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gutsby · 3 months

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Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

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fatecantstopme · 4 months

Text

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: You overhear Dean say some hurtful things about you to Sam and decide you need to change, much to Dean's dismay.

Warnings: cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, body issues/esteem issues, past trauma, illusions to eating disorders and sexual assault. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes, dirty talk.

You didn't like to think about your life before the Winchesters. Most of the time, it was easier to pretend you didn't have a past--no dark and morbid history to share, no pain and trauma still lingering deep within you.

Sam and Dean were the only ones you'd felt comfortable opening up to, and even that took years. Life had not been kind to you, and the scars on your body and in your mind were the proof.

Eight years ago, your hellish life took a turn for the better, but only after you almost lost it. You'd been walking home after a late night filled with bad decisions, when you were attacked. The man was fast, vicious, and cruel--taking what he wanted from you and leaving you for dead.

As fate would have it, the Winchester brothers were in town hunting a nest of vampires, and had been prowling around downtown waiting for one to make an appearance.

It was Dean who heard your screams, your cries for help, your sobs. It was Dean who came running into the dark alleyway without a thought for his own well-being. It was Dean who dropped to his knees beside your beaten and broken body...who took his jacket off and draped it over you to cover your mostly exposed form. It was Dean who gently scooped you into his arms and carried you to his car...and it was Dean that stood beside your hospital bed until you opened your eyes again.

Sam had eventually tracked down the man who had attacked you. It turned out, he had attacked several other women in the downtown area over the previous few months. Dean had been surprised to discover the man was just that--a man. Not a shapeshifter, a ghoul, a demon...not a vampire or a werewolf...just a man. His status as a human did not, however, make him any more safe from your avenging savior.

You'd never asked Dean exactly what had happened to your attacker, and he'd never talked about it. All you knew was he would never hurt anyone ever again.

It was unlike Dean to trust a stranger, and certainly out of character for him to confide in one, but there was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit in you, someone who could understand him in a way even his brother couldn't.

Once you were on the mend, Dean made you an offer--one you were thankful you didn't refuse. You joined the brothers on their adventures--saving people, hunting things, the whole nine yards.

Overtime, you had become an integral part of their small family unit. Either brother would have died for you and you for them. There had been more than one close call for each of you over the past eight years, and more than one monster brutally slain to protect you.

You were closer in age to Sam, only a year younger than him, but Dean had always been the one you were closer to. Just as Dean had seen a kindred spirit in you, you had seen one in him. He understood you, he respected you, and he cared about you more deeply than anyone in your life ever had.

In the long years you'd spent in their constant company, you'd begun to change. The darkness that lived inside you seemed to fade, as if being near the Winchesters brought a light into your life you didn't know you needed. The mental scars you'd carried began to heal, even if the ones on your skin would always be visible.

There were still days where the darkness would rise within you, dark thoughts rolling through your mind, bringing you to your knees with a pain you could never describe. There were days when you would look in the mirror and hate the reflection gazing back at you--seeing the girl you had once been instead of the woman you now were.

There were moments when you'd forget all the progress you'd made, mind focusing instead on all of your flaws, all of your failures. The worst part was many of them lived only in your mind--you knew no one but you could see them, but that didn't make them any less real to you.

Lately, you had been struggling with self-esteem issues you'd long since buried. You'd thought you'd come to terms with who you were and what you looked like--accepted the body you had. Weight had been a struggle for you your entire life, and for a long time, you turned to terrible habits in order to lose weight and attempt to keep it off.

Those habits had ended eight years ago, but the issues they'd covered did not. Today was one of the bad days. One of the days you stared in the mirror and hated the image you saw--the softness, the curves, the fat. That was the word that kept repeating in your mind, fat, fat, fat.

You tried desperately to block it out, to remember why you loved your body just as it was, but those thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. The darkness inside you was too much to battle, the pain of hating yourself too much to cope with.

You'd been thankful for the bunker the day the three of you had discovered it, but you were even more grateful on days like today. Days you wanted to spend holed up in your room, refusing to face the outside world.

As much as you wanted to lay in bed for the entire day, your grumbling stomach soon became too much to ignore. You knew you needed to eat--there could be no more starving yourself, no more binging and purging--you needed to eat.

You dragged yourself out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before cautiously opening your bedroom door. You listened for the sounds of either brother moving around. Upon hearing none, you made your way slowly towards the kitchen, intent on making yourself a sandwich and retreating to the safety of your room.

Just before you rounded the corner to head into the kitchen, you heard Dean's low voice rumbling from inside. You froze in place, pressing yourself against the wall, not wanting to be seen or heard. You fully intended to creep back to your room--you really did--but the sound of your name leaving Dean's lips held you in place.

"(Y/N)'s not strong enough," Dean hissed. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry, very angry.

"Oh come on," Sam snapped. "She's been doing this for eight years. She's more than capable."

"Are you insane? I mean, really and truly crazy? She'll get herself killed!" Dean's voice had risen in volume and you heard Sam shush him quietly.

"Don't wake her up," Sam chided.

You heard Dean's annoyed sigh and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. You knew what they were fighting about. You and Sam had a conversation a couple days ago about you hunting on your own. You'd asked for his thoughts and Sam had been honest and supportive. He said you were more than capable of hunting on your own, should he or Dean not be available to go with you. Your hunting skills were certainly not on their level, but if the case was simple enough, you would be fine.

Clearly Dean did not agree with his brother's assessment of your abilities. "She's not strong enough, or fast enough, or physically prepared to hunt on her own. She's just not, okay? She's different from us...she's not built like we are."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering aloud, Dean's words having cut straight through you like a hot knife. You blinked back your tears as you moved as quickly as possible back to your room without making noise.

Dean's words repeated on a loop inside your head, echoing your own darkest thoughts about yourself. Even Dean thought you were too fat, too weak, too useless to do anything on your own. You realized he likely only allowed you to hunt with him because he felt sorry for you--a pitying friendship you didn't ask for.

Despite the irrationality of your thoughts, you could not escape them. You couldn't fight them off, either because you didn't have the strength or because you were afraid they were right. Your mind once again played tricks on you, dragging you down into the darkness--but this time you succumbed, allowing your own tears to drag you into a nightmare fueled sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Dean's conversation had continued in the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed your presence, both too upset with the other to focus on anything else.

"Look, (Y/N) is my best friend. Other than you, she's my favorite person...hell, I like her more than you sometimes," Dean confessed. "I just--I don't want to lose her. If we let her go out there without backup and something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. I'd rather her never hunt at all, but I think she'd kill me if I told her to sit out on a fight just because I'm terrified of her dying."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he regarded his brother. Dean was not known for his vulnerability, nor for sharing any of his deeper emotions, but Sam could see something simmering just beneath the surface--some emotion beyond rage and fear lurked in his brother's green eyes.

"What are you really saying, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at the floor for a long moment before answering. "When we met (Y/N), I was instantly drawn to her--like a moth to flame. I don't know what it was, but I felt connected to her in a way I'd never felt before. That feeling has only grown in the past eight years and now I can't imagine living life without her. I don't want to imagine it. A world without (Y/N) in it isn't a world I want to exist in."

Sam exhaled slowly, realization crossing his features. It was rare for Dean to care for someone so deeply, but when he did, he became irrationally protective. Sam was painfully familiar with that particular side of his brother's nature. He also knew what it meant, what Dean was really saying--even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

"You should talk to (Y/N)," Sam urged. "Both about how you feel, and about why you don't want her to hunt alone."

"What do you mean, 'how I feel'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know exactly what I mean." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out the door, claiming a need to workout.

Dean watched Sam walk away, and a feeling of mild terror settled into his bones. He'd come very close to admitting how he really felt about you and it scared him. Hell, his feelings scared him. The fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love was bad enough, but the fact that you were the one who'd stolen his heart made it so much worse.

He'd told himself he would never fall in love, never get married, never settle down--this life wasn't conducive to any sort of domestic bliss. Part of him didn't think he deserved that kind of happiness, but the main issue was the danger of loving you so deeply. He knew the risks, knew how it would turn out--bloody, like it always did.

In his mind, the only way he could keep you safe was to pretend all he felt for you was platonic friendship. He could protect you on hunts and his guard would never be down around you, so he could protect you in every way. He'd seen how far you'd come, how strong you now were, and there was no way he would be the reason the world lost your beautiful soul.

No one could ever know the truth, not even Sam. The only way this didn't end bloody was if you never even suspected Dean loved you. No monster would be able to use his love for you against you, no monster would ever hurt you just to get to him. For you, for your safety, he was willing to break his own heart.

**********

It had been three days since you'd overheard the conversation between Sam and Dean. The first two days, you'd remained secluded in your room, claiming a migraine any time either of the boys came to check on you.

This morning, however, you'd woken up with a goal. You showered, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. As you were fixing yourself some breakfast, you heard someone enter the room.

"You're up early," Sam said warmly.

You turned to glance at him with a soft smile. "I wanted to get a head start on the day."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You're feeling better, I take it."

You nodded. "Yeah, that headache was brutal." You felt bad for lying, but it was easier to fein a migraine than it was to admit what you'd overheard and the dark thoughts you'd been plagued with.

"Well, I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said cheerfully. "Any chance I could entice you to come with me?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Not unless someone's chasing me."

He chuckled and ducked out of the kitchen, taking a bottle of water with him. Sam always asked if you wanted to join him on his morning runs, but he knew you were unlikely to ever agree. You hated running almost as much as Dean did.

You ate your breakfast quietly, contemplating your plans for the day. You had decided to start a new routine today, a routine you intended to continue until you felt better about yourself or until you could get Dean's words out of your head, whichever came first.

After breakfast, you went into the library to do some reading, intending to allow your stomach time to digest your food. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, but Sam had returned from his run, showered, and was now eating his breakfast at the table while scrolling through the latest news stories on his computer.

Dean, unsurprisingly, was still not awake, despite the fact that it was 10am.

You closed your book and stood up. "I'll be down in the gym if you need me," you said to Sam as you crossed the room towards the door.

"You'll--what?"

You gestured towards the hall behind you. "I'll be in the gym."

He looked perplexed, but didn't comment on your sudden desire to workout. He could tell something was a little off with you, but he had the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it, so he decided to let it go. After all, it's not like going to the gym was something he needed to worry about--it wouldn't kill you (unlike some of your previous bad choices).

When you reached the gym, you looked around and sighed. You'd always hated working out. It was a reminder how out of shape you were and how imperfect your body was. Sure, hunting kept you relatively healthy--you had surprising stamina and endurance, but the weight just never seemed to fall off. You'd begun to feel like your fat was holding some kind of grudge against you, intent on making your life miserable for some perceived slight.

You sighed again and walked over to the treadmill in the corner. You stared at it for a few minutes, deciding whether you really wanted to use it. You'd always hated the treadmill, but you needed to start somewhere, so you hopped on and started to walk at a brisk pace.

Thirty minutes later, you switched to the stationary bike, wanting a change from the monotony of walking. Twenty minutes after that, you were bored out of your mind. You decided to try something else. Maybe lifting weights would do the trick.

About two reps in, your headphones died and you groaned in annoyance. You tugged them out of your ears and tossed them to the floor, opting instead to blast your music loudly through the bluetooth speaker Sam kept down there.

Alanis Morissette's voice now carried down the hall, but you couldn't be bothered to care. She was your go-to when you were feeling angry or upset, her music always making you feel better, especially when you scream-sang along.

After a few more reps, you decided to work on your boxing skills. Sam had taught you years ago, mostly as a way to teach you some fighting skills. You wrapped your hands to protect your knuckles, settled into your stance, and began hitting the punching bag. The release of frustration you felt was almost immediate and you realized you should have just done this from the start.

Upstairs, Dean was just returning from running an errand. He'd woken up and been distressed to find they were out of bacon and beer--his two main food groups. He'd gone to the grocery store to restock and was now happily cooking an excessive amount of bacon for his breakfast.

"You know you should eat something besides bacon, right?" Sam teased him.

"Nothing is better than bacon, Sammy. Nothing." Dean scooped the rest of the bacon onto his plate with a look of glee.

"Heart attack on a plate," Sam muttered.

"Oh shut it," Dean grumbled as he bit into his first piece. He moaned obnoxiously, causing his brother to roll his eyes dramatically. "Where's (Y/N)?" He asked, words garbled by the bacon he was still chewing.

"What?"

Dean swallowed. "Where's (Y/N)? I stopped by her room before I went out and she was gone."

"She's in the gym."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

Sam shrugged. "She's in the gym. She went down after breakfast."

"Why?"

"I assume to work out," Sam said lightly.

Dean groaned. "Obviously, smartass, but why was she gonna work out?"

"I don't know, dude. Why don't you ask her?"

Dean looked down at his plate. "I will once I finish my bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further.

Once Dean had finished his breakfast, he made his way down to the gym, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. He couldn't really put a finger on why, only that he didn't like the feeling.

As he neared the gym, he heard 'You Oughta Know' blasting down the hallway. He didn't hear your voice over the lyrics until he actually entered the room. He would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't so worried about you.

Your back was to him as you continued to pummel the absolute shit out of the punching bag. Dean had to admire both your form and the power you exuded. But as he watched you, that feeling of dread began to creep higher into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart.

He called out your name, but you couldn't hear him over the music. He spotted the speaker and walked over to turn it off, plunging the room into a shocking silence.

You spun around, surprised to see Dean standing beside the speaker. "I, uhh, I called your name," he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry. I was kinda in the zone."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Working out...as one does in a gym."

He winced, feeling like an idiot. "I know that, but what I don't know is why."

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly working out in the gym for two straight hours? You hate the gym."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. Your eyes were dark and your jaw was set as you regarded him. "You can't think of any reason?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "No...hence why I'm asking."

You gestured to your body. "Because I'm not strong enough or fast enough or physically fit enough to hunt...sound familiar?"

Dean winced, eyes widening with realization. "(Y/N), I--"

You held up your hand. "No need to apologize, Dean. I realized you were right. I am weaker than you and Sam, I am slower and heavier and fatter--I am completely less physically capable than either of you. So obviously, I need to do something about that. Hence the gym."

Dean stared at her, anger darkening his features. "None of that is true."

"Of course it is, Dean. You said it yourself. I'm just agreeing with you."

"Of course you're not the same as us, (Y/N), but that has nothing to do with your body or your weight or your ability. We're men, and large ones at that. We're physically built different than you, but that doesn't mean you need to change anything about yourself to be more like us."

"Well clearly I do, or you wouldn't have found my body so unacceptable--you wouldn't have told Sam I'm not capable of hunting on my own."

Whatever thread was keeping Dean from yelling finally snapped. "Your body isn't unacceptable! You aren't weak! There is nothing wrong with you--nothing!"

You were stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. You didn't know how to react or what to say.

Dean sighed deeply, feeling the anger drain out of him at last. "You didn't hear the rest of our conversation, did you?" His voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear the raw emotion in it.

You shook your head.

"You should have stayed...you may have learned something."

"What would I have learned?" you asked quietly.

"You would have realized that your interpretation of my words wasn't at all how I meant them. You would have heard me tell Sam how terrified I am of losing you, how that fear makes me want to keep you out of this life--away from hunting entirely. You would have seen that I love you just the way you are--that I don't want you to change a single thing about yourself. You would know that I am the problem, not you...it was never you."

"Dean..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. "You...you don't need to try and make me feel better."

He stared at you, green eyes full of fire. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to be honest about my feelings--to make you see you the way I see you."

"Why now?"

