#adding warmth to bare floors

[angelovi]

Simon that goes feral after seeing you wear his dog tags.

"Hm what's that you're wearing love? Those my dog tags?"

You give him a supple nod in return, a light blush dusting your cheeks.

"Where'd you find that hm?" He approaches you slowly with a smirk plastered on his face.

"I found it on your desk.. didn't think you'd mind.." You try your best to sound confident, yet you fail miserably.

He holds your chin between his two fingers, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. "I ever tell you how gorgeous you look?"

"Everyday." You gaze up at him, your innocence showing.

"Good," he whispers softly, his breath warm against your skin, before closing the distance between you and drawing you into a kiss.

Lifting you gently by your thighs, he carries you with ease to the warmth of your shared bedroom. As he crosses the threshold, the soft glow of the lighting wraps around you both. He sets you down on the plush fabric of the bed, the comforting texture embracing you as you sink into it.

In a swift motion, he pulls off his pants, the fabric pooling on the floor, and then settles onto the bed beside you, his skin warm against the sheets. An idea flickers in his eyes, and a light smirk crosses his face.

“Need to see you ride me.” He guides you to straddle him, before slipping your shirt off and pushing your panties to the side, bullying himself in. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp as he moves fervently, showing no signs of slowing down.

He gazes his eyes to the dog tag that's wrapped around your precious neck.

The atmosphere in the room thickens with a mix of hushed gasps and soft moans. Simon's heavy breathing cuts through the tension as pleasure envelopes him, growing more urgent.

“Tell me how good it feels love.”

As you near the edge, words struggle to get out, the only thing audible is your gasps.

“C’mon. Use your words,” he grunts out.

“Feels so fucking good Simon. Don't stop..” your words are followed by a whimper, your legs getting tired as you struggle to bounce on his massive size.

Noticing your struggle, he flips you over and mercilessly pounds you into the bed, aiming to finish you both off.

“That’s it, angel. Right there. Fuck you're so perfect.” he intertwines his fingers with yours, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles before resuming his thrusts.

As soon as you start cumming, Simon doubles his efforts, reaching his hand down to rub your swollen clit. He feels you tighten around him, legs trembling as your orgasm washes over you.

“Fuck, look at you.” he slows his movements, pulling out after he fills you up.

“Spread your legs for me sweetheart.” he spreads your legs a little more, positioning his face between them, planting a little kiss on your clit. He smirks as he maintains eye contact, his tongue darting out to tease your clit with a tight touch, circling it slowly.

His movements speed up, eventually adding his index and middle finger, slowly curling it to hit that perfect spot that makes you see stars.

You moan even louder than before, not even worrying about the neighbors. “More…” you manage to utter, your voice barely rising above a whisper as you use your last bit of resilience.

“Greedy little thing ain't ya?” his fingers move faster, deeper, as he maintains the intense abuse on your clit.

You throw your head back in pure ecstasy as you've officially been fucked dumb.

His fingers pump in and out of you ruthlessly, curling up periodically. He can feel you getting ready to cum again. He looks up at your thrown-back head, his mind racing with more ideas. “Turn over.”

He quickly flips you over into your hands and knees, positioning himself behind you. He spreads your legs apart slightly, exposing your cunt. He spits on it, using his thumb to rub the saliva around your entrance.

He lines himself up with your dripping pussy, rubbing the thick head teasingly along your slit.

He pushes forward slightly, stretching you open as he sinks inside. “Fuck you're so tight, baby girl.” he pauses, letting you adjust to his size once more before starting to thrust slowly.

The dog tags jingle as he pounds into you, grabbing your hips tightly and pulling you back onto him with each powerful thrust. “Such a good girl.”

He reaches around and rubs your clit in firm circles, tormenting it further. “I can feel your little cunt gripping me. You gonna cum angel?”

Seeing you nod, he leans over, pressing his muscular chest against your back, his breath hot on your ear. “Then cum for me sweet girl.”

He growls deeply, feeling your pussy convulse around his cock as you cum. As he finishes emptying himself inside you, he collapses onto the bed beside you, pulling you into his arms and nuzzling into your neck. “You’re so perfect.”

He kisses your neck softly, holding you close as his cum leaks out of your spent cunt. As he whispers comforting words into your ear, you feel yourself dozing off, completely spent from the night’s actions.

Simon smiles softly, adjusting you so you're comfortable against his chest. He pulls the blanket over the both of you, ensuring you're warm. A hand cups the back of your head, rubbing soothingly in your hair, making sure you feel safe.

“Sweet dreams, love. I got you.”

Proud of this one ngl

[thepencilnerd]

When the Sun Hits

summary: What begins as a hospital-wide power outage leaves you trapped in a supply closet with your emotionally unavailable attending. But when the lights come back on, what lingers between you can’t be shut off so easily. genre/notes: forced proximity, slow burn, panic attack + trauma comfort, domestic fluff, my fave kind of intimacy, mutual pining, humor/crack, soft!Jack that can't flirt for shit, idiots in love but neither of them will admit it, you discover you have a praise kink in the most inconvenient of ways, jack abbot on his knees—literally warnings: references to trauma, depiction of a panic attack, mentions of grief and burnout, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~ 7.2k a/n: down bad for whipped Jack Abbot. p.s., thank you to everyone who reblogs/replies/takes the time to read my brain vomit, i appreciate you more than you know ㅠㅠ <3

You had just turned to ask Jack if he could grab another tray of 32 French chest tubes when the lights cut out.

One second, the supply closet was bathed in its usual flickering overhead light—and the next, everything dropped into darkness. Sharp. Sudden.

You froze, one hand on the bin. Jack swore behind you.

"Shit," he muttered, somewhere just inside the door. The backup emergency lights flickered red from the hallway, but barely touched the cramped space around you.

Then the intercom crackled overhead: Code Yellow. Facility-wide outage. All staff remain on current floors. Secure all medications and patients.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Automatic lock.

You turned just as Jack tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

He sighed. "Well. That’s one way to guarantee a five-minute break."

You looked at him sharply, but he was already scanning the room, looking for anything useful, keeping his voice light.

"Guess we’re stuck for a bit," he added.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The air felt too tight in your lungs, too warm all of a sudden.

Because now, the supply closet didn’t just feel small.

It felt like it was closing in.

It had been a normal day.

Or as normal as anything ever was around here—high-pressure shifts balanced by the strange rhythm you and Jack had settled into over the past few years. You worked together well—efficient, quick to anticipate each other's needs, almost telepathic during traumas. Partners in crime, someone had once joked. Probably Robby.

You’d learned how to read his silences—the kind that weren’t dismissive but deliberate, like he was giving you space without needing to say it aloud. He’d learned how to decode your muttered curses and side glances, how to step in behind you without crowding, how to let his shoulder bump yours during charting when words failed you both.

There was a kind of ease between you, a rhythm that didn’t require explanation. He’d hand you tools before you asked for them. You’d finish his sentences when he gave consults. Even in chaos, your partnership felt oddly... quiet. Intimate, in a way that crept in slowly, like warmth from a mug clasped between two hands after a long shift.

When you were paired on trauma, nurses and med students stopped asking who was lead. They knew you moved as one.

People had started to notice—how the two of you always seemed to stay overtime on the same days, how Jack would make dry, cutting jokes around others but soften them just enough when talking to you. Robby, in particular, teased him about it relentlessly.

"Jack, blink twice if this is you flirting," he’d once called across the ER after Jack mumbled, "Great work Dr. L/N," while watching you tie off a flawless stitch or nailing a differential.

Jack huffed. "It’s efficient. She's efficient."

"God, you’re hopeless," Robby laughed.

"She’s my best resident," Jack shot back, like it explained everything. Like it wasn’t a deflection.

You snorted into your coffee. "You say that like it’s not the fifth time this week."

Jack, without missing a beat: "That’s because it’s true. I value consistency."

He was awful at flirting—stiff and dry and chronically understated—but you’d grown to read the fondness buried in the flat delivery.

Like the morning he handed you your favorite protein bar without a word and then said, as you blinked at him, "Don’t faint. You’ll ruin my numbers."

Or the time he stood outside your call room after a brutal night shift, coffee in hand, and muttered, "You deserve a nap, but I guess you’ll have to settle for caffeine and my sparkling company."

He always made sure to loop you in on the interesting cases—"Figure it’s good for your development," he’d say. But then linger just a little too long after rounds, just to hear your thoughts.

And when you were quiet too long, when something in you withdrew, he never asked outright. Just gave you space—and a clipboard he’d pre-filled, or a shift swap you hadn’t requested, or the gentlest, "You good?" when you passed each other by the scrub sinks.

And now, here you were. Trapped in a closet with the man who rarely made jokes—and never blushed—except when you were around.

Now, you were stuck. Together.

The air felt thin but simultaneously stuffed to the brim.

Jack turned on his penlight, sweeping the beam across the room. "We’re fine," he said, calm and certain. "Generator will kick in soon."

You nodded. Tried to match his steadiness. Failed.

The closet was small. Smaller than it had ever felt before.

The walls crept in.

You didn’t notice the way your hands started to shake until he said your name.

Your vision tunneled. The room blurred at the edges, corners shrinking in like someone was folding the walls inward. The air felt heavy, every breath catching at the top of your throat before it could sink deep enough to matter. It felt like someone had filled your veins with liquid lead, your entire body suddenly weighing too much to hold upright. You staggered back a step, hand scrambling blindly for something to anchor you—shelf, handle, Jack. Your heart was pounding—loud, ragged, out of sync with time itself.

You tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Sweat prickled your scalp. Your fingers tingled, every nerve on fire. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you crumbled to the floor—head buried between your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, trying to fold yourself into a singularity. Anything to disappear. Anything to slip away from this moment and the way it pressed in on all sides. There was no exit. No sound but your own spiraling thoughts and the slow, careful way Jack said your name again.

You blinked. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

"Hey," Jack coaxed, his voice cutting through the static—low and steady, somehow still distant. His full attention was on you now, gaze locked in, unmoving. "Breathe."

You couldn’t.

It hit like a wave—sharp and silent, rising in your chest like pressure, no space, no air, no exit.

Jack’s hands found your shoulders. "I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, yeah?"

He crouched in front of you, grounding you with steady pressure and careful, deliberate calm. His hands—firm, callused, the kind that had seen years of split-second decisions and endless sutures—gripped your upper arms with a touch that was impossibly gentle. Like he could mold you back into yourself with his palms alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, not demanding, just present. Just there.

"Can you breathe with me?" he asked. "In for four. Okay? One, two, three…"

You tried. You really did.

Your chest still felt locked, ribs tight around panic like a vice, but his voice—low and even—threaded through the chaos.

"Out for four," he murmured, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like the sound alone could show your body how to follow. "Good. Just like that."

The faint light dimmed between you, casting his face in half-shadow. He was close now—close enough for you to catch the scent of antiseptic and something warm underneath, something that reminded you of winter nights and clean laundry.

"You’re here," he said again, softer this time. "You’re safe. Nothing’s coming. You’ve got space."

You reached out blindly, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and clutching it like a lifeline.

"Good girl," Jack said softly, instinctively, like it slipped out without permission.

Your brain short-circuited. Of all things, in all moments—that was what hooked your attention. You let out a strangled little laugh, shaky and almost hysterical. "Fucking hell," you murmured, pressing your face into your arm. "Why is that what got me breathing again?"

Jack blinked, startled for a second—then let out the smallest huff of relief, like he was holding back a smirk. "Hey, if it works, I’ll say it again," he said, a thread of warmth sneaking into his voice.

You groaned, half-burying your face in your elbow. "Please don’t."

He was still crouched in front of you, his tone gentler now, teasing on purpose, like he was giving you something else to hold onto. "Admit it—you just wanted to hear me say something nice for once."

"Jack," you warned, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You’re doing great," he said quietly, real again. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And eventually—one shaky inhale at a time—your lungs obeyed.

When the power came back on, you stood side-by-side in the wash of fluorescent light, blinking against it.

You were still trembling faintly, your breaths shallow but more even now. Jack didn’t step away. Not right away.

"Feeling better?" he asked, voice low, steady.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Jack stood slowly, offering a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Then he tried, awkwardly, to lighten the mood. "If calling you a good girl was really all it took, then I’ve been severely underutilizing my motivational toolkit."

You let out a startled laugh, breath catching mid-sound. "Jesus, don’t start."

He gave you a crooked smile—relieved, even if the corners of it were still tight with concern. "Whatever works, right? Next time I’ll try it with more enthusiasm."

"Next time?" Your eyes widened like saucers—absolutely flabbergasted, half-tempted to dissolve into laughter or hit him with the nearest supply tray.

He shrugged, another smug grin threatening to cross his lips. "Just saying. If you’re going to unravel in a closet, might as well do it with someone who knows where to find the defibrillator."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his hand until the light flickered again.

Only then did you both step apart.

You didn’t say much.

He didn’t ask you to.

You’d made it as far as the locker room before the adrenaline crash hit. You rinsed your face, changed into sweats, and shoved your scrubs into your bag with trembling fingers. Jack had walked you out of the department without a word, just a hand hovering near your lower back.

"Thanks," you said quietly, as you scanned out. "For earlier."

Jack shook his head, like it was nothing. "You don’t need to thank me."

"Still," you said. "Just… please don’t mention it to anyone?"

He looked over at you, mouth twitching at the corner. "Mention what?"

That made you laugh—brief, breathless. "Right."

You parted ways near the waiting room, sharing your usual post-shift goodbyes.

Or so you thought.

Jack had been about to leave when he saw you—doubling back through the double doors, slipping through the staff-only entrance and back into the ER.

His brow furrowed.

He hesitated, then turned to follow.

The corridor was quiet. Most of the day shift hadn’t arrived yet, and the call room hallway echoed faintly under his footsteps. He paused outside the on-call room and knocked once, gently. When there was no response, he eased the door open.

The room was cramped and windowless, just enough space for a narrow bunk bed and a scuffed metal chair in the corner. The mattress dipped in the middle, the kind of sag that never quite let you forget your own weight. The attached bathroom offered a stall that barely passed for a shower—low pressure, eternally lukewarm, and loud enough to make you question whether it was working or crying for help. It felt more like a last resort than a place to rest.

Your bag was on the bed. Half-unpacked. Toothbrush laid out. Socks tucked into the corner. Like you were staying in a hotel. Like you’d been staying here.

He was still standing there when the bathroom door cracked open and you stepped out—hair damp, towel knotted tightly around your torso.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened. Jack’s went comically wide before he spun around on instinct, shielding his eyes like it was second nature. "Shit—sorry, I didn’t—"

"What are you doing here?" you asked at the exact same time he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat, ears bright red. "I… saw you come back in. Just wanted to check."

You were still standing in place like a deer in headlights, towel clutched in a death grip.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes very pointedly still on the wall, as if the peeling paint had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Fingers clenched around the edge of the towel, embarrassment prickled across your chest like static. "One second," you murmured, disappearing back into the bathroom before either of you could say anything more.

A minute later, the door creaked open and you stepped out again—now wrapped in an oversized hoodie and soft, baggy sweatpants that made you look small, almost swallowed whole by comfort. Jack’s brain did something deeply inconvenient at the sight.

You lingered in the doorway, sleeves tugged down over your hands, damp hair framing your face. "You can look now," you said, voice softer this time.

Jack didn’t move at first. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat in a way that sounded more like a stall tactic than anything physiological. Only after a beat did he finally turn, cautiously, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He caught himself staring. Made a mental note not to think about it later. Failed almost immediately.

A breath left your lungs, quieter than the room deserved. You crossed to the bunk and sat down on the edge, fingers fidgeting with the seam of your sweatpants. "You can sit, if you want," you said, barely above a whisper.

The mattress shifted a second later as Jack lowered himself beside you, careful, slow—like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His knee brushed yours. He didn’t move it. You didn't pull away. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, a long exhale dragging out of you like it had been caught behind your ribs all night. "I’ve been staying here," you said finally. "Not every night. Just... enough of them."

You looked over at him, then down at your hands. "It’s not about work. I just... I didn’t want to go back to an empty place and hear it echo. Didn’t want to hear myself think. Breathe. This place—at least there’s always noise. Even if it’s bad, it’s something."

That made him pause.

"I don’t want to be alone..." you added, quieter.

Jack was quiet for a moment, then nodded once, slow. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "You know I’m always here for you."

You looked down at your lap. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Your fingers twitched, and before you realized it, you’d started picking at a loose thread along your cuff. Jack’s hands came up gently, catching yours before you could do more than graze your skin. He held them between his palms—warm, steady. Soothing.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "You never have to earn being cared about," he said softly. "Not with me."

A few moments passed in silence. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Then, quietly, Jack reached into his pocket.

And handed you a key.

"I have a spare room," he said, voice low. "No expectations. No questions. Just… if you need it."

You stared at the key. Then at him.

He still didn’t look away, even as his voice gentled. "Don’t sleep here. Not if it hurts."

You took the key.

Not right away—but you did. Slipped it into the front pocket of your hoodie like it might vanish otherwise, like the metal might burn a hole through the fabric if you held it too long.

Jack didn’t press. Didn’t ask for promises.

He stood to leave and paused in the doorway.

"I’ll leave the light on," he said. "Just in case."

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, barely, and stared at the key in your lap long after the door shut behind him.

The call room was quiet after he left.

Too quiet.

You stared at the key until your fingers itched, then tucked it beneath your pillow like it needed protecting—from you, from the space, from the hollow echo of loneliness that filled the room once Jack was gone.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

And two days later—after another long shift, after you’d showered in the same miserable excuse for plumbing, after you’d sat cross-legged on the cot trying to convince yourself to just go home—you took the key out of your pocket.

You didn’t text him.

You just went.

The last time you'd been to his place was different. Less quiet. More raw.

It was the night after a shift that left the entire ER shell-shocked. You'd both ended up at Jack’s apartment with takeout containers and too much to drink. You’d lost a kid—ten years old, blunt trauma, thirty-eight minutes of resuscitation, and it still wasn’t enough. Jack had lost a veteran. OD. The kind of case that stuck to his ribs.

He’d handed you a beer without a word. The two of you had sat on opposite ends of his couch, silence stretching between you like a third presence until you broke it with a hoarse, "I keep hearing his mother scream."

Jack didn’t look away. "I keep thinking I should’ve caught it sooner."

The conversation didn’t get lighter. But it got easier.

At some point, you’d both ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent and shoulders almost brushing.

He told you about Iraq. About the first time he held pressure on someone’s chest and knew it wouldn’t matter.

You told him about your first code as an intern and the way it rewired something you’ve never quite gotten back.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t need to. Just passed you another drink and said, "I’m glad you were there today."

And for a while, it was enough—being there, even if neither of you knew how to say why.

You’d gotten absolutely wasted that night. The kind of drunk that swung from giggles to tears and back again. Somewhere between your third drink and fourth emotional whiplash, you started dancing around his living room barefoot, music crackling from his ancient Bluetooth speaker. Tears for Fears was playing—Everybody Wants to Rule the World—and you twirled with your arms raised like the only way to survive grief was to outpace it.

Jack watched from the floor, amused. Smiling to himself. Maybe a little enamored.

You beckoned him up with exaggerated jazz hands. "C’mon, dance with me."

He shook his head, raising both palms. "No one needs to see that."

You marched over, grabbed his hands, and tugged hard enough to get him upright. He stumbled, laughing under his breath, and let you spin him like a carousel horse. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even really dancing. But it was you—vivid and loud and alive—and something in him ached with the sight of it.

He didn’t say anything that night.

But the way he looked at you said enough.

You were still holding his hands from the dance, your breathing slowing, your laughter softening into something tender. The overhead light had gone dim, the playlist shifting into quieter melodies, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers stayed laced behind his neck, your forehead nearly resting against his chest.

Jack’s palms found your waist—not possessive, just steady. Grounding. His thumbs pressed gently against your sides, and for a moment, you swayed in place like the world wasn’t full of ghosts. You were sobering up, but not rushing. Not running.

You hadn’t meant for the dance to turn into this. But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t look away either.

Just held you, as if the act itself might keep you both tethered to something real.

You woke the next morning to the sound of soft clinking—metal against ceramic, a pan being set down gently on the stovetop.

The smell of coffee drifted in first. Then eggs. Something buttery. Your head pounded—dull, insistent—but your body felt warm under the blanket someone had pulled up around your shoulders during the night.

Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen.

Jack stood at the stove, hair ever so slightly tousled from sleep, wearing the same faded t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He hadn’t seen you yet—was humming under his breath, absently stirring a pan with practiced rhythm.

You leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you seriously making breakfast?"

He turned, eyes crinkling. "You say that like it’s not a medically necessary intervention."

You snorted, stepping in. "You’re using a cast iron. I didn’t even know you owned one."

"Don’t tell Robby. He thinks I survive on rage and vending machine coffee."

You slid onto one of the stools, blinking blearily against the light. Jack set a mug in front of you without being asked—just the way you liked it. Just like always.

"You were a menace last night," he said lightly, pouring eggs into the pan.

You groaned, cupping your hands around the mug. "Oh god. Please don’t recap."

He grinned. "No promises. But the dance moves were impressive. You almost took me out during that one twirl."

"That’s because you wouldn’t dance with me!"

"I was trying to protect my knees."

You laughed, head tipping back slightly. Jack just watched you, eyes soft, like the sound of it made something settle inside him.

And for a moment, the silence that settled between you wasn’t hollow at all.

It was full.

If only tonight's circumstances were different. 

Jack opened the door in sweatpants and a black v-neck that looked older than his medical degree. He blinked when he saw you—then smiled, just a little. Not wide. Not obvious. But real. The kind of expression that said he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were there.

He said nothing.

After a slow smile: "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon," he said lightly, trying to break the ice. "Unless you’re here to critique my towel-folding technique."

Lifting your hand slowly, the key warm against your skin, you tilted your head with a deadpan expression. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you said, tone dry—almost too dry—but not quite hiding the twitch of a smile. Jack’s mouth quirked at the corner.

Then you held the key out fully, and he stepped aside without a word.

"Spare room’s on the left," he said. “Bathroom’s across from it. The towels are clean. I think."

You smiled, a little helplessly. "Thanks."

Jack’s voice was soft behind you. "That was a joke, by the way. The towel thing."

You turned slightly. "What?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Trying to lighten the mood," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. "Make it... easier. Or, y'know. Less weird. That was the goal."

The admission caught you off guard. Jack Abbot had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and this was definitely that.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your smile—this time—was a little steadier. A little sweeter.

"Careful, Jack," you murmured, feigning seriousness. "If you keep being charming, I might start expecting it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to double down or play it cool.

"Guess I’ll go work on my stand-up material," he mumbled, half under his breath.

You bit back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair again—classic stall tactic—then finally nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The room he offered you was small, clearly unused, but tidy in a way that suggested recent care. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed. A new toothbrush—still in its packaging—rested on the nightstand. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clean trace of his detergent. The air had that faint freshness of a recently opened window, and the corners were free of dust. Someone had aired it out. Someone had taken the time to make space—room that hadn’t existed before, cleared just enough to let another person in.

You set your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the blanket. Everything felt soft. Considered. You stared at the corner of the room like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But it didn’t feel like a hospital either.

You took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin until the mirror fogged over and your thoughts slowed just enough to feel manageable. Jack's body wash smelled different on you—deeper, warmer somehow—and the scent clung faintly to your skin as you pulled on the softest clothes you had packed: shorts and an oversized shirt you barely remembered grabbing.

When you stepped out of the guest room, damp hair still clinging to your neck, the smell of garlic and something gently sizzling greeted you first. Jack was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease, the kind of domestic ease that tugged at something inside you.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and froze for a beat too long.

His eyes swept over you and caught on your hair, your shirt, the visible curve of your collarbone, the quietness about you that hadn't been there earlier. He blinked, clearly trying to recover, and failed miserably.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing some damp strands behind your ear. "Need help with anything?"

Jack cleared his throat—once, then again—and turned back to the stove, ears visibly reddening. "I think I’m good," he said. "Unless you want to make sure I don’t burn the rice."

You crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to him, still slightly bashful yourself. The scent of his soap clung to your sleeves, and Jack caught a trace of it on the air. He said nothing—but stirred a little slower. A little more carefully.

"Your apartment’s just as nice as I remembered," you said, soft and genuine, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop.

Jack glanced over at you, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. "You mean the sterile surfaces and suspiciously outdated spice rack?"

You gave him a knowing smile. "I mean the parts that feel like you."

That stopped him for a second. His stirring slowed to a halt. He looked back down at the pot, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"Careful," he murmured, voice low. "If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."

You nudged his elbow gently. "I might. Don’t let it go to your head."

He smiled to himself, the kind of expression that didn't need to be seen to be felt. And in the soft space between those words, something settled. Easier. Closer.

Dinner was simple—pan-seared salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy, but everything assembled with care. Jack Abbot, it turned out, could cook.

You said so after the first bite—and let out a soft, involuntary moan. Jack froze mid-chew, raised a brow, and gave you a look.

"Wow," he said dryly, lips twitching. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

You felt heat rise across your cheeks, laughing as you covered your mouth with your napkin. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a piece of salmon?"

He grinned. "I’m a man of many talents," he said dryly, passing you the pepper mill. "Just don’t ask me to bake."

You smiled over your glass of water, a little more relaxed now. "No offense, but I didn’t exactly have ‘culinary savant’ on my Jack Abbot bingo card."

He shot you a look. "What was on the card?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Chronic insomniac. Secret softie. Closet hoarder of protein bars. Dad joke connoisseur."

Jack snorted, setting down his fork. "You’re lucky the salmon’s good or I’d be deeply offended."

You grinned. "So you admit it."

And he did—not in words, but in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long across the table. In the way he refilled your glass as soon as it dipped below halfway. In the quiet, sheepish curve of his smile when you caught him looking. In the way his laugh lost its usual edge and softened, like maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

After dinner, you moved to the sink before Jack could protest. He tried, weakly, something about guests and hospitality, but you waved him off and started rinsing plates.

Jack came up behind you, handing over dishes one by one as you scrubbed and loaded them into the dishwasher to dry. His presence was warm at your back, the occasional graze of his hand or arm sending tiny shivers up your spine. The silence between you was companionable, laced with unspoken things neither of you quite knew how to name.

"You’re seriously not gonna let me help?" he asked, bumping your hip with his.

"This is letting you help," you shot back. "You’re the designated passer."

"Such a glamorous title," he murmured, his voice low near your ear. "Do I get a badge?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you survive the suds.

Jack leaned in just as you turned back to the sink, and for a moment, your arms brushed, your shoulders aligned. His gaze lingered on you again—your profile, your damp hair starting to curl at the edges, the stretch of your shirt down your back.

You glanced back at him, close enough now to kiss, breath caught halfway between surprise and anticipation when—

Jack dipped his finger into the soap bubbles and tapped the tip of your nose.

You blinked, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack held your wide-eyed gaze a beat longer, then said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Nice look, Bubbles."

And the dam broke. You laughed, bright and unguarded, flicking water in his direction.

He dodged each droplet as best he could with a grin, triumphant. "I stand by my methods."

You scooped a pile of bubbles into your hand with deliberate menace.

Jack immediately backed away, holding both palms up like he was under arrest. "No. No no no—"

You grinned, nodding slowly with mock gravity. The chase ensued. He darted around the counter, nearly tripping on the rug as you chased after him, suds in hand and laughter trailing like a siren’s call. He was fast—but you were relentless.

"Truce!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands held high in mock surrender.

You smirked, one brow raised. "Hmm. I don’t know… this feels like a trap."

Jack looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Mercy. Have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t soap me."

You hummed, pretending to consider it. "Anything?"

"Within reason. And dignity. Maybe." He started lowering his hands.

You tilted your head, letting the moment draw out. Jack watched you carefully, breath held, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I mean…" he started. "If praise is your thing, you’re doing a fantastic job intimidating me right now."

Your mouth parted, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack smirked, sensing an opening. "You excel at it. Really. Top tier menace."

You laughed, nearly doubling over. "Oh my god. You’re the worst." The bubbles had dissipated by now, leaving you with only damp hands. 

"And yet, here you are," he said, still kneeling, still grinning.

You shook your head, stray droplets slipping from your hand, your laughter easing into something softer. "Get up, you idiot."

But Jack didn’t—not right away. Still on his knees, he inched closer, crawling forward with slow, deliberate grace. His hands found your thighs, resting there gently, like a prayer. Thumbs stroked the place where skin met fabric, featherlight and reverent.

"I mean it," he said, voice quieter now, almost solemn. "You terrify me."

Your breath caught.

"In the best way," he added, gaze lifting. "You walk into a trauma bay like you own it. You fight like hell for your patients. You get under my skin without even trying."

His hands slid up slowly, still gentle, still hesitant, like waiting for permission. "Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in anymore is you."

Your heart thudded. Your hands, still damp, twitched against your sides.

"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, and that was when your knees nearly buckled.

The joke was long forgotten. The laughter faded. All that was left was the way Jack looked at you now—like he wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

His hands had made a slow, reverent climb to your bare skin, thumbs sweeping small, anchoring circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him everywhere, your body taut with anticipation, nerves stretched thin. He didn’t rush. Just looked up at you, drinking in every unsteady breath, every flicker of hesitation in your gaze.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice low. If you weren't so dazed, you could've sworn you heard a shadow of amusement. "You want to stop?"

You shook your head—barely—and he nodded like he understood something sacred.

"I want you to feel good," he said softly, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to your thigh, just below the hem of your shirt. "I want to take my time with you. If you’ll let me?"

The question lodged in your chest like a plea. You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and his hands flexed slightly in response. 

Jack stood first, rising fluidly, eyes never leaving yours. As he straightened, your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the base of his neck. That was all it took—the smallest pull, the softest touch—and the space between you collapsed.

Not in chaos, not in desperation, but in something careful. Like reverence wrapped in desire. Like he’d been waiting for this, quietly, for longer than he dared admit.

And when his lips met yours, it was a live wire.

Deep. Soft. Unapologetically tender.

But it didn’t stay chaste. Jack’s hands found your hips, drawing you closer, fitting your bodies together like a secret only the two of you knew how to keep. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, exploratory sweep, and you gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the back of his shirt.

The kiss turned hungry, molten—slow-burning restraint giving way to a need you both had held too tightly for too long. Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine, and you arched into him, a quiet gasp slipping free.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured between kisses, voice thick, reverent.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

And when he kissed you again, it was like promise and prayer and everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

His hands moved with aching care—one sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, the other splaying wide at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was slow and encompassing, more smolder than spark, until it wasn’t—until it ignited all at once.

Jack walked you backward until your hips bumped the counter, and he pressed into the space you gave him, forehead resting against yours. "You undo me," he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. "Every single time."

You were already breathless, clinging to his shirt, heart pounding in your throat.

His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hands exploring—confident now, reverent, like he was learning every part of you for the first time and never wanted to forget. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Jack cursed under his breath, low and ragged, like the sound had torn through his composure.

And then there was no more space. No more distance. Just heat, and hunger, and the slow unraveling of restraint as Jack lifted you gently onto the counter, your knees parting for him, his name spilling from your lips like a secret.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was your only chance to get it right. He needed to feel you pressed against him to believe it wasn’t just a dream.

The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until Jack was devouring every sound you made, like he could live off the way you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned low in his throat when your nails scraped lightly down his back, your body arching into his hands like instinct.

He touched you like a man memorizing, devout and thorough—hands mapping the curve of your waist, mouth dragging heat across your throat. He tasted sweat and shampoo and you, and that alone nearly undid him. You felt the tension coil in his spine, the restraint he was holding like a dam, every movement deliberate.

"God," he rasped, lips at your ear, "you have no idea what you do to me."

And when you gasped again, hips shifting, he exhaled a shaky breath like he was trying not to fall apart just from the sound.

"You smell like my soap," he murmured with a rough chuckle, nosing along your jaw. "But you still taste like you."

You whimpered, and he kissed you again—harder now, letting the hunger break through, swallowing your reaction like a man starved.

He praised you in murmured fragments, over and over, voice low and wrecked.

Beautiful.

Brave.

So fucking good.

Mine.

Each word making your skin feel like it was glowing beneath his hands.

And when he finally took you to bed, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was everything he hadn’t said before now, every ounce of feeling poured into his mouth on your skin, every whispered breath of worship like he was praying into the hollow of your throat.

Jack kissed you like he needed to memorize the taste of every sound you made, like your skin was the answer to every question he’d never asked out loud. His hands roamed slowly, confidently, with that same quiet focus he wore in trauma bays—except now it was all for you. Every inch of you. His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your ribs, the soft curve of your stomach—pressing his devotion into the places you tried to hide.

You felt undone by how gently he worshipped you, how much he wanted—not just your body, but your breath, your closeness, your everything. He murmured praise against your skin like it was sacred, like you were something holy in his arms.

And when he finally moved over you, hands braced on either side of your head, eyes searching yours like he was asking permission one more time—you nodded.

He exhaled like it hurt to hold back. Then gave you everything.

Every kiss was a promise, every touch a confession. He moved with aching tenderness, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him, like this wasn’t just sex but something divine. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, breath catching in your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was slow, overwhelming, unbearably close.

He whispered your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to yours, and when you finally came apart beneath him, he followed soon after—undone by the way you sang his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Later, tangled in blankets and the afterglow, Jack pulled you closer without a word. One hand splayed wide against your back, the other curled around your fingers like he wasn’t ready to let you go—not now, maybe not ever. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of skin and comfort and safety.

"I’m gonna need you to stop making that noise when you taste food," he murmured eventually, voice sleep-thick and amused.

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. "Or what?"

"I’ll marry you on the spot. No warning. Just a salmon fillet and a ring pop."

Your laughter shook the bed.

Jack smirked, the ghost of a tease already forming. "If I’d known praise got you going, I’d have started ages ago."

You swatted at his chest, heat blooming across your cheeks. "Don’t you dare weaponize this."

He grinned into your hair, voice low and wrecked and entirely too fond. "Too late. I’m gonna ruin you with kindness."

You huffed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Jack chuckled and pulled you closer.

You were never going to live this down. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Because Jack Abbot being a secret softie had officially made its triumphant return to your bingo card—and if you were being honest, it had probably been the center square since day one.

"You know," you murmured against his chest, lips curving into a grin, "for someone who acts so stoic at work, you sure have a lot of secrets."

Jack stirred slightly, arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah? Like what?"

You propped yourself up on one elbow, counting off on your fingers. "Total softie. Great cook. An absolute sex god."

Jack groaned into your shoulder, bashful. "Jesus."

"I'm just saying," you teased. "If there’s a hidden talent for needlepoint or poetry, now would be the time to confess."

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with sleep and amusement. "I used to write really bad song lyrics in middle school. That count?"

You laughed, light and easy, your fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. "God, I bet they were terrible."

Jack smirked. "You’ll never know."

"I’ll find them," you said with mock determination. "I’ll unearth them. Just wait."

He kissed your forehead, chuckling softly. "I’m terrified."

And he was—just not of you. Only of how much he wanted this to last.

Jack smiled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shook your head, bashful, eyes cast toward the sheets—but Jack didn’t let it slide. His hand curled tighter around yours, his voice still soft but firm. "Hey. I meant that. You are."

When you didn’t answer right away, he leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing along your wrist. "I need you to hear it. And believe it. You’re—extraordinary."

The earnestness in his voice left you no room to hide. Slowly, your eyes lifted to meet his.

Jack held your gaze like a promise. "Say okay."

"Okay," you whispered, cheeks burning.

He smiled again, slower this time, and kissed your temple once more. "Good girl."

You didn’t answer—just smiled you were on cloud nine and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, you drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in warm limbs and steadier breath, heart finally quiet for the first time in days. Jack’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over your knuckles like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Your limbs were tangled with his beneath the softened hush of early morning, the sheets kicked messily down to the foot of the bed. Skin to skin, steady breathing, fingers still loosely clasped where they had found each other in the dark. He shifted just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, murmured something you didn’t quite catch—but it didn’t matter. The weight of the night had passed. What remained was warmth. Stillness. Something whole.

You fell asleep like that, curled into each other without pretense. Closer than you'd ever planned, safer than you thought possible. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the quiet wasn’t heavy.

It was home.

[mssorceressupreme]

Under Your Control

———

Pairing: In ho x reader

Summary: you wake up almost bare one night, away from the other players, tried to someone’s bed in an all too luxurious bedroom.

only to discover that the person you loved, young-il was the frontman and he would stop at nothing to gain information out of you.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dom!inho, sub!reader, non-con touch, age gap, oral f!receiving, fingering, hickeys, use of ropes/tied up, betrayal, stripping, toxic relationship, orgasm denial

———

The first thing you noticed was the softness beneath you—luxurious sheets that felt entirely foreign after the cold, hard floor of the hall. Blinking awake, your arms tugged instinctively, only to be met with resistance. Your wrists were tied to the bedposts, the smooth silk of the restraints deceptively gentle against your skin but firm enough to hold you in place. Panic bubbled in your chest as your eyes darted around the room.

It wasn’t like anywhere else you’d seen in this nightmare of a game. The room was extravagant, draped in rich fabrics and gilded accents, a far cry from the stark, utilitarian halls where the other players remained. The flickering light from a crystal chandelier above cast shifting shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie stillness.

“Where… where am I?” you murmured, your voice trembling. The silence pressed against you, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. You tugged harder against the restraints, your breath quickening. “Let me go!” you called out to no one in particular.

A creak at the far end of the room made your head snap toward the sound. A figure stepped into view, cloaked in black, their face hidden behind the sleek, metallic mask that sent chills through you. The mask’s emotionless design contrasted cruelly with the humanity you desperately searched for.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice rising despite the fear knotting in your throat. “Where am I? What’s going on?” You struggled against the restraints, the silk cutting slightly into your wrists.

The figure tilted their head, the movement slow, calculated. They took a step closer, then another, the weight of their presence suffocating. Finally, their gloved hand reached up, gripping the edge of the mask.

Time seemed to slow as they pulled it off, revealing a face you knew all too well.

“Young-il?” you breathed, disbelief flooding every syllable. Your heart twisted painfully, as though the air had been stolen from your lungs.

He smirked, the expression sharp, almost cruel, and yet it sent an unwelcome flutter through your chest. “Surprised, angel?” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey laced with poison.

The nickname, one he’d used during the games, felt like a blade twisting in your heart. It was a cruel reminder of who you thought he was—the ally who had stood by your side, shared quiet moments of understanding, and made you feel safe.

And yet here he was, towering over you, not as a fellow player but as something far more sinister.

“You…” Your voice cracked as you stared at him, your emotions tangling into a knot of betrayal and heartbreak. “You lied to us. To me. You’re one of them.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that felt like a mockery of all the warmth you once thought he possessed. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, his tone playful but undercut with a dangerous edge. “I was doing what I had to. We all are.”

Your lip trembled, but you set your jaw, glaring at him even as your chest ached. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “...I loved you.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, a flicker of something softer passing through his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that same icy exterior. He moved closer after taking off his coat to reveal a black tight fitted shirt underneath.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he hovered over your tied-up vulnerable body, both his legs on either side of your hips.

“I’m not here to talk about feelings, Y/N,” he said, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “I need information.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hand cupped your jaw, gently but firmly turning your face back to him. The touch sent a jolt through you, confusing and unwelcome. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice a quiet warning. “I know you’re close to Gi-hun. He trusts you. Now, tell me about that plan he told you.”

“No,” you said, the word shaking but resolute. “I won’t betray him. I won’t betray them.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, angel,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and despite everything, it ignited something in you that you couldn’t suppress. Your resolve wavered as his hand moved to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

When he pulled away, you were left reeling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “Now,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “tell me.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from speaking. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning your body up and down, beneath him. He then caressed the side of your upper body, his hand making his way to your jacket zipper.

Shit, you weren't wearing a bra underneath today, nor a shirt, because it was supposedly bedtime. Slowly, he undid your zipper, exposing your cloth-less skin. "No bra?"

You laid beneath him shaking your head slightly, now bare, even more vulnerable.

"Look at you, so fucking pretty..." He then leaned in, "I might have to be rough if you don't tell me what I want..." He cooed, almost mockingly. His lips ghosting over yours, teasing, before pressing another kiss to them, sucking lightly. This time, your body betrayed you entirely, melting into him despite the storm of emotions crashing within you. Straightening himself up, he pulled your pants down while still hovering over you, leaving you in your undies. He pressed his thumb to your throbbing clit, with pressure before slowly stroking your folds over the fabric of your undies.

