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enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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CHERRY TREES

arranged husband!Jungwon x trophy wife!reader - confronting cold arranged husband on your first anniversary.

ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI, Angst, fluff, a second chance, the smut is crazy im ngl to u but the angst is worse, he actually goes insane like insane he loses it.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed five times, its deep resonance echoing through the marble corridors of your estate. Without opening your eyes, you knew Jungwon was already awake. The mattress dipped slightly as he carefully extracted himself from beneath the Egyptian cotton covers, his movements deliberately gentle to avoid disturbing you. You kept your breathing steady, maintaining the pretense of sleep as you had so many mornings before.

Through barely-parted lids, you watched his silhouette move through the predawn darkness. Jungwon's routine never varied—not on weekends, holidays, or even the morning after your anniversary celebration when he'd had perhaps one glass of Château Margaux too many. Five a.m. meant feet on the floor, regardless of circumstance.

He disappeared into the expansive en-suite bathroom, closing the door with practiced quietness before the shower began to run. You rolled over to face the floor-to-ceiling windows, abandoning the charade of sleep. Outside, the manicured gardens remained dark and still, mirroring the atmosphere that permeated your mansion despite its immaculate decoration and luxurious furnishings.

One year of marriage. Three hundred and sixty-five mornings of this same choreographed dance.

By the time Jungwon emerged from the bathroom, you had straightened your side of the bed and donned your silk robe. He nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Good morning," he said, voice pleasant but neutral. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"No, I was already awake," you lied, the response automatic after months of repetition. "Will you be joining me for breakfast on the terrace today?"

He checked his watch—the elegant Patek Philippe you'd given him on your six-month anniversary. "I have an early meeting. I'll grab something at the office."

You nodded, expecting this answer. Despite your chef preparing an elaborate breakfast spread every morning, Jungwon rarely sat down to eat it. You'd long since stopped taking it personally, instead viewing it as simply another aspect of your peculiar marriage.

"Madame," came a soft voice from the doorway. Your personal maid stood waiting respectfully. "The blue gown has been pressed for tonight's charity auction, and Mrs. Yang called to confirm your appointment at the salon at two."

"Thank you. Please tell the chef I'll be down shortly."

Jungwon's expression softened momentarily with what might have been gratitude. "The blue gown is a good choice. It matches the sapphires."

The brief warmth in his eyes vanished so quickly you questioned whether you'd imagined it. He dressed efficiently, selecting the navy suit you'd suggested earlier in the week. You busied yourself reviewing the day's schedule on your tablet, giving him space while maintaining the illusion of comfortable domesticity.

"I'll send the car for you at six," he said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. Perfect Windsor knot, as always. "The auction starts at seven, but your mother-in-law suggested we arrive early to greet the host committee."

"I'll be ready," you assured him. "The blue complements the sapphires your family gifted me last Christmas—perfect for the society photographers."

He nodded approvingly. "Perfect. The Yangs must maintain appearances."

The phrase hung in the air between you, a reminder of what truly bound you together. Not love or passion or even friendship, but appearances. The Yang family name and reputation, upheld through generations and now entrusted to Jungwon—and by extension, to you.

Before leaving, he stopped at the bedroom door. "The new arrangement in the grand foyer—the one with the peonies and orchids. My mother asked for the name of your florist."

"I'd be happy to share their contact information," you replied, surprised that he'd noticed the flowers at all.

He hesitated, as if considering saying something more, then simply nodded and left. Moments later, you heard the soft purr of his car starting in the circular driveway below.

The suite fell silent, save for the continuing measured tick of the antique clock.

By eleven, you had completed your morning inspection of the household: reviewing the dinner menu with the chef, approving the landscaping plans for the east garden, and confirming that the linens for Friday's dinner party had been properly pressed. The mansion operated with clockwork precision under your supervision, a showcase of domestic perfection that visitors frequently praised.

Your phone chimed with a text message from Mrs. Yang—your mother-in-law.

The charity auction tonight is a perfect opportunity to connect with the Singhs. Their daughter returned from Oxford and has taken over their foundation. Jungwon could use their support for the new community project.

You typed a gracious reply, assuring her you would make the introduction. This was part of your unspoken role: social facilitator, network cultivator, the charming counterbalance to Jungwon's more reserved demeanor in public. Mrs. Yang had explicitly voiced her approval of your social graces during the marriage negotiations, though she'd phrased it more delicately at the time.

In the solarium, you sipped tea and reviewed correspondence on your tablet. The household staff moved efficiently around the estate, their presence indicated only by the occasional distant voice or the soft closing of a door. This cocoon of luxury and service had become your domain—a gilded cage, perhaps, but one you managed with impeccable skill.

The charity auction venue sparkled with crystal chandeliers and the gleam of expensive jewelry. You stood beside Jungwon, your hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm as he conversed with an important international investor. Your blue gown complemented the subtle blue in Jungwon's tie, a coordinated detail that Mrs. Yang had encouraged early in your marriage.

"And what do you think of the market's new direction?" the investor asked, unexpectedly turning to include you in the conversation.

Without missing a beat, you offered a thoughtful response based on fragments you'd gathered from Jungwon's rare comments about business. Your husband's arm tensed slightly beneath your hand—in surprise or approval, you couldn't tell.

"You've got yourself a perceptive wife, Yang," the man laughed, clearly impressed. "Better be careful or I'll recruit her for my advisory board."

Jungwon smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his handsome face. "I'm very fortunate," he agreed, turning to look at you with apparent pride.

For a moment—just a moment—the warmth in his eyes seemed real. Then a passing waiter offered champagne, and the connection broke as he reached for two glasses.

The evening continued in this manner: introductions, small talk, strategic conversations with selected guests, and the careful maintenance of the image you projected as a couple. Jungwon's hand occasionally rested at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd with gentle pressure. To anyone watching, the gesture appeared intimate and caring.

"Your work with the children's literacy foundation has been inspirational," commented Ms. Singh as you were introduced. "My father is quite impressed."

You played your part flawlessly. Laughed at the right moments. Showed appropriate interest in business discussions. Made mental notes of important names and connections to record later in your planner. You orchestrated the introduction to the Singh family that appeared completely spontaneous, fulfilling your mother-in-law's request with such subtlety that even Jungwon seemed unaware of the manipulation.

During a lull in the event, you excused yourself to visit the ladies' room. Standing before the mirror, you studied your reflection: perfectly applied makeup, not a hair out of place, the picture of a successful young wife. Other women came and went, exchanging pleasantries, complimenting your gown or asking about upcoming social events.

"You and Jungwon always look so happy together," sighed a fellow socialite as she applied fresh lipstick. "My husband can barely remember which events are on our calendar, let alone coordinate his tie with my outfit."

You smiled politely. "Jungwon is very attentive to details."

When you returned to the main hall, you spotted your husband across the room, engaged in conversation with the Singh patriarch as you had arranged. His posture was relaxed, confident, his expression animated as he discussed something that clearly interested him. You rarely saw that expression at home.

As if sensing your gaze, he looked up and met your eyes across the crowded room. For a brief moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. He excused himself from the conversation and made his way to your side.

"Is everything alright?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," you assured him. "Mr. Singh seems interested in your project."

He nodded. "Yes, thank you for the introduction. He mentioned you'd spoken highly of the initiative."

"That's what wives do, isn't it?" you replied, the words emerging more wistfully than you'd intended.

Jungwon studied your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you tired? We can leave if you'd like."

"No," you said quickly. "Your mother would be disappointed if we left before the final auction lot."

The mention of his mother was enough to settle the matter. Jungwon nodded and offered his arm again, leading you back into the social whirl. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of smiles and small talk, your practiced responses on autopilot while your mind drifted elsewhere.

The mansion was quiet when you returned just after midnight, though a few lights remained on for your arrival. The night butler opened the door as the car pulled up.

"Welcome home, Madame, Sir," he greeted with a respectful bow. "May I bring anything before you retire?"

"No thank you," Jungwon replied, loosening his tie. "That will be all for tonight."

As the butler disappeared, Jungwon turned to you in the grand foyer, its marble floors gleaming under the soft chandelier light. "Successful evening," he commented, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "The Singhs have invited us to their summer compound next month."

"That's wonderful," you replied, slipping off your heels with a small sigh of relief. "Your mother will be pleased."

He set down his keys and looked at you directly, something he rarely did at home. "You don't need to keep mentioning my mother. I'm capable of recognizing business opportunities on my own."

The unexpected sharpness in his tone surprised you. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, disheveling it slightly. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

The apology hung awkwardly between you. Jungwon rarely expressed irritation, maintaining the same polite distance whether discussing dinner plans or household accounts.

"It's late," you said finally. "We're both tired."

He nodded, the momentary crack in his composure already repaired. "I have some work to finish. Don't wait up."

You watched him retreat to his home office, the door closing firmly behind him. In the kitchen, you found the chef had left a covered plate of small desserts and a pot of tea keeping warm. The thoughtful gesture—understanding your tendency to skip dinner at formal events—brought an unexpected lump to your throat.

The mansion was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, with every luxury and convenience. The marriage looked perfect from the outside: handsome, successful husband; accomplished, supportive wife; respected families united through a beneficial alliance. You wanted for nothing material.

And yet.

Upstairs, your nightwear had already been laid out and the bed turned down. In the adjoining bathroom, you methodically removed your jewelry and makeup, the familiar routine requiring no thought. Your reflection stared back, younger without the carefully applied cosmetics but somehow sadder too.

When you finally slipped between the cool sheets, Jungwon's side of the bed remained empty. You knew from experience that he might not come upstairs for hours. Sometimes you woke briefly in the night to feel the mattress dip as he joined you, maintaining a careful distance even in sleep.

As exhaustion pulled you toward unconsciousness, you wondered—not for the first time—what thoughts occupied your husband's mind during his late-night work sessions. Whether he ever questioned the arrangement that had brought you together. Whether he ever wished for something more than this immaculate, empty performance you both maintained.

Outside, a gentle rain began to fall against the panoramic windows, drops catching the moonlight like silver tears against the darkness.

The first anniversary dinner had been your mother-in-law's idea.

"A small celebration," she'd said during your weekly tea. "Nothing extravagant, of course. Just family to commemorate the successful first year."

You'd nodded and smiled, playing your part. "I'll coordinate with the chef for a special menu."

A successful first year. The phrase echoed in your mind as you supervised the staff arranging peonies and orchids in the dining room—Jungwon's mother's favorites. The crystal gleamed under the chandelier light, the silver polished to mirror brightness, the napkins folded into perfect swans. Success measured in appearances, in business connections forged, in social obligations fulfilled.

Not in moments of genuine connection, in shared laughter, in the casual intimacy of a hand brushing hair from your face. Those metrics of success remained conspicuously absent from your marriage ledger.

"The wine selection has been brought up from the cellar, Madame," said the butler. "And the chef has prepared the appetizers exactly as you specified."

"Thank you," you replied, adjusting a place setting minutely. "Mr. Yang will be home by seven, and his parents will arrive at seven-thirty."

The butler nodded and withdrew, leaving you alone in the perfect dining room of your perfect mansion in your perfect marriage that was, somehow, entirely empty.

Jungwon arrived precisely at seven, as predictable as the sunrise. You heard the familiar sound of his car, followed by his measured footsteps in the foyer. When he appeared in the doorway of the dining room, he was already dressed in the suit you'd laid out—the charcoal gray Tom Ford that his mother once commented made him look distinguished.

"Everything looks lovely," he said, surveying the room with appreciative eyes. "You've outdone yourself."

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the compliment with practiced grace. "Your mother mentioned Mr. Kim might join them. I've set an extra place just in case."

Something flickered across Jungwon's face—annoyance, perhaps. "He wasn't mentioned to me."

"He's the family attorney. Perhaps there's business to discuss."

"On our anniversary dinner?" The edge in Jungwon's voice surprised you. "Some things should remain separate from business."

You studied your husband's face, wondering at this unusual display of emotion. "Would you prefer I call your mother and inquire?"

"No," he said, composure returning like a mask sliding back into place. "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter, and the tension in his shoulders told you so. This was new—this momentary crack in the facade. You wanted to press further, to understand what had triggered this response, but years of social conditioning held you back.

Instead, you said, "There's time for a drink before they arrive. Would you like something?"

He nodded, following you to the sitting room where the bar cart awaited. You poured him two fingers of the Macallan 25-year he preferred, your movements precise and practiced. When you handed him the crystal tumbler, your fingers brushed his—an accidental touch that shouldn't have felt significant but somehow did.

"One year," he said quietly, staring into the amber liquid.

"Yes," you agreed, pouring yourself a small measure of the same. "It's gone quickly."

The silence between you stretched, filled with all the words neither of you knew how to say. Jungwon seemed on the verge of speaking when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his parents.

The moment, whatever it might have been, evaporated.

Dinner progressed with the same choreographed precision as every family gathering. Mrs. Yang complimented the decor, inquired about your recent charity work, and dominated the conversation with updates on various family connections. Mr. Yang, stern and reserved like his son, contributed occasional comments about business or politics. And Mr. Kim, who had indeed accompanied them, observed it all with the calculated interest of someone evaluating an investment.

"The first year is always the most challenging," Mrs. Yang declared over the entrée, smiling at you and Jungwon with evident satisfaction. "And you two have managed it beautifully."

"Indeed," agreed Mr. Kim, raising his wine glass in a small toast. "The Yang family's standing has only strengthened. Your partnership has proven most advantageous."

Partnership. Not marriage. The distinction wasn't lost on you.

"And the foundation gala last month," Mrs. Yang continued. "Several board members commented on how impressive you both were. The Choi family was particularly taken with you, dear." She directed this last comment at you. "Mrs. Choi mentioned how fortunate Jungwon is to have found such an accomplished wife."

"I am fortunate," Jungwon agreed smoothly, the response automatic. He didn't look at you as he said it.

"Now, about the expansion into renewable energy," Mr. Yang began, turning to his son. "The board is meeting next week to discuss the proposal."

Business at the anniversary dinner, just as you'd predicted. You caught Jungwon's eye across the table, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. For once, it felt like you were truly on the same side, united in your recognition of the situation's irony.

As the men discussed business, Mrs. Yang leaned closer to you. "You know, dear, I've been meaning to ask... it's been a year now. Any news you'd like to share? Any... expectations?"

The delicate emphasis made her meaning clear. You felt heat rise to your face, embarrassment mingling with a deeper discomfort.

"Not yet," you replied quietly, maintaining your composure despite the intrusive question.

"Well, there's still time," she said, patting your hand. "Though of course, an heir is important for the Yang legacy. My husband's grandmother used to say, 'A tree without new leaves withers.'"

You nodded politely, taking a sip of wine to avoid having to respond further. Across the table, you noticed Jungwon's shoulders tense, though he gave no other indication of having overheard.

The rest of the evening passed in a similar vein—discussions of business, thinly veiled inquiries about family planning, and reminiscences about the wedding that focused primarily on its beneficial outcomes for the Yang family interests.

Not once did anyone ask if you were happy.

After seeing his parents and Mr. Kim to the door, Jungwon returned to the sitting room where you were nursing a final glass of wine. The house felt unnaturally quiet after the departure of the guests, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"My mother was pleased," he said, loosening his tie and pouring himself another whiskey. "She said the dinner was perfect."

"Of course she did," you replied, a hint of bitterness seeping into your voice despite your best efforts. "Everything about us is perfect on the surface."

Jungwon looked at you sharply. "What does that mean?"

The wine, the emotional strain of the evening, the accumulation of a year's worth of silences—something inside you finally cracked.

"It means this," you gestured between the two of you, "isn't a marriage. It's a business arrangement with living quarters."

His expression hardened. "That's unfair. I've given you everything you could want."

"Everything except yourself," you countered, your voice rising slightly. "We live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, but you might as well be a thousand miles away."

"I don't know what you expect," he said stiffly. "We both understood the nature of this marriage from the beginning."

"Did we? Because I didn't agree to a lifetime of politeness and distance. I didn't agree to be nothing more than the perfect hostess and social coordinator for your business connections."

Jungwon set down his glass with careful precision. "You've never complained before."

"When would I have complained, Jungwon? During the three minutes of conversation we have each morning? Or perhaps during our public performances where we pretend to be a loving couple?"

He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling its perfect arrangement. "I thought you were satisfied with our arrangement. You manage the household, attend the events, fulfill your responsibilities—"

"Responsibilities?" The word struck like a match against your accumulated frustration. "Is that all I am to you? A set of responsibilities to be fulfilled?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? Please, enlighten me about my role in this arrangement, since clearly I've misunderstood."

His jaw tightened. "You're my wife."

"Your wife," you repeated, the word suddenly sounding hollow. "And what does that mean to you? Because from where I stand, I might as well be your assistant or your housekeeper for all the genuine connection between us."

"You're being dramatic," he said dismissively. "Perhaps you've had too much wine."

The condescension in his tone was the final straw. A year of suppressed emotions—loneliness, frustration, yearning—erupted like a volcano too long dormant.

"Don't you dare dismiss me," you snapped, rising to your feet. "I have spent a year of my life walking on eggshells, trying to be perfect, trying to please you and your family, and for what? A thank you when I select the right tie? A nod of approval when I make the right business connection?"

Jungwon stared at you, clearly taken aback by your outburst. "I don't understand where this is coming from."

"Of course you don't! You've never bothered to see me as anything more than a convenient addition to your perfectly ordered life. Wake up at five, ignore wife, go to work, come home, work more, sleep. Repeat until death."

"That's not fair," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it? When was the last time you asked me about my day? Or shared something personal about yours? When was the last time you looked at me—really looked at me—not as the 'Madame' of this house or as an accessory at a business function, but as a woman? As your wife?"

The color drained from Jungwon's face, but you were beyond stopping now. The floodgates had opened, and a year's worth of unspoken thoughts poured forth in a torrent.

"We haven't even consummated our marriage, Jungwon! One year, and you've never once reached for me in the night. Never once kissed me with anything resembling passion. Do you have any idea how that feels? To lie beside someone night after night, wanting to be touched, to be desired, and meeting nothing but polite distance?"

His eyes widened in shock at your bluntness. "I—I thought you preferred our current arrangement. You never indicated—"

"Indicated?" You laughed, the sound brittle. "Would it have mattered if I had? You barely look at me when we're alone together. You keep yourself locked in your office until I'm asleep. Tell me, Jungwon, are you repulsed by me? Is that it?"

"No!" The vehemence of his response surprised you both. "That's not it at all."

"Then what? What keeps you at arm's length? Because I can't live like this anymore—this half-life of appearances and politeness with nothing real beneath it."

You moved closer, anger giving you courage you'd never had before. "How do you satisfy your desires, Jungwon? Do you have someone else? Some mistress in an apartment downtown who gets to see the real you? Who gets to feel your touch, your passion?"

He looked genuinely shocked. "There's no one else. I would never—"

"Then what?" Your voice broke slightly. "Are you simply that cold? That disconnected from your own body, your own needs? Because I refuse to believe a healthy man in his prime feels nothing, wants nothing."

Jungwon's jaw tightened. "This conversation is inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" You were nearly shouting now. "We're married! This is exactly the conversation we should have had months ago! Do you have any idea what it's like to wonder if there's something wrong with you? To lie awake wondering why your husband never reaches for you? To start believing that maybe you're fundamentally undesirable?"

"That's not—" he began, but you cut him off.

"I've started inventing stories in my head, Jungwon. Elaborate scenarios to explain why my husband treats me like a porcelain doll. Maybe you're secretly in love with someone from your past. Maybe you prefer men. Maybe you have some medical condition you're too embarrassed to discuss. I've considered everything because the alternative—that you simply feel nothing for me—is too painful to bear."

His face had gone pale. "It's none of those things."

"Then help me understand," you pleaded, anger giving way to raw vulnerability. "Because the silence is killing me. The wondering is killing me. Are you like this with everyone? This... removed? This contained? Or is it just me you can't bring yourself to touch?"

Jungwon paced away from you, his composure cracking visibly. For a moment, he looked like he might retreat to his office—his usual escape—but instead, he stopped at the window, staring out at the darkness.

"I live in my head," he said so quietly you almost missed it. "Always have. Physical... intimacy... doesn't come naturally to me."

"Have you ever let yourself feel something?" you asked, your tone softer now. "With anyone?"

He was silent for so long you thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was strained. "There was someone in college. It ended badly. I lost control, became... emotional. My father said it was embarrassing. Unbecoming of a Yang."

The confession surprised you. This tiny glimpse into his past felt like more intimacy than you'd experienced in a year of marriage.

"And since then?"

"Since then I've learned to be careful. Controlled." He turned to face you. "I thought I was respecting your space. Your independence."

"Respecting my space?" You stared at him incredulously. "There's a difference between respect and indifference, Jungwon."

"I'm not indifferent to you," he said quietly.

"Then what are you? Because from my perspective, I might as well be living alone for all the emotional connection between us."

He turned away again, his shoulders rigid with tension. "I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This." He gestured vaguely. "Marriage. Intimacy. I wasn't raised for it."

"Neither was I," you countered. "But I'm trying. I've been trying for a year while you've been hiding behind work and politeness and duty."

You moved to stand beside him at the window, close but not touching. "Do you ever look at me and feel anything, Jungwon? Anything at all? Because sometimes I catch you watching me when you think I won't notice, and there's something in your eyes that disappears the moment I turn toward you."

He swallowed visibly. "I notice everything about you," he admitted, the words seeming to cost him. "The way you arrange flowers according to your mood. How you always leave the last bite of dessert. The small sigh you make when you're reading something that touches you."

The revelation stunned you. "Then why—"

"Because wanting leads to needing," he interrupted, his voice suddenly raw. "And needing makes you vulnerable. My father taught me that. The moment you need someone, you've given them the power to destroy you."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of truths finally spoken aloud. When Jungwon finally turned back to face you, his expression was uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, and for once, the question seemed genuine.

The simplicity of the question momentarily deflated your anger. What did you want? It was a question you'd asked yourself countless times during sleepless nights.

"I want a husband, not a housemate," you said finally. "I want to know the man behind the perfect facade. I want to feel wanted, desired, known. I want the possibility of love, even if it's not there yet."

Your voice cracked on the last words, and you felt tears threatening. "Sometimes I think if I sleep with you once and let you get me pregnant, at least I won't be so damn lonely. At least I'd have someone who needs me, truly needs me, not just for appearances or social connections."

"A child deserves better than to be born from desperation," Jungwon said softly, surprising you with his insight.

"And a wife deserves better than emotional abandonment," you countered. "I look at other couples sometimes—even the arranged marriages in our circle—and I see moments of genuine tenderness. A hand on a shoulder. A private smile. Small intimacies that say 'I see you, I choose you.' We have none of that, Jungwon."

He flinched as if struck. "Is that what you think? That I only see you as a means to an heir?"

"How would I know what you think?" you demanded. "You barely speak to me about anything that matters. For all I know, you've mapped out our entire future in that methodical mind of yours—the optimal time for children, their education, their role in continuing the Yang legacy—all without once considering what I might want, what I might need as a woman, as a person."

"That's not true," he protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"When have you ever shared your fears with me, Jungwon? Your hopes? Your dreams beyond the next business deal or family obligation? When have you ever asked about mine?"

He had no answer, and his silence was damning.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, suddenly exhausted. "I can't keep pretending that this empty performance is enough. I need more than politeness and perfect appearances. I need connection. I need intimacy. I need to at least feel that there's the possibility of love someday."

"And if I can't give you that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air between you, a challenge and a plea at once. You met his gaze directly.

"Then this marriage is already over, regardless of what we show the world."

The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of consequence expanding outward. Jungwon's face paled, and something like genuine fear flickered in his eyes.

"You would leave?" he asked, the question revealing more vulnerability than he'd shown in a year of marriage.

"Not in body, perhaps," you replied. "The scandal would devastate both our families. But in spirit? I'm already halfway gone, Jungwon. Every day of polite distance pushes me further away."

He sank onto the sofa, looking suddenly lost. This wasn't the composed, controlled man you'd lived alongside for a year. This was someone else—someone real and raw and unsure.

"I don't know how to be what you need," he admitted finally.

"I'm not asking for perfection," you said, your anger giving way to a profound sadness. "I'm asking for effort. For honesty. For the chance to build something real together, even if it's difficult. Even if we don't know exactly how."

Jungwon stared at his hands, his wedding ring catching the light. For a long moment, he said nothing. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a complexity of emotion you'd never seen before.

"I need time," he said. "To think. To... process all of this."

The request was reasonable, but it still stung. Even now, faced with the potential collapse of your marriage, he couldn't give you an immediate response.

"Fine," you said, suddenly bone-weary. "Take your time. You know where to find me."

You turned to leave, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion, when his voice stopped you.

"Where are you going?"

"To the blue guest room," you replied without turning. "I think we both need space tonight."

He made no move to stop you as you left the sitting room, your anniversary dress rustling softly with each step. The grand staircase seemed longer than usual, each step an effort. Behind you, you heard the clink of glass—Jungwon pouring another drink, perhaps, or simply moving restlessly in the silent house.

The blue guest room was immaculate, as was every room in the mansion, but it felt cold and impersonal. You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your evening dress, too tired even to cry. The confrontation had drained you completely, leaving nothing but a hollow ache where hope had once resided.

From the nightstand, your phone chimed with a message. Mechanically, you reached for it, expecting perhaps your mother-in-law with some post-dinner comment.

Instead, it was Jungwon.

I do want you. I always have. That's what frightens me.

You stared at the screen, the words blurring slightly as you read them over and over. A text message—that was what it had taken to finally glimpse the man behind the mask. Not a conversation, not a touch, but characters on a screen.

Another message appeared below the first.

I'm sorry. I should have said this to your face.

I'll be in the study when you're ready to talk. No matter how late.

The formality, even now. The careful distance maintained even in apology. You placed the phone back on the nightstand without responding, a weariness settling over you that went beyond physical exhaustion.

For a moment, you sat motionless on the edge of the guest bed, the weight of the past year pressing down on your shoulders. The perfect house with its perfect furnishings suddenly felt suffocating—every object a reminder of the performance your life had become.

You rose and moved to the window, pressing your palm against the cool glass. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the night remained dark and close. The mansion grounds, usually so meticulously maintained, seemed oppressive in their perfection. Even the garden paths were laid out with mathematical precision, every plant and stone exactly where it should be.

Like you. Exactly where you should be. The proper wife in her proper place.

The realization came suddenly, with absolute clarity: you couldn't stay here tonight. Not in this guest room, not in this house, not with Jungwon waiting in his study for a conversation that would likely end with more careful words and measured promises.

You needed air. Space. A place where you could remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.

With deliberate movements, you changed out of your evening dress and into simple clothes. Packed a small overnight bag with essentials. Found your personal credit card—the one not connected to the Yang family accounts.

You hesitated only when it came time to write a note. What could you possibly say that wouldn't be misinterpreted or dismissed? In the end, you kept it simple:

I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.

You left it on the bed, where it would surely be found when someone came looking for you. Then, silently, you made your way down the service stairs and through the side entrance—avoiding the main foyer where you might encounter Jungwon.

The night air hit your face as you stepped outside, cool and clean and startlingly fresh. You took a deep breath, perhaps the first real one in months, and felt something inside you loosen just slightly.

You didn't call for the driver. Instead, you walked down the long driveway and past the gates, your heartbeat quickening with each step that took you farther from the mansion. Only when you reached the main road did you order a rideshare, giving the address of an old friend—one who predated your marriage, who had no connection to the Yang family circle.

As the car pulled away, you glanced back at the house—a magnificent silhouette against the night sky, lights burning in the study window where Jungwon waited for a conversation that wouldn't happen tonight.

Tomorrow would bring complications, explanations, perhaps reconciliation. But tonight, for the first time in a year, you were choosing yourself.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Jungwon.

Are you coming down?

You turned off the notifications and watched the mansion recede in the distance, growing smaller until it disappeared from view entirely.

The city lights blurred through your tears as the car wound its way through the quiet streets. The driver, sensing your distress, maintained a respectful silence, occasionally glancing at you in the rearview mirror with concern. You kept your face turned toward the window, watching as elite neighborhoods gave way to more modest surroundings.

When the car finally pulled up outside Leah's apartment building, you sat motionless for a moment, suddenly uncertain. It was past midnight. What if she wasn't home? What if she had company? What if—

"We're here, ma'am," the driver said gently, interrupting your spiraling thoughts.

"Thank you," you managed, gathering your small bag and stepping out into the night.

Leah's building was nothing like the Yang mansion—a six-story pre-war structure with a faded charm that stood in stark contrast to the sleek modernity you'd grown accustomed to. You hesitated at the entrance, then pressed her apartment number on the intercom.

After a long moment, a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Leah," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "It's me. I'm sorry it's so late, but—"

"Oh my god!" The sleepiness vanished instantly. "Are you okay? I'm buzzing you up right now."

The door clicked open, and you made your way to the third floor, each step feeling heavier than the last. Before you could even knock, Leah's door swung open, revealing your oldest friend in mismatched pajamas, her curly hair wild around her face.

"What happened?" she demanded, then stopped as she took in your appearance—the elegant makeup now streaked with tears, the designer clothes hastily exchanged for whatever you'd grabbed, the overnight bag clutched in your trembling hand.

"Oh, honey," she said, simply opening her arms.

Something inside you broke. You stumbled forward into her embrace and the tears you'd been holding back for months—perhaps for the entire year of your marriage—finally erupted. Great, heaving sobs that shook your entire body, that made it impossible to speak or breathe or think.

Leah didn't ask questions. She simply guided you inside, closing the door behind you, and held you while you fell apart. Her apartment was cluttered and lived-in, books stacked on every surface, half-finished art projects leaning against walls—the complete opposite of your sterile perfection at the mansion.

"I can't—" you tried to speak, but the words dissolved into more tears.

"Shh," she soothed, leading you to her worn but comfortable couch. "Just breathe. That's all you need to do right now."

You don't know how long you cried—long enough for your eyes to swell, for your throat to grow raw, for Leah's shoulder to become damp with your tears. Eventually, the storm subsided enough for you to become aware of your surroundings again. Leah had wrapped a soft blanket around your shoulders and was pressing a mug of hot tea into your hands.

"Small sips," she instructed, settling beside you. "It has honey for your throat."

You obeyed, the warmth spreading through your chest, momentarily calming the chaos inside you.

"I left him," you said finally, your voice hoarse from crying.

Leah's eyebrows shot up. "Jungwon? You left Jungwon?"

"Just for tonight. Maybe a few days. I don't know." You shook your head, struggling to articulate the tangle of emotions. "I couldn't breathe there anymore, Leah. In that perfect house with its perfect things and its perfect emptiness."

"I always wondered," she said cautiously, "if you were really happy. You stopped talking about the real stuff after the wedding. It was all charity events and dinner parties, but never... you know. The actual marriage part."

"There was no marriage part," you confessed, fresh tears threatening. "That's the problem. We live side by side like strangers. Polite, distant strangers who happen to share the same address."

Leah reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "Did something specific happen tonight?"

You nodded, the evening's confrontation flashing through your mind in painful fragments. "We had our anniversary dinner with his parents. And after they left, I just... broke. All the things I've been holding back for a year came pouring out."

"Good for you," Leah said firmly.

"Is it?" You looked at her, uncertain. "I said terrible things, Leah. I accused him of seeing me as nothing but a showpiece, a means to an heir. I asked if he was repulsed by me. If he was sleeping with someone else."

"And what did he say?"

"He was shocked, mostly. I don't think anyone's ever spoken to him like that before." You took another sip of tea, gathering your thoughts. "But then he said something about... about wanting me but being afraid of needing someone. Of being vulnerable."

Leah nodded thoughtfully. "That actually makes a strange kind of sense. Your husband always struck me as someone who keeps himself under tight control."

"You've met him twice," you pointed out with a watery smile.

"Twice was enough." She grinned briefly, then grew serious again. "So what happens now?"

You shook your head, feeling utterly lost. "I don't know. I just knew I had to get out of there tonight. To remember what it feels like to be... me. Not Mrs. Yang, not the society hostess, just me."

"Well, you came to the right place," Leah said, gesturing around her chaotic apartment. "Nothing perfect or polished here. Just real life in all its messy glory."

For the first time that night, you felt a small laugh bubble up. "I've missed this. I've missed you."

"I've been right here," she reminded you gently. "You're the one who got swept up into the Yang universe."

The observation stung because it contained truth. After the wedding, you had gradually withdrawn from your old friendships, immersing yourself in the role expected of Jungwon's wife. It hadn't been a conscious choice, but rather a slow submersion into a new identity that had eventually consumed the person you used to be.

"I don't know who I am anymore," you confessed, the realization dawning as you spoke it. "I've spent so long being what everyone else needed me to be that I've forgotten what I actually want."

"Then maybe that's what this time away is for," Leah suggested. "To remember."

You nodded, exhaustion suddenly washing over you. The emotional release had drained what little energy you had left after the confrontation with Jungwon.

"The guest room is a disaster area right now—art supplies everywhere," Leah said apologetically.

"The couch is perfect," you assured her, overwhelmed.

"Shut up, you'll sleep next to me,"

Jungwon sat in his study, crystal tumbler of whiskey untouched beside him, as he stared at his phone screen. The message showed as delivered, but not yet read. He refreshed the screen again, a gesture he'd repeated dozens of times in the last hour.

Are you coming down?

The timestamp mocked him. It had been nearly two hours since he'd sent it, and still no response. Unease had gradually transformed into concern, then alarm when he'd finally ventured upstairs to find the blue guest room empty, save for a handwritten note on the perfectly made bed.

I need space to breathe. Please don't follow me. I'll contact you when I'm ready.

The words had hit him with physical force. He stood there staring at the note, reading it over and over as if the sparse sentences might reveal some hidden meaning. Space to breathe. Had he really been suffocating you all this time without realizing it?

Now, back in his study, Jungwon fought against his instinct to act—to call security, to track your phone, to send drivers searching the city. You had asked for space. Following you would only prove that he couldn't respect your wishes, your independence. The very thing he'd convinced himself he'd been protecting all this time.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Jungwon picked up his phone again, debating whether to try calling. His thumb hovered over your contact information before he set the device down with a sigh of frustration. What would he even say if you answered? The right words had eluded him for an entire year of marriage; they weren't likely to materialize now, in the middle of the night, after the worst fight of your relationship.

A relationship. Was that even the right word for what you had? You had called it a "business arrangement with living quarters," and the brutal accuracy of the description had left him speechless.

Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it completely. The careful composure he maintained at all times had crumbled the moment he'd found your note. Now, alone in his study, there was no one to witness his distress, his uncertainty, his fear.

Fear. That was the emotion he'd denied for so long, burying it beneath layers of control and duty. Fear of needing someone. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of repeating his father's cold, loveless existence.

And in trying to avoid his father's mistakes, he had made his own. Different in method, perhaps, but identical in result: a wife who felt unseen, unwanted.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed two in the morning. Jungwon hadn't slept, had barely moved from his position at the desk. The silence of the mansion pressed in around him, no longer the peaceful quiet he'd always preferred, but an emptiness that echoed your absence.

On impulse, he rose and left the study, walking through the darkened house toward the master suite. Inside the bedroom, everything remained exactly as you'd both left it hours earlier—your perfume bottle on the vanity, your book on the nightstand, your robe draped over a chair. He moved to your side of the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and picked up the book you'd been reading.

A collection of poetry. Jungwon hadn't even known you liked poetry.

What else didn't he know about the woman he'd married? What interests, dreams, fears had you kept hidden—or worse, had tried to share only to be met with his characteristic reserve?

He opened the book to where a silk bookmark held your place. The poem was circled lightly in pencil:

Between what is said and not meant, And what is meant and not said, Most of love is lost.

The simple lines struck him with unexpected force. Jungwon stared at the words, wondering how many times you had tried to tell him what you needed, how many signals he had missed or misinterpreted.

From his pocket, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His heart leapt as he fumbled to answer, but the caller ID showed his father's name, not yours.

"Father," he answered, struggling to keep his voice even. "It's very late."

"Where is your wife?" Mr. Yang's voice was sharp, cutting through the pretense of pleasantries.

Jungwon tensed. "How did you—"

"Mrs. Park saw her getting into a taxi. Alone. After midnight. She naturally called your mother with concerns."