He was taken aback by your question, and it took him several moments to respond. "You know how I feel about romantic attachments...I worry about losing the person I love most, simply because they were unlucky enough to be loved by me. The fear of losing another person I love or have them be used against me is a pain I'm not sure I can bear. But you--you deserve better than my fears. You are the light to my darkness, my reason for living. I can't stand the thought of you believing I think less of you, not when I would burn the world down to keep you safe."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" you whispered, a glimmer of hope sparkling in your voice.

Dean took a step towards you. "If you think I'm telling you that I've been in love with you for years, that I love every single part of you inside and out, that I don't want you to change a single thing, that I think you're perfect...then yes."

You exhaled sharply, breathing ragged as you stared into his soulful green eyes.

He crossed the short distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, not caring about the sweat staining your body.

He practically crushed you against him, holding on more tightly than you'd ever imagined he would. After several moments, he loosened his grip on you so he could gaze down into your eyes. A small, lopsided smile graced his lips and his eyes fluttered shut. As his lips grazed against yours, you sighed softly, causing him to immediately deepen the kiss.

His hands dug into your soft flesh, seemingly reveling in the feeling of your body in his arms. His kiss was everything you'd imagined it would be and so much more--you felt safe, loved, and cherished. You didn't know you could have those feelings from a single kiss, but here you were, drowning in emotion, his love the life raft saving you from darkness.

When you finally parted, Dean rested his forehead against yours. "Do you believe me, (Y/N)? Can you see how much I love you? How badly I need you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I believe you."

He sighed happily, breath mingling with yours. "Will you let me show you?"

You pulled away from him slightly so you could see his face better.

His eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze almost predatory. If you didn't know him, you would be frightened.

"Let me show you, sweetheart," he begged softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Let me show you how much I love your body--how badly I've wanted to touch it, mark it, make it mine. Let me touch every curve, kiss every scar--bite and lick and suck every pleasure point until you're a moaning mess in my arms. Let me make love to you the way you deserve."

No man had ever spoken to you like that, and you felt your toes curl at his words. If he could spark your body alive with nothing but words, you wondered what he was capable of doing with his body.

Your breathing was labored and your voice husky as you murmured, "How could I ever say no?"

Dean smirked and he tugged you to him again, lips crashing against yours. You felt his hands all over your body, clutching any part of you he could reach. His mouth left yours, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking gently against the sensitive skin. He licked the column of your throat and groaned softly, muttering "salty" in a devilishly sexy voice.

You pulled away, suddenly remembering what you'd been doing when Dean interrupted you. "Wait--I-I need to shower first."

Dean groaned in annoyance. "No you don't."

You started to peel him off you with a light chuckle. "Yes, I do. I feel gross."

He pouted adorably. "For the record, I would make love to you on the sparing mat, right here, right now."

You laughed. "As hot as that might be, I really want to shower...I'll even let you join me." You shot him a wink and ran toward the door.

He realized what you'd said and turned to run after you, chasing you all the way to the showers. You giggled when he caught you, tugging you to him to kiss at your exposed neck and shoulders.

"Shower!" you squealed.

He groaned. "Fine, fine."

He practically dragged you into the bathroom, turning away from you to turn on the water before tugging you into the shower with him.

"Dean, our clothes--"

"They'll dry," he grumbled, fingers tugging on your shirt to lift it over your head.

You allowed him to remove it, neither of you paying attention to where it landed as he tossed it out of the shower. He did the same with his own shirt and jeans, followed by your leggings.

He spun you around, so your back was pressed against the cold tile, water spraying across your chest. He unzipped your sports bra and you allowed it to fall to the ground, revealing your heavy breasts to his wanton eyes.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, lips attaching to your pert nipple.

You ran your hands through his hair as he continued his gentle assault on your breasts. His lips didn't leave your chest, even as his hands trailed down to slowly peel off your underwear.

He slipped two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick and pressing firmly against your clit. You moaned softly at the sensation, head falling back against the tile.

He removed his fingers, slipping them between his lips and sucking them dry. "I need more," he murmured hungrily.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your right leg, slinging it over his shoulder before you could utter a word. You started to complain that you needed to wash the sweat off first, but he ignored you, tongue sweeping between your folds without a care.

Any protests you may have had were lost as he worked his magic on your pussy. Your fingers twisted into his short hair, head back, mouth open, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. You were thankful for the tile you leaned against and his strong arms holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Your legs began to shake and you cried out his name seconds before your orgasm hit you, sending you spiraling into bliss. Dean didn't want to stop, but your hands weakly tugged on his hair and your legs began to buckle, so he pulled himself up to keep you from falling.

"Delicious," he whispered against your mouth as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer to you and he shifted to press his body tightly against yours. You gasped as his still clothed member brushed against your thigh and your hands instantly slid down his body to rid him of the annoying fabric.

"Wanna touch you," you begged softly.

He groaned, but pulled away from your reach.

"Dean," you whined.

"Shh, let me wash you first," he insisted.

"But--"

He cut you off with a kiss. "Let me worship you before you touch me--I wanna make this about you."

Your expression softened and you leaned into him. "I love you, Dean."

Your voice was a low whisper, but he heard it all the same. You hadn't said the words earlier, a fact he had been trying to ignore. Hearing you say them now nearly had him throwing all his plans for the next week out the window--wanting to do nothing more than worship you from dusk to dawn for the foreseeable future.

"Dean?" you whispered warily, concern filling your eyes.

He used all his self-control to push his own needs and wants aside. "I heard you, baby," he assured you. "I heard you."

His kiss was gentler this time, sweeter even, and it warmed your body from the inside out. He broke away, panting, a whispered "I love you" pressed into your skin as he made his way down your body and back up again.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed the shower gel and loofa and slowly began to lather you up, washing your body in a surprisingly sensual way. When he finally decided you were clean, he helped you under the spray and made sure all the suds were rinsed off.

"Can I touch you now?" you begged.

He smiled warmly. "I suppose I can allow it." He forced his voice to be steady and calm, despite the desire screaming inside of him--begging him to take you well and properly.

You sunk to your knees, gaze lifting to meet his. You gave him a shy smile before taking his cock in your soft hands. He was larger than average, but you weren't afraid of the pain. Instead, you focused on giving him the same intense pleasure he had given you.

When you wrapped your lips around his cock, his head fell back and a groan escaped his parted lips. His fingers danced across your scalp, gathering your hair to one side so he could see you properly.

"Shit, sweetheart," he mumbled. "You're taking me so well."

You moaned around him, pleased with the praise he offered you. You continued to work him, using your tongue to caress and tease him in ways he'd never experienced before.

He wasn't at all surprised by your skill, but he was surprised by how damn good it felt. Sure, it had been a while for him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blow job that made his knees weak--if ever.

"Shit, baby," he whispered. "I'm so close--gonna cum for you."

His fingers raked through your wet hair and he used his other hand to lean against the tiles behind you. His hips jutted forward slightly as you relaxed your throat, taking him as far back as you could.

You flattened your tongue against his cock and flexed it, repeating the motion a few times before Dean's grip on your hair became painful and he exploded into your throat with a cry of your name.

You swallowed everything he had to give you, not releasing him from your lips until he pulled away, forcing the two of you to separate.

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and pulled you towards him, trying to support his weak legs while also helping you up. Once you were on your feet, he tugged you into him and placed a feverish kiss to your lips.

He panted heavily when he finally released you from his tight grip, allowing you to suck in some much needed air.

"Where did you learn how to do that thing with your tongue?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

You smirked. "It's a natural talent."

He grinned. "Well I fucking love it."

You laughed and leaned back into him, capturing his lips in a sweeter kiss. "So what are your thoughts on continuing this elsewhere?"

"Well my plan was to make you moan my name for the next several hours...I don't care where we go, as long as you're willing to let me ruin you."

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily and you moaned softly, biting into your bottom lip to keep the sound from being too loud. "My room?"

"My room is closer," he murmured into your shoulder.

You smiled and backed away from him, causing him to pout. You turned the water off and continued to back out of the shower. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, which only served to upset Dean.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Your eyes widened. "Putting on a towel so we can go to your room..."

"Did I say you could hide your body from me?" His tone was shockingly dominant and a spark of need went straight to your core.

"No," you whispered.

"I didn't think so." He stepped forward, dominance oozing from every pore in his body. "Drop the towel. Now."

You gasped softly, but heeded his command. The towel fell to the floor and he took yet another predatory step in your direction.

"Don't you ever hide yourself from me again. I wanna see every inch of your body." His hands grabbed at your hips roughly, tugging you towards him forcefully. "You're mine, do you understand me? Mine."

While the idea of someone owning you would normally piss you off, in this context it was a shocking turn-on. You swallowed thickly as you stared up into his heated gaze, suddenly unable to move, or even breathe.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw towards your ear. He breathed slowly against your skin, causing you to shiver and clutch his arms for support. "Is this okay?" he whispered, voice still gruff, but much more loving.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form actual words.

"Baby, I need you to tell me with your words. I need you to say whether this is okay or not. I don't wanna do something you're not into."

You turned your head a little so you could see his bright green eyes. The look in his eyes was reflected in your own and there was no doubt or fear in your voice when you answered him. "I'm very into it."

Your reassurance was all he needed to fall back into the dominant role. "Then you'd better get your ass into my bed before we have a problem."

You turned to open the door, yelping slightly when his hand smacked your ass. You shot him a surprised look and he looked slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, baby...I couldn't resist. You've got a great ass."

You smirked at the compliment and gave him a little wiggle before rushing into the hallway and making a beeline for his bedroom door.

He was surprised by your teasing action, but it only made him smile. He chased after you, mumbling, "Oh you're in for it now, princess."

You giggled as you landed on his bed, crawling up towards the headboard as he came through the doorway. He shut the door behind him and stalked to the edge of the bed, fiery gaze locked on you.

"It's unfair how sexy you look right now," he growled. "Makes me wanna fuck you senseless--make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

You gulped, trying to hide behind false bravado. "Are you going to do that from the other side of the room?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be a brat."

"Why don't you come here and do something about it."

Dean practically jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath him in seconds. His cock was hard again, pressing against your thigh--a reminder of how badly he wanted you.

"Not so mouthy now are you?"

"Dean, I--"

"Hush," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss you. He shifted just enough so his cock brushed against your core, and you gasped into his mouth.

"How badly do you want me right now, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice rough with need.

"I've never wanted you more," you answered honestly.

He groaned lowly. "How do you want it? You want me to fuck you into this mattress or take it nice and slow?"

"Fuck me into the mattress," you begged softly. "Please."

"Jesus--I love when you beg for me," he growled.

"Fuck me, Dean," you pleaded. You weren't above begging, especially when it came to him.

Dean gripped his cock in his right hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He started to push in, trying to move slowly to avoid hurting you as much. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered against your lips.

You gripped his biceps harshly, nails digging into his skin. The stretch was unbelievable, both painful and pleasurable all at once.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

You nodded.

"Babe," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm okay--keep going."

He continued to push into you and your back arched as his cock brushed against your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, and Dean struggled to remain motionless until you told him it was okay to move.

"I need you to move, Dean--please."

He pulled himself up slightly and started a very gentle pace, still allowing you time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to make this painful or uncomfortable for you. He didn't give a damn about his enjoyment--all he wanted was to watch you fall apart over and over again.

"Your pussy feels incredible, baby," he groaned. "I could stay here forever."

He began to move more quickly and your breathing became more erratic as you reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Your moans were like music to his ears, spurring him on as he slid into you again.

"I love the sounds you're making, sweetheart. I wanna hear you."

He picked up his pace and shifted you into a new position so he could get even deeper inside you. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, pussy clamping down on his cock in response.

"Shit--" he groaned. "You're squeezing me so tight--taking my cock so fucking well, gorgeous."

Your back arched again and your head was tossed back, pressing into the pillows at the head of the bed. Your hands twisted in the sheets, unable to reach his arms or his back as he slammed into you repeatedly.

He knew you were close, but he wasn't ready to feel you cum yet. "Look at me, baby."

He waited until your hazy eyes met his.

"Don't cum until I tell you to, understand?"

Your eyes widened. "But, Dean--"

"Not until I give you permission," he said firmly.

You nodded rapidly, not wanting to risk your orgasm altogether.

"Good girl."

You moaned loudly and your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, causing him to echo the sound.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You like it when I praise you, huh? You wanna hear about how much I love this pussy? How I've been thinking about fucking you for years? How I've craved your body?"

You were practically breathless beneath him, unable to formulate a response or even acknowledge his words.

"Your pussy is fucking perfect," he continued. "Made for me. And this body? Gorgeous and soft and fucking delicious. Can't believe I get to touch you like this--make you feel so good."

"Dean, please," you begged breathlessly.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You whimpered, but continued to focus on staving off your impending orgasm.

"Who owns this pussy, baby?"

You didn't answer--too focused on not cumming until he gave you permission.

His grip on your legs tightened, bringing your attention back to him. "That's it, pretty girl, look at me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You," you gasped out.

"That's right. This pussy is mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this--make you moan and whimper and scream. No one else."

"Only you," you cried.

"Fuck--" His breathing had become ragged and he had begun to struggle to keep himself from orgasming.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum!" you begged.

Dean decided to take pity on you. "Cum for me, baby."

"Dean!" you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. The pleasure so white hot and blinding you nearly blacked out.

Dean helped you ride out the waves of pleasure before lowering himself back down to hover over you. He placed soft kisses to your heated skin and whispered, "You're so damn beautiful when you cum."

You were gulping down mouthfuls of air, but you heard his whispered words. "I love you," you murmured.

He groaned softly. "Love you more."

He picked his pace back up, intent on giving you another orgasm before allowing himself to cum.

It didn't take long for him to work you back up, letting you hang on the precipice of blissful pleasure once more.

"You feel so good beneath me, baby. I love watching your pretty face as you fall apart. I just can't get enough of you," he admitted.

Your nails dug into his back, indicating you also couldn't get enough of him. "Dean, I need more," you pleaded.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. I want you to cum before I fill you up."

You lowered your hand down and slipped it between your bodies. You found your clit with ease and began to gently toy with it, sending pulses of toe curling pleasure up your spine.

"Fuck, yes. That's it baby. God, this pussy is addicting...don't ever wanna stop."

"So close," you whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You wanna cum?"

"Please, Dean."

"How badly?"

"Dean," you whined.

"Be a good girl and tell me how badly you wanna cum for me and maybe I'll let you."

"Please-please-please," you begged. "I wanna cum so bad. I need to cum, Dean, please!"

As much as he loved prolonging your orgasm, he couldn't bear saying no to you. "Cum for me, sweetness," he whispered into your ear.

Your body began to shake as the dam broke once again. You cried out as the pleasure invaded all of your senses, overwhelming you completely.

Dean began to chase his own high, desperately needing to fill you up with his seed. "You're the only woman who makes me lose control," he whispered into your skin.

You were surprised by his words, but they warmed your heart. Dean wasn't the kind of man to lose control often, so the fact that you made him do so was a massive ego boost.

"I wanna feel you fill me up, Dean," you murmured. "Need your cum inside me."

"Fuck," he growled, teeth grazing your pulse point.

His hips began to stutter as he reached his peak. Your nails scraped along his back, giving him the last push he needed to fall over the edge. He came with a guttural growl of your name, ropes of hot cum filling your pussy.

His arms started to feel weak as his orgasm came to an end, and he collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath his larger frame. You couldn't have been bothered to care if he'd literally smothered you--you were too fucked out to form coherent thoughts.