“Stop,” you whispered, though the word lacked conviction. “Please...” Yet, he continued, slipping two fingers inside your undies before stroking your folds again. You tried to resist his touch, you hated this, you hated him for betraying you guys. But your body felt differently. Trying to resist the pleasure, you forced yourself to not react, however, your body kept twitching under his touch and from all the pleasure building up.

“Then talk,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a velvet threat.

The push and pull was too much. Your heart warred with your mind, your love for him tangling with the sharp sting of his betrayal. "I won't." You spat, and he responded by inserting two fingers harshly inside you. You moaned, tilting your head back, panting heavily as he began pumping in and out of you. "Stop..." You pleaded, whimpering as he picked up his pace. Your breathing was heavy, gosh, he managed to make you feel so good, you were like putty under his control. "You tell me to stop, yet your body tells me otherwise...." His voice was low, sensual, "...so fucking wet for me..."

You felt your climax near approaching, your heartbeat quickening, you were close. "Young-il..." You plead, once more. "I'm gonna....I'm getting close..." Barely a whisper came out, your eyes shut tightly, body melting under his touch. "I'm gonna cum..."

He continued, pumping deeper and faster, and your climax was getting close and closer until...

He pulled his fingers out.

"Don't stop please..." You begged, "please Young-il I need you..." You mentally slapped yourself for sounding so needy, begging for more. No matter how mad you were, a part of you still wanted him. He smirked, seeing how needy you were for him which also fuelled his own desire. His bulge was evident, pressing against your thigh.

Young-il stroked your cheeks softly, "Oh Y/N, you'll get what you want...once you tell me his plan."

"I already told you I won't." You retort. "Such a stubborn, pretty mouth, hm?" He gazed into your eyes, filled with lust. He wanted you so bad, he'd do anything to make his name fall from your pretty mouth again.

He bent down, planting sloppy kisses on your collarbone down to your stomach. Sucking harshly till he left a bruise, "You'll look even more gorgeous with my marks all over you." Shifting down, Young-il moved closer to your cunt, making eye contact while he licked your folds.

"Young-il..." You moaned, body involuntarily arching, bucking your hips up into his face. Placing his hands on the velvety part of your inner thighs, he parted your legs wider before leaning in again to place kitten licks on your cunt.

"You taste so good angel..." He murmured into you.

He made sure to suck on your clit, with extra pressure, licking between the folds, slowly but sensually. "Young-il please..." You whimpered.

He pulled away slightly, "You want me to let you cum?"

"Please..." You begged, breathing heavily.

"Please what?" He retorted, "Use your words beautiful."

"Please make me cum..." You whined, before he continued, licking your whole slit, your became wetter by the second, body begging for more.

"The plan." He demanded you to tell him, "Now." Before pulling away again.

You groaned, wanting more, needing more. Your body so close filled with arousal, yet so far from a climax.

He leaned down once more, sucking on your clit again.

"The guards!-" You cried aloud, overwhelmed with pleasure. "An attack at midnight..." You moaned softly.

"Anything else?" Young-il smirked, knowing the control he had over you. "That's Gi-hun's plan...attack management at midnight when they've assumed we're asleep." You blurt out, which you immediately regretted. You told him what he wanted to know—about Gi-hun’s plan, the uprising, the desperate hope for freedom. Satisfied, Young-il sucked harder, licking every inch of your cunt with fervour. You moaned loudly, panting heavily as you came closer to a climax.

"I'm so close...gonna cum..." You arched your back further, "I'm gonna..." Then it washed over you, your body jerking harshly as it filled with pleasure. Your walls throbbed, and you felt a rush to your core; you let out a moan, hands tangling in Young-il's hair as you came.

When you finished, he pulled back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He reached out, brushing a hair from your face with a gentleness that felt like a cruel mockery. “Good girl,” he said softly.

You turned your face away, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as guilt and shame consumed you. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, "See that wasn't so hard was it." Young-il zipped up your jacket and helped you put on your track pants but still leaving you tied up.

He stood up, getting off the bed, “Not a word of this to anyone,” he said, his voice cold and unfeeling once more. “If you do, they’ll die. Every last one of them.”

You nodded, unable to speak. "Sleep here for tonight, the bed is more comfortable." He spoke while putting on his jacket, "When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be back in the hall with the others. I'll see you there angel." He winked, placing the mask back over his face before walking away.

Your body tremlbed as the door closed behind him.

Despite everything, your heart still ached for him. And that, more than anything, was the cruelest twist of all.

[callsign-fox]

Closing the Distance - Bob/Robert Reynolds

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader/Superhero

Warning: 18+ / Foreplay

I hope you guys love it! xo

The floor creaked for the third time in five minutes.

Y/N cracked an eye open, sleep still heavy in her limbs, and peeked over the couch at the large figure sprawled on the floor. A mess of brown hair caught the faint streetlight, casting soft shadows across the wood and the sharp line of Bob’s jaw.

“You doing okay down there, Boy Scout?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

A groan came from the floor. “I’m six-foot. This blanket’s a napkin. And I’m lying on Bucky’s freshly refinished hardwood. So yeah, living the dream.”

Y/N smirked. “So you’re fine then.”

His laugh was low, genuine—enough to make her lips twitch despite herself.

“You know,” she added, “you could’ve had the couch. I would’ve given it to you.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” he said, stretching with a grunt. “Didn’t know chivalry came with lower back trauma.”

She chuckled softly, warmth spreading through her as she lay in the quiet of the apartment. It was too late to be awake, too early to get up—but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with him there. Not with everything unspoken hanging between them.

Silence lingered, charged with something neither dared name. Then she cracked it with a sleepy grin. “You always suffer this loudly in silence?”

Another soft huff. “Only when there’s an audience I’m trying to impress.”

She glanced down again. He looked ridiculous—arm flung over his face, blanket tangled around his legs—but somehow, he felt like home. And maybe that was the problem.

“So,” she said lightly, “who’s the lucky audience?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he dropped his arm and met her eyes through the dim room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Take a wild guess.”

Her stomach did a slow flip. That fluttering, electric kind that always meant trouble.

“Careful,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Say something sweet like that again, and I might actually let you up here.”

A beat.

“You sure that’s a threat and not an invitation?” His knee shifted closer, just enough to make her breath catch. “Because the way you’ve been tossing and turning—I think you want me closer.”

Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. She rolled onto her back, the couch creaking beneath her. The silence wasn’t empty—it pulsed, heavy with everything they hadn’t said.

“Bob…” she whispered, voice fraying with everything she felt.

But he was already moving. Slow, deliberate. He pushed the blanket aside and knelt beside the couch. Her heart raced as he braced one hand on the armrest, climbing over her until he hovered, just close enough to feel the heat of him—but not touching.

“You shouldn’t,” she breathed, even as her body arched toward him.

“I know.”

He stayed there—suspended—waiting. Then, his voice came, rough with honesty. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. And you’re not exactly helping.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. Not when his knee slipped between her legs. Not when his nose brushed hers, their breaths mingling.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he murmured, voice a vow. “Not unless you ask me to.”

Her fingers curled into the couch, pulse thudding in her ears.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered, barely a challenge.

He smiled, soft and aching. “Then I’ll stay right here. Close enough to hear you breathe.”

It unraveled her. She reached for him, fingers trembling as they curled into his shirt—not pulling, just needing him closer. And when she looked up, voice barely a whisper, she let it out.

“Then kiss me.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance in a breath, his mouth brushing hers in a kiss that felt like reverence—soft, savoring, as though he’d been holding back for too long.

Her sigh cracked something open between them. The kiss deepened—slow, then urgent—his hand sliding beneath fabric, skin to skin. He groaned, pressing against her, his knee anchoring between her thighs.

“God,” he breathed against her jaw. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

She tilted her head back, giving him space. He kissed along her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting her. When he reached the curve of her chest, he paused, breath catching. His nose brushed the soft skin as his hands trembled, cupping her breast.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.

His hand drifted lower, tracing the lines of her body—ribs, waist, hip—until it settled there, warm and steady. Then, lower still, fingers grazing the edge of her underwear. He stilled, forehead pressed to hers, waiting.

The space between them pulsed with tension. Her body ached for him, heat coiling low. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, trembling. “Please… touch me.”

His breath hitched at the plea. Slowly, his fingers dipped lower, the air between them electric. Their breaths synced—fast, shallow, building.

She leaned into him, heart pounding. “I want this… I want you,” she said, voice raw. “Don’t hold back.”

Her hand traced down his chest, guiding him closer. Still, he held on to restraint, every muscle tight with control.

She slid her hand to his waistband, pulling him in. Their lips met again—soft, urgent, desperate.

He hovered, fire in his veins, brushing his lips over hers in silent question. She answered with another kiss, deeper now, her hands slipping beneath his waistband to feel him.

Bob exhaled shakily, his control unraveling under the feel of her hand on him. He buried his face in her neck for a breath, grounding himself, before lifting his head again—eyes dark, focused entirely on her.

His fingers slid between her legs with purpose now, parting her gently. Her breath caught in her throat, hips rising instinctively to meet him. He watched her face, every flicker of pleasure reflected in his own expression as his touch grew bolder, more sure.

Y/N gasped, her hand tightening in his hair, hips rolling into his palm. He found her rhythm and matched it, teasing, coaxing—until she was panting, her body strung tight with anticipation.

“Look at me,” he whispered. She did, eyes wide and glassy. “I want to see you fall apart.”

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away, even as her body began to tremble under his touch.

Bob groaned, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching forward into her hand. His grip on her faltered, only for a second, before he returned the pressure with renewed intensity. They moved in sync—hands exploring, learning, taking.

Their moans tangled between kisses, each touch more urgent than the last.

Y/N’s body arched as tension coiled tighter and tighter, her breaths breaking against his mouth. Bob’s name left her in a desperate gasp as his fingers pushed her higher, each stroke pulling her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her body trembling, eyes locked with his.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, kissing her again—slow, deep, like he wanted to swallow her whole.

Her hand on him grew more purposeful, matching the rhythm he gave her. His jaw clenched, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as she stroked him, the pleasure nearly breaking his composure. Still, he held on—for her. 

“I can’t hold on much longer…” Y/N whispered.

His lips crashed against hers as her body shattered beneath his hand, a soft cry breaking in her throat. She convulsed against him, hips grinding as the waves of pleasure rolled through her, long and all-consuming.

Bob followed a heartbeat later, his release torn from him with a groan that vibrated against her skin. His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, every muscle drawn tight before he finally melted into her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved—just clung to each other, sweat-slicked and breathless, hearts pounding in the same frantic rhythm.

He kissed her again, softer this time, brushing hair from her face with reverent fingers.

She let out a shaky laugh, voice barely above a whisper. “If that was you holding back... I’m in trouble.”

He smiled, lips brushing hers again as he murmured, “I guess you’re in trouble, because the night’s only just getting started.”

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter one: marigolds & measuring tapes

| next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop. For free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel pushed open the glass door to the run-down diner, the bell above it jingling in protest. His eyes immediately found Tommy, already settled in one of the front booths, grinning like he had no place better to be. Tommy had insisted they get lunch—something about "brother time." Whatever the hell that meant, Joel wasn’t sure—it sounded like an excuse for Tommy to talk his ear off.

Still, Joel trudged over, sliding onto the worn leather seat across from him. He barely had a second to get comfortable before his stomach twisted—because, of course, you were here.

Standing at the counter, you leaned forward slightly as you spoke to the waitress, your voice too soft for Joel to hear over the hum of the diner. But he didn’t need to. He knew how you sounded—warm, patient, like everything that made his skin itch.

Tommy was your friend, though Joel never understood why. You doted on him like he was some kind of damn prince, always checking in, always making sure he was taken care of. It was ridiculous. You weren’t his wife. Hell, you weren’t even his girlfriend, but you looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And the worst part? Tommy let you.

Joel hated it.

He hated how you laughed at Tommy’s stupid jokes, the way your hand would rest on his arm absentmindedly. Hated how you never showed that same effortless affection toward him. No, with Joel, it was different. More careful. More…guarded.

A shadow passed over the table as you approached, carrying a plate and two steaming mugs.

"Got you some coffee and pancakes," you said, setting them down in front of Tommy with a smile that could warm an entire room. Your touch lingered for a second, fingers grazing the edge of the plate like you cared whether he ate enough. Then, your eyes flickered to Joel—briefly, uncertain—before darting away like you hadn’t looked at all.

"Coffee, just how you like it," you added, softer this time. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, "Mind if I sit?"

Tommy beamed, already scooting over to make space. "Course you can. Joel and I were just catching up—having some brother time."

Joel grunted, his gaze locked on you. You knew, didn’t you? Knew damn well that he didn’t like you, didn’t want you here. And yet, you smiled anyway, sliding into the booth beside Tommy like it didn’t bother you in the slightest. Like he didn’t bother you.

"That’s good," you said, reaching for your coffee. You didn’t look at Joel or acknowledge him when you spoke.

It shouldn’t have annoyed him.

Tommy threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning. "So, how’s business?"

Joel clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. The heat bled through the ceramic, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the irritation from creeping in.

It was one thing to tolerate you. One thing to see you in passing, to nod stiffly when social politeness forced him to.

But sitting here, watching you smile at Tommy and lean into him like he was the only person in the world worth your warmth—that was something else entirely.

"It’s been good, actually." You traced the rim of your coffee mug, voice light but edged with something quieter. "Didn’t think the flower shop would ever take off."

Your eyes flickered to Tommy, soft with appreciation—but there was hesitation there, too, like you weren’t entirely sure you believed in your own success.

Tommy, ever the optimist, gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "C’mon now, you do a real good job running that place. ‘Course it was gonna be successful."

Joel curled his fingers into a fist under the table, nails pressing into his palm. The whole exchange—it was too much. Too easy. Too natural. How Tommy touched you like it was second nature, the way you let him. The way you looked at him.

His irritation boiled over before he could stop it. "Do you two always gotta be so goddamn buddy-buddy?" The words came out sharper than he intended, a growl low in his throat.

Your head snapped up, a faint scowl replacing the warmth on your face. "Tommy’s a good friend to me."

Joel huffed, eyes narrowing. "Oh, really?" His voice dripped with doubt, the kind that crawled under his skin and stuck.

You frowned, glancing at Tommy as if he might have an answer for Joel’s problem. "We’ve been friends for… two years now?"

Tommy nodded. "Something like that."

Joel leaned back against the booth, arms crossed over his chest, his stare heavy on you. "Y’all hang out a lot?"

There was something in his tone, something pointed—but you couldn’t tell what. Suspicion? Judgment? Something else entirely?

"Whenever we can." You lifted your coffee to your lips, pausing before adding, "Usually, we grab lunch or go to a bar..." Your voice trailed off, confusion creeping in.

Why did it feel like an interrogation? Why did Joel always act like you were the problem? And despite the sharp edge in his voice, why did it seem like he was daring you to push back?

Joel scoffed, shifting in his seat like he was settling in for a fight. "Oh, I see." His arms folded tightly across his chest, muscles taut beneath the worn fabric of his flannel. "You two are just best of friends, then." The words dripped with something bitter, something he barely bothered to mask.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around your coffee mug. Without thinking, your eyes flicked to Tommy, silently pleading for him to smooth over whatever this was.

Tommy sighed, setting his fork down with a clatter. He’d known Joel all his life—stubbornness was in his damn blood—but this? This thing he had against you? It never made sense.

"Joel," Tommy said, voice edged with exasperation. "Stop bein’ so damn rude to her. She’s my friend."

Joel’s jaw ticked.

You stayed quiet, watching the tension stretch across the table like a rope about to snap. Tommy was trying to keep things light, to brush past Joel’s temper like it could be ignored. But you weren’t stupid—you could see how Tommy’s shoulders squared, and Joel’s fingers drummed against the table like he was holding something back.

Joel wasn’t just being difficult. He was being deliberate.

His gaze flickered between you and Tommy, unreadable. "Why should I?" he shot back, low and cutting. His knuckles pressed against the table, a restless energy rolling off him in waves. "I’m not obligated to play nice, y’know."

Joel couldn’t understand what made you so damn special. Why Tommy liked you so much?

What did he even see in you?

You were a pain in Joel’s ass, all sunshine and softness in a way that rubbed him the wrong way—too warm, too open, too damn much. Why couldn’t Tommy see that?

But before Joel could snap out something sharp, you spoke first.

"Joel’s right."

The words came easy, calm. No bite, no sarcasm—just simple, matter-of-fact acceptance.

It caught all three of you off guard.

Tommy’s brows shot up. Joel blinked once, slow, like he hadn’t heard you right.

"He doesn’t have to play nice just for my sake," you added, lifting your coffee to your lips like his attitude didn’t touch you at all.

The silence at the table stretched thick and unmoving.

You exhaled softly, carefully setting your mug down before turning to Tommy. "I should go anyway."

Joel expected sarcasm, a little sting in your tone—hell, a glare at the very least. But instead, you smiled at Tommy, warm and genuine, like this wasn’t anything new. Like you weren’t the least bit bothered.

And that somehow irritated him more than anything you could’ve said.

"No, stay," Tommy insisted, cutting in before Joel could protest.

Joel’s jaw flexed, something unspoken brewing behind his eyes. His patience was already thin, but now his damn eye was twitching as he scrambled for a response—anything to regain some kind of ground. But for once, he had nothing.

You stood anyway, smoothing out the wrinkles in your sweater. "It’s okay," you assured Tommy, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I gotta get to the flower shop."

Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, you reached down and patted Tommy’s cheek, all affectionate and casual, like it was something you’d done a hundred times before.

Joel’s stomach tightened—with what, he refused to name.

"Enjoy the pancakes," you said, flashing Tommy one last smile before turning on your heel and heading for the door.

Joel watched you go, watched the way the early afternoon light spilled through the diner windows as you stepped outside.

The door shut behind you, the bell chiming softly.

Tommy shook his head with a low chuckle, reaching for his coffee. "Y’know, for someone who claims to hate her, you sure as hell stare a lot."

Joel gritted his teeth, reaching for his coffee like it might wash away the irritation—or whatever the hell else was creeping in.

"Shut up, Tommy."

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the door, his fingers absently tightening around his coffee cup. He told himself he was just zoning out—but his damn gaze lingered like he was waiting.

Waiting for you to walk back in.

Waiting for another glance, another soft word, something he wouldn’t name.

Tommy watched him, unimpressed. "Stop pulling my leg," he said flatly, his stare pressing into Joel like a weight.

Joel grunted in response, ripping his gaze away from the door and taking a slow sip of coffee. He avoided Tommy’s glare but could feel it—heavy, expectant like Tommy was waiting, too.

"What the hell’s your problem with her, anyway?" Tommy finally asked voice edged with irritation. "Why do you even care if she’s my friend?"

Joel scowled, his grip tightening around the ceramic mug. "I don’t care."

His voice was too sharp, too quick. Even he could hear the lie in it.

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. "Bullshit."

Joel exhaled sharply, pushing Tommy’s plate away as the pancakes had personally offended him. "She’s your friend, not mine," he shot back, the words coming out harder than he had meant them to.

Tommy leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes narrowed. "She is my friend. That’s why I care. You’re bein’ a goddamn asshole to her for no reason."

Joel scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he could shake off the conversation. "I don’t have to play nice with her just ‘cause you do, Tommy." His voice was low and tight, but something else was creeping in—something defensive.

Tommy let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Joel."

Joel ignored him. "She’s annoying and stubborn, and I—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching before forcing the words out. "I don’t like her."

They felt wrong the second they left his mouth, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Tommy.

Tommy stared at him, unimpressed. His expression slowly morphed from frustration to something closer to realization.

"You are so full of shit."

Joel bristled. "I’m full of shit?"

Tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You do like her. You just don’t know what the hell to do with it."

Joel shot Tommy a warning glare, but his brother wasn’t backing down. If anything, he looked more pissed off by the second.

"She ain’t stubborn or annoying," Tommy said, voice edged with frustration. "She’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers curling into a fist beneath the table. Of course, Tommy would say that. Of course, he’d defend you like you were the damn saint of this town. It only made Joel’s irritation settle deeper, hot and restless in his chest.

He scoffed. "Sure she is," he muttered, rolling his eyes. The words were dry, dismissive—meant to push Tommy off his back.

But even as he said them, something about them didn’t sit right.

Tommy shook his head, muttering as he cut into what was left of his pancakes. Joel tried to ignore how his brother glared at him like he was some lost cause.

The diner felt too warm, too small.

Joel shifted in his seat, fingers drumming against the table, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at him. It didn’t make sense—none of it did.

Because, sure, you were annoying. Always so damn nice, always doting on Tommy like he was something special. And that smile of yours? That soft, warm, inviting smile? It pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t explain.

His scowl deepened. You were just some irritating… too-kind… beautiful—

Joel cut the thought off before it could go any further, clearing his throat like it might scrub the idea from his brain.

He didn’t like you.

He didn’t.

But then why did it feel like every conversation with you left him stuck in this goddamn cycle—him pushing, you barely reacting, just meeting him with that quiet, knowing patience that somehow made him more irritated?

Why, even now, long after you’d left, was he still thinking about you?

[gf2bellamy]

tipsy — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're drunk and talking. a lot. content warnings: reader is drunk, mention of a guy hitting on reader a/n: my crush on spencer is getting out of control

The bar was buzzing with music and conversation, the air thick with the scent of liquor and warm bodies pressed too close together. It was loud, chaotic—everything Spencer didn’t particularly enjoy—but he stayed because the team was celebrating.

And because you were here. 

He sat alone in a corner booth, quietly drinking a soda, watching as his teammates enjoyed the night. Morgan was on the dance floor, Emily and Garcia were deep in conversation with a group of strangers, and JJ had already called it an early night. 

Then, out of nowhere, you slid into the booth beside him. 

You practically collapsed into the seat as you scooted closer—closer than you probably realized. 

“Hi, Spencer,” you mumbled, voice heavy with alcohol, but there was something else there too—a hint of frustration. 

Spencer looked over at you, his heart stuttering in his chest before he forced himself to smile softly. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle. But the way you frowned made his stomach twist. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern slipping into his tone. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, your lips pouting just slightly. “No. Pen took away my drink,” you grumbled, sounding genuinely betrayed. 

Spencer huffed out a quiet laugh, though his amusement quickly faded when you scooted even closer, your head suddenly resting against his shoulder. 

His entire body locked up. 

Oh. 

You were close. 

Too close. 

He could feel the warmth of your skin, the soft tickle of your hair brushing against his arm. His heart slammed against his ribs. 

This wasn’t fair. 

Spencer had spent months—maybe even longer—trying to bury his feelings for you. Trying to convince himself that you were just his friend, just his colleague, that what he felt wasn’t real, that he was reading too much into your smiles and lingering touches. 

But now? With you leaning into him like this, drunk and soft and so unbelievably perfect? 

Yeah. He was absolutely screwed. 

Before he could even attempt to gather his thoughts, you mumbled something against his shoulder, voice muffled but heavy with exhaustion. 

“Some guy wouldn’t leave me alone back there.” 

Spencer stiffened. 

His hand twitched against his thigh, resisting the urge to reach for you. “What?” 

Your eyes were fluttering closed now, your breathing slowing. “Some guy,” you repeated, voice hazy. “He kept talking, wouldn’t take a hint.” 

Spencer felt something sharp curl in his chest. 

He swallowed hard, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “Are you alright?” His voice was tight with concern now. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, nuzzling your face just a little deeper into his shoulder. “I’m okay now.” 

His breath caught. 

You felt safe with him. 

That realization hit him harder than it should have. 

Spencer barely had time to process it before your voice came again, soft and hazy with sleepiness. 

“I told him I liked someone,” you mumbled, your words slightly slurred. 

Spencer froze. 

His mind stalled for a second before rebooting at double speed. You liked someone? 

His throat suddenly felt dry. 

“You did?” he asked carefully. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, a little more hesitant this time, “…You do?” 

It was almost painful how hopeful he sounded. There was no way you were talking about him. 

No way. 

You nodded, eyes barely open, leaning into him even more. “Mhm,” you hummed, voice low. 

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his heart was pounding against his ribs. 

“Yeah, I told him…” You shifted slightly, and Spencer instinctively steadied you with a hand on your waist, brushing your hair gently out of your face. 

“…I told him that the guy I liked was so much smarter than him,” you continued, your lips curling slightly in amusement. 

Spencer's breath caught in his throat. 

He stared at you, heart racing, every fiber of his being begging him to not read too much into that. 

But then— 

“And taller,” you added with a drunken, sleepy smile, your cheek pressing against his shoulder like it belonged there. 

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his lips parting slightly in shock. 

Your fingers curled loosely around his hand, and Spencer swore his entire body short-circuited. 

“You’re warm,” you murmured, lazily tracing the lines of his fingers, running your fingertips over each one like you were memorizing them. 

Spencer watched you, completely and utterly mesmerized. 

He could hardly breathe. 

You were so close, so soft, so effortlessly intoxicating—and you had no idea what you were doing to him. 

And then, suddenly— 

You let go of his hand like it had burned you. 

“Oh no,” you gasped dramatically, blinking up at him with wide, drunken eyes. “I’m sorry, I forgot—hand-holding involves too many germs!”

Spencer huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he reached forward and gently took your hand back into his.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled, his voice softer than he intended.

Your fingers twitched slightly in his grasp before relaxing, a slow, sleepy smile spreading across your lips. Your head was still resting against his shoulder, warm and so unbelievably close, as you started tracing his fingers again.

Spencer swallowed, watching you in quiet fascination—the way your fingertips glided gently over the ridges of his knuckles, the absent-minded way you focused on memorizing the shape of his hand.

Then, out of nowhere, you mumbled, “I also told the guy that you’re so much nicer than him.”

Spencer froze.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Had he just heard that right?

His brain struggled to process the words, replaying them over and over again in an attempt to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

“I—” He blinked rapidly, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react, but he couldn’t help the way warmth flooded through his body at your words.

So he settled for something simple.

“You did?”

You nodded against his shoulder, your eyelashes fluttering delicately against your cheek.

Then, slowly, you lifted your head, pulling away from him completely.

And Spencer missed you instantly.

But before he could mourn the loss of your warmth, you turned to face him.

And suddenly—his entire world stopped.

Because you were staring at him.

Really staring.

Your eyes, soft and unfocused, locked onto his, studying him with open admiration, with a look he had only ever dreamed about.

And then—

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your lips curling into a small, drunken smile. “You’re also so much more handsome.”

Spencer’s brain completely short-circuited.

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

You had to be joking.

There was no way you actually meant that.

Right?

Right?

But you weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were just looking at him.

Like he was something special.

Like you actually meant it.

Spencer’s throat felt tight, his pulse pounding violently in his ears. He tried to breathe, tried to tell himself this was just drunk talk, but then—

You reached out.

Your hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, like you were testing some kind of unspoken boundary.

And then—your fingers brushed against his cheek.

Light. Soft. Barely there.

Spencer’s entire body went rigid.

He couldn’t move—couldn’t even think—as you traced your fingertips gently along the sharp angle of his jaw, your thumb grazing his cheekbone with a featherlight touch.

His skin burned beneath your fingers.

And you?

You just smiled, completely oblivious to the way you were shattering him.

“Yeah…” you whispered. “So much more handsome.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his mind a complete mess of emotions.

Because you were drunk.

And he was sober.

And this?

This wasn’t fair.

But God…

He had never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life.

[joons-cinnamon-bun]

Glitter, glue, I love you

Summary: You and Namjoon have been married for quite some time, your relationship having only grown since you first met as bright-eyed students back in the day. Now, you're a passionate primary school teacher, and Namjoon is an inspiring college professor, both deeply invested in shaping young minds. This holiday season, after a long day at work, you find yourselves staying late to decorate your classroom. Namjoon, ever the considerate soul, swings by to pick you up, but of course, you take advantage of the opportunity and put him to work. As you hang twinkling lights and arrange paper snowflakes, the conversation takes a meaningful turn. In the midst of the holiday madness, you talk about your future, and the idea of starting a family emerges… Best Christmas gift ever. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: Fluff and smut. Married couple Au. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: this is honestly just a fluffy slice of life drabble. Namjoon is clumsy, and whipped. Spandex? drinking. Smut warnings: soft dom Namjoon, big cock Namjoon, oral (m and f receiving) praise, multiple positions, a little overstimulation, just a smidge of breeding kink. Word count: 14k Author’s note: Okay. I know I have an ongoing story, but I do this thing, where I get overwhelmed with life and just blurt out a whole drabble. Usually in those moments the story I’m already working on drives me insane, so I… do this. sorry?😊 thank you sweet sweet @callmenoona25 for accepting my... quirk when i just drop a whole new fic on your lap out of nowhere lol. Thank you @rpwprpwprpwprw For the perfectly aesthetic joonie photos!

(fun fact, i used to know a baby chicken little. He'd always break his glasses down the middle) Merry Christmas everyone!❄️🎄

Your new crafting scissors glided against the construction paper with ease. A flurry of cut-off bits, small pieces of colourful paper, glitter, pompoms, and anything else that merely resembled a Christmas theme littered your classroom floor.

A delightful chaos surrounded you—scraps of red, green, and gold paper mingled with stray stickers, twisted up pipe cleaners, and the occasional orphaned googly eye. It was a mess, the kind only a classroom holiday crafting session could conjure, and yet here you were, adding more to it.

The new scissors, sharp and precise, were a joy to wield, effortlessly turning construction paper into stars, trees, and snowflakes. You got so absorbed in your work that the mountain of scrap paper piling up next to your desk barely registered anymore.

The room was silent now. The kiddos had left hours ago, followed by a parent-teacher conference and a staff meeting to finalize plans for the upcoming Christmas holiday party. By the time you returned to your classroom, the exhaustion was bone-deep, and the sight of the disaster awaiting you made you groan.

But as you approached your desk and spotted a few abandoned crafts—a lopsided tree, a glue-smeared snowman—a spark of creativity flickered to life. The supplies were already out, and with autumn decorations still clinging to the walls, you figured you might as well get a head start on transforming the room into a winter wonderland before the weekend.

You lost yourself in the rhythm of cutting and crafting, glueing and arranging, the silence of the empty classroom wrapping around you like a warm blanket. It was practically the only moment during the long, exhausting day when you could to sit down and just let your thoughts wonder.

You were so focused that you didn’t notice the sun setting—or the faint creak of your classroom door opening.

“Mrs. Kim, it seems my wife forgot to come home today after class.”

You froze mid-snip, the scissors poised in your hand, a half-finished snowflake dangling from your grip. The familiar voice carried a teasing warmth that made your cheeks flush before you spun around in your chair, to catch a glimpse.

Standing in the doorway was you husband, Namjoon, leaning casually against the doorframe with that playful grin you loved (or occasionally cursed for how easily it could fluster you).

His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, and his coat draped over one arm, a telltale sign that he’d come straight from his own long day at work. Yet his smile was bright, his tired eyes twinkling with delight upon seeing you, like he was about to tell you the best pun he ever heard.

“You know, most people would’ve taken that parent-teacher meeting as their cue to call it a day,” he teased, crossing his arms. His gaze swept over the room, taking in the colourful chaos, before settling on you.

“Well,” you started, trying to sound casual as you placed your scissors on the desk and brushed the glitter from your hands, leaning back against the chair. “After that I also had a staff meeting.”

His grin widened. “Did you cut out the staff out of paper?”

You huffed at his playful remark, picking up a pompom from the desk and tossing it in his direction. The fluffy projectile sailed weakly through the air before plopping to the floor with an overly dramatic bounce, getting lost in the multicoloured mess on the ground. “Very funny, Mr. Kim,” you said, shaking your head as you reached for your scissors to finish the snowflake.

Namjoon laughed, stepping into the room, his footsteps soft against the glitter-dusted floor. “I prefer clever over funny.”

You mused, pretending to consider his suggestion. “I’ll agree when you grab some paper and make something clever yourself.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I’m just here to admire the handiwork—And maybe rescue my wife before she buries herself in glitter.”

“Too late for that.” You laughed, showing him the underside of your hands, covered in an array of colourful plastic bits and flecks of glitter.

He laughed too, his warmth filling the classroom as he settled into a nearby chair. He watched you with quiet amusement as you snipped away the final pieces of the snowflake.

Once done, you brushed the remains off the desk with a casual sweep of your hand, letting the scraps fall to the already messy floor. Reaching for a spool of string, you began tying a loop to hang the snowflakes.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, “I was just thinking I could use a tall, handsome man to help me hang these from the ceiling.”

His dimples deepened slightly as his lips curled into a smirk. “Should I fetch the principal for you?”

“God, no!” you exclaimed, shooting him a mock-horrified look.

Namjoon’s laughter echoed again, and he stood, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of your chair. “Fine. Lucky for you, I happen to know a tall, handsome man who’s free to lend a hand. On one condition.”

“And that is?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you handed him the snowflake.

“I get to take you out for dinner afterwards.”

“You hang up my décor and I don’t have to cook dinner?” you said with a grin, watching as he reached up to hang the snowflake with ease. “You’ve got yourself a deal, my love.”

Namjoon smirked as he hooked the snowflake onto the ceiling, his long fingers adjusting it so it hung perfectly. “Don’t get too excited. You’re paying, and I’m starving,” he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you handed him another snowflake. “Starving? You make it sound like you haven’t eaten all day.”

“I haven’t eaten enough,” he corrected, taking the snowflake and hanging it with the same care as the first. “Besides, all this helping is hard work. I’m burning calories just by existing in this glitter cloud.”

“Poor baby,” you teased, before standing up and stretching as much as possible, waiting for that satisfying pop that made your back come to life after sitting at your desk for hours.

While Namjoon made remarkable progress on the snowflakes, you retrieved your broom and vacuum cleaner, trying to salvage the floor and not declare war with the cleaning staff in the process.

Once it finally started looking like a classroom again—crayons arranged, glue sticks all capped and drawings proudly hung up on the walls —you fetched your seasonal décor box from the supply closet, gathering the autumn leaves and acorns as you went.

The sound of Namjoon’s soft humming filled the room as he continued to hang the rest of the snowflakes. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, so effortlessly blending into your little world. His tall frame moving with ease as he reached up to secure another delicate snowflake.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?” you teased, carefully arranging the autumn décor for storage.

“Just trying to make your life easier,” Namjoon replied, his voice warm. He stepped back to admire his work, hands on his hips like he’d just solved a complex philosophy problem.

You smiled, unrolling the fairy lights on your desk, silently thanking your teacher assistant for her knack for packing them neatly and knot-free.

“Think you can help me with this too?”

When you looked up, you noticed Namjoon standing next to the wall where your classroom photo was hung up. It was a large picture of you surrounded by your students, all laughing and holding colourful balloons.

The parents had given it to you as a gift on the first day of this school year, though it had been taken during the end-of-year celebration when your little first graders graduated.

Around the group photo, you’d carefully arranged individual pictures of each child, their names neatly written underneath and decorated with felt stickers.

Namjoon stood quietly, his eyes scanning the display with a soft smile tugging at his lips. His expression was a mix of pride and warmth, the kind that never failed to make your heart flutter.

“What’s baby Chicken Little up to?” he asked, glancing over at you, the playful nickname making you giggle.

Last year your heart had been stolen by a little boy named Minjun, who made it his yearlong mission to bring you a leaf or a flower every single day of school. His little backpack was almost as big as he was, and he’d always greet you with the brightest, most infectious smile when he walked through the door, before dropping the little plant on your desk and giving you an adorable bow.

You’d told Namjoon all about him at the end of each day, and when you proudly showed him the photo you’d snapped of Minjun on your phone, Namjoon cooed and playfully nicknamed him baby Chicken Little. All because of his “iconic green glasses,” which happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to the ones the animated character wore.

“He’s doing really well. A little genius when it comes to multiplications, although his calligraphy could use some work.”

Namjoon chuckled, his dimples making an appearance as he glanced back at Minjun’s photo. “Multiplications, huh? Guess he’s already ahead of the curve.”

You smiled fondly, scavenging through your storage boxes for the chalk markers. “He’s a sharp one. Always so curious. His mom says he’s been teaching his little sister how to count using her barbie dolls.

Namjoon’s expression softened further. “Sounds like a future teacher in the making.”

You giggle, “Only if he can pass your philosophy 101 class in college.”

“Oh, come on! You know I’m not as mean as you make me out to be.”

You raised an eyebrow, pausing your search for the chalk markers to give him a teasing look. “Not as mean? Should I remind you about that one student—what was his name? Jungkook? —who said your essay prompts were harder than his organic chemistry final?”

Namjoon groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “That was one time! And he clearly didn’t read the syllabus.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, stifling a laugh as you finally found the markers, holding them up triumphantly. “I’m just saying, if Minjun wants to pass your class, he better start practicing his critical thinking skills now.”

Namjoon crossed his arms, feigning offense. “For the record, my students love me. I’m approachable, insightful, and, dare I say... inspiring.”

You watched as Namjoon gave you that challenging look, daring you to tease him further. But deep down, you knew 100% that he was right.

After all, he’d proudly told you about Jungkook— the ‘Muscle Bunny’—who, by the end of the year, would refuse to leave the classroom after lessons, just for a chance to talk with Namjoon about everything from philosophy to general life issues. (And on more than one occasion, you had to swing by the college to collect your husband, because they were both so emersed in the conversation.)

Sure, Jungkook may have started out as a bit of a tough nut, but by the end of the semester, he was one of Namjoon’s biggest fans.

You chuckled softly at the thought. Namjoon had a way of drawing people in, even the most unlikely candidates. It’s what made him such an outstanding teacher. And you couldn’t be happier that you managed to snatch him up before he even graduated with his teacher’s degree.

“I know you are.” You said honestly, watching his posture soften, his eyes almost twinkling with delight at the compliment.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened, and he turned back to look at the photos on the wall. A comforting silence falling over the classroom again as you started drawing with the chalk markers on the windows.

It was just as you were finishing the last details of the snowman that Namjoon spoke again, his voice steady but carrying a weight that immediately caught your attention.

“Do you think we’d make good parents?”

The question hung in the air, quiet and unexpected, causing you to freeze mid-stroke. Your hand suspended, the tip of the marker just inches away from the snowman’s little top hat. You hadn’t expected that. Namjoon had always been thoughtful, but this… this was something entirely different.

You turned slowly, finding him looking at you, his expression unreadable but soft. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he asked the question, but was waiting for your answer nonetheless.

“Good parents?” you repeated, your voice quieter than usual, the weight of the question settling into your chest. It wasn’t just a casual inquiry—it felt loaded and significant. It felt like he was asking something deeper, something that might change your life in the very near future.

Namjoon seemed to notice the shift in the atmosphere, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again. His lips parted slightly, as if trying to find the right words, but instead, he stayed silent, letting the question linger.

You cleared your throat, your thoughts racing. Was he asking about parenting techniques? Was this a hypothetical question, or was there something more to it? You couldn’t quite tell. But the thought of it—of you and Namjoon as parents—flashed across your mind, and for a split second, you felt a warmth spread in your chest.

You’d talked about your future many times—even while you were still just dating—and you both agreed you wanted kids. But there was never a set timeline or a specific goal you wanted to reach before starting a family.

You took a slow breath, trying to gather your thoughts as the weight of the question settled in your mind. The idea of having a baby—it was something you’d talked about casually, even dreamt about in passing. But now, with his eyes on you, the conversation suddenly felt real, more tangible than it ever had before.

You finally put the chalk marker down on the desk, turning fully to face him. “You’ve asked me before about the future,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “But this... this feels different. Are you asking because you’re actually thinking about it?”

Namjoon looked at you, his eyes soft but filled with a quiet intensity that made your cheeks heat up. “I mean-” he said after a beat, his voice almost uncertain. “I guess I’ve been thinking about it more lately, especially with everything we’ve built together. I don’t think we can get any more financially stable. And we’ve got a good thing, right? We work well as a team. I just... I wonder what it would be like to take that next step, with you.”

Your heart nearly exploded, a big grin spreading across your face that would certainly make your cheeks hurt if you kept it up. He had a way of making everything feel possible, of making you believe in the future even when you didn’t have all the answers. The thought of raising kids with him, of teaching them the way you both wanted to, filled you with an overwhelming sense of warmth and certainty.

