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How I Will Help Freelance Writers Save $600 by Condensing My Bestseller 5 Times for Them

Just like some prefer fatty cuts while others opt for lean, my goal is to cater to the unique needs of every reader. Reader Feedback is everything for book authors! As a busy content creator myself, I know the demands of trying to keep up with reading, writing, and staying ahead in the game. That’s why I wanted to share a real-life solution I developed to help writers save time — and…

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Two wolves live inside me. Soulless tech industry wolf that gives me health insurance and rent money and coworker friends and i can buy food and not worry vs Happy wolf that gets to read people's stories and help refine them and push them to greatness but it is an asynchronous individualistic job and pays little and is very unstable and no health insurance and i would have to bite and claw my way into the industry. And so i just keep my soulless job and do story refining editing for free. Hm.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part four]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader

You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Tags: 18+ content minors dni, nudity, female masturbation, fem reader, panic attacks, bucky is touch starved, mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, safe word/motion use, bucky barnes needs a hug, angst, bickering, major arguments, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, reader is lowkey depressed, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10k

A/N: it's ready early! thank you everyone for the support. um i'll keep it brief but this is a pretty rough, angsty one. please trust and bear with me. it will get better. thank you for putting up with my silly ideas. also a big thank you to @soelstress and @buckybarnesfic for reading this over for me and giving feedback while i was pulling my hair out a bit! as always, sorry for any typos!

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In the split second it took for you to twist around, an arm half-heartedly lifting to cover your chest, Steve’s complexion had lurched from deathly white to a deep, mortified crimson. One hand clamped desperately over his eyes, as if that could undo what he'd already seen. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, floundering for something to say, before he choked out a strangled “Sorry!” and spun around so violently he almost took the doorframe with him.

The silence that followed was somehow worse. Beneath your hands, Bucky turned to stone, all his warmth leeched away, as if he'd been sculpted into a gargoyle mid-breath. You remained straddling his lap, dress tangled around your waist, nipples peaked against the air. 

“Well,” You muttered dryly, glancing down at him. “That’ll give him something to think about during his little jogs around the compound.”

Bucky didn’t laugh. 

His eyes were wide, glassy. He jerked his head towards the door, then back to you, panic flickering across his features. “How much did he—What do I—”

His hands left you completely, raking his hands down his face, as if he could claw the moment out of existence. You caught it then, the way his shoulders started to shake, breath stuttering in his chest, fingers balling into a fist as he pressed his knuckles against his forehead. You reached for him gently, two fingers grazing his wrist, the start of a soft coaxing, just enough to try and ease his hands away from his face. But he caught your wrist mid-motion.

You went still, dread curling behind your ribs.

His grip was trembling, the cool metal of his vibranium fingers tightening around your skin. Wordlessly, he motioned, three firm squeezes in quick succession.

Stop. 

You were already sliding off his lap, kneeling in the tangle of half-kicked sheets and discarded pillows next to him in a futile attempt to give him more space, but it was already too late.

“Bucky?” You breathed, and he visibly flinched. You were unsure where the panic had pulled him, nor what thoughts drowned him, but you knew you couldn’t let him stay lost. “Bucky, talk to me.”

“I can’t, I can’t—” He gasped, voice thin like every breath was a fight. 

“Bucky.” You interrupted him firmly. “I need you to breathe.”

The super soldier ignored your instructions, crumpling in on himself as you hovered, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse. His breaths were coming fast, too fast. You could hear how each intake rattled in his chest, lungs not fully expanding as his body was quickly switching into a fight-or-flight mode. 

“He’s going to be upset.” Bucky managed to choke out, his voice breaking.

“Why would he be upset?” You pushed, keeping your voice steady and calm. “He’s your friend.”

“I don’t know, I just…” His voice was rising, near frantic. He was tugging at his hair now, stuck in a panicked spiral of his own making. 

“You’re panicking. You’ve had a shock,” you said quickly. “That’s all it is. Just breathe, okay? In and out, like we always do. We’ve done this before, remember?”

His chest heaved, a desperate sound clawing up his throat.

"I can't... I—”

"Just breathe," you repeated quickly. You needed to make yourself small, unthreatening. You dropped off the side of the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of him. "Bucky, look at me."

His eyes were wild. You reached out, gently, just brushing his kneecaps with your fingertips. "Let's rationalise this for a second, okay? You’re safe. Nothing bad happened."

He shook his head in short, jerky movements, like he couldn't even hear you over the roaring panic inside his skull.

"He's gonna hate me," he gasped, chest spasming. "I—fuck—he's gonna be disgusted—"

"Hey, hey, stop," you said firmly, voice low and steady, even as your heart hammered in your own chest. You pressed your palm lightly against his thigh. "Steve is not disgusted. Embarrassed? Sure. Mortified? Definitely. But not at you, Bucky."

"I—he—" He couldn’t even get the words out anymore. His hands tore away from his hair to clutch at the sheets twisted around him. 

You frowned, your mind racing as you tried to decide your next move. The shift had happened so fast. Alarm prickled at the back of your neck. You needed him to come back to you, to breathe, to move, to thaw out before he became solid ice.

You leaned closer, gently but firmly capturing his wrists in your hands. Your fingers curled around the tense line of his forearms. His skin was clammy under your touch, his pulse erratic just beneath the surface. You drew his arms down, guiding them from where they hovered and settling them across his lap. 

"You’re not in trouble," you repeated, slowly and carefully. "Nothing bad is happening. Steve just walked in at the wrong time. That’s all."

He made a broken sound in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. His vibranium hand was twitching uncontrollably against your grip.

"You’re okay," you whispered. "Look around. We're still here. No one's yelling. No one's mad."

He shook his head again, tiny tremors wracking his whole body.

"You're not back there," you added quietly, knowing exactly where his mind wanted to go. "You're Bucky Barnes. You’re safe. You’re home."

The words seemed to reach some small part of him. His breathing was still ragged, but he cracked his eyes open, glassy and rimmed red.

"There he is," you murmured, giving his wrists a soft squeeze. "Hi. Still with me?"

He nodded shakily.

"Good," you praised, shifting your grip to run a hand slowly up his arm, grounding him. "Breathe with me, Buck. In through your nose... hold it... out through your mouth. Easy. Like we always do."

You exaggerated the breath yourself, making it big and obvious, hoping he'd mimic you. You tried not to let your mind flicker to how ridiculous the situation was, you half-naked, the remnants of arousal now a cold, wet patch in your underwear as you guided a super soldier through his panic attack. Was he in over his head? Were you in over your head? He had used the safe motion. Had you pushed him too far this time—? 

No. No, you had to remind yourself. It was all fine, all controlled and okay until Steve walked in. He was the unpredictable element. Each time you and Bucky had lessons, he was handing you a piece of himself, handing you all of his trust. He was vulnerable in these moments, entirely raw and exposed. And you hadn’t even taken a second to ensure the damn door was locked, too caught up in the moment, the thrill. Why had you done that? Why were you allowing yourself to be so easily swept away?

It took a few tries, several messy, half-choked inhalations, but finally, finally, he caught the rhythm. You sat there with him, counting out soft beats under your breath, refusing to let your thoughts drag you under.

When the worst of the tremors had faded, you eased back just a little. Bucky shook his head slightly, another ragged breath escaping him, but this time there was something like life in it. His hands were still shaking, but he wasn’t clawing at himself anymore.

"You're okay," you soothed. "We’re okay."

"I’m sorry," he croaked.

"You don’t have anything to be sorry for," you replied simply. "It’s not your fault. Steve should’ve knocked. If anything, I should be charging him rent for getting a free show."

That dragged a real, if frail, smile out of him.

You grinned back, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead gently.

“Listen to me,” you leaned in closer. “Let me talk to him. I’ll get Steve to come back. We’ll clear it up, face it head-on. It’s only going to make it worse if we pretend it didn’t happen.”

His blue eyes met yours, unsure. The colour looked almost unnatural, too bright against the bloodshot whites. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you replied, voice firm with conviction. “You think I’d ever do something to hurt you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t speak, but you saw the tiny shift, his fists uncoiling, his breathing slowing, no longer tearing through him like it might rip him apart. You stood, tugging your crumpled dress back up to cover your chest again, hooking the thin straps over your shoulders.

Bucky stared down at his hands, gears in his vibranium arm whirring slightly, still sat among the dishevelled sheets. You knew he was overthinking, already surrendering to worry in those brief seconds. Against your better judgment, you reached out, cradling his head in your palm as you forced him to look up at you, shell-shocked and miserable. 

“I’ll be back," you promised. He blinked up at you, throat bobbing with a hard swallow, and you had to trust he believed you. You pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, fingers dragging across his jaw as you pulled away. You could’ve sworn he tilted his head to follow you, chasing your touch as you marched towards the door. “And hey, atleast next time we’ll remember to lock the fucking door.”

You weren't sure if he replied or if he even heard you. Some part of you, the jaded, self-destructive thing that had learned it was safer to be alone, whispered that maybe there wouldn’t be a next time. And that perhaps it was for the better. You’d survived so far, tearing down anyone who got too close, keeping parts of you locked away in solitude for your protection…You crushed that thought before it could bloom any further and slipped barefoot into the hallway. Steve hadn’t made it far, and you caught him halfway to the elevators. 

"Steve! Steve, can we just talk?"

He didn't even turn around, just threw a hand up over his shoulder. "I don't think I want to know what I just walked in on—"

"Listen," you snapped, stepping sharply into his path before he could retreat any further down the hallway. He tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored him without hesitation, cutting him off cleanly. He shifted again, impatient, but you were faster, darting to block him completely. You planted yourself firmly in front of him and crossed your arms, chin lifted in a challenge. You were sure you looked a right state, hair messy, lips swollen, and the remnants of your makeup smudged. "He’s freaking out in there, okay? He thinks you’re mad at him. Please just come back and reassure him it’s fine—"

“Is it fine?” Steve cut in, slicing clean through your rambling. The edge in his voice made you falter, your brows knitting together in confusion. 

Was he… angry? 

Steve Rogers was ever the serious figure in the compound, tightly wound, controlled, the kind of man who dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’. But you’d never heard his voice drop in such a way before—low and tight, his jaw clenched and his posture stiff, as if he was stewing on something unspoken. 

“What?” You managed to stumble out.

Steve looked you up and down, unimpressed. His arms crossed over his own chest in a mirror of you, biceps bulging against the fabric of his sleeves. “What you’re doing. Is it really fine?”

You hesitated, thrown completely off-balance. This wasn’t anywhere on the radar of reactions you’d prepared for. You’d expected embarrassment, maybe a flustered apology, half-hearted but well-meaning. Perhaps even a flash of happiness, pride that Bucky was finally confident enough, safe enough, to take a step forward in his life. You’d braced for fist bumps, for some awkward bro code moment, whatever the hell men did. What you hadn’t prepared for—what hadn’t even occurred to you while you were coaxing Bucky through his panic—was that Steve’s anger wasn’t aimed at Bucky. It was aimed squarely at you.

Steve watched you expectantly, and all that tumbled out of your mouth was a bewildered, “I don’t understand?”

“Listen, I don’t think there is a polite way to put this…” Steve said, voice low, tight with restraint. His weight shifted forward like he was gearing up for a fight he didn’t want but felt he had to have. You braced yourself instinctively, steeling yourself with a deadly calm, ready for an outburst, accusation, or insult. But to your surprise, when he spoke again, it wasn’t anger that flooded out. 

It was fear. 

Fear that you had no problem deducing came from a desire to protect Bucky, not just from H.Y.D.R.A., any other foe or the world as a whole, but to protect him from you. 

“He’s vulnerable. If this goes south, it could break him.”

“You don’t think I know that?” you shot back, sharper than you intended.

Steve’s eyes flickered with surprise, but from the way he was gritting his teeth, it didn’t take a genius to tell he disapproved. He took a slow breath, like he was trying to hold back everything he wanted to say but couldn’t.

“Just—” His voice cracked slightly. He ran a hand down his face, visibly struggling. “I need you to understand. Ever since we got him back, I see pieces of him. Fragments of the man I used to know.” 

He paused as he motioned vaguely into the air, as if he was trying to stop the floodgate of words spilling from his lips.

“And it kills me, it kills me every day, knowing we’ll never get all of him back. That parts of my best friend are just… lost forever. I don't know what H.Y.D.R.A. took from him—hell, maybe none of us ever will—but what I do know is that he’s hanging on by threads. Whatever you’re doing with him is a bad idea.”

He swallowed thickly, his eyes flashing with something dangerously close to desperation. “It won’t just hurt him. It'll undo him. And I can't…I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you play with his emotions like that. I don’t want you damaging him any further than he already is—-”

Any sympathy you felt for Steve quickly drained as you felt heat rising up your neck, and before you could stop yourself, you snarled, “I’m not damaging him—”

You knew this look. 

The thinly veiled judgment behind it. 

It had followed you like a shadow from the moment you were freed from Dreykov’s clutches. You weren’t oblivious to the way people glanced at you when they thought you weren’t looking, the way prejudice soured even their best intentions. You were not naïve. You were not feeble enough to stand there and be quietly condemned.

“Are you sure?” Steve cut back, ignorant of the frustration now festering in your gut. “He’s not ready for whatever you’re pushing onto him—”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you struggled to hold onto your temper, but it was slipping through your fingers fast. You could see it in the stubborn line of his mouth, the narrowing of his eyes.

“I’m not pushing anything onto him!”

You took a hard step forward. The movement made Steve tense, like he half-expected you to swing at him, but you didn’t. You just stood your ground, daring him to keep going, daring him to say something worse.

“I think this attitude is part of the problem, Rogers," you bit out. "How is he supposed to overcome anything, experience anything if you baby him? If you cut him off before he has the chance to grow? I’m not hurting him, I’m just helping him.”

Steve opened his mouth like he had a retort ready, but whatever words he had dried up halfway to his tongue. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, finally sagged open in helplessness. His whole stance wilted slightly, shoulders bowing under the weight of doubt.

“I don’t know...” he muttered, the words dragged from him reluctantly, like they tasted sour in his mouth.

You didn’t give him a chance to wallow. The anger was already riding too hot in your blood, crackling in your chest.

“He consents. Every time. I check with him every time.” You hissed. “Because I know how important that is to him, because it’s important to me too, but that’s a topic none of you will ever address, is it?”

Steve stared at you, breathing heavily through his nose, his chest rising and falling like a man trying desperately to hold onto his last thread of composure as you continued your rant. “We never go past his comfort zone. I never pressure him. I never trick him. I respect him. Why would you even think that?”

His mouth contorted into a scowl before he finally answered, “because I don’t know you.”

You recoiled a fraction, brow lifting in disbelief. You could’ve sworn there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, like he was watching something familiar but hadn’t quite put the pieces together yet. You stared back at him, heat flushing your face, and when you finally found your voice, it came out quieter, but no less biting.

“No, you don’t,” you spat, the words ripping from your throat. “I know I never put the effort in, but you can’t say you ever tried either.”

The hallway fell into a suffocating silence. The kind that rang in your ears. The kind where neither of you wanted to be the first to speak, where the air between you burned with the things you couldn’t unsay now. Steve’s jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, his eyes flashing with a storm of emotions he clearly didn’t trust himself to voice. He finally just looked away, the tension radiating off him like static.

It would have been so easy to leave it like that, to turn your back and let Steve stew in his distrust. But that wouldn’t help Bucky. And he was the only thing that mattered right now.

So you spoke up, catching the thinnest, fraying thread of truce before it would fade entirely.

“Look, I don’t care what you think of me," you tried to calm your voice, keeping your tone neutral despite the fire licking up your spine. "I don’t care if you even like me to be honest, but what I do care about is that if you say you’re his friend, if you say it’s your job to look after him, then I need you to go back there and reassure him before he spirals.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. A rare, raw show of uncertainty from Captain America himself, usually so sure of himself and his actions. “You’re... you’re probably right.”

Before he could hesitate, before he could get cold feet, you reached out and grabbed his arm. His muscles went tense under your grip, but you didn’t let that deter you. You pointed a finger at him, close enough that he had no choice but to meet your glare head-on.

“Don’t treat me like the villain because I care.”

Steve gave one stiff nod, but he said nothing. You stared at him a second longer, making sure it stuck, before you finally released him with a shove of your hand.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stalked back down the hall. You didn’t look back to see if Steve was following.

You didn’t need to.

His footsteps, reluctant but steady, fell into place behind you.

The silence prickled along your skin as you navigated quickly back to Bucky’s apartment. His anxious face plagued your mind, the way his breathing had turned shallow and scared, like a caged animal. 

The door to Bucky’s apartment was still ajar, just a crack, like he'd been too afraid to close it. Or maybe he hadn’t even noticed it was open at all.

You pushed gently at the handle and stepped inside.

Bucky was still sitting on the edge of the mattress, hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, hair half-clinging to the sweat still damp on his temples. His shirt was still wrinkled from earlier, his vibranium hand flexing unconsciously, twitching in small stutters as though trying to grasp at something he couldn’t hold.

His eyes lifted the moment he heard the door creak, wild, wide with nerves, and then they landed on Steve.

“Hey Buck…” Steve started, voice soft.

“Steve, I can explain—“ Bucky’s words spilt out in a tangle of panic, but Steve raised a hand, halting him.

“It’s alright,” Steve said quickly, the kind of quick that begged not to make it worse. His eyes scanned the room like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I’m not mad. I just… didn’t expect it.”

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, giving a weak, crooked sort of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “So, uhh… how long has this been happening?”

“Since the gala,” Bucky muttered.

“The gala?” Steve echoed, blinking. “You two really hit it off then, huh?”

You resisted the urge to groan. There was a pause, awkward and brittle.

“So are you like dating or—”

“No—” You and Bucky answered in perfect, rapid unison.

Maybe too fast.

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve raised both brows, then glanced between the two of you slowly, clearly re-evaluating everything. Bucky shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his jaw while you picked hard at the raw skin around your nails. 

“Alright,” Steve said after a moment, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not judging. I’m just trying to understand. It’s a whole new century, Buck. I guess we gotta adapt to the times.”

He was trying, that much was clear. His voice gentle, his posture no longer combative, though the tension in his shoulders hadn’t quite let up. It was the kind of compromise only a man like Steve Rogers could offer—discomfort wrapped in compassion.

You opened your mouth, the words slow to form on your tongue. “We’ve just been… I’ve just been…”

You hesitated. Your eyes flicked to Bucky, trying to read him, trying to decide whether he wanted this out in the open, whether he’d say anything at all. But his body locked up like it expected pain, arms folded, metal fingers curled tight. His expression was a mix of shame and fear.

He looked like a man staring down a loaded barrel.

“We’ve just been fooling around,” he cut in, voice flat and even. “Nothing serious.”

Nothing serious.

You tried not to flinch, tried not to let the words sting like salt in an open wound, nor assess why you felt that way. You didn’t understand why it hurt so much, considering you had repeated those same words to Natasha not long ago. He wasn’t lying. What he said was true, even if he carefully sidestepped the messy reality of the lessons. That was a whole other rabbit hole Bucky clearly wasn’t ready to admit to Steve. Maybe not even to himself.

Still, you forced yourself to nod along, pretending the hollow feeling in your chest wasn’t there. Pretending you hadn’t gotten a little too attached to this— to the lessons, to the quiet understanding, to the broken man sitting right in front of you.

Steve’s gaze shifted between the two of you, his mouth tightening. He didn’t press, but the flicker in his eyes said enough. He noticed something, but he just wasn’t brave enough to acknowledge it.

“Alright, I believe you,” Steve said carefully. “You told anyone about this?”

“Just you,” Bucky muttered, still refusing to meet his friend's eye.

You shifted your weight, the guilt gnawing at you sharp and immediate. You forced a breath through your nose, nails digging into the tender skin around your thumb. Neither super soldier seemed to notice the way your jaw tightened, or how the metallic taste of iron bloomed across your tongue from how hard you bit down.

You couldn’t keep lying. Not now. Not after everything you had just preached about trust and care, not if you wanted Bucky to keep believing in you. You had to tell him. In the spirit of being truthful, you would tell him. You had to own up to the fact that you had foolishly confided in Natasha, that you had allowed her to get under your skin, left yourself vulnerable in a way that could very well undo everything you had built together.

The word caught your throat on its way out.

“Well...” you interrupted, voice soft, bracing yourself.

Both men turned to you, and you already regretted your decision. Steve straightened subtly, his arms crossing over his chest as he glanced between you and Bucky with wary eyes, as if already preparing himself to referee whatever was about to happen. But it was Bucky’s reaction that truly cut, his whole body going rigid where he sat, muscles locking beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. His brow furrowed, deep lines creasing his forehead as he stared at you with a mixture of confusion and something rawer, something alarmingly close to hurt.

“You told someone?” he questioned, voice tight.

“No, it’s just... Nat,” you admitted, the words spilling too fast, too desperate to soften the blow.

Bucky's face twisted. “You told Natasha?”

“No! She, uh, kinda pieced it together?” You fumbled over your words, blindly and furiously picking at your nails.

“What?” 

“Look, you’re not exactly subtle,” you rushed to explain, feeling Steve shift awkwardly at your side as the conversation nosedived. “I was going to talk to you about it first, but then she cornered me, and I didn’t know what to say—”

“When?” Bucky cut in, voice rising. “When were you going to talk to me about it?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, exasperated with yourself more than him. “I was trying to figure out how to bring it up—”

“You lied to me.”

“No, I was just—” you tried, stepping forward instinctively, but the look he gave you rooted you to the spot.

“I asked you if you had said anything to Natasha or Yelena,” Bucky interrupted, voice low and wounded, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “And you said no.”

“It just didn’t feel like the right time—” you mumbled weakly,

Bucky rolled his eyes, a sharp, bitter sound escaping him. He looked past you, to Steve, as if hoping for some escape.

“So Natasha knows,” he muttered darkly. “And then we can assume Yelena probably knows as well—”

“Nat wouldn’t say anything—”

Bucky’s laugh was hollow, almost humourless. “Do you know that? For sure?”

“Why are you so worried—”

“Because I don’t want people to know!” he snapped, voice cutting sharper than you thought he could bear to be with you. “Are you not embarrassed?”

You recoiled in shock.

Steve exhaled a breath that came out sounding suspiciously like a curse, entirely unexpected and out of character for the golden super soldier.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you asked, voice steady despite the way your chest ached.

Bucky opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His eyes darted away, landing on the sheets crumpled around him like they held some escape, some answer. His whole posture shrank inward, collapsing in on himself.

You didn’t let it go. You couldn’t.

“Why would I be embarrassed?” you repeated, louder this time, forcing the question into the space between you.

Bucky still wouldn’t look at you. His shoulders hunched, head bowed. Scolded dog—but for once, you didn’t find it cute. 

“Are you embarrassed by me, Bucky?” you asked directly. 

“No,” Bucky said immediately, shaking his head. “No. That’s not what I meant—”

“It sure sounded like it,” you scoffed. 

The silence that settled over the room was uncomfortable enough to make Steve squirm, the blond opened his mouth to try to smooth over the situation. You stopped him before his tongue could even form a syllable, holding up one finger as you stared across at Bucky. He blinked up at you with an expression cut somewhere between guilt and horror as he realised there was no coming back from what he had just implied. The insult had hit, the damage done, and all that was left was a chasm between you. 

“I should go,” you said at last, voice clipped.

“Now, hold on—” Steve interrupted, stepping forward slightly. 

“No, it’s fine," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You two should talk alone anyway."

Bucky's head jerked up slightly at your words, expression stricken. He didn’t move from where he sat, just watched silently as you crossed the room with stiff, deliberate motions. He didn’t stop you as you gathered your bra from the floor, nor when you collected your coat and shoes from where they had been haphazardly tossed.

At the door, you paused, squaring your shoulders before gesturing vaguely between them with a small, almost pitying smile. Your eyes locked onto Bucky’s, not angry, not scolding, just exhausted.

“Remember, in and out. Use your words. Talk to him, sort it out.” you reminded him, voice gentle but unwavering. “You’re on your own now.”

“Wait—” Bucky reached out instinctively, voice cracking under the strain, but it was too late.

You snapped the door shut behind you, cutting off whatever apology or excuse he might have tried to offer.

—

You’re on your own now.

The words had echoed through your mind like a curse, looping over and over.

They whispered back every time your phone lit up. They rang louder when Natasha tried to corner you with soft girl-talk after long missions or training sessions. They surged again whenever Steve hovered too close after briefings, or loomed beside the coffee machine like he was waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you alone.

You’re on your own now.

You were beginning to think those words weren’t for Bucky but for yourself.

It was your mess—a slow-burning wreck of your own making. Bucky had reached out in the aftermath, trying to bridge the silence with texts asking to talk, explain, and understand. You’d read them, every one, then locked your phone and buried it like that would bury the damage too. You were too exhausted. Too goddamn ashamed of how much you’d let him in.

You’d broken your own rules and now, predictably, you were bleeding for it.

Two weeks later, you were doing better, or at least performing the illusion well enough that no one dared question it. You’d buried yourself in work with single-minded fervour. What started as six-hour recon missions inside Karpin’s club had stretched to eight, then twelve. You hadn’t missed a shift or turned in a report that wasn’t pristine, timestamped, and drowning in intel. You were producing results so efficiently that it bordered on obsessive. Another compromise, another calculated smile, another night letting your soul rot beneath the thump of bass and leering stares in the club’s smoke-slicked VIP rooms. Progress came steep and you were the currency.

The black dress you wore clung like regret, stitched tight across your thighs and chest, sweat seeping through the synthetic fabric. Glitter clung to your skin like a rash, and your heels had carved angry grooves into the backs of your feet. The thick eye makeup you’d smeared on hours ago had begun to crumble in the corners, leaving your reflection a cracked porcelain doll in the glass door you passed. But none of that mattered. You just wanted to make it to your apartment, scrape yourself clean, and pretend, if only for a few hours, that you hadn’t given up everything just to feel nothing.

You slapped the final handwritten debrief into the data analyst’s hands, your signature barely legible. 

Another mission done, but you had the sinking feeling your day was far from over, mainly because Steve was standing by the elevators with a little too much casual ease. The kind that wasn’t casual at all. He’d been lingering since you arrived to complete your debrief protocol, hovering just close enough to be noticed, but not close enough to call it out. Hands shoved in his pockets, one foot angled toward the hallway like he was trying to look like he had somewhere else to be, even though he didn’t. He was waiting, watching, hoping to intercept.

You knew better than to take the elevator. Not just because it was a coffin on cables, but because he would follow. You could already picture it, his voice low in some lame attempt not to spook you, trying to reason with you, explain himself, maybe even apologise. You didn’t want it. You didn’t want any of it. Not his concern, not his guilt, not whatever sense of responsibility he’d suddenly found like loose change in his pocket. He’d said his piece two weeks ago—said you weren’t good for Bucky. So what was this? Regret? Or worse, another excuse to tear into you?

You ducked your head, ignoring the burning ache in your heels, and made a sharp turn toward the stairwell.

“Hey,” came Natasha’s voice, too light, too amused.

You didn’t stop walking. What was this? Some kind of coordinated attack? 

“Trouble in paradise?” she added, like this was a game. Like any of this was remotely fucking funny.

“Jesus, give it a break.”

“Not when you keep moping around like you’ve had your heart broken—”

“My heart isn’t broken—” you snapped without turning, pace only quickening.

“Look. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise things were so serious between you and Barnes. Let’s just talk about it—”

You stopped at the stairwell door, hand on the bar. Your spine went rigid, and you turned slowly, fixing her with a scathing look that could've flayed skin. She faltered under the heat of it.

“Oh, fuck off, Nat.”

Her smirk dropped. And just like that, you shoved the door open and disappeared into the stairwell.

Two weeks of silence, two weeks of pretending, two weeks of giving everything you had to missions because it was easier than sitting still. Easier than thinking about how much you’d given away and how little you had left.

You should’ve talked to him. Should’ve answered. Should’ve tried.

But you hadn’t. You hadn’t had the strength, or maybe just hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable one second longer than necessary. Because once you were vulnerable, once you opened that door, you couldn't un-feel what was felt. You couldn’t un-know the way he looked at you. 

You hit the fifth landing when it happened, and your heel caught.

A sickening skritch, and your ankle jolted back, yanked by the spike of your stupid, overpriced, Stark donated shoe catching in one of the grid holes in the grated metal step. You cursed, gripping the railing, yanking once, twice—harder.

It wouldn’t budge.

A breath shuddered out of you. Your hands trembled as you crouched down, fingers scrabbling to free it. The heel was wedged deep in the hole, warped just enough that it wouldn’t twist loose. You gritted your teeth, tugging again. Nothing.

The pressure inside you, simmering, festering, unspoken for days, snapped like a wire. You stood abruptly and kicked your other shoe off with a grunt, the heel clattering against the wall with a hollow thud. Then you grabbed the stuck one with both hands, tore it loose, and flung it with everything you had.

The shoe hit the concrete wall with a loud crack, then fell limp to the landing.

You let out a dry, broken sound—half laugh, half sob—and dropped to sit on the step, barefoot, legs shaking. No tears came, but the pressure behind your eyes stung. You pressed the heels of your palms hard into your face, breathing ragged through clenched teeth.

You’re on your own now.

—

The shower hadn’t helped.

You’d stood under the stream far too long, letting the water scald down your shoulders and rinse away the tension, the sweat, the last remnants of Karpin’s perfumed hell. Now, dressed in an old t-shirt and soft shorts, you stood at the foot of your bed. The sheets were untouched, cool and smoothed from disuse, undisturbed like a hotel room no one had ever checked into. You blinked at them like they might blink back.

You hadn’t been sleeping well. Not for weeks. Then again, sleep had never come easily. Most nights, you crashed on the couch, half-dressed, half-conscious, the TV humming in the background. There was something final about beds, something about the unspoken history soaked into the mattress and pillows. 

With a small, habitual sigh, you pulled back the covers and slid beneath them, curling slightly onto your side, picking absently at the skin around your thumbnail. You winced when your nail caught a sore patch, your skin already raw and torn, but didn’t stop until the sting sharpened.

You reached for your phone, trying to distract your nervous hands. The light burned your eyes, too bright in the dark room, but you navigated by muscle memory. Messages. His name. Your thumb hovered, heart slowing as the thread opened.

The last ones sat like ghosts, pale and greyed, still waiting for a reply.

Just talk to me.

Please?

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it like that.

Can we please talk?

You stared at them, lips parting slightly. That sick little ache twisted low in your ribs. You scrolled past, skimming quickly until the tone shifted, until the anger and desperation faded into something older. 

Are you still awake?

Come over?

Can’t sleep.

Still can’t sleep.

I made tea. It’s too strong. You’ll hate it. Come fix it?