After a while, Dean managed to pull himself off of you, only to collapse on the bed beside you. He reached for you, strong arms wrapping around your waist to tug you into his chest.

"You're so damn incredible, (Y/N/N)," he whispered into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard--and you managed to do it twice."

"I can't feel my legs and my head is fuzzy," you mumbled. "So I second all of that."

Dean chuckled softly and held you even tighter. "I love you," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I have some idea," you whispered back. "And I love you just as much."

Dean smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he should get up, help you clean up and all that, but he couldn't get himself to move and you weren't complaining. In fact, your breathing had evened out and he had a feeling you'd be asleep soon.

He kissed your shoulder one more time before resting his head comfortably on the pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Just as sleep threatened to claim him, he heard his brother's voice from the other side of the closed door.

"While I'm super happy for you both, I have one request. Next time the two of you decide to fuck each other's brains out, could you at least have the decency to wait until I'm gone? I can't un-hear any of that!"

You laughed lightly and you could feel Dean's laughter rumbling in his chest from behind you.

"We'll do our best," Dean called back. "But no promises! She's simply too hot to resist--you never know when I'll get the urge to ravish her."

You laughed even harder, but you reached behind you to lovingly smack his hip.

"Ohh gross, dude!" Sam grumbled before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

"You're so bad, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was making your legs shake ten minutes ago."

You tossed him a grin over your shoulder. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

He matched your grin. "Touché, my love. Touché."

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural #supernatural smut #dean winchester x plus size!reader smut #dean winchester x plus size reader

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arcane-trickster · 2 years

Text

Typically I don’t do angry tumblr rants but this gbbo smore shit has a cold rage burning in the fireplace of my soul and the words ‘sacrilege’ and ‘heresy’ bubbling up from the depths of my being to be played on loop in mute horror like a scratched record.

So.

This monstrosity is what gbbo was trying to pass off as a smore.

This is not a smore. Look at it. It’s downright undercooked. That’s not even marshmallow. Or chocolate. It looks cold. This is about as much a smore as Cris Pratt is a voice actor. As a corgi is a wolf. As gbbo is apparently competent at research.

Also me to explain what a smore is.

For anyone who doesn’t know what the fudge a smore is, it’s a typical summertime treat often made at summercamp, when camping, or if you live in a place with a fireplace/assess to a campfire sometimes you’ll use that.

Basically it goes like this; it takes five ingredients, gram crackers, any chocolate bar with rectangular pieces you can break off (traditionally Hershey’s as it’s the cheapest and smores tend to be made in bulk, it’s one of those things a group of people make together otherwise it won’t taste right) large marshmallows, an open flame, and as previously mentioned more than one person to make them at the same time. If you make smores alone, the smores too will be sad and alone.

First you take two gram crackers and break off 1 to 2 sections of chocolate. Place the chocolate on each side, so both sides are all chocolatey. Then you take a marshmallow and skewer it on either a pointy stick from the ground or a metal skewer specificity made for roasting marshmallows/hotdogs depending on if someone has any.

Next you, well, roast the marshmallows. If you’re doing this at a campfire this involves a lot of moving away from the direction the smoke is blowing well and minor amounts of giggle-filled pvp as everyone jostles for the best spots around the fire. Mellow roasting is one of those things that is kind of the point of making marshmallows, the epic highs and lows of seeing how close to the fire you can get yours and how long you can hold it there before it either falls off or catches fire is integral to the entire experience.

Once you hastily blow out the one-fire part of the marshmallow, you slide it off the stick and between the gram crackers and chocolate. Then you squish it a bit to get the chocolate all nice and gooey, and bite in.

It’s gooey, it’s very messy, and the closer it gets to midnight the more it’s delicious.

So now we have established what a smore is, allow me to explain how UTTERLY BUTCHERED that abomination of sugar is.

First, we have the ingredients themselves. Paul Bitchwood describes the middle as ‘Italian meringue’.

Italian meringue.

Italian. Fucking. Meringue.

*deep breath*

IS NOT A MARSHMALLOW.

It does not share THE BASIC PROPERTIES OF A MARSHMALLOW.

YOU CANNOT STAB MERINGUE WITH A STCK AND HAVE IT STAY ON THE FUCKING SICK. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A MARSHMALLOW BEFORE MR BITCHWOOD???? WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO THROW THE TOP OF A LEMON MERINGUE PIE AT YOU TO DEMONSTRATE “PAUL”?! IF IT DOESN’T BOUNCE ITS NOT A FUCKING MELLOW AND THE EFECT ON YOUR FACE WOULD BE ONE HELL OF AN IMPROVEMENT!

So already we have the single most important ingredient straight up ‘substituted’ (if you can even call it that) for an entirely different food with a completely different texture, taste, consistency, and behavior under heat.

But there’s more!

See, that chocolate? It’s not melted chocolate like you might think at first glance- no no no, that’s fucking GANACHE.

YOU KnOW, The THing With THE CoNsistenCY of FroSTING???? :) :) :)

The thing that you expressly don’t want to melt when using it in cooking on pain of death?

Thus removing THE ENTIRE PURPOSE CONSISTENCY FLAVER AND TEXTURE OF THE INGREDIENT

AGAIN!

and then. Ohhhhhhh and then.

Those are no gram crackers.

Those are ‘digestibles”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE DIGESTABLES

THATS WHAT HAPPENS TO ALL FOOD ITS NOT SPECIAL DUMBASS

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF RICH PEOPLE SHIT ARE YOU EATING THAT YOU NEED TO POINT THAT OUT IN THE NAME

WHAT THE FUCK

AND IT AGAIN HAS A DIFFERENT EVERYTHING THEN GRAaM CRACKERS

WHY

YOU DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO DO THAT IF YOU WANTED IT TO SOUND FANCY YOU COULD HAVE JUST MADE GRAM CRACKERS FROM SCRATCH IVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE DO IT BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU BUT ITS AT LEAST POSSIBLE AGHHHHHHHHHHH

And then. To add insult to injury after FUCKING injury.

It’s a circle.

It’s A CiRcLE.

WHY IS IT A CIRCLE.

IT SHOULNT BE A CIRCLE-

In conclusion; Paul Bitchywood is a fucker and a Tory and I don’t put stock in god but by whatever powers may be I hope hell exists because this fool is running a marathon to it’s center.

#gbbo #s’mores #gbbo s’mores #paul hollywood

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shanieveh · 10 months

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“ forget me not... ”

synopsis: neuvillette, too late to confess his love to you, is drowning from the suffering and regret that came along with it, especially after knowing that you felt the same all along.

tags: gn!reader x neuvillette, depression and low self-esteem, bittersweet ending, mentions of freminet, lynette and melusines, heavily implied reader death and neuvillette also kinda wanting to die

a/n: people want this and i have came to deliver (hopefully) enjoy~ this is my first long fic that i published

How can this be….?

Neuvillette sat in the corner of his office, all your letters in his right hand. How can you say you loved him… how dare you describe the love, the passion, everything you felt for him when he can't even say it back.

How can you love someone so unlovable?

His silent cries can't match up to the violent outbursts of the skies outside. Days went by when he first found out, the melusines were scared to death about who would report it to him. The way you dissolved into water, not even seeing you for the last time—not having the privilege to have a proper funeral.

He failed you… the monsieur wasn't too sure on many things but this one was certain.

Reading your diaries, knowing your thoughts and hopes for the future. It was an invasion of privacy but also in a way… the last remnants of your existence. One such entry was that of three years ago where you first met.

Encountering this, a profuse blush colored his face. The adjectives being used "handsome", "tall" and "kind" for your first meetingwith the chief justice. Far from the truth really, although Neuvillette knew you meant every word.

You always did.

You always were an honest person.

The very first day his lavender eyes met yours, to the very last. There was never a trace of impurity or a hint of a liar. Of course, the verdict went in your favor, because to him a precious rose like you can never steal and the plaintiffs were wrong.

Reading it now, not even a slightly negative comment was made to those who wrongly accused you.

"Maybe they had their reasons, after all, I was also in need of money at that time." you wrote. Adding on that you defended the "Monsieur Neuvillette" when people called "such a man of honor and kindness" a "merciless and arrogant man".

A man of honor and kindness? Your words became running thoughts in the hydro dragon's head. That day was one of the only days he didn't cry after a trial. Neuvillette was just happy that such a person of integrity was cleared of their name.

He turned through the pages of the diary, how you taught him to socialize and even mend his relationship with the hydro archon.

"Monsieur Neuvillette was too adorable! Being with a person of lowly status and treating me with such respect and humility, he truly is the epitome of mercy and loveliness."

How can you be so blind? Anyone with eyes will know that it's a privilege to be with someone so beautiful, especially to be with someone like Neuvillette. A cold and repulsive soul. You make him sound like a good person, when in fact he isn't both good and human.

He was a monster… these words of humanity you always used to describe a monster. Why do they sound so genuine? Why do they look so real? Maybe only you can make him like that, you and only you.

A few pages later he finally saw the words…

Words that should've made him scream in euphoria… tore him to a million pieces. Because even before this he already loved you… because you had so much time to confess but never did… and never will.

"I think I'm in love with the chief Justice."

And after that, he couldn't even get himself to read, he couldn't. His eyes got so blurry to see, his heart became too heavy to feel. Why were you… why you? In a world filled with monsters, they chose an angel. They chose a soul that still wanted to live, love and give. Those demons… despicable.

Remembering his shortcomings, maybe in some way he could've avoided all of this. Neuvillette shouldn't have given you his blessing to investigate the serial disappearance case.

But that glint of adventure in your eyes… he was too soft to reject you.

It was all his fault.

Wiping his tears he looked at the last entry of the diary… Oh.

Oh.

"After this investigation, I'll finally confess to him… I surely hope Neuvillette feels the same way, I even planted some forget-me-nots to give him in the backyard so that he'll know when it rains and he weeps. I will always be here."

The chief justice didn't know what was coming to him but he started running… and only then can he see the state of Fontaine. Many flowers have wilted and only a few people were outside. What had he become..?

"What's up with this weather? It isn't even the rainy season yet?!" A shop owner complained.

"I know! My crops have been drowning these days, at this rate if it doesn't stop we'll have a famine!"

It was all his fault, his running turned to a slow walk taking in all that he had done. This was all because of him. The lonely streets, the lowered morale. This was all because—

"Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

He turned to the voice and saw a young boy in the distance. Neuvillette remembered now, his name was Freminet. That child on which you doted extremely, giving him sweets and hushing his tears. The chief justice quickly let go of his gaze and continued to walk.

"You see Freminet, it didn't work... let's go inside."

The response was that of a stoic young woman, but he just continued his legs even if they wanted to rest all to see the last thing you cared for… those flowers. And when he finally was at the destination he saw it immediately outside.

It was in the bushes, he couldn't miss it. Every corner of your house was haunted, every tiny thing was a memory. The chairs you painted, the drawings pinned in the cabinet of you and him with the melusines. It was precious. All of it. Just as you are.

He finally saw them, most were almost to bloom and some were wilted. Picking one he unconsciously kissed it, perhaps mistaking it for you. These flowers were made to remind him he was never alone, but now he is.

More alone than he can ever be in one lifetime. Your scent still filled every corner, a remembrance of the biggest "what if" in his life. Your will stated that every single thing of yours is his just as you were always his. Bittersweet was he when reading it.

Neuvillete forgot that too included your house, maybe he was too consumed with your thoughts to visit this place. He was twisting the poor flower that looked so tiny compared to his hand. Perhaps that's what it's like to be with him. It's a curse…

He continues to caress the flowers, to treat them as if they were you. You were wrong on one thing about this, even if there were no flowers he will never forget you. Never, no way! The love he has for you can destroy nations and can cause millions of sacrifices. Just to keep you, to see your smile again.

But he can't even do that, you didn't give him the privilege to do something for you. If only he knew, he would've… done everything for you. The love that can create the strongest of floods failed to protect the one person he was supposed to protect.

At that moment, he felt the waters, the ocean, his home… you. It made his crying bearable, somewhat. Grief that could surpass a lifetime, wasn't enough. Nothing he can do will ever be enough to have you again. Perhaps he should also leave this world to stop being a burden to the people… and maybe to see you again.

"Neuvillette…"

Now he was even imagining your voice, or was he? Maybe he was delusional but he still followed your voice even if it took him to an unknown path. But the end was in a small pond, where you used to keep the fish, all of which were alive and well.

"Neuvillette…?"

At this he didn't even care if was going insane, your voice sounded like a melody even if it uttered his name. It sounded like a rare jewel, a myth, a prophecy too good to be true.

"Darling?" He replied in a hopeful tone. He looked through his surroundings, no longer was he in a pond but a terrain of boundless water. In the middle was a flying Oceanid, a spirit. Was it—could it be?

"Even I could feel the heavy pouring of rain, monsieur… don't be sad."

It was indeed your spirit, a part of you that remained before that bastard—he'll make whoever did this pay. It wasn't for justice anymore, this one is for revenge.

"How can I not? When I have failed you over and over again, I couldn't even get to say…"

"That you love me?"

His eyes widened, looking at you. Even if it didn't look like you, he knew… he always did. A nod soon followed after that, it was barely noticeable even at this rate the chief justice was a bit shy saying it.

"I just don't know why you could ever say you love me, how you could even think of me so kindly. Why? How? How can you love me back?" He was clueless to what you mean.

"How can I not?"

The reply you uttered was one of a teary-eyed person. Even to this moment you still haven't accepted you had died, not when he was still alone needing you.

"Just as you said… how can I not? You out of all people my dear… know of the sacrifices we make for the person we love."

It was that moment where you took your normal form, you looked beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day you met. And as you walked towards him, the clock ticking until your final goodbye, it was time.

"I love you Neuvillette, i always had and continue to do so." For the last time, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, darling from the very beginning and every single lifetime to come." He let go of the kiss and hugged you tight, closing his eyes, until you disappeared not knowing he was hugging his own.

Opening his eyes, the rain was long gone, and what remained were the flowers in the bushes, the ponds, the fish, and him. Maybe… just maybe he will bring you and the other victims to light.

Until then, this one last encounter and goodbye will make him content. He was sure… that finally his love will be at rest.

#neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x gender neutral reader #neuvillette #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette angst #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette drabbles #genshin angst #genshin imagines

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ja3yun · 3 months

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Melting Point | P.SH | CH.4

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), protected and unprotected sex, cum eating, oral (f rec.), handjob, mentions of alchohol, not many tbh, anything i've missed lmk! ch.4 synopsis: waking up in sunghoon's bed was the last thing you intended to happen. as you confront him about your brothers wishes, he comes up with a solution for the time being but on the night of your award acceptance, he can't hold back any longer. wc: 17.3k previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! this is by far my favourite chapter in the whole series. it's just a nice, cute chapter with lots of smut and fluff. it's also the chapter ynhoon stans (me) have been waiting for. i said this on my page but this is the last chapter of pure happiness and after this its chaos and plot so, enjoy!

“Shit, Hoonie, right there, oh my god,’ you whimper out as Sunghoon pounds into your pussy from behind with relentless force, your face buried into his pillow muffles your cries as you approach your 3rd climax of the evening.

You and Sunghoon have been fucking like rabbits for the better part of a month and a bit. Sometimes it's a quickie in his car, other times it's these long, drawn-out sessions like the one we're having now. Since you both agreed to hook up, he's been all over you, like he can't get enough. And honestly, you're just as keen.