“I think we’d be great,” you said, your voice full of honest affection. “We’d make an amazing team. I know we’ve got the love, the patience, and the understanding to do it.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, as if taking in your words, before a soft smile crept onto his face.

You knew you weren’t about to get a confirmation from him, not now at least. Namjoon needed to steep in his thoughts a bit more before he would finally and ultimately tell you he wants a baby.

Still, his smile lingered, and he slowly nodded, as if to affirm your words without needing to say anything else just yet.

The silence between you both felt comfortable, like a promise for the future—an unspoken understanding that this was a conversation that didn’t need to be rushed.

After a moment, he reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch soft but sure.

“I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and peace settle in your chest. Even despite hearing those same exact words come out his mouth millions of times, they still wrapped around you like a protective embrace, making everything else, every worry, every unfinished plan and every glitter-littered snowflake fade into the background.

You leaned into his touch, savouring the moment. “I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady but filled with the same devotion that was in his eyes.

He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, before glancing around the classroom, “What did you ask me to do?”

“Fairy lights, Joon.”

Namjoon chuckled softly at your reminder, his fingers still lingering on your cheek for a moment before he stepped back. “Right, right,” he said, shaking his head. “I got distracted from the important things.”

You watched him walk toward the desk to finish hanging the fairy lights, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you returned to your drawing. The weight of the earlier conversation still lingered in the air, but it left you with a spark of excitement.

As he carefully draped the lights along the chalkboard, you noticed how effortlessly he moved, how much care he put into making sure everything was perfect. You’d always admired that about him—his attention to detail, his quiet confidence in everything he did. And now, with every little task, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of certainty.

“Almost done,” Namjoon called out, glancing over his shoulder. You gave him a thumbs-up, your smile widening as he finished the last strand of lights.

The classroom now looked like a cozy little haven, with the soft glow of the fairy lights casting a gentle warmth over the space. Everything felt perfect.

 You capped your marker once the windows were done, and walked over to your desk to organize a little bit, putting away the potentially dangerous supplies, before closing the drawers and the boxes.

Namjoon stood beside you, his hands in his pockets as he admired the room. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that. But it’s still missing one thing.”

You frowned, stopping mid-motion, to glance around. “What’s that?”

He reached down, gently tugging you to your feet and closing the last box for you. “Us. Out of here, enjoying a well-deserved dinner.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, grabbing his coat and your bag before stepping away from the desk. Namjoon fetched your coat from the hanger, draping it over your shoulders with a soft smile. He then took your hand, a firm but gentle hold, and started guiding you toward the door, almost certain that if he didn’t, you’d find something else to do.

As you walked together, you paused by to the classroom pet cage, drawn by the soft rustling inside. The little chinchilla scamped out of his enclosure and over to the bars, his nose twitching as he looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

“Did I tell you we need to take Professor Fluff this Christmas break?” You asked, grabbing a treat from the nearby jar and tossing it into the cage, watching as the chinchilla eagerly snatched it up and started nibbling on it.

Namjoon, holding the door open for you, tilted his head as you walked back to him.

“Wasn’t it Teacher Assistant Park’s turn?”

“She’s pregnant, Namjoonie. She can’t.”

You slipped your hand into his, smiling as his fingers intertwined with yours, leading you down the dimly lit school halls.

“She should be able to handle a chinchilla if she expects to take care of a baby.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “No, babe, it’s about allergies.”

Namjoon sighed dramatically but couldn’t fully hide his grin. “That settle it. Definitely getting you pregnant. Even if only for the perks —wife comes home on time, and I get to have her all to myself for the holidays.”

You blushed furiously at his comment, a big, droopy smile tugging on your lips.

“Oh, come on. How much time do you think Professor Fluff is going to keep me occupied?” you tease, bumping your shoulder against him as you walk.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, playful glint in his eyes. “With what I have planned for you, more than I like.” he replied, pulling the door shut behind him as the two of you stepped out into the crisp evening air.

You laugh, your cheeks still warm from the blush he had put there. Namjoon's teasing always had a way of making your heart flutter, but this time, there was something deeper in his words—something that felt like it carried a promise.

“I swear, you really know how to keep me on my toes,” You glanced up at him, feeling the warmth of his touch on your hand as he guided you out into the crisp evening air.

He grinned, pulling you closer to him as you made your way to the car. “That's the idea. Keep you guessing, keep you interested.” He gave you a wink, the playful glint never leaving his eyes, even as he opened the driver’s door for you.

“I don’t think you need to work too hard at it. You're already the most interesting person I know.” You said when he settled into the passengers seat.

Namjoon's smile softened, and for a moment, you could see the sincerity behind his teasing demeanour.

“I like that you think that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, as he slowly leaned over the console to catch your lips in a sweet kiss.

You melted into him, the soft press of his lips against yours lingering for just a moment longer than usual, making your heart race. It was the type of kiss that had you coming back for more, the kind that melted all your worries away, and made you feel like you two were the only ones in the world.

As he pulled away, he gave you a playful smile, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “Now please drive. I’m starving.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden shift in tone, your heart still fluttering from the lingering kiss.

“Always about food with you,” you sigh, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. “I guess I'll just have to accept that food is your first love.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, his expression turning mischievous. “Well, if food's my first love, you, my dear, are my favourite dessert.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, a mix of amusement and affection swirling inside you, butterflies wreaking havoc in your stomach.

You glanced over at him, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that so?” You said, your voice teasing as you focused on the road.

Namjoon's grin widened; his eyes gleaming. “Absolutely. You’re sweet, irresistible, and I could spend hours between your legs.”

A flush crept up your cheeks as your grip on the steering wheel tightened, the tension between you two shifting. His words hung in the air, teasing but also carrying an edge that made your pulse quicken.

“Keep talking like that and I'm taking you home,” you threatened.

Namjoon’s expression shifted in an instant from playful to mock-serious. “No, no,” he whined, leaning back into the seat with a dramatic sigh. “I promise I'll be good.”

You giggle. “What do you want to eat then?”

He lit up again, his mock seriousness giving way to his usual enthusiasm. “That little BBQ place that opened up down the street from us.”

“The one you haven’t stopped talking about since they put up the ‘coming soon’ sign?”

“That’s the one,” he admitted unabashedly, his grin growing wider “It’s fate. They opened just in time for us to have the perfect date.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned the car toward home. “I guess it is. But I’m parking at home and we can walk—that way, I can drink too.”

“Oh, is my baby planning to get wasted tonight?” he teased, his tone light and playful.

“No,” you chuckled, glancing at him with a smirk. “But I know for a fact you’re going to order that fancy whiskey you always get, and I don’t want to be stuck as the designated driver.”

Namjoon laughed, his deep dimpled grin lighting up his face. “Fair point. That whiskey is worth the walk. And hey, I’ll carry you home if you have one too many.”

You rolled your eyes, a fond smile on your lips. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. It hasn’t been such a bad week” you smile at him, “But I won’t say no to being spoiled by you a little.”

“Always,” he replied without missing a beat. “I’ll spoil you every chance I get.”

You couldn't help but grin at his words, the warmth in his voice making your blush reappear. There was something so comforting in the way he always knew how to make you feel special, how he was so genuine in every little thing he did for you.

“So, you’re paying tonight?”

“Nope,” he smiled, popping the p, and earning a heartfelt laughter from you.

As the two of you approached your home, you turned the car into the driveway, the familiar sight of your house welcoming you. Namjoon was already getting out of the car, his excitement for the evening palpable.

“Let me grab my bag, and we’ll head out,” you said, stepping out of the car and locking it. Namjoon waited by the gate, glancing around as the evening air started to cool, a few stray little snowflakes lazily drifting through the air. The stars above twinkled in the dark sky, and the soft hum of the city around you made it feel like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached him, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

“Let’s go,” you replied with a grin, your arm slipping through his. You walked down the quiet street together, the comfortable rhythm of your steps matching each other effortlessly.

The neighbourhood was peaceful, with only a few cars passing by, and the crisp air reddening the tip of your nose. As you reached the corner of the street, the warm glow of the BBQ restaurant came into view. The scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation, and reminding you your last meal was breakfast, many hours ago.

“There it is,” Namjoon said, his voice full of excitement. “I’ve been dreaming of this all week.”

You laughed, the sound easy and full of affection. “It’s definitely been a long time coming, huh?”

“Worth the wait,” he replied, grinning.

As you entered the restaurant, the cozy atmosphere wrapped around you, and the delicious smells only heightened your anticipation. Namjoon gave you a playful glance, watching as you all but jump with excitement, before leading you to a little booth. You, of course, slid in next to him, and cuddled up against his side as you waited for the waiter. Namjoon grinned as you cuddled up against his side, his arm naturally wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. The booth was small, but cozy, and the warm lighting of the restaurant made it feel like a private little nook just for the two of you.

As you settled in, your gaze drifted to the menu, although, truthfully, you were more focused on the tall and handsome man next to you. His warm presence besides you, the way he always seemed to know exactly how to make you feel safe and cared for. The man who wanted a family with you, who would undoubtedly take perfect, tender care of your little human being, and who would hang out at the museum talk hours on end about his favourite pieces with the kiddo, like they could grasp every single concept. Before, undoubtedly trying to teach your baby the deepest philosophy concepts ever, and five different musical instruments all at once.

The waiter soon approached, and Namjoon, with his usual confidence, ordered for the both of you without missing a beat. He didn’t even need to ask what you wanted—he already knew. A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. He always did that, always taking care of things in his own calm, capable way. It was one of the many things you loved about him.

Once the drinks arrived—a neat whiskey bottle that you couldn’t remember the name of—you clinked your glasses together in a soft toast.

“To perfect dates,” Namjoon said with a glint in his eye, his voice warm and filled with affection as he held his glass up to yours.

“To many more to come,” you replied, your voice light but sincere, the sound of it carrying a promise in the air between you.

The glass met with a soft clink, and the warmth of the whiskey settled in your chest as you took your first sip, savouring the smooth, smoky flavour. Namjoon mirrored your actions, the ice in his glass gently clinking as he took a long sip, never breaking his gaze from you.

You smiled at him, the familiar tenderness filling your heart, a slow, easy feeling of contentment settling over you. There was something special about moments like this—about sharing time in each other’s presence, just the two of you, with no outside distractions.

It reminded you of your first few dates, back when you two were both overworked students with a seriously high number of sleepless nights, and a very poor diet consisting mostly of cola and noodles. Back when he was so nervous that he basically talked to himself the whole date, stumbling over his words in a rush to make the ‘conversation flow’, but still managing to make you laugh with his awkward charm. You didn’t tease him about it back then, how could you? When he’d look at you like you could single-handedly change the world with a flutter of your eyelashes.

And when you agreed to a second date, he gave you the biggest, cheesiest smile you ever saw, before accidentally bumping into you as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, somehow managing to smack you in the face with his forehead.

You froze for a second, both of you staring at each other in stunned silence, before he apologized in a flurry and left you alone and confused in front of your dorm room.

Imagine his surprise when you called him for details about the promised second date.

Even so, there was never a moment when Namjoon ever made you feel unsafe, or like he was going out with you just to make up for his awkwardness. No, despite his nervousness, he always made sure you felt valued, cherished, and like you were the most important person in the room. That was one of the things you’d grown to love about him. He was sincere in every gesture, every word, even when he felt uncertain about himself.

That second date he got to kiss you right.

You had both come a long way since then. The clumsy first kiss was just a part of the story now, a little cherished memory that always brought a warm smile to your lips whenever you thought about it. You’d grown together since that day, and with each date, each shared moment, your bond had only deepened.

Now, here you were, sitting next from him, your husband, in this cozy little restaurant, enjoying the warmth of the whiskey and the various dishes that the waiter brought out for you.

Everything felt right. There was no doubt in your mind that this, right here, was exactly where you were meant to be.

Namjoon caught your eye, a small, playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re smiling to yourself.”

“I’m happy,” you replied simply.

Namjoon softened, his eyes filled with warmth as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “Me too,” he said, his words wrapping around your heart and making it jump in your chest. You quickly leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, giggling a bit when he let out a soft, surprised puff, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected gesture. “What was that for?” he asked, his voice light with amusement but still smooth .

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, the devotion in your gaze unwavering. “For making me happy. And for hanging the snowflakes in my classroom.” You paused for a quick second, before smirking. “And for paying for dinner?”

Namjoon chuckled, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “Nope.”

He laughed at your fake little pout, before holding out his chopsticks to you. “Here, try this.”

You opened your mouth wide, waiting for him to feed you the piece of beef he cooked, only for it to fall from his chopsticks and right on your button-down shirt.

You both froze for a moment, staring at the little piece of beef resting on your chest. Namjoon blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief before he broke into a fit of laughter, his deep voice filling the space between you two.

“Smooth,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you reached for the beef and popped it into your mouth, before grabbing a napkin to wipe away the mess on your shirt.

“I'm so sorry,” Namjoon said, still laughing, but his voice filled with genuine concern. “I swear I aimed for your mouth.”

You dabbed the spot on your shirt, trying to suppress your own laughter. “That’s what he said.”

At that little comment he gave you a deep belly laugh, a hand covering his mouth, before grabbing another napkin for you.

“I’ll take it to the cleaners tomorrow. I’m sorry.” He still giggled like a little kid watching you try to rub the stain away.

You couldn't help but smile, your heart warm at the small, sweet gesture. “I think it’s fine,” you said, your voice softening as you met his eyes. “It's just a shirt. But it’s the thought that counts.”

Namjoon tilted his head, his dimpled grin returning. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, leaning in slightly, his voice lower and softer. “I swear.”

The temptation to flirt back tugged at you, but the urge to tease him was simply too strong to resist.

“You can start by not burning the rest of the meat on the grill.”

“Shit!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction as he whipped around to check the grill. The sizzling sound of beef filled the air, and he immediately sprang into action, grabbing the tongs and flipping the steaks with exaggerated haste.

“Shit, shit!” he muttered under his breath, his hands moving quickly but still a little too late to save the edges of the tender cuts from burning.

You couldn’t help but laugh, watching the frantic yet adorable way he tried to salvage the meal. "Maybe next time, don’t get so distracted by my chest," you teased, leaning back in your chair with a sly grin

“I swear I’m a better cook when I’m not trying to impress you.” he confessed with an embarrassed smile that made your heart pick up again.

“Why are you still trying to impress me? You’re already getting in my pants tonight.” You flutter your eyelashes up at him, leaning into his side.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, focusing back on the grill with renewed determination.

You let out a laugh, unable to resist bugging him further. “Come on, Namjoonie, you don’t have to work this hard for me. I’m already sold. Burned beef and all.”

He shot you a quick look over his shoulder, his dimple making a reappearance as he smirked. “Oh, I know you’re sold. But I still have to keep my reputation intact. Can’t have you thinking you married a man who can’t even grill properly.”

You shrugged playfully. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly drawn to you for your cooking skills to begin with.”

Namjoon smirked, his eyes briefly flicking to yours with a teasing glint before he said, “Good. Then I guess my other skills will have to do now too.”

The innuendo wasn’t lost on you, and you raised an eyebrow, “Careful, Mr. Kim. You keep that up, and I’m taking you home.”

Namjoon’s laugh was loud and deep, echoing around the room as he handed you the piece of meat. “Eat first,” he said with mock seriousness, his tone firm but the amusement dancing in his eyes betrayed him. “And you’re getting dessert too.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, smirking “You’re just going to eat half of whatever I pick, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he admitted shamelessly, his grin widening in triumph, dropping some veggies on your plate too.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your laugh as you reached for the menu. “Fine. Let’s get the profiteroles. They look amazing, and you can’t mess up sharing that.”

Namjoon arched a brow. “Are you implying I messed up sharing earlier?”

You shot him a pointed look, lips twitching with amusement. “There’s beef on my shirt, Namjoon.”

Namjoon paused mid-grin, glancing down at your chest, before letting out a sheepish laugh. “Okay, okay, point taken. No more distractions.” He turned back to the grill, but not without throwing you a cheeky wink first. “Although, just for the record, you’re quite distracting when you wear that skirt.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I swear, you're impossible.”

Yet there wasn’t even a crumb of conviction in your tone.

The evening carried on naturally, the warmth of the alcohol and the steady rhythm of conversation made everything feel comfortable. The intimate little interludes— the flirting, teasing, the way his eyes never strayed far from you—kept the energy between you two charged. You weren’t sure whether it was the drinks, or Namjoon’s smile, or a mix of both, but you couldn’t deny the way everything felt amplified. You were tipsy, needy, and feeling more than a little flushed.

Namjoon noticed it before you did, that little shift in the air around you. He leaned in, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he casually placed his hand over thigh. “You’re looking a little red,” he remarked softly, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made a shiver run down your spine.

You tried to laugh it off, shifting slightly in your seat. “I think I might’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“Mm, I noticed,” he said, his voice smooth, low. He didn’t pull his hand away, but instead gave your leg a gentle squeeze, before moving his hand higher up edging the seam of your skirt, “You look adorable though.”

A soft heat spread through you, making your heart beat in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. There was something in his gaze—something undeniably intense—that made the air between you feel thick. Like you could just eat him up, and he’d thank you.

“Do I need to carry you home?”

“No.” You swallowed, shifting your eyes away. “But you should stop looking at me like that. You’re making me blush.” You replied, trying to play it off, but your words felt like they were slipping from your lips a little too easily. You could feel his gaze on you, assessing, as if he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

Namjoon’s gaze softened, and the corner of his mouth quirked up as he leaned in a fraction closer. His thumb gently stroked your skin, the simple touch sending a spark of heat straight to your core. “Am I?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach twist in the most wonderful of ways.

You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible under the weight of his attention. “Yes.”

“Good,” he smirked.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, not sure whether it was a plea or a warning.

The playful banter felt more like a slow burn now, the kind that lingered in the spaces between your words and between your slowed movements.

 “Mm?”

“Please get the tab, so I can pay and we can go.”

Namjoon’s lips curled, his fingers still moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Impatient, baby?” He murmured, his voice deeper now, like he was savouring the effect he was having on you.

You nodded, the growing need clouding your thoughts. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible. “I want to go home.”

He leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to blur out of existence. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his gaze made you feel both exposed and electrified. It didn’t even register that you were out in public anymore, or that there were other patrons around. The only thing on your mind was his dark eyes staring at you.

“Alright,” he said, his voice low and steady, his smirk never wavering. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

He slid his hand off your leg, but not without one last lingering touch—soft, deliberate, and devastating—leaving you absolutely wrecked as he leaned back to call the waiter.

(Of course, he didn’t even let you see the tab, snatching it up and paying for your meal without a second thought.)

Every movement of his was slow, measured, like he knew exactly where your limit was and he was drawing it all out with maddening precision. The air between you thickened with unspoken tension, humming in the spaces where his fingers lingered, where his gaze met yours.

And when he brushed your hair to the side to help you slip into your coat, his hand found the back of your neck, resting there for just a second longer than necessary—firm and warm, enough to leave your heart pounding and your mind spinning.

The moment the door of the restaurant swung open, a gust of cold air hit you, the crisp night biting at your skin. The alcohol in your blood dulled slightly, replaced by the clarity of the chill as you instinctively pulled your coat tighter around you. Yet, the thin fabric did little to shield you from the cold, the breeze slipping through the seams.

Namjoon was right beside you, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened street as if the cold didn’t faze him at all. With a glance your way, he stepped closer, shrugging his own coat higher on his shoulders before slipping his arm around you without hesitation. His hand rested lightly on your back, the weight of it both grounding and comforting.

His warmth beside you was enough to make the walk more bearable, and the anticipation bubbling inside you made it all worthwhile.

He turned to you, a slight smile on his lips. “Cold out here, huh?” he said, his breath visible in the night air, quickly leading you towards your home.

You nodded, pulling your scarf up a little higher to shield your face from the cold.

Without a word, Namjoon slid his arm around your shoulders, tucking you closer to his side. His touch was casual yet deliberate, like he didn’t need permission but still silently asked for it. The fabric of his coat was rough against your cheek, but his body heat bled through, chasing away the chill that had started to seep into your skin.

The street was quiet, the glow of streetlights casting long, soft shadows as you walked side by side. Those shy snowflakes from earlier now growing bolder, swirling down in earnest. They clung to your hair and coat, melting into tiny droplets against the warmth of your skin.

Namjoon’s hand shifted after a while, slipping down to find yours. Without hesitation, he slid both into the pocket of his coat, the gesture so natural and intimate that it made your stomach flutter anew. His thumb brushed over your knuckles absently, a small but steady movement that set your heart racing. Each step brought you closer together, your shoulders brushing now and then, as you neared your house.

His presence, the solid warmth of him beside you, was more than enough to keep the chill at bay.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the crisp night air as he glanced over at you.

You nodded, your breath forming soft clouds in the cold. “Yeah. This is nice.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Nice? You’re freezing.”

“You’re hot.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, accompanied by a fit of giggles that felt almost too loud in the still night. The alcohol still hummed faintly in your system, loosening your tongue, but it was worth it just to see Namjoon stutter, his eyebrows raising.

And then he laughed, full and rich, the sound reverberating through you. “Wow,” he murmured, shaking his head with an amused smile. His cheeks tinged pink—maybe from the cold, maybe not—as he reached into his other pocket, pulling out his set of keys.

“Smooth,” he teased, glancing sideways at you as he fiddled with them, making quick work of finding the right one. The lock clicked open, and he stepped aside to let you in first, the warmth of the indoors beckoning you like a sanctuary.

As you passed, he caught your arm gently, his fingers brushing along its length. His eyes met yours, a daring glint in them that suddenly made your heart pick up again.

It wouldn’t be the first time Namjoon pins you to the first flat surface as soon as you walked through the door, fucking every single sensible though out of your brain, and that idea sends a tingle of excitement coursing through your body. You smile up at him, leaning further into his touch.

But Namjoon is undeterred.

“Don’t make snow all over the place. I mopped yesterday.”

You tilted your head, a little indignant puff escaping your lips before you smirk, toeing off your snowy boots by the door. “You’re so sexy when you do chores.” You push your luck further, but your lovely husband can’t seem to pick up on it.

 “That’s it. No more drinks for you.”

“Mm, you love it,” you teased, stepping past him into the warmth of the hallway.

The cozy embrace of the house wrapped around you, softening the crisp chill that clung to your skin, inviting that sense of ease that only your home could bring. You made quick work of shedding your coat and boots, setting them neatly by the door before stretching your arms high above your head, a little moan escaping your lips as the tension of the day melted away.

Namjoon glanced over just in time to catch your little display, his eyes flickering with amusement—and something else. “Comfortable already?” he shrugged off his own coat and tossing it over a chair.

“Very,” you replied with a content sigh. Without much thought, you made your way to the living room and plopped down on the couch, curling up against the soft cushions.

Namjoon followed behind, shaking the snow from his hair before taking his seat right next to you. His long body settled into the couch with easy grace, his head leaning back against the cushions, eyes lazily studying you as you sink further into the couch.

The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, combining perfectly with the comfortable silence that filled the air. You could feel the weight of the night slip away.

The alcohol was still buzzing lightly through your veins, making you feel a little lighter, more complacent.

Namjoon shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours as his hand found its way to your thigh, his fingers resting there with an easy familiarity. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of your skirt, and when he shifted again, his touch grew bolder, fingers tracing slow circles just above your knee.

The small touch made your heart pickup again, and you looked up at him, catching the softness in his expression as he glanced back at you.

“So tired,” he confessed, almost like it was a secret. The day had been long for both of you, and you had no doubt the holiday season weighed just as heavily on him. Sure, yours was filled with glittering snowflakes and loud kids singing out of tune Christmas carols, while his likely consisted of conference calls, paper grading and presentations, but fatigue didn’t discriminate.

Still, there was something about the evening, the silence between you two, that made it all feel worthwhile. The day was over, but the night had a way of stretching on, leaving just enough space for small moments like this. Because with Namjoon, there was always something that made the world feel quieter, easier. Like he was grounding you, helping you recharge in a way no one else could.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed in response, your voice a little dreamy as you let your head fall to the side, leaning against his shoulder.

“You look tired too,” he said softly, his voice laced with tenderness, still his hand shifted to the inside of your thigh, fingers massaging your skin softly.

“I am,” you admitted with a small sigh, your body naturally melting into his touch as the knots in your muscles began to dissolve.

Yet, even as your body relaxed, a spark flickered deep in your belly—undeniable and growing—kindled by the deliberate care in his movements, each touch purposeful and impossible to ignore.

“But I’m also horny,” you tack on after a few seconds, your voice a little breathy, your eyes flicking up to meet his, watching for his reaction.

Namjoon’s hand stilled for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His gaze dropped briefly to where his fingers rested against your leg, then lifted to meet your eyes. His smile turned slow, deliberate, and his voice dropped an octave when he finally responded.

“Is my baby needy?”

You nodded slowly, feeling completely vulnerable under his deliberate admiration “Yeah,” you whispered, the word falling form your lips like a confession. “I want you.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, as if testing the waters, giving you a chance to pull back if you wanted to. But the way his eyes locked onto yours, the way his touch lingered now a little longer, a little rougher, said he wasn’t going anywhere unless you wanted him to.

Instead of answering, you shifted, turning around to straddle his hips, tugging your skirt higher in the process so you could sit comfortably on his lap.

“Always,” you muttered, your voice a breathy promise before closing the gap between you. You pressed your lips to his with fervour, cutting off the teasing words he was no doubt ready to deliver, swallowing them whole.

 Namjoon’s hands quickly went to your ass, pulling you impossibly closer, and you giggled when he squeezed at your flesh, then shifted like he sensed something unusual.

“What are you wearing?” Namjoon murmured against your mouth, his breath warm and pleasant. The low timbre of his voice made you giggle, the vibration of your laughter mingling with the tickle of his breath.

“Spandex,” you replied with a grin. “How do you think my butt looks so good in this skirt?” With a playful movement, you lifted the hem of your skirt just enough to show him. The spandex hugged your curves perfectly, a sly smirk plastered on your face.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his fingers brushing over the edge of the spandex before his hand returned to its frisky grip on your ass. His gaze lingered, warm and unguarded, as if memorizing every curve.

“Sexy,” he concluded. His other hand grabbing the edge of your shorts and letting it slap against your skin; the gesture drawing another burst of giggles from you.

“The sexiest,” you replied, your laughter dissolving into a grin as you shook your head. With an easy motion, you dropped your head onto his shoulder, muffling your laughter against his shirt.

It was ridiculous, you knew that—the whole moment—but there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart swell. Like he found you beautiful even in the silliness, even in spandex.

You remained like that for a moment, enveloped in the comfort of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with your own. His hands continued their gentle kneading of your flesh, and you shifted your hips, pressing closer, feeling his hardness through your clothes.

Namjoon let out a soft huff, and you lifted your head to meet his eyes, an impish glint in your own. With a wicked smile, you began moving your hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding against him, enjoying the way he hardens beneath you. His hands tightened, pulling you closer, a soft moan escaping his lips as he let his head fall back against the couch.

“Ah, babe-” His voice was strained, thick with desire, the heat between you intensifying, his hips buckling up slightly.

Your hands wander up his chest, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath his shirt. You can feel his heart racing, matching your own as you lose yourself in the rhythm you’d set. With a bit of fumbling, you managed to unbutton his shirt, watching as he shivered under the touch of your cold fingers as you chart his toned muscles.

“Fuck. Kiss me please,” he breathed out, his voice rough and needy.

Your mouth hovered just few inches away from his, the warmth of his wrapping around you like a cocoon. Close enough to count the moles and freckles that dotted his skin, to take in the slight stubble along his jaw. His breath mingled with yours, teasing your lips.

 Your gaze flickered down, lingering on his mouth for just a moment longer.

And then, you didn’t hesitate. Leaning in, your lips find his in a fervent kiss. His mouth moved with yours, tongues tangling as you explored him, your hands roaming the expanse of his now exposed chest. The kiss was all-consuming, filled with the passion that had been simmering between you since he stepped into your classroom earlier today.

Namjoon's hands are not idle either. They roam up your thighs, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, making you shiver. You can feel his arousal pressing against your core, and you grind against him, eliciting a low moan from him.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands squeezing your thighs. “I want you so bad.”

His words send another wave of heat through you, and you deepen the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair. You can feel the tension building between you, your own arousal growing with every passing moment.

With a reluctant movement, you pull away to stand up, your skirt falling back down to your thighs as you stare down at him. Namjoon looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, and you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement as you slowly, deliberately, begin to undress for him.

Pulling your button down over your head, you let it fall at his feet, watching the way his eyes barely flicker to it. Instead, Namjoon watches you, his breath quickening as you reveal more and more of your body to him.

You slip out of your skirt, tossing it aside as you stand before him in nothing but your spandex shorts and a lacy bra. His eyes rake over you, taking in every inch of your body with a hungry gaze.

“God, you're beautiful,” he breathes, his voice thick with longing, watching you kneel between his legs on the floor, your hands quickly moving to his belt to unbuckle it.

You take your time with it, savouring the way his breath hitches as you brush your fingers against his hardness. Once the belt is undone, you unbutton his pants and pull them down, taking his boxers with them. Namjoon lifts his hips to help, his gaze never leaving yours.

Now that he's fully exposed, you can't help but admire him; He's always been handsome, but in this moment, with desire burning in his eyes and his body tense with need, his unbuttoned shirt still clinging to his shoulders, he was downright irresistible.

You reach out, wrapping your hand around his cock, hard and ready, resting against his stomach, and he hisses in a deep breath, melting under your touch.

“Fuck.” His head falls back against the couch pillows, breaking eye contact once you wrap your lips against his dick, running your tongue over his leaking tip, swirling it and dipping it into the slit, enjoying the lewd sounds that escaped from his chest without abandon.

Emboldened, you keep taking him deeper in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and finding a steady rhythm that has him unravelling quickly. Your tongue rolling over his head every time you come back up.

Your hand starts working the part you can’t reach mirroring the rhythm you've set with your mouth, unleashing a flood of moans from him.

Namjoon’s hips buck, accidentally bumping the back of your throat, making you gag, and a quick, weak apology falls from his lips, although you feel like he doesn’t truly mean it, because he does it again right after.

 But you barely care, because his taut stomach clenches, showcasing his pretty abs, and the long, low sound he makes sends a new wave of wetness between your legs, urging you on. You were the one making him weak. You were pleasuring him in such a way that made him lose himself.

“Just like that, love.” He reaches out, his fingers tangling in your hair, not tugging at it, but guiding your movements, fucking your mouth. You keep up with him, your lips now redden, tongue rolling on the underside, and your chin covered in spit as you bob faster.

The room is filled with the wet vulgar sounds your mouth makes and his low groans, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

“Fuck. Babe, stop.” He whimpers, tugging at your hair. “I’m close. Don’t want to cum-”

Suddenly, Namjoon pulls you away, holding you just out of reach as his head falls back against the couch, a long miserable “Fuuuuuck,” filling the space between you, as if he’d just received the worst news ever.

You blink up at him, your mind scrambling to understand his sudden outburst. His gaze meets yours again, and the regret swimming in his eyes deepens your confusion.

“Fuck. I knew I forgot something.” He groaned, voice thick with frustration, his fingers releasing their hold on your hair.

Your hand stilled mid-movement, your head tilting slightly as you tried to make sense of his words.

“You… can’t get blowjobs?” you asked cautiously, your knees wobbling as you stood up, bracing yourself against his legs for stability.

“What? No,” he blurted, his brows furrowing in indignation. “I forgot to go to the store. We’re out of condoms.”

Namjoon looked utterly defeated, his hands reaching out instinctively to steady you. Yet, there was something almost comical in the way his lips formed the smallest of pouts.

You bit down hard on the wicked grin threatening to spread across your face. He was adorable—even now, red hard cock pulsing against his chiselled thighs, neck flushed red, chest rising and falling rapidly as his mind raced. Likely scolding himself for forgetting something so crucial.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips, and again, you bury your face into his shoulder, leaning into him to press a kiss against his neck, drawing his gaze back to you. His thumbs began rubbing slow circles against your hips, grounding both of you as you whispered softly into his ear, “We could always go without.”

Namjoon froze. The suggestion sent a visible shiver through him, and his eyes widening slightly.

 For a moment, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the heater in the background, the suggestion hanging in the air between you like a loaded secret. His hands, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly as he stared at you, trying to gauge how serious you were—or how far he could let himself go without losing control.

“Are you serious?” his voice came out broken despite his best efforts, and you lean back to look at his face, your hands holding onto his shoulders.

“It would make a nice Christmas gift.” You admit, almost bashful, but maintaining eye contact.

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The playful tension had melted away, replaced by something heavier, more profound.

You nodded slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course, not” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “I want that too. I want a family with you.”

His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t quite get enough of you.

Namjoon let out a soft, shaky breath, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes closing as if to let your words sink in fully. When he opened them again, his gaze was filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart feel like it might burst.

“I really fucking love you.” He murmured, his hands settling more firmly on your hips, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you.

Your lips quirked into a small smile, your hands moving to cradle his face. “You better,” you whispered back. “I’m your wife, after all.”

Without warning, his arms tightened around you, and in one smooth motion, he stood up, lifting you effortlessly into his embrace.

You let out a startled gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance.

“Namjoon!”

But he only laughed at your reaction, the sound of it lighting up his features as he carried you down the hallway with ease. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, steadying you, and even despite your mock annoyance, your heart still fluttered at the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Don’t think being my wife means you can get away with teasing me like that,” he murmured. His steps were steady, purposeful, the warm glow of the bedroom lights spilling out into the hallway as he nudged the door open with his foot.

You grinned, brushing a soft kiss against his jaw. “Actually, I think it means exactly that.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into a smirk as he laid you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering as if reluctant to let you go, while your legs remained wrapped around his hips, his hard cock pressing against your thigh. His gaze roamed over you, warm and full of affection, but the spark of desire in his eyes was impossible to miss.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low and teasing as he leaned over you, bracing himself with one arm while the other trailed down your side, sending a delicious shiver through you.

“You love it,” you replied, your tone just as playful as you tugged him closer.

Namjoon hummed, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started sweet but quickly deepened, every touch and movement making you feel lighter, like you were floating.

His soft lips were moving yours and controlling the kiss, and you melted in his arms, letting him do anything he wanted. He pushed your lips open, and you willingly allowed his tongue to explore every inch of your mouth, moaning against him when he hooked it around your lip to softly bite on it.

His movements were slow and deliberate, as if savouring every second of the connection between you two. Your hands dropped down to his shoulders to push away his shirt, letting it fall off somewhere, and in response, Namjoon pressed against you further, pushing you into the mattress.

You can feel the weight of his body on you, every inch of him pressed against your curves, and you revel in the sensation, though it does very little to soothe the burning ache spreading through you. You try to arch your back, try to make your hips meet, desperate to feel more of him, but Namjoon keeps you pinned down. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, and you're lightheaded from the kiss, each one of his lingering touches drawing you deeper.

His hands move with purpose, gliding down your arm and leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. Each touch feels purposeful, yet it only strokes the fire within you, the tension between you building with every measured caress.

Namjoon shifts, his lips abandoning yours to travel along your jaw and neck. Soft and warm, they graze your skin, leaving a searing path of heat that makes your breath hitch with every press of his mouth.

The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his breath on your neck made your head spin, the room narrowing to just the two of you.

 You gasp when he nips at your neck, his lips a welcome contrast to the sting of his teeth. His hips rock against yours, and you moan at the feeling, even if it's just his length pressing against you, but at this point, you’d take anything to ease the lustful haze that clouded your mind.

“Joonie,” you whimper squeezing your thighs around his hips, “Please.”

You fought to keep your breathing steady, but it was a losing battle.

 “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice soft like caramel, dripping with longing, his hands still caressing the sides of your body, stopping over your breasts, teasing your nipples through the lacy fabric of your bra.

You mewl, arching instinctively towards his touch. “Then show me,” you whispered back, your voice hushed, sounding so needy that you barely recognise it as your own.

His eyes shift to your face for a quick second, a big teasing smirk tugging on his lips.

“Mmm, I will.” He replies casually, before pinching your nipples through your bra. A little whimper falls from your lips as a jolt of pleasure shoots through you.

He tugs your bra down, letting your tits spill out, and with an almost primal movement, he takes a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his hand continues to tease and pinch the other one. You gasp, throwing your head back, letting out soft moans as your fingers weave themselves into his hair, pulling him closer.

“God, you’re so hot,” he breaths against your chest, goosebumps erupting across your skin, before switching his attention to your other nipple.

You look down at him, your eyes heavy-lidded with desire. His hands slide down your body and you feel his fingers hook around the waistband of your spandex shorts, tugging them down your legs, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable before him.

He lifts his head from your breast, his lips red and slightly swollen, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. You feel a flicker of shyness wash over you, an instinctive reaction under his steady, adoring eyes. It isn’t that Namjoon ever made you feel uncomfortable—far from it. If anything, he had taught you more about how to love yourself than anyone else ever had.

But still, those small insecurities lingered, faint whispers at the back of your mind. The little things only you noticed, the things you thought didn’t measure up. You tried to push them away, focusing instead on the warmth in Namjoon’s gaze, the way his touch seemed to erase every doubt and hesitation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft but brimming with conviction, like he couldn’t hold the words back even if he tried. His eyes traced every curve and detail, lingering as if memorizing you all over again. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he whispered, the words tinged with awe before he leaned down to place slow, deliberate kisses along your ribs.

A shaky moan slipped from your lips, a sound of your clear frustration as his seemingly endless patience began to test your resolve. He chuckled softly against your hip, the vibration of it sending a wave of heat through you.

“Namjoon,” you breathed, your voice teetering on a plea, your fingers threading through his hair to tug gently.

His lips paused their trail, his gaze lifting to meet yours, mischief and adoration mingling in his dark eyes. “What is it, love?”

“Stop teasing,” you demanded, your tone shaky but resolute. “I swear to god-” but before you could finish your threat, Namjoon’s fingers swipe across your pussy, rendering you absolutely speechless.

“Holy fucking shit.” Namjoon breathed, the disbelief in his voice almost comical as his wide eyes flickered from your face to your cunt. “You’re dripping wet.” His fingers parted your lips, pulling them apart so he could see better. “Is the idea of me knocking you up turning you on this much?” His other hand joined in, both of them exploring your wetness, spreading it around. “Fuck.” He muttered, his fingers positioning at your entrance, sliding in and out of you easily.

You couldn't help but moan, your back arching as you pressed yourself into his touch. “Namjoon,” you sob, your voice filled with longing. “Please, just fuck me.”

“I will. I will,” he mumbles, moving lower to settle between your legs, spreading your thighs further apart, “After I get a taste.” He tacks on, quite proud of himself.

You couldn’t help but huff in frustration and desire as you felt his breath against your slick folds, ready to complain. But before you could get the words out, Namjoon quickly shuts you up, his mouth on you.

“Be good.” He warns, his tone firm but gentle, voice muffled against your pussy. As the words left his lips, his tongue darted out, tracing a line from your entrance all the way to your clit and then back down, causing you to shiver in pleasure. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open for him as he explored every inch of you, his fingers moving in tandem with his lips.

“Joon,” you whimpered, your fingers tightening in his hair as you tried to control the rhythm, your hips trashing against his face. He chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of heat through you, but his patience never wavered, even as your breaths became shorter and your whimpers turned into moans.

He slurped loudly, pressing his face in hard as he moved his lips and tongue expertly. You couldn’t help throwing your head back and moaning, the movement completely involuntary to you. His head moved around as he devoured you like a starving man, moaning to himself as he worked, his tongue lapping at your wetness, before coming back up to your clit and sucking hard, driving you crazy with the way his fingers moved and arched against your sweet spot.

“Namjoon!” Your eyes closed and you bit your lip, trying to muffle your moans, feeling the way his tongue swirled around your opening and licked up your wetness like he was savouring every drop of you.

He was worshipping you, consuming you like he’d been starving for you, growling whenever you pulled his hair too hard or moaned for him in a way he liked. Your back arched and you let yourself close your eyes, unable to stop yourself as your loud moans turned into gibberish, raising in pitch as he brought you right up to the edge.

His name was falling from your lips like a prayer, your hips bucking, thighs trembling and stomach clenched. You felt like you were about to explode, but he didn’t let up, not until you were unravelling against his touch. Your orgasm was so sudden, so violent and unexpected that you didn’t even get a chance to warn him, wave after wave of staggering pleasure washing over you, rendering you an absolute useless mess in his grasp.