You could almost hear his voice, tired, soft, and just a little grumpy, the way it got when it was too late and he didn’t want to be alone but didn’t know how to say it.

You scrolled further, reading the back-and-forth, the playful jabs, the dry jokes, the quiet check-ins he always offered at the end of your missions, even when he already knew the details. You closed your eyes and saw it clearly, his apartment cast in low, amber light, the muted hum of the fridge, the TV murmuring. His arm would hang lazily over the back of the couch, like he wasn’t obviously waiting for you. 

You could picture how his lips would twitch into a grin when you finally walked through the door. The quiet press of his hand against the small of your back as he led you past the threshold. How he had grown more confident with each night, how he laughed now, full and unguarded, at the sarcasm that used to make him flinch. How he looked when he was unravelled beneath you, breathless, red-cheeked, eyes blown wide.

You didn’t know when your hand had slipped beneath the sheets.

But now it was there, curled between your thighs, brushing past the waistband of your shorts as memory and longing swelled in your chest like a bruise. His voice in your ear, the way he would shiver when you whispered to him. The little whines he tried to swallow down.

Your fingers found slick heat, and your breath hitched as you brushed against your clit, circling slowly, gently. You kept your eyes closed. It was easier that way. Easier to summon the image of him pressing kisses to your sternum, the chill of his vibranium palm cupping your breast, thumb skimming over your nipple. You could almost feel it.

A soft moan escaped your throat as your fingers dipped lower, working in a rhythm that was steady but hollow, a poor mimicry of what you really wanted. Still, you chased it—chased him—through every flicker of heat and memory.

You ground the heel of your palm against your clit and gasped into the pillow, hips twitching upward. 

“Bucky—”

His name slipped from your lips, barely a breath.

And everything stopped.

You froze. Fingers stilled. You sat up sharply, yanking your hand away like it burned, chest rising and falling beneath the old cotton of your shirt. You would’ve thrown your own damn traitorous hand across the room if it wasn’t attached to your wrist.

You stared into the dark, lips parted, throat tight, wondering how the hell you’d ended up here, half undone in an empty bed, chasing a ghost who hadn’t spoken to you in weeks.

—

You stepped into the gym, the doors swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. The air greeted you like a punch to the lungs, rubber mats, dried sweat, and stale air conditioning. Your routine had become muscle memory by this point. Drop the bag by the bench. Roll your shoulders. Stretch until your bones stop screaming. Pretend everything is fine.

Except it wasn’t.

You blinked against the harsh fluorescents, scanning the space. No flash of red hair. No high blonde ponytail bobbing by the punching bags. No snide commentary lobbed across the sparring ring. Just quiet. Not peace, it was never peaceful, but that suffocating kind of silence that settled just before the ground gave out.

And then it did in the shape of Steve Rogers.

“They got pulled last night,” he said, emerging from the weight racks where he and Sam had been mid-stretch. “Mission came in late. Left before sunrise.”

You nodded once, jaw tight, masking the drop in your stomach. Of course they did. Of course, they left. Probably Nat punishing you for being a bitch to her by the stairwell.

Steve offered a vague, practised smile, too quick, too knowing. “But don’t worry. We’re subbing in.”

Your gaze flicked to Sam, who gave you a friendly wave. Then to Bucky, who was hunched over, lacing up his boots with a quiet intensity that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. His eyes caught yours for only a second, just enough for you to register the damage. He looked as wrecked as you felt. Pale, bruised beneath the eyes, mouth tight. He hadn’t slept properly in days. Favouring his right side again, you could see the subtle strain as he stood up, rolling his shoulders in faux nonchalance. 

You hesitated. “You’re... stepping in?”

Steve shrugged. “We usually run around this time anyway. Figured we’d help cover.”

You glanced back toward the exit. The door was still there. Still functional. Escape was still an option, and you were a pretty good liar when you wanted to be. But selfishness was a slippery thing, and you didn’t move.

So you nodded, slow and controlled. “Right. Okay.”

You dropped down into a lunge, one knee kissing the mat, the other bent clean above your ankle. You held it steady, focusing on your breathing as your muscles slowly stretched awake. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, using that easy posture he adopted when he wanted to appear relaxed. It only made you suspicious.

“What do you three usually run on Mondays?”

You shifted into a hamstring stretch, straightening your front leg and folding over it with practised ease. “Sparring,” you said, voice calm despite the tightness in your shoulders. “Nat’s idea. She says it sets the tone for the rest of the week.”

Steve gave a small smile. “Great. You’ll go with Bucky.”

You stilled mid-fold, hands hovering above your shin. The mat felt suddenly unstable beneath you.

Lifting your gaze slowly, you tried not to flinch visibly. “Is that… necessary?”

Steve tilted his head. “Why? Is there a problem?”

Sam raised a brow but said nothing, sensing the tension but clearly not sure what to make of it. You sat back on your heels, drawing your arms overhead in a stretch you didn’t need, using movement to mask your hesitation.

“No,” you said evenly, rising to your feet. “No problem.”

Across the room, Bucky had stilled, his jaw locked tight, a muscle ticking as he shot Steve a single, withering glance. He didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The reluctance in his movements said enough as he pushed up from the bench, slow and stiff, like gravity was suddenly working against him.

This wasn’t training. This was theatre. A stage set under fluorescent lights and recycled air. And Steve? Still over by the weights with Sam, pretending to be engaged in some idle conversation? Their voices were hushed, but their eyes flicked over too often, too deliberately? This had been arranged, choreographed behind your back like some well-meaning intervention. You wondered who else knew, who had caught wind. Had Sam pieced it together? Had Yelena? Was this their way of ‘helping’?

Bucky stepped into place across from you, feet shoulder-width apart, arms loose at his sides. He shifted, rolling his shoulders in a slow motion. The right still caught slightly. He still hadn’t gone to physio, that was clear. Stubborn as ever. Just one more thing for you to worry over.

“Ready?” he asked at last. His voice was dry, flat. 

You swallowed the knot in your throat and gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

The first few rounds were predictable. You struck low, swept a leg, and knocked him off balance. He grunted, hit the mat, and bounced back up without a word. Then it was your turn. He twisted past your arm, hooked your leg behind his, and took you down in one smooth motion. You landed hard, breath puffing out of your lungs in a curse.

The fourth time you clashed, your forearms locked, both of you panting, he finally spoke.

“You always fight this sloppy when you're pissed off?” he muttered.

You bared your teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He pushed off with a sharp motion, shoving you back with more force than necessary. You staggered but caught yourself.

“You said we were done,” Bucky said, jaw clenched, circling you again. “Figured that meant you wouldn’t be sneaking glances at me every five seconds.”

A guttural laugh left your lips as you stepped in, aimed low and fast, but he blocked you easily. “I’m sorry, are you embarrassed, Barnes? Must be so embarrassing for you to have someone like me near you—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped.

You hesitated just a second too long, and he used it, sweeping in, gripping your arm, twisting you toward the floor. But instead of letting the momentum carry, you pivoted mid-fall and slammed your elbow into his side, dragging him down with you. You both hit the mat in a tangle, limbs locked, breath heavy. Your chest pressed to his. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm.

You shoved off him roughly and stood, pacing back toward the centre, sweat prickling down your spine, adrenaline and something uglier twisting in your gut.

“You really wanna do this?” you said, voice hoarse.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flashing. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Your blood roared. 

Steve called out from the other side of the gym, something about keeping it light.

But it was too late.

You charged again.

No more feints. No more dancing around it. You drove into him with a fury you hadn’t realised had been coiled so tightly in your chest. Bucky blocked, returned, shoved—your bodies collided again and again, a flurry of jabs, kicks, twists, and takedowns. Your knuckles ached from where they connected with his forearms, your legs trembled from exertion. Neither of you held back anymore. This was the type of sparring that Nat was desperate to get out of you, messy, dirty plays that she praised.

He got a hit in against your ribs. You grunted and retaliated with a kick that swept his leg, sending him crashing to the mat. He growled, rolled, pulled you down with him, and suddenly you were grappling, arms locking, muscles burning.

Then he flipped you.

You hit the mat hard. Your breath left you in an abrupt wheeze.

His weight came down over you, solid, full-body pressure, his knee between your thighs to brace, his forearm across your collarbone pinning your shoulder. His hand gripped your wrist, and your other hand was caught somewhere beneath your own hip. The mat pressed into your spine. His face loomed above yours, his jaw clenched tight, and his breath fast and uneven.

You struggled.

At first, it was instinctual. A jerk of the hips. A twist of the arm. Trying to buck him off like you always had before. The sparring was routine, muscle memory, a thing you’d done with a dozen people a hundred times. But Bucky was heavier than you remembered. Stronger. His grip was too tight, his weight too much. Maybe you’d never quite realised how gentle he had been with you before, how soft and malleable he made himself when both of you were in bed.

Something primal and old stirred in the pit of your stomach. 

Your limbs started to go rigid. Your throat tightened. You blinked, but the edges of your vision were already going dark, tunnelling inward, compressing the world into a narrow box with no air. His weight pressed down on your hips, his knee solid between your thighs, your shoulders pinned in place. You couldn’t breathe. You tried sharp, gasping inhales, but it wasn’t working. The more you pulled in, the more the air seemed to thin.

Your body twitched beneath him, useless, trapped, every muscle locking up. You felt yourself whimper, but it barely escaped your throat. You bit down hard on your lip to stop it from turning into something worse.

You tried to scream, to yell his name—Bucky, stop, stop—but no words came out. Just pressure and panic and the unbearable rush of tears behind your eyes. They brimmed but didn’t fall. You refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

He didn’t move. Didn’t notice. He thought it was part of the fight. He thought you were still in it.

You tried to suck in a breath and choked on it.

You lifted your hand, every motion sluggish and jerky, and tapped three times on his forearm. 

Bucky froze.

His entire body went still like someone had hit a kill switch. The pressure lifted instantly as he pushed himself off, retreating back on his knees. His face was alarmed, eyes wide and scanning.

You sat up slowly, not looking at him, not looking at anything. Your hands were flat against the mat, supporting your shaking frame. Your lungs worked overtime, trying to stabilise, trying to ground yourself. Your face flushed hot, not just from exertion but also from shame.

“Hey…” Bucky reached a hand toward you, but you cowered before he could touch you.

You forced yourself to your feet, knees stiff, stars swimming across your vision. 

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just knelt there on the mat, his eyes locked on you, searching your face like he was trying to read between the lines, like the truth might be scrawled somewhere in the way your mouth trembled or how you blindly picked at your nails.

His expression had dropped into something taut and drawn, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. His brain catching up with what the tap meant—what it truly meant.

“Shit,” he breathed.“I didn’t know. I—I didn’t see it.”

He looked like he might be sick. Like he wanted to reach for you but knew he couldn’t. Knew he shouldn’t. His weight shifted, knee lifting like he was going to get up, close the space between you, but you took half a step back before he could. That was enough. He stayed where he was.

You hated how badly you wanted to fall into him.

Your whole body screamed for it, for safety, for the press of arms you trusted around you, for the warmth of him. For the feeling of a steady heart under your cheek, a voice in your ear telling you you were okay, you were here, it was over.

But you didn’t move. You locked your arms around your middle instead. Drew in a breath so deep it scraped your ribs raw and shoved everything down.

Still, your eyes lingered on him for a beat too long. On his worry. His guilt. His panic. He had remembered. He had known what the signal meant, even after all this time, hadn’t argued, hadn’t questioned it and hadn’t made you explain.

And that—that meant something.

Slowly, with herculean effort, you rolled your shoulders back and let your face go blank as Steve and Sam approached. 

“What are you two doing?” Steve asked, brows drawn together. He didn’t sound accusatory, just cautious, like he was testing the temperature of a room already on fire. “I told you to spar, not kill each other—”

“I—” Bucky started, lifting his hands slightly, almost in surrender. His voice was steady, but there was a slight tremor beneath it. You heard it. He was trying to smooth it over, or maybe like the words had just slipped from that place inside him that wasn’t guarded. He ignored Steve, eyes firmly locked onto you. “You alright, doll?” 

He said it with such casualness. Casualness that indicated he didn't realise what had just slipped past his lips. It was instinct, probably. 

Still, it hit you like a slap.

You didn’t even get the chance to level him with a look of ‘well-you’ve-gone-and-done-it-now’ before Sam’s head whipped around, armed with an expression somewhere between bewilderment and horror.

“What did you just call her?” 

Bucky said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line, and you swore you saw the slightest tinge of red creep up his neck. Steve exhaled through his nose, loud and irritated, dragging a hand down his face like he was already regretting whatever scheme he had been plotting. Whatever it had been, it was clear to you that Sam hadn’t been brought up to speed. 

“I’m fine,” you said, too quickly. 

You didn’t look at anyone, just grabbed your bag from the bench and turned, heading for the locker room without a word.

Behind you, silence lingered on the mat.

—

Tony’s penthouse glittered like a scene from a luxury magazine shoot, all sleek lighting, glass walls, and a sky full of stars pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Music thumped low and rich through the space, some jazzy, remixed classic that Tony swore gave the night ‘class’. Outside, New York burned electric, skyscrapers blinking like a million eyes. Inside, the air reeked of expensive cologne, champagne, and politics.

You stood by the bar, posture poised, gown clinging perfectly in all the ways it was meant to. The colour was deep and dark, with a silky fabric cascading down your body like liquid shadow, explicitly chosen to flatter, distract, and hide. Your hair was swept into a neat updo, not a strand out of place. Lipstick matched the shade of your nails, the polish partly to distract from the skin you had picked raw. Sleek, practised, controlled. You looked the part.

God, you hated looking the part.

But the board had insisted. Visibility. Cohesion. Unity. The Avengers, Agents, Consultants, Freelance, everybody needed to be seen tonight, in public, together, smiling. To show the sponsors, the donors, the shareholders or whoever the fuck had power that everything was fine. That the world was still being held together by its favourite, dysfunctional little family.

You sipped your drink and nodded when someone from marketing passed by and forced a tight-lipped smile when a UN delegate’s assistant asked for a photo—laughed, genuinely for a moment, when Yelena shoved a canapé into Kate’s mouth mid-sentence and nearly made her choke.

Thor had clearly been overindulging in full Asgardian regalia and a black bowtie hanging comically loose around his thick neck. He was halfway through recounting an epic battle tale to a group of mortified interns, sloshing golden liquid onto the white rug as he gestured too grandly, his booming laugh echoing off the glass.

You laughed with him. Or, rather, around him.

You weren’t drunk, hadn’t dared allow it. The buzz you wore tonight came from anxiety. You had perfected the art of looking like you were fine. Fine in heels. Fine in silence. Fine in a room full of people where the one person you couldn't stop thinking about was also pretending he was fine.

You were on your millionth fake laugh when Steve stepped up beside you.

“I come in peace,” he said quickly, hands raised, like he expected you to throw a punch.

You shot him a flat look and started to turn away. “Whatever it is, Rogers, I’m not in the mood—”

“Hey—” he cut in gently, lowering his voice. “Nat was looking for you. Said she wanted to talk. Something important. She’s out on the balcony.”

That made you pause.

You glanced at him, reading his expression, trying to discern if there was more to it. But Steve had always been a terrible liar. This wasn’t his idea. There was definitely something sketchy about it…but you’d bite.

“…Fine,” you muttered, setting your glass on the bar. “Thanks.”

You peeled yourself from the crowd's edge, careful not to make eye contact with anyone too important or drunk. The floor beneath you pulsed faintly with the bass of the music, the champagne-fueled laughter, the click of heels and the hum of fake conversation. 

Out of habit, your eyes scanned the room for him. You didn’t even mean to. It was muscle memory by now. A flicker of dark hair. Broad shoulders. The kind of presence that stood out, even when he was trying not to. But you didn’t see him.

Maybe he left. Perhaps he found a corner to vanish into, away from all this noise.

You dodged a passing executive with a knowing smile and a polite excuse, dipped past a photographer angling for candids, and spun gracefully on your heel to avoid getting cornered by a senator’s wife with a diamond necklace and a mile-long list of questions.

Finally, you reached the balcony doors and slipped through them.

The cool air of the balcony kissed your bare shoulders the moment the sliding door clicked shut behind you. You exhaled. Finally, quiet.

Except—

He was there.

Leaning on the glass railing, gazing out over the city, hands braced as if the skyline could offer answers.

He didn’t turn at first. Just stood there, tall and tense, framed by the hum of the city lights below. His suit fit too well, with sharp lines and immaculate tailoring, the black lapels catching faint glints of light. The tie was knotted tight against his throat like a collar, strangling something feral just beneath the surface, like dressing up a wild, wounded animal and calling it tame.

You knew how much he hated this, the attention, the stiffness, the shallow, gleaming pretence. He hated how the suits itched, how they never accommodated his arm, and how they made him feel on display. Something was jarring about seeing him like this. Clean-shaven, hair slicked back and perfectly parted. Like someone had tried to iron out all the edges and polish him into something smooth and forgettable, it didn’t work. It never did.

And then you saw it—the glove. Smooth black leather over his left hand. Hiding it.

Shame. Fear. Judgment. You knew what that glove meant, what it had always meant. Just another mask he was forced to hide behind, or maybe a mask he forced himself to hide behind. And even now, he felt ashamed among people who called him a hero, who toasted him with champagne and wanted him in photos. And maybe he was right to feel wary, not to get too comfortable around the puppeteers who pulled all the strings.

It broke your heart.

Your heels clicked softly across the balcony tile as you approached. Bucky turned at the sound, startled.

His eyes locked on yours.

You stopped a few paces away, your breath catching for just a second. His gaze darted to the door, then back to you.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly, arms folding over your chest, “Nat came to you and told you Steve was looking for you on the balcony?”

Bucky blinked. “How did you—?”

“Because Steve just came to me,” you said, arching a brow, “and told me Nat was looking for me on the balcony.”

He swore softly under his breath and looked away, exhaling like he’d been sucker-punched. The wind tugged at his jacket, and his hand ghosted near the balcony rail.

“I think we’ve been set up.” You hummed.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly, already stepping back. “I can go—”

“No, it’s okay.” You cut him off. “We should talk.”

---

hello! thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! <3

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

too big

a/n: honestly, bless this man for being such a dick (and having such a dick, holy fuck i’m gonna pass out)

summary: cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

warnings: innocent!reader x frat!bucky barnes, stepbro!steve rogers, frat!ari levinson, marc spector, ransom drysdale, curtis everett, lloyd hansen, andy barber, thor odinson, scott lang, miguel o'hara, frank castle, billy russo, smut, dark content, dubcon halfway through, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, shower sex, bondage, exhibitionism, voyeurism, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, manhandling, overstimulation, orgasm denial, edging, multiple orgasms, squirting, impact play, pain kink, spit kink, choking, masturbation, oral, fingering, anal, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, bukkake

word count: 6770

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

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“Ah, not yet,” your stepbrother groaned over the booming music, that rocked the frat house, as he cut the sip of his beer short, “if you really don’t wanna be here anymore, can’t you just like go up to my room and wait?”

“Seriously?” a long sigh flowed from your lungs, “then I’d rather just walk back to my dorm alone, I don’t even know why you insist on escorting me like I’m a child.” 

“Because you shouldn’t walk alone at night,” Steve shot back as his gaze continued to keep his focus on the party around him, “don’t be a brat, just go wait upstairs.”

“Well, can’t someone else do it then if you’re so busy, your majesty,” your comment earned you a glare. 

“You’re my responsibility,” he stated, the bridge of his nose twitching heatedly as he glowered down at you, “I’m not just gonna dump my problems on my friends for them to deal with.”

“Wow, okay,” you nearly choked on the lump that promptly formed in your throat, “I’m sorry for being such a burden then,” you muttered before spinning around and storming up the stairs. 

The door to Steve’s room slammed shut like a crack of thunder behind your spine. 

Chest still heaving, you stared down at the ground for a long moment before you finally managed to force your feet to move once again and peel you away from the door. You flopped down onto the bed with a heated huff, blinking up at the ceiling before your gaze flickered to the night sky twinkling on the other side of the windows. 

Though as you laid there, your stepbrother's last words nearly swallowing you whole as they played on a loop in your brain like a plague, a different sound suddenly caught your ears and caused your cheeks to instantly heat up with something other than fury. 

Reverberating through the thin wall, shrill moans were tangled with deep ones, some that were familiar, though you didn’t place them till the female whines started screaming out his name. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky–,” the cries rang out each time the thud of a headboard thumped against the wall. 

And though you couldn’t make out every word, you still thought that you could hear Bucky’s low timbre crackle in dirty soliloquies, fractured sentences that soon persuaded your hands to subconsciously drift down along your frame.

Though by the time that your fingers had found their way down your pants and stuffed up your hole, rocking them to the same rhythm of the pounding that nearly cracked through the wall, the door to Steve’s room was suddenly ripped open and you tore your hand away from your cunt. 

“I am only gonna say this once, so you better fucking listen up,” he grumbled as he kicked the door shut behind him, “I–… am sorry…” he struggled to huff, “there, you happy now?” 

The lewd noises that echoed through the wall didn’t faze him at all as he apparently was so used to such background noise in the house that he barely registered it at all. 

“So, you don’t think I’m a burden?” you uttered, propping yourself up on your elbows as doubt stiffened your words. 

“…no…” resisting a roll of his eye, he instead faintly shook his head as he began to walk closer, “you’re not a burden… a brat? Yes,” he stated, “but I guess you’re not that bad…” a slight smirk twitched at his lip before he then bent down over you and kissed you. 

Though as it turned out to not just be a swift peck he’d sought after as he layed down at top of you, one of your palms pressed against the centre of his burly chest before you twisted your lips out of the way, “wait, wait,” your head faintly shook as you tried not to succumb to his intoxicating kiss, “no, if we do this, then we’ll both just fall asleep here.” 

“Would that really be so bad?” a soft scoff crackled in his throat. 

“I wanna sleep in my own bed tonight,” you tilted your head as you blinked up at him, your brows gently knitting together at the plea, “I didn’t even wanna come tonight.” 

“Oh, come on,” he leaned back down till his nose ghosted against your own, “I’m too tired to walk across campus right now, and if I’m tired, then I can only imagine how you must feel. Come on, just crash here tonight, do it for me,” he croaked, “and you’ve been so boring all evening, barely had a sip of anything, so at the very least you owe me this.” 

“But–”

“You can pop in some earplugs, then you won’t even know the difference,” his lips began to flutter across your cheekbone till his voice tickled your ear, all the while the party right downstairs still boomed above his manipulative murmurs. 

And though you knew that it wasn’t true, that even if you could somehow block out the noise, you still couldn’t stop the base from rocking the entire house and make you dizzy as you laid in your stepbrother’s bed. So, as fear arose inside of you at the thought of telling him no, you instead heard yourself timidly whispering, “…alright…”

You’d managed to slip out of Steve’s bed without waking him up before you then sneaked down the long hallway to borrow the upstairs shower. 

Though once the water was drizzling down upon you, in the relaxing steam that floated around your form, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to the night before, though not of the manner that your stepbrother had put you to sleep, but instead to the sinful sounds of his best friend that you’d overheard. 

Swiftly, the pads of your fingers began to draw needy circles over your clit to try and dull the scandalously intruding thoughts, though even when you detached the showerhead to spray the gush of water directly against your pussy, a dire problem continued to stand in your way, like you were peeping over the edge of a cliff, too petrified to jump by yourself. 

However, as time began to slip away from you, the door suddenly barged open.  

Your stifled whimpers promptly ceased echoing in the shower as your eyes snapped to the figure now standing in the doorway. 

“B-Bucky!” you dropped the showerhead in your humiliated scramble to twist your nude frame out of his sight. Picking it up as it began to spray up into your face, you swiftly spun around and splayed your hands across your frame in a feeble attempt at covering yourself up.   

“You do know that this door locks, right?” he chuckled as he gently pushed the door closed behind him, the one that you had apparently still been half-asleep when you forgot to bolt, “that’s twice now,” he pointed out with a grin as his stare pierced through the fogged up glass, deja vu smacking you in the face as well, as he reminded you of the incident that had happened over the summer break, “I think if it ever happens a third, then I should win a prize or something.”

“Get out!” you screeched, embarrassment eating you alive. 

“Why? So that you can go back to getting yourself off?” 

“I–,” your head swiftly soared to catch sight of him over your shoulder, “I wasn’t–…” before you squeezed your eyes shut and huffed, “oh my god, I hate you…” 

“I know,” he simply smiled at your groan before he shifted to go grab his toothbrush from the cabinet.

But before he could be on his way and slip back out, your head started spinning as your gaze traced him on the other side of the glass, going about his business as if you weren’t standing stark naked one single meter away from him. 

“W-wait!” you then heard yourself squeak right as his fingers reached for the door handle. Glancing back over his shoulder at you, the words that then slipped out of your lungs were accompanied by a shiver that trickled down your spine, “…could you–…”

Blinking back at you, his eyes faintly squinted as a smirk plagued his lips, “could I what?” 

“Well, I just–,” your breathing was ragged as you averted your gaze, “I’m having a bit of trouble making myself–, uhm…”

“Aw,” his broad shoulders gently shook in a laugh as he then began to mock, “what’s the matter? Can you not make your little pussy cum? Have you still not learned how to do it on your own?” 

“I–, n-no!” you hastily lied, “I’ve totally done it myself, loads of times, what are you talking about?” even though the truth actually was that the sought-after high was still too overwhelming to reach on your own, “I just right now when I tried that it won’t happen… I–… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” 

“Well, maybe you’re doing it wrong,” he shrugged, “or school’s just got you crazy stressed out or something, so it can’t snap into place.”

“Yeah?” a small drop of assurance settled within your belly, “…so would you maybe–, I mean, I know that you’ve done it for me before, but still, could you maybe help me out a tiny bit?” 

A big huff flowed from his lungs as Bucky then pretended that your request was something he wished to be no part of, “alright,” he teasingly grumbled, “I guess I could lend you a hand, but just saying, it’ll cost you.” 

“Cost me?” 

“Yeah,” he tried to keep a straight face, “I don’t give out favours free of charge.” 

“Fine,” a short giggle bubbled out of you as you assumed his dramatic terms were but a joke, “I promise I’ll be your getaway driver on your next diamond heist or whatever.”  

His tongue briefly flickered out to wet his lips before he simply chuckled condescendingly in return, “you’re cute,” before he then began to strip out of his sleepwear. 

Though you probably shouldn’t have been surprised, in your mind, you had merely pictured that he would stay on the other glass a moment longer to give you the guidance that you needed, only explaining what you should do and nothing more before he then left you to carry it out on your own. 

“What are you doing?” your eyes instinctively grew wide as his clothing hit the tile floor. 

“Sweetheart,” his head swiftly cocked, “you literally just begged all pathetically for my help,” he pushed his underwear down, revealing his beast of a cock, already half-hard and heavy, resting like a freaking baseball bat against the top of his thigh, “so that’s what I’m doing,” he brashly stated before he then joined you in the shower. 

Grabbing your face with both of his hands, he then held you in a kiss until the tension in your body gradually began to fade away. When you started to suck in deep breaths through your nose, truly landing in the devilish deal you’d just agreed to, one of his fiendishly, inked hands then began to wander. Skimming down over your wet skin, his palm first caught your tits, briefly giving one of your nipples a teasing tug, before his touch strayed down to knead your ass and draw you that much closer to his frame. 

With the showerhead still clutched in your hands, hugged closely to your body, and gushing onto the both of you, the drawn-out kiss then broke when Bucky’s hand snuck down between your legs. Swiftly, he sought out your clit, already puffy and throbbing from the way you had bullied it mere moments earlier. 

However, then, as you blinked up at him, mouth falling open in a gasp, he suddenly spun you around for your spine to be pressed up against his brawny chest, before stealing the showerhead from your grasp. 

Extending his thumb, he dexterously switched the settings and changed the flow of water from several small and gentle streams to one thicker, and much stronger, jet. 

A whimper rolled off your tongue as he then held the gush down to spray its firm pressure directly against your little pearl, and as you had already been so worked up when he found you, it didn’t take very long at all before you finally tasted that sweet high that you still weren’t yet brave enough to catch on your own, his expert touch instead guiding you there. Your eyes squeezed shut as, not only your head fell back against his broad shoulder, but your knees also threatened to give out, lending him to snake a swift arm around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. 

“Oh my god,” you panted, completely melted back against his bulky physique, “how did you do that so fast?”

And as the muffled grunt, that had vibrated in his chest at your unravelling, morphed into a cocky chuckle that tickled your ear, he simply murmured, “you’re welcome,” before he then pressed a peck to the top of your head and began to tilt your body back away from his. 

But at the loss of contact, one of your hands suddenly shot out in desperation before he could disappear completely, “wait, please I–,” you gasped foggily, “more–, I want more–, please don’t stop–”

And as you peeked over your shoulder to meet his eye, a glimmer flickered in his blue ones, “oh, looks like someone’s getting greedy,” he smirked, “you finally developing a taste for all of this? Becoming the little slut we’ve been telling you all along that you actually are?” 

“No, I’m not a–,” you couldn’t even echo the same word out loud, “…Bucky, please? I just–, I can’t do it on my own–, I mean, not like you or any of the others can…”

“Well, you’ve just not had enough practice yet,” his palm swept up to find your jaw as he took a step back in your proximity, “you’ll get there if you just listen to Steve and stick with all of us,” he uttered as he turned your head for his lips to capture your own.

As he kissed you over your shoulder, his now raging hard-on digging into the softness of your bottom, he then blindly slotted the showerhead back into place on the wall, lending the water to drizzle down over the both of you as he swept his tongue ravenously against your own. 

His feet then began to shift on the wet floor, and steered your own to move slightly as well, till your tits smooshed up against the cool tile wall of the shower. When his lips then faded and began to migrate down and past your neck, you continued to peek back at him as he then sank down onto his knees behind you. Grabbing your hips, he yanked your butt closer to his head till your back was arched and your arms were folded up against the wall for support. Burying his face in between your thighs, he then spent the next chunk of time eating you out till he once again had you tumbling over the edge.

Though after you’d cum this second time, he feverishly reached up and shut off the water before he plucked up your dazed form and dragged you out of the shower, planting you instead on the counter beside the sink. 

Still all dizzy, you swayed slightly as Bucky then took a few steps away from you, enough to be out of your reach. 

“I wanna see how many of your fingers you can fit inside that pretty little pussy of yours,” he demanded as his stare coasted down to your core, utterly on display as your limp legs hadn’t drifted closed yet. 

“W-what?” you breathed, still too hazy to keep your heavy eyelids from temporarily blinding your vision. 

“You heard what I said,” he briefly let a dollop of spit drop down into his open palm before he then grasped his thick girth and initiated a silky stroke, “show me.”  