Over the weeks, that guilty feeling that was eating away at you has been slowly fading away. At first, it was tough, especially with the whole situation with Minhee, but Sunghoon always found a way to distract you, his touch erasing any nagging thoughts. As you started putting yourself first and just embracing the journey with Sunghoon, you began to feel more liberated.

There's something about Sunghoon that makes you feel completely at ease, like you can just be yourself without any pretence. If you're having a rough day, he's there to lend an ear and let you vent. And when something good happens, he's the first person you want to share it with.

To maintain the integrity of your friends-with-benefits arrangement, you both established a set of rules. However, those rules have been tossed out the window countless times. Take rule number 3, for example: 'No dates or gifts, no matter how big or small.' Sunghoon seems to break it regularly, sneaking little gifts into your bag or whisking you off to the University Cafe for some ‘fuel’ but ends up footing the bill every time, and now he even knows your order by heart.

Rule number 5: ‘No PDA’ was a goner within the first week. Holding his hand whenever you walked him to his car became a habit, in fact, any chance you got, your hands were intertwined. Even at the rink, where you really had to keep it on the down low, you couldn't resist a quick hand squeeze as you passed by him. Of course, that inevitably led to breaking rule number 6: no sex at the rink. Sunghoon might have fucked you in every corner of Belmore by now, including the coaches' office.

As his hands stroke up your back, he moves to pull your hair, eager to elicit every possible sound from you as he takes you to the peak of pleasure, "You're taking me so well," he murmurs, watching as he disappears into you with each rapid thrust, the action almost appearing in slow motion with how fast he’s going, "Can you feel it? Come on, Sweets, tell me what you feel."

"I feel so damn good, Hoonie," you gasp, your hair acting as his anchor as he leans back, driving himself deep into you. "You're hitting me so deep, oh my god."

One of his hands snakes under you to reach your belly and as he presses down you let out your loudest moan of the night. He can feel his cock in your stomach if he puts enough pressure, which drives you both crazy. The feeling of him deep inside you causes his eyes to roll back, wondering whether he can go deeper. Sunghoon lets go of your hair and grabs you by the stomach; the new position allows his shaft to pierce you in places that nobody else has before.

“Shit, I'm gonna cum," You've grown better at not asking if you can cum and have recently started telling him you are. This did not happen overnight, but rather because Sunghoon would stop fucking you if you asked to cum. He wanted you to be able to indulge yourself whenever and however you pleased, without being confined. When he would abruptly stop, it was almost on the point of edging, which you wanted to prevent at all costs, so you began telling him when you were going to climax.

"Such a good girl, Y/N." "Such a good girl, Y/N," he praises, another perk of not asking for permission. Sunghoon always showers you with affectionate words, both inside and outside the bedroom, causing a flutter in your chest every time. It makes your tummy flutter every time; he was so good at it, and it makes you feel seen and valued. There is a nagging feeling inside you that you should tell him to stop because of the things his words do to your heart, but you enjoy it too much, so you keep it off the rules.

He keeps his pace while leaning down to your ear, his chest and torso are sticking to your back with the collective sweat pouring from both of you. His tongue licks the shell of your ear as you clench around him, “Come on, Y/N, cum for me.”

Sunghoon loves to have you come undone before he does, the way your walls closed in on his dick was what sent him spiralling, so as he feels you coat him with your delicious cum, he follows you quickly, shooting ropes into the condom.

Despite his orgasm, he doesn’t stop slamming into you, his shaft throbbing against your g-spot with every stroke, "Hoonie, Hoonie, please," you whimper, completely overwhelmed as stars dance behind your eyelids and your mouth hangs open, a hint of drool threatening.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Sweets, can’t stop fucking you like this.” The last time this happened, Sunghoon fucked you for a good 4 hours nonstop, and as you approach your third hour right now, you wonder if you can go any longer and break your previous record, “You want that? For me to fuck you all night?”

If you had a praise kink, Sunghoon definitely had an ego kink—if such a thing existed. He thrived on hearing how he was the best you've ever had, how massive his cock was, or even just being called pretty. Falling for his bait every time was easy because, let's face it, every compliment you gave him was entirely true. "Uh-huh, can't get enough of your big cock."

"Fuck, of course you can't, Sweets. Look at how perfectly it fits in that pretty pussy of yours," he growls, the last spurts of his release filling the condom as he peppers your back with tender, open-mouthed kisses.

As your climax ebbs away, you collapse on the bed, utterly spent. He sees your exhaustion and despite his readiness to continue, he decides to call it a night.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, his condom-clad shaft is glistening with your essence and your pussy matches, looking delectable. To clean you, he brings his mouth to your hole and licks you clean, sure not to waste a single drop. Normally, he would either get a damp towel, or carry you into the shower to rinse you off, but he doesn’t want to wash away his favourite meal, that would be a waste.

"Sunghoon, fuck," you moan as his tongue delves into you, sending shivers down your spine. You sink deeper into his bed, your toes curling involuntarily. If he doesn't stop soon, another climax is imminent, setting off a delightful yet relentless cycle of pleasure where you cum on his face, and he eagerly laps it up all night.

But your sensitive pussy protests, especially after already being pleasured twice today. With a tally of eight orgasms already, your body begs for a respite.

"Just a minute, Sweets. Almost done," he mutters, though he's far from wanting to be finished. Sensing your sensitivity, he refrains from pushing you over the edge, giving two more gentle swipes of his tongue before reluctantly pulling away. Planting kisses along your ass cheeks and spine, he can't help but praise your perfection, "So damn perfect like this, baby."

"Sunghoon, no pet names," you mumble, reminding him of rule 2: no endearments like baby, princess, or angel, all of which have slipped out of his mouth one of two times. He fought to keep calling you Sweets since he has done so from the beginning. He hasn’t ever told you why he calls you Sweets but he’s attached to it, so you let him have it.

“Sorry,” he says quietly but he isn’t sorry. You know this because he’s smiling like an idiot while he scatters little kisses over your shoulder blades.

Finding energy from somewhere, you turn around as he comes off you to clean himself. You’ll never get over how ethereal he is, his body is perfectly proportioned, and his waist does make you jealous though. Why do some men have slutty little waists and you don’t?

You reach down beside his bed and pick up the clothes you wore today, although, you’ve spent more time naked than in them, “I better get going.”

He slips into a random pair of boxers before walking over to you, reaching for the bra you’ve been trying to grab, “You know you don’t have to rush away, we could get some food or watch a movie? The new Hunger Games is on Prime, we could rent it?” Sunghoon was trying to find any reason for you to stay.

Taking your bra from his outstretched fingers, you add it to the pile beside you, still seated there naked. "We can't, Hoonie, you know this," you reply softly. It's a rare occasion for you to linger long after sex, fearing that staying will only unearth the emotions you've been desperately trying to suppress.

Rule number 1: Keep your feelings in check. You couldn’t make the rule ‘don’t develop feelings’ because both of you knew that ship had sailed long ago. You were already attached to one another from the first time you kissed. It was more realistic to tell yourselves to bury your emotions for one another. As time goes on, it’s getting harder and harder, which is why you don’t stay. When it was the first week, sometimes you would stay over if it was late but waking up in Sunghoon's embrace only intensified your feelings for him.

Sunghoon bites his lips thin and nods, placing both his hands on his waist, “I know, but I miss spending time with you.”

“Hoonie, we see one another every day, I see you more than I see my family now,” you say softly.

It’s true, you’ve spent so much time in Sunghoon’s presence that you rarely make it home at a reasonable hour these days. You do feel guilty about missing Minhee’s practices, but you’re scared if you see him for too long you might get that gut-wrenching guilt bubble back into your heart, and everything is so good right now, that you didn’t want to be the cause of its downfall.

"But when was the last time we did something together?" he asks with a pout, sitting down beside you.

"We went out for dinner three nights ago," you bat back.

Sunghoon knows he's being a bit unreasonable, you guys have been hanging out, just not in the way he wants. He longs for those moments when you're cuddled up watching a movie or when he's playing with your hair while you scroll through TikTok, showing him videos the most unfunny videos. He just wants to do nothing with you.

His dejected expression breaks your heart. You can tell he's getting overly invested in this. Sometimes he’ll look at you like you’re the only girl in the world and that’s dangerous.

Truthfully, you feel the same way about him, sometimes he is the only person on the planet that matters to you - aside from Minhee, of course. You wouldn't have a problem dating your brother's fiercest rival if you didn't hold Minhee in such high regard, but sadly, you loved Minhee too much to hurt him.

There was something that you have been meaning to ask Sunghoon but you’re scared it’ll blur the lines of your relationship with him.

Your eyes meet his and you decide to take the leap, “Hey, there was something I wanted to ask you,” Sunghoon takes your hands in his, waiting for you to continue, “You can say no, obviously!” you add quickly, already giving him a way out even though he doesn’t have the slightest clue what you’re on about.

“Ask me and I’ll decide if I want to say no,” The older boy’s smile is slight, encouraging you to ask him your evidently big question.

“Um, do you remember when I was upset and you saw me at the rink?” you ask.

How could he forget, it was the first night he got to taste your lips. Sunghoon nods and you carry on, "And you know how I'm a top student at my university?" Another nod follows as his thumbs gently caress the back of your hands. "Well, I won an award, I think I told you that. Anyway, there's a ceremony happening on the 23rd of September, and I was wondering if maybe you would come with me? I have to RSVP by Monday."

You rush through the words, avoiding eye contact with Sunghoon. Truth be told, you had initially asked Rina to accompany you, but she has an early exam the next day—her last chance after failing it twice. Obviously, Minhee has a schedule so he and your mum are out of the picture, the only other person you want there with you is Sunghoon.

Taking a moment to process your request, Sunghoon mentally sifts through his schedule, realizing he likely has prior engagements but decides he's going to cancel them. He wouldn't miss the opportunity to be by your side as you accept such a prestigious award. "I would love to come, Y/N," he replies with genuine enthusiasm.

Your head shoots up, eyes widening in surprise. "Wait, really? Don't you want to check if you can make it and get back to me?" you ask, taken aback by his immediate acceptance. He doesn't even glance at his phone or consult a calendar. "You really don't have to come, I know Nationals are like 2 months away."

"Y/N," he soothes, running his fingers through your hair in a comforting gesture, "I will be there."

No one has ever simply said yes to you so readily. You're accustomed to being sidelined as people search for excuses not to commit. You have to admit, Minhee always tried his best to make it to your events, despite your mom often intervening. Sometimes you wonder if she deliberately scheduled things to prevent him from attending.

"It's at 7 pm, is that okay?" you ask sheepishly.

"Of course it is, Sweets," he assures you, planting a gentle kiss on your lips before whispering, "Thank you for letting me be a part of your life like this."

Sunghoon's heart races alongside yours, warmth spreading through his body. He didn't mean to voice his gratitude aloud, but he's overwhelmed by the fact that you're willing to share this part of yourself with him. It’s risky in the whole boundary department, but he’ll figure it out.

Your heart would be burrowing out of your chest and drowning him in kisses if it had legs. It's unfortunate that you can't truly claim Sunghoon as yours because he was everything you could have ever wanted. This stupid fucking rivalry. If you could go back in time to prevent them from competing against one another, you would.

He notices that your mind is racing when he looks at you, so he does what he always does when you're acting that way: he kisses you with so much intensity that it leaves you thinking only of his lips.

It works every single time.

"Hoonie," you mumble his name into his mouth, feeling the effect it has on him, "Thank you so so much. I owe you."

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips. "You can suck my cock in the car on the drive back to yours?" he teases, earning a playful swat on the arm from you, "Okay, okay! What's the dress code for your big day?"

"It's a black tie event," you reply, focusing on putting on your clothes, "It's fancy."

Humming in acknowledgement, Sunghoon begins pondering his wardrobe options, "What are you wearing, Sweets?" he asks, hoping to coordinate outfits.

"I haven't decided yet. I need to go into the city and buy something nice," you admit. You don't have any fancy clothes, certainly nothing suitable for an award ceremony, so you've been saving up for a nice gown. The only problem is, you have no idea what to wear or what you could possibly get with your measly savings.

"Shopping? I'll come with you," Sunghoon offers.

You give him a doubtful glance. "Why?" After all, he has plenty of expensive designer suits in his closet; he doesn't need to go shopping with you.

"For the company, duh," he replies, pulling you into an embrace. Sunghoon often cuddles you like this, his long arms enveloping your head as he plays with your hair. It's both comforting and frustrating, making it hard for you to resist him. "Plus, I can help you pick something out and see you in pretty dresses all day. I don't see any cons here."

You consider his offer. Rina, your usual shopping partner, is often too busy with her own try-ons to provide much help, making her a less-than-ideal companion. Maybe having Sunghoon along wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, it would be nice to get some advice.

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you mould yourself against him, "Okay, you can come. I was planning to go on Wednesday," you agree, enjoying the warmth of his touch as you nuzzle your nose against his bare chest.

"I'll pick you up from uni," he suggests with a smile.

Sunghoon has memorised your complete schedule so he could quickly figure out when he could see you, and more significantly, what parts of his own schedule he could change to accommodate yours. You took classes all summer, which was unusual, but apparently, it counted toward your final degree. With events and marketing being such a saturated field, you must stand out. Sunghoon begins to truly understand why you're receiving this award the more he learns about you.

“Are you sure? Yonsei is aeons away, and don't you have a photoshoot for Prada's winter collection in the morning?" you ask, reminding him of his commitments.

It's easy to forget that Sunghoon is a famous ice skater, probably because he's always 7 inches deep inside you and when he isn't, he's the most regular 20-year-old you know.

“It’s all good, with a face like mine, the photoshoot will be done in an hour,” his lips press themselves against yours as he lays tiny smooches on the same spot, his smile growing bigger and bigger as he does so.

Feeling his hands slide under your top and nails scraping your back lightly, you know what he’s going to ask you, so you jump the gun, “I can’t stay, Hoonie. I need to get going.”

"Don't. There's nothing for you out there, and it's cold," he pleads, pouting like a kid.

"It's 23 degrees," you laugh at his feeble excuses. "I'll see you tomorrow like always."

Sunghoon mumbles something in protest, but you know it's probably his way of expressing his reluctance to spend a day apart from you. You and Sunghoon are practically inseparable, constantly calling or texting when you're not together.

He lets you step back and goes to get changed so he can drive you home.

Both of you learned your lesson from the last time Minhee caught you getting out of his enemy's car, so now Sunghoon drops you off at the end of the street to maintain appearances and keep him out of sight.

As he fixes his shoes and grabs his car keys and a hoodie, he turns to you with a mischievous grin. "So about that blow job in the car I was talking about earlier…"

He's an animal

But you’re the one tying up your hair and loosening your jaw as you push him out the door.

__________

Wednesday comes faster than you think and you’ve just received a text from Mr. Ice Prince himself

No.1 Ice Skater 🧊🤍:

1:43pm: I’m waiting at Centennial Hall

1:43pm: 🤍 x

You and Rina are walking together after leaving your joint B2B marketing lesson. Despite being in different majors—she studies fashion and business—Rina failed this class last semester and needs to make it up. You joked that she flunked on purpose so she could retake the class with you, but when you laughed, she got serious. In reality, she did fail on purpose, but not for the flattering reason you joked about; rather, to copy your answers and coax you into study sessions that often devolved into gossip about other students on campus. Despite the ulterior motive, you enjoy your time together, so you don’t mind at all.

She’s in the middle of talking when she pauses, looking down at your phone in disgust, “You’re texting him again? I don’t even text Allen this much.” That’s a brazen lie, she’s just more sneaky about it.

“He’s picking me up,” you reply back to Sunghoon’s text with a simple ‘Okay <3’ and put your phone in your back pocket, “We’re going into the city.”