Of course. The gossip network never slept. "She's visiting a friend," he said carefully.

"In the middle of the night? Without you?" His father's skepticism was palpable. "Do you take me for a fool, Jungwon? What's going on?"

A familiar pattern attempted to reassert itself—the urge to placate his father, to maintain appearances, to ensure the Yang family reputation remained unsullied. For a moment, he almost slipped into the expected response.

But the circled poem caught his eye again. Most of love is lost. He couldn't lose any more.

"We had a disagreement," Jungwon said finally, the admission feeling like ripping off a bandage. "She needed some space."

"A disagreement?" His father's tone grew icier. "Serious enough for her to leave the house? To risk being seen by others, creating speculation? What were you thinking, allowing this?"

The word "allowing" ignited something in him—a flicker of the same defiance he'd felt when his father had demanded he end his college relationship.

"I wasn't 'allowing' anything, Father. She's my wife, not my subordinate. She made a choice, and I'm respecting it."

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Never in his adult life had Jungwon spoken to his father with such open opposition.

"This is unacceptable," Mr. Yang said finally. "You will resolve whatever childish spat has occurred and bring her home immediately. The gala next week—"

"Is not as important as my marriage," Jungwon interrupted, surprising himself with the firmness in his voice.

"Your marriage? Suddenly you care about your marriage?" His father's laugh was without humor. "For a year you've treated it exactly as I advised—as a beneficial arrangement. Now you're telling me you've developed feelings? Become sentimental?"

The contempt in the older man's voice was unmistakable, but instead of cowering as he might have in the past, Jungwon felt a strange calm settle over him.

"Yes," he said simply. "I have feelings for my wife. I always have. And I've been wrong to hide them."

"This is disappointing, Jungwon. I expected better from you."

"I'm beginning to think your expectations are precisely the problem, Father." Jungwon took a deep breath. "I need to go now. It's late, and I have some thinking to do."

"Don't you dare hang up on—"

Jungwon ended the call, staring at the phone in mild disbelief at his own actions. Then, with deliberate movements, he silenced the device and set it aside.

Returning to the poetry book, he carefully noted the page number of the circled poem, then moved through the house to your closet. There, among the designer clothes and accessories, he searched for some clue to the woman behind the perfect facade—the woman he'd married but never truly allowed himself to know.

In the back of a drawer, he found a small wooden box, simple and clearly personal. For a moment, his ingrained respect for privacy warred with his desperate need to understand you. Privacy won—he couldn't begin rebuilding trust by violating it—but the box's existence gave him hope. There were parts of yourself you'd kept separate from your arranged life, a core identity preserved despite the pressures of being Mrs. Yang.

Jungwon returned to the study, his earlier paralysis replaced by a growing resolve. He wouldn't chase you—you'd asked for space, and he would respect that. But he could prepare for your return, could begin the work of becoming someone worthy of a second chance.

The task seemed monumentally difficult, decades of conditioning standing in opposition to what he now knew he needed to do. He had no model for the kind of husband he wanted to become, no example of vulnerability balanced with strength.

But for the first time since you'd walked out, Jungwon felt something like hope. If you gave him the chance, he would find a way to be better. To be real. To tear down the walls he'd built over a lifetime of emotional suppression.

Dawn was breaking outside the study windows when he finally drafted a message, simple and without expectation:

I understand you need space, and I respect that. I'll be here when you're ready to talk—whether that's tomorrow or next week. I'm sorry for a year of silence. I'm listening now.

He sent it before he could second-guess himself, then set the phone down and moved to the window. Outside, the gardens were beginning to emerge from darkness, the first light revealing dew on the perfectly manicured lawns.

For once, Jungwon didn't see the perfection. Instead, he noticed how the morning light caught in a spider's web between two branches, transforming the fragile structure into something beautiful and strong. Perhaps there was a lesson there, in vulnerability's unexpected resilience.

As the mansion gradually woke around him—staff arriving, coffee brewing, the day's preparations beginning—Jungwon remained at the window, watching the light change and wondering if you, wherever you were, might be watching the same sunrise.

The mansion felt impossibly silent as Jungwon moved through the darkened hallways, your poetry book clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Sleep had become not just elusive but impossible, the vast emptiness of your shared bed a physical manifestation of what had been missing between you for a year. The sheets still carried your scent—a subtle perfume that he'd never properly acknowledged until now, when its absence made the fabric seem cold and lifeless.

He couldn't bear to remain in that room, surrounded by the ghosts of a thousand nights spent in careful distance. Instead, he found himself back in his study, the room that had been his refuge from intimacy for so long. Now it felt like a prison of his own making, walls lined with business achievements that suddenly seemed hollow.

With trembling hands, he placed your book on his desk and opened it once more to the marked page, the one with the circled verse that had first pierced his carefully constructed armor:

Between what is said and not meant,

And what is meant and not said,

Most of love is lost.

His fingers traced your handwriting in the margin—small, delicate notes that revealed more about your inner thoughts than a year of careful conversation had. Next to this poem, you'd written simply: Us? with the question mark trailing off like a fading hope.

One word, followed by a question mark. So much longing contained in those three small letters. Had you written this recently, or months ago? Had you been silently questioning the emptiness between you while he maintained his facade of contentment?

Jungwon turned the page, discovering more of your markings. Some poems had stars beside them, others had entire stanzas underlined. Some had exclamation points, others question marks. It was like finding a secret language, a code he should have deciphered long ago.

A poem about two rivers running parallel without ever meeting carried your annotation: This is what marriage feels like. So close yet never touching.

His breath caught. When had you written that? While lying beside him in bed, bodies carefully not touching? While sitting across from him at breakfast, exchanging polite comments about the day ahead?

He continued reading, unable to stop himself now. Each page revealed more of your hidden inner life. A poem about seasonal changes had reminds me of childhood summers before expectations written in the margin. Another about distant mountains carried the note wish we could travel together somewhere without his family or business associates.

Each annotation was a window into desires you'd never expressed, dreams you'd kept hidden. Why had he never asked what you wanted? Where you longed to go? What made you happy?

The night deepened around him, but Jungwon barely noticed. He was falling into your world, glimpsing for the first time the woman behind the perfect wife he'd taken for granted.

Then he found a page with the corner folded down, a poem about physical love:

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Your handwriting beside it was more hurried, almost feverish: too much to hope for? would he ever lose control enough?

Jungwon's throat tightened painfully. All those nights lying beside you, maintaining a careful distance, while you marked poems about passion and wrote desperate questions no one would see. How many nights had you lain awake, wanting him to reach for you? How many times had you considered reaching for him, only to retreat in fear of rejection?

He turned more pages, finding increasingly intimate selections. Next to Pablo Neruda's words:

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes

You'd written: I dream of his mouth on my skin. Would he be disgusted by such thoughts?

The pain that shot through him was physical. Disgusted? How could you think that? But then, what else could you think when he'd maintained such careful distance, when he'd retreated to his study each night rather than face the vulnerability of desire?

Another poem, this one about hands tracing the geography of a lover's body, carried your note: I've memorized the shape of his hands during dinner parties, imagined them on me instead of on his wine glass.

Jungwon looked down at his own hands, remembering all the times they'd almost touched you—passing dishes at dinner, handing you into the car, the brief contact when giving you a gift—and how he'd always pulled back just slightly too soon. What would have happened if he'd let his fingers linger? If he'd given in to the urge to trace the line of your jaw, to feel the softness of your skin?

Hours passed as he lost himself in your secret thoughts. Some poems had tear stains, barely perceptible wrinkles in the paper where droplets had fallen and dried. Those broke him most of all—the tangible evidence of your solitary tears, shed perhaps just feet away from where he sat working, oblivious to your pain.

One poem about loneliness had simply: I am disappearing inside this house, inside this marriage, becoming nothing but "Mrs. Yang" scrawled across the bottom in handwriting that shook with emotion.

Dawn found him still at his desk, eyes burning from reading and from tears he hadn't realized he was shedding. The morning staff moved quietly through the house, shocked to see him disheveled and unshaven, the immaculate Yang heir looking like a man undone.

He ignored their concerned glances, your poetry book still open before him. But it wasn't enough. One book couldn't contain all of you. He needed more.

"Sir," the housekeeper approached hesitantly as Jungwon emerged from his study, still in yesterday's clothes, "would you like your breakfast now?"

"No," he replied, his voice hoarse from a night without sleep. "I need to see all of Madame's books. Every book in this house that she's ever touched."

The housekeeper exchanged a worried glance with the butler. "All of them, sir?"

"Every single one. Novels, poetry, anything with her handwriting in it. Bring them to the library."

He moved with feverish purpose to the library, pulling books from shelves himself—any that showed signs of your touch. Dog-eared pages, bookmarks, the slight cracking of spines that indicated frequent opening to favorite passages.

Throughout the day, the staff delivered more and more books—novels from your nightstand, reference books from the sunroom shelves, journals from your writing desk. Jungwon created careful piles around him, transforming the library floor into a map of your mind.

He found a travel book about Greece with dozens of Post-it notes marking specific locations. The private cove where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked read one note that made his heart race. Another, beside a picture of a small village: No social obligations, no family expectations—heaven.

You'd been dreaming of escape. From the mansion, from the Yang name, from him? The thought was unbearable.

In your copy of Jane Eyre, he found your underlining of Rochester's passionate declaration: "I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you." Beside it, your handwriting: To be truly SEEN by someone. What would that feel like?

"Oh god," he whispered, the words escaping involuntarily. "You've never felt seen."

How could he have failed so completely? He, who prided himself on his attention to detail in business, had missed everything that mattered about the woman who shared his home, his name, his bed.

As afternoon turned to evening, Jungwon discovered a small leather journal tucked between larger books on a bottom shelf. He hesitated, knowing this was crossing a line from reading your notes to reading your private thoughts. But his need to know you, to understand what he'd missed, overrode his sense of propriety.

The journal wasn't a diary but a collection of poems you'd written yourself, clumsy in places but raw with emotion:

I practice conversations with you in my head

Witty things I might say that would make you look at me

Really look at me

But when you enter the room

My words evaporate like morning dew

And we speak of dinner parties and business associates

Never of stars or dreams or why your eyes

Sometimes follow me when you think I don't notice

Jungwon felt his careful composure—the mask he'd worn his entire adult life—shatter completely. You had seen him watching you. Had known there was something beneath his polite facade. But he'd never given you enough to be sure, had never been brave enough to let you see his wanting.

Another poem, dated just two months ago:

Your fingers brushed mine as you handed me a glass

Accidental touch that burned through my skin

I wonder if you felt it too

That current between us, electric and dangerous

Or if I imagined it, desperate for connection

For any sign that beneath your perfect suit

Beats a heart that could want me

As much as I want you

He had felt it. Every accidental touch, every brush of your hand, every moment when you stood close enough that he could smell your perfume. He had felt everything and denied it all, retreating into work and duty and the expectations drilled into him since childhood.

The worst entry was the most recent, written just days before your anniversary:

One year of marriage

Three hundred sixty-five nights of lying beside him

Listening to his breathing

Wondering if he's awake

Wondering if he ever thinks of touching me

Of breaking through the invisible wall between us

One year of perfect Mrs. Yang While the woman inside me slowly suffocates

Sometimes I think if I just reached for him once

If I was brave enough to cross that divide

But what if his rejection destroyed the last piece of me

That still believes I'm worthy of being

Wanted.

Jungwon closed the journal, his vision blurred with tears. You had been silently begging for him to reach across the divide while he had been congratulating himself on respecting your independence. The magnitude of his failure crushed him.

He didn't eat that day. Didn't change clothes. Didn't acknowledge the increasingly concerned staff who hovered at the library's periphery. Instead, he immersed himself in your hidden world, learning you through the books you'd loved, the passages you'd marked, the words you'd written when you thought no one would see.

Dawn arrived, but Jungwon had lost all sense of time. The library floor was covered with open books, each one containing fragments of your soul. He had read himself into a state of emotional exhaustion, discovering more and more evidence of your loneliness, your desire, your gradual loss of hope.

A desperate energy seized him. Reading wasn't enough. He needed to act, to change, to create physical evidence of his awakening before you returned—if you returned.

He summoned the head gardener, ignoring the man's shocked expression at his disheveled appearance.

"I need every peony on the estate moved to the front garden," he announced, his voice rough from disuse. "Every single one. From all the gardens, the greenhouse, everywhere."

"Sir, that would be hundreds of plants," the gardener protested. "And the formal design—"

"I don't care about the design," Jungwon interrupted, thinking of a note he'd found beside a picture of a wild garden: Why must everything be so ordered? So perfect? I long for beautiful chaos. "I want them arranged naturally. The way they would grow if they chose their own placement."

"But sir, your mother's landscape plan—"

"Is no longer relevant." Jungwon's eyes flashed with an intensity that made the gardener step back. "The peonies were always her choice, not my wife's. I want a garden that reflects what she loves."

"This will take all day, possibly longer," the gardener warned.

"Then start immediately. And I need something else. The bookshelves from the east parlor—bring them to the east garden. All of them."

The staff exchanged alarmed glances, but Jungwon was beyond caring about their concerns. He continued issuing instructions, driven by the need to transform the mansion—to break the perfect mold that had trapped you both.

"Sir," the butler ventured cautiously when the others had gone to carry out these strange orders, "perhaps you should rest. You haven't slept or eaten—"

"How can I rest?" Jungwon's voice broke with emotion. "Do you know what I've discovered? She's been living here for a year, lonely and unfulfilled, while I congratulated myself on being a proper husband. I've failed her completely."

The butler, who had served the Yang family for decades, had never seen the young master in such a state. "Sir, if I may... it's never too late to change course."

Jungwon looked at him sharply. "Have you seen her? Has she contacted anyone?"

"No, sir. But knowing Madame, she's not one to leave matters unresolved."

With renewed determination, Jungwon returned to the library. He selected dozens of books containing your most revealing notes and had them brought to the east garden. As the shelves were positioned on the grass, he began arranging the books, creating a physical testament to what he'd learned.

The gardeners worked throughout the day, transplanting hundreds of peonies to the front garden in a naturalistic arrangement that would horrify his mother but, he hoped, would speak to you. The once-formal approach to the house transformed into an explosion of your favorite flowers, arranged with the organic randomness of nature rather than the rigid precision of Yang tradition.

By late afternoon, Jungwon had created an outdoor library in the east garden—the private corner of the grounds where you often walked alone. He placed books on the shelves and opened others on the grass around him, creating a circle of revelations.

He had sent the staff away, needing to be alone with the evidence of his awakening. His phone buzzed repeatedly—his father, his mother, business associates all demanding attention. He ignored them all.

Instead, he picked up your poetry journal again, reading and rereading your most vulnerable confessions. The precise handwriting becoming more jagged with emotion. The careful Mrs. Yang breaking through to the woman beneath.

As sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, Jungwon sat amidst the books, surrounded by the fragments of you he'd collected, feeling more alive and more terrified than he had ever been. What if it was too late? What if you had already decided that the year of emotional solitude was too high a price for the Yang name and fortune?

He wouldn't blame you. How could he? He had offered you everything except himself.

Night fell, and still he remained in the garden, under stars you had once described in a margin note as witnesses to all our silent longings. He read your words by the light of lanterns the staff had silently provided, losing himself in the labyrinth of your unspoken desires.

In the faint light, he reread the poem that had started his journey—the one about love lost between what is said and not meant, what is meant and not said. He traced your question mark with his finger, feeling the slight indentation in the paper where you had pressed the pen, perhaps harder than you intended, the physical evidence of your frustration.

"I see you now," he whispered to the empty garden, to the books that held pieces of your soul. "I see you, and I'm terrified it's too late."

The night deepened around him, but Jungwon remained among the books, keeping vigil, waiting, hoping you would come home—and fearing you would not.

Five days since you'd left. Five days of freedom from the perfect imprisonment that had become your life. Five days to remember who you were before becoming Mrs. Yang.

On the morning of the sixth day, as you sat on Leah's small balcony with a chipped mug of coffee, your phone lit up with a text from Jungwon's personal assistant.

Mr. Yang has canceled all appointments for the foreseeable future. The household staff reports concerning behavior. If you could contact them, they would be grateful.

You stared at the message, rereading it several times. Jungwon never canceled appointments. Even when he'd had the flu last winter, he'd conducted meetings by video rather than reschedule. His schedule was sacred, immovable.

"What's wrong?" Leah asked, noticing your expression.

You handed her the phone. She read the message and raised her eyebrows.

"Sounds like someone's having a breakdown."

"Jungwon doesn't have breakdowns," you said automatically, then paused. The man you'd confronted before leaving—the one who'd admitted his fear of vulnerability, who'd texted you his feelings rather than say them aloud—perhaps that man did have breakdowns after all.

"Are you going to go check on him?" Leah asked.

You sighed, setting down your coffee. "I have to, don't I? At the very least, I need to get more of my things." You'd left with only a small overnight bag, having no plan beyond escape.

"Want me to come with you?"

"No," you said, more decisively than you felt. "This is something I need to do alone."

As you showered and dressed, you tried to prepare yourself for what awaited. Would Jungwon be coldly angry, his moment of vulnerability already locked away? Would he have summoned his parents, ready for a united front to convince you of your duties? Or would he simply be absent, buried in work as a shield against emotion?

In the rideshare on the way to the mansion, you rehearsed what to say. You would be calm but firm. This wasn't about blame anymore but about whether a real marriage was possible between you. You needed honesty, vulnerability, true partnership—not just the performance of marriage you'd endured for a year.

But as the car approached the gates of the estate, your carefully prepared speech evaporated. The formal gardens that had always greeted visitors with mathematical precision had been transformed. Instead of the orderly rows of seasonal blooms, there was a riot of peonies—your favorite flower—planted in natural, wild groupings that looked almost as if they had grown there spontaneously.

"Wait here," you told the driver. "I may not be staying."

As you walked up the long driveway, your heart hammered against your ribs. The front door opened before you reached it, the butler appearing with an expression of profound relief.

"Madame," he said, bowing slightly. "Thank goodness you've returned."

"I'm not staying necessarily," you clarified, stepping into the foyer. "I just came to—" You stopped, noticing more changes. The formal floral arrangements that always occupied the entryway tables had been replaced with wild, exuberant bouquets of peonies and wildflowers. "What's happening here?"

"Mr. Yang has been... making adjustments to the household," the butler replied diplomatically. "He's in the east garden. He's been there nearly two days now."

Two days? "Is he... is he all right?"

The butler hesitated. "I believe he's waiting for you, Madame."

You made your way through the house, noting more changes as you went. Books that had always been perfectly arranged on shelves now sat in haphazard stacks on tables, many open to specific pages. Your books, you realized, from your private collection.

When you reached the doors leading to the east garden—your favorite part of the grounds, where you often walked alone—you paused, gathering your courage.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you found.

The garden had been transformed into an outdoor library. Bookshelves stood on the grass in a semicircle, filled with books—your books—many open to display specific pages. And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by open volumes, was Jungwon.

You'd never seen him like this. His usually immaculate appearance was completely undone—hair disheveled, several days' stubble on his jaw, clothes rumpled as if he'd slept in them. He was reading intently from what you recognized as your private poetry journal, his expression a mixture of pain and wonder.

He looked up as your shadow fell across the page, and the naked hope and fear in his eyes made your breath catch.

"You came back," he said, his voice rough as if from disuse.

"What is all this?" you asked, gesturing to the surreal scene around you.

Jungwon carefully closed your journal and set it aside. He rose slowly to his feet, a man moving carefully so as not to shatter something fragile.

"I've been trying to find you," he said. "The real you. The one I should have been looking for all along."

You stepped closer, picking up one of the books from the grass. It was your copy of Neruda's love sonnets, open to a page where you'd scribbled Would he ever touch me like this? in the margin.

Heat rose to your face. "You've been reading my private notes?"

"Yes." Jungwon didn't try to justify or excuse it. "I needed to understand what I'd missed, what I'd ignored. I needed to see you—really see you."

You should have been angry at the invasion of privacy, but something in his broken expression stopped your protest. This wasn't the controlled, perfect Jungwon Yang you'd married. This was someone else entirely—raw, desperate, real.

"Do you have any idea," he continued, taking a step toward you, "how much you've wanted? How much you've needed? All these books, all these words you've underlined, notes you've written—they're full of longing I never acknowledged."

You remained silent, unsure what to say as he moved closer, stopping just short of touching you.

"I found your poem about lying beside me at night, wondering if I was awake, wondering if I ever thought about touching you." His voice broke slightly. "I did. Every night. I lay there wanting you, terrified of reaching for you, convinced that maintaining distance was the same as showing respect."

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he must hear it. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I almost lost you." The simple truth hung in the air between you. "Because I realized that the thing I feared most—vulnerability, need, the possibility of rejection—was nothing compared to the emptiness of letting you walk away without ever knowing how much I want you. How much I've always wanted you."

To your shock, Jungwon suddenly dropped to his knees before you, looking up with eyes that held none of his usual composure.

"I don't deserve another chance," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I've been a coward, hiding behind duty and family expectations. But if you're willing—if there's any part of you that believes we could start again—I swear I will spend every day trying to be worthy of you."

You stood frozen, overwhelmed by his declaration, by the sight of Jungwon Yang—heir to an empire, always in perfect control—on his knees before you, walls finally shattered.

"I want to build a life with you," he continued, the words spilling out as if he couldn't contain them any longer. "A real life, not this performance we've been trapped in. I want mornings where we don't pretend to sleep through each other's routines. I want to hear about your day and tell you about mine. I want to take you to that cove in Greece where no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked."

Your cheeks flamed at the reference to your private note in the travel book.

"I've read every word you've written in the margins," he confessed, his voice dropping lower. "I've memorized your poetry. The ones you circled, the ones you starred. Neruda's words—'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees'—I understand them now. I feel them in my veins."

His eyes locked with yours, their intensity almost unbearable.

"I dream of you. Of being inside you. Of knowing nothing but the depth of your eyes when you look at me. Of drowning in your skin until my mind forgets every lesson in restraint I've ever learned." His voice shook slightly. "All those nights I lay beside you, rigid with control, while you wrote of desire in book margins—it was never indifference. It was fear. Fear of how completely I would surrender to you if I allowed myself a single touch."

You couldn't breathe, couldn't speak as he continued, years of suppressed desire breaking through the dam of his composure.

"I found where you wrote 'would he ever lose control enough?' The answer is yes. God, yes. Every moment of every day I've wanted to lose myself in you. To press you against walls, to taste every inch of your skin, to hear my name in your voice when I'm buried so deep inside you that we can't tell where I end and you begin."

He trembled visibly now, hands clenched at his sides to keep from reaching for you.

"I want children who know their father can feel, can love," he went on, his voice breaking. "I want to be the man you deserve—not the perfect Yang heir, but a husband who sees you, hears you, wants you exactly as you are."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. This was what you'd wanted—wasn't it? The real man beneath the perfect facade. But now that he was here, raw and vulnerable, you found yourself terrified of your own power to hurt him, to be hurt again.

"I don't know if I can trust this," you admitted softly. "What happens when your father calls? When your mother visits? When business demands return? Will you retreat back behind those walls you've built over a lifetime?"

Jungwon nodded, acknowledging the fairness of your question. "I already told my father I won't be controlled by his expectations anymore. I hung up on him—" He gave a small, disbelieving laugh. "I actually hung up on him when he tried to order me to bring you back for appearances' sake."

Your eyes widened. In the Yang family hierarchy, defying the patriarch was unthinkable.

"I can't promise I'll never struggle," Jungwon continued. "A lifetime of conditioning doesn't disappear in a week. But I can promise to try. To talk instead of withdraw. To let you see me—all of me, even the parts I was taught to hide." He swallowed hard. "And I can promise that no business meeting, no family obligation, nothing will ever be more important to me than you are."

The morning sunlight filtered through the garden trees, casting dappled light across his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes, the vulnerability in his expression. In that moment, all the trappings of wealth and status fell away, leaving just a man asking a woman for another chance.

"I love you," he said quietly, the words clearly strange on his tongue. "I think I have from the beginning, but I didn't know how to show it, how to say it, how to let myself feel it without fear."

Your carefully constructed walls began to crumble. The honesty in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—this wasn't another performance. This was real in a way nothing between you had been before.

You took a deep breath, making a decision that would change everything.

"Stand up," you said softly.

Jungwon rose slowly, uncertainty in every line of his body. He stood before you, not touching, waiting.

"I need time," you said finally. "Not away from you—I think we've had enough distance. But time here, together, building something real. Day by day. No quick fixes, no grand gestures, just... honest effort."

Relief washed over his face. "Anything. Whatever you need."

You reached out slowly, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it against his cheek. The stubble was rough under your palm—a tangible sign of his unraveling, his transformation.

"We start again," you said. "As equals. As partners. As two people choosing each other every day, not just fulfilling an arrangement."

Jungwon covered your hand with his own, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes," he agreed simply. "That's all I want. The chance to choose you, and to be chosen by you, every day."

You stood there in the garden surrounded by the evidence of his awakening—the books, the wildflowers, the breaking of perfect order that had defined your lives together. Nothing was resolved yet, not really. The real work of building a marriage would take time, patience, courage from both of you.

But as Jungwon's fingers tentatively interlaced with yours, you felt something you hadn't experienced in a very long time: hope.

Not the desperate hope that had led you to mark passages in poetry books, dreaming of connection. But a quieter, stronger hope built on the foundation of truth finally spoken, of walls finally breached.

A beginning, at last, after a year of beautiful emptiness.

The transformation didn't happen overnight. Real change never does. But it began with small, deliberate steps—each one a silent promise, a brick in the foundation of what you both hoped would become something genuine and lasting.

The first week was tentative, both of you navigating an unfamiliar landscape of honesty. You moved back into the master bedroom, but Jungwon slept on the chaise lounge across the room, respecting your need for physical space while closing the emotional distance. Each night, you talked—sometimes for hours—about everything and nothing. Your childhoods. Your dreams. The books that had shaped you. The places you longed to visit.

"I never knew you wanted to see Greece so badly," Jungwon said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the chaise, looking younger and more relaxed than you'd ever seen him. "We could go. Whenever you want."

"It's not just about going," you explained, hugging your knees to your chest as you sat against the headboard. "It's about going somewhere simply because we want to, not because it's expected or beneficial to the family business."

He nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. "A trip just for us. No schedules, no business meetings disguised as vacations..."

"Exactly."

Two days later, you found a travel guide to the Greek islands on your pillow, with a note in Jungwon's precise handwriting: Pick the places that call to you. No expectations. No time limit. Just us.

The second week brought the first real test. Mrs. Yang arrived unannounced, sweeping into the foyer with the authority of someone who had never been denied entry.

"I've heard disturbing reports," she announced, eyeing the wildflower arrangements with thinly veiled distaste. "The garden completely rearranged. Appointments canceled. Your father says you're not taking his calls. And now this..." She gestured to the informality of the house, the books scattered on surfaces, the general disruption of the perfect order she'd helped establish.

In the past, Jungwon would have immediately adjusted his behavior to appease her. You braced yourself for his retreat back into the perfect son role.

Instead, he surprised you.

"Mother," he said calmly, "we're in the middle of some changes here. I should have called to tell you it's not a good time for a visit."

Her eyes widened. "Not a good time? Since when do I need an appointment to visit my own son's home?"

"Since now," Jungwon replied, his voice gentle but firm. "We're working on our marriage, and we need space to do that properly."

Mrs. Yang turned to you, expecting you to be the reasonable one, to smooth over this unprecedented friction. "Surely you understand that family obligations—"

"Are important," you finished for her, "but not more important than our relationship. Jungwon and I are learning to put each other first."

Her mouth opened and closed, momentarily speechless. "This is your influence," she finally said to you, her voice sharp. "My son has never been so disrespectful."

You felt Jungwon tense beside you, but before he could speak, you placed your hand on his arm. A silent communication—I've got this.

"It's not disrespect to establish healthy boundaries," you said, maintaining a respectful tone despite the accusation. "We both value you and Mr. Yang, but we're building something here that needs protection and care."

Mrs. Yang looked between the two of you, noting the united front, the way Jungwon stood slightly closer to you than necessary, the casual intimacy of your hand on his arm. Something in her calculation shifted.

"I see," she said finally. "Well. Call when you're ready to rejoin society. The foundation gala is in three weeks, and people will talk if you're absent."

"Let them talk," Jungwon said simply.

After she left, you turned to Jungwon, studying his face for signs of regret or anger. Instead, you found him looking almost relieved.

"That was the first time I've ever said no to her," he confessed with a shaky laugh. "It feels... terrifying. And right."

You squeezed his hand. "You were perfect."

"Not perfect," he corrected. "Real. There's a difference."

By the third week, physical barriers began to dissolve. Jungwon moved from the chaise to the bed, though always maintaining a careful distance. But one night, half-asleep and cold from the air conditioning, you instinctively shifted closer to his warmth. Without fully waking, he draped an arm over you, pulling you against him with a contented sigh.

You froze, suddenly wide awake, your heart racing at the casual intimacy. His breathing remained deep and even, clearly still asleep. Slowly, you relaxed into the embrace, allowing yourself to feel the solidity of him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the warmth that radiated through his thin t-shirt.

It was the first time you'd slept in each other's arms. In the morning, when you both woke to find yourselves entangled, there was a moment of awkward uncertainty before Jungwon smiled—a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his face.

"Good morning," he said softly, making no move to pull away.

"Good morning," you replied, marveling at how natural it felt to be here, in this moment, with him.

That day, the staff noticed the shift between you—the lingering glances, the casual touches as you passed each other, the private smiles. The mansion seemed to exhale, as if the building itself had been holding its breath, waiting for life to finally fill its rooms.

A month after your return, Jungwon came to you with a proposal.

"I've been thinking about the house," he said over breakfast, which you now took together every morning before he left for work. His schedule had been completely reorganized, with strict boundaries between work and home time. "It's beautiful, but it's never felt like ours. It's been my family's vision of what our home should be."

You nodded, understanding immediately. "It's always felt like living in a museum."

"Exactly." He pushed a folder across the table. "What would you think about this?"

Inside were architectural plans for a new house—smaller, more intimate, designed around shared spaces and natural light.

"You want to move?" you asked, surprised.

"I want us to build something that belongs to us," he clarified. "Something that reflects who we are together, not who everyone expects us to be."

You studied the plans more carefully, noting the library with two desks facing each other, the open kitchen designed for cooking together, the master bedroom with windows that would catch the sunrise.

"There's room for a nursery," you observed quietly, looking up to gauge his reaction.

His eyes softened. "I thought... someday... if we decided..." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I want children with you. Not for the Yang legacy, but because I can't imagine anything more beautiful than creating a family with you. But only when we're ready. Only when our foundation is solid."

You reached across the table, taking his hand. "I'd like that. Someday."

He squeezed your fingers, a simple gesture that had become precious in its newfound ease. "So, the house?"

"Yes," you decided. "Let's build something that's truly ours."

Two months into your new beginning, you attended your first social event as a changed couple. The charity auction—ironically, the same type of event where you'd played your roles so convincingly before—now became the stage for your authentic selves.

When you entered on Jungwon's arm, the subtle changes were immediately apparent to the careful observers of high society. The way his hand rested at the small of your back—not for show, but because he liked the connection to you. How he kept you within his sight even during separate conversations. The private smiles you exchanged across the room, small moments of complicity in the public setting.

Mrs. Singh approached you during a lull in the evening. "There's something different about you two," she observed shrewdly. "You seem... happier."

You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room. He was engaged in conversation but looked up at that exact moment, as if sensing your gaze, and smiled back with undisguised affection.

"We are," you replied simply.

Later, when the dancing began, Jungwon led you to the floor. Unlike the choreographed movements you'd performed at countless events before, this time he held you closer, his cheek occasionally brushing against your temple, his hand warm and secure against yours.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, feeling the weight of curious eyes.

"Let them," he replied, his lips close to your ear. "Maybe they'll learn something."

The evening continued, but unlike before, you weren't simply playing a part. The genuine connection between you was unmistakable, and as the night progressed, you felt something shift in the atmosphere around you. The calculated social maneuvering gave way to something more genuine, as if your authenticity had granted others permission to drop their own facades, if only slightly.

When you returned home that night, the tension that had always accompanied these performances was absent. Instead, there was a shared sense of accomplishment, of having navigated the social waters together without losing yourselves in the process.

"That wasn't so bad," Jungwon admitted as you both prepared for bed. "Being real in public."

"It was actually nice," you agreed, sitting at your vanity to remove your jewelry. "Though I think your mother nearly fainted when you declined the board seat Mr. Lee offered."

Jungwon laughed, the sound still new enough to delight you. "The old me would have accepted immediately, even though we both know it would have meant even less time at home." He moved behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "I have different priorities now."

He reached for the clasp of your necklace, his fingers brushing against your skin as he helped you remove it. The simple intimacy of the gesture—one that might have seemed ordinary in most marriages but was revolutionary in yours—made your breath catch.

When he finished, his hands remained on your shoulders, thumbs gently caressing the exposed skin above your dress. Your eyes met in the mirror, and the desire you saw there—no longer hidden or denied—sent heat cascading through you.

"May I kiss you?" he asked softly.

It wasn't your first kiss since the reconciliation—there had been gentle pecks, cautious explorations—but something about this moment felt different. More significant.

You turned to face him, rising from the vanity bench. "Yes."

He cupped your face with reverent hands, studying you as if committing every detail to memory, before leaning in slowly. The kiss began gentle but deepened as months of carefully banked desire kindled between you. His arms encircled your waist, drawing you closer until you could feel the rapid beating of his heart against yours.

When you finally separated, both breathless, Jungwon rested his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispered, the words no longer strange or difficult but natural, necessary.

"I love you too," you replied, the truth of it filling every part of you.

That night, for the first time, you truly became husband and wife—not through social obligation or family expectation, but through choice. Through desire. Through love that had fought its way past barriers of conditioning and fear to find expression at last.

Six months after your confrontation, the new house was completed. It stood on a hillside overlooking the city, modern in design but warm in execution, with natural materials and spaces designed for living rather than showcasing wealth.

The move was symbolic in more ways than one—leaving behind the mansion with its rigid expectations and cold perfection, stepping into a home created specifically for the life you were building together.

On your first night there, after the movers had gone and the essentials were unpacked, Jungwon opened a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses as you both stood in the expansive living room, floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the city lights spread below.

"To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," you added, clinking your glass against his.

After you both drank, he set his glass aside and reached for your hand, his expression turning serious.

"I want to ask you something," he said, leading you to the sofa. When you were both seated, he took both your hands in his. "This past year—these six months especially—have been the most transformative of my life. I feel like I'm finally becoming the person I was meant to be, not the perfect heir my father designed."

You squeezed his hands encouragingly. "I'm proud of you. The changes you've made, the boundaries you've set—none of it has been easy."

"It's been worth it," he said simply. "And I want to keep growing, keep becoming better. With you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. "Which is why I want to ask you to marry me. Again. For real this time."

He opened the box to reveal a ring nothing like the elaborate diamond he'd given you during your engagement. This one was simpler, more personal—a band of intertwined gold and platinum with a small sapphire that matched the color of your favorite flowers.

"Our first marriage was arranged for us," he continued. "I want this one to be chosen by us. No families planning, no strategic alliances, just two people who love each other deciding to build a life together."

Tears filled your eyes, but unlike the lonely tears you'd shed in that first year, these were born of joy, of wonder at how far you'd both come.

"Yes," you whispered, watching as he slipped the ring onto your finger, alongside the formal engagement diamond you still wore. The contrast between them—one chosen for appearance, one chosen for meaning—perfectly symbolized your journey.

"I thought we could have a small ceremony," Jungwon said, pulling you close. "Just us and a few people who truly care about our happiness. On that Greek island you've been reading about."

You laughed through your tears. "Your mother would never forgive us."

"She'll survive," he said with a smile. "This isn't about the Yang family or social connections or business advantages. It's about you and me, choosing each other. Every day. For the rest of our lives."

As you kissed to seal this new promise, you marveled at the journey that had brought you here—from empty performance to authentic partnership, from silent longing to expressed love, from arranged marriage to chosen commitment.