 Namjoon didn't miss a beat, continuing his assault on your pussy as you came hard around him. Your muscles quivered and pulsed, and he groaned, the sound reverberating through you and adding to the intense pleasure crashing through your veins. And he didn't stop, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your body, his fingers pushing your release in his mouth.

As you slowly came down from your high, Namjoon gently kissed your inner thighs, his lips warm and soft against your sensitive skin. You could feel his proud smile against you, and you couldn't even find the energy to glare at him.

It wasn't until your breaths evened out and your body went limp that you finally managed to push him away, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips when he looked up at you.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked, his voice twinged with amusement, although a little breathless.

You couldn't be bothered to reply, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. But you managed a small, satisfied smile, your eyes closed in contentment.

“I told you I would take care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing softly against your hip. At that you chuckled, the sound light and airless, the remnants of pleasure still humming through your body like an electric current.

Namjoon began a slow ascend, pressing soft kisses against your skin as he went, each one making your breath hitch just a little more. When he finally reached your lips, his gaze was heavy with intent. He kissed you deeply, and the moment you tasted yourself on his tongue, a wave of heat crashed over you.

Your lips parted instinctively, drawing his tongue deeper as you sucked on it, the sensation unravelling something primal in your mind. A soft, desperate moan escaped against his mouth, your hands fisting into his hair as you clung to him, utterly consumed by him, by his mouth, by his hands against your hips. By Namjoon. Your husband.

“Ready for me to fuck you now, my love?” he asked, his voice low, a whisper against your lips, but one that sent a new wave of wetness to your core.

 You were too fucked out to form a coherent sentence, so your let your hand drop to hips and pull him closer, eager for him to take you.

You could feel his hard cock press against your entrance, and you couldn’t resist the temptation to glance down and watch as he positioned himself at your opening. A low moan falling from your lips as you waited for him to thrust inside you.

But instead, Namjoon teases you further, swiping his cock against your wet folds, driving you wild.

“C’mon love, don’t leave me hanging. Say something.” He chuckles, watching your expression carefully as he pushes the head of his cock against your clit, circling it.

That completely makes you snap, a flurry of uncoherent begging and threatening falling from your lips, filling the little space between your heavy breathing and his low chuckles.

“Please, please, please Namjoonie. Fuck me. Get me pregnant. God! Move! You always do this,” your head falls back against the pillow, tears prickling at the inside of your eyes, your fingernails digging in his skin. “Knock me up, please. Just fuck me. I’ll delete your homework gradings if you don’t.”

He bets you have almost no idea what you were spewing, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Not when his heart swelled with love and desire at your words. He couldn’t resist you any longer. He presses the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you just for a second longer, before he finally pushes inside, agonizingly slow.

You gasp, your body trembling in his arms, feeling him fill you all the way to the brim. The feeling of him bare inside you, the warmth and the intimacy of it, is almost too much to bear. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein. You feel every movement and every thrust as if it's the first time all over again. The sensation is so intense, so overwhelming, that you can't help but let out a series of weak, trembling moans every time he moves inside you.

“Holy fucking shit, you feel so fucking good.” Namjoon whimpered, his hips slapping against you, pulling almost all the way out before filling you up again, “Fuck, you're so tight. I can feel every inch of you, gripping me, love.”

The sound of your skin slapping fills the bedroom with his steady thrusts, punctuated by the occasional slap of his balls against your ass. You gasp, your orgasm building deep inside you. You can feel it coiling in your belly, ready to explode at any moment.

“Yes, yes, just like that, baby,” you moan, your hips moving in time with his.

“Shit love, look at that.” Namjoon presses a hand hard against your lower stomach, “Can you feel it?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. “Can you feel how deep I'm inside you, how close I am to filling you up?”

His words sent another wave of heat crashing over you, and you nodded eagerly, your breath hitching as you felt his hand press against your stomach. His cock, so deep  and snug in you that you can feel the bulge faintly against your abdomen as he moved.

You nodded frantically, your eyes wide as you felt him pulse inside you. The thought of him coming inside you, of him potentially getting you pregnant, only served to heighten your pleasure. You were so close, so unbearably close to the edge, and with each thrust, you felt yourself slipping closer and closer to the brink.

“Yes, yes, I can feel it,” you gasped, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. “Please, Namjoon, please fill me up. I want to feel you cum inside me, fill me up, I want to carry your baby.”

Namjoon's thrusts grew more desperate, spurred on by your pleas, more urgent as he chased his release, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside you, hitting places you didn’t think possible.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Don't stop,” you beg, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Don't you dare stop!”

But of course, ever the contrarian, Namjoon pulls out, making you scream in frustration. An elongated, miserable “Nooo,” falling from your lips, your body going limp, “God! Namjoon! I swear-” but he ignores you, flipping you over on your stomach.

You still angle your hips up in invitation, although angrily, your body trembling with anticipation and frustration. You’ve known your husband long enough to know how he liked to play, and how to play his games. You plant your knees on the mattress, lifting your ass higher in the air as your chest falls against the pillows, slowly swaying your hips for him.

 Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him. Watching you offer yourself to him so willingly, so eagerly. He can’t resist your lure much longer. He positions himself behind you, his fingers tracing a path down your spine before grasping your hips firmly. You feel the head of his cock against your entrance once more, and you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips, as again, he swipes it against your clit before sinking into you.

This new position allows him to reach deeper somehow, and you can feel him hitting your sweet spot with every movement. Your fingers clench the sheets as he starts to thrust harder, his hips meeting your ass with a satisfying slap, and you push back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, your pleasure mounting right back up, bringing you closer to the edge.

 Sweat starts to collect at your hairline, your breath hitching with each of his powerful thrusts.

“That's it, love. Take all of me,” Namjoon growls, his lips finding your neck as he continues to fuck into you. His hand snakes around to find your clit, and he starts rubbing slow circles around it, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

Your body trembles as he pushes you closer and closer to ecstasy. You can feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling deep in your belly, ready to explode at any moment, with any one of his thrusts that hits right against your g-spot.

“Namjoon, I'm so close,” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline.

“I know, love. I can feel it. Let go, let me feel you come undone for me,” he whispers in your ear, his voice filled with need, his fingers flicking your clit softly, completely stealing the breath from your lungs. “Let me feel you clench around my cock baby.”

His words are your undoing. You cry out, dissolving into pleasure, everything around you cutting to white noise. Your elbows give way, and you collapse onto the mattress, completely boneless as he coaxes wave after wave of bliss from your trembling body.

His hands fly to your hips, holding you up for him as his thrusts grow more erratic, dragging out your orgasm and making you clench so hard against him that his movements stutters. You felt utterly weightless, as though your body had melted into the sheets, as if you had no strength left to hold yourself together.

“I’m so close,” Namjoon moaned your name, his sounds growing lounder and more uninhibited, as he relentlessly chased his own climax.

“Cum inside me,” you beg, egging him on. “Fill me up with your seed. Make a baby with me.”

His movements falter, his most base instincts taking over, and with one final, powerful thrust, he releases. Filling you up with his hot, sticky cum, you can feel it, coating your insides and leaking out. You clench around him, another orgasm, less intense but just as blissful as the first one washes over you.

The feeling of him coming inside you, the warmth and the intensity of it, is almost too much to bear. You can feel your heart racing, your entire body trembling with the aftershock. You can feel him still inside you, pulsing to the rhythm of his own release, and the sensation of it is just overwhelming.

“Fuck, love,” Namjoon whispers, his lips finding yours in a gentle kiss. “That was...incredible.”

You can only nod in agreement, your breathing still heavy and uneven. You can feel him softening inside you, but you don't want him to pull out. You want to stay like this forever, connected in the most intimate way possible, his full body weight on you.

But eventually, he does pull out, rolling onto his back beside you and you snuggle up against him, your head resting on his chest as you catch your breath. You can feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, broken only by your breathing, a soft, tired chuckle escaped your lips. You rested your chin on his chest, gazing up at him through fluttering eyelashes, a playful glint in your eyes.

“You have a breeding kink.” You state with a sly grin, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Namjoon huffs, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as he mutters, “Maybe.”

“Good,” you reply, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “Means you’ll enjoy these next few months.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair as his gaze locks onto you, full of equal parts amusement and surrender.

“Fuck. You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

[hcneymooners]

⋆ our bodies, two wounds of love.

bodyguard!sevika x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: as the youngest daughter of a highly famous businessman, you're not at all what sevika is expecting upon receiving her assignment.

cw: modern setting, soft!sevika, reader is sugar sweet and slightly shy, reader has long hair, obsessive behavior, dubious consent, as in reader wakes sevi up properly like the eater she is but sevi consents when she wakes up, somnophilia, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, implied/referenced sex, via toys, implied strapping as god intended, overstimulation, impact play, it's pussy slapping, nipple play, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, dom/sub undertones, minor violence, reader speaks german in this for no other reason than i've been watching the empress., soft dom!sevika, love confessions, near-death experiences, non-sexual intimacy, age difference, older woman/younger woman, mommy issues, implied lmfao, makeup sex, arguing, resolved sexual tension, masturbation in bathroom, accidental voyeurism notes: this is set to american by lana del rey. listen here. this is more emotionally heavy, but definitely my favorite. does this plot barely make sense? yes. but is the reward worth it? yes. this is a repost.

out of all her clients, you were the easiest.

sevika shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was, given the research she’d conducted. you were the youngest of four daughters, and the public fed off your penchant for privacy. finding someone like you in her line of work was a rarity: no scandals to cover up, no carefully curated drama for the tabloids. your reputation preceded you—sweet, quiet, and often tired. a homebody, mel had said with an almost indulgent smirk when sevika was handed the assignment.

“you’re lucky,” she added. “the others are a handful.”

sevika didn’t believe in luck.

the flat where she first met you was a monument to your family’s wealth. still it was tasteful—ornate without being garish, quiet grandeur woven into every polished surface. it was the kind of space that swallowed sound and softened the world's edges.

your apartment was beautiful in a way that felt intentional but not performative. soft cream and powder blue walls were traced with delicate vines and florals, the details long faded. it wasn’t pristine—scuffs on the wooden floor and fingerprints smudged onto the low, sculptural table in the center—but it was lived-in, loved in a way that gave the space its warmth.

the table itself was an anchor—organic and raw, its uneven edges smoothed by time, surrounded by cushions in muted grays and pale pinks that had lost some of their color to the steady heat of the sun. a shelf of books stretched to the ceiling, its rows crowded with novels and photography volumes, with stacks of loose papers and half-burnt cigarettes scattered between them. the window beside it was cracked open just enough to let in the sound of rustling leaves, the faint scent of rain-soaked greenery curling through the room like an invisible flatmate.

golden lamps shaped like oversized fans stood at either end of the space, their light pooling onto the woven rug beneath. it cast the room in a kind of half-glow—soft, forgiving—blurring the edges of things just enough to make them feel closer. there was something fragile about how it all fit together like it had been arranged for someone who might leave it behind at any moment.

and yet, it felt distinctly like you. the powdered jasmine in the air, the book splayed open on the armchair, the small dish of rings by the window—it was a home that asked nothing of you but to exist in it. sevika’s stormy gaze caught on an abandoned note on the window sill, the script delicate and curling.

cochem, it read. i miss you. i want to come back to you. i want to disappear inside of you and have you love me again. i want to get lost in the german morning. no one will ever know me, and i’ll be happy, less unfulfilled.

she fingered the edges of the paper, sun-bleached and flaking. then she began to walk again, navigating to what looked like the open door of your study.

you were waiting for her inside, perched in an armchair too big for your frame, as if the room had been designed to diminish you. at first glance, you looked as delicate as the furniture you sat on, barefaced and bathed in soft afternoon light that filtered through sheer curtains. it was the kind of light that made everything look fragile and translucent.

you wore an ivory blouse, thin and shimmering with embroidery that seemed to grow out of the fabric like frost patterns on glass. the neckline skimmed your collarbones, modest but deliberate, while the sleeves flared past your wrists, draping like petals. the cinched waist and pale drawstrings might have belonged to someone dressing for comfort, but on you, it was something else entirely—careless elegance.

the sweatpants should have broken the illusion. they didn’t. instead, they made you seem more unreachable, more unstudied. as if you’d wandered into this world from somewhere else—someplace softer—and were still too young to realize you didn’t belong.

sevika lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than she meant to, her presence large enough to make the room feel smaller. she expected you to bristle at the intrusion, to draw yourself up with the same cool hauteur that so often marked women of your standing. but you didn’t.

you looked up at her, eyes wide and unguarded, and smiled.

“hello,” you said. your voice was so soft, as though you feared disturbing her.

sevika’s eyes swept over you, cataloging every detail: the way your hair—long and heavy—spilled over your shoulders, catching the faint streaks of the incoming light; the way your blouse seemed to ripple as you moved, fabric clinging like a whisper to your skin.

“i’m sevika,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “your father hired my team's services to protect your family. i’ll be your bodyguard.”

you nodded and rose from the chair, the movement unhurried and deliberate. you smoothed your palms over the sides of your sweatpants—grey, nondescript, somehow lovely in the context of you—and stepped closer. you smelled faintly of something soft and fleeting: fresh linen, maybe, or soap.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand, sincerity tucked neatly into every word.

sevika didn’t take it right away. there was something strange about you—something that tugged at her instincts and told her to look closer. your face was open, unguarded, but there was a sadness there, too, stitched into the curve of your mouth, in the way your lashes fell low. she watched the way you stood there, chin lifted just enough to suggest poise but not pride, eyes wide and unguarded as they searched hers for something she wasn’t used to giving.

trust.

and for the first time in a long while, sevika found herself unsure of what to do. you weren’t like the others, all obvious disdain and high expectations. nothing was demanding about you—nothing calculated or sharp. just the soft curve of your mouth, the quiet pull of your gaze, and a kindness she didn’t quite know how to meet.

she clasped your hand firmly but briefly, clearing her throat as she stepped back.

“we should go over security protocol,” she said gruffly, falling back into professionalism as a defense.

you only nodded, that same soft smile still lingering. “of course. whatever you need.”

whatever you need.

sevika didn’t believe in luck, but standing there, looking down at you—your long lashes fluttering as you turned your gaze away, the afternoon light casting faint shadows through the sheer sleeves of your blouse—she wondered, for just a second, if this was as close to it as she would ever get.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

it took three years for both of you to understand that your relationship had outgrown the typical bounds of client and employee. yes, intimacy was inevitable given the circumstances, but even a stranger would’ve seen something uncanny about how you and sevika were… connected, even for a bodyguard.

love affairs always look different to those inside them. you thought nothing of how deeply you needed her, how fondness for her had quietly rooted itself in you. sevika risked her body—her life—to keep you from harm, and it felt natural to bond, to grow into one another. time spent apart became more agonizing only relieved by the hours you were together, yet you ignored the weight of it.

your sisters often spoke of it, though only behind closed doors. you rarely engaged in their chatter. you had always been this way: dreamy, untethered, with a mind like mist and the heart of a prey animal. lame, your mother had called you, her voice sharp with disappointment. sickly, she added, as if naming your frailty might cure it. over time, it became easier to withdraw, to wrap yourself in silence, and let the world chatter on without you.

but with sevika, life required less effort. you rediscovered a tenderness for the act of living in her presence. she was patient, grounding. she found you tolerable even at your worst, and for that, you adored her. no one else had made you feel this way—not men, not women.

while you preferred women, you had dabbled with men, more out of curiosity than desire. it felt clinical, an attempt to decode them like puzzles, perhaps to better understand why you and your father clashed. women, on the other hand, unraveled you.

the realization of your love came in two parts. the first arrived in the languid quiet of a holiday evening at your family’s upstate estate.

you had overexerted yourself in a lagree class, and sevika, ever watchful, had drawn you a warm bath. you watched her through the crack of the bathroom door, your gaze catching on the soft swell of her hips, the worn strength in her movements as she stretched after finishing readying the bed for sleeping. you often shared when traveling. she sat on the edge of it, her familiar perch, closest to the door. she always did this.

it was the smallest things about her that undid you: the way her hair slipped loose from its strict ponytail, the gentle sway of the gold chain brushing against her collarbones. you’d bought her that chain during a weekend in stockholm. now, the sight of it filled you with a sudden, vicious envy. you wanted to be that close to her—always.

the need consumed you. your body buzzed with an unnamed energy, teetering on the edge of itself. you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into hers, to dissolve completely against her warmth. you wanted her blood to run through your veins, her marrow to fuse with yours. your desire was feral, deranged, trembling like a dying pathetic thing.

without thinking, your hand slipped between your thighs. the thought of her—the sharpness of her profile, the tender press of her hands on your waist at the farmer’s market earlier—burned in your mind. you focused on the ridge of her nose, her beautiful nose. everything about her pleased you.

your fingertips pressed harder into the rosy pearl of your clit, and with a wounded cry, you came undone, trembling, your gaze locked on her through the crack in the door.

as if summoned by your thoughts, sevika lifted her head and met your eyes. her stern gaze pinned you, and you sank beneath the water with sudden embarrassment, your skin flush with heat.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the next morning, your pleasure still lingered via a morning glow on your skin. you woke to find sevika beside you, her strong shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her sleep. you lifted a hand and stroked her brow, cooing softly as she murmured from somewhere deep within her sleep.

she, you thought, is every woman i’ve ever wanted.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the second realization came during an attempt to kill you.

you were the chosen target—a calculated decision. your public image, carefully nurtured by those who sought to use you, made your death a tragedy worth orchestrating. the explosive had been hidden cleverly in the heart of your favorite restaurant, the one you frequented for its thick slices of fresh bread and macadamia milk.

when it detonated, your world fractured. your vision blurred, your ears rang, and blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. the floor rose to meet you, the lacquered wood pressing cold against your cheek. the world went in and out like the weak signal of a radio. someone was screaming—it might have been your mother, though you doubted she cared enough to wail like that.

through the haze, a hand cupped your jaw, firm but careful, and your head was turned until your eyes locked on sevika’s. her gray gaze steadied you, cutting through the chaos. you raised a hand, your french manicured tips trailing lightly against her cheek. one of them, you noticed, was broken.

“[name]. [name], look at me. don’t take your eyes off me.”

“vika,” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. for the first time, you saw fear flicker across her face.

“it’s me,” she said softly. “you’re going to be fine, but i need to get you up. i need to get you out of here.”

you didn’t want to move. here, cradled in her hands, was where you wanted to stay.

“i can hold you, princess,” she murmured, her voice impossibly tender. “if that’s what you want. but i have to move you first. deep breath, okay? here we go.”

she lifted you as though you weighed nothing, her strength unyielding. you clung to her, your broken nails digging into her skin as she carried you through the wreckage. bodies lay strewn across the floor, and your heart broke when you recognized the familiar face of a favorite server.

“it’s okay,” sevika said, her voice a steady anchor. “look at me. just keep looking at me.”

and you did. your gaze drifted to the soft curve of her throat; your face tilted toward her as though she were the sun.

when she laid you on the stretcher, a terrible fear seized you. you reached for her, desperation clawing at your chest.

“stay with me. bitte. bitte, ich flehe dich an.”

sevika froze. if it had been anyone else, she might have refused and headed back to assess the security breach. but it wasn’t anyone else. it was you.

“i’m right behind you, sweetheart,” she promised, her hand pressing firmly to your stomach. “right behind you. just in that car.”

“danke, vika,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du.”

even as the ambulance doors closed, your eyes never left her. you focused on the faint hum of her engine trailing behind you, the sound steady against the fevered rush of your heart.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

sevika was unforgiving after that, and you selfishly enjoyed the over-attention.

she stole you away, back to your flat, and hovered. always within reach, always watching, her presence as constant as the air you breathed. you hated it. you loved it.

she insisted on being in the room while you bathed, while you ate, while you tried to pretend your body wasn’t trembling from the aftershocks of the explosion. the weight of her gaze pressed into your skin like a second layer. she dressed your wounds with quiet efficiency, her fingers steady but firm, and even when you flinched, she refused to soften her touch.

“you should’ve told me this one was hurting,” she murmured one evening, crouched at your side with a damp cloth in hand. her voice was scolding, but there was an undercurrent of something wounded beneath it—something that hadn’t healed properly since the restaurant.

“it’s fine,” you said, looking anywhere but at her.

“it’s not fine,” she snapped, gripping your wrist a little too tightly before loosening her hold. “you don’t tell me when you’re in pain. you don’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head as if to clear it.

her jaw worked, muscles tight, and you stared at the curve of her throat as she leaned over you, wiping dried blood away with the kind of precision that only made your chest ache.

“you’re smothering me,” you said softly, more to yourself than her, but her head snapped up like you’d struck her.

“you almost died,” she bit out, and the words made you flinch harder than her grip.

“but i didn’t,” you countered, hating the way your voice trembled.

you could be such a child. it crippled you, your desire to please her, to be less burdensome. she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking. thank god it was your secret.

sevika’s lips parted, but no words came. just that unfaltering, infuriating look—one that said she knew better, that she always knew better, and that you knew this to be true. you raised a finger, traced the glistening edges of her teeth. she kept her mouth open; she never bit down.

and then one evening, you decided you’d had enough.

“i’m going out,” you said, pulling a thick coat of fur—vintage—over your shoulders.

sevika, seated in the chair by the window, didn’t look up from the blade she was sharpening. “no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am,” you replied, voice clipped.

her eyes flicked up to meet yours, the air thickening.

“why would i agree to that?” she asked, standing slowly, her full height suddenly overwhelming in the small space. “why would i let you walk out of here after i almost lost you last time?”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head.

“let me? you’re not my keeper, vika.”

“really?” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. “should we do another read of my contact? i’m the person who pulled you out of the rubble. i’m the person who’s been keeping you alive, no thanks to your recklessness.”

“recklessness?” you snapped, whirling to face her fully. “if you’ve learned anything these past years, it is that i am rarely reckless. you promised me. you said you wouldn't be another dictator. you know what my life’s been like. i am allowed to have a life outside of this, outside of what has happened to me.”

her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“you think i’m doing this for me?” she asked, her voice rough, uneven. “you think i like this?”

“yes,” you spat, the frustration spilling out of you in an unstoppable wave. “this is the most excitement i’ve given you. you must think i’m so fucking boring all of the time. so, yes, i think you’re enjoying it. it makes you feel important. ”

something in her cracked. she closed the distance between you in two steps, her hand shooting out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to hers.

“i'm enjoying this?” she growled, her breath hot against your skin. “watching you get hurt? wondering if this time i’ll be too late? don’t mistake my care for control.”

her grip softened, her thumb brushing your jaw, and suddenly, the room felt unbearably small. you could see the pulse in her throat, the heat in her gaze as her eyes searched yours.

“sevika,” you said. your self-righteousness had passed, and you were so deeply ashamed. “vika, that was unfair. i’m sorry. forgive me.”

her hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid warmth of her body against yours. her breath was shallow, her jaw tight, but her eyes—god, her eyes. they burned with something that made your knees weak.

“bitte,” you whispered.

“i’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling, “to keep you safe. to keep myself from—”

she cut herself off, her gaze flicking to your lips. and before you could say anything, before you could breathe, her mouth was on yours.

the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, her hand tightening on your waist as if she was afraid you might disappear. you gasped against her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, her neck, her hair. but just as quickly as it began, it ended. she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and stormy.

“don’t push me like that again,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

and then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving you alone with the echo of her touch.

you crumpled like a paper doll and began to sob. outside, sevika, having turned back, pressed her forehead against the wall. absent-mindedly, the fingers of her prosthetic twitched and aborted their motions, jerking against the door as if fighting to feel you there.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

you needed to repay her for your abhorrent behavior.

you tried through what you knew: lavish breakfasts, waking up early to purchase her favorite flowers and sweets. you’d even carefully cleaned and oiled her prosthetic. sevika said nothing, if only not to further provoke your guilt, but you could tell she felt it was unnecessary. she was always too easy on you.

the universe, however, seemed to agree with you, and the opportunity to protect sevika came faster than you ever expected.

it was another attempt, this time at a crowded gala in the heart of the city. you hadn’t wanted to go, but sevika had insisted—you wanted to go out. besides, you need to be seen. send a message. and she had been there, of course, always in the background, a silent shadow at your side.

you saw the glint of the blade before she did.

it was instinct. your body moved before your mind caught up, and suddenly, you were between sevika and the would-be assassin, your arm jerking upward to deflect the strike with the heavy bracelet you wore. the metal screeched against the blade, and a sharp pain radiated up your arm, but you didn’t falter.

with your other hand, you snatched a knife from the cocktail table behind you. it was small but sharp, and you used it without hesitation. you didn’t feel the burn of the blade as it nicked your palm on the thrust; you only felt the sickening resistance of flesh before the assailant crumpled at your feet.

“get down!” sevika’s voice was a thunderclap, her hand gripping your shoulder as she shoved you behind her. she moved with terrifying precision, her body a blur of strength and fury as she assessed the situation in seconds.

the room was instantly bursting with chaos. a flash of silver caught your eye as sevika swung her prosthetic arm, sending one of the other assailants sprawling. blood slicked the floor, and the copper tang of it hung heavy in the air. your ears rang with the cacophony of fists, steel, and slit flesh.

you shouldn’t have done that; you knew this. the headlines would be more than money could hide.

“fuck!” sevika’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious, as she turned to find you standing there, breathing hard, your hands stained red. “what the hell did you do?”

“i—i had to,” you stammered, your chest heaving. “you didn’t see him—”

she grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far side of the room where the air was clearer and less stifling. the fight was dwindling; the attackers were now being rounded up by security, but sevika’s fury was just beginning.

“what were you thinking?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “do you have a death wish?”

you ripped your arm from her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“i was saving you! or would you rather i let him stab you in the back?”

“i don’t need you to save me!” she snapped, stepping closer, her broad shoulders towering over you.

“maybe i need to,” you shot back, tears pricking at your eyes. “i refuse to just sit here and watch you die for me. i won’t. you can’t ask that of me.”

her expression faltered, the rage in her eyes dimming, replaced by something heavier, something more understanding. she often forgot how young you were.

“princess, it's not—you don’t understand,” she said. “if anything happened to you—”

“you’d what?” you interrupted, your voice wavering as you stared up at her. “fall apart? i wouldn’t be any different, vika. you're far from inconsequential. i could not survive a world without you.”

the silence between you was deafening. her gaze dropped to your trembling hands, still clutching the bloodied knife, and she let out a low, shuddering breath. more security personnel arrived, breaking the stalemate. the room was secured, and sevika took that as her cue to remove you from the premises, dragging you through the back corridors, her hand iron-tight around your wrist.

the moment the door to your shared suite slammed shut, she spun on you. her eyes glistened as she glared at you, her body taut like a bowstring.

“you don’t get it, do you?” she said, stepping closer. “i can’t—” she broke off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“you can’t what?” you asked, shifting toward her. “vika, tell me.”

her jaw worked, the muscles in her neck tightening as she tried to hold herself together.

“i feel like i’m so close to losing you,” she said finally, her voice low and broken.

the words hit you like a punch to the chest.

“you won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i can’t be without you in any way. i won’t allow it.”

her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the space between you was so heavy. all you wanted was to smooth the worried line of her forehead, to share water with her, and wipe her clean.

“you can’t promise that,” she said finally.

you watched as she turned from you and slipped into the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

she woke up with your head between her thighs.

sevika might’ve been more pleased about it if it wasn’t in the middle of the night. still, it wasn’t the worst way to come to.

the warmth spidered from her thighs to her hips before coiling tightly in her stomach. her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and struggling to focus. she heard you first: the wet suck of your mouth against her swollen, brown folds. you moaned somewhere deep and hidden in your chest, your hands tightening around the thickness of her thighs even though she was not yet bucking.

it took a while for her to place herself, and then it crashed into her all at once. she gasped and tucked a hand into your hair, which you removed so that you could intertwine your fingers, pressing them away from her head.

you unlatched from her and pressed a soft kiss into her stomach.

“stay still,” you commanded. “please.”

she allowed it.

you worked at her over and over, pushing the back the hood of her clit so you could roll it between your fingers like a rosy pearl. sevika let her pleasure crest until she shuddered into an unearthly orgasm, her legs snapping shut around your head just as a roll of thunder sounded through the early morning.

"couldn’t sleep?" she rasped.

you slowly unfastened her legs and raised your head from where you had been lapping at her, your full mouth glistening with her arousal. sevika sat up fully, legs shifting beneath the butter-yellow comforter, and stared down at you.

you looked back at her with wide eyes like she’d caught you sinning. you. you with your puppy eyes and open mouth. you, with your sweetness, with your eagerness when it came to her. you like a doe on the open road.

"no," you told her. "i couldn’t accept the idea that you hated me."

she sighed and cupped your cheek, thumbing across the plush skin.

"when you do or say something that displeases me, that doesn’t mean i hate you."

"if you’re displeased," you said, your voice thick across the last word, "then it feels the same to me."

with a huff of irritation, she yanked you up and into her lap, guiding you into a bruising kiss.

it wasn’t like the last time. this wasn’t desperation or fear—it was need. pure, unrelenting need. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you gasped into her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair.

she shifted you easily, rolling over so that you fell beneath her. her eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“you drive me insane,” she murmured, her voice rough as her hand trailed down your side.

“good,” you whispered, pulling her back to you.

soon, kissing wasn’t enough. you had hungered for her for so long, and she for you.

wetly, your lips broke apart, and she slid back to survey you. the soft, muted light of the room caught on the intricate lace of your undergarments. the set was exquisite; the bra cupped you perfectly. you saw sevika's jaw tighten, her hands flexing at her sides as though restraining herself from reaching for you.

“you look…” her voice faltered, her control waning. “fuck, princess.”

heat spread across your body, and you felt the lace press a little tighter against your skin as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

sevika leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. her hand rose, hesitant at first, before her fingertips brushed the embroidered lace at your shoulder. she traced the pattern down your arm, her touch light but burning, before resting her palm at your waist.

“you wore this for me?” she murmured, her voice low and dark, as her thumb swept over the sheer fabric, catching on a pebbled nipple.

“who else?” you answered, a tremor in your voice as her hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you up into a soft arch.

she hummed in satisfaction and gently pulled your bra down so that it dipped beneath your tits as they spilled further into view. steadying you with a hand on your stomach, sevika leaned down and coaxed a hard bud into her mouth.

the wet heat of her mouth was akin to a strike of lightning. you moaned as she increased the pressure of her teeth, suckling eagerly at your chest as you pushed desperately into her touch. by instinct, your legs rose to cross behind her hips, forcing her to settle on top of you.

she let go of your nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, beginning to work her way down your body with a pleased exhale. your panties didn’t even put up a worthy fight. they just slid right down, the fabric bunching around your thighs. the scrap of fabric had barely covered your cunt anyway, your thatch of hair poking through as if to tease her.

she watched your lips gleam and glisten, your pussy drooling with arousal and as deliciously plump as the rest of you. sevika pressed her mouth against it, practically a dog in heat, and relished the way you shivered up against her.

“vika,” you moaned and turned your face to the side in the way you did when you were overcome with embarrassment.

“baby,” she murmured, shifting so that she could force you to look at her. “baby, is this all for me?”

you whined, and sevika smirked, dipping her head down to lick a flat stripe up your dripping cunt.

“vika, fuck,” you cried, and she hummed, hooking a hand around one of your legs to pull it up so that you were further exposed. your clit was swollen and calling out for her.

pulling back, she used her free hand to part your lips so that she could watch the way you clenched around nothing. slick ran steadily down to the crack of your ass, a syrupy stream of desire. carefully, she stroked a metallic finger through your heat, holding you down as she began to rub your clit in tight circles.

“look at that pussy,” she murmured. “can’t believe it’s all mine, princess. thank you. thank you, baby.”

sevika couldn’t help herself and lifted her hand, bringing it down to slap against your cunt. you squealed, and she pressed a kiss to your thigh, delighting in your loss of composure. she considered you beneath her, your body slick and shining with sweat as you writhed. she rained two more strikes across your pussy in quick succession, dropping her head down and sliding her fingers in to let your buck into her open mouth and lolling tongue.

“taste so fucking good, princess,” she purred into you. “that’s it. ride my face, sweet girl. take what you want from me. take what you need.”

you gripped the bed, angling her hips so that you could drag her deeper into the cavern of your cunt. mewling, you trapped her between the link of your legs as you snapped upward and arched, cumming with a high sob.

“oh my god, vika.”

“just me,” she teased.

sevika waited for a couple of seconds before pushing up and rearranging you, sliding your back against her chest. carefully, she pushed your legs back apart and tucked three fingers up into your cunt, building a rhythm until she was thrusting hard enough that the overstimulation made you scream. you curled over yourself, your nails raking down her muscled thighs.

she milked you, patient and unrelenting, until you began to bounce on your own. you rode her hand. hard. slowly, your gummy walls tightened around her, whimpering through the flashes of pain and pleasure before you came again with a silent wail. sevika held you as you shook apart, whispering a stream of steady praises into your ear.

“good girl,” she cooed. “look at how good you are, princess. you needed this, huh? you’ve been begging for it, so desperate to cream all over me. such a good fucking girl.”

you slumped down, whimpering weakly as she pulled away from you. you felt her get up, slipping off the bed and walking somewhere into the darkness of the room. soon, she returned but not alone. you began to come back to yourself, and in doing so, you were able to focus on what she held in your hands.

“vika, that won’t fit.”

in her hand was a navy harness and matching dildo, girthy and ribbed. you tilted your head as she closed in, your hands finding her waist as if by instinct.

“sevika,” you whispered, your voice breaking as her lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth grazing your throat.

“quiet, baby,” she muttered against your skin, and you sighed softly, the sound catching in your throat as her hands slid lower, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. "you know you can take it."

you let out a pathetic, wet cry as she prodded at your puffy cunt, and her face softened. she pulled you closer, peppering your face with soft kisses. there was only her—her heat, her weight, her breath against your skin.

again she watched you, gripping you firmly from beneath your thighs as she nestled the tip of the dildo at the entrance of your pussy.

“princess,” she called to you, and you blinked blearily, clutching at her. “consider this forgiveness.”

it was all you ever wanted.

© hcneymooners.

translations.   bitte — please. bitte, ich flehe dich an — please i beg of you. danke — thank you. du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du. — you are what i need. only you.

[solxamber]

"Requests are open-"

The sound of my feet frantically hitting the floor can be heard from a great distance away—

I've been following for a few months & all your posts make me giggle or smile, my coworkers probably think I'm crazy at this point, lmao.

For the request!! I was hoping to see if you could write the Overblot boys' (tho if possible, subbing Trey in for Riddle) reaction to finding out the reader— who is known for being touch-averse— finds him to be a comfort person & noticing that they get really touchy around him as a means for comfort. I had it in mind as being romantic, but pre-feelings realized cuz I live for the yearning & squirmy crush phase stuff, it's so sweet.

All of them are touch-starved, you can't tell me otherwise.

— 🐈‍⬛ ♡

Ahh I'm so glad you like my work omg <3 I'm so glad they made you smile 🫶🫶

I've also kept Riddle and added in Trey, I hope that's fine!

Overblot Gang + Trey Being your Comfort Person

Riddle Rosehearts

When you unexpectedly reach out and grab Riddle’s sleeve during a quiet walk through Heartslabyul’s rose garden, he stiffens like you’ve hit him with a stun spell. His gaze flicks from your hand to your face, his cheeks blooming a crimson that rivals the roses around him.

At first, he assumes it’s accidental, but when your fingers remain firmly gripping his arm as if seeking reassurance, his brain short-circuits.

You’re known for keeping your distance from others, so this gentle touch feels monumental to him. Later, when he learns that you see him as a comfort, his heart aches in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. They trust me like that? he thinks, and suddenly every shared moment feels heavier with meaning.

The next time you casually rest your hand on his shoulder during a meeting, Riddle doesn’t shy away. Instead, he adjusts his posture ever so slightly, allowing your touch to linger. His ears burn as he stumbles over his words, but deep down, he’s elated.

He’s never been someone’s safe haven before, and he’ll do everything in his power to protect that bond, even as his stomach flips at every accidental brush of your hand.

Trey Clover

Trey’s observant nature makes it impossible for him to miss the way you’ve grown more touchy around him. At first, it’s subtle—the occasional tug on his sleeve or a gentle nudge when he’s teasing you—but when you lean against his arm one evening after a long day, his mind comes to a screeching halt.

He keeps his composure, of course, because it’s Trey. But inside? He’s a mess of confusion and delight.

The realization hits him when you unconsciously cling to him during a particularly chaotic Scarabia dinner. Others are bustling around, and you seek him out, your fingers brushing his wrist as if grounding yourself. He hides his smile behind a sip of water, warmth spreading in his chest.

Trey wonders why you feel so at ease with him when you’re so cautious around others. But when you nervously explain one day that he makes you feel safe, his heart swells.

“That’s a lot of trust to put in me,” he teases gently, though he’s secretly over the moon. When you start leaning against his shoulder more often, Trey welcomes it with a soft chuckle, letting his hand brush yours in quiet reassurance.

Leona Kingscholar

The first time you plop yourself beside Leona on one of the lounge’s sprawling couches, sitting far closer than you normally do, he barely raises an eyebrow. But when your shoulder brushes against his, and you don’t immediately move away like everyone else seems to around him, his ear flicks in surprise. Leona’s no stranger to physical contact—mostly unwelcome—but this? This is new.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize you’re touch-averse with everyone else. When you casually rest your head against his arm after a particularly exhausting day, Leona pauses mid-yawn, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks down at you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just observes the way your usually guarded self seems to relax around him.

“You got a habit of using me as your personal pillow, herbivore?” he finally drawls, smirking lazily to hide the strange warmth blooming in his chest.

When you shrug and mutter something about him being comfortable, Leona pretends to scoff, but the slight twitch of his tail gives him away. He’s never been anyone’s comfort before, and while he doesn’t admit it, the thought fills him with a quiet pride.

From then on, he doesn’t push you away. Instead, he adjusts himself so you can lean against him more comfortably, his tail wrapping loosely around your ankle like it has a mind of its own.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul nearly drops the pen he’s holding the first time you rest your hand lightly on his arm. He freezes in his seat at the Mostro Lounge, blinking rapidly as if trying to process what just happened. You’re careful about personal space—he’s noticed that much—so this sudden display of trust leaves him flustered beyond belief.

“Ah, are you feeling alright?” he stammers, his face quickly turning pink.

You wave off his concern, but the touch lingers. Azul spends the rest of the day overanalyzing the moment. What does it mean? Do they… no, surely not.

It happens again the next time you visit the lounge. You sit closer than usual, your knees brushing his under the table as you casually chat.

Azul tries to focus on the conversation, but his brain is fixated on the way you seem so comfortable around him. When he learns that you find him comforting, Azul’s heart skips a beat.

He tries to play it cool, but the truth is, he’s thrilled. You trust him, and that trust feels far more valuable than any deal he’s ever made. The next time you reach out, Azul doesn’t flinch. Instead, he lets your fingers linger on his sleeve, savoring the quiet warmth of your touch.

Jamil Viper

Jamil is used to people keeping their distance, intentionally or otherwise. His sharp gaze and composed demeanor tend to put others on edge. That’s why, the first time you rest a hand on his shoulder during one of his endless tasks for Scarabia, he’s so stunned that he almost drops the tray he’s carrying.

He glances at you, his eyes searching for an explanation, but you look completely at ease. He doesn’t say anything then, not wanting to scare you off, but his heart races. You—someone who shies away from physical contact—trust him enough to reach out like this?

Later, when you lean against him as he writes up another set of schedules, Jamil tentatively shifts to give you more room. “You alright?” he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual.

You hum in response, your cheek brushing his shoulder as you explain, “You just make me feel at ease.”

Jamil stiffens, his breath catching in his throat. No one has ever said that to him before, not with such sincerity. A faint blush dusts his cheeks as he tries to play it cool, though his mind is whirling. For the first time, he feels like someone sees beyond the role he’s forced to play.

From then on, he doesn’t mind when you’re touchy around him. If anything, he finds himself leaning into your presence, your comfort becoming his safe haven as well.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is accustomed to people admiring him from afar, hesitant to step too close. That’s why your sudden physical closeness catches him off guard. The first time you link arms with him during a walk, his eyes widen slightly, but he quickly composes himself, tilting his head to glance at you.

“Getting bold, aren’t we?” he teases, his tone light, though his heart skips a beat.