Though try as you might, the max you managed to cram inside of your drooling cunt was three of your digits as your stare stayed glued on his fist working over his big cock. 

However as he watched you reach your capacity, he then stepped back up and, with his free hand, joined your own touch between your thighs. At first, as his gaze found your own and held it captive, the tips of his fingers traced your hole, all stretched out by your comparatively thin digits. But then, gradually, he traded your own touch out with his. To begin with, his finger hooked under one of your knuckles to pull one of your fingers out of your pussy, barely waiting any time at all before he then swapped places with it and slid his own digit in beside the two of yours that remained.

The stretch sent a shiver trickling down your spine and you swiftly tilted closer to crash your lips messily against his own. 

And soon, none of your own fingers remained as he instead stuffed you full. Though you thought that two of his thick digits were a struggle, he somehow managed to work himself up and double it to four after he had coaxed your own touch away, his thumb being the only one he couldn’t cram inside, instead stretching it up to sweep against your swollen clit and roll it under the broad pad. His other hand stayed on his dick as your pussy began to stain his fingers with your cream, leaking needily into his palm. 

Though just before you could cum once more, his zealous touch suddenly disappeared, denying you of the luxurious sensation once again. As you desperately reached down to take care of it yourself, he swiftly swatted your hand out of the way. 

Both of his palms, still sticky from your essence as well as his own spit, then floated up to grasp the sides of your face before he then uttered, “grab my cock,” and frantically, you fulfilled his command as you shared his hot breath, “both hands, that’s it, good girl,” a gravelly groan rumbled in his throat as you wrapped your fingers around his fat girth and attempted a gentle stroke, “rub it against you,” he murmured as the tip of him was already mere inches away from your throbbing clit, “rub that big cock against your pussy, go on.”

And as you then tilted your hips and began to drag his hardness through your folds, parting your petals for his girth, a pout found your lips as you peeked down at his size as your juices soaked him, “why do you have to be so fucking big…” you heard yourself whine, “it’s not fair…” 

“Aw, what’s wrong, huh?” he huffed out a cocky grin as he promptly leaned in a bit closer, “are you tired of not being able to take me? I thought you liked all the fun ways we make it work since you won’t let me even try to stick it in, how scaredlittle you think I’m too huge for it to ever work.” 

“You are, that hasn’t changed, I’ve accepted that,” you puffed as you continued to tickle the bulbous tip of him against your core and drive yourself closer to the edge once again, “but I can just still, simultaneously, be a little sad about how I can’t do that with you, even with how crazy you make me, which is a mystery in itself, I don’t get it, frankly I think you’re a complete and utter asshole, but–, fuck… it’s like I lose my mind when I’m around you… all of you… I can’t even enter this house without forgetting my own name…” 

But then, just before you could catch another orgasm, a low growl crackled in Bucky’s throat as your words caused him to finally snap, grasping your frame and tossing you over his shoulder before he nearly ripped the door off its hinges from how feverishly he yanked it open.

Stalking down the long hallways that slithered throughout the upper floor of the fraternity, fear arose in you at the thought that someone might spot you, though as you squeaked about it through your billowing laughter, Bucky only smacked your ass in return, lending you not to notice the handful of doors that clicked open behind you. 

As you reached his room, your giggle still remained as he dropped you down upon his bed. You were too focused on him as he sank down over you to notice how he hadn’t bothered to shut the door. 

Messily making out, his fingertips tickled your sides as he wrestled you lightly, grasping both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before his hips then grinded down against your own. Though your legs didn’t manage to tangle around him before he then flipped you around to lay on your stomach beneath him. 

It continued to be all fun and game as he twisted your squirming hands down to the small of your back, even as he reached for a pair of handcuffs that rested on his nightstand before swiftly clicking them around your wrists, as you merely thought that it was something new and exciting, not him on the verge of crossing a line.

Though as he then yanked your hips up off of the mattress, your knees curling beneath you as your face and shoulder smooshed further into the bed, you playfully wiggled your ass back at him as you fully expected to feel the touch of his fingers or his tongue once again. But to your surprise, when you did feel something brush against your weepy cunt, your giggle finally ceased, gradually fizzling out as you realised what exactly it was that you were feeling caress against you. 

“Wait, what are you–,” your neck twisted further as you tried to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, though only managed to spot his silhouette looming behind you. 

Cock throbbing in his grasp, he stared down at your pussy as he swept his intimidating girth against it, “you know, you have been such a fucking tease for way too long… only giving me handjobs or rubbing that little cunt on me, basically taunting me, while the rest of these assholes get to have you, all of you, anyway they want,” he stopped nudging your buzzing pearl and instead dragged through your petals till he found your opening, quivering and dripping as he nuzzled against it, “I’m fucking tired…” he groaned slowly, “…so I’m done waiting… I’ll finally feel this fucking pussy wrapped around me whether you like it or not.” 

“But I’m not ready–, Bucky, wait!” you tried to wiggle away from him, but he only grasped your ass and brought you back flush against him, “let’s just talk about this for a second–”

“What’s there to talk about, huh?”

“It won’t fit!” you yelped into the sheets.

“Yeah, probably not,” he smirked from behind you, “but I don’t care… I’ll just make it fit,” he uttered before then attempting to sink it in, though without success, his massive cock instead slipped through your slick folds and dragged roughly across your clit. 

“Bucky, please! I’m scared!” you whimpered as his fat tip continued to nudge at your hole, smearing the mess leaking out of you further against your core, “you’re gonna break me in half!” 

“I know, fuck, I know,” he chuckled darkly as he kept up his efforts, “your little pussy is just too goddamn tiny for this,” he pointed out before continuing anyway and trying once again to bury himself in your warmth, though this time failing as well, “fucking shit!” he exclaimed as rage began to bubble within him, making him huff like a bull behind you. 

With a smack against your propped-up ass, he then took a step back before making his way around the bed to the nightstand. Once he’d grabbed a bottle of lube, he briefly dipped down to smother your frown with a peck. 

“Please, Bucky,” you tried to plea once again, “you can stop now. You tried and it didn’t work, so just–, we can do something else, whatever you want, just please don’t try again.”

“But this is the only thing I want,” he murmured before kissing your nose and disappearing back behind you once more.

As he settled back into the same position as before, he liberally glazed his cock with some of the lube, as well as smearing some on your already slick pussy too, even pushing some inside of you with one of his long fingers. 

And as he then attempted a third time, snapping his hips with all of his might, the very tip of him finally popped inside and an actual scream erupted from your lungs, partly from the severe stretch as he split you open with his monstrous girth, but also just from the pure shock of it miraculously working. 

“Ah!” your vision blurred up with tears and you could barely breathe as your poor pussy ached around his obscene size he tried to wreck you with, “Buck! It’s too big! It’s too big!” your mind began to grow fuzzy as you’d never experienced such an intense sensation before, “o-oh, fuck, please take it out, it hurts!” 

“Oh yeah, does it?” his palm swept up the goosebump-ridden skin on your back before he caught the cuffs that linked your wrists together, crudely tugging on them to drag you further down onto his cock, cramming even more of him inside of you, “it sure fucking looks like it, goddamn… I should take a picture of this shit, you’re so fucking stretched out right now, it looks like you might actually break on me,” his other hand drifted to your core to trace the way you struggled to take him. 

“Oh fuck, too much–, too much!” you began to sob as he began to buck his hips and bury himself further inside of you, “t-that’s too deep, Bucky!” 

“No, it’s not,” he chuckled breathlessly through a groan as he continued to stretch you to fit him, “I’m barely halfway.”

“Half–,” you gasped as it already felt as if he was so deep that you could feel him everywhere. From your toes that curled to all the way up in your fucking throat, there wasn’t a single part of you that didn’t flicker and spark for him like a bomb about to go off. 

And as he huffed behind you with every laboured thrust, his hips snapping to crave his way deeper into your sweetness, his hands on you got rougher as they began to come down upon the curve of your bottom, smacking it and making you clench achingly around him at each blow. 

The sniffles that filtered through your strangled moans then found Bucky’s ears, and he briefly tore his stare away from where he split you apart, to glance to your face and spot the tears that rolled down your cheeks. 

“Are you fucking crying right now?” he couldn’t help but huff out a faint and amazed laugh, “aw, that’s okay, baby,” your mouth then fell open as one of his thumbs moved to plug up your tiny asshole, “you can cry if you need to…”

But through the piercing stretch that terrorised your soul, like shocks of electricity flicking through your nerves, you began to notice the euphoria slowly overpowering the pain, confusing you from how the two mixed and mingled. And then suddenly, Bucky’s greedy thrusts started to sound wetter and wetter with each sloppy slam into your soaked pussy, soon coming to a crescendo when your walls promptly squeezed down around him so tight that it forced his huge cock back out as your cunt achingly gushed around nothing and your wobbly knees collapsed beneath you.

Though as you came crashing down upon the bed, he wasted no time at all sinking down with you, “fuck… you’re doing so good for me, you know that?” your eyes rolled as he hummed directly in your ear, “just a little bit more, okay? Just relax around me, let me in,” he groaned as he struggled a moment to stuff himself back inside, pushing past your trembling sensitivity to make room for his length once again.

Though when he sank in, a low and blissful groan rumbling in his chest, it vibrated against your spine as he nearly crushed you as his hips began to roll and rut down into you, burying himself even deeper than before. 

“Be a good girl, just lay right there and take it while I finally get to use this tiny little hole of yours,” he grunted as his efforts overstimulated you so fiercely that your legs trembled violently beneath him and drool began to trickle out of the corner of your mouth, soaking the sheets below, “mould you so good around me, make you take me, fit me perfectly, just the way you should, make you a pretty little fuckdoll for me…”

Though your face was twisted to face the door, it was a struggle to keep your eyes open, lending you only to notice the figures that filled up the exit when one of them took a step to the side and spoke up as he knocked on the neighbouring door. 

“Yo, Steve!” Thor slammed his fist against the door till it creaked open, “bro, come out here.” 

“Yeah, you gotta see this, man,” Ransom called out as well, his feet remaining in the threshold so his stare could stay glued on your cockdrunk visage. 

And when your stepbrother stepped out to spot what was happening just in the next room, he swiftly leaned his form against the doorframe as a wide grin bloomed on his features. 

“Holy shit,” Steve chuckled breathlessly as he stared at the pair of you in amazement, “well fucking done, Buck!” 

“Thank you,” the man that squished you further into the mattress chuckled smugly as he tangled a burly arm under your chin and let his inked bicep flex against your pulse and choke you lightly, “thank you very much.” 

“I mean, I for sure thought you’d have to hold out even longer,” Steve tilted his head slightly to catch a glimpse of how your cream stained Bucky’s cock as it helplessly leaked out of you, forming a messy ring around his fat girth. 

“Well, sometimes patience doesn’t get you what you want. Sometimes you just gotta stop playing by the rules and make life your bitch,” Bucky grunted before his lips began to nibble at your ear, “right, Y/n?” 

Scarcely registering their sinful words through your fucked out fog, all you could reply with was a slurred, “mmngmphh…” your mumbled moan only triggering Bucky to grow even more cocky than before. 

“That’s right, baby, I knew you could fucking take it. You didn’t, but I sure did,” he panted against your neck, “see, if you weren’t such a little prude, then you would have gotten this big dick so much earlier, wouldn’t you have liked that? Instead of being such a brat and making me wait till everyone else had gotten to use you as their own personal little fucktoy to get off with.”

And though you tried to answer, you instead heard your stepbrother chuckle over your pathetic moans, “fucking hell, look at how wrecked she is. Buddy, I think you might have actually broken her,” before he glanced over his shoulder at Thor, “hey, go get the other. Wake them up if you have to, they shouldn’t miss another second of this shit.” 

You barely noticed as the rest of the fraternity slowly filtered into the room as your eyes soon fluttered shut and yet another orgasm rocked your sense, your cunt creaming all over Bucky’s excruciatingly thick cock. When he then suddenly flipped you around onto your back, you dizzily discovered the audience that had formed as you hazily blinked around the crowd. Some were lined up behind Bucky, others off to the side of where you laid melted against the sheets, and a few remained staring in the doorway, though over half of them had already freed their own dicks, while the remaining few that hadn’t yet still only palmed their palpable tents as they watched intently.

A shrill yelp bubbled up your lungs as Bucky then tapped the hefty weight of his length against your overly sensitive pussy. Your legs were folded and crumbled on either side of your frame as he sloppily rubbed himself against your mess, letting the rest see just how much he had ruined you.

“You guys wanna see how pretty I can make her gape for me?” Bucky asked the others as his gaze stayed glued to your little hole, nuzzling against it as it looked as if it had snapped back into place, almost like he’d never been in there at all. 

And with the cheers that promptly rumbled behind him, he then repeatedly rammed his cock inside your cunt before retreating completely with the lewd pop of your poor pussy letting go of his monstrous girth. Each time he slid inside, he gradually ventured further, burying himself deeper before pulling back out and watching as your hole steadily relaxed for him, moulding to his size. At first, your leaky entrance only winked back at them all a brief moment before snapping back into place, till you eventually gaped properly enough for them all to applaud in awe as Bucky paused a moment to grasp you with both of his broad palms and spread you wide, holding you open for everyone a moment longer before your hole quivered back into place. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you then forced them to blink as you felt Frank momentarily step up beside you and swiftly free your hands from the cuffs that still kept them bound behind your back, seeing as you couldn’t possibly escape now that you were so cockdrunk you could barely stay awake. 

All of their deep voices and lewd comments washed over you like a stormy sea, crashing into you and making you even more lightheaded than before. 

Ari then shifted to kneel down next to you and scoop his palm under your head, tilting it up for your hazy vision to flicker down to the unobscured crude view of how your pretty pussy got impaled by Bucky’s obscene size, stretching you apart way beyond your limits. 

And as he mercilessly drove his cock into you, his balls managed to smack against your slick skin as he finally buried himself completely inside of your warmth, the tip of him not only diving deep enough to kiss your cervix, but to bump and bully against it with such force that it caused you to repeatedly lose your breath. 

You had never felt so full before in your life, surely too full, as even though you were blinking down at the hard evidence before you, you still didn’t fully believe that you were capable of such feats, of taking him the way that he made you. 

“O-oh, fuck…” you shakily whimpered when you caught sight of the way his monstrous size bulged through your belly, making it seem as though he was fucking straight through your pussy and into your guts.

Your teary eyes then flickered to find Steve in the crowd before one of your hands weakly grabbed for him. Seeing as it was the very least he could do, he granted you the comfort and closed the short distance, trading places with the frat’s president, before he grasped your trembling palm in his own. 

“Damn,” you faintly heard Curtis mutter as he stared, his girth ever throbbing in his fist, mirroring the rest of them, “maybe you should just make her cockwarm you for the rest of the day, just as a precaution to make it easier for you next time.”

“Oh, you’re right, she might need that princess treatment,” Steve murmured as he raised the back of your palm up to his lips for a brief peck, “you’d let him do that, wouldn’t you, sis? For me? Be good for my best friend?”

“Uh-huh,” you found yourself panting as their words flew straight over your dazed head as it jostled on the mattress each time Bucky’s hips snapped against your ass, your zealous slickness being so messy at this point that it clung to his skin as well and kept you both connected in glossy strings, like spiderwebs, each time his efforts retreated. 

“Shit,” Marc groaned as his fingers, tightly wrapped around his own dick, began to speed up, “this is so hot… I think I might blow my load.” 

“Me too, fuck,” Scott harmonized. 

“Cum in her mouth,” Bucky uttered, “go on, be a good girl, open up for them,” before you then felt your stepbrother beside you pry your lips apart mid-moan. 

And as the pair stepped up and, one by one, painted your breathless tongue with their essence, you heard Lloyd rumble firmly, “you better swallow every single drop they give you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it taste good what you do to them, to all of us?” Billy purred before he let a dollop of spit drop from his lips into his palm as he paused momentarily before silkily stroking his length one more to you. 

“Maybe if you beg real pretty, it could become your dessert after every one of your meals,” Miguel suggested with a smirk, “but only if you’re good, then maybe you can have the privilege of being our little cumdump.” 

“Is that what you want?” Andy uttered huskily, his fevered efforts stealing some of his breath, “you wanna be Kappa Alpha Nu’s official little toy? Just be all fucking adorable and help us get off?”

But then Bucky let out a low chuckle as he shifted your feet to rest up upon his broad shoulders, “you’re saying that like she isn’t already…” he grinned proudly before sinking down closer and folding your body in half.

Your free hand clawed at his bicep as both of them flexed to keep him from crushing you as he tilted down to kiss you ravenously. His rhythm picked up till it reached a desperate pace, pumping his fat cock into you as he groaned against your lips. Though even after you felt his big dick twitch inside of you and pump your pussy full of his cum, his efforts didn’t cease, only degraded slightly as he shivered above you, stubbornly fucking you till you unravelled as well. 

With a ragged moan, he finally withdrew from your haven and reached down to messily rub his touch against your poor pussy, all swollen and puffy as it squirted once again for him, your juices weakly gushing all over the bed as his load too trickled out.

It was all a blur after that. 

At first, as you still laid there, panting and twitching at Bucky’s overstimulating touch that he hadn’t yet freed you from, the three frat guys who were looming right beside you, Thor, Curtis and Andy, decorated your heaving tits and stomach with their hot cum. 

After that, one by one, Miguel, Billy, Frank, Ransom, Lloyd and Ari stepped up and came wherever their heart desired. Some chose your exhausted face, all cute and breathless, blinking up at them, while others elected to finish on the soft peaks of your boobs, making you flash them your soft tongue, or even just paint your puffy pussy white and add to the mess already sticky and sore between your limp thighs. 

And lastly, having clearly edged in order to grant himself the honour, your stepbrother let go of your shaky hand and slotted himself in between your legs. Wasting no time teasing you, he plugged the very tip of him into your wrecked hole, making your whole frame briefly jump and quiver on the mattress before your soreness clenched around him and milked him dry as he swiftly emptied his balls inside of you. 

“Well, I think it’s official,” Steve exhaled when he finally pulled his dick back out to admire his cum slowly leaking out of you, “she is finally ready and broken in enough for us to start having some real fun…” his eyes then briefly flickered around to his friends beside him as he uttered, “gentlemen?” before his gaze once again returned to you, “let’s begin.”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[miupow]

hear me out...chan trying to fit it in but he's too big and he's whispering all kinds of stuff trying to get you to take it and you're frustrated and needy and you're just so !! done !! because it feels empty and he's so close yet he's not in and finally finally, his thick tip catches and he inches in agonizingly slow simply to hear you whine for it

꒰୨୧◞ ⤷ ❛❛ TOO BIG ! ❜❜ .ᐟ bang chan.

[ ⟡ ] ── minors do not interact ! ⭑ fem!reader , soft dom!chan , est. relationship , monster cock chris lol , size kink , dirty talk , praise kink , daddy kink , missionary/mating press , unprotected sex , bulge kink

a/n ⸝⸝ happy (late) comeback day !! i’m not very proud of this drabble but it’s here and i’m posting it anyway lol <3 save me big dick chris.. save me..

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

“it’s too big, channie,” you whimper, peering down between your legs— the big fat tip of chan’s cock throbs an angry red as he slides it up between your pussy lips, taps it against your fluttering hole. your ankles dangle in the air over his shoulders, thighs pushed up to your chest by his body pinning you against the mattress, so close you could feel his hot breath, ache for a kiss from the plump, spit-slick lips he bit in arousal. he grips the base of his shaft in one hand, guiding it to push at your rim; you’re frightened by the sheer size of it, thick as a can, veins fat and pulsing… the pressure of it was already overwhelming yet you roll your hips down eagerly, desperate for it to slide in and fill you up.

“shh, stay still, babygirl,” chan coos so sweet, his veiny hand splayed out across your tummy. “and take this fucking cock. daddy knows you can.”

your pussy is making it difficult, so wet chan’s cock misses your hole, slides up your folds to bump against your clit. you shake in pleasure and frustration, reaching your hand down to take ahold of chan’s cock yourself— chan lets you with a warm smile, his thick arms shaking with every slick twist of your hand.

“you need me that bad, baby?” he chuckles, breathless. “thought you said it was too big.”

“i’m so empty,” you whine in response, angling his flared head to spear your core. “need your big cock, daddy—“ finally, finally his tip catches and slides in, sudden yet so achingly slow, your eyes rolling back in tandem with chan’s deep, guttural groan; the stretch burns deliciously, clouds over your senses as your mouth drops open in a moan for more.

“there you go, baby, just like that,” chan continues to bully his cock in past your tight rim, slow and gentle— but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fills you up, inch by fat, throbbing inch stretching your wet gummy walls to their limits. you can feel every ridge, every vein drag hot and heavy… you let go of his shaft in favor for scratching deep red marks into his flexing bicep, scrambling for something to hold on to and ground you. “daddy’s good girl, taking his cock so well— feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as chan’s blunt cockhead kisses your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, daddy, fuck—“

“yeah?” chan huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”

he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you; you desperately want him to move, start pounding your pussy like you’ve been wanting so, so badly… you eagerly nod at chan’s teasing words, buck your hips the best you can folded in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me daddy, please!”

“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole. you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. “beg some more and i’ll give you what you need.”

[navybrat817]

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one. 

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. 

At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date. 

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one. 

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in. 

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled. 

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam. 

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out. 

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to. 

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked. 

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked. 

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said. 

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did. 

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that. 

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so. 

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. 

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all. 

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought. 

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena. 

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days. 

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked. 

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased. 

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back. 

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled. 

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again. 

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse. 

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well. 

“You are something,” he said to himself. 

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you. 

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy. 

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that. 

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before. 

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on. 

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed. 

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something. 

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered. 

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it. 

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he? 

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. 

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[hyuckiefluff]

Flipped | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan) genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part) wc: 29k+ summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex. a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated! ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!

The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.

And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.

It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.

By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.

You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.

“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.

Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.

You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”

Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.

“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.

Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.

“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.

At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.

A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”

“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”

The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”

Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.

“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.

You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.

But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.

That was the day Mark Lee met you.

And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.

The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.

Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.

You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.

You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.

And he was struggling.

You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.

The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.

You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.

But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.

Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.

Talk about a terrible first impression.

From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.  

It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.  

Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.  

You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.  

You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.

So by second year, you changed your approach.  

If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.  

Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.  

“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.  

You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.  

But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.  

You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.  

One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”

“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”

Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.  

You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.  

Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.  

Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.  

You stifled a laugh.  

“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.  

Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.

“No, thanks. I got it.”  

The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.  

“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.  

Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”  

Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?  

But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.

“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.  

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”  

Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.  

“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”  

Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.  

You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.  

Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.  

He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.  

Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.  

“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”  

Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.  

Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping. 

"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."

Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.

He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.

The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.

Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.

It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.

“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”

Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.

“Like I said, the table’s full.”

“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.

“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”

“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.

In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.

Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.

But then… it became his problem.

Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.

And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.

That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.

“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.

“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.

Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.

Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”

Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

But it did to him.

So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.

But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.

It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you. 

The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.

You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped. 

In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.

You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.

“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”

And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.

The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.

At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.  

You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.

But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project

The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, right?”  

You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.  

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.

You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.

“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.  

You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.  

“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.  

Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.  

“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.  

Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.  

“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.  

And, of course, he followed.  

“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.  

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.

Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”  

You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”  

His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”  

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.  

“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.  

He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.

“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.  

You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?  

“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”  

“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”  

Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.  

“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.  

The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.  

You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.

You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.  

Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.  

“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.  

You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”  

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”  

You shrugged. “I have my ways.”  

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”  

Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.  

“What an odd picture, huh?”  

Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”  

Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”  

Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested  “So?”  

Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”  

Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.

He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.  

Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.  

When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.

You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.  

You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.  

The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.  

You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.  

He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.  

You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.

The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.  

You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan’s, and that made some difference.  

You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.  

The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist. 

The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.

Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.  

A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.  

"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"  

The world felt like it had slowed.  

You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.  

"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"  

Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.  

There was only one right answer.  

"Okay," you said.  

Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.

Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.  

On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.  

Then he saw you in the stands.  

At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.  

So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.  

But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.  

“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”  

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.  

“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.  

Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.

He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.  

Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.  

“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.  

Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.  

For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.  

The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.  

When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.  

It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.  

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.  

Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.  

And then you said okay.  

Mark didn’t want to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”  

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.  

“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”  

You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”  

“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”  

“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”  

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.  

“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.  

“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.  

Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.  

“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.  

Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.  

“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.

You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.  

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.

When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.   

“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.

“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.   

“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.  

He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.   

Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.  

Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.

“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.   

“That’s Y/N, idiot,” Chenle replied, looking equally stunned.   

“No way… seriously?” Jaemin’s eyes widened.   

“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.   

Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.   

“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.   

“No…uhm… she looks the same to me.” Mark muttered before walking away.   

You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.   

“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.   

You burst out laughing. “Me too.”  

He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”

Your laughter died in your throat.

“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.   

“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.   

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.   

“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.

“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours. 

Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.   

“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.

Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.  

Then, all at once, everything shattered.  

A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.  

You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.  

Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.  

The laughter grew louder.  

You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.  

“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.  

And then your gaze landed on Mark.  

He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.  

But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.  

A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.  

Your throat tightened.  

He really hated you that much.  

Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.  

Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.  

Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”  

Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.  

“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”  

Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.  

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.  

Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.  

Mark didn’t mean to stare.

But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.

You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.

And yet.

And yet.

His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.

He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.

And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.

It happened too fast.

A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.

The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.

Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.

His blood ran cold. He had done that.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.

Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”

You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.

Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.

Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.

He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.

"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.

Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.

Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.

Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.

Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world. 

Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?

Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”

Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.

Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”

Mark flinched. “I don’t—”

Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”

Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?

You were the one who hated him now.

By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.

You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.

After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.

If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.

Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.

“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”

“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.

“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”

You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.

You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.

The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.

Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.

He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.

Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.

“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.

When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.

“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”

Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.

“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.

“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.

“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.

“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.

“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.

Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.

Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”

“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.

“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”

“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”

“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”

“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.

Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.

You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.

“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”

Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.

You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.

…Right?

After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything. 

But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.

The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.

Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.

“Mark…”

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”

Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.

But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?

He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.

Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.

Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.

He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?

The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.

No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.

That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.

Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

Still, the thought gnawed at him.

After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.

So, he had to get creative.

It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.

So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.

He was finally going to talk to you.

He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.

"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.

You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.

"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.

"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.

"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."

He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.

"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."

"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."

Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.

Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.

You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.

"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"

Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?

"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.

Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.

"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"

"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."

"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."

His voice faded toward the end, barely audible. 

"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."

"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"

"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," he insisted.

You simply nodded, waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."

He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.

"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.

"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"

"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"

Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."

Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.

You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.

You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.

You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.

And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.

Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief. 

You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him. 

You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,  

"Hi..." he said quietly. 

You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.

You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.

"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."

The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.

"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.

You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.

You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.  

The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.  

"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.

He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."  

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."

"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.  

"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."

His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"

You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.

And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now. 

So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.

The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.

He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.

But today, he was going to sit next to you.

At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.

Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?

Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.

Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.

"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.

"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."

Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.

"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.

You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.

"Hello," Mark said, smiling.

You smiled back. "Hi."

From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."

Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."

“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.

“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.

Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.

Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.

“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”

“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.

“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”

You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”

“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.

Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.

“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”

Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.

“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”

“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”

Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.

Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.

Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.

The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.

Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.

Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.

“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”

He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.

“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.

Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.

“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”

“Need help?”

Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”

You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.

Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”

Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”

Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.

You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”

His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”

And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.

He missed that. The way you used to adore him.

And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.

After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?

You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.

“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.

“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”

It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.

“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.

“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.

You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.

When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.

Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”

Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”

That was a complete lie.

He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.

But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.  

And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.  

For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.  

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.  

You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”  

You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.  

“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”  

Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.  

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.  

You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.  

“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost.  Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”  

Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.  

The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.  

Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how.  Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.  

Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.

You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”

Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”

He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway. 

Because he had spent years holding himself back.

And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.

His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.

It would be so easy to close the space between you.

So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—

The greenhouse door banged open.

Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.

Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”

You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”

Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.

Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.

The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.

You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes. 

So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.

He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.

When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.

Like now.

“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.

“You’re awfully close to that thing.”

You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”

Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”

You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.

Mark swallowed.

He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.

Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”

You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”

Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”

You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”

Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.

Mark hesitated.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.

You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.

Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.

But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.

Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.

That sent a strange thrill through him.

But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”

Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”

But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you. 

He really needed to kiss you.

Badly.

Mark Lee was confusing you.

There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.

Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.

Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.

Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.

He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.

You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated. 

But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.

And then there was the incident.

It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.

And well... Mark had neither.

You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.

“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.

“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”

Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”

He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.

Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.

“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”

And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.

Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.

“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.

Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”

Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”

Mark froze.

He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.

“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.

“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”

The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”

You raised a brow. “Lately?”

Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.

You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”

“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.

You stepped closer.

“Mark.”

He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”

“Why did you do it?”

He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“For what?”

Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.

“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Touché.

“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”

He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.

You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.

There was ink on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”

You gasped.

And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.

His entire body was screaming kiss her.

You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—

“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”

You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.

“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.

“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked. 

And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.

That was three times.

Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter. 

Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.

When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

His heart stopped.

A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.

Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.

He blinked.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.

“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.

Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.

You hated Halloween patrols.

They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.

So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.

“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”

You froze.

The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.

Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.

“Mark?” your voice cracked.

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.

But the girl…

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.

Minjeong.

Your best friend.

Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.

She knew exactly how you felt about him.

Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.

You felt something splinter deep inside you.

“You—” your voice died in your throat.

Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.

You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.

“Mark,” you choked out again.

His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.

Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”

You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”

You flinched. Don’t touch me.

Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”

Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.

But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”

And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.

The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”

Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.

The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.

You’d be damned if you let them see you break.

What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.

Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.

All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…

…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.

A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.

You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.

Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.

He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.

But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.

Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.

He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.

“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.

“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.

Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.

“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.

“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.

“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.

“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.

Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”

“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”

“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”

Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”

Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”

Mark blinked. “Halloween?”

“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”

“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”

Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”

“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.

Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.

He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.

It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.

By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”

Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”

“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”

“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”

“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”

“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.

Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”

“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”

“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”

Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”

Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”

Mark blinked. “What…?”

“Did you get any chocolates that night?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”

Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”

“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”

“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”

“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”

“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”

Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”

Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”

Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”

“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”

“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”

“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”

“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”

“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What?! Why not?”

“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”

Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Minjeong.”

Mark blinked. “…What?”

Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”

Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”

Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.

You probably still thought that.

Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.

An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.

“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.

“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”

“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”

Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.

“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.

“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.

She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.

Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”

“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.

Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.

“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.

Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”

Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”

“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.

Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”

“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”

“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”

“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”

“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”

“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”

“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”

“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”

Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”

“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”

Silence.

Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”

“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.

She didn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.

Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”

“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”

Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”

“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”

The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.

But Mark wasn’t done.

“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”

Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”

“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”

Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.” 

“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”

Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”

“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”

Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”

“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.

And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.

Slowly, he turned around  and his heart dropped.

You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.