The road hadn't been smooth. There had been setbacks, moments when old patterns threatened to reassert themselves. There would be more challenges ahead, more work to maintain the vulnerability and honesty you'd fought so hard to establish.

But looking into Jungwon's eyes—eyes that now held nothing back from you—you knew with absolute certainty that the difficult path was worth it. That true connection, once found, was worth fighting for. That love, real love, could grow even from the most barren beginnings, if only given the chance to breathe.

The most shocking transformation in your renewed marriage wasn’t the tenderness.

It was the hunger.

Jungwon, who used to sleep with a polite space between your bodies, now touched you like he couldn’t bear even a millimeter of distance.

The man who once bowed his head before kissing your hand now dropped to his knees and begged to taste you.

It was as if years of restraint had finally snapped—like some tight, internal knot had come undone—and he was feral from the release.

The first night you truly became intimate, you realized just how much he’d been suppressing.

His hands, once always tucked in his lap, now gripped your thighs like a lifeline, dragged you down onto the sheets with a growl. He shook when he touched you, but not from nerves—from sheer fucking relief.

His mouth, which had always only spoken in formal tones and quiet dinner conversation, now whispered against your skin—

“I’ve dreamed of spreading your legs and living between them.”

You gasped. He kissed lower. His breath hot between your thighs.

“Every night beside you, pretending I didn’t hear how you breathed heavier when I got too close. I wanted to fuck you so bad I used to take cold showers just to stop myself from humping the fucking mattress.”

You were already soaked, trembling.

You cupped his face, forced him to look up. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

His pupils were blown wide. He licked his lips, nodding.

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

He broke.

He devoured your pussy like it owed him rent. Like it was his first and last meal.

No teasing. No patience. Just his tongue, buried deep, moaning into you like your taste was the only thing that ever made him lose his composure.

You came once on his mouth—fast and loud—and he didn’t even let up.

“Again,” he groaned, “fuck, again, I want to feel you fall apart.”

And when he finally hovered over you, flushed and trembling and naked between your legs?

“Tell me,” he whispered, cock dragging through your soaked folds, “tell me what you want. What you’ve been aching for. Let me ruin you the way I’ve dreamed about.”

So you did.

You told him all of it. The fantasies. The positions. The filthy little things you’d only ever written down in notebook margins when he was still cold and distant.

And Jungwon?

Did. Not. Flinch.

He nodded, breath shaking, and said—

“You want to be face down? Crying? Begging? I’ll give it to you. Just know when I start, I won’t stop until you’re fucked stupid.”

And he meant it.

He took you face down on the mattress, hips locked in place by his grip, his cock slamming into you so deep you saw stars. He growled things you’d never imagined him saying—

“This pussy’s mine. All fucking mine. You think I don’t know how wet you get when I talk like this?”

“Look at you—slutty little wife, dripping down your thighs like you’ve been waiting to be treated like a whore.”

“How many times you make yourself cum thinking about me breaking like this, huh?”

You choked on your moans. You were sobbing by the time he made you cum again, legs shaking, jaw slack, vision blurry.

He kissed your spine afterward. Slowly. Tenderly. Like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides.

Pulled you into his arms and whispered, “I used to leave the room when I got too hard just looking at you. I thought wanting you like this made me weak. My father always said a Yang man should control his urges.”

He paused. Smiled against your neck.

“I’ve never been so happy to disappoint him.”

In the weeks that followed your first night together, the shift between you became impossible to ignore. And impossible to contain.

Jungwon couldn’t stop touching you.

He didn’t even try. His hand found yours under the breakfast table.

His palm slid across your lower back when you walked past him in the hallway—lingering there, possessive.

He stole kisses while you were brushing your teeth, while you answered the door, while you loaded the washing machine.

It was as if his body was always reaching, always chasing, making up for a year of self-denial all at once.

You gave in to him every time.

One afternoon, he came home early from the office to find you kneeling in the garden, soil smudged on your knees, digging holes for the last peony bush you’d saved from the mansion.

You didn’t hear him approach.

But you felt it—the change in the air. The heat behind you. The sound of breath catching.

Hands on your waist. A sharp inhale. And a low, devastating voice.

“That’s what I come home to?”

You turned your head, startled—and then flushed under the weight of his gaze.

He was already unbuttoning his sleeves.

Already breathing too hard.

“Jungwon—”

He hauled you to your feet. Didn’t flinch at the dirt. Didn’t care about the sunlight.

Just gripped your waist, pulled you close, and kissed you like you’d been killing him in his dreams. You gasped against his mouth, hands braced on his chest, heart pounding.

“What was that for?”

His eyes were black with need. He didn’t let you go.

“Because I can,” he said. “Because I spent a year not touching you. Not letting myself want you. Not letting myself want to bend you over every surface in our house.”

You trembled.

He pulled you closer.

“I refuse to waste another fucking day.”

The peonies were forgotten.

He dragged you inside, dirt on your hands, sweat beading on your spine—and kissed you again against the door.

His jacket hit the floor first. Then yours.

Then his belt, as he backed you into the living room like a man possessed.

When your knees hit the rug, he dropped with you.

Didn’t even bother removing your clothes properly—just shoved your dress up and pulled your underwear down like it offended him.

“Here,” he growled, palming your ass as he pressed you forward onto all fours. “Here on the floor, where I can see every inch of you. Where I can fuck you raw and you can scream for me.”

You moaned, breath hitched.

“God, I wanted to do this the first night I married you. I wanted to wreck you. I wanted to see what sounds you’d make with my cock in you.”

You were dripping by the time he pushed inside.

No teasing. No patience. Just one smooth thrust that made you cry out, already clenching.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed. “So wet and hot and mine.”

He fucked you hard, fast, hips slapping against your ass as your moans echoed through the empty house.

You didn’t care. You let him take everything.

He gripped your hips, pulled you back onto him harder, chasing your high like he’d been dying for it. You came shaking on him, and he groaned, low and broken, before following with a curse buried into your shoulder.

You collapsed to the rug in a tangled heap, both of you breathless, glowing in the afternoon sun. Later, still half-naked, your cheek resting on the rug, he lay beside you—head on your stomach, smiling like a teenager.

“My father would be appalled,” he murmured. “The Yang heir behaving like this. Desperate. Loud. Fucking his wife on the floor.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“And what do you think?”

He tilted his head. Kissed your bare hip, then lower.

Then smiled.

“I think we should do it again in the kitchen.”

A pause.

“Then the stairs. Then the study. Then maybe the floor again.”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer. Because his hand was already sliding between your legs again.

What amazed you most was his attentiveness. Jungwon, who had once seemed completely disconnected from physical needs, now anticipated yours with an almost uncanny perception. He noticed when tension gathered in your shoulders and appeared with warm hands to massage it away. He registered which touches made your breath catch and revisited them with deliberate intent. He cataloged every sensitive spot, every preference, every response with the same meticulous attention he'd once reserved for business reports.

"How did you know?" you asked one evening when he drew you a bath exactly when you needed it, complete with the lavender oil you preferred when tired.

"Your left eyebrow tenses slightly when you're exhausted," he explained, kneeling beside the tub to wash your back with gentle hands. "And you roll your shoulders every few minutes. Plus, you've been on your feet all day with the interior decorator."

The fact that he noticed such small details—that he paid such close attention to your physical comfort—moved you deeply. This wasn't just passion; it was care, consideration, genuine desire for your wellbeing.

One night, as you lay tangled together in the afterglow of particularly intense lovemaking, Jungwon traced patterns on your back with his fingertips, his expression thoughtful.

"I used to think that needing someone physically was a weakness," he confessed. "That it gave them power over you. My father warned me about it—how desire could cloud judgment, make a man vulnerable."

"And now?" you prompted, propping yourself up to look at him.

A slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features in a way that still took your breath away. "Now I think vulnerability is its own kind of strength. The courage to need someone, to show them exactly how much you want them..." He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I've never felt stronger than when I'm completely undone in your arms."

The physical transformation in your marriage rippled outward, affecting every aspect of your lives together. Jungwon, once rigid in his schedules and plans, now embraced spontaneity. He would cancel meetings to spend the day in bed with you, laughing as you expressed shock at his newfound willingness to prioritize pleasure over work.

"The company won't collapse if I take a day off," he said, pulling you back under the covers when you suggested he shouldn't neglect his responsibilities. "And this—" he kissed you deeply "—is a responsibility too. To us. To what we're building."

Even in public, the change was evident to anyone with eyes to see. Though still mindful of appropriate boundaries, Jungwon couldn't seem to stop himself from small touches—his hand at the small of your back, his fingers laced with yours, the way he would occasionally lean down to whisper something in your ear that made heat rise to your cheeks.

At a corporate gala, Mrs. Yang cornered you by the refreshment table, her eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Your husband's behavior has become rather... demonstrative lately," she observed acidly. "It's unseemly for a man of his position to be so openly affectionate."

You smiled, watching Jungwon across the room as he spoke with investors. Even engaged in business conversation, his eyes sought you out regularly, as if making sure you were still there, still his.

"I disagree," you replied calmly. "I think it shows remarkable strength for a man to be secure enough in himself to express his feelings openly."

Your mother-in-law's lips thinned, but before she could respond, Jungwon appeared at your side, his hand automatically finding yours.

"Mother," he greeted her with polite warmth. "I see you've found my wife. I hope you'll excuse us—this is our song."

There was no song playing that held any special meaning, but Mrs. Yang couldn't know that. With a small bow, Jungwon led you to the dance floor, pulling you closer than was strictly proper for such a formal event.

"Rescued you," he murmured against your ear, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine.

"My hero," you teased, relaxing into his embrace. "Though your mother might never recover from the shock of seeing the Yang heir so besotted with his own wife."

"Let her adjust," he replied, his hand splayed possessively against your lower back. "This is who I am now. Who we are together."

Later that night, he touched you like he’d been holding it in all day—like the hours of careful, public restraint had coiled inside him, pressing tight under his skin, begging for release.

Now, with you spread beneath him in your shared bed, every breath he took seemed heavy with need.

His thrusts were deep, deliberate, dragging moans from your throat with each slow roll of his hips.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t look away. He studied you.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of expression, every twitch, every gasp, like he wanted to memorize the exact second you shattered.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice low, tight, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You blinked up at him, dazed, overwhelmed. “That I hardly recognize you sometimes.”

His rhythm stuttered—hips faltering, jaw tensing.

His brows drew together. “Is that… disappointing?”

You couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped you. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and pulled him closer, arching up to meet him.

“No. Quite the opposite.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, your voice thick with wonder and arousal.

“I’m amazed that all of this—”

Your hands trailed down his chest, to where your bodies met, to the heat and slick and stretch between your legs,

“—was hidden inside that perfect, restrained man.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a crooked, mischievous smile—so at odds with the version of him you’d once known that it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

“I have years of self-control to make up for,” he said, lowering his mouth to your throat, his voice a warm rasp against your skin. “You don’t think I’ve imagined this? Every night. Every day. Watching you walk around like you didn’t know how badly I wanted to fuck you into the mattress?”

You whimpered, breath catching.

“You think I didn’t notice how soft your thighs looked in those dresses? Or how your voice changed when you said my name?”

His tongue flicked over a sensitive spot just below your ear, and your back arched without thinking.

“I used to jerk off in the shower,” he whispered, filthy now, “biting my lip so you wouldn’t hear. Palming my cock like a coward while I imagined you moaning for me just like this.”

You gasped as he pinned your wrists above your head, not rough, just firm—controlling, possessive. His other hand slid between your bodies, fingers circling your clit with devastating precision.

“You’re mine now,” he said against your collarbone. “I don’t have to hide it anymore. Don’t have to pretend I don’t want you crying and shaking under me every night.”

The need in his voice made your toes curl.

“I don’t think anyone could be prepared for this version of you,” you managed to gasp, hips bucking as his thumb pressed harder.

He chuckled darkly. “Good. I like catching you off guard.”

Then his lips ghosted over your pulse, and he murmured:

“I like knowing no one else gets to see you like this. Just me. The mess. The begging. The way you moan when I hit you right there.”

His hips snapped, and your whole body trembled.

“I like owning this version of you. The version that melts under me. That asks for more even when I’m already inside.”

The sheer possessiveness in his voice—raw and reverent—nearly undid you.

Your whole body clenched, eyes wide, breath gone. “Only you,” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Always you.”

He kissed you then. Deep. Unrelenting.

And when you came again, shaking apart in his arms, you knew:

You’d never seen the real Jungwon before this.

Afterward, as you drifted toward sleep in his arms, you reflected on the journey that had brought you here. From polite strangers sharing a bed without touching, to lovers who couldn't bear even the smallest distance between them. From a marriage of appearance to a union of body, heart, and soul.

Jungwon's arm tightened around you, even in his sleep unwilling to let you go. The man who had once feared needing someone now embraced that need without reservation, transforming what he'd been taught was weakness into his greatest strength.

As you snuggled closer to his warmth, you silently thanked whatever courage had prompted you to finally break the silence between you, to demand more than the empty performance your marriage had been. The risk had been terrifying, but the reward—this man who loved you without restraint, who showed that love in every look and touch and whispered word—was beyond anything you could have imagined.

Epilogue: Aegean Dreams

The light breeze carried the scent of salt and wild herbs through the open French doors of your villa, perched on the cliffs of Santorini. Dawn had just begun to paint the horizon in shades of gold and rose, the Aegean Sea below reflecting the spectacle like a mirror. You stood on the private terrace, wrapped in a silk robe, drinking in the view that had once been nothing more than a wistful note in a travel book margin.

Warm arms encircled you from behind, and Jungwon's lips found the curve where your neck met your shoulder.

"I woke up and you were gone," he murmured against your skin. "For a second, I panicked."

You turned in his embrace, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. No product kept it in place here—just like no tailored suits or carefully crafted personas had made the journey to this small Greek paradise.

"Just wanted to see the sunrise," you explained, smiling at the vulnerability he no longer tried to hide. "Old habits. Though I'm not used to you noticing when I slip out of bed."

"I notice everything about you now," he said, tightening his hold. "Especially when your warmth disappears from beside me."

Two years had passed since that fateful anniversary night when everything had broken open between you. Two years of learning each other, rebuilding trust, discovering what it meant to truly choose one another every day. The small, intimate wedding you'd held on this very island six months ago had merely formalized what your hearts had already decided.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jungwon asked, noticing your contemplative expression.

"I was just thinking about that travel book," you said, leaning into him. "The one where I marked all those Greek islands, never believing I'd actually see them."

"And now you've seen five of them in three weeks," he replied with a smile. "With three more to go before we have to think about heading back."

The itinerary for this trip had been deliberately open-ended—a luxury neither of you had ever permitted yourselves before. No business calls, no social obligations, not even a fixed return date. Just the two of you moving at your own pace through the islands you'd dreamed of.

"Remember that cove I mentioned in my notes?" you asked, a mischievous glint in your eye. "The one where 'no one would expect Mrs. Yang to swim naked'?"

"How could I forget?" Jungwon's voice dropped lower, his hands sliding down to your waist. "It's circled on the map in our bedroom. I've been wondering when you'd bring it up."

"The boat captain said he could take us there this afternoon. Completely private, accessible only by sea."

His eyes darkened with desire—a look that still thrilled you, even after months of uninhibited passion. "I'll tell him we'll double his fee if he drops us off and doesn't return until sunset."

You laughed, stretching up to kiss him. "Always the efficient businessman."

"Only when efficiency serves pleasure," he countered, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless.

When you finally pulled apart, the sun had fully crested the horizon, bathing the white-washed villa in golden light. Jungwon led you to the small table on the terrace where he'd already set up breakfast—fresh fruit, local yogurt, honey, and coffee prepared exactly the way you liked it.

"I have something for you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his linen pants as you both sat down.

He placed a small package wrapped in simple brown paper on the table between you. His expression held an endearing mix of anticipation and nervousness that reminded you how far he'd come from the controlled, emotionless man you'd married.

"What's this for?" you asked, picking up the package. "It's not my birthday or our anniversary."

"Do I need a reason to give my wife a gift?" he countered with a smile. "Open it."

You carefully unwrapped the paper to find a leather-bound journal, its cover soft and supple. When you opened it, you discovered it was filled with poems—some typed, others handwritten in Jungwon's precise script.

"I've been collecting them," he explained, watching your face closely. "Every poem that made me think of you. The ones that helped me understand what I was feeling when I didn't have the words myself."

You turned the pages, eyes widening as you recognized some of the poems you'd once secretly marked in your books, now preserved in this new collection. But there were others you didn't recognize—contemporary pieces, older classics, even what appeared to be original works.

"Did you... write some of these?" you asked, looking up in surprise.

A flush crept up his neck—the unguarded reaction still so different from the controlled man he'd once been. "I tried. They're probably terrible, but..." He shrugged, a gesture of vulnerability that would have been unthinkable in the old Jungwon. "I wanted to find a way to tell you what you mean to me that wasn't borrowed from someone else's words."

You found one of his original poems, dated from the early days of your reconciliation:

I lived behind walls so high

Even I forgot what lay inside

Until your voice broke through

And light flooded places

I had kept dark for so long

I had forgotten they could shine

Tears pricked your eyes as you continued reading. The progression of the poems—from hesitant early attempts to more recent, confident expressions—mirrored the journey of your relationship.

"This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me," you said finally, closing the journal and holding it against your heart.

"There's one more thing," Jungwon said, reaching across the table to take your hand. "I've been thinking about what you said last week, about not being ready to go back to real life yet."

"I was just being silly," you assured him, though the thought of returning to schedules and obligations did fill you with a certain dread. "We can't stay on vacation forever."

"Why not?" He smiled at your startled expression. "Not forever, but... longer. I've been working on something." He pulled out his phone—rarely used during the trip except for taking photos—and showed you a property listing. "It's a small villa on Paros. Nothing extravagant, but it has a garden for you and a study for me with a decent internet connection."

"You want to buy a house here?" you asked, stunned.

"I want us to have a place that's just ours. Not tied to the Yang name or business or social expectations." His eyes held yours, serious despite his smile. "A place where we can come whenever we need to breathe. Where no one expects anything from us except being ourselves."

"But your work—"

"Can be managed remotely for extended periods," he interrupted gently. "I've been talking with the board about restructuring my role. Less day-to-day management, more strategic direction. It would mean fewer hours, more flexibility."

You stared at him, processing the magnitude of what he was suggesting. The old Jungwon would never have considered stepping back from his corporate responsibilities, would never have prioritized personal happiness over professional ambition.

"What about your father?" you asked, knowing that Mr. Yang would view such a move as a betrayal of family duty.

"He'll adapt," Jungwon said with surprising calm. "Or he won't. Either way, I'm not living my life to meet his expectations anymore." He squeezed your hand. "What do you think? Not about him—about the villa."

You looked out at the endless blue of the Aegean, then back at the man who had transformed himself for love of you—who continued to transform, to grow, to choose your shared happiness over prescribed obligation.

"I think," you said slowly, a smile spreading across your face, "that I'd like to plant bougainvillea along that terrace wall in the photos."

His answering smile was radiant. "Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering with words, you stood and moved around the table, settling onto his lap. His arms came around you automatically, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world—which, you knew now, you were.

"It's a 'you make me happier than I ever thought possible,'" you said, framing his face with your hands. "It's a 'I love the life we're building together.'"

"Even if it scandalizes my mother?" he asked, laughter in his eyes.

"Especially then," you replied, leaning in to kiss him as the Greek sun climbed higher in the sky, warming your skin, illuminating the future stretching before you—unplanned, unprescribed, and gloriously your own.

Behind you, the pages of the poetry journal fluttered in the sea breeze, open to the last entry, written in Jungwon's hand just days before:

Once I thought perfection meant control

Now I know it's the moment you laugh

Head thrown back, eyes dancing

Completely unguarded in my arms

The sound of your happiness echoing

Through rooms once filled with silence

This is the music I want to hear

For all my remaining days

fin.

TL: @addictedtohobi @azzy02 @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @zzhengyu @somuchdard @annybah @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

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triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: SMUT, pre-relationship mutual pining and just a touch of ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: You text the hot swim dad for legal help. He shows up in khakis. You try to behave. You fail. He's accidentally jealous of your date, you accidentally grind on his lap, he finishes in his pants, and somehow it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you. Warnings: SMUT MDNI (heavy makeout, dry humping and *sighs* Aaron creams his pants for just that... the title is descriptive enough), age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, objectification of the Hotchner body Word Count: 4.9k (damn gurl) Dado's Corner: Based on this request! And... um... full disclosure... I added the glasses part solely because of the cat pic sent by @hotchology, who said this ginger furball is how they imagine Hotch in glasses (LOOK HOW CUUUTE)

masterlist(s)

Everything showers.

A sacred rite of modern womanhood.

Takes minimum two geological eras to complete, consumes half the planet’s fresh water, and must be repeated often to remain an eligible mating partner.

Because that’s the whole point of being a woman, isn’t it? To be clean, hairless, glowing, and vaguely vanilla-scented - just fuckable enough for men who think 3-in-1 shampoo counts as skincare.

The concept of an everything shower is… layered. Part hygiene. Part penance. Part psychological rebirth. A full-body cleanse for the sins you haven’t committed yet.

You’ve done them before first dates. Before almost-dates. Before parties, dick appointments, emotional breakdowns, and that one Tuesday when you just needed to check in on her-

(Her. Down there.)

Once, you even did one before visiting your mother. (Unclear whether that was for survival or atonement. Maybe both.)

But never - not even in your darkest, most masochistic imagination - did you think you’d be doing one because of an eviction notice.

Not until today.

Because Aaron Hotchner - a man who should be both physically and emotionally unavailable due to his very, very, veeeery important job saving the world - is apparently not unavailable.

Not when it matters.

Not when it’s least convenient for your nervous system.

…The irony.

All it took was one stupid text. A momentary lapse in dignity. Something he’d probably refer to as “compromised judgment.”

do you happen to know a very cheap lawyer asking for a friend

And instead of his usual three-to-five-business-days reply time, he hits you with:

aaron hotchner (work, no nudes): Are you at home now? – A.H.

And now you’re just a bit overthinking… because how does he know that?

Did the FBI install a secret camera in your pothos plant? Does he have access to some satellite heat map of your apartment? Has he been watching your window? A camera in the air vent?

(Has he seen you trying out that new clear dildo in front of the mirror for “science”?)

(The one time you tried doing yoga and got stuck in child's pose for 40 minutes?)

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

All you do know is that you are currently fully naked, shaving for a man who:

Has no idea he’s being shaved for, while you’re on speakerphone with him, as he gets closer and closer to your building block because he invited himself into your private space and-

Would absolutely turn around and disappear if he ever caught even a hint of cucumber-scented shaving cream (you borrowed from your roommate) and realized you'd… prepared for him.

Because your “just in case” implies premeditation. And premeditation implies intention. And intention? Intention is basically foreplay.

And foreplay is strictly prohibited outside the sanctity of marriage, a psychological clearance form, and at least three signed affidavits from HR.

He would enter WITSEC on the spot. Change his name. Grow a beard.

(Hot.)

“What’s happening? Are you alright?”

He concernedly asks over the phone - totally unaware (definitely unaware) that every time he checks in on you, he’s poking your very well-buried, very latent daddy issues with a stick.

(Or maybe he keeps asking because he’s the one with daddy issues. Very obvious ones. That classic parented-child energy. Raised himself on black coffee, moral obligation and emotional regret.)

What a match, really. You get off on being cared for, and he gets off on taking care of people he’ll never emotionally open up to.

Soulmates.

Anyway-

“So… my landlord is an asshole and I really hope he gets some very painful hemor-”

Mr. FBI has the audacity to call you by your full legal name before cutting you off with, “This call is being recorded. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from making…” he even pauses, searching for the most delicate phrasing. Because God forbid he doesn’t sound like a morally burdened Disney princess. “explicit threats.”

Oh, you’d appreciate a few things too. Like having his actual number and not the one issued by the United States Government - so you wouldn’t have to worry about scandalizing some poor technical analyst who’ll be forced to transcribe this call word-for-word the second they find his body in a ditch and trace it back to you.

(“Exhibit B: She said, quote, ‘I hope he gets some very painful hemor.’”)

…But you’re not as childish as him to complain about that.

“My bad.”

“It’s alright.” (Can he please stop talking like this?)

“Yeah… I-” Your voice trips. Your face is hot. Your entire body is hotter. “The thing is-”

“I’m listening.” Oh, fuck him. (Please.)

“In short: the building’s falling apart. We’ve been emailing the guy for weeks, complaining, begging, threatening – nicely - and either he forgets to reply or says he’ll fix it and then doesn’t. It’s been an eternity and he still hasn’t done a single fuc-”

Recorded line. Recorded line. God forbid the man has a seizure because of you. “-thing.”

You hear a chuckle on the other end.

You hate phone calls.

You’d choke him if he weren’t safely boxed inside a moving vehicle.

“I said threats. You can curse. I’m not ten.” Oh, he’s smiling. You can hear it. The smug bastard.

“Oh, that I noticed.”

You love phone calls.

If he were here, he would've already hit you with one of those signature stares - intended to intimidate, but really just making you want to lick the corner of his mouth out of pure spite.

But look at you. Free. Untouchable. Doing amazing.

“The thing is, I didn’t pay rent this month. Because they’re still ignoring the repairs. And now they’re threatening to evict me if I don’t pay.”

“That’s retaliatory. It’s illegal.”

“Wait… you’re telling me I’m not screwed?”

“No, they are. You withheld payment due to unaddressed health and safety violations. That’s protected under landlord-tenant statutes,” he says, suddenly shifting into full legalese, something-something code 572, subsection blah-blah, tenant rights, lease clauses-

You don’t hear any of it. Actually, the very second he started speaking fluent Law Daddy, , your brain slammed the emergency brake to focus on the real crisis:

What the fuck are you going to wear.

“Document everything-“

Lace? Bold choice, but post-shave? Masochism. Granny cotton briefs? He’ll never look at you again.

“Photos.”

Tight top, no bra? Risky.

What if he hugs you and feels how obnoxiously hard your nipples are?

(He’s not a hugger. He doesn’t seem like a hugger. Right?)

(Right??)

(But what if he is today?)

(What if he walks in, sees you - top clinging, no heating - and suddenly decides: You know what? Now’s the time. Now’s the moment I become a hugger. Just for her. Just this once. Just to pull her in close, pretend it’s chaste, press his palm between her shoulder blades and - oh fuck - realize it’s not.)

(What if he hugs you and feels it?)

(What if he hugs you and keeps hugging you?)

(What if he grips tighter, his hand slides just a little lower, and his voice does too, right by your ear - “You’re not wearing a bra.”)

(“Neither are you, sir.”)

(And what if that hug turns into a grind, into his thigh between your legs, into lift me onto the kitchen counter and show me what else you know about tenancy law.)

“Emails.”

Loose top, skimpy bottoms? Slutty. Strategic. Respectable slutty. He’d stare at your legs all night.

(He wouldn’t. But you’d know. Which is worse.)

You should lather in coconut oil, just in case.

You should lather in coconut oil anyway – hydration is important to avoid ingrowns (and yes, to smell edible too.)

“Timestamps.”

Tight top, no bra, skimpy bottoms? Too much? Too “I can’t pay the plumber, but maybe I can offer something else...”

(Not that you’ve watched those. Obviously. You’re just… aware of the trope.)

(Not because you spent 30 minutes the other night trying to find the perfect one. And then another 10 skipping the plot because it was too unrealistic, there’s no way the plumber just happens to have lube.)

(Not that you wouldn’t do it for him. But you’re also not going to lower yourself to being a badly lit, lazily scripted fantasy for the male gaze.)

“…If you haven’t already, I’d recommend drafting a written complaint.”

“…Aaron, I don’t even know where to start,” you mutter. “That’s why I asked if you knew a very cheap lawyer.”

“I’m the very cheap lawyer.” For some reason he chuckles, probably it’s because of his own joke, “Don’t worry, we’ll do it together, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He is not there in fifteen.

He’s “there” after fourty-eight minutes - flustered, apologizing, muttering something about I-395 and a jackknifed delivery truck, which is just adorable, really, coming from a man who’s clearly never taken the bus in heels while bleeding through his jeans, juggling three leaking Trader Joe’s bags, and re-evaluating every life decision since birth.

He’s grumbling about “infrastructure,” all furrowed brows and moral outrage. How sweet.

You, meanwhile, are Frenching the entire Department of Transportation.

You are giving gridlock the kind of wet, eye-contact blowjob that wins awards - because, for once in your adult life, the universe delayed a man just long enough for you to become a person.

Thirty-eight glorious minutes to shave, moisturize, hide the evidence of your emotional instability, light a candle, panic about the candle (too much?), blow it out, light it again (fuck it), rearrange your throw pillows, Febreze your loveseat, and clean your floors so well you briefly consider serving dinner off them - or yourself.

(Also enough time to change outfits four times, reject each one violently, and land on something that screams “Oh, this? Just threw it on,” while whispering: “I shaved everything.”)

You’ve never been more grateful for civic failure.

You look good. Your apartment looks good. You know it smells amazing in here. You know it. You can feel the Pine-Sol particles sparkling off the hardwood.

Any second now, he’s going to say something about it.

He’s going to inhale – deeply - and ask what detergent you use. Compliment your lavender baseboards.

You can feel it coming. You’re ready. You smile. You bask.

Aaron sets down his bag. Unclips it. Opens it. Looks up.

“I printed out the tenancy statutes,” he says, already pulling out an aggressively highlighted stack of documents from the briefcase.

And this would be impressive - should be impressive - if he weren’t wearing a plain black T-shirt that is doing things to his arms. And the khakis. Fucking khakis.

The most indecently decent pants in the entire male wardrobe.

They whisper "suburban dad," but scream "accidental bulge in soft daylight."

Speaking of which, unfortunately, your apartment lighting has never worked harder - midday golden-hour haze bouncing off every freshly scrubbed surface, casting soft shadows and sensual gleam until finally it settles on The Situation.

…Shit.

(Do not look at it.)

(Do not acknowledge it.)

(Do not mentally calculate whether that’s just the way his pants fold or if that’s his dick pressed against the zipper like it also has a clause to deliver.)

(Do notice, however, that he still hasn’t said a single word about how nice your apartment looks. Rude.)

“I flagged the key violations and I added notes on a recent amendment that strengthens your case - you can reference it in your response letter.” His eyes scan the room clearing it for hostiles - except all he really sees is your loveseat. Small. Soft. Close.

And you, in a tank top.

He clears his throat. Adjusts the folder. His gaze flicks back to you – quick, sharp, and immediately redirected to something safer, like the floor.

“Where… should we get set up?” he asks, like he hasn’t already mentally measured the loveseat twice, logged its exact dimensions in his brain, and is currently laser-eyeing the very cushion he’s dying – dreading - to sit on.

“Oh, I don’t know… wherever you’re comfortable.”

He nods - just a touch too seriously - then hesitates. Again. Checks one more time, with those painfully polite eyes: Can I...? Is it alright if...?

(…As if you might suddenly revoke loveseat privileges.)

Then, slowly, he lowers himself onto the cushion. Perches. Occupies the absolute minimum amount of space humanly possible.

If he still had the joint mobility of his youth, you’re convinced he’d just origami himself into a respectful little one-inch cube and tuck into the far corner.

You glance at his shoulders - very broad, deliciously broad, yes - tense, but more at how hard he’s trying not to brush them against yours. What a funny man.

Especially funny because while he's typing up your official letter - like a good little lawyer - he's also letting the conversation drift into a completely unrelated side street.

Unrelated except for the fact that it's all about you.

Like how he “casually” mentions he hasn’t seen you at the pool lately.

The one where he trains and you sit in a cracked plastic cafeteria chair pretending to wait for your friend’s aquatic therapy - when really, you’re mourning every second you’re not legally tethered to the hot dad at swim practice. The hot dad who doesn’t even know he’s the hot dad. (Him. Obviously.)

You go for your friend. Technically.

Spoiler: she’s got two weeks left.

Which means once her sessions are over, you and Aaron will have absolutely no logical reason to ever speak again. No built-in excuse. No default setting.

And now there’s a looming, mutual thing neither of you are acknowledging.

You’re sure there’s a term for this. Something about large mammals afraid of mice and metaphor.

“Yeah, I was in the lane next to your friend’s the other day…” he starts.

“Really?” You pretend you didn’t get fourteen missed calls from said friend, who - when you finally called her back - didn’t even say hi. Just launched straight into: “Burgundy swim cap guy looked up at your seat three times. Three. He looked so sad you weren’t there I had to explain where you were so he wouldn’t drown in longing.”

“Yes… we talked for a bit. She seems very nice…”

Ah.

Interesting choice of words, considering she told you – verbatim - “I can’t believe someone built like a brick shithouse could be that pathetic.”

(She has yet to understand that that is the whole appeal. Him. And that exact contradiction. Him and that-)

“So… how did… your date go?” he asks, pretending to be casual. He’s polishing his glasses against the hem of his shirt, even though they’re already spotless. (You weren’t even aware he needed glasses. Probably neither is the rest of the planet.)

He keeps at it. Rubs one lens. Then the other. Then back again.

You wonder if he’s trying to distract himself. From the question. From the answer.

Your date.

The one that made you miss your friend's call. The one you actually went on. The one that-

“It went well, actually.” It did. Way too well. And that’s the problem.

Because you keep chasing Aaron.

Despite the very obvious fact that nothing will ever happen between you. Because he’s… well, him. And you’re…

A little too young. A little too broke. A little too you.

(And technically if you do the math, you’re closer to his son’s age than his. Just by a few years, sure, but still. Still enough to justify it to yourself out loud, then say it again. And again. Until it starts sounding like a fact.)

It’s just a harmless crush. A stupid little thing. A flicker. A fantasy. A hobby, really.

You have so many of those - men. Smart, emotionally unavailable, vaguely haunted. You collect them like parking tickets: Useless. Repetitive. Always showing up when you least need them. But you keep them. Stack them in a drawer somewhere in your head.

Just in case.

Still, there’s something about this one.

About him.

Aaron.

Aaron in wireframe glasses, almost making you believe in the higher powers he believes in too. (Hopefully not the United States government.)

Aaron with that voice, that jaw, that posture.

Aaron, who says things like “landlord-tenant statute” and somehow makes it sound better than the poetry in those overpriced, niche little books you only buy for the cover, the ones where the author hits enter every four words so it tricks you into thinking they mean something.

And maybe – deep, deep down – it’s because you want to be proven wrong. That someone like him could find goodness in parts of you you’ve already declared a lost cause. That he could look at all the rot and still see something worth saving. Or maybe it’s just easier. Easier to chase something you’ll never catch than turn around and face the things already standing still, arms open, waiting to love you back.

“I’m glad to hear that,” says Deliciously Four-Eyed Aaron, just a little too tight. Tighter than his khakis, which shift and pull every time he readjusts to keep from getting a flat ass on your loveseat.

(What’s wrong, Agent Hotchner? Not expecting it to actually go well? God, you hope that’s why his jaw looks like it’s about to file for divorce from the rest of his face.)

“I don’t know him well,” he adds, clinically. “But… he seems like a nice guy. He’s good at his job.”

Right. Which is rich, coming from the man who literally handed you the guy’s number. And now he’s playing coy?

So what was that, then? A random act of kindness? A stroke of pity? Was it projection? Was it a fever dream?

Did he just reach into the FBI rolodex and go: “Hmm. You’re not under disciplinary review, you own slacks, and your blood pressure is normal. Here, date this emotionally volatile woman I know and I think you might like - she has opinions and abandonment issues, enjoy!

Because Aaron doesn’t do spontaneous. Aaron does strategic. Aaron does 48-hour surveillance and triple-signed documents.

He’s not the guy who improvises. He’s the guy who rehearses his improvisation.

So forgive you if you’re just a little confused by Mr. Times New Roman over here, trying to mentally trace the logic that gets you from “I barely know him” to “you should definitely let him finger you. Only after marriage, though.”

It’s weird. And yet, somehow, that’s not even the most annoying part.

“Good at his job?” you echo, with a laugh that sounds way too close to a cry for help. (Of course. Of course that’s Special Supervising Whatever-the-Fuck Hotchner’s metric for male compatibility. Not empathy. Not emotional availability. Not even basic social literacy. No, job performance. What a catch.) “What are you going to say next, that he’s a good person because he clocks in early and doesn’t steal breakroom coffee?”

