely that she didn’t even feel like herself. Wave after wave of emotion, pent up after years of not allowing herself to feel it, practically exploded out of her in one go.

And then she felt her world slow down by the simple touch of a hand on her shoulder.

Remmick had reached over and put a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her still as she sobbed. She cut her eyes to him for only a moment before the tears returned, even more intense than before, because she couldn’t bare to look at his beautiful face and feel anything but love. And the sheer truth of that fact broke her even more.

That was when Remmick wrapped himself around her completely, nearly scooping her into his arms to keep her close. For once in her life, Maeve didn’t fight his touch. She never really liked to be touched by a home other than her family, and the only reason she’d allowed Remmick to do so in the past was because she wanted to fuck him. This was an entirely different kind of touch, one that was gentle and loving and where nothing was being exchanged. Remmick just held her, letting her sob into his chest like she so desperately needed to. And eventually, Maeve held him back, tangling her arms with his so that she could pull herself closer to his body. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and lovingly began petting her hair, his undead heart breaking as he could almost feel the weight she’d been keeping on her shoulders.

“Why can’t I hate you?” She whispered, one of her hands now fisting in his shirt as she started punching his chest, “It’s not fair! It’s not fucking fair! Why did you have to work your way into my heart?! Why did you do this to me?!” She said, her voice getting louder as she continued slamming her fists onto his chest. He didn’t let her go, of course, and he easily took the punches without complaint.

“I could ask you the same thing, darlin…” He said softly, “No matter how much it pained me to be away from my baby girl, I know I’d never be able to hate the woman who gave her to me. The fact that you not only survived the pregnancy but you gave birth to her and came out the other side? Sweetheart, that’s a feat in and of itself.” This was a side of Remmick that Maeve truly hadn’t seen before, and it definitely wasn’t helping with her internal conflict. She wanted him to be angry with her, to yell and scream at her because that was something she knew how to handle. This kindness, this open honesty with his whole soul bared for her to see, that scared her more than his monstrous vampire form ever could.

“I don’t understand you! Why aren’t you mad at me?! Why aren’t you fighting back!? You’re a vampire! You’re a murderer! I’ve been nothing but cruel to you for years, stop being so fucking nice to me!” Maeve shouted, now trying to squirm out of Remmick’s arms but he refused to let go, “Why did you save Liam?! Why did you let me torture you just now?! Why can’t you just let me go?!” She fought him even harder now, trying to hit his arms or his face but he was much stronger than she was.

“You know why, darlin!” Remmick shouted in response. The fact that he raised his voice made her freeze, her blue eyes blown wide with tears streaming down her round face, “You know exactly why I’ve done what I’ve done. And it’s why I will continue to fight for you, and for Dawn. You two are my family, regardless of whether you think so or not. That beautiful little girl is my daughter and you… Maeve, you mean everything to me.” Remmick lifted his hand to cup her face, his thumb wiping away a few tears before he turned his attention to her injured hand. She had cut herself pretty deeply, the blood still actively flowing despite the cloth she had wrapped around it. Maeve was completely frozen in his lap, watching him like a curious child as he took her hand and unwrapped it. She hissed in pain and Remmick offered her a sympathetic expression before exposing the wound completely.

“You hurt yourself for me. I don’t know if you even realized it in the moment but… you did this because you knew it would make me want you even more. You say you want to hate me and yet…. I don’t even think you could if you tried.” His voice went soft as he brought the wound to his drooling mouth, moaning deep in his chest as he started lapping at her palm. Maeve, meanwhile, was still in shock at the sight in front of her. Remmick was feeding from her while also being incredibly gentle, making sure his fangs didn’t graze her skin. This man, whom by every account was a horrific and dangerous monster, was now acting like a weak little kitten completely at Maeve’s mercy.

But the worst part of this whole situation was that she knew she loved him back…. But if she tried to admit that, especially to herself, that would make it real. And if it was real, then it could be taken from her, just like everything else she loved.

Remmick pulled back after a few moments, his mouth and chin lightly stained with her blood, his thick drool now completely soaked into the wound.

“It should heal faster now. You probably won’t need stitches, vampire saliva has some nifty properties that can be pretty useful.” He explained as Maeve continued to stare at him. She shook her head ever so slightly, like she was in denial about the man in front of her, “What? Do I got somethin on my face?” He teased with a bloody smirk, his joke snapping Maeve out of her reverie. She gave him an extremely weak smile before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Are you gonna stay the night or did you have plans with the rest of your group?” She asked. Remmick went silent then as he realized his entire life had been altered, now that he was allowed access to his daughter.

“Oh… I uh… I never really thought about that. Did… did you want me to stay the night with ya?” His voice went quieter, like he didn’t know if Maeve would be mad at him for asking to stay.

“I mean, I know you’d have to leave before sunrise, but after everything that’s happened in the past day, I wouldn’t mind the overnight company.” She admitted with a shrug and Remmick’s smile widened.

“Well then I don’t mind staying with ya.”