“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”

Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”

“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.

“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.

“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”

“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”

“I didn’t force him to eat them—”

“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”

Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.

“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion. 

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”

Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”

Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.

This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.

His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.

God, he was such an idiot.

When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.

Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”

“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”

“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.

Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”

“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”

“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”

Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.

You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.

Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”

“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.

“Where are we—”

“Just trust me,” you murmured.

Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes

“Whoa…”

The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.

“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”

You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”

Mark turned to you. “Why?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”

Mark blinked. “Do what?”

“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.

“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.

You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”

And that was it.

The final push Mark needed.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”

Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”

“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”

“With everything in me,” Mark choked.

Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.

“Can I—”

“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.

That was all it took.

Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.

And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.

You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”

Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.

He loved the sound of that.

This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.

read part 2 here

[domjaehyun]

under the influence (l.dh)

PAIRING ▸ stoner!haechan x fem!reader WORD COUNT ▸ 11.6k WARNINGS ▸ a hint of dubcon (she’s timid but very much likes the attention), pervy!dom!haechan, shy!sub!reader, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, finger sucking, oral (giving & receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play (receiving), marking, some cum eating, spit play, groping in public, panty stealing & sniffing PLAYLIST ▸ FYS - john concepcion, sweet release - kevin ross NOTES ▸ hii i hope you enjoy! any and all positive feedback is greatly appreciated, so send me an ask if you liked it or let me know in the tags pretty please :) 

As you press the button to call the elevator, you start to get the jitters. They start in your fingertips and travel up your arms to the back of your neck, making the fine hairs there stand on end, and you shudder slightly, shaking your head in an attempt to do away with the sensation.

The doors open with a ding, and you jump at the sound, making Yeri look over at you in alarm.

“Are you okay?” she asks, worries, and you nod, albeit a bit too quickly and vigorously to be convincing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a frown, and she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly. “Nothing!” you insist.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Karina reminds you, and your frown deepens. “But if you say so, I guess.” 

Relieved, you follow Yeri and Karina into the elevator and lean into the back corner of the shaft, resting your back against where the two walls meet. 

“We should watch a movie today,” Karina suggests excitedly, and she and Yeri fall into a discussion that you would join if you weren’t busy thinking about Haechan and whatever stunts he’s going to pull today. 

It takes three calls of your name from Karina and a vigorous shake from Yeri to snap you out of it, and you look at them sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Girl, where do you keep going? Every time I look over at you, you’re in la-la land.” Yeri asks, concerned and amused.

“Sorry, I was just… thinking.” you mumble.

“We know that,” Yeri says with a chuckle and roll of her eyes. “Thinking about what, hm?” she presses, and you balk.

“She’s probably thinking about Haechan and what stunts he’s gonna pull today.” Karina supposes, and you frown, upset you’ve been caught.

In your defense, Haechan is always up to shenanigans when you’re around; he pulls at your skirt to fluster you, plays with your hair to get your attention, strokes under your chin just to watch your eyes glaze over—you name it, he’s either done it or is probably thinking about it.

You can’t honestly say his advances are unwelcome because, well, you’ve had a crush on him for the past six months. But something about him is so intense, so jarringly locked in, that it makes you hesitate, and being the object of his full and undivided attention never fails to make you the shyest version of yourself, and you manage to make a fool of yourself almost every single time you get around him, and you have no idea how you’re going to deal with his antics today. 

“Girl.” Karina’s voice cuts through the fog in your brain and you blink hard, focusing on your friend’s concerned expression. “You’re doing it again.”

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your arm awkwardly. “I’m here, for real.”

As the bell dings and the doors open, the three of you file out of the elevator, walking towards the end of the hall to your destination.

“If you need help with him, let us know. We can make up a code word!” Karina suggests helpfully, and you smile, endeared by your friend’s attempt to calm your nerves.

“What should it be?” you wonder, and she screws her face up thoughtfully.

“Blinker.” Yeri answers, and you both turn to look at her. “It should be blinker. Like, if he’s getting too close and you can’t handle it, you can just say you kinda wanna try hitting a blinker or something like that.”

“The last time I hit a blinker, I coughed for ten minutes straight and it was the most painful experience of my life.” Karina recalls, grimacing at the memory. “It’s perfect.”

“Great.” Yeri says, smiling reassuringly at you before the three of you stop in front of the apartment door. Without a second thought, Yeri knocks three times on the door, stepping back to where you two are standing and waits with you for someone to open the door.

It opens a moment later to reveal Haechan standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and the other holding the door, and you wonder how such a simple stance has you short of breath.

He looks at Karina and Yeri, smiling pleasantly, before he locks eyes with you. Slowly wetting his lips, his eyes slowly drag up and down your frame, taking in your outfit and appearance before he meets your gaze once more and drops one eyelid into a flirtatious wink.

“Come on in,” he invites, stepping back to let Karina and Yeri in. When it’s your turn to pass, he moves closer, deliberately blocking part of your way so you have to brush by him to enter, and you’re sure it’s also no coincidence that he’s positioned himself so your chest has to brush against his. You swallow your nerves and continue walking past him, not daring to look back in case he’s looking at you; which, if today is anything like every other day you all hang out, he most certainly is. 

Shutting the door behind you, Haechan follows after the three of you into the living room, but waits, standing, by the chair where Mark sits—for what, you don’t know. You wave hello to Mark in his favorite armchair and Jeno on one end of the couch, who greet you pleasantly and resume their tasks of packing the bong and rolling a joint, respectively. Mildly confused but saying nothing at Haechan’s behavior, you take a seat at the other end of the couch, only for Haechan to move at last, crossing the living room to sit directly next to you.

Your throat dries up at the prospect of being so close to him, and you inhale shakily, wanting desperately to roll your eyes back in your head when you catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a moment, just rests one elbow on his knee and observes you with his cheek in his palm. His expression is nothing short of desiring as he takes in your appearance, your burgundy pleated skirt and short-sleeved cream blouse apparently quite the fascinating little number to him, causing you to shift awkwardly in your seat and self-consciously tug your skirt down a bit.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m staring at you because you look good,” Haechan compliments, eyeing you appreciatively. “You always look good, though, but today… damn.”

You blink at him, stunned by the flirtatious lilt to his voice, and mumble, “Oh.”

“Oh?” he mimics you, chuckling, and you furrow your brows, frowning at his teasing. His brows lift up as his face brightens with amusement, and he shakes his head slowly with a smile.

“Thank you.” you say softly, and he nods, smile widening. 

“You’re so cute.” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes dart around, looking everywhere but at him, but he recaptures your attention when he snickers quietly and you meet his gaze to see he’s no longer looking at your eyes, but your lips, and there’s a distinct longing in his stare that unnerves you and, if you’re honest, piques your curiosity. “Did you make it here okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble quietly, eyes shifting back and forth from his eyes to your lap before you give into temptation and look at his lips, regretting it instantly when they quirk up into a smirk as he catches you looking. “The bus was basically empty, and it had heating today.”

“Mm, that’s good to hear,” he muses, running his fingers through his hair, and you attempt to hide the way you swallow thickly at the attractive sight. “We don’t want anyone pressing up against such a pretty girl and trying anything sleazy, right?”

“Um…” you trail off, managing to restrain the reply on the tip of your tongue that Haechan is probably the most likely candidate to press up against you and try something sleazy.

“...Right.” he finishes for you, and you nibble your bottom lip.

“...Right.” you echo, and he grins. 

“So… Do you wanna smoke?” he asks.

“I do,” you confirm shyly, and he smiles slightly, no doubt amused by your nervousness.

“Good girl. Did you wanna hit my pen? It’s pretty strong.” he offers, and you won’t lie—your brain blanks for a minute at the praise, but you’re pretty sure you manage to recover just in time for Haechan not to notice anything.  

“Okay,” you reply hesitantly, and he grins.

“Great—give me one second to get something.” he says before standing up and heading to the back of the apartment to his room. You wait fairly patiently, fingers lightly drumming on your knee as you wait for him to return.

“What’s up?” Mark asks curiously.

“Haechan’s getting something from his room.” you explain, and Mark nods slowly, lips pursed thoughtfully.

Haechan returns from the back of the apartment after a moment with a new cartridge in his hand. You watch with mild fascination as he deftly switches the cartridges in his pen, taking a test pull and holding it in for so much time, you’d swear he’s trying to show off.

When he looks over at you and winks before blowing it out, your suspicions are confirmed. 

“This strain is special,” Haechan murmurs to you, and his eyes drop to your lips as he continues, “it’s a ‘horny’ strain.”

“A horny strain?” you mumble, confused, and he nods with a grin.

“It heightens libido.” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Want some?”

“That’s not real,” Mark calls out from across the living room, and you crane your head to see him. “There’s no actual science to back that up.”

Haechan scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No one signed up for your TEDTalk on weed; save it.”

Mark grumbles something about misinformation being the death of society but remains otherwise silent.

Haechan calls your attention back to him with a simple clearing of the throat, and you look back at him to see his gaze heavy-lidded and sultry as he regards you, and you start to wonder if Mark might actually be the misinformed one.

“Want some?” he repeats his question from earlier, and you hesitate, making him roll his eyes and chuckle. “It’s not gonna bite you.” As you shift closer to take the pen from him, he holds it out of your reach with a glint in his eye. “I might, though,” he murmurs, and you swallow thickly.

He scans your frame, eyes lingering on your almost outstretched hand, and takes a slow, deep pull from the pen, not holding it in for nearly as long before he’s leaning towards you suddenly, making you yelp and draw back.

“Relax,” he mumbles, some of the smoke slipping from his mouth. He cups your chin in his hand and tugs gently to get you to open your mouth before leaning closer, so close that you fear your lips might touch, leading you to attempt to pull back; however, Haechan’s grip on your chin tightens, a clear sign to stay where you are, and he blows the smoke into your mouth slowly. You’re deeply flustered at first, but your instincts kick in as you inhale the secondhand smoke, holding it in your lungs for a couple of seconds before blowing it back out.

When you’re done exhaling, you expect to pull back, but Haechan’s grip on you hasn’t loosened, the male now studying your lips with an intensity in his gaze that gives you a twinge of anxiety and something else you don’t have it in you to identify. 

“You ever shotgunned before?” he asks softly, and you shake your head as much as his hold on you will allow. “You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you mumble meekly. “Can you let me go now?”

He rolls his eyes slowly, lips quirking into a cocky grin as he does just that, releasing your chin and sitting back. “If you say so.”

“Thanks,” you mutter quietly, and he flicks his brows upwards in acknowledgement, gaze scanning you before lingering for a moment by the side of your face. “What is it?”

“You have something in your hair,” he says, gesturing to near your ear. When you fail to retrieve the foreign object, he tsks in dissatisfaction before leaning over and gently removing a single white feather from your hair. “Probably from the pillows.” he explains, the backs of his fingers gently grazing your ear as he pulls back. When you squirm away from his touch slightly, the contact too sensitive and ticklish, Haechan chuckles softly. “Look how nervous I make you.” His fingers return to your ear, gently stroking the shell of your ear, and your face blazes with embarrassment and something else as he hums softly. “Even your ear is hot. Do I make you hot anywhere else?” He drops his hand, fingers lightly skimming your upper thigh, and you just about jump out of your skin, cursing internally when you see the delight in his expression.

“Thanks for getting the feather out of my hair,” you say in a desperate attempt to navigate the conversation elsewhere, but it seems Haechan isn’t quite set on letting you off that easily.

“Oh, come on,” he presses, sitting closer to you and leaning so close you can smell his (delicious) cologne. “Don’t tell me your heart isn’t racing right now.”

It is, you think grimly. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.

“Haechan, leave the poor girl alone,” Karina calls from the other end of the couch, and the momentary waver in Haechan’s attention on you as his eyes dart elsewhere is all you need to scoot further back and smooth your skirt out with a vigorous clearing of your throat.

When Haechan looks back over at you, you’ve thankfully managed to regain a semblance of your composure, your gaze politely but pointedly focused at your hands in your lap.

“Pretty girl, you want another hit of the pen?” Haechan offers, and you think back to the way Haechan clutched your chin earlier to shotgun you, finally shaking your head in refusal. “Okay,” he relents, reaching into his back pocket for something and frowning before pulling out an empty hand. “I have something for you.” he says before standing up and heading back to his room.

He emerges once more with a half of a red gummy cube sticking out of his mouth, sitting back down on the couch and draping his arm over the back so it’s ghosting just over your shoulders. “Bite,” he urges through closed teeth, and you shoot him a wary look. “Bite,” he stresses, and you falter, not sure if you should.

“Is it an edible?” you ask cautiously, and he rolls his eyes, an amused chuckle leaving him. 

“Yes. Bite.” It’s not a request, and instead of getting huffy about him bossing you around, you’re more surprised than anyone else when you lean in and carefully bite the other end of the gummy, tugging your half away from his mouth before chewing it. It’s sweet and sugary, but there’s a definite strong aftertaste, a tongue-drying, almost numbing sensation that reminds you it was more than just a little snack. “See, you don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You don’t answer, instead sitting back and pulling out your phone to fire off a quick text to your group chat consisting of the two girls sitting a little ways away from you and your fourth roommate, Yurin, who usually frequents these hangout sessions but had to pass this time to study for midterms.

you [18:11pm] SOS

you [18:11pm] he keeps being all TOUCHY TOUCHY what do i do?

You set your phone down on the couch face down and stand up, heading to the bathroom to calm your nerves. 

Little do you know, your phone buzzes while you’re gone, Haechan’s curiosity getting the better of him as he flips your phone over. 

Luckily for him, and very unluckily for you, you don’t have a privacy setting on your Messages app notifications, meaning that any incoming texts can be read by any prying eyes, no passcode necessary.

yurin big trouble mister [18:14pm] maybe tell him how you get all TOUCHY TOUCHY with yourself to the thought of him 😁

karina bo bina [18:16pm] god could you be any more crass??

yurin big trouble mister [18:17pm] LMAOOO i couldn’t help it the joke was right there

yeri berry [18:18pm] you’re laughing. our dear friend is about to get consumed by a weed smoking incubus and you’re laughing.

Haechan snorts to himself in amusement, deliberately leaving your phone face-up for your return. You enter the room shortly after, picking up your phone and scrolling through your notifications with a small frown bordering on a grimace.

“What’s got you all upset, pretty?” Haechan asks, feigning curiosity, and you flinch, locking your phone and tossing it in your lap in a panic. “And now you’re jumpy, too? What’s on that phone that’s got you so stressed out, hm?” 

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly for your liking. 

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Haechan persists, voice lowering in pitch and volume as he moves closer to you, eyes bright with excitement and something else you can’t quite place. “I think there’s something incriminating on that phone.”

“Incriminating?” you mumble, dazed and flustered, and Haechan nods slowly, lips curling into a wolfish grin. 

“Incriminating like… nudes, maybe,” he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and at the sight of your confused face, shakes his head. “That must not be it. Maybe a message of some sort… from a friend…” You freeze as you realize exactly what’s going on, and Haechan’s grin only widens now that he can tell you know that he knows. “Wonder what you look like when you… how did she put it? ‘Get all touchy touchy with yourself’ to the thought of me.” 

“Haechan,” you murmur, heart rate quickening as you try to think of any possible way out of this conversation. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.” he counters with a mischievous wiggle of his brows, and you whimper in panic, desire starting to blaze in his eyes at the sound. 

“What were you doing looking at my phone, anyway?” you accuse, cursing to yourself as your voice shakes slightly.

“I’m nosy,” is all he offers in response. “And, oh, please, you wanted me to see that text. You wanted me to know that late at night,” he teases, pulling your hand closest to him away as you squeal and try to cover your ears, “you touch your pretty little pussy,” he forces your hand back down between you two with a chuckle, “and think about me.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?” you mumble nervously, and he just laughs.

“You don’t want everyone to know that you’re into me, do you?” he remarks, and you swallow thickly, looking down at your lap. “I’ll keep your little secret. For a price.”

You study him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously. “What price?”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning back and draping his arm behind you on the couch. “I’ll let you know.” His voice is teasing but there’s an ominous edge to his voice that makes you gulp.

“Hey, Yeri?” you call, and her attention is on you instantly. “Remember when, um, you hit that blinker earlier? How’s your throat feeling?”

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly in understanding and she rubs her throat gingerly, frowning deeply. “It’s still sore. Wanna come get some water with me?”

“Yes,” you accept the offer gratefully and practically spring up from the couch, following after Yeri and ignoring, to the best of your ability, Haechan’s little snicker from behind you.

“You wanna switch seats?” Yeri asks in a low, concerned voice as you two enter the kitchen, and she laughs when you hesitate.

“I mean, I like it, I just… need a quick break.” you mumble, and she nods, pouring herself a glass of water. “Could you guys, um, hear him earlier?”

“No… why?” she scrutinizes you, and you blink, flustered. 

“He saw the group chat texts.” you mutter, and her eyes widen in alarm, setting her glass down a bit too harshly, the loud clink resonating throughout the room.

“I’m gonna kill Yurin.” she hisses.

“Not if I get there first.” you huff, and she snickers. Footsteps sound out from the living room, making their way to the kitchen, and Yeri pauses. “It’s not Haechan,” you assure her. “I think it’s Karina.”

Sure enough, Karina enters the kitchen, and Yeri looks at you in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“I recognize the footsteps.” you explain with a shrug. “Plus, the guys are wearing house slippers and we’re in, like, socks, so it makes a different sound.”

“Okay, little miss super spy.” Yeri teases with a laugh, and you giggle, pushing her playfully. “Have you recovered, you think?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, smiling. “I’m ready to go back out there.”

“What’d I miss?” Karina whines, and Yeri looks at you expectantly.

“Haechan saw the texts about me… at night… that Yurin sent.” you explain carefully, and Karina lets out a loud gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

“I’m killing her.” she groans, and you and Yeri chuckle.

“Get in line, girl.” Yeri says, and Karina snorts in amusement.

“You’re gonna be okay if we go back out there, right?” Karina asks worriedly, and you’re briefly overcome with appreciation for your friends.

“I’ll be okay, I’m pretty sure. I’ll just say blinker again if anything goes wrong.” you confirm, nodding resolutely, and the crease between Karina’s brows fades away as she relaxes.

You three make your way back to the living room, fully preparing to sit back down, but thankfully, before Haechan can torment you further, Jeno inadvertently saves your life and whatever’s left of your dignity by standing up from the couch abruptly and clapping his hands together. “I’m hungry. Diner?”

“I would kill for waffles,” Karina agrees, and Mark and Haechan also stand and start to grab their belongings as you all make your way to the door and slip your shoes on. 

As you shuffle between Yeri and Karina for protection and wait as the elevator descends to the indoor garage of the apartment complex, a tickle starts to build in your throat, making you clear it quietly, then more insistently when the sensation persists. 

“You okay?” Haechan asks, hand poised over your back to pat it in assistance, and you nod.

“My throat is just… a little dry,” you mumble, and Haechan nods in understanding, reaching into his jacket and handing you a Blow Pop. “Thanks,” you mutter, pleasantly surprised as you unwrap the lollipop and stick it into your mouth. By the time the doors open on the garage floor, the flavored saliva produced by the sweet treat sitting in your cheek has almost entirely soothed your throat, and you’re feeling significantly better. 

The six of you make your way to where Jeno’s and Haechan’s cars are parked beside each other and stand behind the two cars, silently deliberating amongst yourselves.

“Well, I call shotgun.” Mark calls out, and Jeno unlocks his car, Mark sliding into the passenger seat.

“There’s no way all six of us are gonna cram into Jeno’s car,” Yeri remarks incredulously. 

“Yeah, definitely not, because my middle backseat’s seat belt isn’t working and the airbag sensors are fucked up, so it’s a seat belt or nothing in my car.” Jeno laments, and your skin starts to crawl as you realize where this might be heading. 

“So your car only seats four… and there are six of us…” you say slowly, pulling the lollipop from your lips with a muted wet pop that has Haechan eyeing you like a lion about to corner the slowest gazelle of the herd. Usually, there are seven of you, so even if you had to ride with Haechan, there’d be a third body present in the form of the lovably boisterous Yurin.

Curse Yurin’s midterms, and curse Yurin for sending that text, and curse yourself for leaving your phone where Haechan could see, and curse Haechan for being nosy—

“I’ll ride with Haechan,” Karina offers, noticing the way you become more and more quiet as you sink further into your worries. 

“No, you won’t.” Haechan says, leaning against his passenger door. Everyone looks over at him, and he just pushes off of the door, opening it and pointing directly at you. “Get in.”

“Oh, gosh.” you mumble, and you’re not sure if it’s the weed effect making you feel sluggish or you’re really that apprehensive, but you feel a bit like a puppet with sandbags for shoes, your feet hesitantly shuffling, dragging, scuffling towards Haechan’s passenger door.

“It’s an eight-minute drive,” Yeri calls to you sympathetically, and you nod, shooting her a feeble thumbs up that you don’t even believe. “We’ll see you soon!” 

“Yeah,” you croak, feeling very much like a lamb being led to slaughter, and Haechan smiles sweetly at you, baring all his teeth as you sit in his car. He closes the passenger door and crosses over to the driver’s side, opening the door and getting in. 

When Haechan finishes settling down into the driver’s seat, checking his mirror views and pulling up the GPS to the diner, he straps himself in and looks over at you, eyes scanning your frame for something—you don’t quite know what. Seemingly done with his inspection, he leans closer to you without warning and reaches for the seat belt buckle in your chair, pulling it out and over your body as he clicks it into place. The whole while, he’s invading your personal space, your breath catching in your throat as you realize his face is close enough to yours that you could probably count his lashes if you wanted to.

He turns his head ever so slightly, eyes locking on yours, and you blink rapidly in alarm, rendered immobile as he studies your face.

“You look so cute, all innocent and helpless like this.” he murmurs softly, and the tiniest of squeaks escapes you, his eyes flashing with glee at the sound. “Now stop looking at me like that,” he warns, “or I’ll kiss you.”

You blanch, trying immediately to make any other expression than the one you didn’t even know you were sporting, and he chuckles before sitting back in his seat and starting his car. He turns the air conditioning on—a strange choice, considering it’s a bit nippy outside—and pulls out of his spot, starting to drive towards the diner.

It doesn’t take long for you to get cold, goosebumps gradually appearing on your arms and legs, but you’re a bit too nervous to say anything, instead suffering in silence. You clasp your hands together in your lap, rubbing them together for warmth, and, as he stops at a red light, Haechan looks over at you, watching in fascination as you shift in your seat for any sort of friction that could warm you. After a moment, you notice his eyes fixated pointedly on your chest, and you spare a glance down to see, to your alarm, that your nipples are hard, starting to poke through your clothing, and you curse internally for wearing a thin, lacy bra that does nothing to conceal your stiffened buds.

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking in what seems like satisfaction, before refocusing his attention on the road. You cross your arms over your chest protectively, tucking your fingers into the crooks of your elbows as he drives down the road.

“We’re here,” he announces after some time, pulling into a parking spot in front of the diner and turning the car off. The cold air blowing through the vents shuts off, much to your relief, and you unbuckle your seat belt before he gets the chance, practically flinging yourself out of the car into the significantly less cold night air.

As you all file into the diner, you notice a man staring very pointedly at you and your bare legs and your chest, where your nipples have yet to go down. 

Haechan scans the room, catches sight of the man, and follows his gaze back to where you stand, his jaw clenching.

“Put this on,” Haechan murmurs, shrugging off his jacket and offering it to you. You start to take it, eager for warmth, but pause, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

His gaze flicks over your shoulder at where the man from earlier sits, and understanding dawns on you. “Just—put it on for me?” 

You nod, gratefully accepting the jacket, and Haechan steps closer, draping it over your shoulders and helping you put your arms through the sleeves. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he nods.

“You look cute in my jacket.” he remarks with a small smirk, and your cheeks warm.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and he trails his tongue along his bottom lip before gesturing for you to follow after him with a jerk of his head, a quick peek past him revealing the hostess who’s arrived to take you all to your seats.

When you arrive at the booth, Haechan’s right by you, gesturing for you to go in first. You do so without complaint, preferring the inner seat anyway, but it’s when Haechan slides in next to you that you realize your mistake as he closes you into the booth corner, the main obstacle between you and freedom from, well, him.

As the hostess passes out menus and you all start to look them over, you feel the side of his hand resting against the side of your thigh, making you attempt to shift away from his hand, the touch too intimate for you to handle at the moment.

Somehow, his hand finds its way back against your leg, palm turned up slightly as he lightly grazes his fingertips along your thigh, and you suck in a sharp breath, doing your best to pass it off as a cough when Haechan looks over at you, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I think I’m gonna get the breakfast platter,” Yeri says excitedly. “It comes with pancakes, eggs prepared how you want them, homefries, and your choice of meat.” 

“That sounds so good,” you reply thoughtfully. “I think I want a burger.” 

“Yeah, a burger sounds good,” Haechan agrees, eyes slowly sliding over to study your reaction as he flattens his palm against your leg, slowly sliding it up to caress your upper thigh. Your reaction must be nothing short of rewarding, as you jolt so forcefully that you shake the table slightly, and he chuckles softly.

“You okay, girl?” Karina asks, worried, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“I just, um…felt a tickle on my ankle. Thought it was a bug or something.” you mumble, and she nods, eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

“I know I said waffles earlier, but I kind of want these barbecue ribs,” Karina says, pointing at an entry on the menu, but you can barely make your gaze focus on where her finger touches the menu because Haechan’s hand is still very much on your thigh, and to make matters worse, you think you like it.

His hand slides up higher, the side of his thumb slipping under the hem of your skirt, and you raise your glass to your lips in an attempt to act natural, hoping and praying no one notices the way your hand is shaking slightly.

Haechan leans in closer to you, murmuring in your ear, “This must be a dream come true for you, huh?” He grips your thigh firmly, not even attempting to play it off as a casual touch anymore, and you barely manage to stifle your yelp of surprise in time. “Must have been wanting this for so long,” he breathes secretively, smiling lips grazing the shell of your ear so subtly, no one else would notice unless they were paying unnaturally close attention.

You, however, do notice. Not only do you notice, but you suck in a sharp breath of surprise, the sudden movement making the water in your cup slosh forward and spill out slightly, a few droplets dripping down your chin.

You suck your teeth in mild irritation, glaring at Haechan as you reach for your napkin, but he’s faster, his free hand coming up and wiping the liquid off of your chin.  

“Um, thanks.” you mumble, and he nods, locking eyes with you as he licks at the pad of his thumb, cleaning off the water droplets with his mouth. “Oh, dear Neptune.” you whisper to yourself, feeling more and more overwhelmed by the moment. “Where is this waitress—I need to eat something.”

“Yeah, we should let her know we’re ready to order,” Mark says, waving a hand out to flag down the waitress. As she approaches, you sneak a peek at Haechan, whose expression is surprisingly calm and neutral given the sensual, slow circles he’s drawing on your upper thigh with his thumb.

Haechan’s hand slips further in between your legs, getting dangerously close to your core, and you decide that’s enough play time for him, clamping your legs together forcefully.

“You trapped my hand, pretty girl,” he points out with a growing grin, and you ignore him even as he continues, “I didn’t know you liked it that much.”

You still don’t give him a response, staring stubbornly out the booth window, and he chuckles before withdrawing his hand from your legs with such ease that you wonder if he was ever really stuck there.

“Oh, we’re doing the silent treatment? Copy that.” he muses, nodding slowly in understanding, and you can’t help but wonder what else he has in store for you.

Today, the energy in the room is entirely different—and you don’t like it one bit.

Haechan won’t even acknowledge you today; his eyes skip over you when he scans the room like you’re not even there, or, worse, he seems to be looking completely through you at times, completely unaffected by your presence.

“Girl, did you piss Haechan off or something?” Yeri whispers to you, and your brows knit together as you shake your head. “He hasn’t made a single move on you all day.”

“I know,” you mutter bitterly.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Karina supplies in an attempt to help, but her words practically fall on deaf ears as you stare burning holes into the side of his face as he laughs at something Mark said.

“I’m about to be sick,” you mumble, your stomach twisting uncomfortably as your somewhat secret crush that used to be obsessed with you treats you like you’re nothing more than a couch cushion.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but when Haechan gets up and heads towards the kitchen. you find yourself standing to follow, mumbling that you’ll be right back to Karina.

Haechan stands with his back to you at the kitchen island, pouring a can of something—it looks like Monster—into a glass, and you take a moment to admire his slender yet lean build, the curve of his shoulders and the perfectly mussed up state of his hair—

“I know you’re there, you know.” he says calmly, and your eyes widen as you immediately attempt to look busy doing anything other than blatantly ogling him. He turns right when you’ve reached for a bag of Ruffles chips and raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You have something you want to say?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly thrown off-guard, and he blinks at you impassively.

“I noticed you staring at me,” is all he says in response, and you blanch, pursing your lips carefully.

“Haechan, are you mad at me?” you ask softly, and he smirks.

“And why do you ask that?”

You fidget with the hem of your skirt nervously, averting your gaze to look at the granite countertop. “Well, you… haven’t talked to me all night.”

Haechan doesn’t say anything for a concerningly long time, prompting you to look up at him and immediately wish you hadn’t. He looks beyond smug, and painfully attractive as he leans in slightly, not close enough to get in your space but close enough to send a thrill down your spine. 

“You were giving me the silent treatment the other day, right?” he reminds you, and you hesitate, realizing you were the cause for his radio silence. “I was just returning the favor.”

“Well, don’t.” you say with a frown, and he raises his eyebrows, amused and surprised.

“Why not? Did you miss me or something?” he teases, and you balk, losing all your nerve as quickly as you’d found it.

“No!” you answer quickly, and he arches an eyebrow skeptically, prompting you to continue, “No, I just—”

“You and I don’t really talk much, anyway,” Haechan muses, leaning his back against the island as he regards you with a cocky glint in his eyes. “So what is it you really miss, hm?”

“Well—” you struggle to find your words, and something softens in Haechan’s gaze, the cocky twinkle now accompanied with a smile bordering dangerously on fondness.

“You miss me messing with you, don’t you?” he asks, and at your lack of response, nods in confirmation. “You miss me touching you?” he questions, dragging out the syllables excruciatingly slowly. He sucks his teeth when you still don’t reply and says, “I know you do. You know you do. Now just admit it.”

“I can’t,” you protest weakly, and he shrugs, raising his hands in surrender.

“You want me to touch you again? Give me what I want.” He sounds dead serious and painfully unwavering on his stance, prompting you to whimper quietly to yourself, too wrapped up in your own nerves to notice the way his eyes darken at the sound of your desperation.

“I want you to touch me.” you mumble shamefully, and his lips quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. 

“Come here; say it again.” he urges, beckoning you closer, and you hesitate, making a challenge flash in his expression before he’s poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek and chuckling. “Don’t make me come over there.”