“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses that did not need adjusting, “I can’t vouch for the coffee. But I do see him arrive on time. From my office. If that’s what’s concerning you.”

…Oh. So that’s what this is. We’re flexing now.

Mr. I Have A Window. Mr. I Oversee The Peasants. Mr. Private Office While Everyone Else Plays Hot-Desk Musical Chairs. Mr. Title, Tenure, and a Chair That Supports Both His Spine and His Reluctance to Feel. Mr. I Deserve This Square Footage Because I Ruined My Marriage for the Federal Government.

(You could go on. And on. And on. You won’t. But you could.)

And it’s not even clear who he’s trying to one-up here. The guy he set you up with? Or… you? Both?

Like, “Yes, he’s punctual. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s good at his job. But I define what good is. I’m his boss. Be impressed by me instead. Please. I beg you.”

Okay. Breathe. Relax.

No one invited him to a pissing contest and yet here he is, unzipping his intellectual fly right in the middle of your living room. (Not the fly you wanted unzipped, unfortunately.)

You squint at him. “So what, you show up before everyone else just to watch your little ducklings waddle in behind you? Mother Goose clocking in before sunrise to lead by example and assert dominance?”

He turns toward you. Tilts his head. Makes that face. The one you’ve been craving since the second he walked in.

Eyebrows drawn, mouth slightly open - just enough to spot that one crooked tooth, bless it - an expression that says concerned, confused, and disappointed in your tone, all in one.

“It’s none of that,” he’s dead serious, even if he’s visibly smiling… marvelous. “It’s just respectful to be on time.”

Sure, Agent Hotchner. Tell yourself that while polishing your Employee of the Decade plaque.

“I barely even see my boss at the café. Twice a week, tops. And only after we open.”

Aaron lifts his eyebrows. Shrugs. “I’m not an asshole.”

Then he goes back to typing, pretending he’s not biting the inside of his cheek like the whole thing didn’t get to him.

Like he’s completely unbothered by the idea of some man buying you coffee and making you laugh for two full hours.

Like his knuckles aren’t just a little too tight around that trackpad.

“You know, for someone who just said he’s not an asshole, you sure spend a lot of time trying to prove how much better you are than other men.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he says, softly. Too softly. Like he knows volume would give him away.

And fuck, those eyes.

You can’t look at them too long. You bounce between his face and anything else - your coffee table, the printout, his lap (unfortunately) - because those glasses are giving him four eyes now, and all of them are aimed at your skull, dissecting every micro-expression.

He's a bit suffocating.

“I think what really bothers you,” he says, measured, "is that you’re used to being misread."

You scoff. “Excuse me?” (Bitch.)

"You act like you want to be chased, but only if it feels reluctant. If it's earned. You push people to see if they’ll push back. You turn it into a game because it’s safer that way. If it’s a game, you can pretend you were never serious when they walk away."

Well. Okay. First of all: Rude.

Second of all: Accurate. Horribly accurate.

But also: How dare he.

"And if they don't... if they try to meet you where you are... you push them away first. Just to prove you were right to be afraid" he says - and the bastard even smiles. (Fuck his dimples. Really. Pretentious as hell.) "You punish them for it… and you punish the ones who don’t play, too. Because deep down, you still don’t know which would hurt more."

"Wow," you never thought you'd actually be speechless, and yet - here you are, scrambling for a comeback. Great. "Good thing you said you weren’t trying to prove anything. Otherwise I might’ve gotten confused and assumed you were just showing off." (Good enough. You’ll take it.)

Smarty-pants chuckles under his breath then leans back against your very professional, very structurally unsound loveseat. His knee brushes yours.

You pretend not to notice. He pretends he doesn’t notice you noticing.

"Not showing off, just telling you what you already know."

"Oh, right, because you’re such an expert on me."

"I’m just observant."

"And arrogant." And a fucking hypocrite too.

"And you still looked at my mouth twice." What a who-

Somewhere between your brain screaming full bitch slap, full bitch slap and your hand almost twitching to deliver it… you miscalculate.

You lean in. And instead of bruising his cheekbone, you crash your mouth against his.

Pride - and the stack of feminist books judging you from the bookshelf - insist it’s you who moves first. You believe them. You have to.

Even though his hands are already there - rough and steady, drowning your face in their grip - before you even finish breathing in your half-ounce of courage. Before you really even choose anything at all.

(But sure. Go ahead. Call it empowerment. You’re totally running the show. Girlboss shit.)

You want to bite him. Sink your teeth into that smug, diagnosing mouth. Split his lip. Make him bleed all over the living room he still hasn’t bothered to compliment the smell of. (You’re not petty about it… it’s just an observation.)

But it’s slower instead.

You taste his nerve first, his fear right after.

He’s already halfway to pulling back even as he keeps kissing you - trying to have it both ways - and for a second, you do break apart.

Both pretending you could still undo this. (And also undo all the bullshit he said earlier, profiling you so hard he didn’t even realize he was accidentally outing himself too.)

It doesn’t last.

You crash back into him, sloppier, mouths dragging, missing, gasping, half-kissing, half-clawing at each other as you’re both a little too desperate to land properly.

For a split second, the kiss turns... almost sweet. Tender. Romantic, even.

You could say he’s a good kisser.

You could say he’s a great kisser.

You could say he’s the only man alive who could kiss you stupid and still find a way to remind you to breathe through your nose.

(Like when he notices you getting lightheaded and somehow fixes it without even pulling away... which, not gonna lie, is a little humbling.)

But there’s no time for critical analysis. You’re already shoving him flat onto the loveseat, pinning him down, while he blinks up at you - wide-eyed, flushed, so beautiful it makes your chest hurt.

(And he looks so... concerned. As if he’s realizing just now that there’s absolutely no dignified way to get out of this alive.)

(Good. He shouldn’t.)

There’s tongue.

There’s teeth.

There’s his hands – everywhere - gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt, squeezing the backs of your thighs, pushing your leg higher over him until you can feel - Oh. Oh, he’s hard. He’s so fucking hard.

There’s a muffled noise from the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like please and you are not thinking about that right now.

And it’s-

God.

It’s filthy. It’s great.

You grind down hard, whimpering shamelessly into his mouth, and he bucks up into you, meeting you halfway with both hands locked around your ass, squeezing so rough you’ll be wearing fingerprints by tomorrow.

(You hope so.)

(You really fucking hope so.)

He helps you move –

Up.

Down.

Slower.

Harder.

Guiding your hips with just enough pressure to make it feel like it’s your idea, finding the rhythm you didn’t know you needed until he gives it to you, forcing you to ride the thick, hard shape straining against his pants-

Just the right angle. Just the right friction.

So perfect it catches your clit every single time, knocks a gasp right out of your throat, straight into his mouth.

You’re soaking through your panties. You’re shaking with it. And it clearly gets to him - God, it wrecks him.

You can feel it - the way he tenses under you, the way his hands clutch harder at your ass, the way his cock throbs against you through the fabric like he’s just barely holding on.

He bites down on your bottom lip, rougher than you expect. Too rough for a man who apologizes when he says fuck.

He holds it between his teeth, sucks it – hard - humming low and filthy against your mouth, so obscene it makes your hips stutter.

Drop.

Just enough to let your soaked cunt drag across the swollen head of his cock.

And when you grind back, slower, tracing right along the thick ridge straining against his zipper, he chokes on a breath.

“God, fuck-”

It tears out of him, raw, as if he’s almost embarrassed by how much pleasure is tangled in it, by how stupidly sincere it comes out of his mouth.

(Also, thank God he didn’t reverse it. If he’d said “fuck, God,” instead, you’re pretty sure he would’ve stopped everything, dropped to his knees, and asked you to drive him to a confessional. Not even a metaphor - actual church. Actual guilt. Actual “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”)

He tilts his head back, groaning, neck arching against the pillow - exposed, gorgeous - and you completely lose it.

Your tongue drags over his throat, chasing the pulse hammering under his skin, tracing your way back up to his mouth.

He’s so hot. He’s so good. He’s-

…terrified.

"I'm so sorry," he breathes, suddenly sitting up on his elbows. “I-”

He fumbles. He panics. He stands. Backs away from the couch. From you. Visibly blushing. Visibly mortified.

“I didn’t mean-“

He doesn’t finish the sentence...

…Because he finished in his pants instead.

Poor thing.

You should be a little cruel about it - he was an asshole earlier, after all - but you’re not quite mean enough to kick a wounded 6’2” puppy when he’s already limping. (No pun intended… or maybe-)

"Hey," you murmur, reaching out, curling your fingers around his wrist so he can’t backpedal any further. He flinches. (Not much. Just enough to make you want to kiss him again. Harder this time. Until he flinches worse.)

"It’s okay. It’s-" You almost say sweet - catch yourself just in time, because you’re not trying to get murdered tonight.

"It’s normal," you settle on instead. "It’s flattering. Honestly.” (Also kind of hot. But you’ll take that particular confession to your grave.) “You didn’t... ruin anything."

He still doesn’t look convinced. At all. In fact, he looks like he might apologize again, maybe even draft a formal statement and notarize it.

You scramble. “It’s not a big deal, seriously. Who cares if it was-” (You hesitate for half a second, fatal mistake.) "-like, 30 seconds? Could've been 29, right?!”

…Right.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @goorgeousz ; @hayleym1234 ; @ignoreeeeeee ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @nikt-wazny-y ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softtdaisy ; @softestqueeen ; @thatkidofwarandpeace ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24 ; @who-needs-to-sleep

(I might've missed someone this time, pls tell me in the comments if your name got lost AAAA sorry in advance)

Little reminder that the requests for fleabag!reader are open!! Ok.. I'll go now. Bye.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #fleabag!reader #aaron hotchner creams his pants #aaron hotchner profile my c*** next

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burymagdalene · 3 months ago

Text

Drip by Drip - S. Reid x Reader

In which the nine long days spent apart ends in a harmonious reunion of a needy shower spent together.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: plain smut. (18+ pls pls) I didn't even write 70k words of plot before like I usually do. tags: softdom!Spencer, shower sex, age gap (or could also not be...) pinv, a possessive vibe, fingering, handjob, making out, multiple things being very wet...playing with your tits, creampie, finger sucking, praise, & desperation! wc: 3.3k a/n: More of this. I had a lot of fun writing this even though I kind of felt really dirty to the point of religious guilt as a non-religious person so I hope you guys like it! <3

Your body finally relaxes after what feels like the longest day you’ve had all week once Spencer's shower stream washes over you.

Nine days. Nine brutally slow days of watching over Spencer’s apartment- or torturing yourself by being reminded of his belongings for over a week.

When he first left, you’d been naive. Spencer hasn’t been away for over a week since you’ve started dating. The first time he was gone for three days you felt like you were going to faint. You wish you still had those champagne problems as you’re washing yourself for the trillionth time alone in Spencer’s shower.

The past 24 hours have been especially hard. You were woken up at 5:00 am with Spencer calling you before he had to get ready in the hotel and go out to do whatever had taken up so much of his time in Boise, Idaho.

First, good news: He thinks there is a break in the case, and should be getting home later.

Second, great news: Spencer has conveniently woken up with a hard on that's throbbing helplessly against his stomach.

Which sounds like a heavenly wake-up call. But in the FBI he has to be adaptable to the quickest changes in plans.

Five minutes into purring into your side of the phone while touching yourself to Spencer’s groans, another charming individual begins to call Spencer as well. His boss.

So, tucking himself into the band of his underwear, Spencer leaves again. You could’ve finished yourself off, but self pity got the best of you as you drift off to sleep.

A painfully slow and hard day at work followed, rude people and small mishaps on your part that were blown out of proportion to make you feel worse. A crappy self made dinner that took longer to cook than to eat.

But in Spencer’s shower, you’re able to unwind, happy in knowing you can spend the end of a bad day in your lover's space. Regardless of if he’s here or not. Which is another problem, you haven’t heard from him since he was panting on the phone earlier– so it’s safe to say he probably will not be coming back today because of the rush in which he had to hang up earlier.

Over the water pattering against tiles, you do not hear the key jingle and door shut that signifies Spencer’s long-awaited return. Head down and eyes closed, most of your senses are just focused on trying to unwind.

Spencer, placing his bag down in the kitchen, can hear the shower going and immediately saunters over. Not having a plan, but just to show that he’s finally back. He can’t fathom being home right now without alerting you.

Slowly, as if not to scare you too badly, he probably will though, he slips in through the bathroom door, places his toiletry bag down on the sink.

You’re a bit unfocused, but not completely to the point of missing this. Out of your peripheral vision you see the slightest movement and your head whips to the side. Spencer. You could fucking melt.

Through the steam that has built up, you can make out his slouched figure and contrasting pleased smile. You can’t help yourself, with soft dripping skin you swing his shower door open to greet him.

“Spencer,” you whisper out in shock, trailing water onto his bathroom floor. “Oh my God.”

“Hi my baby-” He reaches out to swipe away some droplets on your face, but doesn’t finish. You’re pulling him into a tight, wet hug.

Arms slung fiercely around his neck, he barely buffers in returning your hug with his jacket-clad arms around your waist.

In the back of your mind you’re aware that the water on your breasts and stomach are soaking through his undershirt. That your clean hair is dropping water onto the shoulder of his jacket. You’re also aware how expensive a suit is.

The harsh disparity from the cool air sticking to your wet skin from the hot (frankly, too hot) shower you were in previously is pebbling your nipples against his now soaked-through button up, your skin is covered in goosebumps that he’s swiping away with his thumb.

A low hum into your ear as he’s trailing his thumb nail against the sensitive part of your inner waist, “Angel girl,” a deep sigh, “I missed you so much.”

Your arms tighten around him, forehead landing on his wet shoulder, you could cry. You could laugh maniacally. Either way, you feel cemented against his frame, the only warmth being produced near you since stepping out of the shower.

A small indent in your lower stomach is being formed from his belt digging into your pliable skin. You feel like a fresh heap of soft clay ready to be moved and constructed into anything Spencer’s hands can make of you. You feel utterly his.

You pull away slightly, uncomfortable from where his buckle was pressing against your belly. Pulling one hand away you trace it with a fingernail, Spencer and you both looking down at it between your bodies. Both noticing the drastically different attire.

A chuckle slips from your lips without thinking, “you branded me, look.”

Spencer’s thumb stops rubbing circles into your side, a shiver rolls down your spine. Daring to look up at him, you’re met with his dark eyes resembling magic 8 balls. An underlying fortune there too: Outlook Good.

Warm hands are soon softly gripping your cheeks as you’re being pulled into a burning kiss. His lips against yours after all this time, you moan immediately. Dry and soft and pillowy he’s swallowing you and pulling you flush against him, buckle be damned.

Water from your hairline is rolling over your cheeks and soaking the cuffs of Spencer’s sleeves. You haven’t pulled away far enough, but you can bet that the white button up he’s wearing is see through.

You’re freezing, the air from the bathroom is torturous, your skin on high alert. It’s making you push yourself onto Spencer so hard he stumbles back. He grabs your ass to steady you both for a moment and you bite harshly onto his bottom lip.

“God, my girl,” Spencer shivers against you when he feels your cold hands seek warmth under his shirt, “My perfect girl, I can’t believe how much I missed you.” He places a kiss onto the top of your head.

Speaking into his shoulder, “I missed you too, I feel crazy. Such a bad day.”

Both of his hands slowly trail up your waist till they meet the side of your boobs, you pull your lips in to conceal a whiny moan.

“I’m sorry I left you hanging earlier, did you finish?”

“N-no, went back to bed.”

He groans against your head. Placing his hands firmly on your hips to push you away slightly, taking a long good look at your naked frame. You feel exposed, embarrassed, and hot. Looking back at him, his perfect suit, deliciously tainted by your wet body print, chest visible through the wetness.

One of his thumbs wanders from your hip, back to the small indent of his buckle, rubbing it back and forth. This time you can’t help but whine.

The tension is tangible and painful. Your hands feel stuck to your sides before you snap out of it, pulling him close by the tie before you try to remove it with slippery hands.

Tight and hard to undo because of the wet nature of his garments frustrates you as you try to untangle Spencer from his tie. Him being clothed feels utterly unbearable. Through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile, he watches you struggle with the tie.

“Here- honey, let me.” Spencer's removal of the tie, his fingers taking it off rather steadily compared to your shaking ones. Though the excitement zipping through him equals yours.

You latch onto him again, completely devoted to his presence, there’s no way in hell you’re letting that much distance and that much time separate you again. Tugging one side of the collar of his jacket you slip it off of him, he grabs your wrist.

“I’m here, I’m here,” A wet kiss to your begging mouth, “Get warm in that shower, you’re trembling. I’ll be there in 30 seconds. Can you wait that long for me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Knew it. Good girl.”

With that, your stomach plummets and you spin on your heels back to the shower. It’s almost orgasmic in itself to find yourself under the hot water pressure again.

The door is almost completely steamed up now, you can hardly make Spencer out through it. You can only see movement and more of his tanned skin being exposed through a murky lens.

You can’t help it, greedy fingers come down to rub a few circles onto your clit as he finishes undressing and approaches you. The weight and stress of the nine days going straight to your clit to be absolved.

The door swings open, mercy.

You don’t feel polite enough to stop the rubbing, Spencer doesn’t seem to mind, mumbling “Jesus.” under his breath before meeting you with a kiss under the shower head.

His tongue rolls slowly against yours, making your toes curl in on themselves where you stand. Fingers picking up against yourself you moan into his open mouth, he pulls his face back to watch you.

A kiss against your throat makes you whimper and pull your head to the side for another one to be placed.

With Spencer’s rock hard dick against his stomach in your line of vision you wince while removing your hand from yourself, your hips instinctively kicking up to chase where your hand is now grabbing the base of Spencer.

He hums low, a bead of precum leaking out to be washed away by the stream. You glide your hand quickly, a desperate attempt to hear more of his moans vibrate against your skin.

“Slowly, baby-” He gasps as you circle his head.

You can’t let up, you barely feel in control of your body. Your head is spinning, you just can’t believe he’s with you.

Finally, a louder moan is cut from Spencer’s lungs as his hips slowly fuck against the fast pace of your fist. The tip of his dick barely ever encases in your hand as he does so, only able to feel the sensation of bottoming out when he’s inside you.

While you’re distracted, moaning brokenly into the suffocating air and pumping your hand against Spencer’s throbbing length, Spencer trails down to pet your clit again for you.

“Fuck, I missed you. I miss touching you like this, the way I can feel your heartbeat in it, baby-” He draws out the last word in disbelief. You felt the thrumming against your own fingertips earlier, so by now you’re sure it’s fluttering against his hand in an obscene way.

His middle finger circles your entrance. Your heart is in your throat.

“Please-” You sob out, being teased right now would end you forever.

“Mhm. I am.”

Taking his time feeling against your spongy walls where his thumb continues its circles against your bundle of nerves, your hand against his cock grows sloppy.

You squeeze your eyes shut, the muggy air making you deliciously light headed against his ministrations.

The second finger brings a delightful stretch, your head falls back against the wall as you whine. It’s been a while. You harness some sort of defiance that refuses to fuck yourself when he’s gone. The week of nothing stretching you out causing for a tight suction around his two fingers as he fucks into you.

“Tight, baby. It’s been too long. I left you too long, my poor thing.”

Though your hand slowed against his cock, you’re still trying to keep up simulation for him, not wanting to be a cruel tease when he’s working against you so perfectly. Spencer pulls that hand away eventually though. Without explanation, you know he was about to cum. His stomach always flexes and twitches when he’s using all his willpower to hold back.

“Need it. Need you-” You gasp against his lips. Totally overzealous. Spencer knows the way you’re tight around him, you’re going to need a third finger to take him without your common whiny complaints.

Teeth knocking together, he continues to tongue kiss you. He wants to expedite this process of feeling you around his cock just as much as you do, he just has more willpower than you. You can mumble and beg and plead till tears well up in your eyes. His stomach swirls with a burning passion because of it, but he has no capability to hurt you.

So you get another long finger inside you.

You let out a high pitched whimper- proving yourself wrong immediately. You needed to be stretched out this way. Damn his perceptiveness.

Your eyes roll back and your hips roll against the fingers rubbing against that sweet spot in you that shakes your thighs.

“You gotta keep yourself open for me when I’m gone, love.” He whispers brokenly into the thick air around you.

“Can’t. Only you.” You grumble back.

Spencer can’t get into the health benefits of taking care of yourself this way, especially in the long periods when he’s away. He can tell you’re bordering speechlessness and he’s dizzy enough to follow your technique of just letting out pretty moans.

A tiny trail of white essence pools around his fingers and he nearly keels over. You’re definitely ready to take him now. Seeing the ways he makes you feel good in the mess you make always drives him to the brink of insanity.

“Taking them out now. Gonna give you what you want. Feel ok?” He whispers into your ear before nibbling the lobe softly before parting to analyze your face.

“Feel reallyy good, Spence.” You smile a dazed grin at him, eyelids fluttering shut. Bringing the fingers that were just inside you to his lips he sucks them off and bites down on his fingers a bit too hard at the divine taste.

“Do you want to turn around for me, angel?”

Spencer’s trying to think of the best way to do this. His shower is nice, but isn’t the biggest shower in the world, he lives in an apartment in D.C. after all. He’s gonna have to fuck you from behind.

“Yeah, course.” You shift slowly, forearms out to brace yourself against the cold wall. Sticking your butt out playfully, he grips it softly, lines his cock against you.

“You feel okay? Ready?” He plants a kiss on your shoulder, you turn your head to make eye contact, you and Spencer usually can’t go too long without looking into each other's faces.

“Feel okay, really want you baby.”

Your head stays tilted to the side and your temple rests against the wall as he nudges his head against you.

Opening you up just enough, the stretch of all of him after a considerable amount of time has you keening.

The hand not gripping your waist moves up to cup one of your tits, rolling the sensitive nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck-” you whimper out meekly.

Letting him all the way in, he squeezes your breast for purchase. Looking at how he’s fully settled inside you, Spencer begins peppering soft kisses over your shoulder and spine, calming you and himself down.

Using the wall as leverage you slowly move yourself back against him, notifying Spencer you’re ready to be taken.

Gasping, he pulls almost all the way out to slowly fuck himself in again before settling on a good, unyielding pace. The feeling of your warm skin under his hands, warm cunt around his dick and warm water falling against his back is making him feel like he’s on a cloud. Completely blissed out having you in his arms again.

You groan (rather unladylike while getting fucked this way) and circle your hips against his thrusts. Spencer peers up at you, making sure your face isn’t holding any tension that could be read as something hurting. Instead you just open your mouth, ready for a finger.

Begrudgingly, he takes his hand off your breast to place his thumb down on your tongue, you moan happily and smile around him as your teeth scrape him lightly when he finds a delicious spot in you to pound at.

Overwhelmed, he has to look up at the ceiling. He’s been so pent up that letting his hips move in autopilot against you, the quiet sopping sound of you two together over the water falling, the base of his spine tingles.

“Still okay?”

He asks at your closed eyes, you gurgle out an uh-huh against his thumb, drool rolling down your chin to be forgotten in the shower.

“Kay- good.” He kisses your cheek.

Feeling his orgasm beginning to build, Spencer takes his hand from your waist to move to the front of your hips where your clit is exposed.

A trembling bite is met against his thumb as he uses three fingers against you in relentless circles. Keeps his hips going the same pace.

“Spence- you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Ha- trying to, doll.” His eyebrows furrow- trying to hold back long enough so he can fuck you through your orgasm, though the tone of your voice is making that increasingly hard.

Your head lolls back against his shoulders and with a few “ah, ah, ah’s” you’re coming hard all over him.

“Good, yeah. You’re okay, feel so good f’me.” He whimpers as you begin to pull his orgasm from him. His hips still against you at your deepest point as you let out a tiny mewl at the stimulation. Tongue pushing out his thumb to moan freely.

He rocks himself inside you while holding your hips up, making sure no slips occur in his bathroom today. Spencer keeps grinding and rubbing your clit until you’re both shaky with overstimulation, and till you mutter out a “can’t-”. He doesn't argue with that.

The shower water is beginning to chill as he watches his cum slide down your thighs into the basin. Spencer is rubbing your arms soothingly up and down till he pulls you against him.

“You wanna get out, pretty?”

“Cold.” You shudder.

Your legs feel like jelly when he’s wrapping a towel around your shoulders and ushering you into his bedroom. Another towel tied lowly on his waist he pulls an FBI hoodie over your raised arms and boxers up your legs. His own robe pulled off the door to drape over himself.

The tender attention you receive no matter what type of sex you and Spencer have always heats your cheeks with delight. A tender pressure is being massaged into your thighs with the lotion you brought over from your own apartment, and your eyes flutter shut as he mumbles something along the lines of “princess.. blah blah blah…” to you.

“Please never be away from me that long again. I really missed you, Spencer.”

All warmed up and soft from his pampering, you lie against his rising and falling chest.

“I know. I did too. It’s strange, I feel like when I’m with you, you act as my circadian rhythm. You ground me and keep me in check, I know when to wake up when you do. I sleep better, eat better. When we’re apart I struggle with that. You’re a resounding part of my day.”

You nuzzle against his chest, preening at his words.

“I love you so much.”

“My baby, I love you too.”

Squished together tightly in a way that’s breeding an almost uncomfortable warmth, you and Spencer fall asleep. Hearts mirroring each other in matching soft and measured beats, the 216 painful hours apart start healing with every drum in your chests.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #smut #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction

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sugusatosluut · 3 months ago

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Overworked and Overstimulated

Synopsis: You take on every job Cecil hands you as his overachieving daughter, but what could be more relaxing after work than getting high with your friends?

Warnings: Edibles, smut, threesome! MDNI💓

You returned back to the guardian’s hq, exhaustedly ripping your mask off of your head. Your father called you on four missions back to back because he had already sent the new guardians and invincible to space. You wanted to go sooooo bad, but he found it better for you to sit this one out. Coincidentally upon returning back, you had found out that they all made it back a few days ago and Cecil wanted you to handle everything until most of them recovered. Easier said than done. Usually it was about six life threatening issues a day, but to tackle four of the worst ones in one day was just a little too much.

You showered, then went up to your room. Dimming the lights, you changed and turned on your music as you took out a pot brownie. You deserved this, you worked too damn hard not to. Stupid GDA invested father using you as a machine.. but he was your dad and sometimes it was your fault for biting off more than you could chew. Typical of you to not say something yet act out when you’re overstimulated. Just typical.

As you got comfortable in your little room, Mark and Rex knocked at your door. What a surprise, they never approach you unless they need help, so maybe now’s not a good time to get high.

“Yo, y/n! Good job holding down the fort until we came back. I see the world’s got a new favorite nepo baby.” Rex chuckled as he grabbed a chair.

“C’mon Rex you know she doesn’t like that.” Mark nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry.. sometimes the social awareness just doesn’t que up fast enough in my brain. Anyways, whatcha doin? Taking the night off?” Rex asked as he played with the items on your desk.

“Yeah, my dad gave me four of the worst missions today. Just figured I’d mellow out in my room for the rest of the day.” You sighed.

“With a pot brownie?” Mark asked sitting in the edge of your bed and holding the ziploc bag containing your brownies.

“Uh-y-yeah. Well I was gonna wait til you guys left in case you didn’t need me for anything but this seemed important so I couldn’t eat one right this second.” You said nervously.

“Fuck that, this is your free time.. Mark and I have been off for a while. Let’s say we make this a group trip huh? I’ll pay you back for it later.” Rex said taking the brownies from Mark.

“I’m down, you don’t have to pay me back though Sloan. I’m content with this. Just quality time with my friends.” You said relaxing back in your bed.

You, Mark and Rex all ate a brownie, waiting for the effects to kick in.

About an hour later you were all feeling the effects. You had put some dumb chick flick on and both men were entertained. It was quiet. Mark was shirtless, with an arm wrapped around you and Rex was also shirtless laying on your chest. Before the high had kicked in you guys gave mark money to get snacks and he delivered. As you guys watched the movie, all that could be heard was the crunching of chips. Both of their bodies were keeping you extremely warm. The movie ended and all three of you were wondering what to do next.

“Basketball?” Rex offered.

“Let’s go. Me and you Rex.” Mark smirked at him.

The three of you went down into the HQ training center. Both boys were shooting hoops.

“This is boring, can we find a way to make it interesting?” Mark asked.

“Ask and you shall recieve. First one to score five shots wins a kiss from the pretty lady over there— and don’t tell me you’re not dying for a taste of that. The best things in life are things that you aren’t allowed to have.” Rex winked.

“I can reason with that as long as it’s okay with y/n.” Mark asked.

“We’ll— I don’t wanna sound desperate but I mean it’s perfectly fine with me.” You blushed. You were in fact the most desperate for this. The past flirtations between you and Mark and then you and Rex throughout your time at the GDA always got to you. Your dad always steered them both away.. well not just them, everyone—away. Mark and Rex didn’t really care, they were friends to the end. They stood up to Cecil which finally allowed you to go on missions, but Cecil drew the line at space. The old man knew better than to get between you and your friends. Yes, you loved your dad but there’s always a battle to be fought with him.

“You’re on.” Mark smirked.

Both boys played away and suddenly the score went from one to four. It was the final point for each of them.

“This one’s for you!” They both shouted together. The anticipation guided you to insanity. If Rex scored and mark felt jealous? It would ruin you. If Mark scored and Rex feel jealous? God.. it’s too much to handle. It’s okay to change your mind and everything, the boys would understand. You don’t want one without the other.

“Well looks like we’re both getting kissed. Both our baskets were made.” Mark smiled smugly.

How did you miss it? Oh well. You weren’t kissing them in the middle of the guardians hq, that would be an awkward moment you couldn’t come back from. The boys held their excitement until you all made it back to your room. Now it was really awkward for you.

“I know I’ve only gotten high with you guys once before but holy shit you look like you’re in a real predicament right now y/n.” Mark laughed.

Rex joined in on laughing, both of them were laughing a bit too hard, it was a little too contagious.

“You’re right, she’s as red as a fucking ripe ass tomato!” Rex was wheezing at this point. The laughter coming from your room was intense and anybody coming by your room could tell you were having a fun time.

You started laughing along with them and soon the laughing turned to joyous tears from your stomachs hurting so bad. After all the laughing, you rested your head on Mark’s shoulder again as you all made it back to laying on your giant bed that took up most of the room in your little box. Mark scooted you, letting you in between his legs as your back touched his chest. Mark played with your hair and Rex was up to something mischevious. Rex snuck himself under the covers, pulling down your lace panties and your pajama pants. You would have been way more alarmed in any other circumstance but for this one? You felt so at peace with both of them doing what they wanted to you. It was the best stress relief you had in a while.

Mark’s hands reached for your shirt, lifting it up off your body and kissing the back of your neck. As Rex started to eat you out your body started to tingle with numbness. The high was really intensifying all your senses. Rex’s tongue lapped and licked your little bud under the covers. To ease you, Mark grabbed onto your breasts, kneading them and kissing your neck. Rex’s grip on your hips stayed firm.

“I thought you both wanted a kiss.” You whined.

“We did, the high just feels too nice to waste on a little kiss. You getting overstimulated? I can tell by the way you’re squirming. Quit acting out.” Mark said firmly as his hands shifted positions, as one arm was now around your neck.

You whined and groaned until you started getting close, both boys were naked at this point, the temperature in the room getting hotter, the feelings more intense.. both boys were slipping in and out of you roughly as you were still whining, eventually the three of you would finish at the same time. You all hit the showers and you went back to your room in silence. Your body was now tired.

“Hey- uh.. thanks for that. If you ever wanna use me I left my number on your board.” Rex winked at you before deciding to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” You asked.

“Yeah.. unfortunately you’re not the only girl on my roster sweet cheeks.” He whistled.

“Alright, see you around.” You waved.

Well at least Rex admitted to wanting a late night booty call.

Mark walked into your room timidly.

“You leaving too?” You pouted.

“Oh stop pouting. I got you flowers. I wanna stay and cuddle. I was in space for five days I thought you’d miss me a little more.” He said.

“Now look who’s pouting.” You smirked.

Mark came into your room placing the flowers on your nightstand and laying down on top of you, his body weight giving you the utmost relief.

“I don’t want to share you again. That was a one time deal.” He complained.

“I understand, thank you for letting me experience that.” You smiled at him.

The room seemed to go quiet, you eyes started to shut and mark had one last thing on his mind.

“When are you gonna tell your dad about us?”

“Mark— go to sleep.”

#mark grayson #invincible #invincible smut #mark grayson smut #rex splode #rex sloan #rex x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #rex splode smut

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heesimp · 7 months ago

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tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?”

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line.

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life.

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun.

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there.

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that.

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you.

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it.

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start.

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties.

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm.

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go.

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared.

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger.

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off.

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly.

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now.

Heeseung answers after one ring.

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?”

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears.

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.”

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?”

“Not tonight, princess.”

“How sad.”

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him.

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.”

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone.

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes.

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.”

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!”

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.”

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yeah,” you admit.

“How does it feel?”

“Really good…”

“How good?”

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?”

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.”

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?”

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.”

“This?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.”

“Hee, don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.”

“How are you gonna help me do that?”

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight?

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.”

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?”

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.”

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again.

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.”

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on.

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.”

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval.

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?”

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?”

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs.

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.”

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that.

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time.

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you.

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space.

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight.

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.”

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge.

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.”

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured.

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum.

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress.

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“Why?”

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…”

“Because?”

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours.

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.”

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?”

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom.

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?”

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes.

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.”

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy.

“You’re hard.”

“So you’ve noticed.”

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?”

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?”

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked.

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.”

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling.

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit.

“Need some of my cock?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.”

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might.

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight.

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.”

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke.

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again.

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate.

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!”

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off.

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you.

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.”

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?”

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.”

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too.

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin.

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.”

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.”

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him.

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung #tasty

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onlymingyus · 1 year ago

Text

Somebody [SVTHUB world tour collab]

pairing; choi seungcheol x f!reader

genre; smut (minor dni), fluff, angst, romance, fake dating au

summary; When you need someone to help you out of a bind quickly, you pick the first person you see to be your “boyfriend”, you just didn’t expect it to be your single hot dad neighbor, Choi Seungcheol…

content warnings; single father!seungcheol, teacher!reader, seungcheol has a child (obviously), eating/drinking, jeonghan/joshua (implied relationship but not stated), betting metioned, alcohol, medical field - doctor!seungcheol, doctor!joshua, mentions cheating in past relationship, mentions death/accident of spouse - widow!seungcheol --- i am sure there are more, if there is anything important you want me to add let me know

smut warnings; unprotected sex (birth control mentioned), creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), begging, crying (pleasure), multiple orgasm, lots of pet names, marriage kink, seungcheol carries the reader and is larger than the reader, manhandling, shower sex...again if I miss something let me know.

w/c; 25.2k and some change (623 extra words for patreon bonus)

svthub world tour masterlist

a/n; thank you to my @junkissed for proofreading for me once again, i love you so so much. i really hope you guys enjoy my little addition to the svthub world tour and those on tumblr will join me in Barcelona for the bonus 💕

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

You were exhausted. You had been living in your new apartment complex for around three months, yet you still weren’t completely unpacked. Between work and just a general unwillingness to complete a single project that had to do with your personal life, it seemed easier to let the boxes sit where they lay until they became an inconvenience. Today, they were an inconvenience.

So now you find yourself having worked a full eight hour work day and you still managed to unpack four of the daunting boxes, and you were feeling pretty good about yourself. At least you were until you made your way down to the parking lot to put the boxes into the recycling bin and heard an unwelcome voice.

“Y/N… hey.”

Your ex-boyfriend’s voice made any strength you had in your arms leave as you attempted to push the boxes into the large blue bin. He didn’t live in your complex. In fact, you had moved out of your shared apartment with him, which was at least a 20 minute drive away. It should surprise you that he would show up uninvited and unannounced, but after a five year relationship with him, you knew he was persistent.

Wiping your hands off on your jeans, you clear your throat and turn to meet the man’s eyes before looking for how you were going to get out of the situation. You weren’t afraid of your ex; it was more that he didn’t know when to stop. You had told him time and time again, after a very messy breakup where you had caught him cheating, that you wouldn’t take him back. It didn’t make it any easier that you had the same profession as him and when things had been great, the two of you had applied at the same place.