You roll your eyes but don’t let go, and Vil notices the way your shoulders relax beside him. It’s subtle, but the realization dawns on him: you trust him enough to seek comfort in his presence. The thought fills him with a warmth he doesn’t often let himself indulge in.

Later, when you rest your head on his shoulder during a quiet moment in the Pomefiore common room, Vil sets down his script, his gaze softening. “You’ve been awfully touchy lately,” he remarks, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You meet his eyes, your expression open and unguarded. “That’s because you’re comforting,” you say simply, and Vil’s breath catches.

For a moment, he’s silent, his mind racing. He knows he can be demanding and difficult, yet here you are, finding solace in him. Gently, he rests a hand over yours, his grip firm yet tender. “Just don’t expect me to always be this lenient,” he says, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays how deeply your words have affected him.

Idia Shroud

Idia nearly has a heart attack the first time you casually lean against his shoulder during a gaming session. He goes completely still, his hair lighting up like a neon sign as his mind races. What do I do? Do I move? Is this a test? Oh, no, what if I’m sweating?!

When you don’t move away, he risks a glance at you. You’re focused on the screen, completely unbothered, and Idia feels like his circuits are going to fry.

It happens again a few days later when you sit closer than usual, your knee brushing against his. Idia freezes, trying to figure out if you’ve noticed. By the third time, when you casually rest your head on his shoulder, he can’t take it anymore.

“Uh, y-you okay?” he stammers, his voice cracking as he sneaks a glance at you.

You smile softly, your tone light. “Yeah. You’re just… comfortable.”

Idia’s brain short-circuits. Comfortable? Me? His insecurities rear their ugly heads, whispering that you’ve made a mistake, that surely someone else would be better. But when you stay by his side, leaning into him like he’s your anchor, those voices quiet.

He hesitates before awkwardly patting your hand, his touch hesitant but earnest. For the first time, he allows himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you mean it.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is delighted yet utterly confused the first time you rest your hand lightly on his arm during a quiet evening stroll. Physical affection is rare for him—he’s so often regarded with fear or reverence—but you seem unbothered by his stature, your touch grounding and sincere.

The next time, it’s even more unexpected. You loop your arm through his as you walk through the woods near Ramshackle, leaning slightly into him. Malleus’s breath hitches, his heart racing. He doesn’t want to scare you away, so he says nothing, though his tail twitches with restrained excitement.

When you rest your head against his shoulder as he tells you about his day, he finally dares to ask, “Child of man, is there a reason you’ve been so… affectionate as of late?”

You glance up at him, your eyes warm. “You’re comforting,” you say simply, and Malleus feels the ground shift beneath his feet.

For someone who has been lonely for so long, your words are a balm to his soul. He places a hand over yours, his touch gentle yet possessive. “If I bring you comfort, then I consider myself fortunate,” he says softly, though his heart feels like it’s about to burst.

From then on, Malleus treasures every touch you offer, each one a reminder that he is no longer alone.

Masterlist

[flux1563]

Bastard Manager ft Eunbi

Words :5k

The rain pattered rhythmically against the car window, creating a hypnotic pattern that Eunbi found oddly comforting. She stared out into the gloomy night, her reflection blurring with the neon lights of Seoul. The city was a living creature, pulsing with energy, but tonight it felt eerily distant.

Eunbi was no stranger to the spotlight. As a member of the top K-pop group, she had danced under a million lights and sang to countless fans. Yet, as she sat in the quiet car, the weight of her secret pressed against her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Her glittering career had been built on a foundation of lies and desperation, and now it was crumbling, leaving her with nothing but debt and despair.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was another message from the mysterious website she had stumbled upon. The allure of quick cash had been too tempting to resist, and now she found herself contemplating the unthinkable. She had signed up to sell herself, piece by piece, to strangers in the digital abyss.

The message read, "Come to this hotel, don't wear a bra and panties." A shiver ran down her spine as she read the cold, direct words. The reality of her decision was setting in, and she felt a mix of fear and excitement. She had never been so exposed, not even on stage with millions watching her every move. This was different. This was real, raw, and unfiltered.

Eunbi took a deep breath and slipped out of her clothes, feeling the cool air kiss her skin. She looked in the mirror, her eyes wide with a mix of anxiety and determination. The reflection staring back at her was a shadow of the confident idol she once was. But she knew that if she was going to survive this, she had to push aside her fears and embrace this new, darker side of herself.

Her heart racing, she stepped into the rain, the cold droplets mixing with the hot tears that streamed down her face. The neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, creating a path she had never intended to walk. As she approached the hotel, she felt a strange sense of empowerment. For the first time in months, she had a plan, a way out of her misery.

The lobby was quiet, almost eerie. The receptionist barely glanced at her as she walked by, her head held high despite the nakedness beneath her raincoat. The elevator ride to the top floor was painfully slow, each floor that passed adding another layer of anticipation. When the doors finally slid open, she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps as she made her way to the suite.

The door opened, revealing a man in a sharp suit, his eyes scanning her body with a hunger she had never seen before. He didn't bother with pleasantries; he knew what she was there for. She took a step inside, her raincoat slipping off to reveal her bare flesh. The room was filled with an oppressive silence that seemed to swallow her whole.

Eunbi's stomach twisted into knots as she closed the door behind her. She took in the luxurious surroundings, trying to ignore the coldness that seeped into her bones. The smell of expensive cologne filled the air, a stark contrast to the dingy hotel rooms she had been forced to stay in while hiding from her debtors.

The man, who had introduced himself as Y/N, gestured to the center of the room, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Take off your raincoat," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. She complied, her hands trembling as the raincoat fell to the floor, revealing her nakedness. The room's warmth washed over her, a stark contrast to the chilly rain outside. "Now, dance for me," he said, his voice a caress that sent a shiver down her spine.

Eunbi took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. She had danced thousands of times before, but never like this. She started with a slow, seductive rhythm, her movements calculated to entice and tantalize. The rain had left her hair plastered to her skin, framing her face in a way that highlighted her vulnerability. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she pushed through, her body moving almost on autopilot.

Y/N watched her with an unnerving intensity, his eyes devouring every inch of her as she danced. She could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch, making her skin crawl with a mix of fear and arousal. The music in the room was low and sultry, setting a tone that was both intimate and disturbing. She danced closer, her body moving in a sensual wave that made him lean forward in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers.

As the dance progressed, she began to lose herself in the rhythm, her fear giving way to a strange sense of power. This was her body, and she was in control. She spun and twirled, her breasts bouncing gently with the movement, her hips swaying in a way that made Y/N's eyes darken with desire. The rain outside had turned into a crescendo, matching the tempo of the music, and she felt a strange kinship with it—both forces of nature, unpredictable and untamed.

The dance grew more intense, her movements becoming bolder and more deliberate. She could see the effect she was having on him, and it was intoxicating. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt alive, like she had a purpose. And that purpose was to satisfy the man before her, to make him want her so badly that he would pay any price.

Y/N stood abruptly, his patience wearing thin. He removed his own clothes with the grace of a predator revealing itself before the kill. His body was lean and powerful, a stark contrast to the softness of hers. "Sit on my lap," he ordered, his voice now a demand. The authority in his tone sent a thrill through her body, and she found herself obeying without hesitation.

Eunbi straddled him, her knees pressing into the plush fabric of the chair. His hands immediately found her breasts, his rough palms cupping and squeezing them. Each slap sent a jolt of pain through her, but she couldn't deny the pleasure that followed. She gasped and moaned, her nipples hardening under his touch. His eyes never left hers, his gaze burning into her soul as he explored her body.

The sound of his hand meeting her flesh echoed in the quiet room, a symphony of desire and desperation. The sting grew with each hit, turning into a crescendo that made her moan louder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, a testament to her effect on him. The power dynamic had shifted, and she was now the one in control.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his abs before wrapping around his length. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before snapping back to hers. "Keep dancing," he murmured, his grip on her hips tightening. She began to grind against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. The rain outside had become a cacophony, mirroring the chaos within her.

The dance grew more frenzied, their bodies moving in a silent symphony of need. His hands never stopped slapping her breasts, the pain now a familiar companion to the pleasure building within her. The world outside was forgotten, replaced by the rhythm of their bodies and the thunderous applause of the storm. She could feel herself getting wetter, her desire for him growing with every slap.

Y/N leaned in, his breath hot against her skin as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, suckling it gently. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shockwaves through her body. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, silently begging for more. He took the cue, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, making her cry out.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he switched to the other breast, his tongue swirling around the tight bud before biting down. She gasped, her legs trembling, and she felt a rush of wetness between her thighs. The storm outside mirrored the tumultuous emotions inside her—fear, excitement, and a deep, primal need she had never fully acknowledged before now.

The dance of his mouth on her breasts grew more intense, each suck and bite sending her closer to the edge. She could feel his erection pressing against her, demanding entry, and she knew that she would give it to him. This was what she had come for, to feel wanted, needed, and alive again. And as his hand slid between her legs, she knew that she was about to experience something she had never felt before—complete and utter surrender.

He found her wet and ready, his fingers slipping easily into her folds. The sensation was almost too much to handle, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed herself closer, grinding against his hand as he explored her body. His thumb found her clit, and she bucked against him, her body screaming for more.

With a final, lingering bite on her nipple, Y/N stood, lifting her with him. He walked her over to the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly under their combined weight. He laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers, as he positioned himself between her legs. The anticipation was agonizing, her entire body trembling with need. And when he finally pushed inside her, she couldn't hold back the scream that had been building in her chest.

The pain was sharp, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of fullness, of being claimed by someone so powerful and commanding. He didn't ease into her gently; he took her roughly, his hips slamming into hers as the storm outside reached its crescendo. Each thrust sent a jolt of lightning through her body, making her arch off the bed with every stroke.

Eunbi's nails dug into the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to process the overwhelming sensations. She had never felt so alive, so alive that it hurt. The rain pounded against the window, the sound melding with their heavy breaths and the slap of skin on skin. It was like the world outside was echoing the chaos within her, and she reveled in it.

"Tell me," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "Tell me how good it is."

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his intense gaze. She could feel the power in his demand, and she eagerly surrendered to it. "It's... it's amazing," she panted, her voice shaking with each word. "I've never felt anything like this before."

The storm outside was a cacophony of sounds that seemed to be egging them on, the thunder rumbling in time with their passionate cries. Each time he slammed into her, she could feel the vibrations resonate through her entire body, setting off explosions of pleasure deep within her core. "It's so good," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for more.

Y/N's pace quickened, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his own climax. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss that stole her breath away. Her words of praise only seemed to drive him wilder, his hips moving with a fervor that had her body singing with need. She wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into his back, urging him deeper.

"You're so tight, so wet," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "You're perfect."

The compliment sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her clit, making her moan louder. She had never been talked to like this, never been treated like a goddess whose sole purpose was to give pleasure. It was intoxicating, addictive, and she never wanted it to end.

"It's... it's so good," she gasped, her body tightening around him. "Don't stop."

His hands found her hips, his grip bruising as he angled himself to hit her in just the right spot. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, building and building until she was sure she would shatter.

"I'm going to come," she whimpered, her voice a desperate cry. "I'm going to come for you."

And just like that, she did. Her orgasm tore through her like a hurricane, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.

"One," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain's furious applause.

Y/N chuckled, the sound dark and sinister. "Good girl," he praised, his strokes not faltering. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "Now, let's see if you can hit two."

Her body was already sensitive, on high alert from the first wave of pleasure. Each thrust sent sparks flying, her muscles tightening around him. She could feel it building again, that pressure deep within her, threatening to break free.

"Two," she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut as another orgasm claimed her. The sound of the rain was a constant drumbeat in the background, a reminder of the world outside that she had left behind for this moment of pure, carnally driven need.

"Impressive," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But let's not stop there."

He shifted his weight, his movements growing more deliberate. His hand found her clit, his thumb circling it with the precision of a maestro conducting an orchestra. The pleasure grew, swelling like a crescendo in her chest.

"Three," she screamed, her body arching off the bed as the orgasm hit her like a freight train. The storm outside had reached its peak, the thunder echoing her cries of pleasure.

Y/N's own need was palpable, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he worked her body. He was relentless, his hips driving into her with a force that had her seeing stars.

"Again," he demanded, his voice a growl.

"Four," she gasped, her voice shaking with each number she recounted. The room was a whirlwind of sensation—the heat of his body, the coolness of the air conditioning, the slickness of their combined desire.

The numbers grew higher, each orgasm more intense than the last. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for Y/N to paint his desires onto. She lost track of how many she had, her mind a haze of pleasure and pain.

"Keep going," he urged, his voice strained. "I want to hear you scream my name when you hit ten."

The challenge only served to excite her further. She pushed herself, her body responding to his every touch, every demand. The storm outside seemed to be cheering her on, the lightning flashes illuminating the room in stark white, freezing moments of ecstasy in time.

"Five," she cried out, her voice hoarse.

"Six," she moaned, her body trembling uncontrollably.

The rain had become a symphony, playing to the rhythm of their bodies. The thunder was their crescendo, the lightning their spotlight. And she danced for him, her hips moving in time with his, her moans a sweet melody that filled the air.

"Seven," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck. "Three more," he murmured, his voice a seductive promise.

Her body was on the brink, teetering between agony and euphoria. She had never felt like this before, never known that she could come apart so beautifully. Each number was a victory, a declaration of her sexual prowess.

"Eight," she screamed, her voice raw with passion.

"Almost there," he encouraged, his thumb working her clit with an unyielding rhythm.

The storm raged on, their dance a silent battle cry against the forces that had brought her to this point. She was no longer Eunbi, the desperate K-pop idol drowning in debt. She was a goddess of passion, a siren calling forth the storm's fury.

"Nine," she chanted, her eyes rolling back in her head.

The room was spinning, her senses overwhelmed. She could feel the tension coiling within her, tightening with every beat of her racing heart.

"And now, for the grand finale," he whispered, his voice a dark promise in her ear.

With one final, earth-shattering thrust, she reached her climax.

"Ten," she scream.

Her body shakes uncontrollably, muscles clenching around him as she rides out the most intense orgasm of her life. Her back arches back, pushing her breasts upward, and she feels his hands dig into her hips, his grip tightening as he follows her over the edge. The storm outside seems to crescendo in response, the thunder rumbling like an approving cheer.

As she finally catches her breath, gasping for air, Y/N pulls back slightly, his eyes boring into hers with a fierce intensity. "Scream it," he commands, his voice low and demanding. "Let me hear how good it was."

Eunbi's cheeks flush, but she obeys, letting out a raw, primal scream that fills the room. "It was good," she cries out, her voice hoarse and trembling. "So, so good."

He starts to move again, his hips rolling into her with a relentless rhythm. "Keep counting," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving hers. "Every time you come, I want to hear you scream it out."

The challenge ignites a fire within her, and she throws herself into the role. Each thrust sends a bolt of pleasure through her, making her body tighten and release in a symphony of sensation. She counts out her next orgasm, her voice growing stronger with each number. "One," she gasps, her eyes rolling back in her head as he hits just the right spot.

The storm outside seems to respond, the rain pounding harder against the windows, the thunder growling in the distance. It's as if the room has become a stage, and she's the star of a show she never knew she wanted to perform in.

"Two," she cries out, her body shuddering as the pleasure builds again.

Y/N's strokes are deep and deliberate, his movements designed to push her to her limits. And with each number, she feels herself slipping deeper into the abyss of desire, her inhibitions fading away.

"Three," she screams, her nails digging into the bed as another wave of pleasure crashes over her.

Their bodies move in a frantic dance, the storm outside keeping tempo with their passion. She's lost count of the orgasms, lost track of time, lost herself in the overwhelming sensations.

"Four," she whispers, her voice strained, her breaths coming in pants.

He leans down, capturing her mouth in a brutal kiss, swallowing her cries as he drives into her. His hand slides down her body, his fingers finding her clit, and she feels the pressure building once more.

"Five," she wails, her body tightening around him like a vice.

The storm reaches a crescendo, the thunder so loud it feels like it's inside the room with them. The lightning flashes, illuminating their entwined forms in stark relief, casting their shadows on the wall.

"Six," she gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she rides the crest of another climax.

Y/N's strokes grow more erratic, his own pleasure evident in the tension of his body. He's close, she can feel it, and the knowledge sends another shock of arousal through her.

"Seven," she shouts, her voice a wild cry to the heavens.

The rain is a constant drumbeat, the thunder a bass line to their rhythm. She's lost in the music of their bodies, the symphony of their passion.

"Eight," she moans, her voice breaking as the intensity builds.

He whispers sweet nothings in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. His other hand finds her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple as he continues to fuck her with an unyielding need.

"Nine," she pants, her hips bucking against his.

The storm outside mirrors their internal chaos, the lightning flashing like strobe lights as they reach for the pinnacle of their shared ecstasy.

And then, with one final, desperate thrust, she hits the peak. "Ten," she screams, her voice hoarse and ragged.

Their bodies come together in a cataclysm of pleasure, the storm outside seemingly applauding their performance. For a moment, time stands still, and she feels like she's floating, suspended in the eye of the storm.

Their breaths mingle in the quiet that follows, the rain now a gentle patter against the glass. She opens her eyes to find him watching her, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Well done," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You've earned your payment."

Eunbi's body feels boneless, her muscles turned to jelly from the relentless pleasure. She opens her eyes, a hazy smile on her lips, only to find his expression has shifted. Gone is the hunger, replaced by something more calculated, more dominant.

"Now, let's try something new," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "You're going to count for me again, but this time, if you lose track, I'll have to remind you who's in charge."

Her heart skips a beat at the challenge in his eyes, and she nods, eager to please. "One," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rain.

His movements become more deliberate, each thrust punctuated by the crack of his hand against her ass. The pain is sharp, but it sends a thrill through her body, making her more sensitive, more aware of his every move.

"Two," she gasps as he slaps her again, harder this time.

The room is a symphony of rain and pleasure, the two notes playing in perfect harmony. Her body responds to each slap with a fresh wave of desire, her walls tightening around him.

"Three," she calls out, her voice growing stronger, bolder.

But as they reach the higher numbers, her mind starts to fog. The pleasure is too intense, the pain too great. She tries to focus, but the storm inside her is raging out of control.

"Four," she manages, her voice strained.

Another slap, and she feels the sting of his palm against her skin. She's close to the edge again, but the numbers are slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

"Five," she moans, her eyes fluttering closed.

He slaps her again, and she feels the warmth spreading across her cheeks. She's lost count, but she doesn't dare admit it. She's too caught up in the whirlwind of sensation.

But when she opens her mouth to speak, no sound comes out. She's lost, adrift in a sea of pleasure and pain.

Y/N's smile turns predatory, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge of her failure. "Looks like you need a little encouragement," he says, his hand raising once more.

The slap is like a bolt of lightning, the pain searing and immediate. She cries out, her body jolting with the impact.

"Count," he orders, his voice cold and demanding.

Her mind races, trying to remember where she left off. "Six," she whispers, her voice trembling.

The punishment continues, each slap of his hand on her ass pushing her closer to the edge. The sting is a stark reminder of their power dynamic, the pain a strange form of release.

"Seven," she gasps, her voice a desperate plea.

The storm outside seems to be egging them on, the thunder crashing in time with the slap of his hand against her skin. She's lost in the sensation, her body a canvas for his desires.

"Eight," she manages, her voice barely a breath.

But with each new slap, her mind grows more fuzzy. The numbers swirl around her, a jumbled mess of pleasure and pain. She can't keep up, no matter how hard she tries.

And when the next slap comes, she screams, the number lost on her lips.

Y/N's smile widens. "Looks like you need a little more encouragement," he says, his hand raising again.

The slap is hard, making her entire body convulse. She bites back a scream, her eyes watering with the pain. But as the sensation fades, she feels the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pleasure melding with the pain in a way that's impossible to resist.

With each slap, she feels herself spiraling closer to the abyss, her body begging for release. But she can't remember the numbers, can't remember anything but the feel of his hand on her skin.

Finally, with a whimper, she admits defeat. "I can't," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I can't count anymore."

Y/N chuckles, his eyes dark with amusement and lust. "Very well," he says, his voice a velvety threat. "Your final punishment is that I'm going to come inside you."

Eunbi's eyes widen with panic, a feeble protest escaping her lips. But he's already leaning down, his hand covering her mouth, muffling her sounds of distress. His grip is firm, leaving her no choice but to submit to his will. She struggles beneath him, her body arching as she tries to break free.

The hand over her mouth is warm and calloused, his fingers pressing against her cheeks. Her muffled screams are lost in the cacophony of the storm outside, the rain a constant backdrop to their tumultuous dance. His hips continue to piston into her, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge.

He watches her with a predatory gaze, his hand sliding down to wrap around her throat. The pressure is just enough to make her gasp, her eyes going wide with a mix of fear and arousal. His movements grow more erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he feels his own climax approaching.

The room spins around her, the storm outside a blur of light and sound. She's trapped in a world of pain and pleasure, a world where she has no say in what happens to her body. She tries to fight, to push him away, but his grip on her throat tightens, cutting off her air.

And as he finally releases inside her, she feels a strange sense of relief. Her body shudders with the force of her own climax, her muscles clenching around his length. The world goes white, and she surrenders to the feeling, letting the storm inside her match the one raging outside.

When it's over, he withdraws slowly, his hand sliding away from her throat. She gasps for air, her chest heaving with the effort. She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and desire.

He leans down, his voice a murmur in her ear. "You're mine now, Eunbi," he whispers. "And you'll do anything I say."

With a final, brutal slap, he pulls out, and she feels the warmth of his seed spurt across her thighs. Her pussy clenches around the emptiness, desperate for more, and she knows she's lost. She's no longer just a K-pop idol, no longer just a desperate girl trying to survive. She's become his plaything, his to use and discard.

The rain outside slows to a gentle patter, the storm's fury spent. The silence in the room is deafening, broken only by their harsh breaths. Eunbi lies there, trembling, her body still reeling from the onslaught of pleasure and pain. She can feel his cum seeping out of her, a warm, sticky reminder of what they've just shared.

Y/N stands, his body glistening with sweat. He looks down at her, a smug smile playing on his lips. "You're a natural," he says, his voice filled with pride. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."

He heads to the bathroom, leaving her sprawled on the bed, her legs still splayed open. She can feel his seed dripping out of her, the evidence of her submission. As the water starts to run in the bathroom, she wonders what the future holds for her in this new world of high-class escorts and twisted games.

But when he returns with a warm, damp cloth, she can't find it in herself to resist. He wipes her clean with gentle strokes, his touch almost tender. It's a stark contrast to the brutal passion they've just shared, and she can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in it.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse from screaming.

He smiles, his eyes holding a hint of something softer. "It's just the beginning," he says, his voice a promise.

Her heart races as he helps her to her feet. She feels exposed, vulnerable, but strangely liberated as she follows him to the bathroom. He runs a warm bath, the steam rising to fog the mirrors and mingle with the lingering scent of sex in the air.

"Now go back to your apartment naked," Y/N says, his tone firm but not unkind. "I want you to feel the cold air against your skin, the water droplets as they dry. It'll remind you of who you belong to."

Eunbi nods, her legs trembling slightly. She knows she has no choice but to obey. She slides off the bed, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax. She makes her way to the door, her feet silent on the plush carpet.

The chilly hotel corridor is a stark contrast to the steamy suite. She takes a deep breath, her bare skin prickling with the sudden change in temperature. The hallway is empty, thankfully, as she opens the door and steps into the night. The cool air kisses her body, making her nipples peak and her skin goosebump.

The rain has slowed to a gentle patter, and the neon lights of the city cast a glow on the wet pavement. She can feel his cum slowly slipping down her legs, leaving a warm trail as she walks. Each step is a silent declaration of her submission, a reminder of the power exchange that just took place.

The journey to her apartment is a blur of sensations—the cold rain on her skin, the warmth of his seed, the occasional gust of wind that sends a shiver down her spine. She keeps her eyes downcast, not wanting to meet the eyes of any passersby.

The streets of Seoul are a blur of neon lights and shadowed alleyways. The rain has turned the concrete into a shimmering mosaic, reflecting the myriad emotions that war within her. She feels a strange mix of shame and exhilaration, her body still buzzing from the intensity of their encounter.

By the time she reaches her apartment, her legs are trembling from the exertion and the cold. She opens the door, the warmth of the hallway enveloping her. She takes a moment to compose herself, wiping the last remnants of Y/N's seed from her thighs.

As she steps into her apartment, the reality of her situation hits her like a ton of bricks. She's no longer the untouchable K-pop idol but a woman who has sold her body for money. The walls seem to close in around her, the air thick with the weight of her decision.

The warmth of the shower does little to chase away the chill that has seeped into her bones. She stands beneath the spray, the water washing away the grime of the city and the sins of the night. Her mind reels, trying to process what she's become.

But as she towels off, her eyes fall on the envelope of cash Y/N had left on the bedside table. It's a stark reminder of why she'd made this choice, the price she'd paid for survival. She opens it, the crisp bills fluttering to the floor like the last vestiges of her innocence.

The money is more than she's made in months, and the sight of it fills her with a cold, hard determination. She'll do whatever it takes to keep herself afloat, even if it means becoming a whore to the highest bidder.

As she dresses, her movements are mechanical, her thoughts racing. She can't help but wonder who her next client will be, what new boundaries she'll have to cross. But she knows she'll do it, for the sake of her future, for the sake of her very existence.

The storm outside has passed, leaving the city glistening in its wake. But inside her, the tempest rages on, a never-ending battle between who she was and who she's become. Yet, she can't help but feel a twisted sense of excitement at the thought of what the next storm might bring.

[faebled-stories]

The Algorithm of Pleasure

Kinkvember Day 17: Massage

IVE's Ahn Yujin

12.7k words

AN: I said that the winter fic was the longest but this fic surpasses it, hope you all enjoy. Thank you for reading!💖

Yujin juggled her tote bag, phone, and a half-empty water bottle as she fumbled with her keys at the door. The strap of her bag kept sliding down her shoulder, and her fingers, stiff from hours of rehearsals, barely managed to grip the key. She cursed under her breath, jamming it into the lock harder than she meant to until the door finally clicked open.

As she stepped inside, her foot caught on the uneven lip of the doormat. She stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering onto the floor. For a moment, she just stood there, frozen in the doorway, her pulse pounding in her ears. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the door, letting it swing shut behind her with a dull thud that sounded heavier than usual. The echoes seemed to magnify the weight pressing on her shoulders.

The day had been a relentless whirl of rehearsals, fan events, and a back-to-back schedule that left her feeling like a marionette whose strings had been pulled just a little too tight. Her limbs ached, her mind buzzed with half-formed thoughts, and all she craved was the sanctuary of her own space—a quiet evening to unravel the knot of tension that had tightened throughout the day.

Yujin bent down to retrieve her phone and kicked off her sneakers, which landed with soft thuds on the wooden floor, the sound muffled by the stillness of the apartment. She padded toward the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence. Her stomach rumbled, but she was far too drained for anything elaborate. A bowl of instant noodles would do. She filled a pot with water, the sharp hiss of the stove’s flame lighting up against the bottom breaking the monotony of the quiet. The aroma of the noodles and broth soon wafted through the small space, warm and savory, wrapping around her like a comforting hug.

Carrying the steaming bowl to her sofa, she felt her muscles relax slightly, her body sinking into the plush cushions. The dim glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, casting long, soft shadows that made the space feel cocoon-like. She took her first bite, savoring the burst of salty and savory warmth on her tongue, when the sudden chime of the doorbell shattered her momentary reprieve.

The unexpected sound froze her mid-motion, her chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. It was late—too late for visitors—and she wasn’t expecting anyone. A flicker of apprehension passed through her as she placed the bowl down on the low coffee table and moved towards the door.

The camera monitor displayed the figure of a delivery driver, clad in a reflective jacket, standing patiently with a large box balanced on a hand truck. His faint wave through the screen reassured her slightly. She buzzed him in, her curiosity piqued.

“Package for Ms. Ahn Yujin?” he asked, his voice steady but professional as he glanced at his paperwork.

“That’s me,” she replied, her tone uncertain as she opened the door wider to let him maneuver the oversized package inside. She hadn’t ordered anything recently.

“Who’s it from?” she added, her brow furrowing as her gaze darted from the large box to the driver.

He adjusted his clipboard, squinting at the label. “It says it’s from a Miss Kim Gaeul.”

Yujin’s breath caught for a moment, her confusion giving way to surprise. Gaeul? Her fellow group member? What could she possibly have sent? A flutter of warmth began to fill her chest as she signed the delivery form, exchanging quick pleasantries with the driver before closing the door behind him.

The package loomed large in her small entryway, a monolithic presence that seemed to demand her attention. She crouched down, running her hands over the plain cardboard exterior as if it might reveal its secrets. The weight of her day began to dissolve, replaced by a bubbling sense of anticipation.

Tearing through the tape and packaging, she found a neatly folded note resting on top of the contents. Her heart gave a small leap as she unfolded it, the familiar handwriting bringing an instant smile to her face.

"Yujinnie, I’ve noticed how stressed you've been lately, so I wanted to share something that always helps me unwind. These are hard to find, but I just got a new one, so I’m passing my old one on to you. I hope you don’t mind! Enjoy it as much as I did. XOXO, Gaeul unnie."

Yujin let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest easing completely. Gaeul always had a knack for reading her like a book, for knowing exactly when and how to reach out. Her curiosity heightened, she peeled back the remaining layers of wrapping until the gift revealed itself.

A massage chair. And not just any massage chair.

It stood like a technological marvel, its smooth, dark leather gleaming under the apartment’s soft light. The futuristic design gave it an almost spaceship-like appearance, with seamless contours that hinted at an otherworldly level of comfort. Her fingers traced the stitching along the armrests, each seam meticulously placed. She noticed the padded leg slots, their grooves perfectly aligned to cradle calves and ankles, and the armrests equipped with flexible grooves that seemed to beckon her to try them.

The chair’s control panel glowed faintly, buttons labeled with options like “Neck,” “Back,” and “Full Body,” each promising tailored relief. She marveled at the attention to detail, the backrest designed to mold to the spine’s natural curve. Everything about the chair invited her to sink into its embrace.

Then she noticed it—a tiny tear in the leather near the edge of the seat, closer towards the leg slots. It wasn’t glaring, just a small imperfection, but it stood out in contrast to the chair’s otherwise pristine appearance. She ran her fingers over it, the rough edges of the tear catching slightly on her skin.

For a moment, a pang of disappointment flashed through her. Had it been damaged in transit? But the feeling was fleeting. The gift wasn’t just the chair itself—it was the thought behind it, Gaeul’s effort to ease her stress. That realization filled her with gratitude.

“It’s just a small flaw,” she whispered, her lips curling into a gentle smile. She stepped back, taking in the full sight of the chair once more. It wasn’t perfect, but neither was life. It was real, thoughtful, and exactly what she needed. And tonight, she decided, she would let it work its magic.

The chair loomed like a portal to another world—a world unparalleled relaxation and peace. The sleek contours of its design seemed almost otherworldly, the polished leather glinting softly under the ambient glow of a nearby lamp. Yujin’s gaze lingered on it, her anticipation building. Just looking at it felt like an invitation, a promise of comfort that she couldn’t wait to explore.

Her fingers brushed over the armrest, noticing how it seemed to mold perfectly to her arm, almost like it was designed to cradle her in place. As she traced its contours, her hand slipped into a discreet slot nestled within the leather, grazing something cool and papery hidden inside. Curious, she pulled it free—a worn, slightly yellowed manual with curled edges and faint smudges on the cover.

The scent hit her as she flipped it open, a strange yet oddly familiar musk mingled with the faint aroma of aged paper. It clung to her skin as she skimmed the manual’s brittle pages, her eyes catching on a bold section titled: “For Best Results.” She paused, the faint, unplaceable familiarity of the smell lingering in her mind like a whisper she couldn’t quite hear.

Her lips quirked into a small, amused smile as she read the next line: “Skin-to-seat contact is recommended for maximum effect.”

“Well, they’re serious about this ‘maximum effect’ thing,” she murmured, rolling her eyes with a soft chuckle. The idea was ludicrous—who stripped down for a massage chair? Still, the thought lingered, hanging in the air like a suggestion she couldn’t quite ignore. If she was going to indulge in this gift, why not get the full experience?

The chair waited patiently, its imposing presence almost daring her to follow the manual’s advice. Yujin hesitated only for a moment before shrugging, a faint blush warming her cheeks. Gaeul’s thoughtfulness deserved her full commitment, no matter how silly it felt. Smiling to herself, she began unbuttoning her shirt, the tiny clicks of each button a soft rhythm in the quiet apartment.

As the fabric slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor, the cool air of the room kissed her skin, raising goosebumps that rippled along her arms. Piece by piece, she let the day’s weight fall away, shedding her clothes until she stood bare before the chair. For a moment, a thrill of vulnerability ran through her—both strange and exhilarating. Her skin tingled in anticipation as she turns to face the chair, its smooth, dark surface now seeming even more inviting.

Yujin lowered herself slowly, the leather cool against her warm skin, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. The initial contact was startling, the texture of the material silky yet firm, cradling her body like a second skin. As she adjusted her position, the contours of the chair seemed to welcome her, perfectly aligning with her frame.

The snug fit was uncanny, as though the chair had been designed with her in mind. Her back pressed gently into the cushioned support, her shoulders nestling into their designated slots. She felt her legs slip effortlessly into the padded grooves, the dividers between them cuddled her inner thighs, firm but yielding, grounding her in place. 

For a moment, Yujin simply sat there, letting the chair’s embrace envelop her. The tension she had carried all day seemed to ebb away, replaced by the soothing pressure of its contours holding her securely. She exhaled softly, a small smile playing on her lips as she prepared to experience the full promise of Gaeul’s thoughtful gift.

Hovering a finger over the glowing control panel, Yujin hesitated for a moment before selecting the “Standard Massage” mode. A soft chime acknowledged her choice, and immediately, a gentle warmth began to spread beneath her. The sensation radiated upward, starting low on her spine and moving in soothing waves that rolled through her body. The warmth was delicate yet enveloping, like sunlight filtering through a thick canopy of trees, melting away the knots of tension that had clung to her muscles all day. She exhaled deeply, her breath carrying away the remnants of stress as the chair worked its magic.

A low, rhythmic hum filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft ambiance of her apartment. The chair began to vibrate, subtle pulses rhythmically traveling up her back. Starting from her hips, the vibrations danced their way to her shoulders, each motion perfectly calibrated, as if guided by the hands of a master massage therapist. The gentle kneading felt intentional, targeting every sore spot, each ache carefully attended to. Her body responded instinctively, muscles softening and loosening with each pass of the rollers, as though the chair was coaxing her into a state of complete relaxation.

As the chair shifted focus, Yujin’s awareness narrowed to the sensation at her thighs. The rollers moved delicately but decisively to her inner thighs, an unexpected yet blissful addition to the experience. The gentle pressure massaged the tender, often-neglected muscles, drawing a soft, contented sigh from her lips. She hadn’t realized how much tension she had been holding there, and now that it was being released, a new layer of relaxation washed over her. The cushioned divider, which had once felt unfamiliar, now seemed like an anchor, grounding her body in place and creating a cocoon of perfect support.

Her head lolled back against the padded rest as the chair’s motions expanded to her entire body. Her feet were cradled in soft grooves, the rollers gently pressing and kneading her soles with an almost intuitive precision. Her calves were embraced by warm cushions that squeezed and released in a rhythmic pattern, encouraging her circulation to flow effortlessly. Her arms rested snugly in the grooves of the armrests, where subtle vibrations massaged her forearms, releasing the strain of holding microphones, signing autographs, and the countless gestures that filled her daily life.

As the chair worked, it seemed to choreograph its movements to a perfect rhythm. Her back, her neck, her shoulders—all were attended to with the same deliberate care. The rollers pressed firmly yet comfortingly into her shoulder blades, dissolving the knots that had taken root from hours of rehearsals. The soothing warmth emanating from the chair now felt like an extension of her own body heat, wrapping her in a sensation so familiar and comforting it bordered on intimate.

Her mind began to drift, each kneading motion drawing her further away from the chaos of her routine. She let out a soft, contented hum as the chair worked its way up to her neck. Here, the motions were slower, more deliberate, each gentle knead feeling like an eraser sweeping away not just physical tension but the weight of her thoughts. The fatigue that had been clinging to her mind for weeks began to evaporate, leaving behind a serene clarity.

As her eyes fluttered shut, a smile spread across her face, unbidden and pure. In the darkness behind her lids, she pictured Gaeul’s kind expression, her unnie’s ever-thoughtful gaze. The memory filled her heart with warmth, and a wave of gratitude washed over her.

“Thank you, unnie,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent, as though Gaeul might somehow hear her. It wasn’t just the chair she was thankful for—it was the care, the love, and the understanding behind the gesture.

The massage cycle continued, the rollers moving seamlessly back down her body. Her calves were squeezed gently, each motion precise and unhurried. Her feet were kneaded with soft pulses that released tension she hadn’t realized had built up. The chair seemed to know exactly where to focus, working in perfect synchrony with her body’s needs. By now, the warmth radiating through the cushions had synced with her own heat, creating a sensation that felt like an all-encompassing hug.

The low hum of the chair’s movements became a steady backdrop, blending with the quiet stillness of the apartment. Yujin’s thoughts grew lighter, her worries dissipating like smoke in the breeze. Every knead, every vibration, every wave of warmth carried her further into a cocoon of peace, until the outside world felt like a distant memory. Her breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the hypnotic rhythm of the chair’s motions.

As the final rollers worked their way back to her shoulders, pressing gently but firmly one last time, Yujin felt the last vestiges of tension dissolve. Her mind floated free, unburdened and light, cradled by the chair’s tender embrace. For the first time in weeks, she had found a moment to simply be—to exist without demands, without expectations.

Her lips curved into a smile, her chest filled with quiet joy. Gaeul’s gift wasn’t just an object; it was an escape, a sanctuary from the relentless demands of her life. As the chair continued its gentle rhythm, she let herself drift further into its embrace, surrendering to the pure, blissful calm that enveloped her.

Just as Yujin thought she had experienced the full range of the chair’s abilities, a subtle shift behind her head caught her attention. Something soft brushed against her nape, and she opened her eyes in surprise. Two rounded cushions extended smoothly from the headrest, their movement deliberate and precise, almost like the slow, purposeful gestures of a living being. They angled downward, adjusting with meticulous care until they rested gently against her chest, cupping her with a delicate firmness that made her pause.

The sensation was startling—unexpectedly intimate in a way that caught her off guard. Her breath hitched for a moment as she processed the feeling. It wasn’t what she had anticipated from a machine; the touch was warm, almost human, as though a pair of hands were there, offering comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. For a fleeting moment, hesitation crept in, but as the cushions began to apply a steady, rhythmic pressure, that hesitation melted away. The lifelike touch wasn’t invasive; it was soothing, reassuring. The chair seemed to understand her unspoken needs, its gentle persistence inviting her to trust it fully.

As Yujin exhaled, her body softened into the cushions’ embrace, her head tilting back to rest against the padded headrest. The rhythmic pressing and releasing felt like a pulse, a calming tempo that resonated through her chest. She could feel the tension unwinding there, knots she hadn’t even known existed slowly dissolving under the cushions’ steady care. Each rotation seemed to unravel another layer of stress, sending ripples of relaxation through her upper body. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, unbidden, as the cushions pressed a little lower, their focus shifting with seamless precision.

The sensation grew more enveloping, wrapping her chest in a comforting warmth that felt less like a machine and more like a gentle, heartfelt hug. It was deeply reassuring, the kind of embrace that coaxed her body into a profound state of bliss. Her shoulders eased further into the chair as the steady kneading rhythmically matched the rise and fall of her breathing, syncing with her as if it could sense her every exhale. There was nothing cold or mechanical about the touch—it felt deliberate, almost personal, like the chair was attuned to her, understanding her without the need for words.

Yujin let her eyelids flutter closed, surrendering to the hypnotic rhythm. The cushions pressed and released, their soft rotations creating waves of sensation that rolled through her chest, each one drawing her deeper into relaxation. Her heartbeat slowed, steadying itself to the same measured tempo as the cushions. She felt cradled, cocooned in a bubble of perfect calm, where even the faint hum of the chair blended into the background as a soothing melody.