“I want you,” you say, “to touch me,” you repeat your words from earlier, trying desperately to look anywhere but at him.

You can see him crossing the distance between you in your peripheral vision, your insides tensing with anticipation as he gets closer and closer. To your utter disappointment, he continues to walk as if he’s going to pass you, only pausing to tilt his head to the side in a patronizing display of faux sympathy.

“Good girl. Now, was that so hard?” he chuckles, not even giving you a chance to respond before he continues his path out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What in the absolute hell did you just get yourself into?

You’re coming back from the bathroom when you quite literally almost run into Haechan in the hallway. 

“Sorry,” you say, stepping to the side to get past, but he steps to the same side. You laugh awkwardly before stepping to the other side, only for him to do the same, his movements far too calculated to be a mistake, and you come to the realization that he’s intentionally blocking your path. “Haechan?” you ask quietly, nervousness creeping into your voice, and he chuckles.

He takes a step towards you, prompting you to take a cautious one backwards, and his smile widens as he advances on you, slowly but surely herding you back towards the bathroom. When your back hits the nearby wall, your eyes widen, and he mocks you, briefly widening his eyes in faux surprise before flicking his brows up suggestively and placing one hand on the wall by your head on the side you could escape from, successfully trapping you in a makeshift corner. 

“You’re so cute, really.” Haechan sighs, smiling fondly at you, but there’s a devious twinkle in his eye as he regards you.

As he closes in on you, your body is alight with nerves and anticipation, and you decide to try again, feebly calling, “...Haechan?”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he quiets you soothingly, reaching up with his free hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Don’t act like you don’t want this, baby.” As if to prove his point, he presses his knee between your legs, thigh pressing up against your clothed core, and a poorly restrained moan bubbles up in your throat.

“Haechan—” you whine, and he shoots you a smug smile.

“See, baby? I know you want it. You know I want it. That’s why you always wear these tiny fucking skirts whenever you come over,” he states, hand dropping from your face to tug at the hem of your skirt, and you gasp—both at the sudden yanking and the insistent pressing of his thigh against your core. “You like it when I do this. Bet you were waiting for me to slip my hands under your skirt to touch you.”

“Mm-mm,” you protest, but the way your hips move against him, rolling back and forth and grinding wantonly in search of relief, is telling another story, Haechan arching a brow skeptically. 

“Mm, no? You don’t like it? But, wait… what was that you said in the kitchen earlier?” he questions, a taunting lilt to his words. “‘I want you to touch me,’” he echoes your earlier request in a poor imitation of your voice. “Well, I’m touching you, baby—don’t you like it?” When your only reply is a small nod, he shakes his head disapprovingly, gaze darkening. “Words.”

“Yes,” you whimper, breath catching in your throat when he rewards you with a firm upwards press of his thigh into your core. Your movements speed up slightly as you feel that familiar tightening sensation in your abdomen, your climax not far ahead.

“Are you gonna cum just like this?” he asks, and there’s a hint of amusement to his words but it’s almost entirely overtaken by the heavy desire in his voice. 

“Mm-hm,” you whine softly, your desperation peaking as your high gets closer and closer. 

“Beg me to let you cum.” he urges, and you’re already so far gone that your shame is all but done away with.

“Please, Haechan, can I cum?” you pant urgently, a slight pleading quality to your words as you feel the beginnings of your climax, pleasure blooming between your legs in a gush of warmth. “Please?” you whimper, and something in him snaps, Haechan lurching forward and cupping your face in his hands to hold you in place as he kisses you deeply, his tongue tracing along your lower lip as you tremble and moan weakly into his mouth. 

When you move to pull away to breathe, he clutches your face more firmly, slipping his tongue into your mouth and exploring at his leisure, all the while ignoring your muffled, plaintive cries for air. 

“Haechan, I can’t breathe,” you rasp out finally, and he lets you go with a shaky inhale and an unmistakable reluctance. 

“You are so goddamn addicting.” he pants, and his hands drop to your hips, resuming the motions you weren’t aware you’d stopped. “Keep going.”

His hands keep guiding your movements, practically dragging you back and forth on his thigh as he kisses you again. This kiss is messier than the last as he sucks on your tongue and pulls back to trail his lips down your neck, stopping just above your pulse point and sucking hard, a gasp escaping you at the pleasurable sensation.

“Mine,” he grunts against your throat, sinking his teeth into a new patch of skin and sucking there, too, without a doubt leaving some form of mark behind. “All fucking mine.” he repeats, clutching your hips tighter and dragging you up his leg and closer to him, lips parting from your neck with a loud, wet pop and connecting with yours eagerly. “Gonna fucking ruin you, princess.”

“Hae—” you barely get the first syllable of his name out before he’s sealing his mouth over yours again, fingers creeping into the kiss to pry your mouth open.

“Open,” he mutters, brows furrowed in concentration. When you oblige, he taps your tongue impatiently until you let it hang out of your mouth, Haechan sucking in a deep breath as he eyes you appreciatively. Without any warning or preamble, Haechan spits directly onto your tongue, and you whimper, voice cracking slightly. “Swallow. I’m gonna do it again.” You swallow his saliva, the extra moisture in your mouth jarring but not unwelcome, and return to your previous pose of your mouth open with your tongue hanging out. 

He grins and leans in again, hovering over your waiting tongue as he drops a long, clear string of saliva from his puckered lips down to your mouth. “Don’t swallow.” He pulls back from you slightly and pushes his middle and ring finger into your mouth, the cool silver of his ring catching your taste buds as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth, gliding them against your tongue to collect as much wetness as he can. “Good girl,” he coos, pleased, and you’re embarrassed by the rush of warmth between your legs that appears at the praise. “Need them nice and wet for you.”

Not wasting a minute, he snakes his slick, spit-covered fingers past the band of your underwear and starts to stroke over your folds, digits gliding amongst your arousal with embarrassing ease. 

“You’re a mess down here,” he remarks, eyes alight with glee and something wild, primal as he teases you. “You like me that much? Hm?” He seems not to need an answer as he grins cockily at you, eyes scanning your face intently to drink in your every reaction to his touch, no matter how small. He trails his fingers up, up, up until he’s brushing the underside of your clit, and you jolt, flinching away. 

“Haechan, that’s sensitive—”

“I know, baby,” he coos. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.” With the hand not currently in your underwear, he laces his fingers with yours, the back of his hand pressed against the palm of your own, and trails your linked hands down your body to join his other hand in your underwear. “Show me,” he rasps, and you blink at him, too far gone to fully understand exactly what he means. “Show me how you do it when you’re alone—when you think of me.”

Cheeks blazing, you realize you’re in no position to refuse, so you guide his hand into massaging your clit in circles, your abdomen tensing reflexively whenever his fingers graze the sensitive underside of your clit. 

“Talk to me, baby.” he urges gently, and you whine in protest, the fire in your face increasing nearly tenfold. “Wanna hear that pretty voice tell me how you touch your little pussy.”

“I just rub it in circles like this,” you mumble, voice slightly husky with desire, and the shift doesn’t go unnoticed, if the intensifying of Haechan’s gaze means anything. 

“You don’t go inside?” he asks softly, and you shake your head.

“Doesn’t feel good when I do it,” you whimper, and he sucks in air sharply, swearing under his breath as he watches your face twist in pleasure. It’s all too much for you, having his undivided attention on you like this, and you look away, a shudder traveling through your body as another climax approaches.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, and you reluctantly oblige, pleading eyes locking on his as your peak gets closer by the second. “Only look at me.”

“Okay,” you agree, the last syllable coming out like more of a squeak, and he smiles brilliantly, the hand not pleasuring you slipping out of your underwear and lifting your shirt up to reveal your breasts in your thin, lacy light blue bra. Leaning down, he wraps his lips around one of your nipples through the fabric and starts to suck, tongue swirling around the stiffening bud so wetly that his saliva starts to darken the fabric, the warmth of his spit seeping through the fabric. 

He sucks at your nipples with an almost ferocity, alternating breasts like he can’t get enough of either, and his hand snakes around your back to unclasp your bra, Haechan pushing the garment out of the way as soon as it’s loose and latching onto your nipple with a low groan of satisfaction.

As he flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue, his fingers stroke you closer and closer to your high until you’re so close you can practically taste the sweet, heady feeling of ecstasy. “Show me what you sound like when you cum, baby.”

“Oh—shit—oh, my God,” you hiss as your eyes screw shut tight, pleasure coursing through your body as your orgasm travels through your system. “Feels so good,” you whimper, and he hums in agreement.

“Say my name, baby.”

“Haechan—” you moan wantonly, and he lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl as he tugs at your nipple with his teeth.

He doesn’t stop attending to your breasts until he’s certain he’s milked every last second of bliss from your body, alternating between sucking and flicking and swirling his tongue around the buds until you go limp, your body slumping against the wall for support. 

Finally, he pulls his arousal-coated fingers from your underwear, trailing them over your bottom lip before pushing the digits into your mouth to suck. 

You do so with an embarrassing amount of eagerness, and are just as surprised as Haechan when he pulls his fingers from your mouth and you whine in protest.

His brows shoot up into his hairline and you feel heat blazing furiously in your cheeks as he regards you with a mix of surprise and an expression that looks close to impressed.

“You like to suck, yeah?” he murmurs, and you nod hesitantly. Something flashes in his dark eyes, and he grins. “Wanna suck something bigger?”

Hesitant but undoubtedly excited, you nod, and he wets his lips before setting about unbuckling his belt and opening his jeans. 

As he does, you slowly sink to your knees, and when he looks up from his pants to see you kneeling before him, he lets out a loud swear that you fear might blow your cover.

As you stare in awe at his impressive size, you realize you’re less worried about getting caught than you are about having to stop. He watches you watch him with amusement and fascination, but the undercurrent of desire runs strong as he clicks his tongue to get your attention. 

You look up at him, and he licks his lips, exhaling a small puff of air before wrapping a hand around his base.

“This is the prettiest sight I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he praises, and you smile, heat rising to your cheeks once more. Lowering himself slightly, he cups your breasts, pressing them together and grunting, “I’m gonna fuck these one day. But now?” he says, releasing them and stroking your chin affectionately. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty mouth.”

“You ever suck someone off, baby?” he asks in a low voice, and you shake your head, making his eyes slide shut in bliss as he squeezes himself harder. “Fuck, I’m your first?”

“Yes,” you mumble shyly, and he coos affectionately at you, leaning down slightly to cup your chin with his free hand. 

“Remember when you were sucking that little lollipop the other day?” he asks, and you nod. “It’s kind of like that. Use your tongue, and the wetter it is, the better.”

You nod carefully and sit forward, letting your jaw drop open. 

“Fuck, baby. Tongue out for me?” he grunts, and you oblige, letting your tongue drop out of your mouth and lie flat for him. “So good, baby, just like that,” he encourages, leaning forward and guiding the head of his cock into your mouth. 

It feels strange but not unwelcome, and you suck gently at the head of his cock, more focused on using your tongue to explore the intrusion in your mouth. Based on the way Haechan’s breathing shallows and quickens, you suspect you’re doing a pretty good job.

“Baby, you’re so good at this,” he groans, his head tipping back before it snaps back up as he seemingly realizes he’d rather watch you. “Mouth looks so pretty wrapped around my cock like that.”

You can only manage a whimper as you boldly press forward, taking more of his length into your mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath as you swirl your tongue around his length before tentatively flicking it over the slit in the head of his cock. He groans weakly and, emboldened, you do it again, Haechan letting out a delicious little grunt that spurs you to kick it up another notch.

You start to bob your head, doing your best to alternate between bobbing and licking, and Haechan shudders deeply, his hand releasing the rest of his cock and moving to cup the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair. 

“Just like that—fuck—” he hisses, biting his lip as he watches you suck him off, skill increasing with every movement. When you push forward a bit too suddenly, eager to impress him, you choke briefly on his length, throat constricting slightly as your gag reflex activates slightly. “Oh, shit—”

Despite the slight ache to the back of your throat, you keep sucking, moving forward slower this time to allow your throat time to adjust to his size. When you massage the underside of his tip with your tongue, wet muscle gliding over the ridge of skin, he moans your name and it’s one of the most rewarding sounds you think you’ve ever heard.

“So good,” he pants as you bob your head up and down, and his length twitches in your mouth, giving you a hint that he’s close. “Gonna cum, baby.”

You move your head faster, sucking his length to the best of your ability with all the tricks you just learned, and his fingers grip your hair tightly as he spills into your mouth, his hips sluggishly thrusting forward as he shallowly fucks your mouth. 

“You,” he grunts, helping you to your feet so you’re face to face and kissing you deeply, “are a fast little learner.” His tongue slips between your lips and he explores your mouth eagerly, licking at your tongue and inner cheeks as you whimper, dizzied by the fervor of his kisses. 

“Baby,” he mumbles into the kiss, the urgency in his voice waking you up slightly, “I wanna eat you out. Can I taste you, princess?” When you nod, he grins brilliantly. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He drops to his knees and slides his hands up from your ankles, hands slipping under your skirt to caress your hips. Pulling your underwear off, he drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, warm, slender fingers spreading apart your folds to get a better look at you.

When you whine softly in embarrassment, he shushes you gently, murmuring, “I just want to admire you for a second, baby, please?” He ducks his head under your skirt and sucks in a sharp breath when he’s met with the sight of your core, folds glistening with your arousal. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes in awe, and before you can reply, his mouth is on you, upper lip resting just above your clit as his tongue strokes along your folds indulgently.

“Oh, my God,” you whisper, stumbling back slightly to lean against the wall behind you. Haechan moves with you fluidly, massaging your clit with his tongue as his fingers clutch your thighs, kneading the flesh with greedy, rough movements.

Tongue moving downwards towards your entrance, he prods the tip of it against your hole, chuckling when you jolt and squirm under his actions. “Don’t be shy, baby, I just want to taste.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and he must be able to tell, because his tongue pushes forward, slowly breaching your entrance. You suck in a loud breath as his tongue delves further into you, occasionally coming out to slurp up the arousal dripping from your hole. 

“Tastes so good, baby,” he moans, his nose rubbing against your clit as he slowly starts to move his tongue in and out inside of you. The feeling is strange but amazing, a slightly ticklish element to the pleasure you’re receiving as he tongue-fucks you. 

Slurping loudly and moaning even louder, Haechan loses himself in your core, alternating between tongue-fucking you and licking at your folds and clit, leaving sloppy wet kisses that make your mind spin.

“Yeah, you like that?” he grunts, sucking at your clit hard before slipping his tongue out to stroke the sensitive underside of the sensitive bud. “You like when I kiss your pretty pussy? Hm? Do you like it when I make out with your sweet little pussy?”

“Yes,” you whimper, fingers clutching at his head over your skirt. When you get a good grip on him, you start to pull him closer, wanting more of his touch.

“Always so good—so shy and innocent.” Haechan murmurs, words slightly muffled from his oral ministrations on your pussy. “Now look at you; look how bad you’re being.”

“Haechan, please,” you breathe, and he turns his head to suck at your inner thighs, no doubt leaving a mark or two in his wake.

“Wanna see just how bad I can make you be.” he coos before surging forward to lap at your core eagerly, losing himself once more in the taste of you. “Fucking delicious, baby, you taste so good for me.”

He sucks and licks and kisses—even nibbles a bit—until your legs are shaking and your grip on his hair is iron-clad. You briefly consider the extremely compromising position someone might find you in if one of your friends walked down the hall and are surprised to find that not only do you not care, but there’s even a smidge of excitement when you think about getting caught like this, with Haechan’s head under your skirt and your breasts exposed.

“Haechan, I’m—I think I’m gonna—” you pant out, and he nods fervently, tongue slipping out of your entrance to flick your clit back and forth rapidly, a sharp whine slipping from you.

“Cum for me, baby—cum all on my tongue.” he urges, pulling you closer as he feverishly laps at your clit and entrance, shaking his head from side to side rapidly to run his tongue along your core back and forth. “That’s it, pretty girl, just let go.” he purrs, coaxing your climax out of you, and you do just that, letting the coil wound tight in your abdomen snap and letting the pleasure flood through your body.

“Haechan—” you whimper, and he hums soothingly as his tongue massages your clit once more, thoroughly milking your orgasm for all its worth. When the trembling of your legs has calmed down slightly and you’ve started to breathe normally once more, he pops his head out from under your skirt and winks up at you, chin and lips covered in your arousal.

“You’re addicting, baby; could eat your pussy for hours.” he says as he rises to his feet. A look downwards grants you the sight of his erection, fully hard once more, and you swallow thickly before looking up at him only to see that he’s already watching you with a small grin on his face. “Think you can handle one more?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it, and Haechan beams at you, drawing closer and closer until you’re flat against the wall. 

Nudging your legs apart, he settles between them and aligns his tip with your entrance, looking up from where your bodies meet to your face.

“Ready, baby?” he asks, and you nod carefully, eyes drifting back down from his face to where the thick head of his length presses against your core. “Good girl,” he breathes before pushing into you slowly, covering your mouth with his palm as you gasp out loudly. “Baby, they’ll catch us if you keep making noise like that.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, but it’s a muffled apology given that Haechan’s hand is still firmly clasped over your mouth. “So full,” you whisper in awe, and he chuckles lowly in your ear, lips pressing to the spot just behind your lobe. 

“Feel so tight around me, baby,” he grunts, his labored breathing in your ear telling you that he’s just as affected as you are. “So fucking good—”

“Haechan, move,” you whisper urgently as he bottoms out in you, and he obliges, pulling out to the tip and pushing into you again. A loud whoosh of air escapes your lungs, and he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, making you let out a loud whimper that would have been much louder had Haechan’s hand not muffled it.

“I’m starting to think you want to get caught.” Haechan murmurs with a smile on his lips as he kisses along your jaw and moves his hand to kiss you. 

“Mm—! No, I don’t—” you insist through your cries of pleasure, and he shakes his head with a taunting grin.

“Yes, you do,” he teases. “You want all our friends to come in this hallway and see me fucking you like the perfect little fuckdoll I always knew you could be.”

“Hae–chan—” you stutter, tiny noises leaving you with every powerful thrust of his hips. He’s so good, so big and thick, and he’s filling you up just right and hitting all the right places, and it becomes too much very quickly, an overwhelming amount of pleasure rushing through your body as he fucks into you. If it couldn’t get worse for you, he reaches between you two and his fingers find your clit, rubbing it in quick circles just like you showed him earlier. “Fuck—stop—too much—”

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?” he coos, shifting himself to angle his hips into you just right so that every snap of his hips sends his tip fucking directly into your g-spot. 

You feel warmth behind your eyes, the telltale pricking at the corners that you know all too well, and the first tear drops before you can wipe it away, another tear following after that as the pleasure all but consumes you.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry, it feels good,” he consoles you, reaching up with his free hand to wipe your tears away. 

“So good—too good—” you babble, and he laughs at that, brows furrowing at the end as you clench around him.

“It can’t be too good, baby—you’re not making sense anymore.” he says with a playful lilt, and you whimper, more tears falling as you sniffle pathetically. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry.”

“Wanna cum—Haechan, please let me cum—” you beg, and his movements stutter, Haechan looking at you in surprise.

“Yeah? Baby wants to cum?” he grunts, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as your walls flex around him again. “Fuck, I love when you do that—feels so good—cum for me, baby.” 

Not needing to be told twice, you promptly fall apart around him with a messy string of swears and “please” and utterances of Haechan’s name as your nails dig into his forearm, making him wince slightly. You’re sure you look a mess, eyes wet and glossy as tears stream down your cheeks, but Haechan’s drinking in your appearance like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Baby—I’m close—fuck—” Haechan grunts. “Gonna cum—where do you want it?”

“Want it inside of me, please—” you croak weakly, and he lets out a sound that’s a mix between a smug chuckle and a moan.

“Can’t believe you were skittish as a mouse just the other day, and now you’re begging for my cum. Want me to fill you up?” he pants, hips driving into yours with reckless abandon. 

“Please—” you whimper, and he swears under his breath.

“Fuck—take it all, baby,” he urges, hips pressing into yours as he buries himself in you and empties his load. “It’s all for you,” he says breathlessly as his length twitches inside of you.

He stays inside of you for a moment, both of you attempting to catch your breath, before he slowly pulls out, tucking himself back into his pants and helping you fix your skirt back into place. To your confusion, he hooks his fingers in your underwear, pulling the thin, arousal-soaked fabric down and off your legs. 

“Um…” you start, and Haechan looks over at you, brows raised expectantly. “Those are mine,” you state, pointing at the fabric in his fist.

“And now,” he hums, bringing them to his face and inhaling deeply, eyes sliding shut in bliss just in time to miss your scandalized expression. “They’re mine. C’mon; you should use the bathroom.”

He loops his fingers around yours, other hand stuffing your underwear in his back pocket as he leads you to the bathroom.

When the door closes behind you, you sit down on the toilet with slightly shaky legs, taking a moment to think about everything that just occurred. 

You would have never in a million years thought that you’d have sex with Haechan, let alone in the hallway—let alone, with your friends in the very next room. However, as you think over the events that just transpired, your body is filled with a warm thrum of satisfaction, and you can’t seem to find an ounce of regret. 

“Girl, where the hell were you?!” Karina exclaims, fussing over you as soon as you reappear in the living room. “We’ve been texting and calling for ages!”

“Oh,” you mumble, pulling your phone from the little pocket in your skirt. “It’s been on Do Not Disturb,” you explain sheepishly, and Karina rolls her eyes hard.

“Don’t do that again. You had us worried sick. What were you even doing for so long?”

“Um… well, Haechan and I,” you start, casting a side glance to the couch where Haechan sits and hesitating slightly when you see that he’s watching you intently, not an ounce of shame in his expression. “We hooked up.” you say finally, straightening your back slightly and standing up taller.

Yeri’s jaw drops. “About damn time.” she remarks, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“Hush, you.” you huff, looking over at where Haechan sits once more. He locks eyes with you and grins, patting the empty spot next to him and wiggling his eyebrows playfully, and you smile, looking away from him to address your bewildered friends. “I’ll explain everything later—”

“Yeah, yeah, just go, girl.” Karina chuckles. “He’s waiting,” she sing-songs, and you elbow her slightly before shooting them a bright smile and a small wave and making your way to sit next to Haechan. 

When you sit down, Haechan drapes his arm around you on the back of the couch, and you can feel the heat creeping to your cheeks.

“So,” he says carefully, taking a hit of his pen and exhaling slowly before he continues, “I know this is a little backwards of me, but… do you wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date?”

“I’d like that,” you reply with a bashful smile, and he grins, relieved.

“Great. Now in the meantime,” he says, looking pointedly towards the hallway before looking back at you expectantly, “I have a nice ass TV, snacks, and a strong ass edible with your name on it in my room. You down?”

You don’t even hesitate. “I’m down.” you agree, smile widening, and he nods, satisfied. He stands from the couch and offers you his hand, which you take as he pulls you to your feet.

As you trail after him towards his room, fingers still locked with his, you can’t help but notice the familiar peek of fabric sticking out of his back pocket, and your eyes widen in alarm.

“Haechan!” you whisper loudly, and he looks back at you with raised brows. “My, um, underwear is sticking out of your pocket.”

“So?” he answers simply, and you pause, brain buffering for a moment.

“So?”

“Yeah. No one knows it’s your underwear but you and me,” he points out as you reach his bedroom door. He swings it open and gestures for you to enter first, head dipping down to your ear as you pass by. “So it’s our little secret.”

“Oh,” you mumble, thinking it over. “Okay.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says encouragingly, guiding you to his bed and gesturing for you to sit down. “Now, what do you want to watch?”

“Uh, we can watch Family Guy,” you suggest, and he looks at you, pleasant surprise written on his handsome features, before he nods and picks up the TV remote.

“Good choice,” he praises, sitting down beside you against the headboard of his bed. “Perfect show to play in the background while we make out.”

“Oh—” you stammer, blinking in surprise, and he snorts, eyes fond as he scans your bashful demeanor.

“I’m kidding.” he assures you, and you can’t help but frown slightly. Unfortunately for you, this doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan, and he chuckles. “You wanted to make out, didn’t you?”

“A little bit,” you mumble, and he grins, leaning in closer to you.

“That can be arranged.” he murmurs, still smiling as his lips meet yours.

[gyuuberryy]

professional-ish!

pairing: boss!jake x reader

synopsis: you’re just trying to survive your 9-to-5 without spontaneously combusting, but your painfully attractive boss seems to think you’re flirting. every awkward smile, accidental wink, and misfired message only makes it worse. now he’s looking at you like you’ve got some secret agenda. the truth? you just short-circuit around hot people. it’s not seduction—it’s social malfunction.

genre: workplace romance, crack, accidental flirting(?), some suggestive content

warnings: making out, some touching, jealous!jake, swearing, the writer has slapped all the office lingo known to her

note: sorry for the late post!! this is the last installment for the 2k event yayy! i feel like the ending is kinda rushed, i rewrote the last half so many times i kinda hate this. also i realised this is lowkey similar to the tutor!jungwon fic after writing haha. anyway i hope you enjoy reading!

word count: 4.4k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

2k event | previous

three days. that’s all it had been. 

three days of nervously memorising names, of smiling too wide at people whose roles you hadn’t quite figured out yet, of laughing a little too loudly at jokes you only half understood. but you were getting there. you’d even found a few coworkers who didn’t seem to mind your presence—who invited you to lunch, who nodded at you in the hallway like you belonged. it was progress.

and then today happened.

you’d walked into the office that morning feeling oddly optimistic. the sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the coffee in your hand was still warm, and you’d actually managed to pick an outfit that didn’t make you look like you’d dressed in the dark. for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter.

that should’ve been your first warning.

your hr manager, ms. cho, had intercepted you before you could even reach your desk. “good, you’re here early,” she’d said, her tone brisk but not unkind. “let’s go introduce you to your boss now—he’s been out of town, but he’s back today, and he wants to meet you.”

your stomach had twisted. you’d known, logically, that you’d have to meet him eventually. but you’d hoped for at least another week to settle in, to maybe practise not sounding like a complete disaster in front of someone whose opinion could dictate your future here.

ms. cho led you down a hallway that felt too long, your heels clicking against the polished floors in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. the air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and expensive cologne, the kind that lingered in elevators long after the person wearing it had stepped out. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blazer, your mouth dry as you mentally rehearsed your greeting. nice to meet you, sir. looking forward to working with you, sir. please don’t think i’m incompetent, sir.

then the door opened, and all those carefully prepared words dissolved into static.

because jake sim was—

well.

he wasn’t just your boss. he was a vision.

he stood near the window, the morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile, one hand tucked casually into his pocket like he’d been waiting for you without a single ounce of impatience. his suit was immaculate, the fabric draping over his shoulders in a way that made it clear it cost more than your rent. his hair was styled just so, not a strand out of place, and when he turned to look at you, his lips curled into a charming smile that showcased his quiet confidence.

your felt like you had been submerged into thick viscous honey, your brain too muddled to function.

“ah,” he said in an unfairly smooth and deep voice. “you must be the new hire.”

your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

this wasn’t happening. you were a professional. you’d practised this. you’d literally rehearsed in the mirror last night.

so why were your palms sweating? why was your pulse hammering in your throat like you’d just sprinted up a flight of stairs?

“nice to—nice, sir. i mean. meet. you.”

the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to claw them back. your voice had pitched up, cracking like you were fifteen and going through puberty all over again. your face burned, your ears hot with humiliation, and in a desperate attempt to play it off, you let out a laugh—or at least, the mangled, high pitched attempt at one.

it echoed in the silence.

ms. cho coughed politely. jake’s eyebrow lifted, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening like he’d just discovered something fascinating.

you were going to die.

in your panic, you took a step back—only for your heel to catch on the edge of a decorative potted plant. your arms pinwheeled, your balance teetering dangerously, and for one horrifying second, you were certain you were about to crash directly into the very expensive looking side table beside you.

somehow, you didn’t. but the damage was done.

jake’s gaze flickered from your flailing limbs back to your face, his expression shifting into something dangerously close to amusement. like you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

oh god.

you wanted to vanish. you wanted to teleport directly into the nearest trash chute. you wanted to go back in time and never apply for this job.

you see, you had a problem.

a big, humiliating, soul crushing problem that no amount of deep breathing or positive affirmations could fix. it wasn't that you were incompetent—far from it. you'd graduated top of your class, aced every interview, and somehow landed this prestigious position through sheer skill and determination as your first job. no, your problem was far more specific, far more devastating in its simplicity:

you malfunctioned around attractive people.

and not just the casual, oh-they're-nice-looking kind of attractive. no, you short circuited around the kind of devastatingly gorgeous humans who moved through the world like they'd never once doubted their place in it. the kind who could reduce you to a stuttering, blushing mess with nothing more than a glance.

and jake sim?

jake sim was the human embodiment of your downfall.

when hr informed you that you'd been reassigned as his junior assistant, your first reaction had been to laugh—a high, slightly hysterical sound that made the hr manager eye you with concern. 

"this is a great opportunity for you to learn," she'd said, her tone suggesting she didn't understand why you looked like you were about to pass out.

you'd nodded mechanically, your mind already racing through every possible disaster scenario. daily interactions. emails that required actual coherence. eye contact. 

how were you supposed to maintain eye contact when looking at him for too long made your palms sweat and your thoughts scatter like startled birds?

the first week was a special kind of torture.

you arrived early every morning, rehearsing conversations in your head like an actor preparing for a role. you studied his schedule like it was a sacred text, memorising every meeting, every deadline, every detail that might give you even the slightest edge in appearing competent. you told yourself you could do this. you were a professional. you'd worked too hard to let something as trivial as a pretty face unravel you.

but then he'd walk into the room, all sharp suits and effortless confidence, and your carefully constructed composure would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.

like today.

you'd been reviewing project updates at your desk, your notes meticulously organised, your thoughts clear and focused. you were prepared. you were ready. and then—

"did you get those figures from marketing?"

his voice, smooth and deep, came from directly behind you, closer than you'd expected. you could smell the faint, expensive scent of his cologne—something warm and subtly spicy that made your stomach do a slow, treacherous flip. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

you'd meant to say, "i'll get you those files right away." but what came out was:

"i'll get you anything."

the second the words left your mouth, time seemed to slow. your brain, in its panic, replayed the sentence on a loop, each repetition more horrifying than the last. your pulse pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat of oh god oh god oh god.

you tried to laugh it off, but the sound that escaped was less a laugh and more a strangled wheeze, the kind of noise that made people edge away slowly. the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

jake didn't move. when you finally dared to glance up, his expression was unreadable—just the slight tilt of his head, the faintest arch of one eyebrow. then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"that's a dangerous thing to offer," he said, his voice low and far too amused.

before you could even attempt to salvage the wreckage of your dignity, he was walking away, leaving you sitting there with your face burning, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

you wanted to disappear. you wanted to rewind the last thirty seconds and try again. you wanted to march into hr and demand a transfer to a department where you'd never have to speak to another human being again—preferably one located in a remote, soundproof bunker.

but instead, you took a shaky breath, straightened your shoulders, and opened the marketing files with exaggerated focus. you could do this. you would do this.

even if it killed you.

the office whispers started innocently enough. a stifled chuckle when you dropped your pen for the third time during the monday meeting. knowing glances exchanged over cubicle walls when you developed a sudden, intense interest in your shoes every time jake entered a room. at first you thought nothing of it—until you overheard lisa from accounting whisper "someone's got a crush" loud enough for half the floor to hear.

today had been particularly catastrophic.

early in the morning, jake had leaned over your desk to point out a formula error, his crisp white sleeve brushing against your forearm. 