"What for?" Her eyes are fixed on yours as if she's trying to read your mind. You haven’t led an interesting life, most of it studying and being Minhee’s cheerleader, so now that you have Sunghoon as your fuck buddy, Rina laps up every little detail. You leave the sex details to a minimum because, at the end of the day, that’s no one’s business but yours and Sunghoon’s, but you tell her enough to keep her entertained.

Looking at Rina, you realise you can't tell her he's accompanying you on a shopping trip because it would hurt her the most. Fashion is her entire existence, it is who she is, so if your best friend discovered you enlisted someone else to help you locate a gown, she would be devastated.

“Just lunch,” you lie, which you’re getting better at. Not the best trait to have but it’s been helping you out the past 5 weeks.

“Isn’t that against your rules?” She questions, eyebrows raised.

You frantically try to think, “Uhm, yeah I suppose, but he was insistent.” You forgot you told her the list of boundaries and rules that are keeping this ‘friends with benefits’ deal exactly that, so she pulls you up every chance she gets.

“He’s so annoying. I still can’t believe he had the audacity to speak to me like that at Yeonjun’s party, and in front of all those people!” Her arms flail in frustration, “Like he hasn’t even apologised either. He’s a colossal cunt, I hope he knows how lucky he is he has you to protect him because I would destroy him if I had a chance.”

Rina really couldn’t let it go. You’ve pleaded with Sunghoon to text her and say sorry to her and Allen but he doesn’t think he should apologise for being honest.

Ahead of you, you observe Sunghoon standing by his car, as gorgeous as ever. He had just returned from a photoshoot, so his hair and makeup have been done and his clothes are flashy yet simple. He’s wearing a brown suede jacket over his white Prada-encrusted t-shirt, and the black dress trousers highlight his snatched waist. He's a vision, and you find yourself admiring him as always. Truth be told, you like him in anything - or even nothing at all - because Sunghoon is so effortlessly beautiful, he can pull off anything.

Waving, you gain his attention and he smiles at you, his eyes turning into crescent moons. Rina looks between you both with a bewildered look on her face, “Oh. My. God. You like him. Like, really like him.” Was it that obvious? “And he likes you!” Apparently so.

You shush Rina, urging her to keep it down. "It's not like that, we're just messing around. You know this, Rina," you insist, hoping to deflect any further probing into your relationship with Sunghoon.

Before she can say anything else or coax you into admitting something you're not ready to, you reach Sunghoon, who instinctively pulls you into a hug and plants a kiss on your forehead. "Hey, Sweets," he greets you warmly.

Your best friend scowls at him, scrutinizing the situation before her. Rina is a smart girl; she calls a spade a spade, and in her eyes, there's no way you both don't have feelings for each other. She understands why you won't just admit it and date officially, but in her mind, you're already together, just not acknowledging it to assuage your guilty conscience.

Sunghoon smiles down at you as you cling to him, but Rina's presence brings him back to reality. "Bring her back to mine once you're done with your lunch," she instructs, her demeanour guarded. Her words prompt Sunghoon to acknowledge her, though he can sense her disdain.

He knows she hates him, quite honestly the feeling is semi-mutual - he isn’t the biggest fan of hers, but she treats you well, that’s all that matters. He does, however, plan on winning her over because he senses how uncomfortable you get when they have to be in the same room together, “I will. I brought you something from my shoot this morning,” he says, attempting to extend an olive branch.

Drawing back, you stare at Sunghoon in confusion, but he shakes his head and heads to the trunk of his car. Rina's interest is piqued; she heard from you that he was working with Prada, and her fashionista instincts can't help but be a little excited. Regardless of whether it's from Sunghoon or not, she loves presents.

There are three Prada-branded boxes laid out in front of him, all of which are for Rina. Was it a bribe to get her to back off and potentially win her approval? Maybe, but judging by the look on her face, his plan might just work. "These are all from the Winter 24' season. I guessed you were a sample size," he says, aiming to flatter her.

Rina squeals with delight and grabs the boxes eagerly, tearing them open as fast as she can, just in case it's some kind of prank. Inside, she finds a sheer grey blouse with a red and brown collar accent, a long pleated white skirt, and a matching handbag. Sunghoon even went the extra mile to include the new Paradoxe Intense perfume, just to sweeten the deal.

She holds the clothing up to her body, exclaiming, "I am going to look so good in these! Thanks, Hoon!" Sunghoon can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the use of the nickname.

Glancing over at you, he sees your knowing expression. You understand exactly what he's up to, and while you may not agree with his methods, you appreciate the sentiment. He's trying to make amends, and that's more than most men would do.

Hugging Sunghoon tightly, Rina sways him from side to side, a stark contrast to her demeanour just moments ago. Sunghoon laughs and pats her head, promising to keep her in mind for any future shoots.

"Do you happen to be modelling for Gucci anytime soon?" she asks cheekily, causing you to shoot her a disapproving look, "What? I want the new purse they're bringing out," she shrugs, picking up her presents and sauntering away from the car, "Thanks again. I'll leave my favourite lovebirds to it."

It's astounding how easily swayed she is by a few items of fabric, a fact you make a mental note of for future reference. Once she's happily on her way, you and Sunghoon are left in silence.

Sunghoon shuts the trunk of his car before lifting you up in a sudden move, "Hoonie!" you squeal, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. Despite the suddenness, you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him as he kisses you passionately. He sets you down on the back of his car and cradles your head, deepening the kiss. His lips feel softer than usual, gliding over yours like butter, possibly due to the lip oil he applied earlier in the day

His tongue playfully teases your lips, poking out ever so slightly to give you a taste, but when you chase it with your own, he retracts. You let out a whine of annoyance and lust, a sound Sunghoon is all too familiar with. He loves it; how you draw it out depends on how much you crave him. It makes him feel some sort of way that he can’t quite put into words.

You take hold of his jacket and bring him forward, taking control of the situation. The world seems to vanish around you with every caress, to the point where you miss the stares of passers-by and their disapproving glances as you and Sunghoon practically devour each other's faces. You can taste the warmth and passion between you every time your tongues touch. He's intoxicating.

But you really need to get a dress, and if you get too caught up in him right now, you'll never make it to the city. Instead, you'll end up with your legs spread in the backseat of his car.

"Hoonie, we better stop," you say, trying to sound serious, but your breathless whisper betrays your true feelings.

"Why?" He asks as he nips at your neck, too preoccupied with kissing you to remember the objective of today's outing, or even that he's on your campus practically dry-humping you out in the open.

"You know why," you whisper into his ear, trying to regain some composure.

His head falls in defeat on your shoulder, and he nuzzles into you, tickling the base of your neck. A smile spreads across his face, "I missed you, that's all," he admits, his voice filled with sincerity.

Rolling your eyes, you lift his head with your hand. "I saw you just two days ago."

"But I always miss you, doesn't matter if it's two days or two minutes," he says innocently, knowing exactly the effect those words will have on you. And it works; your heart swells with happiness, making you momentarily forget your resolve.

Pushing him away gently, you jump off the back of his car, ignoring the fluttering in your chest. Sunghoon simply shakes his head and gets into the seat beside you. Turning on the radio, he switches it back to your favourite station and buckles up. "Where to first?"

"There's a dress I saw online that's in Reeta's. They have one in my size just as you get into the city centre," you reply, going to put the address into his car’s navigation system. As you do, you notice that your home address is his favourite route, followed by your work address and then your college.

Sunghoon notices your pause and furrows his brows, "Do you know the address? I can google it if you want," he offers, glancing at his navigation system and realising what has caught your attention. He knows his way to all those locations by now, but seeing them saved under 'Y/N’s House', 'Y/N’s Work', and 'Y/N’s Uni' brings him a sense of comfort and belonging. To him, it's like having pieces of you scattered over every part of his life, even while driving. He never planned for you to see it, but now that you have, he hopes it's not a big deal to you.

You quickly type in Reeta’s postcode and hit okay, “It says it’s 25 minutes if we take the motorway,” you inform him.

He salutes playfully and drives off to your first destination, a smile playing on his lips.

___

4 shops, and 3 boutiques later, you’ve lost all hope. Not one of the dresses gave you the ‘wow’ factor you needed. It’s not often you go to events like this so you need your outfit to be spectacular.

Right now, you're in a random shop you spotted on the high street. It's not exactly the most inviting place – dark and kind of dreary, with clothes that look like they belong in a period drama rather than on a modern-day street.

Sunghoon is also browsing the dresses. Bless him, he's been dragged around every shop, and while you're about to have a mental breakdown, he's always the optimist, finding dresses that meet the criteria you gave him. You're looking for an emerald green or navy blue dress that reaches your knees, preferably longer. It also needs to have a spaghetti strap or be off the shoulders. You knew what suited you, plus, those were the sort of dresses you imagined yourself wearing as soon as you received the letter about the ceremony.

He finds a ribbed green dress with gold accents, “What about this? It’s kind of emerald, and it would sit comfortably.”

It’s the most hideous gown you’ve seen today, but his little smiley face stops you from being so brutally honest, “It’s not really my style.”

Putting it back, he walks to where you are looking and sighs in your ear, hugging you from behind. He can see you losing patience and will to find a dress and if you’re anything like his girl friends, specifically Wonyoung, you would start ranting about how you aren’t going any second now, "We've still got the Square to check out," he says, trying to lift your spirits. "Maybe we'll get lucky there."

You widen your eyes, “Hoonie, that’s Designer Square. There is no way they’ll have anything within my budget, not even on the sale rack.” the Square was your town’s equivalent to Rodeo Drive, each street was lined with branded stores like Armani, Gucci, Burberry, basically every shop out of your league. You don’t even recall a time you dared to walk near it.

"Worth having a look, right?" Sunghoon's optimism is charming, but you can't help but feel a pang of doubt. With the amount of money you have, you're not even sure you could afford a keychain from one of these stores. Despite saving up a bit from your extra shifts, your bank account is far from flush. £200 might buy you a small accessory or a one-way ticket home on the bus if you're lucky.

Sunghoon doesn’t give you time to argue, his hands on your shoulders pushing you out the door and into the car.

As he drove up to the high-end part of the city, you were in awe, even the street lamps looked prettier here. The people gracing the streets are all dripping in designer clothes, making you feel a bit out of place. It was okay for Sunghoon, he was still wearing his exclusive Prada outfit that would be the envy of everyone here, whether as you are clad in an a-line denim skirt with a purple cardigan you’re pretty sure you got from ASOS. It’s a whole different world here.

He pulls up at the end of the street, parking his Puegoet next to an array of Land Rovers and BMWs. This was definitely not a place made for you, but it seemed to fit Sunghoon perfectly - the clean-cut aesthetic, the expensiveness, it was all him.

“Do you come here a lot?” You only ask because he seems to be guiding you to a specific shop as if he visits frequently.

He intertwines his fingers with yours and swings it idly, "No, not really, but sometimes I get invited to galas and sponsor events. There's a store up to the right that sells dress trousers that actually fit."

You hum in acknowledgement, wondering if Minhee ever gets invited to such events. He's just as talented as Sunghoon when it comes to skating, yet he doesn’t seem to live as lavishly. Granted, Sunghoon has won nationals and even went to the Youth Olympics, while Minhee didn’t. Maybe that has something to do with it.

"Is that where you’re taking me now? To your suit guy?" you ask.

Sunghoon squeezes your hand and stops, "No, we’re going here," he points to the store beside you, and you gasp.

"No way, Sunghoon. I can’t even afford to even breathe in a Versace store." But it’s too late; he's already walking in, ignoring your protests. He holds the door open, gesturing for you to come in. Despite your reluctance, he waits patiently, still smiling. The people in the store stare, wondering why he’s just standing there looking at you. With a groan and a stomp of your feet, you cave and walk inside.

The store is bright and vibrant. Glass panels showcase handbags and other accessories on the right, while an extensive row of shoes lines the left. The shopkeepers and other customers all look straight out of an upper-class drama. Actually, now that you think about it, you feel a little like you’re in a K-drama, with the big CEO as the male lead and you as the poor girl whose family owns a chicken restaurant.

With his arm on your back, Sunghoon guides you past the onlookers and to the dresses. "Look through these, and I’ll be right back," he says.

"But Hoonie, I can’t afford these," you whisper embarrassed as you twist the £2,000 tag from a random dress and shove it in his face to emphasize your point.

"Appease me, yeah?" He pinches your cheek before he walks away, leaving you to scour for a gown.

Each one of them is beautiful and elegant, the detailing and colours blowing your mind. You could never find anything as stunning in your local boutiques. There's one in particular that catches your eye, a sleek ivory dress with gold chains cascading down the sides. It’s not what you would normally wear, but it is stunning.

As you continue to look through, you find yourself unable to choose. Not because they're not right, but because they're all too nice now, and about £1,000 over your budget. In defeat, you go to find Sunghoon when you suddenly see the most beautiful dress you have ever laid your eyes on. It’s nothing like what you imagined, everything about it is the opposite of what you wanted, but it is flawlessly ethereal in every way. It’s a black halter neck dress with an open back, lace detailing throughout, and frills that are the main attraction. If you could fall in love and marry a piece of clothing, it might just be with this. It’s classy, elegant, and perfect for the ceremony.

There's just one tiny problem. It's £1,800.

You’re scared to touch it, but you have to, you need to know what something this pretty feels like. Tentatively, you pinch the top frill and feel it between your fingertips. That was your first mistake because now no other dress is going to compare.

“You like that one?” you were so busy admiring the dress that you failed to notice Sunghoon coming up beside you. Nodding, you don’t take your eyes off the garment, too in love with it. “Try it on then.”

“I can’t. It’s too expensive,” you say wistfully, your heart sinking.

Sunghoon leans in, his voice barely a whisper next to your ear. “Exactly. When else will you have a chance to rock something like this? Let yourself indulge a little, Sweets.”

He’s right, you won’t get an opportunity like this again, and what harm has a little delusion ever brought anyone? You smile brightly and nod, “Okay, yeah, maybe just for a minute.” Sunghoon smiles at your response and looks at one of the workers, pointing with his eyes to get you it in your size.

In a flash, the shop assistants have you in the changing room, which resembles a whole wedding boutique. The gold and white decor only elevates the classiness of the place. How could this be a dressing room? The assistant ushers you into one of the stalls which is bigger than your bedroom. Sunghoon waits outside for you to change, taking a seat on the plump suite.

As you shed your clothes and slip into the dress, you're struck by its perfect fit. The delicate zip glides effortlessly, cinching your waist and accentuating your curves. As you pull up the top half of the dress and tie the bow at the back, although it proves a task because you can’t see it properly, you take one final look at yourself. You haven't felt this stunning in a long time; it's almost overwhelming.

Stepping out, everyone else is gone but Sunghoon who is scrolling on his phone. You straighten yourself and clear your throat to gather his attention.

“Holy fucking shit,” he whispers, eyes widening in disbelief.

His reaction is exactly what you hoped for. Sunghoon rises from the sofa, taking measured steps towards you, arms outstretched in front of him to take your hands, which you happily oblige, “You’re a dream. You have to be,” he isn’t speaking to you but projecting his inner monologue subconsciously.

As he takes in every detail, he smiles tenderly, almost reverently. It's as if the dress has unveiled a new layer of your beauty, leaving him spellbound. Emotion wells up in his chest, and he is completely in awe of you.

Your face glows with happiness. "It's nice, right?"