“Alex… wild seeing you here. You don’t even live here.”

He knew you were being evasive. You did the same thing at work, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still try. Persistence was key. There had been something there between the two of you that made a relationship last for as long as it did, and if he worked hard enough, he could get it back. At least that’s what he thought.

Sighing, Alex watches you turn away from him, heading back towards the building. Following behind you, he groans when you shoot him a dirty look.

“Babe, seriously? I’m looking at the apartments in the area. I thought I’d just stop by and say hi.”

Rolling your eyes, you use your body to shield the keypad so you can type in the code to unlock the complex’s door, hearing the code get denied, once and then twice. You were flustered and hitting the wrong buttons.

“Sure, whatever. You have a perfectly fine apartment, and don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe.”

When you can’t seem to get into the building, Alex sighs again, reaching out to try to comfort you, but he only manages to make you uncomfortable as he grabs your arm, telling you to calm down. You look to the door surprised to see it opening, a larger man furrowing his brows at the sight in front of him before you give him a relieved and pleading look.

"Oh, thank God, hi honey. Alex, have you met my boyfriend?”

Tilting his head in confusion, Seungcheol looks between you and the man holding your arm before he sees the desperation on your face. You were in some sort of distress. He knew you lived in the building; in fact, you were his neighbor, though he hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to you yet. Seungcheol knew he could say he didn’t know you, go on his way, staying out of your business, but something about you and what was happening told him he needed to play along. Extending his hand towards the one around your arm, Seungcheol gives the man a tight warning smile.

“Hey man, I’m Seungcheol.”

You feel Alex’s hand slide from your arm, his brows furrowing at the new information. Watching the two men, you feel your heart in your throat as they shake hands and the man named Seungcheol moves closer to you with a smile, looking at you expectantly.

“It was great to meet you Alex, but uh...” Clearing his throat, Seungcheol tries to think about how to get you out of this without making you uncomfortable. Shrugging, he sighs and just goes for it. “I was just coming to see why you had been gone for so long. Dinner is ready.”

Your cheeks burn as Alex stares at you, his eyes narrowing. You can tell he is almost looking for holes in your and Seungcheol’s story, but when you smile and Seungcheol puts his arm around your shoulders, Alex rolls his eyes. You weren’t sure if he actually bought the entire story on the spot, but it had been enough to get him to put his hands in his pockets and for him to back up, muttering.

“I’ll see you at work, Y/N.”

Offering your ex a strained smile, you lean into Seungcheol until Alex is out of sight. Taking a deep breath, you feel the pressure of being around him lift off of you before you glance up at Seungcheol and give him an apologetic look. Moving his arm, Seungcheol chuckles and shakes his head, turning back towards the door and using his keyfob to open it for you, letting you slip by him.

“Uh…thank you. Seriously. I’m so fucking sorry to drag you into that.”

Leaning against the metal doorframe, Seungcheol just smiles and shrugs. His eyes stay on yours as you walk backwards for a few steps towards the elevator.

“My pleasure, honey. Have a good evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips when the handsome man teases you. Backing into the elevator door, you laugh and shake your head, turning to press the button before glancing back to look at Seungcheol, still watching you for a moment before he waves and lets the door shut, leaving you alone.

Finally, in the elevator, you can take a breath as you lean against the wall. With each soft ding of the elevator as it climbs the floors, you chew at your lips and laugh under your breath at how the exchange between you and Seungcheol has ended. It was silly for you to feel so smitten by someone who had just helped you out of a hard situation, but god had he been attractive.

Walking towards your apartment, you sigh, taking your key out of your pocket as you glance to the door next to yours. Your brows furrow as you remember the first few days when you had moved into the apartment complex and you had met your neighbor in passing. He had been nice, asked you if you needed any help, but most of all, he had been attractive. Feeling your heart sink into your stomach, you picture the face of the man who had asked if you needed help moving boxes and it’s the same face that had pretended to be your boyfriend.

“Sara!”

Jutting your hip to the side, you barely manage to let one of your students run by you as he heads straight for a friend. Smiling at the interaction, you don’t notice the boy's father trailing behind him, a small backpack in his hands.

“Matthew… You need to apologize to your teacher. I know you are excited, but still watch where you are going.”

Shaking your head, you start to turn around towards the somewhat familiar voice when the small boy pouts up at you. He is so cute that you can’t stop yourself from squatting down to his level to smile at him and adjust his small tie on his uniform.

“‘M sorry, teacher. I haven’t seen Sara all summer. Daddy wouldn’t let me stay at her house because I’m a boy.”

You find yourself nodding along with his words, sympathizing with him until you can’t help the small laugh that slips from your lips.

“It’s okay, Matthew. There will be plenty of time to play with Sara at school. Cut your daddy some slack, okay?”

Ushering him along, you watch him for a moment longer, half turning towards the boy's father but still not quite looking at him. You have a habit of watching your students more than you do their parents, it would only take a second for a five year old to find trouble.

“Don’t worry about Matthew. No harm done.”

Seungcheol grins at you as you watch the kids so diligently. He had no idea that you were his son’s teacher; this was a happy surprise, or perhaps an awkward one. He hadn’t really made up his mind yet. It isn’t until you finally glance at him and your mouth falls open in confusion that Seungcheol presses his lips together and winces at your reaction.

“Didn’t know your boyfriend had a kid, huh? Is that a deal breaker?”

You can feel your cheeks burning at Seungcheol’s joke, but your eyes quickly move over him before you give yourself something else to do by reaching for Matthew’s bag. It was better if you kept yourself busy and just did your job. Laughing a bit awkwardly, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and bite at your lip out of nerves as he lets you take the bag and you move to the small wooden cubbies to find Matthew’s name.

“Uh… I will be honest, I didn’t. I’m sorry again, by the way. Even more so now. I swear to you, I’m not a complete mess; I’m a good teacher.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol finds himself frowning when you seem to find the need to explain yourself and defend your position. He hadn’t meant to cause that reaction.

“I—no… I’m sure you are. I’ve heard nothing but great things about you leading up to today. I apologize… that was rude of me. I was just trying to make a joke. Break the tension.”

Feeling a pang of guilt at your reaction as Seungcheol frowns, you take a deep breath and shake your head. You didn’t want him to feel bad. It just wasn’t the most ideal situation to find yourself in with a parent. Running your fingers over your hair, you press your lips together and scrunch up your nose, drawing Seungcheol’s attention to it. He smiles, finding the expression on your face cute. You were cute.

“No, no, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve only been here a couple years and this is my first year without working in someone else's classroom. I just don’t wanna mess up.”

Seungcheol nodded, understanding the feeling—perhaps not in the same profession, but he had been there in his own way. Gesturing towards the kids, Matthew in particular, as your eyes once again move over the kids, more of them making their way in, he shrugs as he speaks.

“With how you have been watching them... I don’t think we have a single thing to worry about.”

He finds himself wanting to stay, if not just to talk to you but also to Matthew. It was his first day of big boy school, and even if Matthew looked like he was doing just fine with the adjustment, Seungcheol couldn’t say the same for himself. One glance at his wrist, seeing how much time he had spent standing in the classroom, however, makes Seungcheol sigh and run his fingers through his brown hair.

“I gotta go. I should get out of the way anyway. Matthew…”

Hearing his name, the small boy perks up and looks towards his dad with a grin before making his way over. Ruffling his hair, Seungcheol practically pouts, making your heart feel heavy. This part was hard, even for you. You didn’t have children of your own, but the sentiment was still there when you watched loving parents leave their children for the day.

“I love you. Please be good. Learn somethin’?”

Giggling, Matthew leans into his dad’s touch and rocks on the balls of his feet as you take a step away to give them a moment to themselves.

“Love you too. I’m so smart, Daddy. Teacher will be suppised!”

Rolling his eyes at how cocky his son sounds, Seungcheol groans under his breath and looks at his watch again.

“Yeah, alright, it's 'surprised’ and stay away from Uncle Jeonghan. Learn some humility.”

“I don’t know what that means, Daddy.”

Your small laugh draws Seungcheol’s attention and makes him grin as he ushers Matthew towards you.

“I bet Miss Y/N knows and she will let me know if you’ve put it into practice when I pick you up after school.”

Winking at you, Seungcheol turns to head out the door, glancing over his shoulder to wave at you as he goes. Looking down at the small boy with an expectant look in his eye, you bite at your lip and try to think about how you are going to explain humility and modesty to a five year old on a Monday morning.

“That’s so good!”

You clap as you watch a few of your kids preen with pride after counting to ten. They had been working hard after recess and a snack. It had been a good first day and you were proud of each and every one of them, even if you couldn’t help how your eye kept going to Matthew. He was so cute—not that all the kids in your class weren’t; there was just something about his gummy smile that reminded you so much of his dad.

Looking up at the clock as the bell rings, you quickly look back at the kids, who mostly look confused until the door opens and parents start to file in.

“Hey! Everybody… I know you want to see your parents, but let’s remember to grab our bags. Cubbies first, please!”

You watch as most of the kids listen to you, moving in small lines to the wooden cubbies to grab their jackets and bags before finding their parents and heading out the door. Bending to pick up a few toys, you furrow your brows when you hear your name. It’s said by a small, familiar voice—Matthew, who pouts at you when you finally meet his eyes. He looks around, seeing most of the room clearing out, but his dad is nowhere to be found.

“Hey, what’s up? Maybe your daddy is running late. Maybe mommy is coming?”

Shaking his head, Matthew gives you a confused look as he tugs at the bag on his shoulder.

“I don’t have a mommy. Can you call my daddy?”

Feeling a pang of guilt at mentioning his mother, you squat down to Matthew’s level so he doesn’t have to tilt his head back to look up at you anymore. You knew you could call Seungcheol if you needed to, but school had just ended. Maybe you could give him a few more minutes. Reaching for Matthew’s bag, you sigh and offer the boy a smile, watching him match it with that cute gummy grin.

“How about we give him a few more minutes and if he doesn’t come, we can call him? You can pick any book you want and I’ll read it to you.”

The idea of choosing any book in the room is enough to make Matthew okay with your terms. Wiggling out of his bag, he goes to the shelf, looking over the book covers as you stand and put his bag on the table with your purse. Checking the clock, your brows furrow with a sigh. It wasn’t that late and you were sure this wouldn’t be the last child you would be waiting for.

Cursing under his breath, Seungcheol looks at his watch as he speed walks through the school halls towards your classroom. He was over 30 minutes late and he was sure you were upset with him. He should have called but he was more concerned with trying to get to the school in one piece.

Reaching the door, he starts to speak when he hears your soft voice and for some reason, it makes him stop in his tracks. He sees Matthew sitting in your lap as he rests back against your chest, a book in your hands. You smile as you read the book, trying to come up with a voice for each character, making his son laugh. Seungcheol almost feels bad for interrupting the moment, but then he feels bad again for leaving you here at work with Matthew for so long.

“Y/N…”

Lifting your head, hearing your name, you smile at Seungcheol, feeling Matthew slip off your lap and run towards the door. You were definitely second best, but that was completely fair. Seungcheol holds the back of Matthew’s head as the boy wraps his arms around his legs and pouts up at him, asking him where he’s been.

“I got caught up at work; I’m so so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Moving towards the table, you pick up Matthew’s bag as you shake your head.

“It’s no problem. It happens. Maybe you could just text me to let me know if you are gonna be late?”

Nodding, Seungcheol lets out a breath, lifting his hand to rub at the back of his neck. You were right.

“No… yeah, absolutely. I’ll make it up—”

“Oh! Hey… Seungcheol, right?”

Your smile fades hearing Alex’s voice as you watch Seungcheol’s brows furrow in confusion. Moving quicker towards the door, to hand Seungcheol Matthew’s bag and get his attention, but his eyes move to your ex.

“I—yeah… I gotta get Matthew home.”

Looking towards you as if asking for an explanation, Seungcheol takes the bag from your hand while ushering his son out the door. You try to let him go, gesturing towards the hall, when Alex scoffs and gives him a once over muttering under his breath.

“Seriously, Y/N? A parent...”

Swallowing hard, you feel your chest tighten when Seungcheol stops in his tracks. You wouldn’t blame him if he told Alex it was all bullshit right there. It would be smart of you to do it, he wasn’t going to let it go either way. Starting to speak, you stop when Seungcheol is quicker, keeping his voice low as he smirks at Alex.

“Is there a policy against that, Alex?” Glancing at you, Seungcheol reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it lightly, winking at you before dropping it. “See you later, Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch Seungcheol walk down the hall with Matthew. The young boy glancing back to smile at you curiously before looking up at his dad and saying something you can’t make out. Beside you, Alex’s jaw tightens as he watches you keep your eyes on the man leaving. What he wouldn’t give for you to look at him like that again.

“There should be a policy against it…”

Shooting him a look, you turn towards your classroom, your hand on the doorframe as you speak.

"Well, there isn’t, Alex, but there is one about harassment. Leave me alone.”

You watch his mouth open and close a couple of times as you close the door in his face, leaving you in peaceful silence to wrap your mind around what had just happened.

Wiping sweat from your brow, you glance around your living room at the boxes that had once been piled up in a corner. It had been difficult to tell if you were moving in or out, but as you broke down, one last box signified that you had officially settled in. It had only taken you months to do it, and for some reason this Saturday felt like the right moment; everything was feeling like home in this apartment for once.

Grabbing as many of the boxes as you can, you let out a groan at how many trips you are going to have to take as you make your way to your front door and push it open with your shoulder. Cursing under your breath to the sound of your keys hitting the floor at your feet, you try to lean down without putting down the boxes when a hand brushes over your fingers, taking your keys from you. Before you are able to say anything, your eyes meet Seungcheol's, and your lips pull up into a shy smile.

“Your hands seemed full.”

Nodding as you take the keys and slip them into your back pocket, you don’t notice Seungcheol glancing into your apartment, seeing the pile of boxes. It isn’t until he clears his throat, gesturing inside, that you tilt your head curiously.

“Want me to help with the rest? I think we can get them all down to the bin in one go.”

Your first instinct is to tell him no, that you don’t want to bother him, but there is a look in his eye that you don’t want to turn him away. So you step out into the hall and smile at Seungcheol instead.

“I mean, if you are really offering.”

Laughing, Seungcheol nods and slides past you, glancing around your apartment with a grin before he leans down to pick up the larger pile of boxes, heading back towards you.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N. I was hoping to talk to you today anyway.”

Moving through the hall with Seungcheol at your side, you use your elbow to press the elevator button, your head once again tilting to the side, almost like a puppy hearing a new word as you listen to him speak. He wanted to talk to you. You try to think of the reason, but only one comes to mind.

“Is it about Matthew?”

Pursing his lips briefly, Seungcheol quickly smiles at your assumption and nods to cover up any doubt. You weren’t wrong in thinking he would want to talk about his son. You were his teacher, it was only fair that he would be the topic of normal conversation.

“Mmm, he loves school. I think you are the main reason.”

Shaking your head, you step off the elevator and head for the main doors out of the apartment building with Seungcheol in tow. When you stop to lean your boxes against the wall, opening the door for him, Seungcheol smiles at you as he moves through the door, only to stop and hold it open for you with his foot.

“Thanks, but no... I think it’s his friends. He loves hanging out with Sara.”

Seungcheol lets the door close behind you before trailing along at your side as he shakes his head. He knew how much his son liked his friends, but there was something different about Matthew since he had started school.

“It’s more than that. He’s eager to get there. He can see Sara anytime, and that doesn't have to be at school. He wants to get to Miss Y/N’s class.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, your lips pull up into a smile that you are unable to hide even as you look down. It was one thing to be told you were good at your job; it was another to hear that a student wanted to go to school because of your class. It was everything a teacher wanted to hear.

Watching Seungcheol push his boxes into the bin, you run your fingers along the underside of one of the boxes still in your hands. You weren’t sure if he even understood the gift he had given you while helping you with a mundane task that you had been dreading. Glancing down, you take a deep breath, hoping the butterflies in your stomach will calm down when Seungcheol’s voice brings you back to reality.

“Here, let me put these in there too.”

Meeting his eyes, you swallow hard, feeling his fingers glide over yours as Seungcheol takes the boxes from your hands. When you glance away with a small smile on your lips, he takes notice. Pushing the rest of the boxes into the bin, Seungcheol bites at his lip, trying to choose his words carefully, before he turns back to you and scratches at his brow.

“Anything else to throw away? Is what’s his name lingering around? I can toss him in too.”

Feeling your cheeks burn, you scoff into a laugh as Seungcheol moves back to your side. Walking in tandem towards the building, you glance up at him, shaking your head as he laughs, along with you leaning to knock your arm with his to let you know he is joking.

“Alex… and thankfully he isn’t. God, I am so sorry about all of that. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved to begin with.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol purses his lips, watching you take your keys out to tap your fob against the reader, letting him open the door for you.

“It’s not a big deal. You seemed really uncomfortable. I was happy to help… I mean, I still am. He strikes me as the type to not give up easily.”

Scoffing once again, you follow Seungcheol to the elevator, leaning against the wall as you meet his eyes. That was an understatement. If he was able to tell from just a couple of meetings with your ex, that should say plenty about Alex’s character. You find yourself allowing your eyes to move over Seungcheol’s face, his handsome eyes, and his plump lips before you sigh and look down at your hands as the elevator steadily climbs the floors.

“He’s not. He thinks that’s a redeeming quality.” Sighing into your words, you push off the wall as the doors open, stepping out into the hall as Seungcheol follows you. “But he’d be wrong. I couldn’t ask you to help me anymore. You’ve done so much.”

Offering Seungcheol a smile, you walk backwards for a moment as he tilts his head, his own smile lifting at one side as his eyes move over you. You were so cute; he knew it was dangerous this game he was playing. He wanted to get close to you and he knew there were better ways, this had just been the one that had been presented to him.

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering… Speaking of, you busy this evening?”

Shaking your head, you slide your keys from your pocket as you watch Seungcheol lean against his door. You can’t help but notice the way your eyes once again move over him. He was possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen and also the most unattainable. You needed to remember who he was and the boundary that was set, even if it was blurred.

“Mm, no. Why? Need some help with Matthew?”

Seungcheol sighs into a laugh. It wasn’t unfair that you’d assume he wanted to ask you something involving his kid, but he just smiles as you look at him curiously, as if realizing for the first time that Matthew isn’t around.

“Oh… no. He’s with my parents this weekend. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come over for dinner?”

Your brows furrow at Seungcheol’s question. That boundary was getting even more blurred as you considered his question and he seemed to see you struggle before he laughed and bit his lips before speaking up again.

“We can talk about how to pretend to be a good fake couple. You know, for appearances sake. Maybe get Alex to get a life.”

While Seungcheol’s explanation wasn’t entirely convincing, you smiled and nodded. In truth, you didn’t want to turn down the dinner invitation. You didn’t want to tell Seungcheol no and that you didn’t want to spend more time with him, even if Matthew wasn’t involved. It was a dangerous line you were walking.

“Great! Uh… around 6?”

At 5:55 you were considering texting Seungcheol to tell him that you had suddenly come down with the flu. Your anxiety was causing your heart to rise into your throat as you tugged at your shirt, trying to make sure you looked decent.

With your hand hovering over the door, you whine to yourself before knocking lightly at Seungcheol’s door and waiting. Maybe he would make it easier on you and just not answer the door, but then the idea of that makes you frown. You hate the idea of not being able to spend the evening with Seungcheol. Even the idea of something disrupting it causes disappointment to bubble in your stomach until the door opens and you are met with his handsome face and a gummy smile that matches your favorite one of Matthew’s.

“Hey, you look—uh… I mean, you look pretty. Come in.”

Seungcheol stumbles over his words, the flush of his cheeks evident as he shakes his head, trying to keep his head and not overstep with you. He knew where he stood and where he wanted this to go, but you had made yourself pretty clear the first day in your classroom. You were his son’s teacher and now this situation... It was odd. Seungcheol was just happy to at least have you in his life as a friend, if not more.

Swallowing hard, you look down to hide your smile as Seungcheol compliments you. You weren’t sure how to react, so instead you pressed your lips together and gestured outward to his apartment.

“Your place is so nice.”

Shrugging, Seungcheol leads you towards the open kitchen and living room area where, the dinner, he has been working on bubbles quietly on the stove. You watch him adjust the temperature and stir a sauce as he sighs, tilting his head.

“It’s a mess. I should have cleaned up more. I don’t usually have company besides a few friends, but they are used to Matthew’s shit laying around. Here, do you like this?”

Holding the wooden spoon out towards you over the bar, Seungcheol watches as you blink at him a couple times before leaning forward to take a bit of the sauce off the spoon. It is savory and delicious as it hits your tongue and the back of your throat. Closing your eyes, you nod and lift your fingers to brush them over your lips as he watches you with a smile on his face at your reaction.

“It’s delicious, Seungcheol.”

Turning down the heat even more, Seungcheol moves to the sink to strain another larger pot as you watch him closely. His voice is calm and soothing. Everything about him makes you feel almost instantly comfortable in a space where you thought you’d want to hide under the table without a reason to truly be there.

“I don’t know if it’s all that great. You are being nice, but this is my go to for dinner. Matthew likes pasta and I’m halfway decent at it. So I hope you actually like it.”

Licking your lips, you lift your hand to cover your smile as you watch Seungcheol putting the finishing touches on dinner. He moves with ease, his eyes catching yours every once in a while, making your skin erupt in chillbumps as you glance away shyly. You could feel yourself getting too comfortable around him if you were to let your guard down, and that was all your body was telling you to do.

“Mind to grab a couple of those wine glasses?”

Glancing to your right, you shake your head gently before collecting two of the fragile glasses as Seungcheol moves past you towards the table. You hear your stomach growl as the smell of the pasta and garlic bread greets your nose when you get close enough to set the glasses down. Smiling, Seungcheol sneaks a look in your direction, watching your brows furrow and your lips turn down in embarrassment as he hears the grumble coming from your stomach.

“I—sorry. I didn’t eat lunch.”

Shaking his head, he picks up the bottle of wine, twisting the opener into the cork as he takes a breath to cover a small laugh. Seungcheol swore he could feel the effects of the alcohol before even taking a sip, with you standing so close to him and with how sweet you were. He knew this was a dangerous arrangement. Not that either of you would be doing anything wrong, but as the moments ticked by, it was getting difficult not to give into lingering glances.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Except perhaps to yourself. You need to eat regularly, Y/N.”

Groaning playfully, you hold the glasses steady, allowing Seungcheol to easily pour wine into each before he moves your chair, letting you sit down first. You can feel your cheeks flush up into your ears. The sound of blood rushing to your head has your hand reaching for your wine, bringing the glass to your lips to take a sip of the liquid courage as Seungcheol lifts your plate, putting pasta on it with an appreciative hum.

“Thank you. I promise, I’m usually better about eating... and I always make sure the kids eat their lunch and snacks at school. So don’t think my own behavior somehow reflects—”

Moving his hand from the serving fork, Seungcheol slides it over yours, meeting your eyes as you start to ramble. You were spiraling and there was no reason for it.

“Hey… I know you are a good teacher. I don’t worry a single moment in the day about Matthew’s wellbeing when I know he’s with you. Don’t worry about that.”

Taking a deep breath, you flex your fingers under Seungcheol’s palm, feeling his hands wrap around yours as his brows furrow. You can see the look in his eye and how he’s searching to make sure you understand what he’s told you, so you nod. Even if you didn’t completely feel adequate, you needed Seungcheol to let go of your hand before you fainted into his floor or made a run for the door.

“Mmkay… I–mm…” Smiling, trying to compose yourself, you watch Seungcheol’s hand move from yours to his wine, making you feel like you can take a breath. “The wine is very good. Thank you for inviting me to eat.”

Letting the wine glide over his tongue, Seungcheol smiles against the glass. He had noticed that you were starting to panic, but so was he. It hadn’t been his intention, but the alternative was you feeling like you weren’t good enough and that just wouldn’t work for him. Gesturing towards your plate, Seungcheol clears his throat and tilts his head before picking up his own fork.

“Thank you for eating with me. I’m a sad, lonely sap when Matthew is gone on weekends. You saved me from boredom.”

You weren’t sure how truthful Seungcheol was being but his words made you feel warm and they made you settle into your chair. They gave you a purpose to be there and not rush. You didn’t want him to be lonely. You suddenly realized how quiet it was in the apartment. You were used to that in yours but you could also sometimes hear Seungcheol and Matthew through the walls and they always sounded happy together. Of course, a weekend alone might be lonely for him.

Two glasses of wine down and after refusing another helping of pasta, you felt even more relaxed around Seungcheol. He was funny and warm. You understood even more about Matthew after spending time with his dad. They were like a mirror image of one another and as much as you adored Matthew, you could see yourself feeling that way about Seungcheol as the night carried on.

Soon you found yourself on his couch, another glass of wine in your hand as you pulled your legs up under you. Seungcheol grinned at you as you told him about going through your first year of assistant teaching. He could tell that you had a passion for your career and it was just one of the many things he was starting to love about you. This was becoming one of the easiest and equally difficult evenings of his night. While he loved talking to you and being close to you, he couldn’t help as his eyes moved over your pretty face and along your neck as he pictured getting closer to you and seeing if you’d let him touch you. Instead, he kept his respectful distance and admired you.

Watching Seungcheol stand up to grab another bottle of wine, you tilt your head, letting your eyes move along his fit frame. You weren’t blind. You were a woman, you had needs, and god, if your body wasn’t screaming at you that you were an idiot for not trying to get closer to the man who had been smiling at you for the past few hours. You were simultaneously enraptured by him and terrified of him. You could see yourself falling for him and it would be hard and messy. It couldn’t end well, because the first person you saw in your mind was Matthew.

Looking back around the room to pull your mind back to the present, despite the euphoric cloud of alcohol, you smile seeing the pictures of the boy on the wall. There were so many, from the time he was an infant to now. You could see pictures of Seungcheol and Matthew with others as well. A woman who you assumed was Matthew’s mother and some men who looked to be around Seungcheol’s age, perhaps brothers. A wave of longing hits you and you rest your head on your arm, a frown on your face as you keep looking around, finally noticing the degrees on the furthest wall.

Narrowing your eyes, you struggle to make out the words, finally sitting up and leaning forward to read as Seungcheol moves back to the couch with a sigh. Reaching for your glass, the man says something you don’t pay attention to as he tries to hand you the glass.

“Y/N? Is white wine okay?”

Blinking a couple of times, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and look at the glass in his hand with a clueless look on your face. A smile spreads over his face. He tilts his head and lets you take the glass from him as you gesture towards the wall with your other hand.

“You—wait… You’re a doctor?”

You weren’t sure what you had assumed Seungcheol did for a living, but a doctor hadn’t been on your bingo card. Looking around the room as you feel reality setting in, you can see that things make a bit more sense. The furniture was really nice. The wine was delicious and tasted expensive. Seungcheol, even in lounge wear, looked expensive.

Shrugging, Seungcheol purses his lips as he takes a sip of the wine from the glass in his hand as he looks at his medical degree on the wall. He hadn’t really considered that you didn’t know or that it would matter. Meeting your eyes once again, he sighs and leans back against the back of the couch, getting comfortable.

“Mmhm, family medicine. I have a small private practice in the city and a couple days a week I work out of the hospital in the emergency room. Are you that surprised? Do I not look smart enough to be a doctor or something?”

Sitting up, you shake your head so fast Seungcheol is afraid you might get whiplash. Reaching forward as he laughs, he runs his fingers over your arm as you lift your glass to your lips, finally taking another sip to calm your nerves before explaining your apparent shock.

“No…No—of course you are smart. You just don’t look like a doctor. I didn’t expect you to be... you know.”

When you don’t elaborate, Seungcheol laughs as he leans to put his glass on a coaster on the end table. You take another larger sip of your wine as your eyes fall to the fingers of his other hand as they rest against your forearm and the couch. It isn’t lost on you, no matter how tipsy you might be or how much you enjoy his fingers on your skin.

“I don’t know. Tell me. You can tell me anything.”

That was a very dangerous thing to say to you and Seungcheol seemed to know it as he watched you snort into a laugh. Giving you the smile that you had grown to love so much, he bites at his lip and leans forward slightly, listening to the laugh fade as your eyes focus on him.

“Seriously, tell me what you mean.”

There was a lump in your throat and wine wasn’t going to get it to go down. You weren’t sure anything could. No matter how much you swallowed or cleared your throat, it was only when you glanced down at your wine that you were able to feel the pressure subside enough that you could talk.

“I—you know what I mean, Seungcheol. The whole package, I guess.”

Shaking his head again, Seungcheol sighs out a laugh, wishing he could just get you to say what you mean instead of this game where you beat around the bush.

“Package? Like from Amazon? What are we talking about here, Y/N? Help me out.”

He was frustrating in the most adorably clueless and teasing way. You had a feeling he knew what you were hinting at, even if he was trying to play dumb; he was a doctor after all. You had already insulted his intelligence once. Glancing up long enough to meet Seungcheol’s eyes, you take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh that sounds more like a laugh as you speak.

“You’re incredibly attractive, a doctor, obviously successful, and a good dad. The whole package. I don’t think you can order that on Amazon.”

Seungcheol bites at his lip after hearing you explain your words. It was better than he had anticipated. He felt bad for making you say it, he knew it had to be somewhat embarrassing, but he had to hear it. He might never hear it again, because at the end of the day, this wasn’t a real relationship.

“Mm, well, that’s good for your boyfriend to know.”

Opening your mouth, you look confused but Seungcheol grins and picks up his wine, letting you off the hook as he takes a sip and continues.

“You know, fake boyfriend.”

A small, confused laugh slips from between your lips as you nod, trying to act like it is easy to understand and it all makes sense. You try to pretend like this is going to be easy and that him “helping” you keep up this ruse is a good idea, but who was it actually helping?

“Right, my fake boyfriend. My fake doctor boyfriend.”

Smirking, Seungcheol rolls his eyes and watches you finish off your glass of wine. He hated the word fake. Was it horrible of him to hope for a time when he could remove the word fake from his and your vocabulary? Yes, he knew it was. So he just takes a deep breath and points at your wine glass.

“More wine, fake girlfriend?”

Your laugh is so pretty, it almost breaks Seungcheol’s heart. He watches your head tilt back and his eyes move along your neck and back up to your face as you sigh. It’s when you glance at the clock on the wall and pout that he matches the pout, knowing what you are going to say.

“It’s so late. I should go home.”

Two in the morning. That was much later than you had intended on staying, but the look on Seungcheol’s face made you almost reluctant to get up. You were tired, the wine was doing a great job at aiding that fact, but it didn’t lessen that pout on his handsome face. You watch as he nods, a soft sigh escaping between his lips before he takes your empty glass and stands up.

“Thank you again for coming over. I really did enjoy it. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

Your eyes follow Seungcheol into the kitchen as he puts the wine glasses into the sink. When he glances over his shoulder at you, giving you a hopeful look you can’t disappoint him even if your brain is screaming about how much this is going to hurt you.

“Absolutely.”

“That’s all you did?”

Groaning at Jeonghan’s tone in his question, Seungcheol pushes a plate of leftover pasta across the kitchen island towards him and Jihoon. Lifting his hands, he gives his best friend an incredulous look before stabbing at his own food with a pout on his face.

“What did you expect him to do, Jeonghan? Jump her the first chance he gets.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes as he shoves a fork full of pasta into his mouth, talking between bites. Out of the two men, in his own opinion, he had the most level head in this situation. He understood why Seungcheol had let you go home and why he hadn’t made a move. Jeonghan, on the other hand, stared at his friend as if he had two heads and was growing another.

“I expect him to grow some fucking balls. You deserve some happiness, Cheol. You have this hot little teacher next door that you won’t shut up about; she comes over, and that’s—that’s it!”

Jeonghan made it seem like he had committed a crime by respecting you and your position as his teacher. Not that the two of you had exclusively said you didn’t want to actually explore things, but it was an unspoken thing. Seungcheol wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t get through medical school on a wish and a prayer.

“I’m helping her with her stupid douche of an ex. It would be wrong of me to actually make a move. Plus, it would be weird for Matthew.”

Finally swallowing a bite of his food, Jeonghan scoffs around the pasta at Seungcheol’s half ass attempt at an excuse. In his mind, it didn’t make any sense and he was grasping at straws. He had seen his best friend fall for someone before and he didn’t want to see him lose that chance because he was scared.

“Bullshit, it would be weird for Matthew. He already talks about Miss Y/N all the damn time. He likes her more than he likes me at this point. It’s offensive…”

Chuckling, Jihoon gets a harsh side eye from Jeonghan that he matches with one of his own.

“I think it’s hilarious and I think that you need to stop riding Cheol’s ass. If he wants to ask her out, he’ll do it. If not—”

“He’ll die alone and pouting.”

Dropping his fork into his plate, Seungcheol lifts his hand to push at his temples as his friends continue to talk about him as if he isn’t even in the room. Both of them had good points and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Jeonghan had some of the better ones. He knew he was being a wimp when it came to you, but he wasn’t ready to bet and lose.

Noticing that Seungcheol had gone quiet, Jeonghan turned his attention back to him, letting out a sigh as Jihoon did the same. Neither of them liked the look on his face. They had been friends with him for over a decade and been through a majority of the highs and the lows. They had been there for the best of his life so far and the day that he thought his own had ended because hers had.

Rubbing his thumb into his palm as he thinks about what to say next, Jihoon furrows his brows deeply. For a moment, he looks annoyed, but that’s because he is. He’s annoyed that he’s going to agree with Yoon Jeonghan for the first time in a long time. Sighing in a groan, the man leans forward and taps his fingers on the island as he tries to make his point.

“Listen, I’m not saying I completely agree with Jeonghan—”

“But clearly, he agrees—”

Shooting a look at the man, Jihoon watches a smirk pull up at Jeonghan’s lips as he stops talking, letting him continue.

“But... even I can admit that something is going on in your head, Cheol. I’m not going to push you as hard as him, but don’t let it slip through your fingers because of the unknown.”

That was what terrified him. The unknown. You could reject him completely. He could look like a fool. You could accept him and fall in love with him. Then he might lose you. There was so much unknown. The unknown had ruined his life before and only the people closest to him and his son had kept him from drowning.

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

Nodding, Jeonghan lifts his hands off the island and takes a deep breath, letting it out as he meets Seungcheol’s eyes to answer his question.

“And what if it does?”

Forcing a smile on your face after a long day, you stand up as the bell rings and parents start to move into the room to collect their children. Taking your time, you note each one, telling them to have a good evening and that you will see them in the morning.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t enjoyed your day, but you could feel a headache behind your eyes and fifteen screaming five year olds was a lot for anyone. So as the numbers started to dwindle, you could feel the anxiety starting to fade from you.

“Hey, buddy!”

Glancing up as Matthew squeals happily, you watch him run towards a slender but fit man that you vaguely recognize. Perhaps he had been on Seungcheol’s walls in one of the pictures, but you didn’t have a name to put—

“Uncle Jeonghan!”

Ah, so this was Uncle Jeonghan that Matthew talked about so much. Picking up your clipboard, you furrow your brows, moving over to him and the man as you quickly make sure the man’s name is listed as someone authorized to pick up.

“Have a good day? This must be Miss Y/N that your daddy talks about all the time.”

Lifting your head from the clipboard, you meet the man’s eyes as your cheeks start to burn. Opening your mouth, you close it quickly as he smirks at you and ruffles the boy's head as he clings close to him.

“I—Yoon Jeonghan? If you could just sign for Matthew, since you're not his legal guardian and only listed as an authorized person, it’s policy.”

Taking the clipboard from you, Jeonghan grins as you seem to shy away at his words. He could see the appeal. You were beautiful and seemed responsible. You were exactly Seungcheol’s type.

“No problem; Y/N. Cheol had to work in the ER today so here I am to save the day. I honestly don’t know why he didn’t just ask you to bring him home.”

Scoffing in surprise, you watch as Matthew gasps and looks up at you like a new toy.

“That’d be so cool! Miss Y/N, can you one day? I can show you my toys.”