"the pivot table in this spreadsheet needs adjusting," he'd said, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone that did something inexplicable to your breathing patterns. 

and then—god help you—you'd giggled. not a polite professional chuckle, but a high- pitched, borderline hysterical sound that seemed to startle both of you. jake had frozen mid sentence, his pen hovering over the document like he wasn't sure whether to correct the numbers or call hr.

"i—sorry, sorry," you'd stammered, your face burning as you desperately tried to salvage the moment, "it's just—pivot tables are so—they're just really—" 

you'd waved your hands vaguely, as if this explained anything. jake had simply blinked, slow and deliberate like a cat observing particularly baffling prey, before continuing his explanation as if nothing had happened. which was somehow worse.

later, you'd been printing reports when jake appeared beside you—silently, like some sort of corporate vampire—reaching across you to grab a stack of documents. his forearm brushed against yours, warm and solid through the fabric of his dress shirt, and your entire nervous system short-circuited. your breath hitched audibly, your fingers spasmed on the copier lid, and for one dizzying moment you were certain you were going to either pass out or vomit directly onto the machine's control panel. 

from the way your coworkers suddenly found reasons to walk past the copier area, you weren't as subtle as you'd hoped.

"you know," maria from marketing had said later in the break room, stirring her coffee with exaggerated casualness, "if you wanted his attention, you're doing great." the grin she shot you was equal parts amused and merciless.

"that's not—i'm not—" you'd sputtered, your coffee cup trembling in your hands. "i have this thing where i just—when people are really—i mean my brain just—" your words dissolved into incoherence, which only made her smirk widen.

the worst, most embarrassing thing was the email disaster which happened at 3:17 pm on tuesday. you remembered the exact time because you'd stared at the timestamp in mute horror for a full minute after hitting send. 

you'd meant to type "i need you to look at it" regarding the quarterly report draft. what you'd actually sent to jake's inbox read: "i need you to look at me."

your blood turned to ice. for thirty full seconds, you simply sat there, fingers hovering over the keyboard like you could somehow un-send the message through sheer force of will. your first instinct was to feign a sudden illness and flee the country. your second was to claim you'd been hacked. 

in the end, you'd settled for sending a follow-up email with the subject line "CORRECTION" in all caps and the body simply reading "THE REPORT. I NEED YOU TO LOOK AT THE REPORT." you didn't explain further. you couldn't.

the afternoon meeting was where everything came to a head. you'd been doing remarkably well—keeping your gaze firmly on your notes, responding in complete sentences, even managing to contribute to the discussion without sounding like you'd suffered a recent head injury. then, as you reached for your water glass, your traitorous hand trembled just enough to send the glass tipping. water cascaded across the conference table in a shimmering wave, soaking documents, laptops, and—most horrifyingly—the front of jake's perfectly tailored trousers.

the room fell silent. your pulse roared in your ears. the water droplet sliding slowly down jake's thigh was the most obscene thing you'd ever witnessed.

"i—oh god—i'm so—" you shot to your feet, knocking your chair over in your haste. napkins appeared as if by magic from various coworkers, though none of them made a move to help, this was clearly too entertaining to interrupt. 

"i'll just—bathroom and paper towels—" you managed to choke out before fleeing the scene, your heels clicking a frantic staccato against the polished floors.

as you rounded the corner, you could have sworn you heard jake murmur something under his breath. later, you'd learn from multiple "helpful" coworkers that what he'd actually said was "she's something else," in a tone that could have been exasperated or amused or—most terrifyingly—intrigued. 

the office gossip mill had already spun this into at least three different romantic subplots by the time you returned with a wad of paper towels and the shattered remains of your dignity.

the worst part was that this was only tuesday. you had three more days of this to survive. as you sat at your desk later, staring blankly at your computer screen, you made a mental note to research whether it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment—specifically, embarrassment generated by your own inability to function like a normal human being around your unfairly attractive boss.

things escalated in the worst possible way when jake started hovering more.

it began subtly—a coffee cup appearing on your desk when you hadn’t asked for one, the rich, bitter scent wafting up as you stared at it like it might be a trap. you’d glanced around, searching for the culprit, only to find jake already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets like he hadn’t just disrupted your entire morning with an act of kindness you weren’t equipped to handle.

then came the project updates. suddenly, he was asking for your input on things that weren’t even under your purview, leaning against the edge of your desk while you fumbled through explanations, your throat dry under the weight of his attention. 

and then things somehow got worse when he started leaning down towards you. not enough to be inappropriate, but enough that you could smell the faint, expensive cedar of his cologne, enough that his voice dropped into a low, private timbre that sent your pulse skittering. it felt deliberate. it felt like a test you were failing spectacularly.

like today.

you’d been caught staring. again. 

this time during a department meeting, your gaze drifting helplessly toward where jake sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled under his chin, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the too-bright conference room lights. you hadn’t meant to look. or maybe you had. maybe you were a glutton for punishment, for the way your stomach swooped when his eyes flicked up and caught you, his eyebrow lifting just slightly.

"you good?" his voice was quiet, just for you, the words curling around you like smoke.

your brain short circuited. you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, your fingers tightening around your pen like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. play it cool, you begged yourself. just say something normal.

"low blood sugar," you mumbled, the lie tumbling out before you could stop it. you weren’t even sure what that meant in this context—were you implying you were dizzy? hungry? medically compromised?—but jake didn’t call you on it. he just smirked, slow and knowing, like he could see right through you.

you should’ve known then that you’d made a mistake.

because after that, snacks from him started appearing. protein bars tucked into your desk drawer. a banana left beside your keyboard with no explanation. once, horrifyingly, a lollipop—bright red and obscenely shiny—placed directly on top of your morning report. you’d stared at it for a full minute, your face burning, before stuffing it into your bag like contraband. 

you swore he watched you eat them. not obviously, not in a way you could call him out on, but in those fleeting moments when you glanced up from unwrapping a granola bar to find his gaze already on you, dark and unreadable.

it all came to a head when you thought he was out of the office.

you’d been ranting to yuna in the break room, your voice a hushed, frantic whisper as you paced in front of the microwave. 

"he keeps looking at me like i’m trying to seduce him," you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "i’m not. i just—i don’t know how to behave around him, it’s like i’m socially defective."

yuna had opened her mouth to respond—probably to laugh at you, the traitor—when a cough cut through the room.

your blood turned to ice.

jake stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression perfectly neutral. how long had he been there? how much had he heard? your stomach dropped straight through the floor as your brain replayed your own words in brutal, high definition clarity. socially defective. oh god.

for one endless second, no one moved. then jake tilted his head—just slightly, like he was considering something—and walked away without a word.

you died a thousand deaths in that moment.

you expected things to be awkward after that. unbearable, even. but the next day, jake was... different. he smiled more—slow, deliberate smiles that made your palms sweat. he stared longer, his gaze lingering even when you ducked your head, even when you pretended not to notice. and then, over lunch—a lunch he had invited you to, a lunch you’d agreed to out of some masochistic impulse.

he leaned back in his chair and asked, casual as anything, "what kind of guy do you like?"

you choked on your drink.

your mind raced through a dozen possible responses—professional, respectful, not my boss—before settling on the dumbest possible answer. "alive," you croaked.

jake snorted, his lips quirking in a way that made your chest ache. "good start," he said, and something in his voice that sounded warm and interested, sent your heart into freefall.

the office that night was too quiet, the silence pressing on your ears and making them ring. 

you'd stayed late to finish some work, the blue light of your computer screen the only thing cutting through the dark. outside, the city hummed—car horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of laughter from people who still had lives at this hour. your coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you kept sipping it anyway, the bitter taste matching your mood.

when the door creaked open, you didn't even look up. probably just the cleaning crew. but then you caught that scent—something expensive and faintly spicy, cutting through the stale office air. your fingers froze over the keyboard.

"still here?"

jake's voice was rougher than usual, tired around the edges. when you finally turned, he was leaning against your desk, two fresh coffees in hand. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those stupidly perfect forearms. his tie hung loose around his neck like he'd been yanking at it all day. he looked rumpled in a way that made your stomach do something complicated.

"uh. yeah." you swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your throat was. "report."

he set one of the coffees down in front of you. the good stuff, from that place around the corner that charged way too much. "drink that before you pass out."

you wanted to say something clever. instead, your fingers fumbled with the lid, the plastic making an embarrassingly loud crack in the quiet office. 

jake didn't leave. just sank into the chair across from you with a quiet groan, stretching his long legs out until his shoe bumped yours. you jerked back like you'd been shocked.

for a while, the only sounds were your typing and the occasional sip of coffee. except you couldn't focus, not with him sitting there watching you. your fingers kept slipping, typing "jaje" instead of "jake" before you could stop yourself. you deleted it so fast your mouse clicked echoed.

"you're staring," he said suddenly.

you choked on your coffee. "i wasn't—"

"you were." he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "at my mouth, specifically."

your face burned. you had been. just for a second. because his lips were chapped from the cold outside, and he kept worrying at the bottom one with his teeth, and—

"am i distracting you?" his voice dropped, taking on that low, teasing quality that made your pulse jump.

"no," you lied, your voice cracking.

a beat passed and then a tiny, pathetic noise escaped you—something between a whimper and a hiccup. you wanted to die(again). 

jake's eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. he leaned in closer, close enough that you could see the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, close enough that his knee pressed against yours under the desk and stayed there.

"if i didn't know better," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek, "i'd say you like me, sweetheart."

your brain paused all activities and all you could manage was a strangled "jake—" that sounded more like a plea than a protest.

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin all sharp edges. "i'm kidding."

but the way his fingers brushed yours as he took your empty coffee cup said he absolutely wasn't.

over the past few days, something subtle had shifted between you and jake without either of you acknowledging it. the nervous stuttering that used to plague your conversations had faded into something smoother, something more natural. 

the late night coffee incident had been weeks ago, but its ghost lingered in every interaction since. you'd noticed the shift—how your pulse no longer raced quite so violently when jake entered a room, how your hands remained steady when passing him files. you still noticed the way his dress shirts stretched across his shoulders when he reached for files, still caught yourself staring at his hands when he typed, but the panic those observations used to trigger had mellowed into a warm flutter low in your stomach. you could even hold his gaze for entire sentences now without feeling like your skin might catch fire. progress, you'd thought. until today.

the copy machine hummed its familiar tune as you leaned against it, listening to the new marketing associate—ethan? evan?—recount his disastrous first client meeting. 

his animated storytelling had you laughing, the sound louder than intended in the quiet office. when his hand brushed your arm in emphasis, you didn't stiffen like you would have weeks ago. which made jake's sudden appearance and grip on your elbow all the more startling.

"conference room. now." his voice carried that particular edge you'd come to recognise—the one that brooked no argument.

you barely had time to mutter an apology to not-ethan before jake was steering you down the hall, his fingers burning through your blazer sleeve. the break room door clicked shut behind you with finality. 

jake paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair until it stood in disarray.

"you and the new guy looked awfully friendly." the words came out clipped, his back turned as he pretended sudden fascination with the microwave's keypad.

you blinked. "we were just talking."

"talking." he scoffed, finally turning. the fluorescent lights caught the tension in his jaw. "is that what they're calling it now?"

the realisation dawned slowly, then all at once—the way jake's coffee deliveries always seemed to coincide with your conversations with others, how he'd suddenly taken interest in your lunch plans, the barely concealed irritation whenever someone lingered too long at your desk. your stomach swooped.

"wait." you stepped closer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "are you... jealous?"

jake's laugh was humourless. "don't flatter yourself."

but his eyes, dark and stormy, betrayed him. you saw it then: the insecurity beneath the polished exterior, the fear that your newfound ease around him wasn't comfort earned through shared late nights and inside jokes, but because your attention had wandered.

the elevator ride down that evening was thick with tension. jake stood unnaturally still, his reflection in the metal doors betraying clenched fists and a ticking jaw. you watched the floor numbers descend, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

"you think i'm playing some game," you said quietly, not quite a question.

jake's reflection met yours. "aren't you?"

the doors opened on the empty lobby. neither of you moved.

"all those blushes and stammers," he continued, voice rough. "the way you'd trip over yourself whenever i got too close. and now?" his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. "nothing. like i've become... ordinary."

the raw vulnerability in his words stole your breath. you turned, really looking at him—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his tie hung slightly crooked. the man beneath the polished veneer.

"jake," you breathed, stepping closer. "you could never be ordinary."

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "prove it."

the first kiss was all collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing. you gasped as jake backed you into the wall, his hands finding your hips with a possessiveness that set your nerves alight.

"fuck," he growled against your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair. "you have no idea how long i've—"

you cut him off with another kiss, revelling in the way his body shuddered against yours. his palms slid under your blouse, calloused fingers mapping your skin like he was committing you to memory.

"still think i was seducing you?" you managed between kisses, arching into his touch.

jake nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a whimper you'd deny later. "sweetheart," he murmured, breath hot against your skin, "you've been wrecking me since day one."

some distant part of your brain registered the security cameras, the professionalism you were shattering, the inevitable hr disaster. it was drowned out by the way jake's hands trembled as they traced your ribs, by the broken sound he made when you scraped your nails down his back.

when you finally broke apart—lips swollen, breathing ragged—jake rested his forehead against yours. his thumb traced your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.

"we're going to get fired," you whispered, even as your fingers toyed with his belt loop.

jake's grin was all sinful promise as he stole one more kiss. "best damn termination notice i'll ever receive." (don't do this guys)

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[bambiihee]

OFF TO THE RACES ˒˒ 박종성

♫ off to the races 一 lana del rey

you thought a punishment was what you wanted to cure how badly you missed your sugar daddy, but you slowly realize that your need for him ran much deeper than just that.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing。 ⸝⸝ park jongseong x fem!reader 𓄵 feat。 sim jaeyun (unamed)

genre。⋆ smut, pwp, sugar daddy!jay, sugar baby!reader, est. relationship, angst themes

warnings。⸝⸝ daddy kink, rough sex to soft sex, bdsm, hard to soft dom!jay, praise kink, degredation kink (slut, whore), unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampies, talks of marriage, jay is a bit of an asshole, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, whipped jay and whipped reader word count。3. 6 k ╱ ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library。

author's note。⸝⸝ this ended up being a wee bit longer than i intended... as usual... oops...

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ FEEDBACK 𓇼 REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

You know it makes you sound bratty and ungrateful, but sometimes you really hated Jay’s job. Sure, as the current CEO of his father’s old company he made enough money for you to stay at home without a care in the world, pampered and spoiled beyond your wildest dreams… but the sacrifices he made to keep you happy meant long hours at the office and constant business trips that could last anywhere from days to a month at a time. His grand, lofty penthouse just felt sterile and hollow without him inside of it, his california king bed like a wide, lonely island without him in it waking up next to you. Were all of these designer clothes and luxury brands even worth it, if he wasn’t there to enjoy them with you? Your friends had invited you to a club on one of the nights he had been out of town last, and while you felt dozens of eyes on you all night in your tight, expensive dress, the only eyes you cared to ever gaze upon you were the ones of your boyfriend’s. 

It was a dress he had picked out himself. In some odd way, it made you feel held by him. As you brushed off numerous advances from faceless, unimportant men and the irritated jeers of your friends as you turned down following them to the dancefloor, your thoughts were consumed only of him, how much you missed him, how badly you wished to feel his hot, heavy stare upon your back. 

Now Jay was back again, running off the plane and into your arms, if only to give you a kiss and to shove an invitation into your hands– another wretched business party for you to attend as his plus one, spending the entire evening bored out of your mind and clinging to Jay’s arm.

You’ve never told him that you hated the parties, partly because you feared bruising his ego, and partly because they were manageable enough with you able to drown your sorrows in free cocktails. You agreed with a tight-lipped smile and without much fight, though now as you stared down in the drink in your hand, you wish you had the courage to speak your mind. There was hardly any time for the two of you to enjoy being in each other's presence again before you had to get ready and go meet his driver, hardly got more than a hug and a few words before Jay, Your Boyfriend became Jay, The Businessman.

Two years ago, when your relationship was nothing more than an arrangement to get you through college, you couldn’t seem to ever get a moment away from him. Constantly blowing up your phone asking where you are or who you were with, showing up uninvited to your work or your school with lavish gifts that drew more attention than you ever wanted. Back then, you had half the mind to think you hated him. You only stayed with him because of his money.

That was the lie you told yourself, at least. That it was the money that kept you crawling back for more, not his chiseled, handsome face and how sexy he looks when he’s pissed off. It wasn’t because under that cold, aloof exterior, Jay was a hopeless romantic with a deep desire to love and to be loved. He showed it in everything he did, such a gentleman with you even though he didn’t talk like one.

Now you’re in too deep to lie anymore. You miss him breathing down your neck, his vigilant, protective eye over you, something you used to complain about when you were still simply business partners. It wasn’t long after you officially became his girlfriend did his father officially retire from his company and had Jay take over as the CEO. It was something that Jay had been anticipating for his entire life, but he still ended up far in over his head; his workload increased tenfold seemingly overnight, all of these meetings and deals keeping him in the office until late into the night. He makes more money than he ever had before, and he tries to make up for his absence with pricier and pricier gifts, but no amount of designer could ever make up for the way you long for his touch, the memory of his kisses haunting you in your dreams. You’d do anything for his undivided attention again.

The business party was a lot like your night out with your friends. You still felt just as lonely even with Jay there. He was constantly tugged aside by business partner after business partner, colleague after colleague, leaving you to wait alone at the bar. 

There was one particular colleague of Jay’s that he disliked more than the others. He’d never really explained to you why, though you suppose it may have something to do with the way he slid into the barstool next to you like he owned the place, the way he leaned in to introduce himself like you didn’t already know the names of all your boyfriend’s enemies. If Jake recognizes who you are, he doesn’t show it, boyish features staying bright and his smile toothy as he offers to buy you a drink. 

Warning sirens blared in your head, but you looked danger head-on with a flirty grin of your own; a plan was beginning to form in your head, one that guaranteed Jay’s attention whenever he wanted to give it or not. At least, it felt like a good plan at the time. With a rather large emphasis on felt, because with as many drinks as you had knocked back within those last few hours you weren’t doing much critical thinking at all.

You agreed with a sickenly sweet smile, and with another fruity cocktail on your painted lips it became easy to giggle at his unfunny jokes. Part of you knew this was a bad idea, screaming at you in the back of your mind, but you were far too gone to listen or care. The man stuttered and jumbled up his words when you placed a hand on his shoulder, but his grin grew from ear to ear, and he placed his own hand on your upper thigh. He was far too close to the hem of your dress for your liking, but it was exactly what you wanted to happen. Jay was somewhere in the vicinity, you were sure of it, never one to leave you unsupervised no matter where you went– he always insisted it was protectiveness, but you knew it was far more possessive than that. To see your hands on another man was one thing, but seeing a man touch you so intimately like this… sometimes a man standing a little too close was enough for him to see red. And that was when he was sober; you’ve caught him down a couple of drinks himself in the brief times you’d caught sight of him.

If you played your cards right, Jay would waltz back over and take you back home in no time at all. Then you could finally have him all to yourself, tangled in his thousand-thread count egyptian sheets and enjoying the feeling of his strong, firm body pressed against you.

And you knew him all too well, because within seconds of you placing your hand on his coworker you felt his presence materialize behind you, heavy and dark, his large hand cupping the small of your back and tracing the hem of your backless dress. You had him right where you wanted him, wrapped around your finger like always… but then you turned and took in his face, blank and unreadable except for his eyes. 

He wasn’t looking at you at all. Sharp as a knife, his stare was focused squarely on his colleague beside you, a certain glint in his dark irises that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. Something wild, untamed. Murderous, even, enough to send a cold thrill up your spine even if you knew your boyfriend to be the softest man you’ve ever met underneath his cold exterior. 

“Jong, I–” you stammer, panic rising in your throat. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. 

He grabs your wrist with a bruising force, tearing it off of his colleague and tugging you up out of the barstool and to your feet. “Get in the car.”

“Wait–!”

“I said get in the fucking car.”

“Do you just like pissing me off? Is that it?” Jay growls, tugging you straight from the car to the bedroom. “Acting like a whore in front of all of my colleagues. You want to get into their wallets too, huh? Or are you embarrassing me in public just over some dick?”

“No, Daddy, I-I’m sorry, I–!”

“If dick’s what you want, I’ll let you fucking have it.” he snarls, cutting you off. With a rough shove you’re practically thrown onto the mattress, landing on your back hard enough to knock the wind out of you. “That’s what you wanted, right, princess? You were letting that man touch all over you to get a rise out of me. I bought you a new dress, new shoes, and this is how you act? Spoiled brat. You want your daddy to punish you? I’ll give you what you want, you little whore. Gonna put you back in your place.”

He’s on top of you before you can blink, his rough and calloused hands tearing your sparkly new dress to shreds with ease. The paper thin fabric rips from your body loudly, cast aside onto the floor in an expensive, shimmery puddle. You open your mouth to protest, but it dies on your tongue; you fear what would happen if you provoke him any further, and besides, there wasn’t any point in complaining. He’ll just buy you another one. You went braless because of its scooping back, leaving you only in a tiny pair of black panties. He pauses for a moment to admire the dainty, intricate lacing before tearing them apart too. “I should have bent you over and fucked you right there at the bar.” he growls in your ear, “Shown him and everyone else just who you belong to, who fucking owns you. This pussy? It’s mine.”

You’re left completely bare beneath him while he’s only taken off his shoes and blazer, crisp white button up shirt and dark suit pants crumpled and disheveled from your greedy hands. One of his large hands comes down to cup your aching mound, long thick fingers sliding up between your folds to smear your dripping arousal around. “Fuck, you’re so wet and I haven’t even touched you.” Jay marvels with a groan. The rough pad of his middle finger wets your budding clit, encouraging it to peek out more from its little hood. “Who owns this pretty pussy, baby, hm? Tell me.”

It takes you too long to speak, your thoughts fractured and scattered about. Jay warns you in the form of a harsh slap to your pussy. “Tell me.” he repeats venomously. 

“Y-You! You do, Daddy! I’m sorry! Daddy owns this pussy, it’s Daddy’s, no one else's–”

Your near-incoherent babbling seems to be enough for now, your daddy rewarding you with a pleased hum and a roll of his fingers against your clit before his hands retract again to grab ahold of his belt. The clink of the buckle is enough to get squirming, thighs clenching together in an effort to soothe the ache between your legs as Jay makes quick work of undoing his pants. He doesn’t bother to undress himself any further, simply pulls his slacks down just enough to pull out his cock, thick and heavy spilling out from his unzipped fly. 

“Keep those legs open.” He orders, prying your legs apart with a surprising amount of force, his deep raspy voice dripping with dominance. “Gotta remind you that this cunt’s not yours to whore around with, since you can’t seem to fucking remember.”

You have no choice but to obey, his grip like velvet-cased steel, forcing you open and laid out underneath him. His dark eyes rake over your most intimate parts, hungry gaze growing heavy as it travels from your perky breasts, bouncing from your heaving chest, down to your glistening cunt. The puffy folds of your pussy lips quiver and weep between your parted thighs, preening for attention. To get Jay angry was exactly what you wanted, yet it somehow felt wrong, his attention still hollow and detached. Regret and guilt eats away at your lust, makes you squirm beneath Jay’s touch as he drags his palms over the expanse of your thighs. What you really wanted was his love; the softer, gentler kind that held you close and whispered sweet nothings into your hair. You want his praise, want to be drowned in his adoration as he worships your body. 

Originally, what you thought you had wanted was to get fucked, hard. But you realize now that it was a lot deeper than that.

Jay picks up the shift in your mood immediately, his face softening in concern. He’s always been so in tune with your emotions, able to pick up the smallest shifts in your body language, the microscopic changes in your expression. It’s as if your thoughts were written out on your skin for him to read, something he’s read before; the notes of his favorite song, familiar enough that he can thoughtlessly pluck out on one of his many guitars. “What’s the matter, baby? He asks you in a soft voice, slowly retracting his fingers, “You don’t want your punishment?” 

You can’t stop yourself from pouting childishly, the tears that had been gathering on your lashes threatening to spill over when you shake your head. “I’m sorry Daddy.” you mumble pitifully, fighting a losing battle trying not to cry. 

Jay reaches up to cup your flushed cheeks in his palms, soothing your soft hiccups and cries with a gentle coo. “Shhh, don’t be sorry, sugar, what happened? Talk to me.” 

“I miss you.” you admit, the guilt and embarrassment eating you alive; you turn your face to hide in his hand, your cheeks wetter than you would like to admit. “I feel like I never even get to see you anymore! I know… I know you work hard, and I’m sorry, but I– I just want it to be like how it was before, when you had time for me. It’s not fair! Finally I’m really your girlfriend, not just your– your whore, and suddenly you’re too busy to spend any time with me! I just…. I just want your attention, Jay.”

Jay blinks down at you once, then twice. And then the realization comes down on him like a crashing wave, those dark eyes of his widening as they scan over your sad little face. “Oh, sweet thing,” he breathes, any lingering dregs of his domineering persona falling away completely, leaving him exposed and unguarded. He scoops you up into his arms and presses sweet gentle kisses to your forehead and temple. “I’m so sorry, sugar, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

You burrow your face into his broad, muscled chest and sniffle. 

“My poor baby… she needs her daddy so badly, doesn’t she? Shhh, princess, Daddy’s got you. Daddy will take care of you…”

And one thing Jay will never do to you is lie. When he lies you back town to take you again it’s slower and gentler than he had ever done so before. He slowly and thoroughly stretches you open on his fingers even though you’ve been dripping for hours, doesn’t stop until the tears in your eyes were from pleasure instead of pain. It’s only after he makes you cum does he finally push himself inside of you, perfect and familiar like coming home. His cock is so thick that it still burns regardless of how much he’s prepped you, but the sting only adds to your euphoria. 

Jay slides inside in one smooth thrust, fully sheathing himself inside of you until his heavy balls press up against your cunt. He’s so deep you swear you can feel him up in your throat, body absolutely alight with the pleasure of being so fucking full. Your gummy wet walls grip his veiny shaft greedily, squeezing him tight enough to make him throw his head back and grunt. 

“Tight pussy,” he grits out between clenched teeth. His strained voice comes out in a rushed exhale. “Ffffuck, let me in. You need to open up for me, baby.”

He spit the words so filthily, making your tummy turn with desire. His thick fat cock spreads your little pussy lips apart and stretches you open so blissfully, your cunt gushes around his shaft and greedily sucks him in even deeper. Jay curses and grinds his cockhead hard against the opening of your cervix, a painful kiss that makes you gasp out. He slides himself out before you can recover, leaving only his flared cockhead inside to keep your hole gaping. 

“Are you ready, sweet thing?” he coos, gentle voice betrayed by the animalistic look in his eyes.

He steadies himself with his hand splayed out across your lower stomach, pressing down with the heel of his palm. You nod excitedly. 

The first rough, strong thrust into your pussy knocks the breath out of you. The ones right after it keep you from gaining it back, all of the air leaving you in the moans that Jay’s powerful rhythm tears from your throat. Soon the room is full of the sound of skin on skin, that filthy, pornographic plap, plap, plap of his hips slamming against your ass making your ears burn. Your pussy squelches loudly every time it welcomes his cock inside, dribbling cum and arousal down onto the bed sheets. 

You reach your second climax in what seems like no time at all, but Jay shows no sign of stopping– in fact, he seems to only pound into you harder and faster, focused expression on his flushed sweaty face like he was hunting something. 

“D-daddy, daddy, you gotta slow down!” you manage to stutter out between whimpers and whines, but Jay only answers you with his thumb and finger pinching your clit, the sudden shock of white-hot pleasure nearly making you scream. 

“Fuck, I can’t, love this pussy too much,” he groans against your neck, hot lips and tongue gliding against your needy skin. “Love the way you feel when you cum around me, babydoll, you clench down so fucking hard– need you to do it again, make you feel so good over and over. Give Daddy another one.” 

So you do, give him two more til you’re certain your cervix is bruised, til there’s a filthy, frothy white ring around the base of his cock like a wedding band. But that’s still not enough, not even after Jay’s cum himself, shot his hot sticky load deep inside of you and filled your empty little womb up to the point you’re dribbling it down the backs of your legs. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost painful, your poor abused cunt overstimulated beyond belief– the next time you feel another orgasm creeping up on you, it feels so much more intense than any other one you’ve ever had before, hot lava building pressure in your pelvis and only intensified by Jay’s hand pressed down hard on your tummy. You barely have time to warn him before the volcano erupts and you’re squirting all over his chest and abdomen, drenching his abs and his balls in your essence. 

Jay’s hips stutter wildly, his rhythm quickly falling apart into sloppy, staccato bucks into your tight heat. “That’s so fucking hot,” he whimpers like it pains him, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Marry me please.”

“Wh-what?” 

“I’m gonna marry you. I’m gonna make you my wife, all mine, gonna put that baby in your belly that you’ve been wantin’ so bad. What do you think, princess? My little housewife carrying my babies…”

You’re too fucked out to properly digest any of what he’s saying, sobbing and hiccupping with the pleasure that wracked your body. “Yes, yes!” you shriek– you’d agree to anything Jay said as long as you get to feel him flood you with his seed again. “Anything you want, Daddy, please!”

Jay just can’t help but spoil your pussy as much as he spoils the rest of you, and when you cum for a fourth and final time he drives himself as deep inside of you as he can and releases another load of hot thick cum into your greedy hole. You rake your perfectly manicured nails down his broad, muscled back as your pussy milks him of every last drop, your walls fluttering from the pained hiss he lets out when they break the skin. You know you’ll catch him admiring the marks you’d left behind in the mirror tomorrow morning, lopsided grin on his face from all the angry red marks.

“I meant it,” he mumbles into your hair when you both come down from your highs, laid tangled together on expensive sheets ruined and cum stained. “I’m gonna marry you one day.”