"Baby, you're otherworldly." Sunghoon threads his fingers with yours and opens your arms so he can get a proper look at you. At that moment, he sees you poised with a grace that can only be described as radiant, bewitching, whatever other word comes under 'transcendental' in the thesaurus. "I mean, look at you." Of all the routines he's done, no matter how challenging, he thinks this is the moment he becomes the most out of breath he has ever been.

You note the affectionate name he's uttered and should scold him, but who cares right now? "Yeah? Really?"

"What? You don't think so?" He asks, bewildered at the thought that you don't think you look like the most ethereal creature to walk this earth. Swiftly, he turns you to face the mirror in the middle of the waiting area. "Look at yourself, Sweets. You're a fucking vision."

Though you do feel beautiful, the longer you gaze at yourself, the more you wrestle with a hint of impostor syndrome. This dress feels like it belongs to another world, one far beyond your own, meant for the Rinas of the world.

As Sunghoon rubs your shoulders, he senses the tension building within you, "No," he murmurs.

You shift your face to look at him, "What do you mean, 'no'?"

He presses his mouth to your exposed shoulder, kissing it tenderly.,"No, as in, no to whatever you're thinking about. You look unreal, and I'm not leaving here until you say that you do." His kisses trail along your shoulders and back as he gently rubs your arms.

"I do feel pretty, I know I do, but do you think it suits me?" Sunghoon's hands untie the bow at the top, and you look at him with a shocked expression. "Park Sunghoon, don't you dare."

Laughing, he shakes his head. "You've got such a filthy mind," he teases. When the neckline tightens against your throat, you realize what he's doing. "And you have terrible bow-tying skills." Closing your eyes and lowering your head, embarrassed at where your mind went to first.

"I mean... I could bend you over and..." His words trail off suggestively, and you feel his hands slide down your arms as he kisses down your spine.

"Sunghoon," you warn, but it doesn't deter him. He continues to glide his fingers up under the dress, ready to pull your underwear down.

"I'm serious, Sunghoon. Don't," you insist as your face flushes a deep shade of red.

He steps back, his presence behind you providing some distance. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and despite the feebleness of your warning, he wanted you to know he would stop whenever you asked, especially after what you’d been through.

Scrunching your hair, he holds it in an updo and brings two pieces of your hair to cascade down your face, “Picture it with your hair and makeup done, your bangs blown out a little like Sabrina Carpenter, I think you’d be the prettiest in the place - but I’m biased because you’re always the prettiest to me.” How did he know what hairstyle Sabrina Carpenter had?

A shop assistant enters and catches sight of you through the mirror, gasping out an almost silent "wow." Sunghoon's smug grin grows wider; he knew your beauty in this dress would be undeniable. The girl fetches two of her colleagues who have the same reaction.

The man behind you turns to them, "I think we need some shoes, don’t you think?" All of them nod in agreement as you swish around, locking eyes with Sunghoon. You’ve lived out your fantasy; it’s time to go. Yet, he’s already dashing to the front of the store, quickly returning with a pair of Medusa '95 slingback pumps adorned with the Versace logo on the buckle. The stiletto is about 4 and a half inches, smaller than what you’re used to, but Sunghoon knows your style and that you’ll manage just fine.

The eager assistants gather around to help you put the classic shoes on and they fit just right. The combination of the heels and the dress was just perfect, like something picked for a celebrity going to the Oscars.

As you stand there in front of everyone once again, you feel a little like Mia in the Princess Diaries with the way their eyes are on you after your big transformation. Sunghoon was right, with your hair and makeup done, you’d be the talk of the event.

Your new makeshift stylist stands there as if he’s assessing you from head to toe. His middle finger rubs his bottom lip as he saunters over to you, his eyes carrying affection and deep thought, “We’ll take them.”

Is he out of his mind?

“Hoonie, I can’t,” your eyes watch as the people in the shop scurry to get everything prepared for you, their eyes lighting up. They must work on commission because no one in shops like Primark would ever work so fast.

“Go get changed, no arguing. Let me do this,” he mutters into your lips, kissing you tenderly.

“I can’t, it is way too expensive and this goes way beyond breaching our rules,” you protest.

Sunghoon sighs and tries to think. You’re getting that dress whether you like it or not, he just has to convince you to let him buy it for you, “Don’t see it as a gift from me but for me. I want to see you accept your award in that dress, so I’m buying it for myself to give to you. Completely selfish of me if you think about it.”

Accepting an almost £2000 gown wasn’t within your capabilities, no matter how gorgeous you looked in it. Your tiny savings couldn’t even pay for the buckles on the shoes the staff were slowly taking off your feet.

“I’m serious, Hoonie. I can’t accept it,” you cross your arms over in a huff, standing your ground as Sunghoon frustratingly runs his hands through his hair.

“Okay, how about this? I will buy it today and you will pay me back. Then it’s not a gift but a loan. See? problem solved.” He was adamant for sure. It might take you forever to pay him back but it seemed like the best option for your scenario.

Nodding, you relax your body, “fine, deal,” you grab his hand and shake it, “I’ll pay back every penny.” You’re going to have to work some serious overtime but it’ll be worth it., you’ll be belle of the ball or whatever the saying is.

As you walk away and get changed back into your ordinary clothes, Sunghoon speaks up, “Oh, and I only accept repayment in kisses. No cash.” He smirks and swiftly heads out to the payment desk.

“Park Sunghoon! That’s not happening!” You shout at him.

“Sorry, Sweets, we shook on it.” The smug man doesn’t even glance back at you.

That son of a bitch.

___________

It’s the night of the ceremony and you are beyond nervous. The idea of being acknowledged in front of a room full of people makes you sick to your stomach. Sure, you won’t be the only one there accepting an award since it’s for all the top students throughout the city, but all eyes will be on you at some point or other and that is what is causing the knots in your tummy.

Was it a bad idea to go tonight? It’s not as if you wouldn’t get the award, they would hand it into the Uni for you if you suddenly decided not to show up. You pace around your room, shaking your hands and breathing out to calm down. It’s not that big of a deal, get over it, you tell yourself, but nothing is stopping your thoughts. What if you fall? What if you got the date wrong? What if it’s a prank?

All these what-ifs circle in your head.

You throw yourself in front of your vanity mirror to look at yourself and assess whether you really can do this. The makeup and hair you've chosen for yourself make you appear to have it all together; the light eyeliner and gold shimmer eye shadow subtly make your eyes appear larger, and the Bardot fringe framing your face, as Sunghoon had suggested, it all ties together beautifully.

Maybe you can do this. Maybe, the reason you’re feeling so nervous is that you aren’t used to any sort of fuss being made about you, the spotlight always shining on your brother, Rina, or literally anyone else but you. When you got the letter through, you cried over not getting attention and recognition for it, and now here you are sweating over the fact you are getting what you wanted.

“Y/N, can I come in?” Minhee asks through the door. He hadn’t left for his shoot yet and honestly, you didn’t think you’d see him tonight.

You nod and then remember he can’t see you through the wooden door, “Oh, yeah come in.” You hadn’t begun to get ready in your dress yet, most of your time spent on the lashes you eventually decided to leave behind after a 30-minute dispute with yourself and some glue.

Standing up to greet him, Minhee comes in and closes the door behind him and when he sees you all dolled up, he scrunches his face, “Since when did my little sister become so grown up?” He inspects you, walking around you to look at your hair, “You’ve got a bit sticking out the back, by the way.”

Running back over to your mirror you examine your hair, looking for the imperfection but you don’t see it. With Minhee’s snort, you realise he’s joking, “Fuck off, Mini, don’t say shit like that!” you complain, going over your hair anyway.

“Sorry, Y/N, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so dolled up before.” He says.

"Yeah, well, it's a big night." You don't mean to say it snarkily, but Minhee seems to interpret it that way, his head dropping to look at the floor. He wanted nothing more than to be there for you, and it hurt him that you might think he didn't care.

Of course, you knew he cared; he told you he tried to reschedule this commercial shoot the night you found out; you can't blame him for not attending this ceremony because he at least tried to be there.

Minhee puts his hands in his pockets, “I can see if we can finish early. I might be able to make some of it?”

Your eyes widen in panic, thinking about what would happen if he showed up only to see Sunghoon sitting beside you, “No, no, really it’s okay. Just have fun at your shoot.”

“You think I will have fun knowing I’m missing my baby sister's first life achievement?” He’s angry but not at you, at himself and the situation he’s in because the more he speaks, the more he hates himself for not just throwing this schedule to the wind so he could come with you. But there’s more to it than you know.

Facing him, you try to offer him an empathetic expression: "Mini, I didn't mean it that way. Plus, my first major life achievement was high school graduation, and you came to that."

Smiling, you recall how he made such a fuss about something so insignificant in your view. Minhee created a banner that read 'Y/N, You Rock!' on it. It was cheesy and unusual to bring to graduation, but because you had always crafted signs to bring with you when you cheered him on at contests, he thought it was not only hilarious but also appropriate, “Plus, I’ll just win it again next year so you can come with me then.”

He smiles slightly and finds some comfort in your words. It amazed him how you managed to make everyone else feel better about themselves even when they shouldn’t. Gently, he attempts to fix your bangs, “Take lots of pictures, yeah? So many that I don’t think I missed it at all.”

“I will,” You stick your hand up in the air and he laughs, high-fiving you.

Before he leaves you for his schedule, he asks one more dreaded question, “Who are you taking anyway?”

It was the one question you hadn’t prepped for and now suddenly you’re back in school being given a pop quiz on a book you forgot to read.

“R-Rina! You know she would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t bring her along.” It was quick thinking and a plausible answer. He didn’t know she was stuck inside, studying for tomorrow’s exam.

“I figured, just wondering since you’re wearing that perfume you only wear for dates.” He smirks.

You sprayed a little Crystal Noir on your pulse points once you finished your hair to give it time to die down before you had to leave, “Excuse me, I use it for all special occasions.” Crossing your arms, you stand defensively. If he caught a whiff of a guy coming with you to this event, he wouldn’t let it go, and you couldn’t exactly blurt out that it was Sunghoon you were taking.

“Whatever. Have a good time, okay? If anything happens or Rina gets out of hand, give me a call, yeah?” Minhee stands half out of your room, holding the door as if he wants to say something else, “I’m proud of you, Bubs.”

Don’t fucking cry, this foundation is so expensive.

“Thanks, Mini. Love you,” you utter in a low voice, appreciative of his words.

Minhee closes the door behind him and you check your phone for the time. You have an hour to finish getting dressed, plenty of time to fit in a few more what-ifs, and learn to tie the bow of your dress correctly.

_____

Brushing off any dust or hair from your dress, you take a glance at yourself in the mirror. You look good like you’re prepared for this. Your phone pings with a new message.

No.1 Ice Skater 🧊🤍:

6:14pm: Hey Sweets, are you ready?

6:14pm: Yeah! Are you nearly here?

Just as your message was sent, the doorbell rings. Sunghoon didn’t wait about, you thought you had at least another 10 minutes before he showed up.

Running down the stairs, almost as if you’re gliding, you swing the door open, not even looking at Sunghoon properly, “Come in! I’m just going to get my stuff from upstairs.”

You’re like a mist, coming as fast as you go and Sunghoon bewilderingly helps himself into your home. This is the first time he dared to step foot in the Kang residence, giving him a strange feeling.

Glancing around, his eyes grew with curiosity as he took in the intricacies that made up the place. His gaze lingered on the framed images on the walls, which captured different parts of your life from young until now. It was as if each image represented a chapter, and he was turning the pages.

However, he did notice how there was only one of you solely on your own, you were 14, leaning on a tree on an evidently hot summer day in your sundress. He remembers you so clearly at that age, it’s strange considering he didn’t get to speak more than 3 words to you back then. The smile on his face grows as his gratitude for the time he can spend with you now seeps into his heart.

The padding of your feet down the carpeted stairs pulls his eyes away, looking at the now 19-year-old you. You’re fighting to put a pair of earrings in as you hold the Versace shoes by their strap on one of your free fingers and your handbag swings from your left shoulder.

Once you win your battle with the small gold hoops, you place the shoes and bag down, “Sorry, I’ll be two minutes, let me just put these on and we’re good to go.”

But before you can sit on the last step of the staircase to buckle your shoes, Sunghoon unbuttons his jacket and kneels, grabbing the shoes and sliding them on your feet. You finally stop for a minute and take in the scene in front of you - he’s so sweet you could melt.

Sunghoon carefully buckles your heels, trying not to nip your skin. "Are they alright?" he asks, looking up at you. You confirm with a nod, eliciting a slight smile on his face. As he slides his hands over the outside of your legs, he gently kisses the inner area of your calves. He doesn’t know why he does it, it just feels natural to kiss every inch of your body.

He gets back on his feet and leans back to look at you. Even though he had previously seen the dress on you, seeing you in it again with your hair and makeup done and the accessories you selected was a completely other experience, “Wow.”

It’s not what he wanted to say exactly, but it’s all he could at the moment. You had completely blown him away.

Blushing, you push him playfully, taking in his outfit of choice as you do so. He’s wearing a simple black suit with silk trimmings, his lace-up derby shoes match the shininess of yours, and his tie is adorned with a gold Prada tie bar. He did the simplest things to match you without being too obvious about it, and the attention to detail erupted butterflies in your chest.

“You look amazing, Hoonie,” you compliment.

“Don’t I always?” he replies cockily, doing a showman spin so you can see all of his outfit. He’s so silly sometimes it cancels out his arrogance. Buttoning his jacket back up, he holds out his arm for you to take, “Shall we?”

You take his arm and grin vibrantly at him, shaking your head in agreement. Locking the door behind you, and double checking your purse, you make your way to the venue.

Arriving at the event makes you even more overwhelmed than you thought you would be. It’s just an award ceremony for some uni kids but it looks like the Met Gala. Everyone is dressed to the nines, the atmosphere is filled with excitement and amazement, and you begin to wonder just what it’s like on the inside.

Sunghoon places his hand on your shoulder to gain your attention, “Are you sure you’re not winning a Grammy or something?” He jokes, unintentionally easing your mind.

“I know, I can’t believe the city would do this for a couple of students that got high grades.”

In a dubious yet playful tone, he quirked his mouth to the side and asked, "Is that all you are? A student with high grades?" The mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips showed his scepticism over your self-deprecation. Did you truly think that’s all you were? “I’d say to be the most exceptional student of the whole of Yonsei, it would go further than just your grades, right?” He massages your shoulder, thumb circling lightly.

When you look at him, he’s waiting for you to agree with him. You know you’re downplaying it right now, but it’s the only way you might be able to get through the ceremony without vomiting, “Yeah okay, maybe it’s more than that.”

“No, you’re more than that, Sweets.” Why was it even when he was disgustingly cheesy, it made your heart do summersaults, “C’mon, let’s go.” He gets out of the car and rushes to your side to open the door for you. The place had a valet so Sunghoon reluctantly handed the boy his keys, scared for his poor baby.

Walking into the Cathedral was daunting yet exhilarating. The buzz in the air and loud chatter meant your senses didn’t know what to settle on. The inside was beautiful, the architecture old and filled with history, and now you were adding to it in a way, which helps you smile.

A waiter comes over with champagne on a tray and offers you and Sunghoon one each which you gladly take. You take a sip and savour the fruity taste, Normally, you’re content with a £6 bottle of Echo Falls which doesn’t even truly count as wine never mind champagne, so this is a new experience for you. The drink glides down your throat as you take another swig.

Your date pushes his glass to you, “Here, take this one.”

“Why? Aren’t you having it?”