Not wanting to disappoint the boy, you give him a strained smile and meet Jeonghan’s eyes, realizing he was an enabler. Seungcheol should have warned you about him, but maybe he didn’t even realize how your first meeting with him would go.

“Maybe… I’m your teacher, Matthew. We play at school—”

“Well and his neighbor and his daddy’s girl—”

Shaking your head, you watch as Jeonghan bites his lip to stifle a laugh before nodding and holding up his free hand as a way of surrendering. Apparently Seungcheol had shared some details of your “relationship” with his friend. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but you had a feeling this man was the type to pull you out and back into the spotlight.

“Maybe one day, Matthew... but let’s not get our hopes up.”

Pouting up at you, Matthew just nods and moves away from you both to go get his things. Letting out a breath, you take back your clipboard and put it down on a shelf behind you as you and Jeonghan glance towards the small boy as he pulls on his jacket.

“He’d let you take him home.”

Furrowing your brows, you glance over at Jeonghan and shift on your feet at his words and the implication behind them. Noticing how you seem to nervously shift from foot to foot, Jeonghan smirks and glances down at his phone in his hand, answering a text from Seungcheol as he speaks to you.

“One day he’ll man up and ask you out for real. This fake dating shit—”

“Don’t curse in my classroom, please.”

A laugh slips from between his lips as he glances up from his phone to offer you an apologetic smile before nodding and continuing.

“Sure, sorry. As I was saying, this fake dating nonsense you two have going on right now isn't going to work. I can already tell you like him.”

Insufferable. That's how you’d describe Yoon Jeonghan. You had known him for less than ten minutes and already you knew he was going to be an issue in your life. Crossing your arms, you start to sigh into your words, a dramatic big breath, when Alex’s voice once again ruins your moment.

“Matt, buddy, let me help.”

Jeonghan watches as your head moves like prey sensing a predator towards the other teacher, who was now helping Matthew with his bag. His eyes move to his godson’s face as he grimaces as the man tugs on the straps, keeping them tight on his arms.

“He’s fine, Mr. Alex. Thank you.”

You still sounded like yourself, with that sweet tone to your voice, but even Jeonghan could hear the hint of malice behind it. So this was Alex, and now Alex thought it was okay to mess with Seungcheol’s son. The “fake” dating made sense. This man did not understand boundaries and used everything in front of him as an open door.

Stepping in front of Alex, you smile at Matthew and the smile transfers to the boy’s face. Jeonghan feels relief wash over him at the sight as you kneel down, adjust the straps back to where they were and then tie his shoe properly.

“I was just helping out a student, Miss Y/N.”

Oof… There was so much tension in this room that even Jeonghan felt like he was going to drown in it. Stepping forward, he clears his throat and offers his hand towards Matthew, letting him take his fingers.

“And while I’m sure she appreciates that, and the parents do... I don’t know you, Mr. Alex, was it? From where I was standing, some strange man was touching my godson, which honestly made me nervous for a moment. I’d be more careful; this isn’t your classroom.”

Standing up, you feel your cheeks burn under Alex’s eyes as he looks to you to defend him, but you don’t. Jeonghan had a point. Not every parent or guardian knew who all the teachers were, not even the students knew the other teachers. Simple acts could be misunderstood and while he was doing something to “be nice” and it was innocent, you knew there was another reason he was inserting himself into your and Matthew’s lives.

“Well, I do apologize for the misunderstanding. My classroom is right down the hall. I was just coming to see Miss Y/N. We are very close.”

Jeonghan just smirks at the man and shoots you a glance before looking at his phone and seeing a reply from Seungcheol.

“I’m sure you are.” Dismissing the man, he looks at you and smiles brightly. “Y/N, dear… Cheol asked me if you wouldn’t mind helping me with Matthew once you get home? I’m an awful cook.”

Opening his mouth to say something, Alex stops when Matthew squeals with delight and grabs at your shirt, begging you to come over.

Another point to you and Seungcheol.

Staring at Seungcheol’s apartment door, you listen to the sound of Matthew’s laughter. While you knew why you had agreed to Jeonghan’s ridiculous plan, you weren’t sure why you were attempting to follow through with it. You could so easily just text Seungcheol and tell him that your evening got far too busy, and you wouldn’t be able to help Jeonghan out with Matthew, but suddenly it felt important to you.

Jeonghan had been doing a good job, for the most part, at keeping Matthew distracted from asking when you were going to come over, but every few minutes the question kept coming up. He knew there was a slight chance you might bail on them, but he had a good feeling you wouldn’t, so he simply told Matthew, “she’ll be here soon,” each time he asked. So when you knocked on the door, a little after 6:30, Matthew squealed in delight and beat Jeonghan to it by a mile.

“Miss Y/N! I’m so excited. I have coloring pages and my trucks to show you. Can we paint?”

Shaking your head, you run your fingers over Matthew’s head with a sigh as you listen to Jeonghan chuckle under his breath a few feet away. It was clear to see that the little boy had you wrapped around his little finger. You weren’t supposed to have a favorite student, and maybe that wasn’t even what was happening here, but you adored Matthew. Him and his gummy smile.

“Maybe? I’m supposed to help with dinner. What did your Uncle Jeonghan have in mind?”

Giving you a once over in your more casual clothes, Jeonghan nods in approval before gesturing towards the kitchen as if you didn’t already know where it was.

“Luckily for me, Cheol is a great father. He left a note that says, 'stuff for pizza in the fridge’, so it looks like it’s pizza, Teach.”

Rolling your eyes, you let Matthew hold on to your waist as you make your way into the kitchen and glance at the note in question.

“And you can’t make pizza on your own?”

“Uncle Jeonghan burneded my chicken nuggets last week. Can you make me pizza, Miss Y/N?”

Letting out a breath, you meet Matthew’s eyes before looking back up at Jeonghan, who grimaces at the mention of the chicken nuggets. Maybe it was a good thing that you were here if this man couldn’t even be trusted with the most simple of foods.

It didn’t take long for the three of you to get into a comfortable rhythm. You quickly took over things in the kitchen, leaving Jeonghan to entertain Matthew, which in turn kept him from being under your feet. It wasn’t until you were putting the homemade pizza into the oven that the evening started to calm down and you were able to really look around you and feel your heart tightening. You wanted this. Not with Jeonghan, though he was starting to grow on you as a friend, but you wanted to be around Matthew more and to help with him.

Feeling your cell phone vibrate in your back pocket, you wipe your hands off on a dish towel and slip it from your pocket only for a smile to pull at the corner of your lips.

Seungcheol: I owe you big time

Glancing towards the living room, you press your lips together watching Matthew and Jeonghan sitting at the coffee table with crayons covering most of the surface. Now that feeling of wanting this more often was even stronger as you thought about Seungcheol, wishing he was here… even though that felt wrong on some level. You shouldn’t want something with a parent of one of your students… there had to be something wrong about that, or at least Alex was good at making you feel like there was.

Y/N: Don’t say that yet. Pizza isn’t out of the oven yet. I might burn it just as bad as Jeonghan.

Grinning as he leans against the wall of the break room, Seungcheol allows himself a moment to just enjoy the idea of you in his apartment. He knew he would be there in a few more hours, but picturing you with Matthew seemed so domestic. Jeonghan was right, as much as Seungcheol hated to admit it… he wanted more with you than some fake relationship.

“What are you smiling at like that? It’s creepy…”

Scoffing at Joshua Hong’s teasing words, Seungcheol quickly replies to you before clearing his throat and sliding his phone back into his coat pocket. He had never been good at “acting casual,” and most of his friends knew that, so this time was no different.

“Nothing, why are you? You know, being nosy? Don’t you have a patient in Five?”

Joshua smirks as he watches Seungcheol scratch his neck. He could see that his friend was nervous and that, paired with the stupid, love-sick smile he had been wearing, could only mean one thing.

“I just discharged that patient. Are you simping that hard over some girl? Choi Seungcheol, are you fucking someon–”

Lifting his hands, Seungcheol is quick to let out a panicked sound in order to stop Joshua from continuing. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Jeonghan on almost a daily basis. Dealing with both Jeonghan and Joshua, now that was a nightmare.

“Shut up. I—no. No, I’m not fuck—I’m not sleeping with anyone. You spend too much time with Jeonghan if you are talking like that.”

Joshua had never known Seungcheol to be so proper and flustered before, and honestly, it was pretty amusing to see him sweat over something as simple as a girl.

“Hannie and I enjoy our quality time; thank you very much. Get the stick out of your ass and tell me what’s going on, or I’ll just have to ask him. I’m sure he knows.”

The idea of Jeonghan being able to explain his love life, or the lack thereof, to anyone but especially to Joshua was a terrifying and humiliating thought. Shaking his head, Seungcheol groans and reaches for Joshua’s arm, stopping him from leaving the break room as he glances towards the clock to see how much time he has left on his break before he explains from the beginning.

Seungcheol: Well burnt or not, can’t wait to get home and have a slice. See you in about an hour?

You had stared at your phone and Seungcheol’s text for a bit longer than you had meant to. When Jeonghan pursed his lips and glanced over your shoulder to see what had your attention so enraptured, you gasped, pulling the phone to your chest.

“Sorry, I said your name a couple times, but you were staring at your phone like it was a bomb. I had to make sure you didn’t need help with it.”

Furrowing your brows, you clear your throat and put your phone face down on the counter, turning towards the oven and leaning to glance at the pizza through the window. You were avoiding the topic, but Jeonghan wasn’t the one to just give up.

“You set a timer, didn’t you? Should come out right in time for us to eat. You know, Matthew, me, you, and Cheol.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you narrow your eyes at Jeonghan and straighten to your full height so that you feel a bit less small in front of him.

“I wasn’t going to stay for dinner.”

Tilting his head, Jeonghan starts to speak when Matthew whines and the sound of his little feet hitting the wood floor draws your attention. You get ready to explain to him that you need to go, that you have so much you have to do before bedtime, but one look down at him and the pout on his face... all excuses die on your tongue.

“Please don’t go! Eat pizza with me. You said maybe to playing with trucks.”

You watch as tears start to gather in Matthew’s eyes and it almost breaks your heart. Even Jeonghan feels a pang of guilt knowing he had pushed a little too hard, and he finds himself hoping you’ll stay as he looks at Matthew, his small shoulders lifting to take a breath, trying to keep himself from crying.

Squatting in front of Matthew, you run your fingers over his cheeks and offer him a smile, happy to see his lips pull up even slightly in return. It was easier to say no at school. You knew you had authority and there was more to say no to. Children would get into trouble more often if you gave in, but here, what would you lose if you said yes? What harm could it really cause?

“I—I’ll stay for dinner. I made really good pizza. I would hate to miss out on it or your trucks.”

Wrapping his arms around your neck, Matthew grins as he giggles. He had known a lot of sadness in his short life, but his father and those around him had worked hard to show him even more joy. This was more joy. There was something special about you, and it wasn’t just that you were his teacher or that he liked you so much; it was more that you felt so warm and made him wonder what his mommy would have been like. Not that he would tell you that, at least not tonight.

Patting Matthew’s back, you glance up at Jeonghan as he purses his lips, the look on his face a mixture of apologetic and appreciative. It takes a moment before you are finally able to pull away from the boy and meet his eyes, seeing a bit of wetness on his cheeks, but that big smile on his face remains even as you wipe the tears away.

“The pizza has to cook for a bit longer. Wanna show me what you and Uncle Jeonghan were working on?”

Letting out a deep breath as he walks through the door, Seungcheol finds the stress of his day quickly replaced by fondness. He knew you had decided to stay for dinner, but seeing you in his living room with Matthew for himself was a different story. Now he couldn’t help the smile that played on his lips even as Jeonghan watched him carefully, studying him for what seemed like a full minute before Seungcheol finally moved further into the house.

“Thought you were going to stand in the hall all damn night.”

Scoffing at Jeonghan’s words, Seungcheol shakes his head before meeting your eyes trying not to lose himself in your soft smile. You are so beautiful and it was becoming impossible for him to pretend like he didn’t like you, and that he didn’t want to see what this could be without some silly stipulations to your relationship.

“How’s the evening been so far? Don’t I get a hug?”

While his words were meant for Matthew, you still pressed your lips together feeling a slight urge to stand up and move into Seungcheol’s arms too. He looked incredible, even as tired as he was. You were having a hard time not staring at him, and Jeonghan was taking notes.

“I think the uh—the pizza is cool enough to eat. So you have good timing.”

Nodding to your words, Seungcheol squats down to hug Matthew. You watch fondly as he rocks the small boy back and forth a few times, causing him to let out a delighted sound before Seungcheol stands and runs his fingers through his hair.

“Awesome, thank you again for helping, Y/N. I’ll… uh get changed and meet you guys at the table.”

Swallowing hard, you nod as your eyes follow Seungcheol through the room until he is out of your line of sight. A small chuckle to your right pulls your attention back to the present and to Jeonghan, who simply lifts his brows and pats Matthew’s back, ushering him towards the dining room.

“Pizza time, buddy. Too much ogling is going on in this room for my stomach to handle.”

Looking up at Jeonghan, Matthew tilts his head as he walks beside him, a look of confusion on his cute face.

“What’s ohgling?”

With a groan, you drop your head into your hands for a split second before moving to your feet and following along with the two just in time to hear Jeonghan explain how to say the word properly and that it means to look at someone for a long time because you like them. At least he had kept it PG.

“Can Miss Y/N tuck me in tonight?”

Matthew’s words make you stop what you are doing mid-bite. Jeonghan’s smirk only grows as Seungcheol tilts his head, looking at his son and over to you as you give both of them a deer stuck in headlights look. The evening had gotten exponentially more interesting since Seungcheol had gotten home. You two weren’t fooling anyone, at least as far as Jeonghan was concerned, and this was the cherry on top.

“I–well… That’s up to Miss Y/N.”

Meeting your eyes, Seungcheol looks a bit worried that you might say no. He wouldn’t fault you if you did, but he hated the idea of his son being disappointed. You could see the look and it was so very similar to the look in Matthew’s eye that your stomach was in your throat. Why were these two so impossible for you to refuse?

“I don’t mind.”

Clapping his hands together, Jeonghan gives you both a wide smile before pushing his chair back from the table and wiping at his lips.

“Great, now that’s settled, means I can get headed home. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Y/N. Please invite me again.”

Following Jeonghan, Seungcheol gives you an apologetic look as you start to speak but can’t seem to find the right words to defend yourself. While you had grown used to his teasing over the past few hours, it didn’t make it any easier to handle in front of Seungcheol and Matthew. You could feel heat rising in your neck and face as you turned your attention back towards Matthew as he grabbed your hand and tried to tug you out of your seat.

“Come on! I gotta show you my room and my trucks. Daddy says they are the most coolest.”

You were lucky to have such a sweet distraction, just two of your fingers in his small hand as Matthew led you down the hall and away from the embarrassment of Yoon Jeonghan’s words. After watching you and Matthew for a moment, Seungcheol then glances back at his best friend as he slips his shoes on and offers him a triumphant smile. In his mind, clearly, he had managed to play matchmaker well if you were staying longer than he was. He could almost hear the wedding bells in the back of his mind, but the look on Seungcheol’s face was one of doubt, which always leads to delays.

“You’re welcome. Get that stupid look off your face and seal the deal.”

Scoffing, Seungcheol double checks that you can’t hear either of them before he meets Jeonghan’s eyes once more.

“Would you shut the hell up? I–we don’t know what’s going to happen. She was doing me a favor because you trapped her in a moment—”

“No, she came over because she wanted to. She could have canceled and she could have left hours ago, Cheol. She wants to be here and she wants to be here with you. You weren’t here to see her schoolgirl crush smiling at her phone every time you sent a message.”

Pressing his lips together while learning about the couple of hours before he had gotten home, Seungcheol couldn't stop how the corners of his lips started to turn up. He wanted to see that smile. He loved your smile. He loved how you made Matthew smile. God, he was falling for you and it was that hard sort of falling that people warned you about.

“Really?”

Shaking his head, Jeonghan reaches over to pat Seungcheol’s bicep as he rolls his eyes at his friend’s reaction. You were the school girl and here was your school boy. It was a match made in heaven, and it was nauseating to be around.

“Really, Casanova. Don’t let her slip through your fingers because you’re a pussy.”

Seungcheol groans, his smile falling at Jeonghan’s wording. Why did he have to be so crass? No, he wasn’t some church going perfect angel himself, but at least he didn’t go around calling people a pussy.

“Get out, seriously. If Matthew starts saying shit like that, I’m personally making you pay for his therapy sessions.”

Getting one last cheeky grin from Jeonghan, Seungcheol closes the door and makes his way back towards your soft voice. It was getting late and being a school night, it was around the time he would normally get Matthew ready for bed. He almost hated the idea of that tonight. He knew that Matthew wanted you to tuck him in, but what would that mean afterwards? Would you have leave right way? Could he talk you into staying for a glass of wine? It was a school night for you too…

“No, that truck was my favorite too. Get your teeth in the back too.”

Surprised to hear you and Matthew in the bathroom, Seungcheol tilts his head and leans against the wall, watching you smile at his son. It was surreal to see something like this. He had always wanted this for Matthew—and, if he could be selfish, for himself.

This wasn’t something he had gotten much of from his wife before her accident. She didn’t get to help him put Matthew to bed once he was old enough to remember her. While Seungcheol would always regret that, he found himself allowing himself a bit of time to relish Matthew’s little piece of normality with you.

“Good! Big smile.”

You laugh, your heart full and warm, as Matthew shows you his clean teeth. This was dangerous. You were so in love with this family. You could see yourself doing this every single night and never getting tired of it. There was something about Matthew and Seungcheol that made your life feel complete and that was terrifying in ways that you couldn’t even explain to yourself.

“One of my favorite smiles. Time to change? Then I can come tuck you in.”

Turning to follow Matthew, you stop short, seeing Seungcheol watching you from the hall. You get hit with a sudden rush of anxiety, wondering if you have overstepped, but the smile and look on his face tell you that you haven’t. You watch his fingers glide through Matthew’s hair before he glances back at him, telling him not to bring trucks into his bed, before he looks at you and takes your breath away with a smile.

“You’re a natural.”

Shyly, you shake your head and move towards him and Matthew’s bedroom, stopping just outside to give the boy time to change.

“Just teacher things, I guess.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and fights his urge to reach out and pull you towards him. You were standing too far away from him and with how he was feeling, all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and do exactly what Jeonghan had told him to do. Why was he dancing around this? You were everything he had been wanting and not even the fear of the unknown was enough to keep him from taking that leap.

Starting to speak, Seungcheol watches you take a deep breath when Matthew’s small voice makes him stop before he even gets started. You instead watch as he smiles and rubs the back of his neck, gesturing for you to go ahead. Biting at your lip, you nod and give him a small glance as you pass by, only for your breath to get caught in your throat when Seungcheol’s fingers trail over your fingers just before you cross over the threshold into the bedroom.

“Go ahead; I’ll say goodnight once he’s tucked in. Something tells me he might get upset if I try to interrupt.”

One last look towards Seungcheol, and you move into Matthew’s room and sit on the side of his bed as he grins up at you. Your stomach was doing flips as butterflies held a rave inside of you, but with a deep breath, you managed to keep your cool and tuck the covers around Matthew.

“How’s that? Too tight?”

Shaking his head, Matthew wiggles under the covers to show you that he can still move easily as you run your fingers over the top of his head, feeling his eyes move over your face.

“Okay, good. Sleep well and I’ll see you at school in the morning.”

“Mmkay, Miss Y/N.”

You smile at his tired words, starting to stand when Matthew whines and you stay right where you are, giving him a concerned look at the sudden change.

“Can I have a hug for bedtime?”

You knew you would say no. Sure, it would make Matthew sad and, in turn, make you sad, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much as what you chose to do. Instead of saying no, you nodded and leaned down to let him wrap his arms around your neck and hold you close to him as he whispered his thanks for the day and told you goodnight. You could feel the tears rising in your eyes even as you willed them to stay back.

“It’s my pleasure, Matthew. Tha–thank you for hanging out with me. Sleep tight…”

Seungcheol had to take a deep breath while watching his son cling to you like a safety net. It almost broke his heart to watch you sit up, but then you ran your fingers over Matthew’s face and whispered goodnight and Seungcheol could have sworn he saw tears in your eyes. Was that a good sign or a bad one?

Sliding past Seungcheol, you sniff softly but smile at him as you let him move into the room. You find yourself wanting to watch as he finishes up the bedtime routine, but your heart won’t let you. The tears on your cheeks tell you that you need to run out of this apartment as fast as you can, but you wait, feeling the need to say your goodbyes to Seungcheol.

The soft click of the door shutting draws your attention back towards Matthew’s room and Seungcheol as you wipe your cheeks quickly and put your smile back on your face. You didn’t hate what you were feeling; it just terrified you to no end. You had never pictured a family with Alex; no matter how many times he had brought up what a fantastic mother you were going to be to his children, it wasn’t something that you could see. Looking at Seungcheol, you could picture that future and you weren’t even in a real relationship with him. What did that say about you?

“Hey, thanks for doing that. He’s already out like a light. I never get him down that easy.”

You only manage to hum into a small smile at Seungcheol’s words as he moves closer to you, his presence making it harder for you to choose if you want to stay or run.

“It’s no biggie. He’s a great kid.”

Nodding, Seungcheol opens and closes his hand a few times before taking the leap and reaching out to wrap his fingers around yours, feeling your hand shake in his. Maybe you were just as nervous as he was? Maybe you could already see where this was going? Maybe, just maybe, you wanted it too.

“He is… But, um, could I say something? Not about Matthew and you hear me out?”

Those butterflies had taken something strong at their rave and you felt like you were going to be sick with nerves. Your head was woozy even as you nodded to answer Seungcheol, unable to find the right words. Swallowing hard, he sighs into a small laugh before reaching up to scratch at his brow with his free hand, keeping yours in his other.

“I–okay, I’m just gonna say it, alright? I love having you around. I really like this, you know? Us. So I was thinkin’ if you aren’t busy, maybe we could get dinner this weekend? Just the two of us?”

Letting out a breath, you pull your fingers back and smile at Seungcheol, trying to think straight, but nothing in your head makes sense. You were panicking. The look on Seungcheol’s face told you that he could see you were panicking as you took a step back from him and literally looked for your escape route.

“It is so late. I have work in the morning, but you know that. Thank you so much for dinner. I mean, you know what I mean.”

Following you, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair, feeling panic start to roll through him as you pretend that he hadn’t just confessed to you and asked you out. Was he that bad of a choice? Or was this about something else? Were you afraid too?

“Y/N? What? Wait, no, I know you have work. Shit… wait. I didn’t mean to—”

Turning to face him as you reach the door, you can’t stop the tears that run down your cheeks. The same tears seem to resonate with Seungcheol and stop him from giving you his reasoning. All he finds himself wanting to do is hold you and make it better, but that fear of pushing you away is stronger than ever as you wipe at your cheeks and apologize under your breath, pulling your shoes on.

“I will talk to you later, okay? Just… I can’t do this right now.”

Seungcheol knew he should say something else, do something to stop you from leaving until more was said and understood, but all he could do was watch as his door shut and leave him in silence. His heart beating hard in his chest, the pang of rejection and confusion rips through Seungcheol as he turns away from where you had been standing and moves to the couch to sit down and rest his head in his hands.

Inside your apartment, you let your tears fall freely. You didn’t want to disappoint Seungcheol, but the first thing you saw when he said those words to you was Matthew’s disappointed face. That’s the face you would have to see if the relationship didn’t work out. That's who you’d be hurting. It wouldn’t just be your heart or even Seungcheol’s heart on the line; it would be that child’s heart.

So now you sat on your kitchen floor, your heart feeling shattered as you forced yourself to stick to what you had decided instead of running back over to Seungcheol’s apartment and telling him that you felt the same way. Sometimes people don’t get what they want just because they want it. Sometimes they have to give up what they want for the benefit of others.

Seungcheol was nervous as he stood in the doorway to your classroom. He knew he was early and that Matthew wasn’t particularly happy with him because he would be the first student at school, but he needed to talk to you. The way things had ended the night before was eating at him.

Ushering Matthew into the room, Seungcheol watches as his son runs over to you. He feels his heart tighten as small arms wrap around your waist and he wants to do the same thing. The confusion and surprise on your face are enough to make the thoughts move from Seungcheol’s mind as he smiles at you and lifts Matthew’s bag, walking towards the cubbies.

“You—you’re early. The others won’t be here for probably half an hour.”

Wincing at your words as he hangs Matthew’s bag up, Seungcheol considers lying. He thinks about telling you that he just has to get to work early—that’s the only reason he’s bringing Matthew in so early—but the look in your eye tells him that he should just tell you the truth.

"I—yeah, I know. I just… Could I talk to you for a second?”

Glancing towards Matthew, you sigh as he moves away from you both towards the building block area to play. Crossing your arms, you gesture back towards the door and the cubbies to give even more space between yourself and Seungcheol from the boy so he can’t hear.

“I’m not sure there’s a lot to talk—”

“I know… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt you, Y/N. But please? Can I just say this? I didn’t really get to finish what I wanted to say.”

You furrow your brow, glancing down at your fingers on your forearm as you nod. This conversation was already too difficult. Seungcheol felt too close, but glancing off to the side towards Matthew as he stacks up blocks, counting them quietly under his breath, makes you take in a deep breath as you listen to what he has to say.

“Okay, can’t we just try it? This seems to work great. I mean, at least it does to me. All I asked for was dinner. I like you, Y/N. Like, really, really like you.”

Tilting his head as he stops walking in the hallway, Alex narrows his eyes, listening to the conversation in your classroom. He had wanted to see you before school started, before your students arrived, but clearly someone had beat him. As he listened closer to the voice of the man, he recognized it, Seungcheol, your boyfriend. Why would he need to tell you how much he liked you?

Shaking your head, you lift your fingers to quickly wipe at your cheeks, feeling moisture under your eyes as you take a deep breath. This isn't about what you wanted or what Seungcheol wanted. That had become obvious to you last night. You couldn’t and wouldn’t risk breaking Matthew’s heart and ruining something good in his life. You couldn’t be more than his teacher. Even being his friend was putting too much pressure on him. Everything could come crashing down and it wouldn’t be you or Seungcheol who would suffer the most; it would be Matthew.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. I should have had more guts to just—” Stopping to let out an unamused laugh, you meet Seungcheol’s eyes as he gives you a confused, sad look. “I’m so sorry, Seungcheol. We need to stop this. No more pretending. It’s not good for us and it’s worse for Matthew.”

Pretending. The word causes Seungcheol’s heart to feel like it’s breaking and it causes Alex to scoff. You had been pretending to date Seungcheol. Shaking his head, Alex smirks as he turns back towards his own classroom, running his fingers through his hair, leaving you to finish your breakup with your fake boyfriend. He could always talk to you later.

“I—Y/N…please. Why do you think that this is going to hurt anyone? I don’t ever want to hurt you and I certainly wouldn’t hurt my son.”

Biting at your lips, you furrow your brows and take a step back from Seungcheol as his voice cracks. You could hear other people in the halls now; this conversation had to end.

“Have a good day, Dr. Choi.”

With his mouth falling open in confusion and hurt, Seungcheol closes his eyes at your words before nodding. He could hear the sound of the other children in the halls too. He knew he couldn’t force you to talk about this or to come out of your shell, even if he could obviously see you were holding back something.

You turn from him as Seungcheol moves back into the classroom to lean over Matthew, kissing him on top of the head and whispering his goodbye before glancing at you once more. Without another word, he leaves the room and you feel like you are standing in the ocean as a wave of pain washes over you.

The day is longer than any other that you can remember. You avoid Seungcheol’s eyes as he picks up Matthew, even as the little boy grabs at your hand, asking you to come back over for dinner. When Seungcheol tells him that tonight isn’t a good night, you hold back your tears as you listen to Matthew’s small, sad voice asking why.

That was why this wasn’t going to work. You were so good at disappointing people. That was what your degree hanging on the wall should be in. A PhD in Disappointment.

Walking through your now empty room, you let the silence wash over you as you picked up books and toys, not hearing the door open. You don’t hear footsteps approaching you until Alex’s voice pulls you out of your haze and brings you back to reality.

“You didn’t have to be so pathetic and pretend to have a boyfriend, babe. Seriously? I don’t need to be jealous to want you back in my life. I’ll take you back, Y/N. You don’t have to put on a brave face.”

Alex’s words bite at your self esteem and your confidence. Keeping your back to him for a moment longer, you fight back your tears, realizing he had to have heard your conversation with Seungcheol at the beginning of the day. You want to be angry and embarrassed, but instead you are relieved. There is no longer a secret hanging over your head, no need to pretend or worry about some big reveal as the panic slowly fades from your body.

All you are left with, once the anxiety is gone, is disgust. You try to quickly picture a time when you were in love with Alex. You try to imagine wanting a full and long life with him after hearing him say such hateful and degrading things to you, but you can’t. All you can feel is hate and pity. The pity isn’t even for yourself; instead, you feel an overwhelming pity for the man who once made you laugh before he made you cry.

Turning to face Alex, you meet his eyes as he smirks at you, the smug look on his face looking more like a mask than something real. He wants to play the villain so badly and you could play the victim and let him have it, but instead you just sigh and nod.

“Thank you, Alex.”

Starting to speak, Alex looks surprised and hopeful before you lift your hand and stop him as you continue to speak.

“Thank you for reminding me why I will never allow you in my life again. I never want to see you again. Someone who would say something like that to me... well, it should be obvious if you ever loved me why I couldn’t and wouldn’t want you near me. Please get the fuck out of my classroom and my life.”

Your voice is even, a bit of emotion laced in it, but you aren’t hysterical like Alex had imagined or perhaps wanted. You are instead mostly calm and collected and your words stab him in the gut like the final nail in the coffin of any chance at a relationship that he had imagined.

Taking a step backwards, Alex tries to speak—to come up with some excuse for his actions, but you were right. As he thinks back on the person that he had been and the person that he has become, guilt bites at him, making it harder to defend himself.

You watch as he shakes his head, muttering something so low that you can’t hear it before he moves out of the room and your door shuts, leaving you once again in that empty silence.

Closing your eyes, you are back in that ocean as waves crash over you. Tears stream down your face and you recognize the pain as heartbreak. Heartbreak from the final mourning period of a relationship and the impossibility of another. Another wave knocks you back and you let out a sob, your hand on your stomach. More loss, but mixed with relief.

You feel the loss of a possibility for your own family. You had seen yourself with Seungcheol and Matthew, but that was possible. The relief was from letting go, or attempting to. It was also a loss of the weight that had been on your shoulders from the very moment that you had lied to Alex.

You just wish that it had never been a lie.

Despite many pep talks from Jeonghan, Seungcheol couldn’t make himself knock on your door. He had seen you around the apartment complex during spring break, but you were avoiding him. Worst of all, you seem to be avoiding Matthew.

He didn’t really blame you. After what you had told him, it made sense. You were scared, but so was he. He had been terrified from the moment he realized his feelings for you, but he had taken the leap and ended up falling short.

Any other time, Seungcheol would have given up. He would have stopped looking for that person and tried to push them out of his life, so why couldn’t he do that with you? Why would he lay in bed every single night and picture you in yours, just an apartment over? Why would he look at his phone and pray that you would text him? Why couldn’t he just get some guts and text you himself?

He had decided that after spring break, the first day of school, he would try his best. At school, it wasn’t like you couldn’t talk to him. You had to talk to parents, and you had to talk to your students. Matthew was excited about seeing you again; this would be the perfect time. It would have been perfect if, when Seungcheol had come through the door, there wasn’t a completely different person standing at the front of the classroom.

“Daddy…”

The whine in Matthew’s voice almost broke Seungcheol’s heart. Running his hand over Matthew’s hair, Seungcheol offers the woman a smile and tilts his head as he walks towards her as she looks down at her clipboard.

“Hi. Uh, Matthew Choi… I’m Seungcheol, his father.”

Smiling at the boy and at Seungcheol, the woman finds Matthew’s name and places a check next to it before sighing.

“So prompt, I value responsibility. Hello, I’m Mrs. Lim.”

Shaking the woman’s hand, Seungcheol tries to keep his smile, but he knows it’s strained as he glances around the room, realizing how much of the room has changed. The posters were different. The books were in a different place. This wasn’t your classroom anymore.

“It’s really nice to meet you. I’m so sorry, but where is Miss Y/N?”

Swallowing hard, Mrs. Lim nods at the question before putting her clipboard to her chest and taking a deep breath, knowing she would be handling this question many times today.

“The school was supposed to send out a letter, but perhaps not everyone got them in time. Miss Y/N accepted a job in another district. I hope that I can fill her shoes here…”

Feeling like a truck had run him over, Seungcheol just nodded as Matthew looked up at him, confused. A small hand tugs at his jacket and Seungcheol nods once again before glancing down at his son, trying to smile at him even as Matthew frowns.

“Uh, Miss Y/N is teaching other kids, buddy.”

“No! Daddy!”

Hearing his son cry was one of the most painful things that Seungcheol could experience. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time, and it hadn’t been the first by a long shot, but there was so much heartbreak in his sobs. Moving to his knees in front of Matthew, Seungcheol controls his own emotions as he wipes tears away and shushes the little boy to calm him down.

“It’s okay. Mrs. Lim seems so nice and I’m sure you two will get along.”

Pulling back from Seungcheol, Matthew sniffs hard, talking between sobs as big tears roll down his cheeks, meeting his dad’s fingers.

“Did I make Miss Y/N mad at me?”

Shaking his head quickly, Seungcheol pulls Matthew into his arms and closes his eyes, having an even harder time keeping himself in check. He was upset with you for not telling him, but he was even more upset with the fact that you felt like you had to leave.

“Absolutely not. Miss Y/N adores you.”

It takes a few more minutes before Matthew is calm enough that Seungcheol feels comfortable leaving. After apologizing to Mrs. Lim for the small outburst on behalf of his son, Seungcheol moves out into the hall and leans against the wall to catch his breath.

Running his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head and sniffs back his own tears that had threatened to fall when he hears a familiar voice. Glancing to his left, all Seungcheol sees is red. His feet moving quicker than his brain, Seungcheol pushes his forearm against Alex’s chest as the man’s back hits the wall with a dull thud. Only the sound of a gasp from another teacher is heard over Alex’s grunt before he tells the woman it’s fine.

“It’s not fine... what the fuck did you do? What did you do that made her leave?”

Scoffing through a bit of pain, Alex meets Seungcheol’s eyes and there is pain and hurt in both. The hurt in Alex’s eyes only serves to piss off Seungcheol more as he pushes harder against the man’s body, feeling his hand grasp at his wrist.

“I—get off me. I don’t have to tell the fake boyfriend anything.”

Leaning back only to push against Alex harder so that his head hits the wall, Seungcheol watches the man’s mouth fall open in pain as he hears the sound of the security guard moving towards them. Taking a step back, he holds up his hands, showing them he’s done before he grabs him.

“You don’t know anything about Y/N and you don’t know a damn thing about me and her.” Pointing towards Alex as the guard puts his hand around his forearm, Seungcheol scoffs, keeping his ground. “Stay away from Y/N and if you ever touch Matthew again, I won’t need to file a report with the school. You got it?”

Rubbing the back of his head, Alex winces and narrows his eyes at Seungcheol. It had all been grounds for him to let them drag Seungcheol out of the school until his kid was mentioned. Now Alex needed to save face. No, nothing had happened, but he had crossed the line multiple times with you and by approaching a student that wasn’t his, he had already been warned by the administration.

“Let him go. Everything is fine. Just a misunderstanding. We are fine… We understand one another, I can promise you that.”

Feeling the hand on his arm relax, Seungcheol scoffs at how quick Alex’s mood shifts. He was pathetic and he could understand why you wanted nothing to do with him. Giving the man one more look of contempt, Seungcheol shakes his head and moves for the main doors, letting them slam behind him.

Rolling your head from side to side, you rub your neck as you let out a soft sigh. You were tired after a long day and a longer commute than you were used to at your new school. The students were great but they weren’t the same. The entire day, you found yourself missing your students, as you had to check name tags to remember who you were speaking to.

It would just take some getting used to. This was the best decision. It was easier for everyone to do it this way. It didn’t matter that you looked for Matthew in the circle of children on the reading rug only to be disappointed when you couldn’t find his sweet gummy smile and his kind eyes looking back up at you. Your heart would heal.