His cock is still buried deep inside of you, thick globs of cum seeping out from where you’re connected; you look up at him with eyes full of satisfaction and love, your makeup ruined and running down your face in dark sparkly streaks. There are smeared lipstick stains across Jay’s own face and down his neck and chest. 

“Okay.” you reply, stifling a giggle and cuddling deeper into his sticky chest. “It better be a good ring.”

[dearmisshoney]

fool me once, fuck you twice

synopsis. you scam your dealer again by paying with fake bills. but theodore nott is not as stupid as you think, and not as harmless as you think. let’s just say... nott has connections and can teach you a lesson you will never forget.

pairing. dealer! theodore nott x reader x corrupt! cop! mattheo riddle

content/mdni. DUB-CON. mentions of NON-CON. fem!reader, dealer!theo, corrupt!cop!mattheo, cocky!mattheo, cocky!theo, aggressive!mattheo, condescending!theo, (kind of) slutty!reader, PUBLIC SEX. car sex (on the hood of the police car), THREESOME, doggy-style, deep throat/face-fucking, slight tit play, dry-humping, slight clit stimulation, spanking, rough play, power play, hair-pulling, handcuffs, slight sir kink (mattheo), teasing, praise, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby, sweetheart, ma'am, but also whore, slut, fucktoy and fuckhole), objectification, very messy, (inaccurate aka idk about drugs) drug usage. raw sèx, FILTH

word count. 4.8k

a/n. OMG HONEY NO SUB/WHINY MEN? are you okay? yes, i am :)) this fic is for the third week of @acourtofchaos ’s event. let me know what you think about new approach and this new (?) au for matty! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

bright headlights flash in the rearview mirror of theodore’s car as another one slowly pull into the parking lot right behind him. his hand, latched around the mirror, slightly adjusts it to better see the plate number.

it is your car.

you, a somewhat recent customer he accepted after one of his best clients begged him to hook you up with the good stuff, have been biting more than you can chew.

not only were you dressing up like a slut every time you met with him — perky tits poking through the tight material of your tops, pussy peeking from underneath your micro-skirts — but you also half-assed your payment by sneaking in counterfeit bills.

theo always brushed to the side your skimpy outfits, not giving you any sort of discount for your promiscuous acts.

but he cannot excuse your usage of fake money.

no one cheats theodore nott.

“theo, hii!”

your exaggeratedly lively greeting hits his ears the moment he steps outside his car.

that sweet tonality of yours always made him roll his eyes back in annoyance, but right now it even angered him. your candy-like tone was definitely infused with venom and a dash of pride from the fact that you managed to trick the devilish dealer.

definitely, but not really. he would have reprimed you by now, but, alas, he had no evidence you did your almost-fake payment on purpose.

theodore is not an unreasonable man — he gives you the benefit of the doubt, hoping that maybe you didn’t know they were fake bills.

“the usual, right?” he muttered underneath his breath, more of a rhetorical question, clasping the edge of his trunk and lifting the lid to search for your order.

“awe, theo, why so gloomy tonight?”

you leaned against the opened trunk, arching your back into the created shape and pushing out your tits more. your tube top was barely sticking to your skin, gripping to your chest for dear life so as to not flash your dealer.

but if it happens, it happens — maybe that way theodore would finally give you a discount.

 “shit happened.”

it’s all he says as he closes back his trunk abruptly, without a warning. (un)fortunately, you reacted fast and your limbs were not trapped in the process. your expression did faltered for a second, your eyes popping out of your sockets and your mouth getting ready to spill curses, yet you composed yourself in time to receive the little transparent drug bag from theo.

“'m sorry, boo! can i help somehow?”

you were really adamant in seducing him, huh? leaning closer to theo, showing the peaks of your breasts to him, and seductively swaying your hips; you were serving your body on a silver platter as if it were nothing to you.

what a fucking slut.

“you having the cash to pay for this will do.”

he wasn’t going to feed into your depraved fantasies. so, shaking the bag with the greenish goods, he kindly demanded the payment from you. this evening you seem to be missing your purse, so theo’s reply was not out of line at all.

“of course, theo! you know i never disappoint.”

dipping your hand between your boobs and stretching out the tight material of your top, you pull out a fat stack of money, tied together by a red band. you shamelessly pushed the bills towards theo, flashing him a sultry grin as you intentionally let the top smack against your skin and make your chest jiggle.

what a fucking slut.

“i know.”

he groaned at the sight of your money, taken by surprise by your hiding spot. you've never had such a performance before, so to suddenly see bills emerging from between your tits… that made blood rush to his cock.

his unusual reaction was registered by you and your smile only grew bigger. theo was surely not discounting you this time, but now that you visibly made him falter… you will do your best to get that discount next time.

“pleasure doing business with you.”

you cheekily say to him as you slap the stack of money in his hand and impatiently snatch the bag from the other one. swinging the little packet in front of your hungry eyes, you admire the content for a bit before putting it away.

again, between your boobs.

what a fucking slut.

“see ya'.” it's all you say as you step away from theodore, spinning towards your car to leave the place.

“yeah, yeah.”

theodore only mumbled back at your, gripping the stash of money in his hand tightly. he carefully watches you as you start the engine, your headlights immediately hitting his standing figure as you slowly turn around and exit the parking lot.

he was planning on checking the money while you were still here, but your little stunt made him forget all about his plan, leaving him stranded alone with, most likely, suspicious bills.

“she better just be dumb.”

that was his wish: he really wanted you to just have unknowingly given fake bills to him. to just unknowingly cheat him and profit off of his business.

yet as he carefully checks each and every bill from the stack with a uv light, theodore discovered your true nature — you intentionally did it.

you dared fake your payment twice in a row, this time only using counterfeit money.

what a fucking devious slut.

“oh, she will pay for this! no one messes with me and leaves unharmed.”

he was chuckling under his breath as he gripped the money tightly, the discarded portable uv light bringing out the markings on every bill and the rage in theodore’s eyes.

they shimmer a treacherous blue, so stormy and so revengeful.

“that slut will regret it.”

with a mischievous grin on his lips, he drops the bills all over the car seat. then he reaches for his phone on the center console and, fastly typing a well-memorized phone number, he dials someone surely capable of bringing him justice.

“need your help with something.”

•••

“theodore the devil nott my ass, haha!”

stepping on the gas pedal hard as soon as you joined the main road, you upped the volume of your music in celebration. you used fake bills to fully pay for your drugs and that stupid dealer didn’t even realize.

you escape unscattered yet again.

“such a fucking loser, damn!”

and you continued your insulting monologue, replaying in your head how easy it was for you to take the package and dip. how his eyes were focused on your tits, then your money stack.

how he literally moaned when you dropped the drugs in your top at the very end.

“pussy boy for real.”

you've heard details from your friend about his sex life, but it all seems to be just a rumor. there was no way theodore nott, with his prudish reaction, fucks until daylight and makes his partners see stars.

he is an attractive bastard, yes, but he definitely hasn’t seen a pussy in his life.

“that makes it easier for me, damn.”

you were smiling like crazy when you realized your seduction game just became easier to implement. he’s been so unresponsive all this time because he was a prude. and maybe you were too bold.

“a sheer top will do for next time.”

you were already planning your future outfit, so excited to fuck up theo’s resolve to stay away from your enticing tendencies, but the red and blue lights of a police car glimmering in your rearview mirror brought you back to reality.

“no fucking way.”

all your enthusiasm dropped as you realized the police car was targeting you, signaling for you to stop on the side of the road.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.”

why were cops patrolling this route? and why were they out at this hour? you were indeed over the speed limit, so their reaction was understandable. but if they were to also body search you and find the drugs… you’re done for.

let’s hope the officer was a he. a young thirsty he who will give in to your dirty attics and let you go.

so, obeying his signals, the tires of your car halt with a loud screech. your hands fumbled to lower the volume of your music, and that’s when you registered the strong pounding of your heart.

you were anxious.

you dipped your hand in between your boobs, searching for your drug bag in hopes of removing it, yet you fastly return your hand back on the steering wheel when you saw the red and blue lights swirling so close to your car and a dark silhouette approaching the window. 

a sudden sharp knock on your window made your entire body twitch in your seat, legs shaking away from the pedals on the floor and rooting themselves as close to the edge of the seat as possible. without waiting for a second knock, you lowered the window with a gulp.

and there he was.

uniform pressed. badge gleaming under the red-blue lights. cop hat pulled over messy curls, yet barely hiding his brown eyes.

“license and registration, ma'am.” he drawls, voice gravel-like, a knowing smile plastered across his lips.

oh he was hot hot.

“o–of course, officer…?”

“officer riddle, ma'am.”

“give me one second, officer riddle.”

you could definitely try wiggle your way out of this one. officer riddle looked young and, judging by his constitution, he was definitely a desirable yet cocky man.

stroke his ego — and maybe his cock — and you’re definitely good.

so you scramble, leaning so far down towards the drawer in front of the passenger seat that your ass was on full display for officer riddle. opening up the drawer, you took longer than needed to find the necessary documents.

all that just to entice the cop.

you had no clue if your trick was working, but you knew for sure the officer got a good glimpse of your bubble butt and your naked cunt. your micro-skirt may not have come in handy with your dealer, but it will definitely affect riddle.

“was i– um– speeding, officer?”

returning to your initial position and handing him the documents, you bat your eyelashes cluelessly at him and purse your lips in confusion. you would have pushed your tits at him too, but the drugs tucked between them were burning into your skin, advising you to be cautious.

mattheo riddle takes your license and glosses over it slightly, before returning his gaze back to your face.

“twenty over. but that’s not the main issue.”

and that’s when your breath hitches, the drug bag feeling heavier against your chest.

“w–what do you mean?”

he doesn’t answer. just eyes you for a moment and, with a jerk of his chin, commands you to do exactly the thing you were most afraid of:

“step outside the vehicle, ma'am.”

your lips parted, ready to protest, but you swallowed your words and obeyed. if you make a commotion right now, it will make it worse.

so, complying to his order, you got out of the car. your heels clicked against the pavement, and you stepped into the cool air.

“bend over, hands on the hood.” he says firmly. “i will conduct a search. standard procedure.”

“search? may i know why–”

“standard procedure, ma'am.” he cuts you off in a harsh tone, one that allows no further questioning. “do not make me use force, ma’am.”

you complied.

he started his search from your wrist, skimming down your arms. it was deliberate yet professional, his fingers barely ghosting over your skin. then he hovered over your hips, pausing his hands at the swell of your ass.

“you nervous?” he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot and sticky. something darker was palpable in his voice, but you couldn’t quite figure out the reason.

“ah– a little.”

“you should be.”

and that’s when his hands unprofessionally gripped at your ass over the skirt, half of his palms hitting the material of your garment, half of it — his curious fingers — hitting bare skin.

“s-sir–?”

“public nudity? that’s a serious offense, sweetheart.”

his fingers dug deeper into your flesh, leaving indents into the plush of your ass, as he spread your legs slightly to make space for his own body.

“walking around like this?” he growls against the shell of your ear as his fingers raised the hem of your skirt higher and higher. “skirt so short and fuck me– no panties?”

your cunt was now on full display, shimmering underneath the moonlight because of the glossy arousal coating your lips and thighs. and to make it worse, the rugged material of mattheo’s pants were nicely pressing against it, making you buckle your hips back into him.

your stomach flips at his words, a mixture of desire and fear. you tried to beg for mercy, but only a small whine left your throat.

“not only you’re breaking the law…” he continued ruthlessly, raising one of his hands from your ass only to let it slap back against your skin. “you’re doing it like a desperate little whore.”

“p–please, officer, i–”

another slap.

“save it for the chief.”

before you can beg again, he roughly gripped your wrists and, binding them closer behind your back, he swiftly handcuffed you. now, with your hands tied behind you, the cold and hard metal of the cuffs digging into your skin, you had no chance of escaping.

you were fucked.

“c'mon, let’s go.”

he removed himself from behind you like nothing happened, pushing back down your skirt and even yanking your body from the hood.

“what are we–”

“we’re going to the police station. you’re under arrest, sweetheart.”

and with that brief explanation, he nudged you to move towards his car. his police car, with the red-blue lights still menacingly spinning.

it was bad.

if he takes you to the police station, they will surely find the drugs. shit, shit shit, you have to stop him right now. but how? what should you do to make him change his mind?

“wait– wait! officer riddle…” you breathed out courageously, heels skidding against the pavement as you dig them in.

resisting his pushing.

but he doesn’t stop at all, hand stiff against your lower back.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“i will do anything–” you blurt out. “j–just– don’t take me there, please.”

that stops him.

his hand on you falters just enough to give you hope. you could see from the corner of your eyes how his own chocolate orbs flicker down your body — unreadable themselves, yet the mere action speaks volume.

“anything?” he repeats, low and dangerous.

“y–yeah!” you nod, heart pounding right next to your drug pouch. “p–public indecency should be punished privately, d–don’t you agree?”

for a moment, there’s only the whirling of the police lights and the thudding in your chest. then, with a devilish smile, mattheo drags you closer, your body falling into his.

“you think i am that easy, sweetheart?”

fuck it, go big or go home.

“i think you want to see if i am that easy, officer.”

that was enough. you didn’t even need to push your hips back into his crotch like you were planning to.

your body was instantly guided to the hood of the police car, shoved chest first against the cold metal. your legs parted instinctively, giving officer mattheo riddle the chance to position himself between them and yank your skirt back up.

“what a fucking slut.” he mutters as he slowly thumbs at your pussy, fingers cruising against your folds and collecting your arousal. “showing me this dirty cunt to fuck.”

he continues to mutter profanities under his breath as he undoes his belt with one hand. the other tightly clutches the handcuffs on your wrists, keeping them in place at the base of your back.

“bending over like a common whore to dodge a charge.”

you moan when he grinds against you, this time sloshing the head of his hard cock between your sticky folds. his fat tip presses deliciously against your pulsing entrance, offering enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.

“gonna fuck you raw, sweetheart.” he groaned in your ear as he carefully pushed in, cock splitting your pussy open inch by inch. “you need justice deep inside you.”

“oh my god–”

mattheo's hips snap forward, shoving his cock deep inside you with a brutal thrust, knocking the wind out of your lungs. the cold of the metal hood mixes with the boiling heat between your thighs, your breath fogging up the base of the windshield in front of you.

“is this what you wanted, huh?” he sets a brutal pace from the start, disregarding your comfort for good. “is this why you’re walking with your bare pussy out?”

his belt clinks faintly with every movement, still hanging loose around his hips, evidence of how quickly he turned from arrest to sex. his free hand comes down against you ass again and again and again, spanking your buttcheeks with force.

until red imprints of his hand remained on your skin.

“fuckin' tight–” he hisses, one hand still gripping your cuffed wrists, the other planted on your ass, pressing harder against it and exposing your hungry cunt sucking him in.

“and this wet for a cop? you’re so disgusting, sweetheart.”

you only moan, body trembling from his aggressive thrusts, metal handcuffs biting into your skin as he keeps a constant pace — fast and heavy. perfect rhythm to make you feel every inch drag along your inner walls while also bullying your cervix.

“fucking your way out of jail time… you always do that, hm?” he growls, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against yours.

he was so mean, his mouth constantly running on and degrading you with every word. but you couldn’t even retort back, you lips only able to allow drool to pool on the hood of the police car.

he was hitting the right spots with every jut of his hips, and his heavy balls were perfectly hitting your puffy clit.

“aaah– n–noo–” another sharp thrust shuts you up again.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, nails scrapping the scalp, and pulls your head back just enough to make your back arch harder. the shiny handcuffs were gleaming beautifully against your newly-found arch, and, no matter how much you tugged at them to release your hands to support your body, you could only cry loud from the harsh pressure at your roots.

“lying, stealing, flashing your fuckholes at anyone who looks twice. i think one fuck is not enough.”

his pace increased, cock driving into you with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin fills the night air, and the windows fog more and more.

“what do you think, theo?”

“t– theo?”

and that’s when you see him: theodore nott, your dealer, smirking like a demon from behind the windshield of the police car. he seems to have been here from the start, as he was seated nicely in the passenger seat, carefully eyeing you and pumping something you couldn’t see yet.

“yes, whore, theo. theodore nott.”

mattheo doesn’t let up, his pace violent, hands loosening against your hair and making you drop back onto the hood. the impact made you gasp in pain and pleasure, all his restless abuse somehow making you needier for more.

“you see what happens…” theo drawls, voice thick with arousal, now booming from right next to your exhausted body. “when you try to fuck me over, baby?”

turning your face sideways, you finally see him clearly. you see the way his eyes were dark with amusement, one hand lazily stroking his hard cock as he takes in the sight of you bent over the hood of his friend’s car.

“you get fucked twice as hard.”

it was definitely a bad situation for you, yet all you could do is gush more around mattheo’s dick, sucking him in like a vice and milking him dry. all you could do was eye theo’s own cock, all hard and weeping with precum, wishing it was in your mouth.

“she’s learnin' her lesson realllll well,” he grunts, hand stricking your ass again. “ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

you whimper weakly, nodding as best you can against the hood. “y-yes, sir…”

theo only smirks, cockily examining how obedient and pliant mattheo made you. “good fucking girl,” he praises you mockingly, thumbing your bottom lip before slapping the head of his cock on it.

“now open that pretty mouth and apologize to me too.”

you part your lips willingly, tongue flicking out to taste the salty precum on his tip. then you took him deeper, eyes fluttering closed as theo inserted his cock inch by inch. his groans, low in his throat, were music to your ears, now joining together mattheo’s raspy moans and creating the finest tune.

“that’s it.” he hissed, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down his shaft.

“apologize with your mouth full.” he taunts, hips twitching forward as your warm mouth almost engulfed his entire length. “gag on it. make it sloppy, baby.”

and you did, as his hands didn’t allow you another choice, pushing your head all the way down to his navel. your throat was forced open by his cock, constricting around it from the sheer size of him and making you choke strongly.

mattheo groaned at the sight, cock twitching inside you.

what a fucking slut.

“fuck, she’s so dirty.” he growls, slamming into you harder and harder. “mouth full of cock while i wreck her cunt.”

your nails scrape at the hood of the car, knees shaking, orgasm bubbling in your stomach as the two men use you without mercy — like you’re nothing more than a slutty little debt to be collected.

“you like that, baby? you like being passed around like a toy?”

your muffled moans are enough of an answer, spit and precum seeping from the corners of your mouth as theo fucks your face deeper. he too was as turned on by your depravity as mattheo, his head tipped backwards with satisfaction, hands strongly caging your head.

“i should’ve known you were this desperate.” theo mutters, his voice rougher now, eyes looking from underneath his lashes at the way your lips stretch deliciously around him.

“all that fake money, all that attitude — when all you wanted was to be used.”

suddenly pulling you off his cock, face all wet and sticky, he gripped both of your cheeks with one hand, pursing your lips close to one another in a painful lock.

“where are the drugs, slut?” theo growled into your face, remembering what started all this. “still between those naughty tits of yours?”

he might have emptied your mouth to be able to answer him, but the way he was pushing at your cheeks did not help at all. so you only nod, excessively so, hoping theo will get the message.

“good.”

it's all he says before his fingers catch the edge of your top, tugging it down until your tits spill free, bouncing slightly with the motion. the bag also drops on the hood, hitting it with a small thud.

you hoped he would grope your breasts, tweak your hard perky nipples and give you the much needed chest stimulation. sadly, he completely ignores your tits, his hand sneaking across the hood and snatching the drugs.

“you don’t deserve them, you slut!”

not only did he took them back, he also opened the package right in front of you.

your lips part in protest, but no sound comes out. theo doesn’t give you a chance to process what he was doing, pushing his hand against your head and forcing you to stay flat on the hood.

“you better stay still.”

with one final threat, he dumped the greens all over your back. then, reaching into his back pocket for papers, theodore rolls the joint right there on your skin.

like your body is just another table for him to use.

you watch his fingers work through the sheer reflection on the windshield — deft, practiced — as he forms the joint with precision in seconds. lastly, with no hesitation, he lights the joint and, placing it between his lips, takes a long drag of his own products.

“want some, mattheo?”

“you know it.”

it’s all mattheo says before taking the joint from theo, slowing down his thrust to take a long drag, only to return to his torturous pace right after.

“you’re so dumb, sweetheart.” mattheo chuckled darkly as he slapped your ass. “trying to fool theo, seriously?”

his hand rains down your skin again, his red markings stinging all over. then, gripping the meatiest parts of your ass, he spread you open again, showing off to theo how good you are taking him.

“at least you’re a phenomenal fuckhole.”  

and mattheo was right. theo could clearly see the tight grip your cunt had on mattheo’s cock, how drenched you were from the two of them punishing you for your wrongdoings.

he might need to have a go at your pussy too.

“her mouth is also amazing.” theo added, returning to his previous place, next to your wet face. the joint was hanging from between his lips, the fumes reaching even down to you.

your beautiful puppy eyes immediately latched onto the drugs, begging theodore to share a drag with you too.

“awe, baby wants a taste?”

he mockingly asked you, pouting his lips in an attempt to imitate your desperate facial expressions. his fingers gripped the joint and removed it from his lips, lowering it closer to yours.

“you want a hit?”

you nodded frantically at him, face dragging across the metallic hood closer to his hand. your tongue poked out, your lips puckered, somehow hoping such gestures would attract the drugs closer to you.

what a fucking slut.

“nah–ah. your mouth has another purpose.” and so, he drags the joint away, taking a drag himself and blowing all the smoke right in your face.

“cock. your mouth was made to suck cock, baby!”

his tip was already slapping back against your lips and, without further reasoning, theodore pushed back into your mouth, resuming his face-fucking from before.

“you’re just a cock-hungry whore.”

mattheo added, rutting his hips harsher into you, pushing you further down theo’s dick and making you bury your nose into his happy trail.

theo’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he fucked your mouth with cruelty. you gagged more around him, drool staining his pants and the police car. mattheo’s hips too slammed harder against your dripping cunt, the heat building impossibly fast.

“show us how good you are.” he growled, his voice rough against your ear. his wandering hands finally grabbed at your bare tits, kneading roughly, fingers pinching your nipple just like you wanted.

your body trembled under the assault of the two men. theo’s cock pulsed in your mouth, while mattheo’s dick twitched against your velvety walls. his grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still as his cock pounded faster, harder.

“cum on my dick. c'mon, whore.”

“be a good girl, baby! cream on his cock and i will give you a nice tasty load too.”

the joint, brought into the scene just to taunt you, fell forgotten somewhere on the pavement, their entire focus being now on you — their dirty, broken girl.

your body betrayed you, folding under the overwhelming pleasure. your pussy clenched so tight around mattheo it was almost painful, the slick heat of your walls burning hot and deep and pushing officer riddle over the edge.

“so tight and warm, shit.” mattheo cursed one last time, chasing his release with wild, sloppy thrusts.

theo too groaned low, his grip on your hair becoming increasingly painful. his own release was sudden, spilling hot and thick down your throat, making you choke one last time as he came hard.

mattheo roared above you at the same time as theo, his cock stilling deep inside as he fully painted your hungry cunt with his cum.

finally, after the restless pounding of both of your holes, you were allowed a break as the two men pulled out. you were a mess, full of cum inside and outside. the drugs on your back were mixed with sweat, but neither party seems to care about the waste.

“awe, baby, you’re tired?”

theo's venomous voice resonated in your ears like a distant echo. a small yeah was the only answer you could give, too exhausted to form full sentences.

“too bad, we’re not done.”

“i wanna feel your throat just break around me, sweetheart–”

“and i want to shoot my load deep in that dirty cunt of yours.”

“b–but–”

“do not pass out on us, baby.”

“not that that will stop us from fucking you, haha.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove, @nottsangel

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[pieandflannel]

hey girlie, could you do a dean x reader where he finds out she's a squirter? thanks xxx

౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ like a faucet

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: dean uses a new fingering technique that makes you squirt for the first time.

cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ fingering.ᐟ squirting.ᐟ

word count: 445

julia yaps: thank you for trusting me with your request! hope you like it! <3

────────── 💦 ──────────

dean was always good when it came to pleasuring you, like hella good. but tonight? he was something else. it’s as if he was using a new technique or something, which he was.

he couldn’t help himself but read that article about female pleasure you had accidentally left open on the laptop. after all it was like you were asking for him to read it.

his fingers worked in perfect rhythm, drawing out constant moans from your pretty parted lips. you just couldn’t control your volume. your fists grasping the fabric of the bedsheets for dear life as your hips bucked against his hand.

“you like that sweetheart?” he coaxed, his voice low and full of cocky satisfaction, noticing the results of this new pussy play technique he desperately wanted to try out.

his fingers stretching your hole open, slow but deliberate strokes, teasing that sweet spot deep inside you, over and over and over again.

his thumb circling your clit with enough pressure to have your hips grind against his hand, desperate whines and erotic moans bouncing off his bedroom walls as you lay on his bed with your legs wide open, his fingers playing with your pretty little pussy. sam and cas definitely hearing you from across the bunker.

“s-so good” you manage to cry out, your mind turning to mush from the intense pleasure. “d-dean~”

you were close, so so close. but the intensity kept building and building, forming into something almost too much to handle. a sharp gasp tore from your lips as the tension snapped, a cry leaving your lips as pleasure crashed over you, not like a tidal wave, but a goddamn tsunami.

something wet gushing from between your legs, soaking dean’s hand, the sheets, everything. dean just made you squirt, hard.

your body shook, the overwhelming feeling flushing over you, your eyes widened as you’ve never experienced this before, you didn’t even know you were able to do that.

your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you hide your face in your hands, but dean just grins, looking downright smug as he stared at the mess you’ve made.

“well, damn” he chuckled cockily, dragging his soaked fingers over your skin, deliberately spreading the wetness all over your swollen clit and lips.

“didn’t know you could do that sweetheart, but I sure as hell ain’t complaining.” his smirk prideful, his ego fed knowing he just made you squirt like a faucet.

“sorry about your bed..” you spoke after finally catching your breath. dean shakes his head with a smile.

“don’t apologise darling, we’ll just sleep in your room tonight, i’ll clean this up tomorrow” he reassures you with a forehead kiss.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figisonline @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis

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© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

[mercvry-glow]

break in the system

paring. jack abbot x wife/doctor!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader early 30s), hospital setting, descriptive child injury and recovery, no death, jack and reader are parents of a 6yo boy, no physical descriptors used for reader, reader has a sister, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. always in my dad!jack era, please feel free to send me idea like this I serious love them so much. please enjoy, this one is a nice hurt/comfort fic. as always please enjoy and any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 2400+

It was a rare, golden kind of morning. The kind you almost didn’t trust, because it was too smooth.

Jack had brewed coffee before either of you had to ask. You’d packed Mason’s favorite snacks while he sat sleepily at the kitchen island, rubbing his eyes and swinging his little feet under the stool. He was wearing his Spider-Man shirt today, matched with a pair of black shorts. His soft curls sticking up in every direction.

Your sister arrived just after sunrise, toting a canvas bag filled with activities and snacks and promising him a park trip and a stop for ice cream if he was good.

“You ready for a super fun day with Aunty?” she asked, ruffling Mason’s hair.

“Super tired is more like it,” Jack muttered around his coffee, but he kissed your cheek and then bent to kiss the top of Mason’s head too. “You be good, buddy.”

“I am good,” Mason answered, matter-of-fact.

You all laughed. It was one of those small, perfect family moments you didn’t think to savor until later.

At the hospital, the day passed in that rare, deceptively smooth rhythm. You took vitals, gave meds, reassessed post-op pain levels. Jack floated between trauma calls and consults, his voice calm and clinical when needed, still managing a wink when your paths crossed in the hallway. The familiarity of working alongside him was strangely comforting—a rhythm you’d both mastered through the years of shared chaos.

It was nearing noon when you finally took a breath. You leaned back in the break room, sipping lukewarm coffee, your phone resting silent on the table. You stared at the lock screen—Mason’s smiling face, missing front tooth, sunshine and freckles—without even realizing you were smiling at it.

Jack walked in and flopped down across from you, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Quiet today. I don’t trust it.”

“You never trust a quiet shift,” you replied with a soft laugh.

“Because quiet means it’s coming,” he said, tapping his temple like he could feel the shift in energy.

You shook your head, teasing, “Your trauma-sense tingling again?”

He was about to quip back when the trauma pager went off.

You both jumped—not dramatically, but instinctively, the way people do when muscle memory kicks in before thought.

Jack unclipped his pager and read aloud: "Level 1 peds trauma, ETA 2 minutes. Six-year-old male. Head trauma with LOC. Fall at park."

Your stomach dropped a full three inches. Jack went still beside you.

It wasn’t unusual. Kids came in hurt all the time.

But your brain was already moving ahead, shuffling information like puzzle pieces, trying to ignore how familiar it sounded.

Six-year-old. Male. Fall at the park. Level 1 trauma. Loss of consciousness.

It was just a coincidence.

Jack stood, voice a little tighter now. “Come on. Let’s go.”

You moved in practiced sync, already heading toward Trauma Bay 2, the air feeling a little thicker than it had ten minutes ago. You didn’t say it—not yet. Not even to each other.

You didn’t say anything.

Because you couldn’t. Not until you knew, and gut feelings didn’t count for the truth. 

And the moment the trauma doors slammed open and you saw the flash of a small Spider-Mant t-shirt beneath bloodied gauze and an oxygen mask—and suddenly your world tilted.

It was him.

The trauma bay erupted into controlled chaos the moment the gurney rolled through the doors.

You were at the foot of the bed, frozen for half a second before instinct kicked in. Jack was already moving forward, eyes locked on the little boy lying so still under the oxygen mask.

You didn’t even have to say his name.

The Spider-Man shirt. The Freckles. The curls matted with dried blood. It was Mason.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely audible, before your training took over like a switch flipping. But that voice—the parent voice—it never shut off. Not this time.

“Six-year-old male,” the medic rattled off, breathless but focused. “Fall from monkey bars, about six feet. Witnessed loss of consciousness, about two minutes. Regained briefly, then vomited twice. Unresponsive en route. GCS was 8, now trending to 6. Possible seizure activity reported by caregiver. No obvious long bone fractures. He was wearing a helmet for his bike earlier—removed at the park.”

You didn’t realize your hands were trembling until Jack grabbed your wrist gently. His voice was firm, steady—the voice of a trauma attending—but his eyes were glassy with panic barely held back.

“You can’t be in here,” he said lowly, eyes flicking toward the doors.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. I can help.”

“No—you’re his mom right now. Go.” His jaw tightened. “Please.”

The please hit you harder than anything else. You backed away, your legs feeling like they weren’t fully connected to your body anymore, your heart hammering as the rest of the team swarmed your baby.