“Nah, I don’t drink. Plus, I drove us here.” Sunghoon shrugs and takes the empty glass from your hand, deciding not to comment on how you downed a probably £15 glass of champagne in record time.

You forgot he didn’t drink, so used to everyone around you necking bottles like they were going out of fashion, you are a bit like that too to be fair so you can’t judge them. Even Minhee drank like a fish when he didn’t have training the next morning.

Speaking of Minhee.

“Hey, can you take a picture of me next to the sign?” you point your head towards the grand sign that says ‘25th Annual Crowning Achievement Gala’ in gold writing, weirdly matching your attire.

Sunghoon agrees, stretching out his hand to take your phone, “Does Rina want to see your outfit?”

“No, I promised Mini I would take lots of pictures,” you say nonchalantly, not seeing the way Sunghoon’s expression turns sour. It’s been easy to forget they hate each other since you don’t really bring them up in front of one another.

Adding to his bitterness is the text that conveniently popped up from your brother the exact moment he took your phone. Even his name triggered Sunghoon, not only from their past but because he should be here with you, regardless of circumstances. Sunghoon couldn’t wrap his head around why he wouldn’t just drop everything for you, how his career took prestige over his own little sister. The idea that you aren’t everyone’s first priority makes him sick. He made a vow you would never feel like a second option when you’re with him.

If you could hear the torrent of names and accusations swirling in Sunghoon's mind, it would undoubtedly spark an argument. However, while you couldn't read his thoughts, his facial expressions spoke volumes. “Sunghoon, please. He asked for a picture,” you plead, hoping to diffuse the tension.

“He should have fucking been here,” he seethes, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Was he really going to make a scene here and now? Catching the disbelief on your face, he deflates, realizing that this isn’t the appropriate time or place for his outburst. “Sorry, Sweets,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with remorse.

You offer a sarcastic thank you and dutifully pose next to the sign. Sunghoon snaps about 10 different pictures, determined to capture the perfect shot. In his eyes, you look stunning in every single one, but he knows he may be a bit biased.

The bell rings to signal the ceremony is starting and you make your way to the assigned seat. You’re both placed at a round table, big enough to fit 12 people, and in the middle of the table there is a candelabra with flowers at the base and three ice buckets with red and white wine.

“This is way too fancy for a school award,” The girl beside you whispers, to which you just nod. As everyone takes their seats, you see Sunghoon pull out your chair for you before sitting on his own. The girl next to you hits her partner and mutters, “Why didn’t you do that for me?”

Sunghoon was a high standard to meet, you knew that. Despite his flaws, he was always gentle with you, raising the bar for your needs more and more. When you eventually find a boy you can be with, he’ll never be on Sunghoon’s level, no one could ever be.

The pain deepens each time you realise that Sunghoon may never be someone you can call yours.

He reaches over and pours you a white wine, smiling as he does so. One thing you’ve learned about Sunghoon is that he loves to do simple acts of service, and right now he is in his element. Being able to look after you, even in the most simple ways is all he has ever wanted. And since it’s your big night, you’re being more lenient with your rules. He wonders just how far he could push it.

Taking your left hand in his, he intertwines your fingers and brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it softly, “Do you think there’s an overall award? Like, is one of you better than anyone else?” he asks.

“Nah, it would be cruel to make someone an overall winner of a winner. It would take away from the feeling of achievement everyone has,” you look around and see what must be about 90 people. You hadn’t known there were so many universities around the place.

"Yeah, imagine people winning a tournament but still needing to compete again to be the best of the best. I couldn't think of anything worse." Sunghoon gives you a look that asks, ‘Are you aware of who you are speaking to?’ and you realise who you are talking with, Mr. Ice Prince, who is about to compete in Nationals before going on to compete in the Olympics.

The irony was evident, as the person you were expressing this to was thoroughly entrenched in the world of competitive figure skating, which was based on the very idea you found so frustrating. Not that you’re all kumbaya or anything, but it’s a shame that everything in life seems to be a competition.

“How has training been for Nationals?” you ask, focusing on his nose freckle.

“Sweets you come to nearly all my practices, you know it’s going okay,” he eyes you suspiciously, “Wait, was I right the first day I saw you lurking around the ring? Have you made this grand plan to get me whipped for you so you can spy on me?” Sunghoon’s eyebrow raised playfully, “Now you want to sike me out?”

“What? NO!” you proclaim, laughing in disbelief.

“It’s all coming out now, baby, you can’t hide it anymore,” both of you laugh at the thought of an elaborate scheme being the reason he’s sitting beside you right now.

You kiss his hand that’s still tangled with yours, “Hand in hand, I promise I have relayed absolutely nothing to my brother.”

“Want to tell me what he’s planning then? A flying camel spin? Quad jumps?” Wiggling his brows you let go of his hand a roll your eyes. To be honest, you haven’t seen Minhee’s practice in a while.

Come to think of it, your mum hasn’t pestered you to be there like she normally does. The first few times you missed his practices she reprimanded you, telling you how much missing the training lowers Minhee’s confidence. It’s not that you wanted to miss them, and you tried your hardest to be there, it’s just…you were always with Sunghoon.

The tapping of a mic diverts your attention from your worries to the stage, “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I’m so happy to see so many young talents within our universities, it fills me with pride for this city.” The Chancellor of Education beams with pride.

He continues to ramble on about a bunch of stuff that you couldn't care less about. Your mind is preoccupied with thoughts of the three steps leading up to the stage and how easily you could trip and faceplant in front of everyone here.

A person dressed in an all-black suit comes over and speaks to your table, “Anyone who is receiving an award, please follow me.” Shit. Here you go.

You look to Sunghoon who smiles reassuringly, “Go get 'em’, Sweets.” his words are less encouraging than you need them to be at this moment, but the pride in his eyes is enough to get you up off your chair and follow the man to the side of the stage.

Sunghoon watches on as you take your place in line. He can tell you’re shitting a brick but he knows you’ll be fine, you always are - you’re tough like that. A proud smile appeared on his face, showing his admiration for you. As you got closer to the stage, the world around him melted away, leaving only the view of you, poised for recognition.

“Your girl is a looker,” One of the guys at the table says, and the others agree, but Sunghoon doesn’t take his eyes off you, scared he’ll miss any part of this.

“She is, isn’t she?” Sunghoon musters up a reply. If he wasn’t so infatuated with you right now he might have told the boy to keep his eyes off you, but he spares him for now.

Unaware of the compliments being whispered about you at the table, you find yourself sweating a little. If this were any other scenario, you would make a joke about how your palms are sweaty, mom’s spaghetti, but this isn’t a laughing matter.

As tension mounts, you silently reassure yourself that you won't stumble, that everything will be fine, and that it’s just a fleeting moment.

As the chancellor says the names of each student, you’re getting closer and closer to the stage and you start to think how you should have had way more wine to calm you, but then again, more wine equals drunk you, and she isn’t exactly steady on her feet at the best of times.

“Y/N Kang.”

Oh, that’s me. You think, smiling idly. Oh, fuck that’s me.

Centring yourself, you gracefully make it up the stairs, no accident in sight, and walk to the chancellor and thank him as you accept your award.

“WOO!”

Turning to glance at your table, you notice Sunghoon standing up, clapping and smiling broadly, his canines on full display as he makes a fuss over you and shouts your name. He begins to fist-pump the air, and everyone laughs, including you. As you place a hand over your mouth, your cheeks turn crimson not only from embarrassment but also from happiness.

The warm glow of the stage lights framed you, creating an illuminating aura around your body. Sunghoon couldn't help but congratulate himself on tricking you into allowing him to buy you the dress you're currently wearing.

You bow to the committee and hurry down the stairs, ready for the spotlight to be off you and on literally anyone else but that isn’t the case. All eyes are on you, happy faces greet you from every table as if they have known you for years, and all you can do is thank them in passing, desperate to get to Sunghoon.

Approaching the table, Sunghoon holds his hand out to stop you, and you pause in place, confused. He picks your phone up and swipes open the camera app, “Pose with your prize, Sweets.”

Obliging, you do a multitude of poses, some silly and some you could actually put on your Instagram. Once he’s satisfied, Sunghoon ushers you towards him, picking you up and spinning you around a few times, “So, so proud of you, Y/N.” Gently, his mouth meets yours as he sets you down, “So fucking proud of you, you have no idea.” his whispered affirmations of pride bring a few tears to your eyes but you blink them back.

Just like before, he pulls your seat out for you as you sit back down and congratulate the other winners at your table. You miss the way he gazed at you with a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes, an unspoken language of affection and warmth. His gaze followed the contours of your face, fixating on every detail as though he were memorising it.

He passes you the phone so you can take more pictures of your award to send to Minhee. Sunghoon doesn’t mean to read the messages between you both but he can see how he misjudged Minhee a little.

Mini <3

8:23pm Look! It’s so pretty

3 images attached

8:24pm: Bubs you look amazing?!?

8:24pm: When did my sister get so pretty?

8:24pm: I wish I was there :(

8:24pm: I know :( Me too

8:24pm: Better come next time!

8:25pm: Never missing anything again

8:25pm: Love you, I couldn’t be prouder.

8:25pm: Keep me updated!

“Hoonie, let’s get a picture together, hmm?” You haven’t ever taken a picture with him before, possibly because it’s an unspoken rule, but you can’t pass the opportunity up - not when you both look so good.

Shuffling his chair a little so he can be behind you, he leans forward, almost resting his chin on your shoulder before you snap a pic. You take a few, most of them just smiling from a different angle, that is before Sunghoon presses his lips to your cheek and closes his eyes. Closing your eyes with him, you take the picture quickly.

“Ah! It’s so pretty.” You squeal, reviewing the pictures. A serene moment filled with the tenderness of your connection unfolds as his lips find the slope of your shoulder. Sunghoon puckers his mouth and gives you a delicate kiss while his eyes focus on the photo you’re showing him, “Do you like it?”

He turns your face to look at him and whispers, "I love it." Sunghoon's gaze expressed a language deeper than the words, a confession he knows he can't make out loud, not yet, He encloses your lips in his, pouring his feelings into you the best he can.

It was as if this award ceremony wasn’t happening because you don’t even realise all the awards have been handed out and there’s a band making their way to the stage, both of you are too engrossed in one another. The band plays songs typical of these kinds of events, renditions of pop songs, and some classics to get people dancing.

As the night progresses, the table you're at empties, but you and Sunghoon remain seated, immersed in conversation about everything and anything. He's removed his jacket and hung it over the chair; his sleeves are rolled up and his tie is loose, reflecting how long you've been getting familiar with each other. You didn’t think there was anything left you could know about him after spending almost 2 months with him, but you were wrong.

As you nurse your second glass of wine, you ask him the most important question of the evening.

“Do you think aliens will come and take over the world?”

Sunghoon laughs out loud, looking at you dotingly, “What? Like right now?” he twirls a piece of your hair framing your face.

“Nah not now, but like in the future. Like some War of the Worlds shit.”

“Oh so not like little green dudes?” He asks and you shake your head assuringly, “Good, because it was hard enough batting every guy at this table tonight off of you, never mind Martians with superpowers. I don’t stand a chance there.”

You laugh for the nth time, “None of them were even looking at me.”

“Yeah, because I gave them all my signature death stare to stop looking at my girl,” he points two fingers to his eyes and imitates a stern expression.

“Ah, but see, I’m not your girl,” you lean back in your chair and cross one leg over the other, “You’re forgetting that.”

His expression shifted, becoming more earnest, "You could be..." he replied, his gaze holding a sincerity that belied the playfulness of the banter. The words are spoken with true intent, leaving a pause in the air as he looks for any response on your face.

“Hoonie-”

“I know - Minhee, and your devoted loyalty to him - but you know this is more than what we’re calling it, so why don’t we just call it like it is?” he pleads, slouching forward to take your hands in his, “We can still keep it a secret, we don’t have to tell him.”

“But he said no dating, that’s the whole point of us being in this sort of relationship,” you remind him of the loophole he had found in Minhee’s words that eased your guilt.

“Sweets, no offence but if you don’t feel guilty now, you won’t if I call you my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

He skipped the whole dating idea and just jumped straight to relationship status. But he’s right because technically you have been dating for almost 2 months, just never calling it that for your own peace of mind. You never intended to fall headfirst for Sunghoon, or maybe you did.

You can’t deny the gravitational pull you both have towards one another, that instant connection from the night he kissed you for the first time. Of course, it’s complicated, what with Minhee’s feelings involved, but maybe you should give in and see what happens.

You suck in a breath, your inner turmoil threatening to overwhelm you, "If we’re still keeping it a secret, and everything is still the same between us, why do we need to label it?"

He kisses your hands tenderly, his touch soothing, "Well, we can finally get rid of those fucking rules that neither of us cared about in the first place. I can take you out and proudly call it a date, and shower you with gifts as your man," Sunghoon's gaze shifts from your hands to your eyes, his expression earnest, "And I get to proudly call you mine, for as long as you’ll have me."

The sensation of his lips against your skin sends tingles down your spine, and his words ease the weight of your unspoken desires. It would be a relief to just be with him, but could your mind ever silence the guilt?

“Y/N, listen to me,” he turns deadly serious, a little annoyed at how much Minhee is having a say in this without even uttering a word, “Minhee is a grown man, he will get over it. He won’t hate you, he loves you too much for that. Will he be a little angry at the beginning? Sure, but that won’t last, okay? He does not own you, nor can he tell you who you can and cannot date,” he begs you to see his point of view, “Please just be with me.”

You feel the weight of his words in your chest. Sunghoon hasn’t ever led you wrong so far, so why would he now? Minhee would get over it because, at the end of the day, that’s your brother, the same brother that used to plat your hair when it got in your way, and the same brother who protected you from any hurt when your parents split, hugging you through the shouting. He wouldn’t abandon you so easily.

Sunghoon watches as his words calm you down, and a glimmer of hope punches his heart.

“We still keep it a secret, I can’t tell him just yet. We’ll do it after Nationals.” You tell him a matter of fact.

Nodding understandingly, he reaches for your face, “Yeah, anything you want, Sweets. We’ll do it all at your pace.” This is everything he’s ever wanted, the opportunity to call you his girl, and now that it’s finally here, he feels like he’s the one who won something tonight, “So?”

“So?” You repeat.

“Are you mine? Officially?” he knows the answer, he just wants to hear you say it out loud.

“I’m yours, Hoonie.”

Dramatically, he lets go of you and sinks into his chair, face etched in glee and relief, it’s a dream come true to have you say those words and he thinks he might pass out. Placing one hand over his heart he breathes out a quiet ‘thank fuck for that’, making you giggle.

A teasing smile tugged at the edges of your lips, and your eyes twinkled with affection, “You’re so silly.” you grab his hand from his heart and replace it with yours, patting it softly. The simple gesture has his face splitting with a grin and his eyes closing.

“My girlfriend,” he whispers to himself but you hear it, your brain dizzying at the thought. He starts to sit up, “My princess, my baby, my angel.” Grabbing your face he kisses you all over like he’s leaving little sprinkles of affection anywhere he can, “Fuck those stupid rules, I’m calling you whatever I want, buying you whatever I want, having sex with you wherever I want.”

“Uh, didn’t you do that anyway?” you say between titters.

“Yeah, but now I don’t have to have your beautiful, perfect, eyes glaring at me every time I do.” Maybe you were a little harsh on him, considering you broke a lot of them multiple times too, “Promise me you won’t back out of this, baby.”