Taking your keys out of your purse as the elevator stops on your floor, you keep your eyes down until you are almost at your door. Seeing shoes on your welcome mat facing you makes you stop in your tracks and causes your eyes to slowly lift to meet Seungcheol’s as he rests against your door with a frown on his face.

You had done such a good job of avoiding him and Matthew. Sure, there had been a few times you had found yourself turning on your toes and heading in the other direction, but you had done that to make things easier for everyone. Looking at Seungcheol now, making eye contact with him, you knew there was no running away.

“Um… Hey.”

Seungcheol had hoped for more after not talking to you for so long, but he would take what he could get. He knew he was putting you on the spot; clearly, there was no other way to get you to talk to him.

“Hey. So, I, uh, I took Matthew to school this morning and needless to say, we were both a little shocked and—fuck, I won’t even lie, we were heartbroken when you weren’t there. You quit?”

Taking a deep breath, you look at your keys in your hand as Seungcheol speaks. Learning that he and Matthew were hurt by your absence makes your stomach feel queasy, but you try to stand your ground and keep yourself somewhat stoic as you nod.

“Sorry, I got an offer about an hour away and I felt that I should take it. Ya know, it’s better—”

“For who?”

Being interrupted by Seungcheol, you meet his eyes once again and let out a breath through your nose before looking off to the side. You didn’t want to look him in the eye and try to explain—or lie about this. It was hard enough trying to convince yourself every day in the mirror.

“For everyone, Seungcheol. I can’t work there anymore. I didn’t want to ruin things for Matthew or you. I couldn’t be around Alex anymore.”

Stepping away from the door, taking a step towards you, Seungcheol reaches out to take your wrist into his hand, trying to get you to actually look at him. When you don’t instantly pull away, he lowers his head and leans to the right to make you meet his eyes as he speaks. The wet glaze over his eyes makes you feel like your heart is breaking all over again as your bottom lip quivers until you bite at it to force it to stop, once again forcing back any emotions that threaten to bubble to the surface.

“Matthew isn’t happy without you, Y/N. Why in the hell would you think that he would be? He’s depressed without you at school and without you in his life. I don’t understand why you think he’d be better off without you around.”

Sighing loudly, Seungcheol’s eyes drop to your bitten lip as you try to keep your tears back. He can see them on the rims of your eyes and he knows that you understand, even if you won’t say it.

“My son loves you. Don’t you get that? I lov—fuck… I need you in my life, Y/N. When I found out about you quitting I saw Alex and I confronted him. I told him to stay the fuck away from you, away from us.”

Shaking your head, you pull your arm from Seungcheol’s, feeling his fingers chase after yours as he whines your name under his breath. You can hear and feel the desperation behind his voice and it makes you want to make it better, but you don’t think he even understands what he’s saying to you or what he’s done.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Seungcheol. There’s no point. It was wrong of me to put myself into your life and into Matthew’s life. This is what I do. Don’t you get that? I disappoint people. Please let me—let me go. You don’t get it.”

Frustration rises in Seungcheol as you speak and as he watches your tears run down your cheeks. You were the one who didn’t get it. You thought this was just pretty words and a dream but to him, it was so much more. You were so much more.

Sliding his hand along your cheek to push away your tears, Seungcheol whispers your name as you let out a soft sob. Wanting to make you see what he feels, he cups your face in his palm and brushes his lips against yours, feeling you stiffen in his grasp for only a second before you relax. His kiss not only stuns you but it also takes your breath away. Your tears flow even more freely as Seungcheol’s fingers brush at your skin and his lips move over yours until he finally pulls away and rests his forehead against yours.

“Do you understand now?”

Wrapping your fingers around Seungcheol’s wrist, you sniff back tears as you lean your head back from his and shake your head.

“It won’t work, Seungcheol.”

Walking you towards the wall, Seungcheol shakes his head in return before leaning to kiss your cheek and tasting your tears on his lips.

"Yes, it will. It has to. I want it to… so fucking bad, baby. You feel like my missing piece. Y/N, you’re my somebody. Let me prove it to you.”

Seungcheol cups your face with both of his hands as you push your front door closed, letting him once again walk you backwards until your back is flush against the wall. The only difference this time is that it’s your lips that meet his first. You feel his fingers slide along the side of your head as he deepens the kiss, his tongue gliding into your mouth to mesh with your tongue before he groans, feeling your fingers grasp at his sides over his t-shirt.

This was everything Seungcheol had pictured for days, if not weeks, after being around you. He had wanted to kiss you that night when the two of you had shared wine on his couch. He had wanted to ask you to stay the night after dinner so that he could make love to you, and now he had you in his hands.

Sliding one hand along your neck, Seungcheol breaks the kiss long enough to meet your eyes, checking for any hesitation as his other hand moves to your hips and tugs them flush with his own. The only look in your eyes is one of desperation and desire. He wasn’t the only one who had wanted this, he had just been better at admitting it to himself than you had. Now that it was real and in front of you, your brain was in a frenzy.

“You’re so beautiful—so fucking beautiful. Wanted this… God, I’ve wanted it since I laid eyes on you. Wanna make you mine.”

Seungcheol’s hand moves back to your face, resting on your jaw so that his thumb can brush over your bottom lip, tugging it down as you whimper. There truly was nothing better than this. No art in any museum could compare to you. No artist would ever capture that look in your eyes, the bitten look of your lips, or the desire that was burning in you for Seungcheol.

“Please? Please, Cheol…”

Nodding, Seungcheol groans under his breath as you beg him to do what he wants. Glancing away from you, he gestures towards the hall in hopes that his guess of the layout of your apartment wasn’t too far off.

“Yeah, second door.”

Smiling at your pretty voice, Seungcheol leans down to capture your lips once again as his hands move from your face and hips to wrap around your thighs right under your ass. Feeling your arms wrap around his neck in surprise, he grins on your lips and lifts you with little effort, even as you gasp.

“Seungcheol, oh my god, I can walk.”

Clinging to Seungcheol, you watch as he shakes his head, walking you towards your bedroom. His strong hands are under you, holding you close to his body with each step.

“What’s the fun in that, baby? Let me have this, okay?”

Stepping into your room, Seungcheol only glances around for a second before his lips are back on yours and he takes another step towards your bed, only to sit down, allowing you to rest on his lap. Your cheeks were hot with how flustered you felt, not only about being carried to your room but about how you could already feel Seungcheol’s cock between your legs. Letting out a shaky breath on his lips, you hold onto Seungcheol’s shoulders as you give into your desire and rest your knees on either side of his legs. Rolling your hips over the bulge in his jeans and earning you a deep groan from his throat, Seungcheol leans his head back and presses his fingers into the swell of your ass through your pants.

“Shit… that—that feels so good. It’s been a long time for me, Y/N.”

Nodding, you slide your fingers from Seungcheol’s shoulder along his neck and up to his face to tilt it back towards you so you can meet his eyes as you roll your hips over him once again. You feel your own arousal beginning to soak through your panties, causing them to stick to your folds, a soft whine slipping from between your lips as your brows furrow.

“That’s okay. It’s been a while for me too, Cheol.”

It might be selfish of him, but Seungcheol thinks at that moment that if he had his way, he might be your last. He would be all you’d ever need. You’d never want to look for anyone else. All he needed to do was prove that to you.

Smiling into a soft groan, he groans as his brows furrow, feeling your fingernails press into his shoulders over his shirt. Seungcheol leans his head back and your lips against his throat has his eyes closing and his fingers tightening on your hips, pulling you down over his lap. Sliding his hands upwards, Seungcheol whispers your name as your lips move along his jaw and his head almost becomes cloudy with thoughts of putting your back on the bed and having his way with you.

“Y/N… fuck. I need to see you. Can I? Can I see you?”

Nodding, you lean back from him, letting his fingers work up your sides, pushing your shirt up as he goes. Brown eyes take in every new inch of skin exposed to him as Seungcheol furrows his brows and whispers out soft praises for you. He tells you how beautiful you are, how perfect you are, and how much he cares about you, all before pulling your shirt up and over your head and tossing it behind you into the floor.

Your cheeks burn at his attention as Seungcheol smiles at you, his fingers once again on your body. You can’t help the way that you gasp and shift in his lap as his fingers walk along your flesh, leaving goosebumps behind his path.

Shifting your shoulders forward, you feel your bra straps fall down your arms when Seungcheol’s fingers work the clasps open at the middle of your back. The garment gives way and you feel warm breath fanning across your skin before soft plush kisses move from your shoulder to the center of your chest.

Letting your bra fall into your lap, you slide your fingers into Seungcheol’s hair as his name slips from between your lips like a prayer or a hymn. You didn’t have much doubt that he would have been good at this, but it was still surprising at how much attention he was giving you and how he was taking his time—even if you wanted more and more quickly.

Tugging at his hair, you whine almost in frustration as you feel his lips brush over your nipple, only for Seungcheol to pull away and place a kiss in the same place on your other breast. You were so aroused—so wet—that you felt like you could cum untouched on his lap, but every single teasing touch kept you right on the edge.

“Cheol… please? I need more… Give me more.”

He wanted to give you more. He wanted to see more, but tasting your skin was like tasting sugar for the first time. The salt in your skin was addictive. The smell of your body wash, the perfume that you used... even the laundry detergent that you chose was like the perfect mix to keep him dazed. It’s only your voice that brings him back to the present and reminds him what he’s supposed to do.

Standing with you secure in his arms, Seungcheol quickly turns to lay you on your bed so he can hover over you. The feeling is instantly different. You had known that he was a large man and that he worked hard in the gym, but having him on top of you like this made it even more obvious how small you were compared to him.

Letting his eyes move over your face for a moment as your eyes widen, Seungcheol smirks slightly, trailing his fingers along your stomach to the clasp of your jeans. Working them open, he watches you bite your bottom lip and all he can think is how he wants to do that for you, how he’d do anything for you if you asked him to. It could be in this bed or the most simple domestic task and he would make it happen.

When Seungcheol’s palm presses to your abdomen and his fingers work their way into your jeans past your panties, you can’t help the small, surprised gasp that escapes from behind your lips. Your hips lift and Seungcheol’s middle finger barely presses between your folds, brushing over your clit, and it’s almost enough to make you want to scream his name.

You didn’t remember being this easy to please, but perhaps it wasn’t even that… no, perhaps it was Seungcheol touching you. Maybe it was his fingers sliding against your wet folds and parting them so that he can circle your entrance with that same middle finger. It was because this time you were with the man you had spent hours trying to avoid picturing spending your life with and now he was groaning your name, feeling your slick arousal coating his fingers for the first time.

“Baby, oh my god, Y/N.” Seungcheol feels his mouth water as he feels his fingers slipping through your soft, wet folds. He just shakes his head as he tries to angle his hand in your tight jeans to press his finger into you, only to whine in frustration when he can’t. “Gotta get these off. Wanna taste you… gotta open you up, baby girl.”

Smiling as you run your fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, hearing him whine, you lower your eyes to his hands as he tugs at your jeans, working them down your legs. There was this amazing juxtaposition when it came to him. You had just felt so small under him and now you were listening to him whine and talk with a pout on his lips as he tried to pull your pants off while still talking to you with such a dirty mouth.

Grinning to himself as he drops your jeans on the floor next to the bed, Seungcheol glances up at you before he wraps his arms under your thighs and scoots you up in the bed suddenly. Gasping his name, you grab at his shirt out of surprise, feeling it pull up his body as he meets your eyes again with a raised brow.

“Can’t have you falling off the bed. Do you want my shirt? You can have it, sweetheart.”

Your eyes follow Seungcheol’s hand as he reaches over his shoulder to tug at his shirt, pulling it up over his head with one swift movement. There were many ways to remove a shirt but that had to be the sexiest way you had ever seen. Trying to push your thighs together, you find you can’t as Seungcheol’s knee rests between them, drawing his eyes down to your legs as he hands you his shirt.

“Fuck… look at you.”

Hissing out a moan, you clench your fingers around Seungcheol’s shirt and lift your hips when he pushes his thumb against the center of your panties, where the cloth was sticking to your skin. This wasn’t what you meant by giving you more, but any complaints can’t make it out of your mouth as Seungcheol smirks at you, one hand resting on the bed next to your hip and the other staying between your legs.

Brushing his knuckles over your wet panties, he lets out a breath before pulling them to the side and letting out a deep groan at the sight. He knew you were wet. He had felt it on his fingers and it was easy to see even through your panties, but seeing your glistening skin was another thing entirely.

“So pretty… you’re so wet, baby girl. Is it uncomfortable?”

Nodding, you close your eyes tightly, feeling tears threatening to spill over the rims of your eyes from just anticipation.

“Yes, Cheol…”

A soft, sweet, faux cooing sound slips from his lips before Seungcheol lowers himself down between your legs to run his tongue over your soft folds. Grunting to the taste, he furrows his brows and wraps his fingers around your panties tighter, keeping them to the side as he wraps his free arm around your hip, tugging you closer to his mouth. One simple taste wasn’t nearly enough, it was only enough to make him feel feral with desire for you and for him to want to bury his face between your legs for the rest of his life.

Bringing Seungcheol’s shirt up to your mouth, you bite down on the cotton to muffle your moans. Your eyes close tightly, tears running from your eyes and towards your hairline as Seungcheol’s lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks hard and groans, sending a vibration through your body. You feel yourself clench around nothing until he runs his tongue along your folds, massaging them, pulling them into his mouth and finally pressing his tongue into your needy hole.

“Seungcheol!”

The shirt falls from your lips as you scream his name, feeling the pressure that has been building in your abdomen and threatening to overflow. Seungcheol’s lips pull up ever so slightly, even as he nudges his nose against your clit and fucks you with his tongue, feeling you clench around the muscle.

He wanted you to cum for him. He needed it more than he needed water to survive the desert. You were all that made sense right now, and getting you to bliss was the answer to everything.

Sliding his hand from around your hip, Seungcheol grunts under his breath as he leans back, face wet with your slick. Spitting on your entrance, he works two of his fingers into your velvet walls, watching you arch your back off the bed.

“There you go, baby.”

He could feel you clamping down around his fingers as you became impossible wetter, your cum seeping around his fingers with each deep thrust.

“Oh my god, Cheol...”

Smiling against your inner thigh, Seungcheol glances up at you to meet your eyes as he carefully slides his fingers out of you, feeling your walls pulse around them. He wanted more, but even if you decided that you couldn’t handle more or that you didn’t want more, seeing you like that would be enough.

Reaching out for him, you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling instantly frustrated at the feeling of his jeans against your skin. The only thing that makes it better is his soft, plush lips on yours. You try to think quickly of anything better than Choi Seungcheol’s kiss—the way he would smile against your mouth before licking into it with a groan—and nothing comes to mind. Muttering into the kiss, you drag your fingers along his sides, feeling him shiver under your hands before he leans back to look down at you with want in his eyes.

“Off, take them off. Want—I want you. Please?”

At first, when you say off, Seungcheol’s heart almost drops into his stomach. He thinks that you really have had enough of him for the night, but then your nails tug at the top of his jeans and a smile pulls at his pretty lips.

“Anything you want... fuck, Y/N. I’d give you the world.”

Sucking on your bottom lip, you feel heat rising in your cheeks and along your chest and neck at Seungcheol’s words. You had fallen deep and hard for this man and he was a romantic. You weren’t going to get out of this without a few scars or in one piece, but now you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

Watching him closely, your eyes follow Seungcheol as he slides off the bed to push his jeans down along with his boxers, leaving him naked in front of you. Bringing your fingers up to your already bitten lips, you turn on your side and press your cheek against your arm, trying to hide your reaction, but the look on Seungcheol’s face tells you that you haven’t gotten off that easily.

Moving back to you, he runs his hand up the length of your leg, stopping at your hip as he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his other hand pulling your fingers from your lips. Seungcheol watches as your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp of his name when he guides your hand to his cock. With your hand in his, he guides your palm over the head of his length before wrapping your fingers around his shaft and dragging your hand from tip to base.

“This okay?”

Nodding quickly, you whine, feeling Seungcheol thrust his hips gently towards your hand as he lets go of yours in place of running his fingers over your head, a groan slipping from his lips. He didn’t want to get off like this, and he wouldn’t, but with how you had been looking at him—a mixture of lust and surprise—Seungcheol wanted to make sure you knew what was going inside of you.

Your eyes stay on his face for a moment longer before they drop to your hand and Seungcheol’s cock in your hand. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t tell he was big, but feeling and seeing were different stories. It wasn’t length but girth. He was thick enough that you could already imagine the stretch and found yourself thanking him in your mind for making you cum first.

“Sh—shit baby… I gotta stop you.”

Putting his hand back over yours, Seungcheol licks his lips and moves your hand from his leaking cock as it twitches, almost begging you for more. He already felt so close. Just looking at you, fucking you with his tongue, and feeling you on his fingers had been enough to make him feel like he was going to cum, but now your hand on him? He was lucky he didn’t cum the second he put your fingers around his cock.

“Fuck me, Cheol.”

Your voice is timid and almost a whisper but Seungcheol can hear it. Furrowing his brows, he licks his lips once more before shaking his head and this time your heart sinks before he speaks and slides his hand between your legs, parting them so he can once again run his fingers through your already swollen, wet folds.

“No… I’m not going to fuck you, baby girl.” Grinning as you start to pout and whine in protest, Seungcheol leans to kiss your lips as he pushes two fingers into you, feeling you arch off the bed. “I’m gonna make love to you. There’s a difference.”

Gasping on his lips, you hold on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as Seungcheol rocks his fingers back against your spot, feeling you clench down over them once again. When you throw your head back, cum once again coating his fingers, Seungcheol groans, leaning to press his lips to the column of your throat, feeling your swallow hard under his kiss.

“That’s it, such a good girl. You feel good?”

Out of breath, you nod weakly as Seungcheol looks down at you, sliding his fingers out of you.

“That’s all I want, baby…”

Glancing around the room, Seungcheol leans his head on his arm before taking a breath and wincing a bit before asking you what he had been mildly dreading from the moment this had begun. He knew it could make or break the moment, but it was important.

“I didn’t bring anything with me with the assumption that something like this was happening.

Fuck, I mean, I don’t even think I have condoms at my place. Do you have anything?”

Smiling as you bite your lips, you run your fingers over Seungcheol’s cheek before tracing his lips, feeling him press a kiss to your fingers.

“I’m on birth control, Cheol. It’s fine.”

Taking a deep breath against your fingers, Seungcheol nods, feeling the pressure melt away as you run your knee along his outer thigh up to his hip. He hated the idea of disappointing you after making a big promise like he had, but now the pressure was taken over by desire. It was an honor to be in your bed in the first place, but like this? His head was spinning.

Sliding his fingers along your bent leg, Seungcheol leans into your hand as you cup his cheek before he turns to kiss your palm and nods, letting you know without words what he was doing. Gasping softly at the feeling of the tip of his cock running through your folds, you close your eyes and drop your hand to his shoulder as you push your head back into the pillow. Not even imagining the stretch could actually prepare you for the real thing as Seungcheol slowly eased inside of you bit by bit.

“Oh my god.” The words fall from your lips like a prayer, tears finding your eyes again as the painful stretch is quickly replaced with pleasure. “Seungcheol… fuck. You’re…”

The words get caught in your throat and Seungcheol looks up at you in concern, seeing tears running from your eyes. Running his fingers over your face, he stops moving and presses his lips to yours, only to feel you shake your head and lift your hips, trying to get more of him inside of you.

“Ah—fuck, Y/N… I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Nodding, you capture Seungcheol’s lips, kissing him between words.

“I’m okay. Feels so good, baby. Please give me more.”

Hearing you call him baby left Seungcheol stunned and love struck. He pauses before feeling you once again lift your hips before you wrap your legs around his waist and whine his name on his lips.

“Okay…okay. It’s just... call me that again? Please?”

You hadn’t even realized what you had said until he asked for you to call him the pet name again. Opening your eyes as you press your head back into the pillow, you feel Seungcheol bottom out in you, the stretch so intense that you clench around him, earning yourself a well deserved groan from his chest.

“Baby?”

You watch as Seungcheol nods, another groan dripping from his lips like candy for you to collect. Smiling, you can’t hold back a soft moan as Seungcheol makes a shallow thrust and you feel full and complete. You find yourself wanting to always feel like this. Warm, full, and safe.

“I—lo—” You struggle with your words as Seungcheol thrusts deep and harder, sending your head towards the headboard. Reaching back over your head, you hold on to the side of it and hum out another moan before nodding. “Just like that, baby. I’m so close. You’re right, there’s a difference.”

Seungcheol smiles at your words as he leans down to press a kiss on your shoulder. He was hoping you hadn’t been upset with him for telling you he was going to make love to you. There would be plenty of time for him to fuck you later—at least he hoped so. If he got his way, this would be forever. He could already picture himself buying a ring and getting down on one knee.

Shaking his head to push that thought from his head, not wanting to scare you away, Seungcheol nips at your neck and groans, feeling himself about to burst. He had already made you cum twice, but it was important to him that you were satisfied. He would do everything he could not to cum before you.

Tugging one of your legs loose from his waist, Seungcheol meets your eyes as he slides his hand between your bodies and finds your folds. He watches as your mouth falls open as his fingertips rub in tight circles over your clit, all while his cock is buried deep inside of you until that cord that was winding in your abdomen snaps once again.

“Yes…yes—oh fuck!”

Your voice was like music and had to be what angels sound like. That was all Seungcheol could think of as you came on his cock. You were so tight before, but now, as you orgasmed for the third time with him inside of you, he had seen heaven, and he wasn’t sure how he survived you.

“Please… now you. Cheol, baby… please?”

You begging him to cum only solidified that he had to have died and gone to heaven because there was no way for him to resist you. There was no way for him to hold back. Groaning loudly against the crook of your neck, Seungcheol cums as he feels your thighs start to shake around him.

Running your fingers through his sweaty, damp hair, you close your eyes and focus on catching your breath as Seungcheol rests over your body. He was afraid he was too heavy, but the moment he tried to move away from you, a small whine of protest had him staying right where he was. Placing small kisses on the top of your breasts, Seungcheol then glances up at you, seeing the bliss on your face and he can’t help but smile.

“You are so beautiful.”

Laughing softly, you open your eyes and look down at Seungcheol before lifting your hand to hide your face. There was no way you looked remotely beautiful at the moment. You knew you were sweaty and in desperate need of a shower and yet here was the most attractive man you had ever seen in your life, telling you that you were beautiful.

Wrapping his hand gently around your wrist, Seungcheol pulls your hand from your face and kisses the back of it before bringing your palm to his chest. You feel his heart beating hard as he too works to catch his breath.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I am so—shit I don’t want to scare you away, but I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll lose you again. I’m in love with you.”

Taking a sharp breath at Seungcheol’s confession, you glance up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at his eyes. A small frown replaces his smile as he hears your heart beat quicken in panic. He hadn’t wanted you to panic, but he knew it was a risk. Carefully sliding out of you and to your side, Seungcheol lifts your hand from his chest to his lips and kisses the back of your knuckles as you bite at your lips.

“Y/N, baby, please look at me? I wanna talk about this. I know you feel something for me or else we wouldn’t be in this bed.”

Pushing your thighs together, feeling even more sticky and sweaty, you feel yourself becoming even more self conscious until you meet Seungcheol’s eyes and see the concerned look on his face. You didn’t want to hurt him again. You had spent so much of your life running and once you had a good thing, it bit you in the ass. So now that you had walls that he had taken a sledgehammer to, it was terrifying.

“I—you’re right. I do feel something for you. I feel a lot of things. I’m just so fucking scared, Seungcheol. What if we mess this up? I don’t—”

Closing your eyes, your words end on a sob as your emotions get the better of you. Moving to pull you into his arms, Seungcheol shakes his head and shushes you before kissing the side of your head, letting you continue.

“I can’t hurt Matthew. I love him so much. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not proper for a teacher to have a favorite like that.”

Smiling against your head, Seungcheol takes a deep breath and places another kiss before shaking his head.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with being his teacher or a teacher in general. I think—and you can tell me to shove it up my ass if I’m out of line, but I think it has to do with just love in general. You are maternal, Y/N.”

Swallowing hard, you hold onto Seungcheol’s forearm as you think through what he has said.

There was a part of you that did want to tell him to shove it, but a larger part that knew he wasn’t wrong. You had pictured far too often a life with them that wasn’t just being Matthew’s teacher.

“I feel like I should apologize for that or something.”

Leaning back to look down at you, Seungcheol moves his hand to tilt your chin up so you will look at him. Furrowing his brow, he shakes his head and the look in his eyes is the most serious you have seen in the entire night.

“Never apologize for loving my son. He loves you too.”

The words go straight to your heart and tears stream down your face. You picture Matthew’s sweet smile as you close your eyes and you know you have to ask about him.

“I—okay. Can I—can I ask how he’s doing?”

Pulling you back to his chest, Seungcheol leans against your headboard and leans his head back against it with a soft sigh.

“He’s sad, baby. He misses you. He doesn’t like school as much, even if Mrs. Lim is a decent teacher. He asked if you didn’t like him anymore and that was why you had to teach other little kids.”

Seungcheol knew the truth of what Matthew had been dealing with would hurt you, but it was something that you needed to know. He could have sugar coated it, but when it came to his son and how he was feeling, that was something Seungcheol would never do. He isn’t surprised when he feels your body shake against his. It breaks his heart to feel your tears against his chest as you turn in his arms to be held tighter.

“I can’t go back to that—to that school, Cheol. I didn't… I’m the fucking worst.”

Shushing you, Seungcheol kisses the top of your head as tears sit on the rims of his eyes, feeling your heartbreak and his own for his son.

“I know it wasn’t just about us. That wasn’t why you left. What’s done is done. You aren’t the worst; don’t talk about yourself like that. All we need to do is talk to Matthew about it. He will understand.”

"Alright, listen, if your dad asks about the weekend, what are you gonna say?”

Jeonghan lifts a brow as he looks down at Matthew on his right. The little boy’s hand in his as he smiles up at him. It had taken a lot to get that smile on his face and he was proud to see it. Between him and Joshua, a weekend of trash tv, and all the worst foods you could feed a child, he was finally seeing the Matthew he knew.

“That Uncle Jeonghan and Uncle Shua let me watch edgeucational things only on TV.”

Clicking his tongue as he winks at his godson, Jeonghan fishes his key for Seungcheol’s apartment out of his pocket and pushes the door open. Shifting the overnight bag on his shoulder, he doesn’t glance up until he hears Matthew gasp in surprise. The sound scares him, his eyes widening as the boy takes off, running towards the living room and drawing his eyes in that direction.

“What! What’s wrong?”

It’s when he sees you sitting on the couch with Seungcheol that it makes sense. He watches as Matthew wraps his arms around your neck, the sad expression on your face and tears in your eyes as you wrap your arms around the child, pulling him into your lap.

Meeting Seungcheol’s eyes, Jeonghan lifts his brows and gets a grin back as an answer. Shaking his head, Jeonghan drops the bag from his shoulder onto the couch and lets out a low, deep sigh. It had taken long enough, but clearly things had worked out the way they were supposed to. He just wished it had happened sooner and not at the expense of Matthew’s happiness. At least he could relish in the happy look on his face now, that was making up for almost all of it.

“Well then, I was going to see if you needed me to stay for a bit today, but clearly...”

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol stands up to hug Jeonghan, whispering that he will explain everything later. Glancing back to you and Matthew, he presses his lips together as you nod along with Matthew’s story about his weekend with Uncle Jeonghan and Joshua, letting him have a moment to walk Jeonghan to the door.

“Yeah, I wanna know all the juicy details. Jihoon owes me 100 bucks.”

Grinning as Seungcheol makes a face of disgust, Jeonghan waves at you and Matthew before walking out the door, leaving the three of you to yourself. Leaning against the wall, Seungcheol watches for a moment longer, his lip caught between his teeth as you run your fingers through Matthew’s hair lovingly while you explain the new job.

“But, I’ll still see you all the time. I promise, okay? I just have to help other kids for the rest of the year.”

Pouting a bit, Matthew wraps his hand around yours, pulling it into his lap before nodding.

“Mmkay… as long as you come over all the time.”

Smiling a bit sheepishly as he looks from you to his dad and back, Matthew kicks his legs and giggles, making you tilt your head as Seungcheol moves to the couch to sit next to you.

“Daddy, does this mean that Miss Y/N can be my mommy now?”

Blanching slightly, Seungcheol’s mouth falls open as he looks at you, watching your lips press together. Meeting his son’s eyes, he tries to speak before laughing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, that’s adult business, son. I don’t know. Maybe one day. You know if Y/N will have your daddy as a husband.”

Looking away to hide your embarrassed smile, you clear your throat as Matthew giggles once again and slides from your arms to his dad’s.

“I think that’s a yes. All the boys on the TV show Uncle Shua liked got down on their knees and just asked. Most of the girls said yes, even though they were behind a wall!”

His eyes widening, Seungcheol looks at you as you laugh and brings your fingers to your lips before speaking.

“I thought you said you guys watched educational videos?”

Looking down at his hands, realizing he had said too much, Matthew grins and shrugs.

“I didn’t say nothing.”

Eyes narrowing, Seungcheol presses his fingers into his son’s side, tickling him as he shakes his head.

“I need to have a talk with your uncles about teaching you how to lie and letting you watch garbage.”

Smiling, you watch the two people you love the most as they laugh and end up hugging when Seungcheol kisses Matthew’s cheek. You could get used to seeing this every day.

You had thought that after you had helped Seugcheol get Matthew to bed, you might sneak back to your apartment, but then he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pouted. That was how you ended up on his bed, his lips on your neck as you whined softly, doing your best to keep your voice down, feeling him smile against your skin.

“Seung–Seungcheol, please. I’m trying to be quiet. I’m not sure I can do this. What if we wake up, Matthew? How do we even explain—”

Leaning back, Seungcheol meets your eyes and purses his lips before sliding off the bed and offering you his hand. Taking a breath to calm down, you put your fingers on his and let him guide you off the bed and towards the connected ensuite.

“We don’t have to explain anything, baby. He’s a heavy sleeper, but if you are worried.”

Leaning against the counter of the double sink, you watch as Seungcheol leans into the glass shower to turn it on. The sound of water fills your ears and you smile as the man you had grown to adore beyond words looks back at you for praise as if he had just moved the earth for you.

“Smart…”

Nodding along with your words, Seungcheol moves back over to you, sliding the skirt of your sundress up your legs to your hips.

“I mean, I am a doctor. It’s a requirement.”

Smacking his chest, you listen to Seungcheol’s laugh and it makes you feel warm and safe. Lifting your arms, you let him quickly undress you, dropping your dress on the counter before he takes a knee and hooks his fingers into your panties, shimmying them down your legs.

“You don’t look half bad on your knee, Dr. Choi.”

Seungcheol lifts his brow, a smirk pulling at one side, before he leans to press a kiss to your leg, discarding your panties to the side. You run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, chill bumps spreading under his kisses.

“You like me on my knee? Wanna see me like this again?”

Your cheeks burning, you bite at your lips and hide your smile as you look away from his eyes as Seungcheol looks up at you before rising to his feet once again. Turning your head back towards him, Seungcheol brushes his lips over yours as steam starts to fill the room. He could feel the warmth on your cheeks under his fingers as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone towards your hairline.

“Hm? I asked you something, baby girl.”

Whining his name, you take a breath as Seungcheol takes a step back to tug off his shirt and quickly get rid of his pants and boxers before offering you his hand once again.

“You can’t ask me things like that. It’s too soon.”

Shaking his head, Seungcheol leads you towards the shower, opening the door for you and following you inside. His eyes move along your body as the water hits your skin and you lean your head back into the stream of water with a smile on your face. Lifting his free hand, Seungcheol runs it between your breasts and down your stomach as the smile on his lips grows.

“Too soon for what? For me to already be thinking about wanting to marry you? Shit, I was thinking about that the night we drank wine until 2 in the morning on my couch.”

Licking water from your lips, you lift your head to look at Seungcheol as he speaks to you. His words make you feel hot and almost speechless. He had wanted you for that long? He had wanted you that way for that long.

Meeting your eyes for a second, Seungcheol lets out a soft hum of appreciation at the dazed look on your face before his middle finger drags between your folds and your knees buckle. Quickly wrapping his arm around your waist, he groans as he turns your back towards the shower wall and lets you rest against it.

“I’m in it for the long haul, baby. I think you know that. Is that something you’d want? Hm? What was Matthew asking earlier? To be his mommy?”

Your lips fall open in a moan of Seungcheol’s name as you feel two of his fingers hook into you and his palm rests against your clit. Lifting your leg, you wrap one around his waist, letting him keep you upright as you try to think straight, only managing to babble incoherently. You weren’t sure how he wanted you to think clearly and come up with logical words when his fingers were so deep in you.

“Tell me… I really wanna know. Doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen tonight, but... I won’t lie, thinking about you like that—as my wife…” You feel Seungcheol shiver as a grin pulls at his lips against your jaw. “It turns me on.”

You knew Seungcheol was romantic and now you knew he had particular kinks. God you were in trouble. You were in trouble of being in constant pleasure if you did end up being this man's wife. Holding onto Seungcheol’s biceps, you whisper his name as his lips brush against yours before nodding and feeling him nod in return.

“You do? Yeah? Can you say it for me? I wanna hear it. Indulge me, sweetheart.”

Whining, you lean your head back against the shower wall as you feel yourself starting to fall over the edge. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes from pleasure as you whimper and your mouth falls open, cum slipping down Seungcheol’s fingers as you moan out the words he wants to hear.

“I would; I would wanna be your wife, Cheol. I love you.”

Bracing himself against the wall, palm flat against it, Seungcheol groans, feeling himself unable to hold back. It’s not everything he has to give you, but you are surprised to feel warm cum on your stomach, drawing your eyes downward.

“Oh, my god...”

Sighing, Seungcheol laughs, a bit embarrassed, before pushing off the wall and sliding his fingers out of you. Wiping his mouth clean of water, he uses his other hand to hold your leg to his hip as before, stroking his still hard cock a couple times and lining himself up with your eager pussy.

“I told you I liked the idea of it. I love you, too. Fuck…”

The last word out of Seungcheol’s mouth is drawn out as he slips himself inside of you with some effort. In this position, you were even tighter than he was used to. He had taken you to bed a few times over the weekend, but never like this and you had never sucked his cock in like you were trying to milk him dry.

Holding your hip tightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you let out a soft gasp, feeling his hips meet yours. At this angle, you felt like he was going to tear you apart, but you weren’t complaining. There was bad pain, and then there was this. This was that sweet, satisfying pain that led to so much pleasure that you saw stars, and you were starting to see them.

Lips meeting yours, Seungcheol groans into the kiss as he grinds his hips against yours, finding it harder to move after a few deep thrusts when you clamp down over him and cum once again. Scratching at his wet skin, you bite down into his bottom lip before leaning back from his kiss to pant out his name when Seungcheol groans so deep it sounds like a growl.

He had made love to you before; there had truly been a difference between that and now. The way his fingers were bruising your hips and the way his hips were slapping against yours—now he was fucking you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him which way you preferred, even as you watched his mouth fall open as he cums once again, this time filling you and pushing it out with each deep thrust.

“Holy shit, baby.”

Furrowing your brows, you let out a soft gasp as Seungcheol slips from you and lowers your leg safely back to the floor. Keeping your back to the wall, you take a few deep breaths, feeling his fingers running along your sides as his lips press to your throat, up your jaw, and finally to your lips before you smile.

“That was…”

Nodding to agree with you, Seungcheol laughs against your lips before taking a step back to step under the showerhead, feeling the warm water run over his body. Opening your eyes, you can’t help the way you shyly look at him before laughing and looking away, making him grin as he reaches for his shampoo with a tilt of his head.

“What? Are you shy now? Is this about being in the shower with me or, uh, wife talk?”

Wrinkling your nose, you knock your head back against the shower wall before pushing off of it and towards Seungcheol. Watching him follow you with curious eyes, you sigh and lift your arms to run your fingers through his hair, spreading around the shampoo as you speak, feeling his hands running over your hips.