Jack turned to the team. “Let’s move. What’s his pressure?”

“Ninety over fifty-six. Pulse 142.”

“Get a stat head CT. I want neuro and peds trauma paged now. Two large-bore IVs, hang NS bolus. Let’s get a collar on until we clear his c-spine.”

You backed into the wall of the trauma bay, peering through what felt like glass separating you from your husband and son. Your hands pressed flat against the cold surface as you watched your husband slip into a version of himself that didn’t exist at home. Dr. Abbot. Commanding. Composed. Making rapid decisions while your son—your Mason—lay still under fluorescent lights.

Your sister appeared moments later through the open door, eyes red, cheeks tear-streaked.

“I’m so sorry—he was fine, he was running—he always runs ahead—he just slipped—he hit the back of his head—he was okay for a minute but then—”

You pulled her into a tight hug, holding on for dear life. “It’s okay. You did the right thing. You got him here.”

Inside the bay, Jack’s voice cut through the buzz: “GCS is still six. Pupils reactive but sluggish. No external bleeding beyond scalp laceration. Let’s move now—CT and labs.”

As they wheeled Mason away, Jack followed, casting one last look back toward you through the window. His jaw was tight, but his eyes broke in that second.

You nodded once, already following down the hall toward radiology.

The hardest thing you’d ever done was not run in there and scoop your son into your arms.

But right now, Mason didn’t need his mom, he needed doctors. 

The CT suite was silent except for the rhythmic click and hum of the scanner. You stood just outside the control room glass, arms wrapped tight around yourself, watching Jack through the sterile glow.

He hadn’t left Mason’s side. Not for a second.

The techs were gentle, fast, and professional. Jack kept one hand near Mason’s foot the whole time, the other tucked against the side rail, whispering barely audible reassurances—things like, “You’re okay, buddy. Almost done. I’m right here.”

Even though Mason couldn’t hear him.

Even though your baby hadn’t opened his eyes once.

The scan ended. The attending radiologist had already been called down—an older, calm-voiced man you trusted completely. He pulled up the images, and when Jack joined him at the monitors, you followed, swallowing hard.

“There,” the radiologist pointed. “Linear parietal skull fracture, left side. No depression. He’s lucky.”

You exhaled shakily, but it wasn’t over.

“Contusion here,” he continued, circling the left temporal lobe. “Localized cerebral edema. No midline shift, no herniation. Small subgaleal hematoma along the occiput—probably from the initial impact. No signs of active intracranial bleeding.”

Jack nodded, arms crossed tightly over his sturdy chest, voice strained. “What about seizure risk?”

“Moderate. The contusion is sitting near cortical tissue. If he did seize en route, it’s not unexpected. You’ll want continuous EEG. We’ll monitor ICP closely for the next 48 hours. Neurosurgery should take a look, but this is non-operative for now.”

Your breath caught. Non-operative. You clung to the word like a rope in the dark.

“He’s stable enough to go up?” Jack asked.

“PICU? Absolutely. Intubate if his GCS drops again. Start seizure prophylaxis—Keppra, likely.” and with that it ended, short and sweet and not enough all at the same time. 

The elevator ride up to the PICU felt like moving through water. You were allowed to ride alongside the bed this time, one hand brushing Mason’s tiny fingers. 

They felt too cold. Too still.

His face looked smaller without his usual noise, his bursts of energy, the chatter. They’d cleaned most of the blood from his hair, but you could still see dried streaks clinging to his ear. His lips were parted slightly beneath the oxygen mask, his lashes damp against his cheeks.

In the PICU room, monitors beeped quietly, soft and steady. A nurse worked quickly and calmly—hooking up IV lines, starting the EEG leads, dimming the lights. Another brought in the seizure meds. Jack stood in the corner, arms limp at his sides now, adrenaline draining from his face.

The door closed.

And finally, the room went quiet.

You sat beside the bed and took Mason’s hand fully in yours. It was so small inside your palm. Always had been. But now it felt weightless, like something you couldn’t quite hold onto.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Jack didn’t respond at first. Then he moved behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. His voice broke when he spoke.

“Yes, you can. Because he needs us to. He’s going to wake up. He is.”

You leaned into him, tears slipping silently down your face as you looked at your son—your entire world—wrapped in wires and machines, and not moving.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did Jack.

Still you took turns sitting by the bed, staring at the monitors, willing the numbers to stay steady. Hoping for a flicker of movement. A twitch of fingers. A shift in those long eyelashes. And in the quiet, with Jack’s hand around yours and Mason’s resting between you both, you whispered promises neither of you had made out loud before:

We’re never working the same shift again. Not if it means risking this.

The room truly felt like a time capsule. Hours passed in a haze of fluorescent lights, rhythmic monitor beeps, the gentle hiss of oxygen.

It was day two.

Mason hadn’t opened his eyes.

His vitals were holding steady. The cerebral edema hadn’t worsened. The neurosurgeons were cautiously optimistic, calling his fracture “clean,” and the contusion “contained.” The EEG hadn’t shown any additional seizure activity overnight, and the Keppra seemed to be doing its job. His pupils were still sluggish, but reactive. He was breathing on his own. Everything was textbook.

But textbooks didn’t prepare you for how still a six-year-old could look when the light left his eyes.

You were in the chair again, your fingers curled gently around his. You’d barely moved all day, afraid that if you stepped away, you’d miss something. Jack was sitting on the couch now, head leaned back against the wall, one foot bouncing anxiously. He hadn’t left the both of you beyond grabbing the spare sets of clothes out of his truck. 

The lights were dimmed, the machines soft and steady. You rubbed slow, soothing circles across the back of Mason’s hand, whispering to him like he was just dozing after a long day.

“Hey, lovebug,” you said quietly. “It’s okay to wake up now. Daddy’s here. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips against his knuckles, careful of any swelling.

“I know your head hurts. I know you’re tired. But you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Jack stirred at the sound of your voice, rubbing a hand down his face. He moved beside you, placing a palm lightly on Mason’s ankle.

As if he heard you both.

Mason’s fingers twitched.

It was so small you almost thought you imagined it.

You straightened slowly, eyes locked on his face.

Then his eyelids fluttered.

“Mason?” you whispered.

Jack stood up so fast the chair he had moved too scraped against the floor.

Mason’s eyes opened—barely. Just enough to see the soft hazel underneath. He blinked slowly, unfocused, then squeezed them shut against the light.

“Hey, baby,” you said gently, leaning close again. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He let out a faint, croaky sound—half breath, half mumble.

Jack stepped forward, his voice catching. “Hey, bud. It’s Daddy. Can you squeeze Mommy’s hand for me?”

Another pause.

Then—your fingers were squeezed, weak but there. Real.

Tears slid down your cheeks as you pressed his hand to your face. “There you are,” you whispered.

Mason blinked again, this time managing to squint up at the two blurry figures hovering over him. His lips parted. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“My head hurts.”

You choked on a sob, letting out a shaky laugh. “I bet it does, sweetheart. But you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Jack cleared his throat, crouching beside the bed now, brushing hair gently away from Mason’s forehead. “We’re gonna take really good care of you, buddy. You scared us.”

Mason looked at you, then at Jack, and then murmured, “Did I miss the ice cream?”

You both laughed—quiet, breathless, full of relief.

“No,” you said. “Aunty owes you extra scoops now.”

He gave a tiny smile, then drifted again, eyelids heavy, but this time… it was just sleep.

Not unconsciousness. Not seizure. Not silence.

Just rest.

The next day brought sunlight through the tall PICU windows, soft and golden, catching in the folds of Mason’s blanket. He was propped up slightly now, still sleepy and sore, but undeniably there. Awake. Talking a little more. Asking small, simple things like “What day is it?” and “Can I have ice cream now?”

You and Jack stayed close, moving slower now, the urgency replaced by the kind of stillness that only comes after a storm.

There were still scans ahead. Neuro checks. Days of rest already planned in advance. But for now, Mason’s vitals were steady. His headache was easing. The swelling in his brain was beginning to go down. And his eyes—when they looked at you—were full of that quiet spark again.

That afternoon, you sat beside him in the recliner, Mason tucked against your chest in hospital-issue pajamas, his IV carefully taped and his fingers curled around your shirt. Jack was across the room, dozing lightly on the couch, arms crossed, head tilted, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

Mason’s voice came soft against your collarbone.

“Mommy?”

You tilted your head down. “Yeah, baby?”

“Will you stay here when I sleep?”

You smiled, kissing the top of his head.

“Of course, baby. Daddy and I both will.”

And with his breathing deepening, his small body warm against yours, and Jack snoring softly in the corner, you finally let yourself close your eyes.

Not out of fear.

Because—for the first time in days—you knew everything was going to be okay.

mercvry-glow 2025

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

cherry pie

a/n: this is all @chvoswxtch's fault. you know what you did, babe! whispering in my ear like a slutty little devil…

summary: briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.

warnings: frank castle x diner waitress!reader, smut, mutual pining, kissing, public sex, clothed sex (the uniform stays on, hehe), dirty talk, size kink (the return of mr castle's canon coke can cock, hallelujah), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spit kink, oral, fingering, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 3643

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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A soft hum vibrated quietly in your throat as you cleaned out the table in the corner where the last remaining customers had just departed from, leaving you all alone in the dark diner as the rest of the small staff too had gone home at this late hour since next to no one ever frequented the establishment in the time slot before closing.

After wiping down the table, the interior dimly illuminated by mostly just the neon lights scattered around the walls as well as the big one out front that glimmered through the windows, you then balanced the dirty plates out into the kitchen. Though when you sat the dishes down by the sink, the chime of the door out front found your ears.

However, when you twisted your neck to glance out of the wide hole in the wall, that divided the kitchen from the dining area, to spot the individual who had just entered the low-lit diner, the gentle melody that warmed up your chest promptly seized from your lips as your eyes began to widen.

Briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.

You still remembered two months back when the gruff-looking man had first set foot into the diner. It had been like you’d been transformed into one of those wooden dolls where you press a button at the very base and its legs just collapse.

You still weren’t sure if it was a gift or a curse that the establishment had swiftly grown into a regular spot for him to frequent, seeing as you now spent most of your days either eye-fucking him from a distance as he sat in your section, or stumbled over your words as you tried to take his order. You’d even dropped all of his change one of the times he’d paid, sending the coins clanging across the linoleum floor, only for him to duck down and join you on the ground, the simple kindness sending such a shiver down your spine that you had crashed your skull up into the table like the true stumble fuck you felt like whenever he was near.

And when you finally managed to force your feet to shift, the advice, that one of your coworkers had recently given you on your little predicament, echoed quietly on your lips as you exited the kitchen, “okay, be bold... be bold…” in a feeble attempt at hyping yourself up.

Your fingers dipped into the pocket of the little apron tied around your waist, fishing out a small notepad and pencil, before you neared the spot he sat at.

“Hi, Frank,” you uttered, offering him a smile as his eyes flickered up to settle upon you. 

“Evening, sweetheart,” he exhaled, the surely meaningless term of endearment that he had begun to drop into your short chats over the past few weeks still caused your ragged breath to hitch.

“You’re up late,” you briefly glanced to the round clock on the wall before reuniting your gaze with his unwavering one.

Tilting his head, the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he murmured, “yeah, well at least I’m not still stuck at work.”

“Touché,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth and wiggled the pencil in your grasp before asking, “so, what can I get you tonight?”

“Just some coffee,” his head nodded slightly as his gaze briefly averted, “and keep it coming.”

“Coffee as usual,” you slipped your notepad back into your pocket, “you and your endless cups of coffee, okay… perhaps I should just start pouring automatically whenever I see you come in, like it’s pavlovian or something.”

“Well,” his tongue fleetingly flickered out to wet his slight smile, “it would save me the breath, not having to ask for what I want if you just give it to me straight out of the gate.”

Heat promptly rose in your cheeks as your dirty mind played tricks on you and warped his words. Clearing your throat lightly as you swiftly choked on a tiny giggle, “uhm, yeah–, so, uh…” you stared down at the counter, though quickly darted them away when his hands that rested there began to distract you as well and make you that much more dizzy, “just the coffee, nothing else?” you uttered hazily as you then twisted around to snatch up the half-empty pot behind you and fill up a mug for him.

“Just the coffee,” he drawled quietly like a gentle crackling fire behind you.

“You sure?” you tilted your head as you spun back around and slid the cup across the counter towards him, “it’s Friday night. Why not go crazy and treat yourself to a piece of pie or something.”

Gliding his fingers into place around the warm mug, his eyes fluttered back up to capture your own, “I’m good, thanks.”

“Really? You don’t even wanna hear what the options are?” your teeth gently dug into your bottom lip, “I made them all myself, fresh this morning…”

Blinking back at you a moment, he then bowed his head as he gave in, “alright, sure, why the hell not.”

“Well,” you propped down your forearms on the counter directly across from where he sat, “there’s rhubarb pie with a meringue topping,” you uttered softly as you leaned against the table, slowly inching closer and closer to him, “there’s apple if you’re into the classics,” your gaze licked him up as your heart hammered in your chest like it was trying to escape, “and then today’s special, cherry pie…”

“Cherry, huh?” he hummed as he stared back into your eyes, even as you gradually tilted closer. You knew that if he dared to let his unwavering gaze stray, he’d surely be able to look straight down the neckline of your uniform from how you bent over the counter.

Dipping your vision down to his lips, you dreamily sucked in a breath as you added, “with extra whip cream on top…”

A smirk bloomed on his lips as an exhale then slipped from his lungs, “well how ‘bout that…”

The next thing you knew, it was as if your brain shut off completely as you then found yourself closing the short distance between you two and crashing your lips against his own. The kiss was short and rather clumsy before you then regained your senses and pulled back just as quickly as you had dived in.

“Oh my goodness,” you swiftly gasped as your hands soared up to briefly shield the lower half of your face, “I’m sorry, that was–, I shouldn't have just–, out of the blue without–,” you stumbled over your own words, “I'm sorry, please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job–”

But then, before you could crumble before him, Frank suddenly seized both sides of your face and pulled you back in for not only a kiss, but one that made your feeble attempt pale in comparison. Melting completely under the scorching warmth of his lips, you damn near crawled straight across the counter to scramble into his lap. However, when he finally withdrew, the kiss somehow seeming both as if it had stretched out an eternity, as well as only feeling like the blink of an eye, you stumbled slightly, and if it hadn’t been for his palms that remained on the sides of your jaw, you surely would have taken a nosedive right in front of him.

“Fuck…” you dizzily blinked back at him as only his hands cupping your features in a gentle grip kept you upright, “how–… how are you even better at that than I imagined?” your jello-like knees wobbled beneath you.

“Oh, you’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about me kissing you,” he chuckled softly, “have you?”

“Well,” you sucked in a ragged breath as you noticed how the dull throb he always triggered between your thighs worsened, “it’s not just that my brain has been thinking about ever since you first came in here…”

“Oh yeah?” he shared your breath as his fingertips slowly strayed into your hairline, “what else has that pretty little head been thinking about, huh?”

And as the corners of your lips twitched into a smile, you gathered up the courage to utter, “…how about you come back here and I show you instead?”

With a soft smirk on his lips, his fingers then slipped from your face before he rose from his seat. Panting, your eyes tracked him as he took his sweet time making his way around the long counter to stand on the same side as you.

Tangling your fingers in his dark shirt as soon as he came in reach, you yanked him to you till his lips crashed against your own once again. Though the ravenous kiss didn’t last too long before you then tilted away as your legs began to bend and you sank down on the ground before him. You still stayed so close to him that your cheek pressed up against his thick thigh as you blinked up at him, a question twinkling in your eyes as your fingers slowly clawed closer to his belt.

But before your lips managed to part in order to ask for permission, Frank caught on and, as he breathlessly gazed down at your kneeling frame, offered you a nod.

Your mouth fell apart in an airy giggle as your stunned eyes widened at his girth that sprung forth as soon as you tugged down the zipper of his dark jeans.

It was soft, rather timid but sweet, as you began to pepper pecks along his length, smiling against the hardness as it twitched at your feathery touch before you soothed it with your glistening tongue.

And though you had a hard time ripping your gaze away from his cock, it more often than not drifted back up to Frank’s own stare as he leaned back against the counter.

When your lips eventually were stretched around his cock and drool was gurgling up your efforts as you bobbed your head, his fingers gently found your hair as his hips stopped resisting the greedy thrusts they craved in order to bury his dick further into your warmth.

A low growl rumbled in his chest when your sweet mouth became too much for him to bear, and he swiftly plucked you back up onto your feet. Spinning you both around till the counter pressed against the small of your back, he then picked you up and planted you on the edge of the tabletop.

Pressing your lips to his own, you then purred against his tongue as his touch wandered down your frame and disappeared up under the dress of your uniform to discover the soaked state of your panties beneath. To you, his fingertips fluttered over your covered core for way too long till he finally yanked the cotton to the side to sweep his touch directly against your aching pussy.

“Holy fucking shit,” you panted as he finally rolled your puffy pearl beneath the rough pads of his fingers, and you had to tilt away from his kiss a moment to reel in the ecstasy. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as you arched your back, though a smirk only bloomed on Frank’s features as he gazed back at your blissed-out features.

“You like that?” he uttered huskily, still so close that he shared your breath.

“I–, fucking–, yes!” you panted before reuniting your lips with his own just as a whimper crawled its way out of your lungs.

Soon his pinkie and forefinger flexed against your centre as the ones in between methodically pumped in and out of your pussy, caressing your velvety walls till you were on the verge of exploding.

But instead of unravelling and creaming all over his thick fingers, you gasped, “wait,” as you painstakingly yanked his touch out from beneath your skirt, “I-I need you inside of me, please, I wanna feel you, I can’t wait any longer,” a dizzy pout quivered at your lip as you begged. Answering your prayer, Frank then slid you off of the counter and spun you around for the curve of your ass to arch back against him.

“Then do it,” his deep voice tickled the shell of your ear as he slid a palm down over your frame before finding your clit once more in a rub that caused your eyes to roll, “go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart,” he uttered, encouraging your fingers to reach back to grasp his girth.

His digits kept on drawing patterns over your puffy pearl as you then slowly slipped his fat cock inside, “f-fuck…” you whined shakily as your eyes fell shut, your whole body freezing up for a second as your cunt clenched around the bulbous tip of him, struggling a moment before relaxing around his size and letting him in.

You felt his lips flutter against the side of your neck as the hand he didn’t have slotted between your trembling thighs, floated up around the curve of your ass, spreading his hand wide across it as he gently gathered up the skirt of your uniform to grant himself a peek of how you stretched for him.

“Atta girl, that’s it,” he groaned as you slowly began to move and fill your pussy up further, “you got it, sweet girl,” his own hips all the while staying locked and letting you control the pace, “keep going.”

Though it didn’t take long after you’d picked up a desperate rhythm, bouncing your ass back against him, that your upper body gave out, bending down over the counter and melting against it as you finally came undone, your loud moans echoing throughout the empty diner.

And though your greedy efforts tried to keep going through your high, your shaky movements still degraded into trembling rocks as you slowly tilted back against him till your sensitivity began to fade away. However, when Frank finally began to move, his palm first gliding up along your horizontal spine before he let himself go, a crinkle found your brow as your body jostled against the counter at each zealous thrust he offered you, his heavy balls smacking against your buzzing clit each time he bottomed out and the tip of him kissed the deepest parts of you.

However, as you fought to keep your eyes open and one of your hands fluttered back to claw needily against one of Frank’s belt loops, your hazy gaze suddenly snapped open as you spotted the figure out on the dark street that came marching directly towards the front door of the diner.

“Shit!” you yelped before you shakily shot up and, in your panic, shoved Frank down behind the counter before the patron could enter. Smoothing down your uniform as the door chimed, your eyes were wide as you squeaked, “hello,” doing everything in your power to seem completely normal and not let your stare stray down to the man hiding by your feet, his throbbing cock still glistening with your juices.

“Hi,” the elderly man offered a tight-lipped smile before glancing around at all of the empty seats and uttering, “are you still serving pancakes?”

And though in actuality you weren’t still serving breakfast at this hour, your mind swiftly short-circuited as you felt Frank sneak a hand up under your uniform, “s-sure, but it’ll take a bit,” you breathed shakily as his touch teasingly traced the mess between your thighs, making you shiver with each light pet, “it’s just me working here right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I don’t mind waiting,” the customer murmured, though just as he did, you sucked in a sharp breath as the gruff man kneeling beside you let himself tilt closer and grant himself a brief taste, momentarily parting your petals with his tongue as his nose nudged against your pearl, lapping ravenously at your leaky hole that still quivered for his cock, before his mouth then soared up and captured your clit, wasting no time to suck down on it making your entire frame jump jaggedly at the dizzying sensation.

“A-alright,” you puffed unsteadily as you watched the stranger take a seat in a far-off booth, “I’ll be right back,” you murmured and lightly shoved Frank’s head away from beneath your skirt before you shakily made your way into the back.

Clutching a hand over your chest as you tried to catch your breath, you didn’t get the chance to glance over your shoulder before you felt Frank catch up to you after he’d snuck into the kitchen as well.

“You are terrible,” you whispered through a hazy giggle as he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, his beard still glistening from the greedy taste he’d offered himself.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he exhaled before you caught onto his shirt and dragged him around the corner with you, into the pantry at the very bottom of the kitchen.

Twisting you around to face him, he kissed you once more, though it only broke when he plucked you up off the ground to sit you up on the steel table that stood between the many open shelves, all brimming with dried and canned goods.

Slotting himself in between your legs, he stole one last peck before his fingers enveloped his girth and offered it a silky stroke. Glancing down between your thighs as you began to shimmy your dress back up, his thumb hooked in the gusset of your panties before it could stray back into place and cover you back up.

Letting a dollop of spit drop from his lips and down upon your glistening pussy as he continued to stare, he uttered gravelly, “you want it?” before he tapped the hefty weight of himself against your puff.

“Yes,” you panted as you too blinked down at how he dragged the bulbous head of his cock through your folds, teasingly tracing the seam of your cunt and making you squirm beneath him.

“Oh, yeah?” he tried to make you beg for it, flicking his hardness crudely against your clit, “tell me how bad.”

“So bad,” you whined as his teasing swiftly became too much for you to bear, “please, Frank,” you nearly felt yourself drool as your eyebrows knitted tightly together, “just shove it back in.”

Huffing out a short chuckle, “okay,” he then took your breath away as he didn’t just slide the tip back inside, but instead slammed the entirety of his length back inside, burying himself completely in your haven, “like that?” he smirked as you struggled to breathe.

“I-I–,” your eyes fluttered as your fingers soared up to dent his shoulders, “o-oh god… that’s so much…”

“What?” he grinned as he tilted closer to you for his nose to ghost against your own, “I thought you said you wanted it,” he murmured cockily before pulling all of the way back out, “is it too much dick for you, huh?” your dripping essence clung to his girth as he slipped out and some of your desperation even dribbled onto the tabletop below.

“It’s–, shit,” you tried to keep up with his dizzying game, but your molten mind just wouldn’t let you, “Frank, please just fuck me. I can’t–, I–, urgh!” a shrill moan promptly escaped you as he then sank back inside, making your eyes roll in your skull as he swiftly slipped into a slow yet rough rhythm, “f-fuck… thank you…”

Smiling against your breathless lips, he uttered, “god, you’re cute…” before his hips snapped against you, offering you long and deep strokes that made it tough for you both to last much longer.

Though once you’d both tumbled over the edge, your cunt choking his cock and milking him for all of his worth, the slow and smouldering kisses that drew out over your lips eventually faded as he slipped his length out of you.

Blinking back at him, your eyes widened slightly in gentle puzzlement as he then sank down before you and began to clean up the mess you’d both turned you into, holding your gaze and eating you out till you had no other choice but to clamper a palm over your mouth to keep quiet as he made you cum one last time.

Hand slipping from your lips as you fell back onto your forearms and caught your breath, you scarcely saw as Frank then rose back up to his full height, his lips briefly dancing up the length of your thigh on his way back up, before his gaze caught sight of the row of pies lined up on a nearby shelf. They were all mostly gone, though what was left was covered by a layer of cling film.

Stretching out an arm, he ducked a finger beneath the plastic that covered the last remaining piece of the cherry one and then brashly dipped his digit into the crimson berry filling, before bringing it up to his lips to suck it clean, the display of which somehow making your sensitive core throb once more for him as he let his tongue lap up the greedy taste he’d granted himself.

As his lips let go of his finger with a pop, a hum rumbled in his broad chest, “that’s good,” before his eyes flickered down to his digit and he twisted it into a different angle to lick up the remaining pie filling. Though as he savoured every last drop, his dark eyes flickered back to capture your stare as he then added with a soft smirk, “but I think I prefer the one that you gave me…”

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you have a one night stand with an extremely attractive older man, but it doesn’t seem like you’ll see him again. fate has other plans, it seems.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23) unexpected pregnancy, light smut, reader and jack have both been drinking but are very eager/consent is definitely there. MDNI

notes: i am still working on former stripper!reader, but this came to me and i had to get it out. i think this will be a series of smaller drabbles, instead of a full one shot, but idk, what do you guys think/prefer? unedited. any feedback is extremely appreciated, especially reblogs/asks!

wc: 1.3k

next

You meet Jack Abbot in a dark bar on a Thursday. You, drug out by your friends, begging you to just let loose for once. Him, alone, on his last night off for the week, mentally preparing to go back to work the next day.

You caught his eye from across the room, and feeling brave, and of course egged on by your friends, you make your way over to him.

The first thing he does is ask you how old you are, to which you give a cheeky response of old enough. At the unamused look you receive, you tell him you’re twenty-three.

Jack nearly choked on his drink at that, and nearly tells you that you’re too young for him. But the pretty and cheeky smile you give him makes a small smirk appear on his face, so he doesn’t.

The second thing he does is order you a sweet fruity drink and a double shot of whiskey for himself.

One round turns into two which turns into three. You laugh a lot, and he laughs at your laugh. Jack tells you briefly about his time in the army, and in turn you tell him about your evil boss that you just know is out to get you.

I’m an ED doctor, he mumbles in your ear after you ask what he does for work

An eating disorder doctor? He snorts at your question.

“No, emergency department, like an ER,” You blush as he laughs at you, nearly choking as he downs the rest of his whiskey in one go.

You don’t even realize that you had effectively abandoned your friends and had been talking to Jack the entire night until one of them comes to ask if you’re ready to go.

You look at Jack, sheepish smile on your face and a glint in your eyes.

You end up at his place, his mouth on yours and calloused hands pawing greedily at your tits under your shirt before he even gets the door closed.

“Your skin is so soft,” He mumbles as he leaves open mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck and back up again.

You moan, “I like the way your hands feel on my skin,”

Your hands tangle in his hair as you force his mouth back on yours, teeth clashing as his tongue fights yours for dominance, ultimately winning when you distract yourself trying to get his shirt off of him.

As quickly as his shirt comes off, he has you topless, your shirt and bra tossed somewhere in his living room.

The rest of the night is a blur, but you know he fucked you in some way, shape, or form on nearly every surface of his home, from eating you out on the couch, to fingering you until you managed to squirt all over his countertops as he made you drink water to stay hydrated, to fucking you dumb on his cock in at least six different positions on his bed, and once more pressed against the shower wall before putting his shirt on you and holding your body pressed up against his body while you slept the entire night.

The next morning the two of you chatted over breakfast. No awkwardness, he goes out of his way to make you laugh over his disgusting coffee, as so affectionately deemed it.

He doesn’t ask for your number, so you don’t ask for his. You kiss the side of his mouth as you leave him.

Jack goes to work, business as usual, but he thinks about you every day for the next eight weeks. Wondering if your boss ever let up on you or if you tried that new Italian place you were wanting to eat at.

You spend the next eight weeks stressed beyond belief. Work eating at your soul and consuming your entire life. You do think about Jack almost every day, contemplating going back to that bar just to see if he’s there.

But you don’t ever get the time, and your next meeting is an unexpected one to say the least.

Slipping on the wet floor in a grocery store was embarrassing, but hitting your head on the way down was mortifying. You were going to have to find a new grocery store.

The situation just keeps getting worse as the paramedics show up, telling you they have to take you to the emergency room since you show signs of a concussion and your nose is bleeding.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Mohan. I hear you took a bit of a fall?” The doctor is pretty, and her smile seems genuine as she talks to you.

“Uh, you could say that. This all could’ve been avoided if they had a wet floor sign out at the grocery store, though,”

She laughs, “You would be surprised how often we see that here,”

She starts going through the usual string of questions you get at the ED. You answer them all until she gets to the last one, “And when was the date of your last period?”

All of a sudden, your mind is blank. Surely you’ve had it, right? You had to have.

“I-I guess I don’t remember,” It comes out a whisper, and your brow is furrowed as you try and try to remember. You know you had it.

Dr. Mohan senses your inner turmoil, “No worries, we can do a blood test,”

She takes your blood and tells you she’s going to go order a CT for your head, “just sit tight.” With a mind smile, she’s gone.

You sit there, trying to rack your brain. There is no way you’re pregnant. No fucking way.

It takes what feels like an hour for Dr. Mohan to come back, ultrasound machine in tow, “So, I have your test results, and it does appear that you are pregnant. We’ll have to do an ultrasound to confirm how far along you are, but after that we should be able to get you to CT,”

“What the fuck.” Is all you can manage, eyes wide as you look at her, “Are you, like, certain?”

She places a hand on your own, squeezing in a comforting manner, “The ultrasound will be to confirm, but blood tests are rarely wrong,”

She gets you situated and pulls the gown up so she can rub the probe over your abdomen, “I am hopeful we won’t have to do this vaginally,”

She quickly places the cold jelly on your abdomen and runs the probe over it, trying to find a fucking baby. You feel like you might throw up.

“And there they are,” There’s a smile on her face and she shows you.

“Oh my god,” You think you’re in shock “I think I’m gonna throw up,”

“Oh!” She quickly steps into action, grabbing a bucket and rubbing your back while you vomit.

“I think this is the worst day of my life,” She gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“The vomiting could be due to the fall you took,” She bites her lip, “CT is pretty backed up, let me go get my attending to see if he can take a look and find something that can get you moved up the list. I’ll be right back,”

She quickly walks out, and you feel tears building quickly in your eyes. How the fuck could you let this happen?

And now, you’ll have to awkwardly face Jack and tell him your passionate night has resulted in this situation.

He didn’t even ask for your number for crying out loud.

Your downward spiral is interrupted when Dr. Mohan returns, with the last person you wanted to see right now.

“This is my attending, Dr. Abbot.” She gestures to him. “Dr. Abbot, I have a twenty-three year old female, approximately eight weeks pregnant with a possible concussion,”

You don’t hear another word that passes her lips, eyes glued to him, and he looks just as shocked and horrified as you feel.