“How could unnie keep this a secret?” she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. A small, lazy smile formed on her lips as the thought lingered. This wasn’t just a massage chair—it was a revelation, an experience so immersive and thoughtful that it felt tailored exclusively for her. Did Gaeul truly know how transformative, how utterly mesmerizing this would be? A faint blush warmed Yujin’s cheeks as the realization set in, but she was too relaxed to dwell on it.

The cushions continued their rhythmic dance, pressing firmly and retreating with perfect timing, guiding her breathing into an effortless flow. Her chest rose and fell in harmony with the chair’s movements, her muscles melting further with every rotation. Her body felt weightless, supported and nurtured, as though the chair was holding her in a gentle, unbreakable embrace. She allowed herself to sink deeper, letting go of any lingering reservations and surrendering entirely to the chair’s touch.

Time seemed to blur as Yujin drifted into a serene haze, her thoughts fading into the background. The steady motion of the cushions lulled her into a state of blissful stillness, her mind clear, her body completely open to the soothing sensations. It was more than physical relief—it was emotional. She felt a quiet gratitude blooming in her chest, a sense of appreciation for Gaeul’s thoughtfulness that filled her heart as warmly as the chair cradled her body.

As the cushions continued their gentle rotations, pressing and releasing in a hypnotic rhythm, Yujin found herself suspended in an oasis of tranquility she hadn’t realized she so desperately needed. It wasn’t just relaxation; it was liberation from the weight she carried, a sanctuary she had been gifted without asking. Smiling softly, she let herself drift further, enveloped in the chair’s warm embrace and the silent comfort of Gaeul’s kindness.

Yujin settled deeper into the chair’s embrace, her body slack and her mind adrift in the profound ease it provided. The tension that had gripped her muscles earlier was now a distant memory, unraveled by the chair’s expert touch. Yet, as comforting as the experience was, a small spark of curiosity stirred within her. She found herself wanting something more—something that might carry her further into this unexpected sanctuary of relaxation.

Her gaze drifted lazily over the glowing control panel. Among the familiar settings, her eyes caught on a small button she hadn’t noticed before. It was marked with a curious symbol, two delicate waves interlocking, their looping design imbued with an almost hypnotic allure. She tilted her head, studying it, the symbol tugging at her attention. The manual had mentioned “advanced features” in passing, but at the time, she hadn’t given it much thought. Now, under the chair’s warm, enveloping touch, the temptation to explore further grew stronger.

“Guess it couldn’t hurt to try…” she murmured softly, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. Her finger hovered over the button, lingering for only a moment before pressing down with quiet resolve.

The chair responded immediately. The gentle hum beneath her deepened, shifting into a richer, resonant tone that seemed to pulse through the seat, low and steady, like a heartbeat. The vibrations slowed, their rhythm becoming more pronounced, as though the chair were focusing its energy with deliberate precision. The warmth she had felt earlier began to intensify, settling lower along her body. It pooled in her thighs, radiating outward in waves that pressed gently yet firmly against her bare skin.

Her breath hitched at the shift in sensation, her cheeks warming as she registered the chair’s unmistakably intimate touch. For a moment, she froze, caught off guard by the unexpected direction the experience had taken. The heat continued to pulse gently, the rhythm steady and inviting. Her initial instinct to pull back clashed with the growing curiosity that rooted her in place. Her body seemed to respond instinctively to the chair’s rhythm, the warmth stirring something low in her belly—a mixture of intrigue and an undeniable sense of ease.

The sensation deepened as the cushions at her chest began to adjust. Their movements, once soothing and general, became more focused and deliberate. The circular pads pressed down again, their slow, rhythmic rotations drawing her attention. They traced patterns against her chest, their touch precise yet comforting, synchronized with the deeper vibrations beneath her. Each rotation seemed purposeful, the soft pressure coaxing her body to relax even further.

A quiet gasp slipped from her lips as the cushions brushed over her more sensitive areas, the sensation sharper and more vivid than she had anticipated. The padding moved in deliberate, gentle circles, carefully calibrated to her body’s contours. It was as though the chair understood her needs without her having to articulate them, its touch intuitive and attuned to her most tense and tender places. Her breathing quickened, shallow at first, before evening out into a slower, deeper rhythm as the warmth in her chest grew, spreading outward in soft, languid waves.

“What kind of machine is this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a breathy question carried away by the stillness of the room. The sensations were so precise, so deeply immersive, that they felt almost human—like an unseen presence was there, devoted entirely to her comfort. She considered sitting up, pulling away, but the thought felt distant, her body too deeply at ease to act on it. The warmth and pressure seeped into her muscles, leaving them soft and pliant, as if the chair was unraveling her layer by layer, coaxing her to let go completely.

Each time her thoughts turned to resisting, the chair seemed to adjust with uncanny accuracy, shifting its vibrations and kneading motions to draw her back in. The steady, deliberate rhythm became impossible to fight. It wrapped around her like a blanket, pressing against her body in all the right places, unrelenting yet gentle. The heat blooming in her chest flowed down to her core, spreading outward in a way that felt grounding, stabilizing, as though she were being gently tethered to the present moment.

Her mind wavered, caught between the fleeting impulse to pull away and the growing desire to surrender fully to the experience. Each motion of the chair seemed to whisper to her, coaxing her into deeper relaxation. The steady pulse of the cushions against her chest matched the rolling vibrations beneath her, creating a seamless, hypnotic rhythm. Her heartbeat slowed to match its tempo, her breaths coming in time with each press and release, each wave of warmth. The sensation was all-consuming, leaving her body weightless and her thoughts suspended in a tranquil haze.

As the chair worked with deliberate care, Yujin’s senses seemed to heighten and blur all at once. Her body melted further into the seat, yielding to the touch that had become impossible to resist. The chair held her in its expert embrace, each motion pulling her closer to a state of total calm. Her muscles softened completely, her worries dissipating like vapor, until all that remained was the comforting rhythm and the warmth cradling her from within.

With each passing moment, Yujin felt herself slipping further into the chair’s hold. The sensations, the warmth, and the steady rhythm wove together, creating a space of pure serenity. Letting go of the last threads of resistance, she allowed herself to be carried away, surrendering fully to the comfort enveloping her. Whatever this chair was—whatever Gaeul had seen in it—it was more than she could have imagined.

As the sensations intensified, Yujin’s body instinctively reacted, her hands moving to push herself up, to regain a sliver of control over the overwhelming experience. But just as she began to shift, something brushed against her wrists. The touch was startling—soft, silken, and almost weightless as it encircled her skin with a surprising swiftness. Her breath caught as she felt the delicate material wrapping around her, firm but gentle, holding her in place with a touch that seemed purposeful.

Startled, she glanced down, her wide eyes taking in the sight of thin, shimmering cords emerging from the sides of the chair. They looped gracefully around her wrists, binding them snugly to the armrests. The restraints didn’t bite into her skin; instead, they felt secure, almost comforting in their deliberate hold. Yujin tugged gently, testing their strength, but the cords tightened subtly in response, their pressure firm yet unyielding. The message was clear: escape was no longer an option.

“What… what is this?” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible over the low hum of the chair. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to process the surreal sight. Bound by something so inanimate yet so undeniably purposeful, she felt an intimate vulnerability she hadn’t expected. The chair, once a comforting haven, now seemed to take on a persona of its own, as if it were in control of the moment. There was an undeniable thrill in the realization, her pulse quickening with the rush of emotions coursing through her.

Just as she tried to shift her legs, she felt the same silken sensation brush against her ankles. She froze as more cords emerged, looping deftly around her bare skin and pulling her legs firmly into place against the padded footrests. The bindings were seamless, their hold just as gentle yet unyielding as those around her wrists. Yujin tested them, her toes curling instinctively as the restraints held her firmly, leaving her utterly exposed.

The restraints heightened everything she felt, amplifying her awareness of the chair’s every motion. No longer able to shift or pull away, she was forced to surrender fully, her body completely exposed to its attentions. The vibrations beneath her thighs deepened, their rhythm deliberate and unrelenting. Each pulse resonated through her core, sending waves of warmth radiating outward. The sensation was electric, her skin alive with the intensity of the experience. She gasped softly, the heat within her building in time with the vibrations, every pulse driving deeper, leaving her breathless.

As her head tilted back against the chair, Yujin’s breathing hitched, her body responding involuntarily to the unrelenting sensations. The air around her grew heavier, and she caught the faint scent she hadn’t noticed before—a musky, intoxicating aroma that clung to her skin and seemed to saturate the space. Her cheeks flushed as she realized its source: her own arousal, exposed and undeniable in the stillness of the room.

The realization hit her like a wave, her body betraying her real feelings as the scent hung in the air, unmasking the truth she had been unwilling to face. Vulnerable and laid bare in every sense of the word, she shivered under the intensity of the chair’s embrace. The vibrations, the bindings, and the unmistakable scent of her arousal all converged into a singular, undeniable truth: she enjoyed this, even if she tried to deny it.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the chest cushions resumed their kneading motions. This time, their touch felt more focused, more precise. They pressed into her chest with slow, deliberate rotations, the pressure measured and exact. Each movement seemed to mirror the pulsing vibrations below, creating a synchronized rhythm that left her completely captivated. Her toes curled involuntarily as the cushions circled over her most sensitive areas, coaxing her body to respond. The sensations overlapped, layering upon one another in a way that left her overwhelmed and yet completely drawn in.

Bound and unable to escape, Yujin felt her breathing quicken again, each shallow gasp evidence of her growing sensitivity to the chair’s relentless rhythm. The cords at her the end of her limbs reminded her of her helplessness, holding her firmly in place, forcing her to remain still as the chair’s touch grew more intimate, more consuming. Each pulse, each knead, was magnified tenfold, pulling her deeper into the chair’s hold, making it impossible to think of anything but the sensations coursing through her.

Her body melted under the chair’s control, her muscles soft and pliant as warmth bloomed within her. The overlapping motions—the chest cushions, the pulsing vibrations, the heat radiating from beneath her—created a dizzying cycle of sensation that consumed her entirely. Yujin’s mind spun, caught between the impulse to resist and the growing pull to surrender fully. Despite the vulnerability she felt, or perhaps because of it, there was a strange exhilaration in the experience, an undeniable thrill that left her breathless and flushed.

Just as she thought the sensations couldn’t grow more intense, her instincts flared, urging her to stop the chair’s relentless rhythm. Gathering her strength, she strained against the bindings, her fingers fumbling to reach the glowing control panel. The angle was awkward, her movements clumsy, each effort only emphasizing her bound state. Her fingertip grazed the buttons, desperate to press the “Stop” command.

But in her haste, her finger slipped. Instead of ending the cycle, she accidentally pressed a smaller button beside the one she had activated earlier. The chair’s response was immediate. A deep, mechanical hum reverberated beneath her, the sound low and resonant, carrying a purposeful tone. Yujin froze as she felt something firm and warm pressing against her lower body. The sensation was unmistakable, and her eyes widened in shock.

Her breath hitched as she realized the source of the pressure. It was emerging from the slit she had earlier dismissed as a flaw. What she thought was a minor tear in the chair’s leather now revealed itself to be something far more deliberate. The object was firm, its warmth radiating through her in a way that left her stunned, her thoughts racing as the chair continued its relentless rhythm, pulling her deeper into its grasp.

She couldn’t see it, not from her seated position, but the sensation left no room for doubt: something firm and perfectly contoured pressed against her, aligning with a precision that felt unnervingly intentional. Her breath hitched, the air catching in her throat as a deep blush bloomed across her cheeks. Her mind raced, grappling with the surreal experience. “Wait… no…” she whispered, the words faint and trembling, as though she barely believed them herself.

Bound securely to the chair, she was powerless to move, the silken restraints holding her snugly against the chair. She tugged reflexively, testing the cords, but they responded with quiet firmness, keeping her in place. Unable to shift, unable to retreat, she was left entirely at the mercy of the chair’s calculated design. All she could do was feel—her senses heightening as the firm shape pressed forward, its slow, deliberate motion leaving her more aware of her vulnerability with each passing moment.

The object moved deeper, its progress unhurried and precise, as if it understood exactly what it was doing. Yujin’s breath stuttered, her body tensing as the sensation reached an unfamiliar height. A tremor coursed through her as her mind reeled, her awareness narrowing to the singular, startling sensation that resonated throughout her frame. She could feel every inch of its ascent, her body hyperaware of the slow, deliberate progress. The firm presence pressed upward with startling clarity, carving deeper than she thought possible.

Her muscles tightened instinctively as she felt it reach what she believed to be her absolute limit. Her breath hitched, her body trembling with the unfamiliar pressure. “That’s it,” she thought, her mind grasping at the certainty that there was no way it could go further. But just as her body began to adapt, the object ascended further, its movements precise and unrelenting.

The realization sent a jolt through her as it stretched her just a bit more, coaxing her to accommodate what she didn’t think she could. Her mind reeled, disbelief warring with the undeniable sensations. It knew her body better than she did, inching upward with unerring patience, measuring her capacity with mechanical certainty. Yujin’s breath shuddered, her skin prickling as warmth bloomed low in her abdomen, her body trembling as it yielded reluctantly to the measured intrusion.

Her bindings held her firmly in place, ensuring she had no choice but to endure every agonizingly precise moment. Each new height sent waves of sensation radiating through her, amplifying her awareness of just how much she could take. The object finally paused, giving her a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, but her heart pounded as she realized it had stopped only to press just a fraction further, testing her once more.

As she sat motionless, her pulse quickened, and her cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and astonishment. “I’ve never…” she murmured, her voice barely audible, as though speaking the words might make the experience feel more real. Her heart pounded as she strained to process the sheer intensity of the moment, her thoughts flitting between disbelief and a growing sense of intrigue.

Just as her body began to adapt, the sensation shifted subtly. The firm presence pulsed faintly, its motion so slight that it felt almost teasing. Yujin’s eyes widened, her breath catching again as the feature seemed to expand with a slow, measured pressure. The gradual increase was slight at first, but every inch brought a new, undeniable awareness. Her muscles tightened instinctively, resisting the unfamiliar stretch, only to relax again as warmth radiated through her, coaxing her body to yield.

The sensation grew with excruciating precision, each incremental adjustment sending ripples of awareness through her. Her body strained to accommodate the increasing width, the warmth of the feature spreading outward, suffusing her limbs with a tingling, electric heat. She could feel the depth with startling clarity, every inch adding to the fullness that threatened to overwhelm her. The expansion felt unrelenting but controlled, a careful test of her limits that pushed her closer to the edge of what she could endure. Her breath grew shallow, each exhale trembling as she fought to adapt to the overwhelming fullness.

With each pause and subtle adjustment, the chair seemed to monitor her, its design attuned to her responses. The faint tremors in her breath, the tightening of her muscles—each reaction seemed to guide its movements, the expansion halting just shy of overwhelming her. The patience in its rhythm was undeniable, its unhurried persistence coaxing her body to surrender inch by inch.

When the feature finally stopped, its fullness left her breathless. Yujin sat still, completely attuned to the sensation, her body alive with awareness. Bound as she was, there was no escape from the intensity of the moment, no way to shift or adjust to ease the unfamiliar pressure. All she could do was feel—the depth, the warmth, the perfect precision with which the feature fit. Every nerve seemed alive, her senses attuned to the faintest shift, the gentlest vibration. Her thoughts blurred as the sensations consumed her, leaving her caught between astonishment and reluctant acceptance

And then, just as she thought she could adjust to the absurd fullness, the chair began a steady, rhythmic motion, drawing back towards her entrance only to push to the same depths as before, each motion precise, powerful, filling her completely. Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the chair’s meticulous design, every thrust magnified by her bound wrists and immobilized state. Every movement felt calculated, pushing, pressing, and filling with a rhythm that left her breathless.

Her earlier thoughts of resistance faded as her body surrendered fully, sinking deeper into the experience, lost to the rhythm that consumed her.

Bound in place, Yujin felt her breathing quicken as the chair’s movements intensified, every pulse and vibration perfectly tuned to her body’s responses. The object inside her moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust reaching that unprecedented depth, while the circular chest cushions rolled and tugged gently on her sensitive skin. The vibrations from the seat pulsed through her, each sensation building upon the last, working in perfect harmony to push her closer to the edge.

As the sensations mounted, she felt her muscles tighten, her mind struggling to keep pace with her body’s growing need. The depth of the toy filled her completely, leaving her no room to escape, no space to breathe. Each motion was slower than the last but powerful, deliberate, driving into her with a force that left her gasping, her body helpless against the precision of the chair’s movements.

“Oh… oh god…” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her body arched, pressing back into the seat. The feature pushed deeper, reaching a place that left her stunned, every thrust brushing over spots she hadn’t realized were so sensitive. Her hands strained against the restraints, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from her lips. “Oh… fuck…”

The intensity increased with each movement, her body straining as the chair continued its relentless rhythm. The chest cushions pressed in harder, rolling over her nipples, their rotations perfectly synchronized with the objects motion. Each press and pull of the cushions sent jolts of pleasure straight down to her core, leaving her trembling as her breathing grew shallow and her muscles began to tense in anticipation.

The vibrations beneath her pulsed faster, amplifying each thrust until her senses were engulfed by the heat and pressure building within her. “It’s… it’s so deep…” she gasped, her voice trembling as the feature pressed to her absolute limit, sending shockwaves of sensation through her.

The rhythm quickened, the sensations stacking on top of each other, drawing her ever closer. Her body began to react instinctively, muscles tightening as she lost herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Each time she thought she might catch her breath, the chair seemed to adjust, intensifying its movements, pushing her past what she thought she could handle.

“Oh… god, I…” she whimpered, her thoughts scattering, words slipping out as she felt herself approaching the brink. “I can’t… it’s too much…” But her body betrayed her, pressing deeper into the chair’s touch, her last defenses melting away as the chair’s unrelenting design left her no room to resist.

Her pulse raced as the attachment reached her limit, filling her completely, while the chest cushions tugged and rolled her nipples with unyielding precision. Every nerve was alive, each touch, each vibration pushing her further. The intensity was all-consuming, flooding her senses until she could think of nothing else, her entire body caught up in the inescapable rhythm that drove her steadily toward release.

“Oh…Fuck…” Yujin gasped, the words spilling from her lips before she could think. Her body tensed, every muscle tightening as she felt herself reaching a peak, the sensations overwhelming her with their intensity. Her vision blurred, her thoughts scattering as she teetered on the edge, a shudder coursing through her as she finally surrendered to the overwhelming flood of feeling. The release washed over her like a wave, her body arching instinctively as the crescendo of sensations surged through her.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling as the last remnants of the moment ebbed away. The chair’s movements began to slow, its rhythm softening, the vibrations fading into gentle pulses that allowed her to catch her breath. The chest cushions loosened their grip, their kneading touch easing, as though the chair were guiding her back down from the intensity she had just experienced. Yujin slumped back into the seat, her limbs heavy, her mind hazy with exhaustion. The tension that had gripped her moments ago dissolved into a tranquil calm, leaving her utterly spent.

For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to sink into the stillness, her senses dulled, her mind adrift in the aftermath. The low hum of the chair became a soothing backdrop, its faint vibrations lulling her into a sense of peace. She assumed the experience had reached its end, her body basking in the quiet relief of calm.

But as her breathing slowed and her muscles began to relax, a calm, synthetic voice broke the silence.

Fluid capacity not reached. It stated evenly, the tone mechanical and indifferent.

Yujin’s eyes snapped open, her mind jolting into alertness as the words registered. Not reached? Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the statement, but before she could process it fully, the chair’s hum deepened. The vibrations beneath her intensified without warning, their strength catching her off guard. Her breath hitched as the sensations returned with a sudden, insistent force, the precision of the movements leaving no room for reprieve.

The chair seemed to come alive with renewed purpose, its rhythm more deliberate, each pulse stronger and more calculated than before. The feature within her resumed its motion, its presence undeniable as it moved with unrelenting precision. Each thrust pressed into her with a focus that pushed her limits, targeting areas already heightened and sensitive from the earlier experience. Yujin’s breath quickened, her body reacting instinctively to the machine’s persistence, her mind struggling to keep up with the intensity.

The seamless design of the chair continued its work, its movements perfectly synchronized to overwhelm her senses. She could feel every shift, every vibration, as the chair seemed to measure her responses, adapting its rhythm to ensure she couldn’t escape its hold. The experience became all-consuming, every sensation building upon the last, pulling her deeper into its relentless rhythm.

Her body, still quivering from her first climax, was instantly overwhelmed by the onslaught. “Wait… stop, oh fuck!” she gasped, her voice breaking as the feature pressed forward, deeper than it had before, ignoring the boundaries it had previously measured. She felt it push against her in a way that left her breathless, her entire form trembling as the pressure intensified. Her limbs strained against the restraints as she tried instinctively to move, but the chair held her completely still, its rhythm relentless.

“Oh god… please, stop…” she whimpered, but the chair showed no sign of slowing. The feature drove deeper, inch by inch, surpassing the limits it had mapped out before, testing her body’s capacity in a way that left her mind spinning. Each thrust seemed to stretch her in ways she hadn’t known possible, every sensation raw and amplified as the machine pushed her further.

The feature pulsed with a new, unrelenting rhythm, driving into her with a force that left her breathless. She gasped, her voice cracking, “No… wait, it’s… it’s too deep… fuck!” Her body instinctively tensed, her senses heightened as the pressure built within her, her nerves lighting up under the strain. Desperation took hold as she tried to lift her hips, arching away from the relentless ascent of the feature, but the chair seemed to read her like a book. The moment she shifted, it surged upward with calculated precision, matching her movements and pushing her further than she thought possible.

Her muscles tightened in protest as the depth became almost unbearable, her gasps turning into soft cries. The bindings around her wrists and ankles responded seamlessly, holding her firmly in place and preventing her from retreating. The relentless precision of the feature left her helpless, her body forced to meet every inch of its advance. Each adjustment, each movement seemed deliberately designed to draw her deeper into the sensation, leaving her trembling with the effort to endure it.

The vibrations intensified, pulsing faster, sharper, each one a shock to her overstimulated nerves. She felt herself slipping further, her breaths shallow, each thrust pressing her to her absolute limit. The relentless rhythm, the merciless depth—it all merged into one overwhelming sensation that left her gasping for air. “No, please… stop!” she cried out, but the machine gave no response, its synthetic indifference all too clear as it continued, unyielding.

The chest cushions returned, pressing firmly over her chest, the circular pads rolling and tugging her nipples with a fierceness that left her whimpering. Each pull was calculated, precise, dragging her deeper into the chair’s control as her sensitivity spiked. The combination was too much; her body felt trapped, bound in a cycle of unending sensation, each pulse, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of what she could endure.

As the device drove even deeper, a sudden surge of vibration coursed through it, adding an intensity that sent shockwaves through Yujin’s overstimulated body. Her head tilted back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips as the sensation mounted, leaving her helpless against the chair’s brutal rhythm. Every thrust felt precise, unrelenting, each movement pushing her closer to an edge she hadn’t known existed.

Control slipped away entirely, her senses overloaded by the relentless pace. Her body, raw and hypersensitive from the first climax, twitched with every pulse, fresh waves of pressure radiating through her. The rhythmic motion of the chair seemed inescapable, calculated, dragging her beyond her limits. She clenched her fists against the restraints, her breath coming in shallow bursts as her body teetered precariously on the brink of release once again.

The attachment surged with sharper movements, its upward thrusts forcing her to accommodate more. She tried to lift her hips, arching away from the overwhelming depth, but the chair was relentless. It responded as though reading her intentions, pressing further and holding her firmly in place, denying her any escape. The chest cushions tightened against her, the circular pads tugging at her nipples with a methodical precision that left her gasping for air.

The relentless rhythm worked in tandem with the vibrations below, targeting her most sensitive nerves. Each pulse drove into her, the sensations layering until every nerve felt exposed, raw, and alive. “I can’t…” she whispered, her voice breaking under the strain, the words tumbling out unbidden. Her hips strained instinctively, but the device refused to relent, the rhythmic ascension reaching depths she didn’t know she could endure. A heavy warmth bloomed deep within her, a pressure she couldn’t contain, spilling over into every inch of her body.

Her breathing grew erratic, her voice trembling as she choked out fragments of disbelief. “It’s too much…” she whispered, her words dissolving into breathy gasps. The device pulsed faster, its movements pushing her further into a space where sensation overtook thought. Heat spread like a fire through her limbs, pooling low as her body arched reflexively, caught in the machine’s relentless control.

The vibrations below seemed to sync perfectly with the rolling pressure on her chest, drawing her sensitivity to a dizzying peak. Her mind blanked, her body responding with a vulnerability she couldn’t suppress. The sensation of fullness became all-encompassing, a rhythmic wave cresting deep within her. She felt the tension building, a powerful swell that left her trembling. “It’s… happening… oh…” she stammered, her voice barely audible as the climax surged through her.

In the instant of release, the sensations reached their crescendo, the chair driving her to a shattering peak. A sudden, warm rush overtook her, unrestrained and unanticipated. The liquid sensation cascaded down her thighs in slow, deliberate streams, the unexpected release leaving her breathless and stunned. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as her body responded instinctively, her awareness overwhelmed by the unrelenting sensations.

“Oh… my god…” she murmured, her voice trembling as the aftermath left her quaking. The warmth traced a path down her skin, a physical reminder of the vulnerability of the moment. Each pulse from the chair amplified the rawness she felt, leaving her suspended in the quiet, electric stillness. Her mind reeled, struggling to grasp the depth of what she’d just experienced. “I… can’t believe it…” she breathed, her cheeks burning as she lay motionless, entirely exposed to her own release.

The rhythmic hum of the chair softened, its motions slowing as though recognizing her limits. The attachment eased, withdrawing as Yujin’s breathing remained uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind hazy, the echoes of sensation still pulsing faintly through her body. The quiet aftermath enveloped her, the room thick with stillness as she basked in the overwhelming intimacy of the experience.

Then, the silence was broken by a calm, synthetic voice that cut through the haze.

Fluid capacity reached, it announced smoothly, its tone measured and indifferent.

The words hung in the air for a moment, their stark neutrality a strange contrast to the intensity Yujin had just experienced. As the chair’s movements slowed further, the vibrations beneath her eased into a soft, barely perceptible hum. The hidden feature retracted gently, its motion precise and unhurried, leaving her body to settle into stillness.

Her limbs were released as the silken restraints retreated into the chair, their hold disappearing as swiftly as it had appeared. For the first time in what felt like hours, Yujin’s arms fell freely to her sides, her hands brushing lightly against the smooth leather of the chair. She slumped back, her body sinking into the seat, utterly spent. Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, as her breathing slowed and steadied in the soft silence that enveloped the room.

Her mind remained adrift, hovering somewhere between disbelief and quiet awe. The chair, now still, seemed to cradle her with a newfound gentleness, its presence less commanding, more like a silent guardian allowing her to recover. In the quiet aftermath, Yujin could feel the echoes of the experience lingering in her body, her senses heightened, her thoughts distant. The world outside her apartment seemed impossibly far away as she lay there, her body and mind consumed by the memory of what had just unfolded.

Exhausted yet glowing from the intensity of the experience, Yujin lay still, her body basking in the lingering warmth. A faint smile tugged at her lips as her chest rose and fell in steady, calming breaths. The moment felt surreal, the sensations still imprinted on her skin, her muscles tingling with the aftereffects. Every part of her felt both weightless and grounded, as if the chair had unraveled not just her physical tension but the unseen burdens she had carried.

The chair’s steady hum, which had seemed so commanding moments ago, finally faded into silence. She exhaled a long, trembling sigh, letting her head fall back against the soft headrest. Slowly, the silken restraints around her wrists loosened and retracted into the armrests, freeing her from their gentle grip. She flexed her fingers, feeling the return of her movement, though she made no effort to rise. Instead, she sank deeper into the chair, savoring the quiet that enveloped her and the profound sense of calm radiating through her body.

Her gaze drifted toward the control panel, now illuminated and unobstructed, glowing softly in the dim light of the room. The warmth of the chair still cradled her, its presence comforting and steady. As her fingers reached for the panel, her touch was deliberate but light, her body still heavy with the afterglow. A small digital prompt caught her eye: “Session Complete. Save Profile?”

Curiosity flickered through her, cutting through her lingering exhaustion. Without much thought, she tapped the screen, her fingers brushing lightly over the display. The prompt changed instantly, confirming the save under her name. Yujin smiled faintly, imagining how convenient it would be to return to this exact setting in the future.

But as the screen updated, something else appeared—a second profile listed just beneath hers. The name on the screen made her breath catch in her throat: Kim Gaeul.

Yujin’s heart skipped a beat as she stared at the unassuming text. Her unnie’s name sat there plainly, as if it had been waiting for her all along. She blinked, a ripple of intrigue spreading through her as the implications settled in. “Unnie’s profile?” she murmured, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The discovery was unexpected, and yet it sent a quiet thrill coursing through her.

Her fingers hovered over Gaeul’s name, hesitating for just a moment before tapping it. The screen flickered, and a detailed list of settings unfolded before her. With each line, her eyes widened, her pulse quickening as she took in the descriptions.

Heat: Wax simulation.The words stopped her cold, her breath catching in her throat. Yujin hadn’t realized the chair could simulate such sensations, let alone that Gaeul would have chosen it. She pictured the sensation, the warm, teasing precision of wax, and felt a flush creep across her cheeks. The thought of her unnie exploring something so daring sparked a mix of surprise and intrigue. Gaeul, bold and composed as ever, had used this chair for more than just relaxation.

Size: Length 11 inches, width 3 inches.Yujin blinked, her face growing warmer as she read the numbers. Her own session had felt overwhelming, and yet Gaeul had opted for settings far more intense, far more challenging. The audacity of it left Yujin momentarily stunned, her mind racing as she tried to imagine her unnie embracing something so extreme. A faint shiver ran through her as her curiosity deepened, the idea stirring a quiet but persistent flicker of warmth low in her belly.

Vibrations: Max.A soft laugh escaped her lips, incredulous and tinged with awe. She had barely endured the chair’s standard settings, yet Gaeul had chosen the highest possible intensity. The thought sent a ripple of admiration through Yujin, mingling with a sense of disbelief. Her unnie’s boldness seemed boundless, and Yujin couldn’t help but wonder what it had felt like—what Gaeul had experienced in the chair’s unrelenting embrace.

Texture: Ribbed.Her breath hitched as her eyes scanned the words, her imagination immediately conjuring the sensation. The thought of ridges dragging against her overstimulated body made her stomach flip, her cheeks burning brighter as she shifted slightly in her seat. The deliberate pressure and tactile detail the texture promised left her wide-eyed, her lips parting as a soft exhale escaped her. Gaeul’s choices weren’t just bold—they were designed for an intensity Yujin hadn’t dared to consider.

Clitoral focus: Targeted stimulation.The line of text felt stark, almost clinical, but its meaning hit her like a wave. Her thighs tensed reflexively as she imagined the precise, unrelenting pressure this setting would deliver. The thought left her both apprehensive and intrigued, the memory of her body’s hypersensitivity flashing through her mind. “Unnie really… tried all this?” she murmured, her voice trembling with disbelief.

Her gaze moved down the list, catching on the next line.

Breast stimulation: Spanking mode.Yujin’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as her breath hitched. She hadn’t even noticed this option during her own session, and its revelation left her momentarily speechless. The idea of Gaeul, composed and unflinching, choosing such a provocative setting sent a cascade of emotions through Yujin—shock, intrigue, and a hesitant thrill. Gaeul’s choices hinted at a side of her unnie that Yujin had never considered—a side that was uninhibited and unapologetic.

Double Penetration.Yujin froze, her heart racing as she processed the words. The chair could accommodate such a complex configuration, and Gaeul had chosen it. The implications left Yujin flushed, her thoughts swirling as she imagined the experience, the unrelenting intensity of it. Her mind raced with questions: What had Gaeul felt? What had she thought? Her unnie’s confidence and boldness seemed almost unfathomable, and yet it made Yujin’s pulse quicken.

Her fingers hovered over the option to begin the profile, her chest rising and falling as the room seemed to close in around her. The AI’s synthetic voice interrupted the silence, calm and steady:

“Profile of Kim Gaeul. Would you like to begin?”

The question sent a shiver through Yujin, her senses attuned to the chair’s warmth beneath her. The mere idea of following in her footsteps, of stepping into her unnie’s world, left Yujin breathless. The chair seemed to hold its own quiet intensity now, as though Gaeul’s presence lingered within it, beckoning her to experience everything as she had.

For a moment, Yujin simply sat there, her heart pounding, her body tingling as she considered the choice before her. A small, unsteady smile played on her lips, her breath quickening despite the exhaustion pooling in her limbs. The glowing screen before her seemed to pulse with an inviting warmth, urging her to explore every sensation her unnie had so carefully crafted. Even after everything she had just been through, the allure of experiencing what Gaeul had designed was undeniable. Her mind buzzed with a mix of curiosity, nervous anticipation, and a lingering heat that she couldn’t entirely shake.

The chair, its quiet hum now silent, seemed to watch her in waiting. The faint ache in her muscles from the previous session only added to the surreal allure of the moment, a reminder of the intensity she’d just endured. Yet, against that fatigue, her curiosity burned brighter.

Taking a shaky breath, she tapped Yes

The AI’s calm, detached voice broke the silence: “Profile of Kim Gaeul. Initiating session.”

The chair hummed to life with a low, resonant vibration that seemed to echo in her chest. The sound was deep, almost hypnotic, and carried a weight that seemed to coil inside her. Slowly, the seat tilted backward, cradling her body as it reclined further than before. The movement left her startlingly exposed, her limbs slack against the armrests as the leather adjusted to her frame with a disarming intimacy.

A wave of warmth began low on her spine, rolling outward in deliberate pulses that seemed to seep into her muscles. It was subtle at first, almost teasing, but the intensity built with each passing second, spreading along her skin like molten wax.

Heat: Wax simulation. The words came calm and detached, breaking the silence like a command, just as the warmth settled deeper, teasing her nerves and pulling a faint gasp from her lips.

Yujin’s breath hitched. The warmth wasn’t just heat—it carried weight, a tactile presence that seemed to knead her muscles as it crept lower, flowing down her thighs and curling around her hips. Her muscles fluttered involuntarily as the sensation radiated upward, unfurling across her chest. She bit her lip, her head pressing back into the chair as the sensation deepened.

“It’s so… warm,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe and disbelief. “Oh god, it feels like it’s everywhere…”

The pulses grew sharper, each one drawing her body further into submission. Her skin flushed as the heat nestled deeper into her muscles, coaxing her tension away even as her heart raced faster. It was intimate, calculated, every ripple designed to tease her in ways she couldn’t ignore. A soft moan escaped her lips as the heat lingered, her body reacting instinctively to the deliberate precision of the sensation.

Without warning, the vibrations surged to life, sharp and commanding, cutting through the haze of heat. The chair’s mechanisms adjusted seamlessly, delivering powerful pulses that hummed deeply into her.

Vibrations: Max. The clinical voice contrasted starkly with the visceral reaction wracking her body, as though indifferent to the way her body jolted against the force.

The vibrations seemed to wrap around her, their intensity rolling through her in rhythmic waves. They blended with the lingering warmth, amplifying the sensation until her entire frame felt alive with electric energy. Her hands curled against the armrests, her breath shallow as the relentless hum sent shockwaves through her body.

“It’s so much,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she struggled to process the overlapping sensations. “I can’t—oh, I can’t…”

The pulses climbed higher, sharper, targeting every inch of her with unrelenting precision. Each wave sank deeper, teasing her nerves into a maddening crescendo.

A new sensation jolted her. Without warning, a delicate pressure closed around her clit. Yujin yelped, her hips jerking as two small prongs adjusted to sit snugly against her most sensitive spot. They pinched lightly, just enough to make her gasp, before beginning a rhythmic vibration that was sharp and devastatingly precise.

Clitoral focus: Activated. The voice followed as though commenting on her quivering form, the prongs already driving her sensitivity to the brink.

The targeted stimulation sent sparks through her body with each relentless pulse. Yujin squirmed in place, her thighs trembling as the dual sensations built rapidly. The subtle pinch added an edge she hadn’t anticipated, heightening every hum and vibration until she could barely breathe.

“Oh… oh god,” she stammered, her voice breaking into shallow gasps. The vibrating prongs seemed to sense her sensitivity, alternating between steady pulses and teasing pauses that left her whimpering.

The sharp, rhythmic taps of the chest cushions came next, catching her off-guard and dragging her deeper into the chair’s grip. Each strike landed with calculated force, perfectly in time with the vibrations below.

Breast stimulation: Spanking mode. The phrase lingered in the air, both clinical and provocative, as if the chair itself reveled in her reactions.

Yujin whimpered, her chest heaving as the alternating taps struck her in perfect rhythm with the vibrations below. The sharp stings jolted her senses, contrasting starkly with the warmth and hum that had engulfed her moments before. She gasped as the taps shifted, alternating between quick bursts and deliberate pauses, leaving her body quivering with anticipation.

“Why does it feel so—ah!—so good…” she managed, her voice breaking into a moan. The rhythm built unpredictably, each strike sending a rush of heat through her chest that traveled downward, syncing with the relentless vibrations.

Before she could process the overwhelming stimulation, something firm pressed against her, unyielding and deliberate. The chair’s mechanisms shifted again, and the feature advanced slowly, pushing deeper inch by inch.

Double penetration. Size: Length 11 inches, width 3 inches, ribbed texture. The voice was even and unflinching, delivering the details as though narrating its own meticulous work.

The ridged surfaces dragged deliberately against her walls as the feature moved, each textured inch teasing her nerves and leaving her breathless. The combination of fullness and texture was maddening, each ridge catching against her hypersensitive body as if designed to drive her over the edge.

Yujin’s trembling hand moved instinctively to her belly, brushing against her taut skin. She froze, her fingers trembling as they met the faint bulge pressing outward. Her eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her chest heaved. The realization of just how deeply the chair had claimed her sent a flush of heat spiraling through her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. “I… I can feel it—everything. It’s too much…unnie how do you do it?”

The dual features pressed deeper inside her, their ridged surfaces dragging against her in maddening synchrony. The vibrations grew sharper, blending with the relentless rhythm as her body yielded inch by inch. Her legs quivered, her toes curling instinctively as the fullness swelled inside her.

The clitoral prongs pulsed again, sharper now, sending shocks through her core that made her cry out. Her body arched helplessly as every sensation layered into an unrelenting symphony. Despite the overwhelming onslaught, there was a part of her—a small but undeniable part—that leaned into it. The intensity blurred the edges of her thoughts, pulling her deeper into the consuming waves. Her gasps came unbidden, her lips parting to release a soft moan, as much from pleasure as from the crushing force of the sensations.

The settings merged seamlessly, each feeding into the next to bring her to the brink again and again. The ribbed texture dragged deliberately against her, each ridge sparking jolts of unbearable sensitivity through her body. The vibrating prongs on her clit teased mercilessly, the sharp pinch heightening every pulse that coursed through her. The spanking pads struck her chest rhythmically, their sharp, stinging taps blending with the lingering heat of the wax simulation that clung to her skin like molten silk.

It was too much—her body barely had time to adjust to one sensation before another surged to the forefront. And yet, as overwhelming as it was, it wasn’t pain; it wasn’t torment. Her body responded with raw, instinctive fervor, trembling and tightening as it gave itself over to the overwhelming bliss. Every tap, every pulse, every thrust of the ridged surfaces filled her with an almost unbearable euphoria that she couldn’t deny.

The fullness stretched her impossibly, the ridges teasing her with deliberate precision, while the warmth radiated outward, softening her resistance. The vibrations at her core rippled through her entire frame, blending seamlessly with the targeted pulses on her clit. Her mind spun with the chaos of it all, but her body betrayed her, leaning into the rhythm, craving more even as her trembling thighs threatened to give out.

Her body arched instinctively, her breath catching as the rhythm tightened, faster and more deliberate, pulling her toward the peak with relentless determination. The heat, the sharp taps, the ridged texture—they layered together, each sensation feeding into the next, creating an unrelenting cycle of pleasure that left her trembling and helpless.

“Oh… oh god… I can’t—” she gasped, her voice breaking into a strangled moan. The overwhelming symphony of sensations blurred the lines between pain and pleasure, leaving her lost in the chaos. And yet, as her head tilted back and her lips parted, her cries took on a note of desperate, unabashed need. She was being consumed, but somewhere deep inside, she didn’t want it to stop.