The petname falls just as easily as his nickname for you. Secretly, you hope he doesn’t stop calling you Sweets because even though you don’t know why he does it, it’s his thing for you and you love it, “I promise. And if I feel myself doubting or thinking about how Minhee will feel, I’ll talk to you about it first,” you say this because Sunghoon is the only one that can get you out of your previous mindset, he proved that tonight.

Resting his forehead against yours, Sunghoon looks directly into your eyes, “Good. Because I’m yours and I won’t let him ruin this for us. I don’t care.”

“Me either.” And you truly mean it.

The sound of glasses being collected and chairs stacked upon one another makes you retreat from him and look up. The event had been over for a hot minute, only you, Sunghoon, and a few drunken mothers who can’t get up off the dance floor are left in the grand hall.

You check your phone and see it’s almost 3am, “Shit, we better go.”

Sunghoon peers at the clock on his watch and a pout forms on his lips, “We didn’t even get to dance.”

“Eh, whatever, we can do that whenever we like now.” You cheekily remark, turning his sullen expression into one of amazement. You can tell he still doesn’t really believe it.

“Please tell me you don’t have to go home tonight?” He asks.

Shaking your head you stand up, putting things back into your bag, “No, I told Minhee and Mum I would be staying at Rina’s so I don’t wake them up.”

“Great.” He slings your bag over his shoulder and grabs your award before he lifts you up, earning a yelp from you but he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead opting to squeeze your ass with his free hand and keep his grip there to ensure you don’t fall.

“Hoonie, what are you doing?” You laugh, securing your legs and arms around him.

“What does it look like? I’m going home so I can fuck my award-winning girlfriend.”

______

Sunghoon pushes you into his flat as he kisses you passionately, his mouth never leaving yours even when he unlocks the door and slams it shut behind him. You’re just as needy for him, pulling at his tie to drag him into the bedroom that you know your way to oh, so well.

Despite the urgency in both of your bodies, he places your award gently on his desk, sure to not break it. You, on the other hand, couldn’t care less, you need him more than a glass trophy. You begin to practically climb his tall figure, seeking any sort of sexual relief.

He knew you couldn’t wait for him when you were kissing him at every traffic light and had his belt unbuckled before he even made it out of the car. He was honestly surprised you didn’t try to suck him off while he was driving.

You began to strip him of his tie and shirt, fumbling with his buttons all the way down, “Easy, baby, you have me.” He reassures you, but there isn’t any stopping you tonight, you’re on a high like no other. You just got a boyfriend, got acknowledged for all your hard work in uni, and now you’re going to fuck until the sun comes up, what’s not to love about your life right now?

Without you even noticing, he unties the bow behind your neck and pulls it down, exposing your erect nipples. Sleeking his hands down from your neck to your tits, he rolls your nipples in between his fingers, pinching every so often to send a jolt through your body and down to your sex.

Pushing, you guide him to the bed until he collapses on it, a quiet ‘oof’ leaving his lips at the force. Sunghoon wasn’t necessarily prepared for you to be so in control but he won’t complain, how could he when you were climbing onto him, tits dangling in front of him like tempting raindrops and he’s been in the desert, thirsty for them.

He sits up, chest at eye level as he licks up the curve of your right breast, teasing you. You’re hands run through his hair, pushing his bangs back so you can get a good look at his face. He has the same bright look he always does when he gets to play with your tits, it would actually be quite sweet if you both weren’t about to perform a sinful act.

Flickering his eyes up to you, he smirks, taking your nipple into his mouth finally twirling his tongue around it hungrily. The way he keeps staring into your eyes as he sucks your tit has you breathing out slowly and your chest moving heavily.

Once his teeth sink into you, your eyes shut and your head falls back. His sharp teeth gently tug at your nub, then licking it softly - he alternates between the nip and pleasure his mouth is giving you.

Deciding enough is enough, you pull his face away, watching as he goes to go right back to it; if it wasn’t for the grip you had on him, he would have, “Please don’t stop me,” He whines, his eyes looking at you, a drip of begging splashing around in his iris.

“Do you want to suck my tits, or fuck me?” You pose.

Sunghoon doesn’t have to think about it, he knows exactly what the answer is. Curling his arms behind you, he zips down your dress as it sits at the bottom of your spine, using the opportunity to kiss the valley of your breasts. He bunches up the material and lifts it over your head, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

His jaw nearly hits the floor as he sees the white mesh thong tilted on your waist, “Fuck,” He can’t believe you had that under the dress the whole time and he’s only getting to see it now.

You wouldn’t normally wear white with a black dress but it’s his favourite colour on you which you discovered recently. One night you wore his white t-shirt to bed and he couldn’t stop looking at you, his hands all over you the second he saw you adorned in it.

“They’re cute, right?” You were proud of your purchase before but now seeing his reaction, you were more than pleased with yourself.

“Baby, did you buy them for me?” He licks his lips, the corners of his lips tugging up as he runs his middle finger along your clothed slit, dipping it to pull the underwear closer to him. It gives him the chance to see just how wet you are, the patch darkening the material.

Nodding your head, you reply, “All for you, Hoonie” Your voice comes out more seductive than you mean to but it only fuels his fire more.

You bite your finger and smile down, acting bashful but he sees right through it, knowing you’re enjoying how he’s reacting to you, “I’ve hit the fucking jackpot with you,” He confesses, still eyeing your cunt.

It makes you giddy how easily he says things like that, as if it comes so naturally to him to compliment you or make you feel like you’re the only girl he’s ever looked at.

To Sunghoon, you might as well be the only woman on the planet, he doesn’t care about any of the others, not when you’re here gracing this earth. Your laugh, your smile, your body, your ability to inject him with a new lease of life, why would he ever need to look at anyone else?

“Are you just going to stare?” You lean down to his ear, “Or are you going to fuck your girlfriend?”

He almost cums, your words shooting down to his dick and making it throb. You’re his girlfriend. He won’t ever get used to it, dreaming about it so long he thought that’s all it would be, a distant dream. When you said you would be his, his heart could have vomited.

Grabbing your waist, he flips you over, his expression is menacing which means you’re in for the time of your life. Your boyfriend captures your lips with his, hands roughly grabbing at your sides and hips.

With whatever of your concentration isn’t on his tongue in your mouth, you undo his trousers and push them down with your feet, dragging his boxers down in the process. All that’s left on him is his white shirt but you don’t want to get rid of that just yet. The way it’s lazily hanging off his shoulders makes him look like those slutty little white tunics in period dramas.

Sunghoon’s mouth moves from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, suckling the base of your neck which he knows gets you a moaning mess.

True to his knowledge, you mewl out, tilting your head to encourage him more.

His hands slither down to your thong, playing with it a little to tease you and fill you with anticipation. As he pushes the material away, exposing your folds, he looks down, “You’re so ready for me, Sweets, don’t you think?” He slides two of his fingers in between your pussy, quickly dipping them in and out with ease before offering them to your lips/

Without hesitation, you accept his silent invitation, sucking his fingers clean, never stopping your intense gaze into his eyes.

The way you know what he wants without him having to vocalise it just makes him even more desperate for you. He presses his fingers against your tongue, causing you to open your mouth, “Stick it out for me,” Sunghoon asks, eyes clouded with lust.

As you stick your tongue out, he retracts his fingers, delving to lick your tongue, “You taste so good, baby,” he licks your tongue once more before committing to the kiss you’ve been craving.

Desperately, you grab his cock and pump him, your hand inadvertently skimming past your clit in the prosses due to how close his body is to yours.

The sudden touch from you shocks Sunghoon but what really sends him reeling is your thumb rubbing over his head, circling the tip with pressure, “Jesus Christ,” he huffs out breathlessly, his hips bucking into your palm, hoping for more delicious release from your grip.

His hot breath hits your face as he pants, only making you more eager to please him. Bringing your hips up, you trap his cock between your slit and palm, rubbing both against his shaft, the heat of your pussy contradicts the coldness of your hand, making Sunghoon’s brain fry.

Your fingers push him to sit neatly in your folds, however, when you thrust your hips up again, the pressure makes the head of his cock dip into your entrance, causing you both to moan loudly.

“Sweets, let me put on a condom,” he swallows, managing to choke out the words amidst his desire. He shakes his head trying to bring himself to a rational state but as you dip him in again, he can only groan, “Fuck.”

“We don’t need one,” you assert, shallowly fucking yourself on the first 2 inches of his cock, “I want to feel my boyfriend.”

Your words hang in the air but none of you stop your actions, not even pretending to think about it. Sunghoon nudges your nose with his, “You sure?”

“I’m positive, baby,” you whisper into his mouth, sharing your wants with him. You’re both too far gone into one another that none of you have the common sense to say no.

The man above you nods, placing two tiny kisses on your lips while his hips move with the pressure of your hand, “I’ll pull out, I promise,” he has never given you a reason to distrust his promises and you won't start now.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss with a low growl as you push more of him inside you. To be fair, the feeling isn’t that much different from when he wears condoms, the thin feel condoms he buys, he buys for a reason.

But this wasn’t about feeling his cock raw, it was about connecting with him just that little bit more, about showing your trust in him.

The head of his cock slowly hits you deeper, each time he jerks his hips into you, he penetrates deeper inside. The feel of your naked walls on his bell feels unreal, the way each bump scrapes his tender tip makes him groan, his head buried into your neck to muffle his sounds.

“You feel so good, Hoonie,” With his cock now fully inside you, your fingertips graze up his tensing toned stomach and around to his back, caressing him gently, “Faster, please,” you ask as your hands slide to his ass, pushing down rhymically to set him at a new pace.

Sunghoon loves when you subtly take control, still letting him be the one to fuck you so good you see stars while telling him how to get you there. He can read your body so well but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell him what else you need from him.

Lifting your bottom half, he holds your hips and pounds into you the way you want, the velocity of his thrusts sends your eyes to the back of your head. You can’t help but moan his name loudly, chanting it like you’re possessed, “Sunghoon, shit, don’t stop.”

He chuckles, looking down at you, “You’re mad if you think I ever would.”

Shuffling so your butt is balancing on his thighs, he bucks up into you with the same speed but now he’s using one of his free hands to rub your clit, adding a new layer of intensity, “Holy fuck,” You thrash under him as your nub tingles at his touch.

Your words provide him with all the encouragement he needs to give you even more, “You’re so good at taking me, Sweets. Look how good you are,” He entices you to look down but you stop as you finally look at his face; the sweat dripping from his forehead, some of it collected in the creases of his brows as he scrunches his face, focused only on fucking you into heaven. His mouth is hanging open, pushing out short breaths to mirror the movement of his hips.

He’s so deliciously hot.

If your pussy could actually purr, it would be, but instead, it’s clenching to show that you’re close. The tightness doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who smirks, looking at you with hooded eyes, “You gonna cum, baby?”

Sunghoon’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he flicks your clit faster, trying to get you closer to the edge. This will be the first time he’s experiencing you cumming on his raw cock, so he’s a little impatient, desperate to know what your core feels like as it grips him naked.

“Hoon..Hoonie..” your heartbeat is rapidly increasing in your chest but your breathing is slowing down, a clear indicator that you’re coming undone, “I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming.”

“Yeah, you are, sweetheart” Sunghoon has to control himself but it’s painfully difficult as he feels your walls clamp down and contract on his member. He’s so engrossed in the feeling of you that he keeps going, pressing your stomach down with his arm to stop you from escaping and slipping off him.

His thumb goes hard at your swollen bud, the fast sensation causing you to try and pull away. It feels like you’re on fire but Sunghoon has no desire to stop. He physically can’t, you feel too good, the squirming of your hips mixed in with your walls hugging him, there was no way he could give it up just yet.

You choke on the air you're actively trying to get into your lungs as your boyfriend overstimulates you. It’s painful, yet, you’re begging for it not to stop.

“Oh my god, Hoon.” your voice is sore from all the moaning and dry mouth you have.

“I’m nearly there, Sweets. Fuck, I’m so close.” Now that he’s seeking his own release, he switches his position, opting to have you as close to him as possible. With the little strength he has left, he hugs your body and scoops you to sit fully on his cock, tits bouncing in his face as he guides you up and down his shaft, “Y/N, can you keep it clenched for me? Please?” The please comes out as a whispered beg.

Nodding, you gather your focus to your pussy and squeeze him and it’s like you’re suddenly seeing stars, his cock sloppily hitting your g-spot over and over thanks to the newfound tightness.

Shutting his eyes to truly envelope himself in the feel of you, his stomach tightens, balls throbbing as he stops himself from cumming, “Fuck, wait,” he abruptly lifts you off him, the last drag of his head against your squeezed hole has ropes of his cum shooting up as high as your breasts, “Y/N, shit, Jesus.”

You stare at his cock as it keeps unloading between you both, creating a sticky mess on both of your bodies. It’s always so beautiful to see him cum like this, although usually it’s on your face after you’ve given him a blow job.

Both of you are equally spent, panting filling the otherwise silent room. You revel in the aftermath of the ecstasy, the air thick with the scent of your combined essence.

As the waves of pleasure gradually ebb away, you feel contentment wash over your body and mind, eliciting a smile from you. This was truly the best night of your life.

Sunghoon’s eyes drag up your body as he notices the cum splattered on your tits, “Fucking hell, look at you,” his tone is saturated in awe and delight as he drinks you in. Honestly, he didn’t know he could shoot that far; he’ll have to give himself a pat on the back later for creating the masterpiece in front of him.

Swiftly, he brings his mouth back to your tit, licking the cum from you and your eyes widen in shock. Guys don’t tend to even want to kiss you if you’ve swallowed their cum, never mind cleaning it off your body.

Truthfully, Sunghoon isn’t in his right mind just yet, still clouded with lust, aching for any sort of contact with you. Your tits are all he sees.

“Sunghoon?” you try to bring him back but it doesn’t work, you’ll need to physically drag him away from your chest. Cupping his face, you bring him to level with you again, “You okay?”

“I need you so fucking much,” he whispers, his lips seeking yours in a tender kiss.

Your laughter dances between you, "You just had me," you tease, the warmth of his lips against yours sparking a playful energy between you.

But his next words sober the moment, revealing a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless. "No, like in every sense, I fucking need you. I can't imagine even breathing without you," he admits, his vulnerability laid bare in the afterglow of the moment.

Moved by Sunghoon's heartfelt confession, you feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you. With an adoring smile, you caress his cheek, your touch a silent reassurance of your love for him.

"I need you too, Sunghoon," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath against his lips. "More than anything.” It’s a simple mirror of his words, but you hope he knows you truly mean it.

To be frank, even if you had just said ‘ditto’ back, he would have been content. There are feelings for you so deep routed into his soul that he’s terrified and excited all at once.

And you’re all his.

“My girlfriend,” he beams, finally coming out of his lust coma, “You’re mine.”

His words strike a chord deep inside you, creating an overwhelming feeling of belonging and security that wraps around your heart like a warm embrace. With a delicate grin, you return his adoration, your fingers tracing soft patterns along his jawline as you enjoy the tenderness of his affection for you.

"I'm yours, Hoonie," you say quietly your voice full of reverence, "Until you want to get rid of me."

Kissing your palm, he smirks, trailing all the way up your arm and along your shoulder, “I’m literally never letting you go, I’m sorry,” his eyes shine a playful glint as he peppers kisses along your face, “That also means right now.”

He quickly pushes you back into the mattress, both of you laughing as he softly kisses your nose; nevertheless, you know the gentleness will fade as soon as he realises he hasn't even eaten you yet. It’s not in him not to devour your pussy.

You can only sigh in satisfaction as he runs his lips down your stomach.

This is everything you’ve ever wanted. He is everything you’ve ever wanted.

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