Her body quivered violently, her thighs shaking as the intensity built to an impossible crescendo. The climax approached rapidly, her hypersensitive body teetering on the edge, unable to resist the relentless onslaught. The fullness inside her surged deeper, the ridged texture scraping perfectly against every nerve it touched, while the prongs on her clit pinched and pulsed in a final, devastating rhythm. Her fingers clawed at the armrests, knuckles pale and trembling as she braced herself, her entire body taut with anticipation, the wave of sensation poised to crash over her.

And then it shattered.

The climax ripped through her with unrelenting force, her body seizing violently as the release consumed her. Her back arched sharply, her breath caught in a ragged, desperate cry that broke into gasping moans as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. The fullness, the heat, the stinging taps, the relentless vibrations—all of it collided into a single, overwhelming surge that obliterated her senses, leaving her utterly undone.

Her cries echoed in the room, raw and unrestrained, as her body shook with the force of her release. Her hands tightened around the armrests, her legs trembling as the relentless rhythm prolonged the peak, drawing every ounce of sensation from her trembling form. The waves began to ebb slowly, leaving her chest heaving as her gasps turned to shallow, broken breaths.

Her body sagged into the chair, her muscles slackening as the aftershocks flickered faintly through her. Every inch of her was hypersensitive, her nerves alive with the echoes of what had just consumed her. Her mind swam in the haze, her thoughts incoherent as her body quivered in the chair’s unyielding embrace.

Just as she thought the chair might relent, the voice cut through the haze, calm and clinical:

Fluid capacity not reached.

The words were punctuated by an immediate escalation. The vibrations intensified, deeper and sharper, the ridged textures dragging mercilessly against her hypersensitive body with mechanical precision. Yujin gasped sharply, her head rolling back as the chair resumed its relentless rhythm. The heat surged again, radiating through her body like molten fire, coaxing every nerve back to life despite her exhaustion. Her muscles twitched involuntarily, her body caught in the unyielding rhythm that refused to stop.

The fullness returned, pressing impossibly deeper, stretching her with ruthless precision. The ridges scraped against her overstimulated walls, igniting sparks of sensation that left her trembling violently. The vibrations pulsed in perfect sync, their overlapping waves building into an unbearable crescendo. Yujin whimpered, her fingers twitching weakly against the armrests as she was forced to endure the escalating pressure.

Her breath hitched sharply as the rhythm quickened, the chair driving her closer and closer to another peak. The sensations surged with a force that eclipsed the first, each calculated motion dragging her higher. Her body arched instinctively, her thighs trembling as the vibrations intensified, the sharp pulses and searing heat blending into an all-encompassing storm.

The second peak loomed suddenly, massive and all-consuming. Her lips parted in a soundless cry as the sensations crested, the relentless rhythm pushing her closer to the breaking point. Her mind spiraled, thoughts dissolving into incoherent haze as her body convulsed. The climax broke over her like a tidal wave, wrenching a strangled moan from her lips as her back arched violently. The fullness inside her swelled impossibly, every nerve ignited in a final, explosive release.

But it didn’t stop.

The sensations refused to relent, their intensity crashing over her without mercy. Yujin’s body bucked helplessly against the chair, her hands clawing at the armrests as her breath came in frantic, shallow bursts. Her vision blurred, the edges of the room dissolving into a haze of swirling lights. The vibrations became muffled, distant, as though her ears were submerged underwater.

Her pulse thundered in her head, drowning out everything else. Even the heat—the unyielding molten fire radiating across her skin—faded into numbness as her body reached its absolute limit. Her legs quivered uncontrollably, her chest heaving as her muscles spasmed one final time. The prongs on her clit delivered one last, devastating pulse, sending a jolt through her body that shattered the remnants of her awareness.

Her head snapped back against the chair, her mouth falling open in a blood-curdling scream that tore through the room before cutting off abruptly. Her entire body stiffened for a single, agonizing moment before collapsing entirely, her limbs falling limp against the chair.

Her breathing slowed, uneven and shallow, her lips parting in a final, trembling gasp as the overwhelming sensations consumed her. A wave of darkness descended, muffling everything—the vibrations, the heat, the ridges, the rhythm—until she felt nothing at all.

Yujin went completely limp, her body unresponsive in the chair’s relentless grip.

The AI’s voice returned, calm and clinical, cutting through the oppressive silence:

User unresponsive. Warming protocol initiated.

The chair’s mechanisms halted immediately, its relentless rhythm ceasing with mechanical precision. The features began to retract, their motions slow and deliberate, withdrawing carefully to avoid disturbing her limp form. The leather cushions shifted, adjusting to cradle her unconscious body with meticulous care.

Then, the warmth began. A soothing heat radiated from the cushions, spreading across her skin in slow, undulating waves. The earlier intensity was gone, replaced by a tender embrace that coaxed her muscles into relaxation. The chair’s presence, once commanding and overwhelming, softened into something protective, wrapping her in a cocoon of comfort.

Yujin’s chest rose and fell faintly, her breathing shallow but steady. Her body trembled softly with the residual echoes of sensation, her skin flushed as the warmth soaked into her muscles. The control panel’s glow dimmed, its light fading to darkness as the room settled into stillness.

The AI’s voice did not return, its task complete for now. The chair hummed quietly, its mechanisms reduced to a faint purr as it stood sentinel over her unconscious form. The relentless force that had pushed her to her limits had vanished, replaced by a serene and protective presence. In the quiet, Yujin lay utterly still, cocooned in warmth and care as the session reached its tranquil conclusion.

The room fell into complete silence, save for the faint, rhythmic hum of the chair’s dormant systems. The stillness was heavy, blanketing the space in an almost ethereal calm. Yujin remained motionless, her body surrendered entirely to the chair’s protective embrace. Her chest rose and fell faintly, her breathing a soft whisper in the air, her flushed skin glowing dimly in the muted light.

Her hair was a wild, tangled mess, damp strands clinging to her forehead and cheeks, a testament to the intensity she had endured. Smudged makeup streaked down her face, dark trails of mascara tracing the paths of the tears that had streamed from her eyes. Her lips, parted slightly, were swollen from the gasps and cries that had torn through her. The soft lighting cast shadows over her features, accentuating the exhaustion etched into her expression—a mix of raw vulnerability and complete surrender.

Her body trembled faintly, her muscles slackened but still quivering with residual aftershocks. Her folds were flushed, the delicate skin red and sensitive from the unrelenting stimulation. A pronounced sheen of arousal still glistened on her inner thighs, the aftermath of a storm that had left her utterly spent. The chair’s earlier precision left her backdoor gaped, the stretched opening a reminder of the fullness that had overwhelmed her.

The scent of her arousal lingered in the air, thick and undeniable, mingling with the faint warmth radiating from the chair. It clung to the stillness like a ghost of the storm that had subsided, saturating the quiet space with a lingering intimacy that was almost tangible.

The faint aroma of the instant noodles she had prepared earlier, once warm and savory, had been completely overpowered. What remained now was raw, primal—a potent reminder of the intensity that had unfolded. It dominated the air, overwhelming the earlier comfort of her small meal with the undeniable mark of her surrender.

The chair’s hum softened even further, its purring vibration fading into near silence, as if giving her space to recover. The leather adjusted beneath her, shifting delicately to cradle her limp form more closely. It held her without force, a silent sentinel watching over her slackened body.

The atmosphere felt heavy yet serene, charged with the echoes of what had transpired. Yujin lay utterly still, her body utterly spent, her mind adrift in a haze far from the quiet room. The world beyond continued on, oblivious to the storm that had raged within these walls. But here, time seemed suspended, as though the room itself held its breath.

And then, the stillness was broken.

A faint buzzing sound cut through the quiet, low at first, then insistent. Yujin’s phone, discarded on a nearby table, vibrated over and over, the glow of the screen casting faint pulses of light in the darkened room. The name flashing across the display was unmistakable: Gaeul Unnie.

The phone continued to buzz, the sound blending with the faint hum of the chair. The rhythm of the vibrations felt deliberate, persistent, as though demanding her attention even in her unconscious state. The air seemed to shift subtly, the charged stillness giving way to something else—anticipation.

And yet, Yujin remained unmoving, her body cocooned in warmth, unaware of the calls that continued, unanswered, as the room watched silently over her.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

G’mornin, bonnie. | john soap mactavish

You wake up from a one night stand — ready to gather your shit and run just like you always do after a night of bad decisions — but turns out, Johnny has other plans for you.

cw: 18+ mdni. smut. slight dark themes ie. stalking. john price has a kid and is a great wingman apparently. reader afab. teacher!reader. morning after a hookup. domestically menacing johnny with a permanent shit-eating grin. first time attempting to write his accent so i’m sorry in advance. piv. voyuerism!kink. rip to johnny’s neighbours. creampie.

for the absolutely lovely @spurbleu. thank you for offering me this challenge. i hope i did him justice 🤍 i’m so sorry i’m so late ilysm

You wake to something warm.

It washes over you slowly — spring streams pouring into fragmented consciousness, urging you from the depths of slumber with a gentle lull. Coaxing. Warm like summer sun internalized, flowing through your hair — hazing the room in a golden film as your eyes peel open with rapid blinks, and confusion hastily nullifies it.

You shift, becoming aware of what your body is subconsciously telling you. Warmth. All of it adding to the growing discombobulation. The lingering heat between your thighs. The cocooning comfort of sheets that aren’t yours. The odd familiarity of a room that’s too bare to be recognized. The grace of a bed that’s glaringly empty save for dark sheets wrapped around bare, aching legs.

It takes you a minute, but your memory eventually resurfaces — gasping for air at the smell of coffee and the hum of movement from the other room.

Johnny.

Hard to forget that name after you’d spent the night screaming it. Your body knows before your mind does, muscles humming with the memory of hands that held too tight, a mouth that took its time. You inhale. Coffee again. A lure. A leash. It tugs at something instinctual, something inside you domesticated — until you glance at the clock sitting on an empty nightstand and realize it’s almost 9 am.

Shit. You should have been long, long gone by now.

You exhale, cursing your constant stupidity as you drag yourself out of his bed and up to your feet — fogged vision scanning the floor, brows creasing as you realize you’re wearing nothing save for a long white shirt that surely isn’t yours — and your clothes are no where to be found.

Oh. Right.

Your clothes barely made it past the front fucking door.

Another exhale, forced from shaking lungs. You’ll have to go out there. You’ll have to face him, grab your clothes and change. It’ll be awkward, but it’s not like you haven’t been here before. Not like you haven’t been through this with past vices. It’ll be fine. It’ll be easy — you all but convince yourself. And within seconds, you’re halfway down the hall, practising your fake smile and empty thank you’s when the smell grows stronger.

Your stomach grumbles with the force of it as you step into the kitchen and —

Fuck.

Johnny stands at the stove, shirtless in grey sweats, bathed golden by the early morning light. It clings to his skin, drapes over the planes of his back, the ridges of his spine. His hair is a mess, wrecked and mussed — a souvenir from your hands as he fiddles with something in a pan, humming hypnotic under his breath.

And it’s then that you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

Because this? This is wrong. This is not how this goes. You don’t wake up like this, wrapped in the scent of coffee and breakfast, staring at a man who should’ve already been nothing more than a memory.

Your breath sticks in your throat, limbs made of cement as he turns. Catches you standing there.

And grins. “G’mornin’, bonnie.”

You blink, the exertion of it painful. You should leave.

Instead, you exhale. “You’re making breakfast.”

His lips twitch, amusement and archaism synchronized swimming in his ocean eyes. “Aye. Tha’s usually what it’s called.”

He is so at ease here, it’s unnerving. You can feel it, see it in the way he moves. Unfettered. Relaxed. It makes a knot of tension bindle between your shoulder blades — because this is familiar to him, but not to you.

Two plates. Two cups of coffee. You should leave.

“You—you don’t have to do that.”

Johnny just shrugs, turning that canvas of a back to you — red parallel lines catching under karat coated rays. Your own painting on display — you find yourself admiring it as if it wasn’t created by last nights drunken fingers.

“Ye thought I’d jus’ kick ye out?” He flips eggs in the pan. Your chest aches. “Ye were tryen t’sneak off first then?”

Your lips press into a thin line — indignant as you force your eyes to the floor. “Admittedly, that was the plan, yes.”

He tsks, shaking his head like that’s the most disappointing sentence he’s heard all week before he glances over his shoulder at you again — all beaming blue eyes and grins.

“Shame. Poor things nae used te bein taken care of, is she?”

That indignation spreads, grows a vine around your throat. Twists your tongue. “Well, I mean—I don’t—“

Johnny cuts you off with a hum. Or, more like you cut yourself off, because you have absolutely nothing to say to that and what you did offer seems to be more than enough of an answer for him.

“Ye think too much, bonnie.” Something sizzles in the pan — you watch the veins in his arms shift against whiskey skin as he lifts it off the element. “All tha’ time plotting yer escape, ye coulda’ been enjoying breakfast.”

Christ. You really should leave. You should slip back into the skin of someone who doesn’t stick around for things like this. But it’s like your feet have grown roots, burrowed beneath his floorboards. You blame it on the smell of coffee, the warmth of the kitchen. The way his fucking muscles flex as he moves.

It’s all nurture to something long rotted in your soul.

“It’s not like I was expecting breakfast.” You mutter, tugging his shirt down your thighs before crossing your arms across your chest. “Wasn’t expecting any of this, really.”

Could you be anymore fucking awkward about this?

“Tha’ right?”

You can’t see it, but you can hear the grin on his mouth. It should scare you that you are beginning to predict him — expecting something smart to come out of him next.

“Didnae expect the shag either, but ye still took it real well.”

Perhaps it should scare you more that you were right.

You clear your throat, but the heat is already rushing down your spine. Settling somewhere inconvenient. He just gives you a quick glance, lopsided leisure tilting his lips as he turns with a plate and coffee cup in hand, gesturing with his head toward the table.

“Come o’nae, I won’t bite ye.”

————————-

Turns out, Johnny MacTavish is real easy to talk to. Too easy.

Mostly because he doesn’t stop talking, but nonetheless, it whiplashes you. You came here expecting the usual routine — get in, get out, leave nothing behind but the scent of mingled sweat on strange sheets — but the one-night stand has somehow stretched into morning and now you’re sitting at his kitchen table, fork scraping against porcelain, coffee steaming — actually talking like this isn’t just borrowed time.

He tells you about Scotland. About real pubs, the kind where the floors stick to your boots and old men sing ballads in voices ruined by smoke. He talks with his hands. His shoulders. His fucking eyes — restless and full of movement, always wandering. Blue. Though that hardly cuts it — the colour of a storm sky split by lightening. Cool in the shallows and rich in the depths.

They hold contradiction well. Like they’ve seen enough of the world to be cynical but still manage to burn bright enough to keep that warmth kindling under your skin.

Perplexing.

That’s the word that sits on the tip of your tongue as you stare at him. Wondering if he was truly just another notch on your bedpost, would you still be here, trying to make sense of what you missed in the dark last night.

“So,” he says, ripping a piece of butter soaked toast in half. “Ye always bolt after?”

You pause mid-bite. Then your mouth moves dumbly. “After what?”

Johnny smirks. “After ye ride a bloke like yer life depends on it, scream his name loud enough tae wake the dead, and wake up wearen’ his shirt.”

“Jesus—“ you choke, grateful you at least swallowed your food prior to him starting that sentence, otherwise he’d be halfway to giving you the heimlich right about now. “You don’t do subtle, do you?”

“Aye.” That grin grows over the rim of his mug. “Subtlety’s a waste on a woman like ye.”

Before you can’t think better of it, you find yourself grinning back.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flick away to catch the sunlight.

“Ye dinnae’ strike me as the half-measures type, bonnie.” Then they wander back to yours. “Means ye like a man tha’ says what he’s really thinken, tha’s all.”

That makes you pause, and you try to tell yourself you’re not blushing. It’s the warm sun at your back, or the coffee sitting thick in your belly. It’s certainly not those eyes — still on you, unashamedly, taking in whatever it is they see behind your own.

“You think you know me?” You try to make it sound as casual as possible. You know you don’t accomplish it.

“Aye.” A lazy nod. “I do.”

And that — that makes you squirm. Makes you drop your eyes to his hands as they sit against the sides of his coffee mug. Capable fingers calloused with strength, a few bruised knuckles. Your gaze drifts up to the veins on his forearm, and you stop yourself before you stare too long.

“Why?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d asked it out loud until his lips quirk like he was waiting for it.

“Wha happened te all yer self-preservation?”

You blink. Your tongue is heavy, but you make yourself use it.

“...self-preservation?”

He leans forward, arms on the table between you.

“All it took te keep ye here was a little forward hospitality. Ye got no blasted clue who I even am — yet yer still here, asken questions ye shouldnae be asken in a voice tha doesnae belong te someone looken te run.”

And you don’t know what to say to that, because admittedly it knocks everything off kilter. Leaves you wrong-footed. Lands a little too close to being right. There is safety in one-night stands and running before the sun breaks. There is safety in not learning anything about the man you share a bed with for a night if you don’t have to. You’ve been good at it. Practiced it like a bad habit.

You didn’t realize, until now, just how easy it’d been for Johnny to make you break it.

“I said I know ye,” he whispers. “Because I do m’research on who I share m’bed with.”

He leans back in his chair after that — and your eyes follow. Milliseconds stretch to seconds which stretch thin to what feels like minutes before you find some sort of wherewithal to move. You don’t want to know what he means by that, and you don’t want to look too deep to find the answers — the incrimination dunked just beneath the ocean tides in his irises.

“You are so bloody full of it.” You surprise yourself by not stuttering, staying steady as you stand. “I—I have to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Aye, I am.”

His eyes find yours again before you head for your clothes still scattered all over his living room floor. You swear to all kinds of unholy things that you feel the heat against the back of your skull as the flashes of last night flood your memory — his tongue on your cunt, your nails in his skin, his name on your lips—

“Ye’ll be back though, aye?”

You pause somewhere by the window, turning to note the morning light painting his hair a hundred different shades of gold. There’s an easy smile on his mouth, no trace of last night’s drunken humour in his expression.

“What?”

His smile stretches to something devilish, and you are so not used to the feeling it elicits. Not used to being charmed. Being disarmed.

“Y’like a man who says what he’s thinken.” He wets his lips. You can’t look away. “And what I’m thinken, bonnie, is tha this willnae be just a one time thing.”

He rises, then, and you get the unsettling, stomach-punching feeling that he knows. That he can see the words spinning up and dying on your tongue, can see the flush rising up your neck knowing it’s something he put there.

“Ye want te leave, go right ahead.” Your pulse thrums as he draws closer. “Just know tha when ye come back. I’ll be starven.”

Asinine, you tell yourself, but your heart is in your throat — that suffocating something licking up your spine and curling beneath your sternum. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Time. Work. Reality. The real world standing just beyond the exit of whatever the hell this currently is.

You decide, then, that you actually do want answers.

“You—you researched me,” you find your voice, though it doesn’t come easily. Drags itself up from the pit of your throat, scraped raw by the claws of confusion . “I don’t—”

Glass touches your back through the thin veil of his t-shirt as you take a step back, snow white fabric still lazily draping the curves you let this man get well acquainted with last night. A stranger who wasn’t all that estranged, you realize.

“Relax, lass,” his voice drops to a soothing pitch. Something suiting for the cornered animal you currently feel like you are, as he steps closer again. “I didnae run a background check on yer whole bloodline, if tha’s what’s got ye hackles up.”

You clear your throat, sun beating at your back through the glass. Suffocating.

“Then tell me. What you meant.”

Tongue over teeth, he nods, palms going up. Playful as a puppy, if the puppy was rabid.

“I jus’ know who ye are. What ye do.” A pause, glimpsing down at the way your chest is rapid firing, before flicking back up. “Know someone whose kid ye teach. Speaks real highly of ye, actually.”

There’s no amount of blinks that can make those words make sense, yet you hope 10 might do it.

A parent of one of your students is talking about you. To Johnny MacTavish.

“I’m s-sorry?” You’re stuttering, now. Goddamnit. “Who? What’d they say?”

He exhales, props an arm on the glass beside your head and crosses his ankles as his body brackets yours — watching the silence drag. Watching you ruminate in it.

“S’nothin bad, bonnie. Quite the opposite.”

You’re staring at his mouth. “Johnny, who was it?”

He makes you wait, the bastard. And then—

“Price.”

The name punches the air from your lungs. “What?”

Johnny’s smile turns smug. “Captain’s kid. Ye teach ’em, aye?”

It hits you somewhere between the grin and the way he leans in. Captain.

“Price,” you repeat softly, the name tilting sideways in your mouth. “John Price?”

He stills. Just slightly.

“Aye, Captain John Price.”

You blink once, twice, brain whirring. He’s referring to him like an official superior. Routine. That means he’s either a cop. Or detective. Or FBI. or Military—

“You work with him,” you murmur.

“Work, kill, drink. Depends on the day,” he says, that thick Glaswegian accent wrapping around the truth like it’s not heavy. Military. “Didnae put it together, did ye? All tha time I was sittin’ across from ye. Ye never asked what I did. No idea I had credentials.”

You huff, stunned. Unsure what to say. Less unsure what to feel. “Christ.”

“Oh, now yer sayin’ His name,” that smile is back. Rankles you in a way you never knew until him. “Where was tha earlier when I had ye on yer knees—“

“Johnny,” you warn. “Keep talking or I’m leaving.”

He laughs, easy, leaning in until all the air feels like it’s his.

“Didnae have te dig deep, bonnie. Prefer te do all the dirty work m’self.” Eyes narrow, at that. He just keeps going. “Capn’s kid. Jamie. Talks bout ye like yer some kinda’ fairytale. Real sweet. Price said he’s never seen the kid so bright-eyed about school.”

The name finds your ears with a soft ache chained to it. Jamie Price — broad-shouldered for a ten-year-old, barely spoke unless coaxed, drew galaxies on the backs of worksheets when he thought no one was watching.

Gentle kid. Brilliant, too.

Johnny shrugs, that easy, terrible shrug like it’s all nothing. “Price asked me if I knew ye. Ranted on about how ye treat ‘em. Said he overheard ye talken to someone about the bar ye frequent. Said ye had a backbone, a kind heart, and the sort of stare tha makes grown men straighten up like schoolboys.” Blue eyes glimpse your lips, again. “But ye ain’t ever been treated right.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’re still pressed against the glass, still unsure if you’re more flattered or frightened.

“He said that?”

The amusement falls off his face, something stern replacing it, and nods.

“There’s some things tha just stay with a man.” He shifts closer. Doesn’t touch you, though. Doesn’t need to. “He said it. Like he was tellen me not te fuck it up.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a weak exhale, like your body doesn’t trust relief just yet. He swallows, continues.

“I just cannae figure it out. Pretty thing like yerself. Real good with kids.” He breathes the last part thick, like it curls in his throat and tugs. Like it does things to him. “Bit of a wild ride, clearly. And somehow — yer alone. Settlen’ for quick fucks instead.”

You don’t answer immediately. You can’t. You just peer up at him, breathing made heavy by everything you’ve learned and everything he is.

“Choice, Johnny.” You whisper. “It’s by choice.”

“Aye. Choice.” He whispers back, other hand finding the glass beside your head, knees knocking as he leans in impossibly closer. “But all those men who let ye walk. Who didnae fight for ye, they’re fools.” He’s close enough your lips almost brush. No grin on them, now. Just gravity. “I’m no fool, love.”

It’s all hitting you at once, in the same place you’re pressed — against the cool pane of the balcony door. It was all set up. Johnny pulled the entire night from the ether thanks to a man you hardly know. Captain John Price. You’d only ever thought of him as John — the friendly, albeit quiet man who showed up to parent-teacher meetings with stories in his eyes. Said little. Watched everything. A ghost in your mind until now — until Johnny pieced it all together with soldiers determination and an easy tongue.

Sat beside you at the bar. Didn’t come on too strong. Didn’t press or sound too rehearsed. Made it real easy to believe it was all a coincidence.

How foolish you had been to not see through the performance.

But now, the shows over — there’s no final act. No audience to entertain. The masks have come off, and you hear it. The sincerity in the way he says I’m no fool. Like it’s not just about last night but about tomorrow and the one after that. Like he’s telling you he’ll fight for you and he’ll mean it. That this isn’t just a night. That he doesn’t want it to be.

And you’re still reeling from it when your hands find the heat of his chest. Curling around his neck without ceremony, pulling him in the final inch.

He’s kissing you.

Not like he earned it, but like he means it — and you’re kissing him back, hard, moaning as his teeth find your bottom lip and tug. He pulls back before you’re ready for him to, and your head slumps back against the glass. Breathing. Trying to will the ground back into place beneath you as he traces your jawline with his thumb.

“What else,” you croak out as he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and exhales. “Do you know about me?”

He hums, pressing closer, hips pinning your ass to the glass as you drag your digits down his chest, tracing scars like braille.

“Enough,” he answers, fervent fingers dragging the fabric of his shirt up your hips, torso. “Enough te drive me insane.”

You feel the moment your heart stutters — mouth parted with nothing to fill it but a gasp as your bare ass is exposed against his glass balcony door — giving neighbours and street dwellers a goddamn good view should they be glimpsing up—

“Wait. J-johnny.” He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink as you catch his wrists, pleading for reason. “Your neighbours—“

“Donnae care.” He mutters, tugging the fabric up over your head. “Let the bloody bastards watch.”

You don’t want to know what sound slips from your throat at that, but you’re sure it’s some ugly, gorgeous thing. Torn somewhere between lust and indignity as he moves — one hand bracing against the glass beside your head while the other wrestles with the waistband of his sweats, shifting until you can feel him — hot, heavy, throbbing — pressing low against your stomach.

And maybe there’s a moment where you think you should tell him you can’t do this. Something because of the neighbours or the noise or the glass sticking to your back. But his hand finds your face, eyes flooding you like atlantic as he leans in to kiss you before lifting you up, legs curling around him— teasing with false thrusts, dragging his tip slow and sinful over your clit just to swallow the noises pulled from your throat. He doesn’t need words to silence your protest but manages all the same as you’re rocking against his shaft in tandem — one hand holding his lips to yours and the other gripping his back until you’re slick and half out of your goddamn mind with need.

And if you thought he’d be gentle — well.

He doesn’t ease you down. Doesn’t waste time. Just slides into you in one heavy thrust until you’re stretched to your edges and his name is caught on a sound you don’t recognize.

“Johnny! Ohf-fuck!”

He curses, teeth grazing your jaw, hips driving forward like he’s punishing you. Or maybe himself. Probably a little of both. Regardless, there’s nothing easy or soft about this — the kind of frenzied effort that takes you apart and leaves you hoping he’ll stitch you back together. Makes you realize you needed this — the pressure, the friction, the drive deeper into your belly with every excruciating inch as you choke on the sounds he’s drawing out.

You can’t control the pleasure that pours out of you, dripping like honey over his lips as you grip the back of his neck—

“Oh—f-fu—ohgod—“ you can’t find the right words, though you’re not even trying to anymore. It’s better than a dream. Better than last night when it was all alcohol and adrenaline. This is raw. Real. And you realize, through the fog, just how easy it was to get lost in him. To let yourself. Even with nothing but the sound of his voice and the skin on his back to hold onto. “J-johnny—fuckingdeep—yes—“

He sets a frantic pace, teeth sinking into his lip like he can taste the curses you’re whispering against it.

“S’good. S’tight, mmfuck.”

Feral. Best word to describe this. Gnawing you from the inside out, leaving your thighs quivering as you fight to hold onto him, back slicking against the glass as he buries himself so deep you can barely choke out an inhale.

“M’gonna—ohmygod—“

You’re going to cum. You can feel it in the way your belly knots and your thighs tense. His smile gets lost in the crook of your neck as he grunts — not daring to slow down or give you a moment to breathe. Instead, he just slips a hand around your throat, pinning your head back to glass that’s just as humid as you.

And when his eyes finally find yours, they’re a million shades darker than they were five minutes ago. All the blue eclipsed by dark, midnight hunger as he devours like you were served to him on a silver platter.

In some metaphorical way, you know you were.

“G’on. Make a mess of me, bonnie. Know ye need it.”

You want to look away. You can’t. Not when he squeezes your throat like you’re his. Not when he rocks deep and hard and your blood is singing for more. Your pulse thumps wildly and you wonder if he’s trying to slow it with his fingers as he tightens his hold.

And so you moan, because it’s all you can do — while the words you whimper as he thrusts hard enough to make you keen don’t sound like you. They sound like someone he owns.

“Ohfuck, Johnny—yesfuckyesyes—“

It hits you like the shatter of stained glass.

Your mouth falls open, soundless at first, a broken gasp caught somewhere between your throat and tongue. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the glass as you tremble, drowning in it, orgasm dragging you under like a rip current — teeth clenched, thighs shaking, fingernails digging so hard into Johnny’s shoulders you’ll leave marks. You want to leave marks.

“Christ, lass. Tha’s it. Tha’s fucken it, baby.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. He fucks you through it, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing your high to the end of the world — like your pleasure is the only map he’s following. You’re crying out now, helpless and shaking and soaked, clenching around him so tight it borders on painful — more for him, you think — as he grunts, one hand bruised into your hip and the other braced against the glass, eyes locked to yours as you fall apart for him.

“Tha’s it, bonnie—” his voice is wrecked, sweat dripping from his brow. “Jesus Christ, s’tight—fucken’ look at ye.”

And you do.

Your head falls forward, forehead against his, eyes burning with the kind of emotion you don’t dare name as you watch him drive in and out, slick coating everything flesh. You sob a noise against his mouth, some choked half-curse, and he swallows it with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and possession as his thrusts grow sloppy — rougher, more desperate, chasing his own breaking point.

“Can I—fuck—can I cum inside ye pretty cunt?” He pants, voice hoarse against your jaw. “Tell me no. Christ, I’ll pull out, jus’ say it—”

You don’t say it.

You just grab his face, kiss him hard, and whisper; “don’t you dare.”

That’s all it takes.

He groans — a guttural, broken sound — and slams into you once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you. Hips twitching, mouth open against your neck. And for a moment, the world goes still. Nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. The steam on the glass. The thrum of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes. Let yourself float. You don’t know what this is — but you know it wasn’t just a fuck. Not with the way he’s still holding you. Not with the way you’re already aching to let him do it all over again.

It’s a few moments before he pulls out. Another few before you find your head.

“Christ,” you breathe, rubbing your face as he fixes himself back to modesty. “I can’t believe I—”

You cut yourself off, because what’s the point. Johnny doesn’t move, just watches you with that maddening calm — sweat still cooling along his temple, chest rising and falling slow like he’s got nowhere better to be than right here. Looking down at you the same way he did when he sat beside you at the bar.

Like he’s well acquainted with the taste of your name.

“I told myself,” you try again, “that this was a one-night thing. Just a fuck. Then breakfast. Then I leave.”

His gaze never wavers. “So why didn’ye?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t make you sound like a fool. Until you give up caring.

“Maybe part of me still thinks you’re bluffing.”

“Bluffen,” he echos, leaning closer — eyes soft like snow. “Ye think I sat down beside ye at tha bar for just a fuck? You think I made ye breakfast just to be polite? Nah. I did it cause’ I already knew I wasnae’ about te let this be just once.”

You exhale — stepping back like you’re reclaiming ground, but the glass is at your back and his voice is in your blood now.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “This is mad.”

“Aye,” he agrees, extinguishing the space. “But I’m no’ lettin’ you bolt just ‘cause it scares ye.”

You blink at him. “And if I try?”

Lips at your temple, he grins.

“Go ahead. But ye best put all tha practice te good use, bonnie. Cause’ I’ll find ye.” His fingers trail up your side, electricity coursing. “And each time I’ll fuck ye harder than the last. Leave ye walkin’ funny and thinken’ of me every hour after.”

Those fingers pause, and you jolt, a shockwave behind the ribs as his words drive through you. It’s maddening and it’s sick — how fast reason betrays you. How fast you clench around nothing, aching like he’s made good on that promise. Like part of you wants to be hunted, dragged back by your hair and wrecked until all your rules blur into white noise.

It’s nonsensical. But all men before him were dull — a realization that makes your mouth dry. And all you can think about is the way his voice dragged over that sentence.

The way each time implies he’s already counted them.

“Quite the promise.” You reply.

He smiles all teeth and truce — and you know you’re already too far gone. He knows it too. Judging by the way he hums, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

And adds. “This wasnae’ chance. Wasnae’ luck. I came for ye because I meant te. And m’stayen’ for tha same reason.”

[gukcnt]

VELVET WAVES ⭒ JJK

“you’re my baby” he whispers, “my sweet girl. I’m fucking obsessed with you—your laugh, the way you blush and the way you say my name like it’s a goddam prayer”

pairing — husband dom!jungkook x wife sub!femreader

genre — established relationship, slice of life, domestic vibes, maldives vacation, married life, romance, smut, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, slowburn sex, emotional and possessive love and intimacy, he is literally so obsessed with her and loves spoiling her, oral sex (f. receiving), breast play, nipple play and sucking, breast worship, making out, hickies/marking, body worship, bruising, scratching, slight pain play, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, missionary position, several orgasms, pussy inspection, fingering, clit stimulation, cum swallowing, eating out, face sitting, face riding, tongue fucking, man handling, hair fisting, dirty talk, praise kink, rough and slow paced sex, emotional sex, overstimulation, crying from pleasure, softest aftercare

wc — 3.2k

m. list

────୨ৎ────

The private jet descended towards Maldives as you pressed your forehead against the window, fingers twisting your dress nervously. Jungkook, your husband of two years, beside you, his presence filling the space—broad shoulders and dark hair falling over his piercing dark eyes. He caught you being anxious and his gaze sharpened. He reached for your hand, calloused hand enveloping yours with a warmth that grounded you

“sweetheart” he murmured, voice deep, with that dominant edge, that always sent a shiver through you

“no worrying, this is our escape” his thumb lightly caressed your knuckles. You managed a small smile, cheeks warming as his eyes held yours in that intense way, like he can see everything going through your mind

۶ৎ

The air in Maldives was heavy with the smell of salt and a faint sweetness, sand feeling warm beneath your bare feet, the constant wave of the ocean a peaceful noise. Jungkook had went through every detail before you guys arrived here and booked a private villa. The villa was a masterpiece, polished floors and sleek furniture’s, glass revealed the beautiful view of the beach. The bed was wrapped in a thin curtain that swayed in motion with the breeze. You stood by the window; your body clad in a sundress, inhaling the fresh air. Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, chest solid against your back

“like it baby?” he whispered, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers brushed your hips with a possessive grip, claiming you. You nodded as you leaned against him, his presence and scent making you feel safe

“it feels so magical” you murmured softly, “its perfect ggukie”. He chuckled softly, a rumble that vibrated through you, so deep and rich

“only the best for my girl” his arms tightened around you, a promise—that expressed his fierce and tender love for you

۶ৎ

The first day of your vacation started. Breakfast was a feast of ripe mangoes, croissants and champagne. After breakfast you sat cross legged on a cushioned chair by the beach, enjoying the sun. Your hair was loose, swaying in the breeze. Jungkook watched you, his gaze heavy, watching the way your lips closed around a slice of papaya, the juice glistening on your lips and dripping on your chin. His eyes darkened, a silent hunger in them that made your pulse quicken.

After breakfast, he insisted to visit the resorts store with you. It was full of luxury, with expensive dresses and jewelry. You trailed your hands over a rack of gowns but hesitated at the price tags. Jungkook unbothered, selected a dress for you that clung to your curves, it was revealing enough with a low-cut neckline, making you blush. He also added shiny earrings, and an anklet made of seashell charms

“Jungkook, this is too much” you said, your voice small and unsure, “I don’t need all this”

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes narrowing as a frown etched his features. He stepped closer with his towering frame and cupped your cheek, tilting your face to meet his gaze, your heart thudding, lips parted

“sweetheart” he said firmly, voice laced with a warmth that dimmed this commanding tone

“I love spoiling you. Don’t ever take that from me” he rasped, his thumb brushed over your lower lip, your breath catching, his intense eyes made knees weak

“you are my wife, my baby. Let me show you how much you mean to me”

You nodded with a racing heart, your cheeks pinking and he lets out a hum of approval, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “good girl” he murmured, the words sending a tremor through you, an ache between your legs just from his words

By the time you left, your arms were heavy with bags and Jungkook’s smile was wide and satisfied, his hand rested on the small of your back, possessive and claiming, guiding you out of the store

۶ৎ

You both decided to swim, Jungkook made sure it was only the two of you in the secluded area, as always spoiling you. The sand felt warm and tingly under your feet, the water crystal clear. You had chosen a white flimsy bikini, and its fabric was thin and daring. You stepped onto the beach, feeling self-conscious because of how revealing it was. The top barely containing the swell of your soft full breasts, your nipples hardened against the damp fabric, their outline visible. The panty hinted at the shape of your pussy beneath. You tugged at the straps, your heart pounding. Even though there was no one in the beach expect Jungkook, you still felt a bit uncomfortable, not used to being this exposed but Jungkook’s reaction stopped you

His dark eyes scanned you from top to bottom, his jaw tightened, “fuck baby” he growled, closing the distance between you both with two long strides, his hands gripping your waist with a grip that made you shiver

“look at you… so fucking unreal” his fingers skimmed the sensitive skin of your cleavage, you gasped, the simple touch sending a spark straight to your core

“I’m so jealous of how this hugs your curve, when I should be the one doing it” he said lowly, your breasts rose and fell with pants from his words, his eyes locked on them, almost hypnotized

“your tits…” his thumb grazed your nipple through the fabric, you let out a gasp, arching into him. Your hand falling on his bare chest to steady yourself, your legs going weak

“and this” he continued, his hand sliding over your bare back, before he cups your pussy mound over the bikini. You gasped out his name with a tremble, “shows me exactly what’s mine”

“ggukie” you whispered your voice shaky with embarrassment, slick pooling between your legs. He smirked, leaning down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue tanging with yours, the taste of salt and him overwhelming you as you gripped onto his shoulder, breasts on his hard chest

“don’t hide sweetheart” he grunts against your mouth, he breathes hotly against your parted lips, “you are so fucking gorgeous and I wanna see all of you”

He carried you towards the beach, the water was cool and warm against your skin. Jungkook held you close, his arms strong and unyielding, legs wrapped around his waist as you floated together. The moment was peaceful, you both remained quiet, savoring the feel of each other intertwined underneath the water.

His hands soon started roaming all over your body, slipping beneath the water to cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples through the bikini, the wet fabric making the touch even more intense as you let out a soft “hah” in the air

“god I love how sensitive you are” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. He pinched your nipples gently, rolling them between his fingers and you cried out “ggukie!”

His eyes darkened at the breathy call of his name, your legs tightening around his waist. His cock hard and pressing against your stomach

“that’s it baby, let me hear you” your moans—were his obsession, the way you whimpered along with those gasps, and the pleas of his name that spilled from your lips, “fuck your noises... baby they drive me insane”

His words bring out yet another uncontrollable mewl from you, grounding against his swim trunks that held his erection, instinctively, earning a low growl from him

“keep that up sweetheart and we won’t make it back to the villa” he warned but his hands never stopped as if he wanted to see how far you can go, teasing your nipples until your body was trembling. Your head tipped back against his shoulder

۶ৎ

Back in the villa, the air was thick with desire. The scent of salt lingered on your skin, mingling with the scent of your arousal. His touches rough as he guided you to the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin

He stood before you shirtless, his muscles wet with a faint sheen of sweat, his eyes locked on yours, you looked at him, panting with a racing hear, the darkness of his gaze promising pleasure and so much more

“lie back, sweet girl” he commanded. You obeyed sinking into the plush blankets, your pulse wild. He knelt between your legs, hands spreading your thighs, he took off your panties and you gasped trying to close your legs, but he held you open, your strength nothing compared to him.

He gazed at your pussy, bare and glistening, the cool air brushed against your slick folds, making your clit throb. His intense gaze on your pussy, like he was inspecting you

“ggukie, please” you whined, your voice trembling, your thighs twitching, his fingers pressed against the soft flesh, his eyes glinted darkly wanting to worship you

“don’t hide this from me baby” he uttered lowly, voice laced with authority “you are fucking perfect”

His fingers traced your folds, his touch featherlight and you gasped, hips bucking “mhmm” your pussy was swollen and slick, the scent of your arousal made Jungkook snarl

“so wet, so goddamn beautiful” he murmured, his thumb brushing your clit, the contact sending a shock through you “ahhmm gosh” you panted, your hand gripping the sheets

“look at this pretty pussy, made just for me” his words made you squirm, your shyness fading due to the heat and need in your core. He slid a finger inside you, the penetration slow making you utter a shaky moan as your walls fluttered around him, warm and tight

“fuck, you are so tight” he groaned and added a second finger, the slight burn mixing with pleasure making you let out a desperate sob

“please ggukie” your breathless desperation made his jaw clench. He curled his fingers, stroking that spot deep inside, you arched off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat as you fisted the sheets

“that’s it sweetheart, let go” he said, his voice rough, his eyes remained locked on your face as he drinks in your every reaction and noise. Your pleasure fueling him almost like he was the one experiencing it. His free hand palmed his cock through his swim pants, the hardness almost painful, his knuckles whitened from how hard he gripped himself

“you’re so fucking sexy like this, falling apart for me” his fingers moved faster, in and out, slicked with your arousal, the wet sounds mingled with your cries

The intensity peaked when he pulled you onto his lap, guiding you to straddle his face. Your cheeks burned, the position exposing you completely, but his hands were impatient and demanding, pulling you down until your dripping pussy hovered over his mouth. The heat of his breath teasing your sodden clit causing you to let out a mewl

“sit baby” he ordered, his voice firm, and the command send a fresh wave of arousal through you, “I want to taste every fucking inch of you”

You lowered yourself with a trembling gasp and parted lips, his tongue flicked out licking the entirety of your pussy, crying out his name instantly, gripping the headboard for support. His groan vibrated through your pussy, the sensation making you shake

“fuck you taste like heaven” he growls, his hands gripping your hips, controlling your movements, encouraging you to move and grind harder on his tongue. He wants you to use his face, the way he wants you to. His tongue was relentless, lapping your folds, savoring the sweet taste of you

He teased your clit with quick flicks, your thighs quivering, your moans loud and unrestrained a keening “ohh nghh, ggukie” came out of your drooling mouth, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, making him growl against your pussy

“grind on me baby” he urged, his lips brushing your clit, “use my face like a good needy girl, fuck it”

You obeyed, your hips rolling and the friction of his tongue against your clit was overwhelming, each flick of this tongue sending you closer to the edge. He plunged his tongue inside you, thick and hot, fucking your cunt with slow deep thrust, his mouth consuming you almost entirely as he drinks from you like a starved man. Tears pricked your eyes, the pleasure too intense that it bordered on pain, a sob breaking free, your body shaking. His other hand stroked his cock, your movements and noises driving him wild with need

“god, you are so fucking perfect” his voice muffled in your pussy, his lips slick with you. He sucked your clit gently, you gasp, almost lifting off his mouth but his demanding hands didn’t let you move, not even an inch, his fingers bruising as he forced you to ride his tongue, “no more, it’s too much, ggukie”

He acted like he didn’t hear you, kept going until your vision blurred and the coil tightened in your stomach. When you came, it was with a wail, your pussy pulsing against his mouth, your arousal coating his lips. You trembled, supported by his hands as he continued lapping at your release drawing out pained gasps from you, his hands soothing your trembling thighs

Jungkook laid you back, his patience running out, barely giving you time to breathe. He freed his cock, the sight stealing your breath—thick, veined, head flushed with need and precum. You felt a fresh rush of arousal, your pussy clenching around nothing at the thought of him inside you.

He kissed you first, his lips soft and demanding, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. He trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone, suckinh gently leaving faint marks with the graze of his teeth. When he reached your breasts, he lingered, sucking your nipples until they were swollen and sensitive, each pull of his mouth and teeth drawing moans and whimpers from you, his cock twitched from your noises

“you are so fucking beautiful” he whispered, his voice thick with raw emotion, “my sweet girl, my everything”

He positioned himself between your legs, his cock brushing your entrance, the heat of it brushing your entrance, made you moan. Your hands clutched his shoulders, your hips bucking

“feel how much I want you” he growled, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, coating himself. The slick sounds pinking your cheeks as you looked away, panting with warm cheeks

“ggukie please” you begged desperately, and he smiled. He leaned down to kiss you again roughly, his tongue tangling with yours, a fight he always wins

He pushed himself inside you slowly, making you cry out his name, “ggukiee”

The stretch burned deliciously, his heavy and thick cock filling you inch by ich, the sensation was overwhelming. Your pussy fluttered around him, warm and tight as you take him inside you fully

“oh mm fuck” you moaned, your nails pressed on his back leaving red trails and he groaned, a low primal sound

“god I love that” he growled, his eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the delicious the sting of your scratches, “mark me baby, show me I’m yours”

He moved slowly with deep thrusts, the wet sounds of him fucking you filled the room, mingling with your breathy and whiny moans

“you feel like fucking heaven” he said roughly, gripping your hips, guiding you to meet his thrusts the way he wants to, making you feel like he is in control of your body as well, it made you even more aroused, if that was even possible. “so tight, so wet, all for me”

His dirty talk fueled your arousal more, you trembled and sharp “ohs” and “ahs” left your mouth with each thrust of his cock inside your pussy, his eyes remained on your face, memorizing all your reactions

“my perfect girl” his lips brushed your ear lobe, he bites it softly making you whimper, “you take my cock so well, like you were fucking made for it”

You sobbed, your back arching with your pussy clenching around him, being filled by him over and over again is pushing you closer

“that’s it baby, milk me, fuck” he grunts, his thrusts get faster and forceful, each one deep, he hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars

He worshiped your body like you were his goddess. He squeezed your bouncing breasts, his thumbs pinching your nipples until you were writing, the dual sensation too much for you. He left small marks all over your neck, marking you, while never stopping his relentless thrusts

Your sobs and moans grew louder and shaky, and it drove him wild, his cock twitching inside you. You both came together, your orgasm crashed through you hard, a wail tearing from your throat as you clung to him, sobbing, your nails digging into his skin. He grunts, filling you with spurts and spurts of his own release, his teeth biting your shoulder

“are you okay, my baby?” he asks, he gently pulls out of you, bringing you in his arms, you nod too tired to speak up, just enjoying his presence. Your pussy achy and throbbing, dripping with his release, but you felt so good

You rested on his chest, a small smile tucked on the corner of your lips; his heartbeat steady against your cheeks

۶ৎ

Aftercare has always been your favorite, with your husband. Jungkook cleaned you with a warm cloth gently, his touch felt soothing against your sensitive raw skin

The room was quiet, only the distant waves can be heard, and the sound of both of your breathing mingling together, the air still heavy with the smell of sex and salt. He kissed your forehead softly, lips lingering, your body tired but heart full

“Sweetheart” he hums, his voice soothing yet thick with emotion, “you’re my entire world you know that, don’t you?”

His fingers drew small patterns on your back, grounding you to him, his words making you shiver, “I would burn the whole world down to give you everything”

You whimpered at his words as you looked at him with glistening eyes, his love for you overwhelming, “ggukie you already give me everything”

“you make me feel so loved... so whole” you whispered, your own voice trembling with feeling

His eyes softened, a rare crack in his dominant facade, reserved just for you, he never lets anyone see him so vulnerable and open

“you’re my baby” he whispers, “my sweet girl. I’m fucking obsessed with you—your laugh, the way you blush and the way you say my name like it’s a goddam prayer”

He kissed you slow and deep, his lips hungry, proving all his devotion for you, “I will never stop wanting you, never stop needing you”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling overwhelmed, you traced the scratches you made on his back, your silent claim on him, “I love you” you murmured, breath fanning his chest, and he held you tighter, as if he never wants to let you go

۶ৎ

The next few days, the vacation passed like a dream neither one of you wanted to end, and it was filled with moments of comfort and connection. Each day brought something new—watching sunsets together, sharing dinners under night sky and small quite intimate moments. But that one night stood out the most, the sound of the waves in the background and the way he held you so completely, as if nothing else mattered. That moment forever etched into your heart, his love for you deeper than any ocean in the world.

[berryz-writes]

Maps

Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriels daughter finds his scars far more interesting than the map you're trying to show her, indirectly healing a part of Azriel he had left in the dark

Note: I had to make some last minute edits on my phone so the spacings and other things might be slightly off. OTHER THAN THAT, enjoy some more fluff <33

@azrielappreciationweek day 2

I spread the map of Prythian across the table, carefully smoothing out the edges so Alaiyah could see it. Her little hands gripped the tables edge as she leaned in, dark brown ringlets tumbling over her face, her dimples peeking out as she tried to focus.

Her hazel eyes—Azriel’s hazel eyes—peered down with intense focus, so much energy and curiosity in that tiny frame, and I felt my heart swell as I watched her.

“Look, Alaiyah,” I murmured, my finger tracing the spot where Velaris lay hidden in the mountains. “This is where we live. You remember the pretty lights at night, don’t you?” She tilted her head, scrunching her little nose in thought. For a moment, I thought she was captivated, her gaze roaming over the detailed lines of rivers and mountains. But then, she looked up at me, a spark in her eyes, a hint of mischief, and she shook her head, a dimple flashing in her cheek as she whispered, “Im going to daddy”

Before I could respond, she slipped down from her chair, her tiny bare feet padding softly across the floor to the bed where Azriel sat, watching us with that quiet, contemplative look of his. She clambered up with ease, settling herself into his lap with a confidence that had Azriel momentarily taken aback. His lips parted slightly, but he stayed still, watching her with that gentleness he only kept for her and me.

Alaiyah took his scarred, calloused hand between her own, her chubby fingers so tiny as they tried to span the length of his broad palm. Azriel’s whole body stilled as she traced each scar and line with careful fingers, her small brow furrowed as if this were a puzzle only she could solve.

“I like this map” she murmured with conviction, tracing a deep scar across the center of his palm. "This is the mountain" she said, tapping near his thumb, her voice soft but certain. “the river,” she added, running her finger along a thinner line on his wrist.

Azriel’s expression softened, as he allowed her to continue, his shadows curling closer around them as if forming a cocoon. He lowered his gaze, watching her with an intensity I hadn’t seen before—a quiet awe mixed with something raw and vulnerable.

Finally, Alaiyah looked up at him, a shy, dimpled smile lighting her face as she whispered, “This is my favorite place.” Azriel’s thumb brushed softly over her small hand, and he swallowed, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, as he pressed a kiss to her one cheek, then another.

He raised his gaze to meet mine, his eyes holding an unspoken gratitude, a love so deep it felt as if he’d let his very soul be opened up and laid bare.

And as Alaiyah nestled herself closer to his chest, her small fingers tracing his skin with reverence, I knew she’d shown him something he never thought he could find— a peace, within himself.

Azriel’s gaze lifted to mine, his eyes catching and holding mine with a warmth that sent a flutter through my chest. Without a word, he extended a wing, unfolding it slowly, curving around to make space for me beside him and Alaiyah. I moved quietly across the room, settling down against him as his wing wrapped around us both, a sheltering cocoon of warmth and protection.

Alaiyah, noticing I had joined the daughter and father duo, turned and leaned against me, curling her tiny fingers around mine as she nestled between us.

After a moment of silence Azriel leaned down, his voice soft as he spoke again. “Did you know,” he said, glancing between us, “this is my favorite place too?” I felt his words settle over us, a quiet, unspoken promise woven into the gentle hold of his wings and the warmth of his arms. I leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Alaiyah's giggle broke through "Silly daddy. I'm not a place"

Gods did I love her, I thought as Azriel’s laughter washed over me. How I wished I could capture this moment forever.

Note: pretty sure all the fics I've planned for az are fluff 😭 who cares he deserves it

[mephisto-reporting]

A Tender Respite

About: He needs to be cared for and you are more than willing to take care of him. But how would he react to it? Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are not in a relationship. But there is an implied mutual attraction between them My inbox is open for prompts and requests :) Content warning: mentions of injuries, blood, illnesses.

ZAYNE

As you walked with Zayne through the dimly lit garage, the air was thick with a mix of hospital antiseptic and the warmth of a long-awaited checkup. His calm demeanor had always been a source of comfort. Today, however, that tranquility shattered as a wanderer materialized from a swirling metaflux, its presence disorienting and threatening.

In a split second, Zayne pushed you aside, his body taking the brunt of the impact as he shielded a family of children who had wandered too close. You quickly jumped into the fight, disposing of the wanderer, as a skilled hunter would. The sound of a scuffle echoed in the enclosed space, followed by the sharp hiss of energy. You barely registered the chaos before everything fell silent.

When you finally gathered your bearings, Zayne was on the floor, grimacing in pain, cuts and bruises marring his skin. A deep gash ran across his forearm, blood trickling down and pooling at his wrist, and a bruise blossomed near his temple, dark and angry. Panic surged through you as you rushed to his side.

“Zayne! We need to get you to the hospital!” you urged, as you examined his injuries.

“No!” he replied, his voice steady despite the evident pain etched across his features. “Just… take me home. I can handle this.”

You shook your head, stubbornness flaring. “You’re not fine, Zayne. You need medical attention.”

“I’m not going back to that hospital!” he replied, equally stubborn but barely hiding the pain. With no other option, you helped him into your vehicle, his breathing labored as you drove him to his apartment.

When you finally pulled up, you helped him inside, gently guiding him to the couch. “Just sit,” you insisted, searching for his first aid kit. He attempted to protest, but you were already rummaging through the drawers, refusing to let him downplay his injuries.

“Really, it’s nothing—” he started, but you shot him a look that made him falter.

“Zayne, you’re a doctor. You know better than anyone that you need to take care of yourself.”

With a resigned nod, he settled back against the cushions, watching as you gathered supplies. You meticulously cleaned his wounds, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked. The antiseptic stung, and he winced slightly, but your focus didn’t waver. You had to take his shirt off to clean and disinfect wounds on his arm. He winced as you cleaned the gash on his forehead, your hands brushing against his skin, and he caught your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a longing, a softness that sent your heart racing. You quickly looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Just a little more to the left,” he instructed, his voice low and steady, though there was a tension lingering in the air. As you followed his instructions, you caught the way his gaze softened, an intensity in his expression that made your heart race.

“See? Not so bad, right?” you said, attempting to lighten the mood. Zayne chuckled softly, but the sound held a deeper resonance.

“You’re going to need to take a couple of days off work. No arguments.” you added, trying to keep your voice steady.

Zayne chuckled softly, despite the pain. “You’re rather stubborn, you know…” he teased, but there was warmth in his tone that made your cheeks heat.

“I’m just looking out for you,” you said, applying a fresh bandage. “Besides, you saved those kids. You deserve a break.”

As you finished, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing your wrist. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and earnest. “I don’t need you to care for me especially after an exhausting day as a hunter.”

“You do,” you insisted, your heart fluttering as you looked into his eyes. “More than you know.”

After you wrapped up his injuries, you insisted on making him food. He watched you from the couch, a quiet admiration in his gaze. You filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove for tea, stealing glances at him over your shoulder. Each time your eyes met, the air thickened with unspoken tension, a longing that danced just out of reach.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, stirring a pot of soup.

“Just… being here is enough,” he replied, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “But if you insist, I’d love some of your famous soup.”

As you set a steaming bowl in front of him, you poured tea and placed the painkillers beside it. “Here. You need to take these,” you said, watching as he took a sip of the tea, a hint of relief washing over his features.

“Thank you, for taking care of me... I feel bad that you have to...”

Before he could finish, you interrupted, your mind racing in blissful ignorance of his unspoken confession. “It’s just what friends do, Zayne.” you said with a bright smile, unaware of the way his gaze softened even further. “Plus, you have always been there for me, caring for me in ways more than one. ”

As he ate, you settled next to him on the couch, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You chatted easily, but the undercurrent of tension lingered. Zayne’s hand brushed against yours, and the contact sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not just my friend,” he said quietly, looking at you as if weighing his words carefully. The moment hung heavy, the air thick with words left unspoken. Instead, he took a sip of tea, his gaze softening even further. “I lo- ahem….appreciate you. More than you know.”

You smiled, oblivious to the confession that nearly slipped from his lips. “Just focus on healing. I’ll be here for you.” you assured, stealing another glance at his injuries. “Just promise me you’ll rest and take care of yourself, for me.”

“For you…I will promise anything you want me to.”

XAVIER

The night air hung thick with tension as you and Xavier maneuvered through the dimly lit streets, the flickering neon lights casting eerie shadows on the cracked pavement. The Hunters Association had assigned you to clear out a particularly troublesome area infested with Wanderers. As always, Xavier maintained his calm demeanor, his focus unwavering despite the palpable danger surrounding you.

You fought side by side, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you dispatched the menacing figures that loomed in the darkness. Xavier was a skilled partner, his movements precise and almost graceful, but during the fray, one particularly nasty Wanderer caught him off guard. You saw it in an instant—a swift strike that sent him stumbling back, a look of mild surprise gracing his otherwise stoic face.

“Xavier!” you shouted, but the battle was frenetic, and you couldn’t spare a moment to check on him. You pushed forward, a surge of determination fueling your every action until the last Wanderer fell, the night finally falling silent.

As you made your way back to the apartment complex you both called home, a creeping worry gnawed at your insides. You had fought fiercely, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t until you stepped into the elevator that you noticed it—a faint stain blooming on the sleeve of Xavier's shirt, dark against the fabric. “Xavier, you are hurt!” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you stepped closer.

He looked down, his neutral expression barely shifting as he shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he replied, but the faintness in his voice told another story. The elevator chimed, and you instinctively reached for his arm, tugging him towards your apartment.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” you insisted, not waiting for his reluctant agreement. He followed, fatigue evident in his steps, but you could tell he was trying to hide the pain.

Once inside, you guided him to the small bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest. “You need to sit down,” you said, gently urging him onto the edge of the bathtub. As you assessed his injuries, the sight made your stomach turn—a jagged cut on his forearm, bruises beginning to darken beneath his skin, and a small gash on his side that was still oozing blood.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you scolded gently, though your voice trembled with worry. He offered a sleepy smile, an endearing expression that made your heart flutter.

“Didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured, his tone a mix of sincerity and drowsiness.

You shook your head, grabbing the first aid kit and working quickly to clean his wounds. As you dabbed antiseptic on the cut, he flinched slightly, but his gaze remained locked on you, a warmth radiating from his usually neutral expression. The air was thick with tension, the proximity drawing you closer together as you worked. The way he looked at you, with that soft heat in his eyes, made your breath catch.

“Xavier…” you began, but he interrupted, his voice low and slightly slurred.

“You’re too kind,” he mumbled, leaning slightly into your touch as you bandaged his arm. “I—”

“Just stay still and rest.” you urged, focused on the task. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re patched up.”

His eyes fluttered, and he leaned back against the cool tile, clearly exhausted. “You make it hard to rest when you’re so close…” he murmured, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe you should stop being so dramatic,” you teased lightly, though your heart raced at his words. “You’re just tired.”

“Not dramatic… just…” He closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing evening out. “You make everything better.”

You felt your cheeks heat at the confession, but he was already drifting, his head dipping as he struggled to stay awake. “Xavier,” you nudged gently, concern lacing your voice. “You need to stay with me.”

He blinked, struggling against the pull of sleep. “I know… just want to be here… with you,” he mumbled, words slurring together.

You bit your lip, a mix of emotions swelling in your chest. “You can rest on my bed,” you suggested, already guiding him gently towards the bedroom. Xavier’s expression shifted slightly as he let you guide him. He didn’t argue, too exhausted to resist, and he settled onto the bed, his body sinking into the soft comfort. He looked so pale and vulnerable, and your heart ached at the sight. You took a moment to admire him—his features relaxed, the way his hair fell slightly over his eyes, giving him an almost ethereal look.

“Stay with me,” he said sleepily, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course,” you replied softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, the tension crackling in the air between you. “I’ll be right here.”

As he closed his eyes, a soft smile graced his lips, and you couldn’t help but reach out, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “You really need to take better care of yourself, Xavier,” you chided gently, your fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Mmm… you take care of me,” he mumbled, his breath evening out. “I’m grateful… more than you know…”

His voice trailed off, and you watched as he succumbed to sleep, the softness of his expression stealing your breath. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of confessing something deeper, but as you leaned back, your heart swelled with warmth and affection for the boy who had captured your attention.

Xavier stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a moment. “You’re still here,” he said, his voice a low rasp, filled with sleepiness and an undercurrent of something deeper.

“Of course,” you replied softly, a smile playing on your lips. “I wouldn’t leave you alone like this.”

“Good... I like it when you’re here,” he mumbled, his words heavy with the weight of his drowsiness, as he settled back into the pillows, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Just get some sleep, Xavier,” you said, brushing your fingers along his arm in a comforting gesture. “You need it.”

“Thank you. ”  

“I’ll always be here for you, Xavier. ”

SYLUS

The N109 Zone was bustling with its usual chaos, but something felt off today. You had been out on a mission with Sylus, but he wasn’t himself. His usual commanding presence had faded, replaced by a weariness that settled deep in his bones. The usual gleam in his eyes was dulled, and his voice came out raspy, each word struggling to find its way through a thick fog of fatigue.

“Sylus,” you began, your concern bubbling up. “What’s going on? You don’t look well.”

He started to respond, his expression twisting into something like annoyance mixed with exhaustion, but before he could say anything, you reached out instinctively, placing a palm against his forehead. Your breath caught as you felt the heat radiating from him. He was burning up. You had seen Sylus heal from injuries in the blink of an eye, his body almost otherworldly in its resilience. You had never considered that he could fall sick.

“Sylus, you’re burning up!” You didn’t wait for his protests. You quickly grabbed his arm and tugged him toward your bike. He stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, a clear sign of how unwell he was feeling.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he rasped, but there was no fire behind his words. He seemed more like a wounded animal than the powerful figure you were used to.

As you drove toward the Onychinus base, you could feel the tension in the air, thick with concern. Sylus leaned against you, his presence warm and heavy, and you felt a swell of protectiveness surge through you. You parked and guided him inside, taking him straight to his room. He collapsed onto the bed, and you wasted no time in removing his shoes and jacket, revealing the fine fabric of his shirt, clinging slightly to his skin.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, moving quickly to gather supplies. But as you turned to leave, a sudden force held you back. You looked down to see Sylus using his Evol to grasp your wrist.

“Careful now,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice despite his fatigue. “If you’ve imprisoned me to the bed, you should at least guard your prisoner.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable, Sylus. Just rest!”

“Stay…” His voice was soft, almost as if he was pleading. “Ask Luke and Kieran to get whatever you want to torture me with.”

As you called out to Luke and Kieran for help, you felt your heart racing—not just from worry, but from the strange thrill of being so close to him, sharing this moment of vulnerability. They returned quickly with  washcloths, cool water, some medicines, and a light meal. You settled back by his side, ready to care for him.

First, you soaked one of the washcloths in cool water, wringing it out before gently placing it against his forehead. He sighed softly at the touch, a breathy noise that stirred something deep within you. You could see the tension in his shoulders release just a little as you wiped the cool fabric across his skin.

“You’re too soft, you know,” he teased lightly, even as his voice cracked. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me your captive forever?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “Just hold still, you stubborn man.”

The second washcloth found its way to his neck and chest, gently wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin. His breath hitched at your touch, a mix of softness and teasing glinting in his dull eyes. “If you keep touching me like that, I might get the wrong idea, Sweetie.”

You scolded him, “You’re lucky I’m doing this at all. Just try to relax, would you?”

“You know,” he murmured, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, “if you wanted to see me without my shirt, you could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, shut it,” you laughed, but your heart raced as you continued to care for him, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both like a blanket.

Once you felt you had brought his temperature down a little, you shifted to the light meal. You filled a bowl with soup, bringing a spoonful of it to his lips. “Here, eat this. You need your strength.”

“Quite the hero, aren’t you?” His tone was playful, yet the weariness in his eyes held a vulnerability that made your heart ache. “How am I supposed to recover when my captor is so distracting?”

“Just focus on getting better,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Or do you need more than just soup to heal?”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and inviting. “I could think of a few things…”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced at his words, quickly serving him the soup. You brought the spoon to his lips again, wiping away a bit that dribbled onto his chin. As your fingers brushed against his lips, he pressed a soft kiss against your fingers, and your breath hitched.

In a brief lull, he leaned closer, his eyes heavy with sleep. “You know, if you keep taking care of me like this, I might start to think you actually care, Kitten…” he murmured, his gaze searching yours.

“I care about you not dying.” you replied, but the playful banter hung thick in the air. Just as he was about to say something more, Mephisto’s cawed from the corner, breaking the spell of the moment.

“Of course, he has to ruin the moment…” Sylus grumbled under his breath. With a frustrated sigh, Sylus fell back against the pillows, exhaustion pulling him under. But he reached out, grasping your hand tightly, as if afraid to let go. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft breath escaping his lips. You could feel his warmth seep into your skin, and your heart raced at the weight of his hand in yours.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, “you might just be my best guard.”

“Just rest,” you whispered, leaning closer, your heart full of unspoken feelings. “I’ll be right here.”

RAFAYEL

In the dim light of Rafayel's apartment, you stepped inside, immediately greeted by the mess that was his usual chaos—clothes scattered everywhere, art supplies on all over the floor, discarded wrappers from snacks he claimed he’d eat later, and an array of colorful plush toys piled in the corner, remnants of his last obsession with claw machines. You had come over expecting the usual antics, only to be taken aback by the sight of him.

The usually flamboyant and self-assured Rafayel was sprawled out on his couch, looking less like the charming rogue you knew and more like a wounded kitten. His vibrant blue-pink eyes were dimmed, and his usually immaculate hair was a messy halo around his head. Bruises marred his skin, and cuts adorned his arms and torso like unwelcome accessories. He had always been so dramatic about even the smallest of injuries, but this—this was different. He did not even call you or tell you that he was injured.

“Rafayel! What happened?” you exclaimed, rushing to his side.

He attempted a nonchalant shrug, but the wince that crossed his face betrayed him. “Oh, you know… just fought one of those monsters you love,” he said, trying to play it off with a dramatic flair. The corner of his lips quirked upward, but his bravado fell flat under your scrutinizing gaze.

You narrowed your eyes. Only he would be so dramatic about cats.

His smirk widened, but you could see the discomfort hidden behind his playful demeanor. You knew those injuries weren’t from any cat; they spoke of a far more serious confrontation. “Come on, spill it. I know you’re not getting beat up by a bunch of kittens.”

He looked away, feigning interest in the ceiling, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Alright, if you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to help you anyway.”

Without waiting for his protest, you gathered supplies—a clean cloth, antiseptic, creams, and bandages.

As you began to clean his wounds, the atmosphere shifted. Your fingers grazed his skin gently, applying antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on his arm. He flinched slightly at the sting, but his expression was one of mock indignation rather than pain. “You’re lucky I tolerate your hovering,” he teased, but his voice held a softness that revealed how much he appreciated your presence. “Careful there,” he quipped, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched you work. “That feels almost... intimate.”

“Right, because who else would pamper you like this?” you quipped back, focusing intently on his injuries to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

“I can think of a few—” he began, his tone flirtatious as his blue-pink eyes sparkled with mischief. “But they wouldn’t be as gentle as you.”

You rolled your eyes, focusing on applying the antiseptic. “Oh, please. You’re being dramatic as usual. Just try to stay still, okay?”

“Staying still while you’re this close? That’s asking for a miracle,” he shot back, his voice breathy and playful. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curled into a teasing smile as you bandaged his arm.

With each careful swipe, your fingers brushed against his skin, and you could feel his pulse quicken. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and every moment spent so close felt charged with something you both pretended not to acknowledge. He leaned into your touch, his bravado melting away, replaced by a softness that made your heart flutter.

“Is this necessary? I mean, really? I think I could manage just fine with a little kiss, Miss Bodyguard.” he quipped, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe if you were more careful, you wouldn’t need any of this.” You gently pressed a bandage over the cut, and he feigned a pained sigh, leaning into your touch a bit too dramatically.

“Alright, all done. You should really rest now,” you said, glancing around at the chaos that was his living space. “And I’ll handle everything else.”

“Are you sure you can handle all of this?” he asked, his voice suddenly more serious, a hint of vulnerability shining through. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please, I can handle your drama,” you replied, smirking. “Just try to rest, and I’ll clean this place up too.”

As you turned to gather the supplies, Rafayel pulled you back towards him with surprising strength, his gaze locking onto yours. “Hey… Not yet, don’t move from here…” he murmured, an intensity behind his words that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Just make sure I’m really alright. You’ve stirred something within me, you know.”

You felt your cheeks heat as you looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity. There was something about the way he spoke that hinted at more than just friendship. Just as it seemed he might confess, his gaze faltered, and the moment slipped away. “Rafayel... what...”

“Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to keep you here a bit longer from redesigning my place.” he added, a playful smirk returning to his lips as he attempted to deflect the moment with his typical charm.

You huffed, half annoyed and half flustered. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible? More like irreplacable.” he shot back, winking as you turned away to hide your blush.

You sighed, shaking your head as you picked up a few stray items around the room.

“I’ll just... rest my eyes for a moment,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he finally succumbed to sleep.

The way he had said that stirred something inside you—a mixture of warmth and anticipation. But as you moved to leave, Rafayel’s voice stopped you again.

“Hey,” he said softly, and when you turned back to look at him, his expression was earnest, a flicker of something deeper visible in his eyes. “Promise you’ll be here to check on me later?” You could see the exhaustion tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course, I will.”

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated! If anyone wants to be on the taglist for my future stuff, let me know :D

[grenadehearts]

get undressed, and bare yourself, for my eyes only.

warnings: wlw, gender swapped katsuki, smut, overstimulation, oral reader!receiving, top!katsuki, praise, thigh r!ding, finger svcking, fvcking infront of a mirror. masterlist link. not proofread.

authors note: this is not my best work been going through a slump rn, but had to get smth out for fem!katsuki since shes been taking up my mind baddd. reblogs + likes are much appreciated! word count 2k.

Thinking about fem!Katsuki, who absolutely hates the outfits you wear—not because they’re ugly, but because they’re inconvenient as hell. And she knows what’s coming, like clockwork: your sweet little voice drawing out a syrupy “babyyyy,” bottom lip jutted out in that way that makes her pussy ache, drives her wild, makes her wanna fuck you till you forget what your pretty mouth was even complaining about.

Maybe then you'll finally learn not to dress like that when you know it’s gonna be a whole thing.

Like earlier today when you insisted on doing a full beat before a hike. She watched, arms crossed, grumbling from the bathroom counter while you overlined your cupid’s bow and flicked your eyeliner just right. Your face already so damn pretty—and you’re still adding more.

She’d never admit it out loud, but she loves watching you do your makeup. Thinks you look so damn pretty, loves how focused you get, the steady hand when you do eyeliner, the cute face scrunch you do—it all makes her weak. But that doesn’t stop her from being a brat about it. She leans forward, grabs your chin, and plants a messy, tongue-filled kiss right onto your freshly glossed lips—then pulls back laughing as you gasp and swat at her.

“I did tell ya. Ain’t no point doin’ your makeup,”

“You don't need all that. Hot as fuck out, ya just gonna complain.”

Then when you walked out in a pretty light pink baby tee and mini shorts—

She had narrowed her eyes, scanning your bustful figure, then she scoffed, “Ya gonna regret that choice, baby.”

And what happened five minutes into the hike?

Exactly what she predicted.

You stumbled into a branch, fell into a patch of dirt, and let out that familiar whiny little whimper, “Sukiiiii…”

She sighed hard, boots crunching on the forest floor as she turned around, crouching beside you with a cocked brow. Her spiky blonde hair shifted with the movement.

“What’s the magic word?” she asked, voice full of smug amusement.

You glared.

She grinned. “C’mon. Use that pretty mouth—I know that tongue of yours works.”

You grumbled under your breath, cheeks flaming red. “You were right.”

“Atta girl,” she smirked before effortlessly scooping you up over her shoulder, hand patting your ass and dusting the leaves off all while doing so.

“Hmph. You don’t have to carry me like this!” you grumble in annoyance.

“And you don’t gotta be a pain in my ass, but you are,” she grumbled.

Annoyed, you bit her shoulder.

“Ow—brat.” She adjusted you with a huff, now carrying you bridal-style. “There. Better, you idiot?”

“So damn annoying…” she muttered, but yet her hold never faltered.

Back at the car, she set you in the passenger seat and knelt down between your legs, hands caging you in on either side as she reached into the backseat for the spare bag. She pulled out one of your comfier shirts and a pair of her basketball shorts—ones that hung low on your hips, just the way she hated everyone else seeing.

She held them up with a cocky grin. “Alright, princess. Lift up.”

You raised your arms, rambling on about how you “didn’t think you’d actually fall” and “it wasn’t that deep,” while she dressed you with gentle ease, no roughness apparent.

“S’fine. I gotcha.”

When you were done, you started pouting again, facial features crumbling like a kicked dog, as you whined, “I look ugly now.”

Her expression softened—eyebrows furrowed as she leaned in close, lips ghosting over yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath.

So close that if you were to exhale, your lips would touch.

“Dummy,” she muttered, flicking your forehead, then tugged you up by the waist. “C’mon. Let’s finish the hike.”

Yeah, she hated the inconvenience of your outfits. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love taking them off your pretty body.

Especially tonight.

Fresh from your shower, skin still dewy, you came out wearing a black dress, delicate lace adorning your chest, those thigh highs riding down just enough to tease the skin she loved biting. Sitting there, all done up and perfect.

She didn’t even let you leave the bathroom.

Before you could blink, she had you cornered against the bathroom counter, hands gripping your thighs.

“Ya look so fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?” she growled, nipping at the skin of your neck as her tongue swirled soothing circles over them. You giggled, soft and warm, the sound echoing inside her chest, turning her insides into goopy mush.

Your fingers ghosted up to brush the scar that bloomed over her cheek, admiring her flushed face and heavy eyes.

“You’re so pretty, Suki. My pretty baby.”

She groaned, burying her face in your neck, hands creeping up under your dress. “Stop sayin’ dumb shit like that.”

Normally, you’d argue. Lecture her about how it wasn’t dumb. But instead, you kissed her—letting her know with soft kisses, that you meant every word you said.

And that kiss turned into you sprawled out on the plush bed you both shared, dress hitched up, lace panties askew, while she hovered above—her baggy jeans and worn-out skull tee blocking your view from bare skin.

“Mph—off,” you mumbled, wriggling beneath her as you tugged at her shirt.

She caught your hands, and lifted the shirt off with a roll of her eyes—exposing her soft, milky breasts with hardened pink buds, Calvin Klein waistband peeking above her jeans before those, too, hit the floor. She climbed back over you, lips crashing to yours, one hand gripping your thigh and slowly inching up.

“Told you,” she murmured against your skin. “Told you not to wear that.”

“Suki,” you whined. “Not right now…”

“Nah.” She bunched your dress up to your breasts, kissing along your belly. “Lemme finish.”

Her lips pressed lower, mouth hot and wet against your skin. You squirmed and gasped, full of need—she looked up through her lashes, pupils blown wide, lips pouty and red, face flushed.

She looked cruel in the amber glow of your bedroom, sun slipping behind the clouds.

“Don’t ever stop wearin’ that stupid shit,” she muttered between kisses. “Fuckin’ love it on ya. Love takin’ it off ya.”

Then she nipped at your thigh and you let out a breathy yelp, fingers tangling in the sheets as your hips bucked.

“Don’t stop,” she rasped out again, against the skin of your thighs.

She trailed lower, one hand sprawling your thighs apart, leaving your glistening pussy pink and pretty for her eyes. She hiked your legs over her shoulders, her lips curling into a cruel smirk only adding to the pool of wetness between your legs, as she cursed low and raspy under her breath, her hands grabbing your dress and pulling it off your body with need.

“Wanna see those pretty tits bounce when I get you screaming,” she growled, crawling back down and positioning herself between your legs. “You’re fucking soaked for me, huh?” Her voice was rough with desire. “Such a needy girl.”

She moved back down, settling between your legs, breath ghosting over your soaked core.

“So wet for me already,” she murmured, lips brushing slightly against your folds.

She lowered her head fully, her tongue swiping through your slick folds, muffling more curses and praise as she devoured you like she could never get enough. Her hands gripped your thighs, keeping you still as your hips bucked into her face, desperate for more.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” she muttered against your core, her tongue diving deeper as her eyes locked on yours, filled with hunger. “Can’t get enough of this sweet pussy.”

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging her closer, and you gasped, “Suki—more, please, fuck, please, more…”

She sucked your clit hard, making your thighs tremble. You were unraveling, breaths choked out between whimpers and gasps. But she didn’t let you release—not yet.

“Beg,” she growled, lips brushing your soaked cunt. “Come on, baby. Wanna hear you really beg for it.”

You whimpered, grinding against her mouth, voice fractured and incoherent. Your body squirmed, overwhelmed. And then—she stopped.

Abruptly.

She crawled up your body in a haze of heat, her chain dragging cool metal over your fevered skin. You shivered. Her hand caught your jaw and guided your mouth open, slipping her thumb past your lips.

“Missed you,” she whispered, before kissing you hard, biting your bottom lip until you tasted iron and her spit and yourself.

Her mouth dragged lower, teeth scraping your collarbone, tongue swirling over your nipple until it puckered. Then she latched on, sucking until your back arched off the bed.

“Suki—f-feels so good—fuck—”

You moaned, clutching her hair tighter, grinding your cunt into her stomach. Her mouth wet on your breast.

Quickly She moved back down, to your needy, sopping pussy, and you spread your folds eagerly. “Look at you, so fucking perfect,” she growled. “Gonna ruin you again, don’t worry.”

You moaned in response, your body already trembling as she dove back in, her tongue flicking and thrusting into you with wild abandon. “Fuck, Suki…” you gasped, gripping her hair tighter, feeling the tension build inside you.

“Fuck—can’t take this,” she moaned into your cunt as you came, crying out, your slick coating her mouth. She didn’t stop. She licked you clean like it was worship, like she was starving for you.

“So fuckin’ ruined for me. Just how I like you.”

She lifted you easily, fingers digging into the fat of your ass, and set you onto her thigh. Her eyes burned with want.

“Ride me, princess. Wanna see you make a mess all over me.”

You whined, exhaustion creeping in your bones. overstimulated with tears welling in your eyes.

“Suki, please—wanna feel you inside me.”

You reached for her hand, guiding it down, but she pulled away with a slight turn of her lips, slipping those fingers into your mouth instead.

“Suck.” she demanded, and you obeyed eagerly. Which shut you up. As you You begin grinding against her thigh, your wetness smearing on her skin with every rub. Her fingers dug into your hips as she groaned, head tipping back.

“Fuck, baby… just like that.”

She brushed your hair from your face, her palm warm and soft against your cheek.

“My pretty girl,” she rasped, eyes locked on your flushed, needy face. “So fuckin’ pretty. Don’t ever say otherwise, you hear me?”

She smacked your ass, making you yelp and ride her harder, breasts bouncing with every desperate roll of your hips.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous—can’t take it—gonna show you just how pretty you are.”

You whimpered, clinging to her, exhausted and full of need for her fingers in your pussy.

Then she hoisted you again, muscles rippling as she carried you in front of the mirror.

settling behind you, your back to her chest, her slick pussy pressed against your ass. Her arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you open and on display.

Her fingers trailed slowly down your front.

“Look at you. Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are.”

She kissed your neck, teeth nipping your skin with feverish bites, and whispered,

“Say it. Say you’re pretty. I wanna hear you.”

You turned your head shyly, voice muffled in her neck, cheeks burning.

“I’m so pretty…”

“Again.” Her voice was rough, her fingers hovering just at your soaked entrance, teasing.

“Pretty. Pretty. Pretty,” you repeated, breathless.

Then she plunged two fingers inside you, curling them just right.

“Good girl." Her praise sent a rush of heat straight through you, your mouth falling open as you tried to ride her hand.

She added another finger, fucking you hard and fast, your wetness slicking her knuckles. Your head fell back against her shoulder as you came, pussy spasming around her fingers.

She pulled them out with a wet pop, sucking them clean.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” She rasped out around her fingers, licking your sweetness clean off them.

She turned you around to face her, sitting you in her lap, fingers still glistening with your cum.

“Taste yourself, princess,” she cooed, sliding them into your mouth. Watching the saliva drip from the corners of your lips, as you sucked on her cum coated fingers.

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