“The last part. It is a little fast. but I—is it bad that I like it too? Maybe I want that? Not now!” You are quick to add on the last to your sentence, making Seungcheol laugh before he leans his head back into the water, washing out the shampoo from his hair. “Just in the future, with you?”

Taking a breath, Seungcheol runs his fingers through his hair and then holds on to your waist, switching positions under the shower head to let you stand there as he grabs body wash to start spreading it over your body slowly.

“Not at all. I want it... in the future.”

Smiling brightly, Seungcheol meets your eyes as you whine, feeling overwhelmed. Leaning to kiss your nose, he sighs and spreads the soapy water along your body as he nods.

“Did I ever tell you that if I got married again, I’d love to have my honeymoon in Barcelona?”

He was great at breaking the tension. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled up at your lips or the laugh that spilled from between them as you shook your head, turning in his arms to let him wash your back.

“No? Well, that’s my dream destination. I’ve never been, and what better place to go with my bride?”

READ THE BONUS ON PATREON

#seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #svthub #svthub.collab #scoups smut #seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #scoups fluff #seungcheol angst #seventeen angst #scoups angst #svt smut #svt fluff #svt angst #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen

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sincere1ystar · 7 months ago

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Loved You First

rafe cameron x fem! reader | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1

Two years ago, Rafe left the island without saying a word. Unknowingly to him, you were pregnant all along. When he finally comes back, he’s desperate to get you back not knowing it’s more complicated than it seems.

𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

Two years ago. That’s when you last saw Rafe Cameron. And during those two years you were pregnant for nine months with his baby. Not that he knew though.

It was difficult to say the least, and if it wasn’t for your little girl Julie , your heart would have never recovered. She was only about a year and a half, but she was sunshine in human form. Julie had the same eyes as her father that destroyed your idea of love, but she had your kind and giving spirit. She had the same smile as the man who left you one day for good, but she had your fondness for animals. Sure many of her physical attributes came from Rafe, but her heart was all you.

Maybe Rafe disappearing without a single explanation or goodbye was the reason you swore off affection for good. Everyone knew it did, but you insisted that your decision to lock the door of love and throw awake the key was to focus on yourself and your baby. Plus it’s not like you haven’t moved on. Well, maybe not romantically speaking, but you’ve moved on with your life. You had a job as a waitress at the local diner and even though Julie didn’t have her dad in the picture, your friends made sure that she had many aunts and uncles to shower her with love and care.

Of course you still struggled. Providing for a child was expensive, especially with only having a waitress job to support the two of you. On top of it all pathetic as it was, you still thought about Rafe even though it was two years since he left without a word. What if he stayed? He hadn’t even known you were pregnant, you never got the chance to tell him.

You constantly found yourself dwelling on these what-ifs. But it’s not like anything would change, your paths would never cross for. The thought was solidified in your head until you heard the news. Rafe was back on the island.

Well he technically wasn’t back permanently. But he’s been coming back and forth for buisness trips, and each time you’ve managed to skillfully avoid him. Not like it was hard, The two main places you spent your time was the diner and home anyway.

The first time you saw him in person after everything was at the diner. One of your friends was babysitting little Julie as you were working a double shift that day. You were giggling at a joke on of your coworkers made when the door chimed open.

“Hey what can I get started for you”— The menu in your hands was now dropped onto the floor once you saw who it was. Rafe. Your ex lover and the father of your child, who didn’t even know he was a father.

You weren’t going to let him see you weak. You weren’t going to let him see you flustered while stumbling over your words. “Sorry about that. What can i get started for you again?”

“Hey.. Can we talk?”, Rafe asks not even bothering to look at the menu placed in front of him. Unlike you, he wasn’t caught off guard in the least. He must have found out you were working at the diner somehow.

Two years. Two years since he left without a word. It didn’t matter whether or not he knew you were pregnant or not, he still left. And you were determined to not let him back in that easy. “I’m sorry that’s not an option on our menu. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“I just need five minutes—“

“So what can I get started for you today? Our appetizers are on the front page”.

“Fine play it like that. I’ll take a water then”.

Before he can say anything else you turn back, your heels stomping during each step. He’s back? Why did he have to come here out of all place? Who does he think he is asking to talk? He’s the one who left two years ago without saying a word. If your boss hadn’t let out a small cough to interrupt your thoughts, you wouldn’t have realized that the cup in your hand was overflowing as you poured the water mindlessly.

He stayed there the rest of the day. Still sitting in that little booth just ordering a glass of water over and over again. And everytime you went over to ask if he’d like the check, he’d beg for a chance to talk again and again. Why was he desperately trying to fix things after two whole years? Did he know about.. No no he couldn’t.

Of course you were closing that night, which meant that you couldn’t escape Rafe as you locked up the diner for the night. You were tired of his attempts and just wanted to go home to your daughter.

“Just five minutes”, Rafe pleaded once again. “You know what no I’ll take two minutes of your time that’s all. Promise”.

“Listen I know I’m an idiot I know”, he started, And I left and I was stupid and it took me two years to realize”-

You stop him right there not willing to hear another word. “Yeah you were stupid. I don’t want your pity or your apologizes. It was two years ago Rafe, I’m sure we both moved on”. You start walking towards the nearest bus stop as Rafe follows close behind.

“Wait! Wait okay okay! I’m not asking for your forgiveness okay?.. I uh need a place to stay”, his words rush and overflow out of his mouth. He was desperate to get you to listen to him. Even if he had to lie about needing a place to stay.

His words stop you in your tracks. “A place to stay? I know you sold your place back at Tannyhill a while back but you don’t have… a rental house or something?”

“Not anymore… I sold it. And all the hotels are fully booked around here”.

Rafe knew it was a reach, and didn’t expect you to comply. If it wasn’t peak tourism season at the island you wouldn’t have believed him. “Fine. You can stay over at my house for a night”.

You were always sweet. Even to the man that abandoned you without a word. It’s just who you were. You could pretend to be cold and heartless in front of Rafe, but you both knew deep down that wasn’t who you were.

It’s a long and awkward bus ride, Rafe tries to speak every now and then but you quickly shut him down. He’s suddenly quiet once the two of you reach your place though. It’s… modest to say the least. Not in the best neighborhood either, but who was he t judge anyway. Being judgmental wasn’t going to get you back.

He notices how you have to practically kick open the door in order to get it unlocked. He also notices how small and cramped your place is. What does catch him off guard is the little girl running into your arms the minute you open the door.

“Mamaaaaaaaa!!!!!”, little Julie squeals as she toddles over to you and throws herself into your arms. Your friend who was babysitting her just chuckles at the little girl’s reaction and gets up from her spot on the couch.

“How has it been a year and a half already? She’s growing too fast”, your friend coos as you agree.

You quickly thank her for watching your Julie, hoping she won’t notice Rafe on her way out and by some miracle she doesn’t. But little Julie does as she giggles and waves to him from over your shoulder.

The door shutting from your friend’s exit is what forces Rafe out of his thoughts. That little girl in your arms was your daughter Was she his daughter too? He didn’t even need to ask, she had to be. With those eyes she had there was no doubt about it.

You don’t have to say anything to Rafe. The look you give him says it all.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe x you #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #rafe fic #loved you first series ♡

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v6quewrlds · 5 months ago

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DOCTOR'S ORDERS, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀9.6k.

summary⠀⁎⠀between petty fights and an abnormal level of clinginess, you're at your wit's end with joe's recent behavior. who would've known that ja'marr could crack the code before you?

author's note⠀⁎⠀combined a couple of different requests into one. collection of scenes more than a real plot? struggled with the smut so pls forgive me if it sucks. i have zero medical training, pls don't yell at me. warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, established relationship, married couple fights, one (1) communism joke, joe can't shut up when he's in love syndrome, teasing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), joey talks you through it <3

Slumped shoulders and tired sighs filled the still air of their Cincinnati home as you and Joe crossed the threshold just ten minutes apart. Words remained limited to the necessary as you greeted each other for the first time that evening, the clock hanging over the front door reading 6:45 PM. The crisp smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer mingled with the lingering scent of Joe's familiar deodorant and cologne.

You padded down the hallway to your room, heels in hand, eager to shed your work clothes and scrub the clinical office off your skin. You hadn't seen Joe in what felt like days, your paths only crossing at night, a brief intermission in your chaotic schedules. Between your patients and his training, the time you had together was a blur of tired half-sentences and fleeting kisses.

Mindlessly, you stripped out of your white coat and knee-length dress, tossing them onto the chair by the door. The sound of the fabric hitting the wood was a welcome release of the day's tension. You stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower knob, letting the water heat up. You heard Joe's footsteps approaching, the soft thud of his sock-covered feet entering your bedroom.

You lathered away at your brown skin, softly humming a tune that had been stuck in your head all day. The warm water cascaded over you, the steam wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Joe's large frame filled the doorway. You paid him no attention, assuming he was just checking in before heading back to the bedroom to answer some emails, settle into bed, and mentally prepare himself for his media obligations tomorrow afternoon.

To your surprise, Joe didn't retreat. He stepped closer to the shower, his blue eyes squinting at you through the foggy glass, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "I need a shower too, babe. Can you hurry?" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, holding back before answering him. "I had a full schedule today," you retorted, your voice echoing off the tiles. "You got home before me. Did you not get one in at the facility?"

Joe leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "No, I wanted to shower at home." He tried to play it cool, but the hint of irritation in his voice was unmistakable. It was one of his rare flaws, the inability to hide his emotions when it came to inconveniences.

You reached for your exfoliating sponge, the sweet scent of your body scrub filling the small space. "Baby," you began, your voice firm yet tired. "I'm almost done. You could've used one of the other bathrooms."

Joe's sigh grew heavier, the frustration in his eyes evident. "It's not the same, all my stuff is in here," he said, his voice tight. "Why are you taking so long? Just hurry up."

You couldn't help but feel a spark of annoyance flicker within you. You had been looking forward to this shower, the one thing you could control after a long day of treating patients and navigating the chaos of your new practice. "Joe, I’ve been seeing patients all day. Can't you wait five more minutes?" you snapped, your voice bouncing off the shower walls.

He stepped closer, his expression unyielding. "Five minutes turns into ten, turns into twenty," he said, his voice flat. "I'm exhausted, babe. I just want to get clean."

You felt a twinge of guilt, but you stood your ground. "I've been looking forward to this shower all day," you said, your voice a mix of frustration and weariness. "You could've just told me you needed to get in first."

Joe grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, pacing for a minute before yanking off his clothes. You felt the cooler air of the bathroom flood the shower before you realized what he was doing. You squealed as Joe stepped in behind you, large hands reaching for your shampoo as if disregarding your personal space.

"Joey," you whined, your pout deepening as the shower suddenly felt much smaller. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, ignoring the tone of your voice to deliver a straightforward answer. "What does it look like? We're sharing."

The initial shock gave way to a playful scoff from you as you turned to face him, your eyes glinting with amusement despite your earlier irritation. "You're serious?"

Joe nodded, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he squeezed past you to stand under the water. "Deadly," he said, "If you’re good, I might even scrub your back for you."

You rolled your eyes, gently nudging him away from the direct shower of the steamy water. "You can’t hijack my shower, Joe. That’s not how this works," you said with a huff.

Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he stepped closer to you, the water now spraying you both. "I'm not hijacking, I'm sharing," he said, his hands reaching for your very expensive, tropical-scented shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his large, open palm. "Like we learned in preschool?"

You didn't respond, choosing instead to focus on scrubbing your extended arms. You felt Joe's amused chuckle reverberate through his chest as he lathered his hair, the suds cascading over his shoulders and down his torso.

Sensing your irritation, Joe reached over you to nudge the temperature valve. The once warm embrace of water turned frigid, causing you to jump and shriek. "Joseph!" you yelped, trying to avoid the icy spray. You took a step back, your back meeting the solid wall of Joe's broad chest as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, the water temperature now to his liking.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with feigned innocence. "Just how I like it." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as the cold water continued to assault your skin. You squirmed in his grasp, the shock of the cold water fading into a laugh as you realized the futility of fighting him on this.

"Joe," you squealed, your laughter mixing with the sound of the water, "turn it back!" Your attempts to escape his grip only made you laugh harder as he held you firmly, his deep laughter vibrating against your back. You attempted to get a hand on the valve but your movement was cut short by Joe's larger hand gently swatting yours away.

"Come on, it's good for your skin," his deep voice rumbled in your ear. You shivered and tried to push him away, but he was too strong. The cold water continued to pummel them, and you felt your body tighten with the shock of it. "You should know better, doc," he quipped, his breath warm against your neck.

Your tense laughter subsided into a whine. "Joey, please," you begged, your teeth chattering slightly. "It's too cold. You're ruining my shower."

"Your shower?" Joe echoed, his tone incredulous. "This is our shower now."

You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself, the absurdity of the situation bringing a smile to your lips. You leaned back into him, your body beginning to warm again as the chill dissipated. His arms tightened around you as the water washed away the last of the soap. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the water the only thing breaking up the quiet.

"Alright, Comrade Burrow, let go of me," you said, your voice filled with mock irritation. Joe's arms loosened, allowing you to twist the valve back to a warmer temperature. The lukewarm water washed over you, and you turned to face him, your eyes dancing with playful anger.

"That's strike two," you muttered, a hand settling against his jaw as you pulled him down for a chaste kiss, leaving his skin tingling with a bite at his pink bottom lip.

Joe raised an eyebrow, chasing your lips as you pulled away and turned back around. "Strike two?"

You nodded, your eyes still closed, as you enjoyed the warm water cascading over you. "First, you try to bully me out of my shower, then you try to freeze me to death. You're on thin ice, babe."

Joe leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll warm you right up," he whispered, his hands skimming over your wet body.

"That's strike three, I'm leaving." You giggled, pushing Joe's hands away with a gentle smack. You stepped out of the shower, your skin glistening with water droplets. Joe stepped aside, the playfulness in his eyes never fading as he watched you wrap a towel around yourself. You grabbed another for him, tossing it onto the vanity counter before exiting the bathroom.

Joe stepped out behind you, long limbs leaving a puddle on the gray mat beneath his feet. He wrapped the towel around his waist, his skin still slightly red from the cold water. "You're cute when you're mad," he said, his voice teasing.

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you couldn't hold back. "I'm not mad," you replied, walking over to your side of the sink to start your nightly skincare routine. "Just disappointed."

Joe stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body contrasting the coolness of the bathroom air. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at your reflection in the mirror. "How can you be disappointed with this?" he asked, his voice playful as he gestured to your reflection.

Your hand paused mid toner application, and you couldn't help but smile. "It's the principle," you said, turning your attention back to your routine. You felt Joe's warm breath against your neck as he leaned closer, his arms tightening around your waist.

"Well, the principle is that we both needed showers, and we're both tired," Joe said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Let's just get ready for bed before we start arguing over stupid shit again."

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. You finished your skincare routine, your movements precise and methodical, while Joe brushed his teeth with a hint of minty toothpaste wafting through the air. Joe finished drying off, forgoing a trip to his closet for a pair of sweatpants, and simply heading off to bed.

You set off for the closet, swapping your towel for Joe's raggedy Athens Bulldogs long-sleeve and a pair of his boxers. The fabric of his shirt was well-worn and smelled faintly of his scent. You couldn't help the shy flutter of your heart as you emerged to find him sprawled out underneath your sheets, taking up a good deal of space. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow over Joe's muscular form. His bare chest peeked out from beneath the line of the sheets covering his lower half. He held his phone in one hand, the other arm bent behind his head as he scrolled through his notifications with a trademark unimpressed expression.

You approached the bed, sliding under the covers with a dramatic sigh, your body heat immediately melding with his. As if second nature, Joe's arm curled around your waist, his free hand coming to rest on your lower back, your head finding its usual spot on his firm chest. The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional buzz of his phone. Your eyes drifted shut, the warmth and safety of Joe's arms around you acting as a sedative after a grueling day.

"Love you," he hummed, placing his phone on the nightstand before switching the bedside lamp off. The sudden darkness enveloped them, and you felt Joe's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. You knew he was waiting for your response, but you remained silent, fighting off the twitch of a smirk.

He nudged you, a hint of urgency in his voice, "You gonna say it back?"

You pretended to be asleep, your body relaxed and limp against him, enjoying the quiet after the shower squabble. You felt his grip on you tighten slightly, a silent protest to your silence. With a dramatic sigh, you opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbow, the moonlight from your bedroom window highlighting the mischief in your gaze. "You really expect me to after you ruined my relaxing evening?"

Joe rolled his eyes, but the tension in his body dissipated as he couldn't help but smile at your feigned indignation. "I love you," he repeated, his voice softer this time.

You leaned in, your fingertips tracing his strong jaw as you whispered, "I love you too," before leaning in to kiss him softly. Your kiss held the promise of warmth and comfort, a silent apology for your earlier squabble. As you parted, Joe's eyes searched yours in the dim light, looking for any lingering traces of irritation. Finding none, his features softened, and he pulled you closer, soothing the two of you into your familiar embrace. His hand moved from your ass to your lower back, rubbing in slow, comforting circles as you slipped into slumber.

Your schedules left little time for cuddly nights like those as the season pushed forward. Between your full work weeks and Joe's demanding training and game days, your time together had melted into an afterthought. The occasional dinner date had turned into a rare luxury, and your once-nightly pillow talks had been replaced by quiet grumbling about who forgot to take out the trash or who left their keys scattered around the house.

The world only seemed to grace you with a few fleeting moments on Sundays when the Bengals played at home. Though you wouldn't see Joe until after the game, sharing him with his parents for a few hours before you all retired to bed, you always looked forward to Sunday evenings. It was the one day you could count on for a decent stretch of time together. This weekend, however, had been particularly testy on both your nerves.

Joe's parents, Robin and Jimmy, were staying over before making the trip back home the following morning. You and Robin fluttered between the living room and the kitchen, chatting about the game as you prepared dinner together. Jimmy sat in his designated Lazyboy, nodding along to your conversation, occasionally throwing in a comment about in his southern cadence so similar to Joe's. The house was filled with the comforting scent of dinner cooking and the first pumpkin pie of the fall baking.

You could feel your nerves frazzle every time you came within Joe's grasp. His constant touches, though affectionate, felt suffocating today. You needed space, but he seemed to need you more than ever. Each time he grabbed you, you'd give him a look that was half-playful, half-exasperated, but he remained oblivious, his attention not quite turning away from the conversations at hand.

Finally, Robin spoke up, her voice carrying a hint of teasing. "Joey, let the poor girl breathe," she said, gaining a chuckle from Jimmy.

Joe looked up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at his mother's words. "What do you mean?" he asked, adjusting his grip on your waist as he pulled you closer to his chest protectively.

You couldn't hold back your laugh. "Sweetheart," you said, your voice light with affection. "You're smothering me today."

Joe met your eye, jaw set with tension. "I just want to spend time with you," he murmured, his voice thick with a hint of defensiveness. His hand remained firmly on your waist, his thumb idly tracing circles against the fabric of your crewneck.

Your smile softened, and your eyes searched his. You knew he was just feeling the weight of your different lives. "I know," you said gently. "But you're being a little clingy."

Robin looked up from the salad she was tossing, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's okay to let her go, Joey," she said. "You guys need to learn to live without each other a little."

You shot her a grateful look, which Joe returned with a glower. "You're one to talk," he said, his voice tight. "You and Dad have been joined at the hip for what, thirty years?"

Robin chuckled, setting the salad bowl down on the kitchen island. "That's different," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "You two are still in the 'can't keep your hands to yourselves' phase of being together. It's adorable, really."

Jimmy coughed out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your mother's right," he said, his gaze flicking from you to Joe. "You're both young, and busy. If you're serious about staying together, you need to find a balance of affection that works."

Joe's grip tightened, and you felt the beginnings of a petty protest brewing. "I just want to spend time with you," he grumbled into your ear, his voice a mix of annoyance and longing. "Barely see each other these days."

"I know, babe," you said, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. "Just give me a few minutes to breathe, okay?" You gave him a warm smile, hoping it conveyed your love without patronizing his feelings.

Joe hesitated, pouting like a scolded puppy.

"Actually, sweetheart, do you mind taking a look at this?" Robin said, holding up her hand to reveal the beginnings of a scar running along her forearm. "It's been a week since I got it, and it's not healing right."

Your gaze shifted from Joe's sulky expression to Robin's arm. "Sure," you said, your professional instincts kicking in. You stepped out of Joe's embrace, following Robin to the bathroom. You could hear Joe grumble something under his breath as you closed the door behind you.

In the well-lit bathroom, you washed your hands before reaching out to take Robin's arm in your hand. "It does look a bit red," you said, your voice concerned. "How did you get it?"

"Tripped over a box at the garage sale," Robin said with a shrug, her tone airy. "Thought it was nothing, but it's still bothering me."

You continued scrutinizing the scar. "It's definitely inflamed," you said, your voice even. "I might need to write you a script for some antibiotics."

"Oh, no need," Robin said, her voice bright. "I got this checked out on Friday. I just wanted to hear your opinion and get you some space from Joe."

Your eyes widened as realization dawned on you. You couldn't help but laugh. "He's gonna kill me," you said, shaking your head. "But thank you, I needed a breather."

Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You guys are going to be okay," she assured you, giving you a comforting pat on the arm. "You just need to remember to make time for each other, and communicate when you need space better. Like Jimmy was saying, you need to find a good balance. I wouldn't want you two to be miserable over communication."

You nodded, your eyes lingering on the scar, which you knew was fine. The whole thing had been a clever ruse, but it had given you the break you needed. "We've been at each other's throats the last week. He just wants to be with me, but he can be..." you trailed off with a sigh.

Robin leaned closer, her expression understanding. "A little too determined?" she offered.

You nodded, unable to hold back a chuckle. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. But I love him, and I know he just misses me. I feel awful asking for space when he's so obviously trying to reconnect."

Robin squeezed your arm. "You're not asking for the moon, honey. Sometimes, Joe just needs a nudge to understand. You two are both stubborn as hell, but that's what makes you work. You understand him." She smiled softly before adding, "Just be upfront with him. Tell him you appreciate the affection, but you need some breathing room."

You nodded, taking Robin's advice to heart as you returned to the kitchen. You could see Joe sulking on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of the argument's resolution. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just craving your attention. You gave him a warm smile and took a seat beside him, your legs curling under you.

"Better?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

"Much," you assured him, leaning into his side. You knew that Joe's clinginess was just his way of dealing with the distance your hectic schedules had forced between you. "Your mom just needs antibiotics for that scar," you said, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Joe looked up from his phone, his expression unchanged. "Oh," he said, his voice devoid of interest, choosing instead to allow you to pull his arm around your shoulders. A sly smile tugged at his lips, he couldn't help but feel the tension in his chest ease slightly.

Your office buzzed with the steady rhythm of a busy clinic, the murmur of patients, and the tap of your heels against the linoleum punctuating the air. You stood at a long counter, finishing up your notes, when one of your nurses, Luca, looked up from where he was entering data into a computer. "Joe's here," he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Where?" you responded, your focus still on the paperwork you were filling out.

"In room four. He said he had an appointment," Luca replied, raising an eyebrow.

Your eyes darted up, a mix of surprise and confusion. "Appointment?" you murmured, setting your pen down and looking at Luca. "Was he on my schedule?" you trailed off, reaching for one of the stray iPads kept around the office to take a look at the day's appointments.

"Well, no. But your 2:45 was a no-show," Luca explained, his smile widening as he leaned back in his chair. "Taylor did his rooming and said it was something simple, probably just a sunburn."

You couldn't help but laugh, your heart warming at the thought of Joe sneaking in for a visit under the guise of needing medical attention. It had been weeks since you had any real quality time together, with his football schedule colliding with your busy clinic hours. You shook your head as you closed the manila folder you were holding. "Alright, I'll go see what Mr. Franchise needs," you said, your tone playfully sarcastic as you handed Luca the folder and pushed away from the counter.

Walking into the exam room, you saw Joe sitting comfortably wide in the light blue exam chair. He looked up when you entered, a familiar spark entering his eyes when he took in the sight of you. "Hey," he said, his voice low and a little shy.

"Hey yourself," you responded, your smile genuine despite your initial surprise. You set your iPad down, sitting cross-legged in your chair just a few feet away from him. "What's this about?" you inquired, your gaze traveling over his face and exposed limbs for any hint of the irritation that had allegedly brought him into the practice.

Joe shifted, his eyes avoiding yours for a brief moment before meeting them again. "Well, it's…it's my neck," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "My skin's been bothering me for a couple of days."

Your smile grew softer as you stood from your chair, walking over to inspect the area. "You know, I've told you before," you said gently, your voice professional despite the intimate setting. "You really need to get a better helmet liner. This irritation is from the constant rubbing."

Joe shrugged, his large hands folded in his lap. "I know, I know. I'll look into it," he said, his eyes meeting yours. The silence grew between them as you examined the reddened skin, your touch feather-light.

"When you sweat, the friction just the irritation makes it worse," you added, your thumbs tracing the inflamed line along his neck. "It's not anything serious, but it could become infected if you don't treat it. With your skin being so sensitive, we need to be careful."

Joe didn't respond, his eyes lingering on yours. You could feel his hands settle gently on your hips, urging you closer. You sighed, setting aside your professional demeanor for a moment. "You know you could've just called me to tell me about this," you murmured, a hint of exasperation in your voice. "Or gone to the team physician."

"Honey, are you listening to me?" you asked, your eyes searching his as you stepped closer, your hand reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair. The ends of his unstyled dirty blonde strands curled around your fingers, reminding you of the hundreds of times you had done this before. His cheek pressed to your chest, his breathing slowed, you knew he was enjoying the simple closeness.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into your touch. "I am," Joe said, his voice a soft rumble.

You couldn't help but chuckle, continuing your gentle threading. "You know you're being ridiculous," you said, your voice a warm tease. "Is everything okay? How was practice?"

"Practice was fine," Joe replied, his eyes still closed. "I missed you. Just wanted to see you."

You felt a twinge of guilt. "I know," you said, your voice gentle. "I miss you too. I'm sorry we've been like this lately."

Joe's arms tightened around you. "Me too," he murmured, focused on the way your heart beat steadily beneath his ear.

"Did you really come here just to see me?" you asked, your voice filled with a mix of affection and skepticism.

Joe looked up at you, a boyish grin playing on his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his blue eyes sparkling. "My skin was irritated so I came to see the best dermatologist in Ohio."

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to resist the warmth spreading through your chest. "You're terrible," you said, your voice filled with affection. "But I'll take the compliment." You lifted his jaw, meeting his eyes before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'll write you a prescription, you big baby."

Joe grinned, his grip loosening slightly. "I'm your big baby," he murmured, his eyes lighting up as you kissed his nose.

You couldn't resist the charm, your eyes crinkling with laughter. "You're something, alright," you said, stepping back to scribble something on the prescription pad. You tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. "This should help with the irritation, but you really do need to get that helmet sorted out."

Joe took the prescription with a nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll do it," he promised, his voice earnest. He pulled your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. "Thank you, Doc."

You felt the tension of the day melt away as you leaned into him, your free hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Any other ailments or afflictions you'd like me to check out?" you asked, your voice teasing.

Joe's smile grew into a grin. "Maybe just one more," he said, his thumb tracing a line down your arm. "My lips are kinda chapped."

You rolled your eyes, your own smile widening. "I'll take a look," you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Feels fine to me. But maybe you should keep hydrating," you said, lightness entering your voice once again.

You shared a quiet laugh, the air in the room thick with the intimacy that had been missing from your recent interactions. Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment longer before you stepped away, washing your hands before reaching for the medical cream you needed to apply. You squeezed a small amount onto your fingertips before gently rubbing it into the irritated area. Joe leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting closed as the coolness of the cream soothed his skin.

"You'll pick this up from the pharmacy, right?" you said, your voice firm but gentle as you capped the tube of cream.

Joe nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing.

You couldn't help but smile at his obedience. "Good boy," you said, your thumb smoothing over the cream to ensure it was evenly applied. "And Joe, please don't make a habit of this. I nearly popped a blood vessel when I thought you had something serious going on."

Joe nodded, his eyes still closed, savoring the moment. "I know," he said. "But sometimes, I just need to feel you taking care of me, you know?"

Your heart swelled. You did know. Your lives had become a series of passing moments, stolen kisses, and rushed conversations. You missed the simplicity of your early days together too. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the fabric of his shirt in small, comforting circles. "I'll make sure to be home at a reasonable tonight," you promised.

Joe's eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a warm smile. "You don't have to," he said, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. "But I'd like that."

You nodded, your eyes soft as you met his gaze. "Okay, I'll be home by seven. We can have dinner together, and maybe watch Episode IV for the thousandth time?" you suggested, your voice hopeful.

Joe's grin grew. "Now, you're talking," he said as he leaned back in the chair. "You promise to stay awake for the whole thing?"

You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's dangerous to make promises like that," you teased. "But I'll try." You stepped back, your hand lingering on his shoulder before you finally pulled away. "Now, go get that cream, and start looking for liners. No more sneaky appointments unless it's a real issue."

Joe chuckled, standing from the chair. He wrapped his arms around you in a quick, tight embrace. "Deal," he murmured before letting go.

Things had seemed to cool off, but as the weekend drew closer, the two of you were swept back up into your separate routines. By the time Thursday evening came around, you were both exhausted and looking forward to a quiet night in.

It wasn't unusual for Ja'Marr to pop over, especially before important games when Joe had his individual film sessions. The two men had made it a tradition since their time together at LSU, their friendship had remained tight with their close proximity.

Ja'Marr, with his broad shoulders and a fresh cut, strolled into your house without knocking, having memorized the code to the keypad ages ago, a bag of chips in hand. "What's up?"

You looked up from the open fridge, shaking your head with a smile, watching him unload his pockets as Joe's heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. "Hey, I'm about to make dinner, you want some?"

Ja'Marr nodded, tossing the bag of chips onto the counter. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, offering you a side hug as Joe approached. The three of you settled into the kitchen, Joe leaning against the counter, Ja'Marr with his hands in his pockets, while you started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

"You're cooking?" Joe asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched your flurry of activity. "Why don't you just order something?"

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "Because I want to?" you said, a sassy edge to your voice. You knew Joe's question was more than just a preference for takeout; it was his subtle way of hinting that you were working too hard. "It'll help clear my head."

Ja'Marr chuckled, taking a seat at the kitchen island. "Joe, are you really complaining right now?" he teased, popping a chip into his mouth.

Joe shrugged, his eyes still focused on your moving figure. "Nah, just making sure you're not pushing yourself too much," he said, his voice filled with affectionate concern. "You've been going non-stop lately."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress your smile. "I am literally making you dinner," you said, your voice light. "How are you complaining?"

Ja'Marr laughed outright at that, shaking his head. "You two are something else," he said, taking a sip of water, scowling when Joe reached into his bag of chips for a few pieces.

"What?" Joe said, munching on a handful. "You walk into my house uninvited, man. I can have a few of your chips."

You walked over to Joe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Go watch film, I'm okay, I promise," you said, gently nudging him away from the kitchen. You knew he was just trying to help, but you needed this time to unwind.

Joe sighed but didn't argue further, grabbing his iPad and retreating to the living room. Ja'Marr lingered behind, watching your every move with an expectant look on his face.

"Yes, Ja'Marr?" you asked, your eyes flickering over to him as you prepped vegetables.

"Are you still driving up to Cleveland on Sunday?" he started with a light tone. "If you are, maybe my girl could sit with you? She's been wanting to see me play in person for a while."

You paused mid-chop, the knife hovering over a bell pepper. You looked up at him, a hint of surprise in your eyes. "No, actually," you said, placing the knife down carefully. "I thought I'd stay home this weekend, maybe go to the spa, and catch the game from here."

Ja'Marr's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at you as if you had just suggested something unthinkable. "You're not going to the game?" he said, his tone incredulous.

Before you could respond, Joe's voice cut through the kitchen, his tone incredulous. "What do you mean you're not going to the game?" he called out from the living room.

You took a deep breath before releasing a long sigh. You knew Joe was sensitive about you not attending the games you typically did, but you had her reasons. "I just need some me-time, Joe," you called back, your voice firm. "I don't want to drive to Cleveland by myself. Besides, you're going to be busy with the game. I won't even see you until we get home at like two in the morning."

Joe appeared in the kitchen entryway, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "That's not the point," he said, his voice tight. "You always come to the games in Cleveland."

You took another deep breath, keeping your eyes on your task. "Joe, this has nothing to do with you. I just know I'm gonna be exhausted, and I want to take care of myself."

Ja'Marr looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. "Maybe I'll just ask Tee," he offered, trying to ease the tension. "His mom is staying with him this week, she might go to the Cleveland game."

"It's fine," you said, turning to give him a reassuring smile. You didn't want to ruin his night with your relationship woes. "I didn't know you were that serious about her. I wish I could meet her."

Joe's face fell, and he took a step forward, obscuring Ja'Marr's view of your faces. His voice dropped, "Are you really not coming?"

You could hear the disappointment in his tone, and you felt a twinge of guilt. You knew Joe thrived on your support at games, and you had been his rock at every single one, cheering him on from the sidelines. But you were tired, so tired. "I'm sorry, babe," you said, your voice sincere. "I was gonna tell you tonight."

Joe crossed his arms, his eyes searching yours. "Is that the real reason?" he pressed, his voice low. "Or are you upset with me about something?"

You took a deep breath, turning to face him fully. "Joe," you said, your tone measured with a warning. "I have my own life too. Work is tiring, and I need the weekend to recover."

Joe's jaw tightened, his blue eyes boring into yours. "But we hardly see each other as it is," he countered. "I like knowing you're there, supporting me."

"Are you worried I won't watch if I'm not sitting in the stadium? Because I promise you, I'll be screaming at the refs through the TV just as loud." You knew Joe was taking your absence personally, but you couldn't help the way you felt.

"It's not the same," Joe said, his voice gruff. "You know that."

You sighed, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. "Babe," you began, your voice calm but firm. "I love watching you play, but I can't always drop everything to follow you around. I have my own shit to deal with here."

Joe shook his head, biting at his lip with a frown. "I don't get it," he murmured, his voice tight with frustration. "But whatever."

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his tone, but you kept your voice steady. "What don't you get?" you asked, your patience wearing thin.

"We will talk about this later," Joe said, his voice a low growl. Your jaw tightened, the two of you engaged in a silent staring contest.

Ja'Marr took the moment of silence to clear his throat awkwardly. "I can leave if you need to talk? Just let me know when dinner's ready?"

You offered him a tight smile. "No, it's fine. Stay and watch film."

Joe didn't say anything, choosing instead to continue staring intensely at the side of your face as you resumed chopping vegetables. The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of the knife slicing through the peppers, the tension palpable. You felt a simmer of annoyance build in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want to fight, not really, but you had to stand your ground.

"Okay," Ja'Marr drew out slowly under his breath. "Y'all two fighting like an old married couple. Maybe you need some one-on-one time, or some shit."

Joe grunted, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "What do you mean?"

Ja'Marr leaned back against the counter, popping another chip in his mouth as he attempted to play relationship counselor. "Y''all been at each other's necks," he said, gesturing between you. "Maybe you just need to, you know, fix it in the bedroom."

You couldn't help but snort with laughter, turning to Joe with narrowed eyes. "Did your best friend just tell us to have sex to solve our problems? Both of you get out of my kitchen, please. Go do literally anything else."

Joe couldn't help the laugh that erupted from his chest. He turned to stalk off to the living room, already taking Ja'Marr's words to heart. The wide receiver followed him as he muttered, "I'm just tryna help you, bro."

You finished dinner, serving the two men before retreating to your office to catch up on some paperwork. Ja'Marr had left before the clock hit 8:30, reminding Joe of his earlier words.

"Maybe he's onto something," Joe mumbled to himself, watching as the front door closed.

By the time Joe made it up to your bedroom, you were already tucked into bed, your laptop open and the soft glow of the screen casting a cool light over your features. You looked up at him as he entered, your eyes questioning. He paused in the doorway, his mind racing. He knew he had to tread carefully; he didn't want to start another fight, especially not after your earlier tension.

"Hey," he began, his voice tentative.

You paused from her work, the glow from the laptop lighting up your face. You studied him for a moment before closing your laptop with a sigh. "Hey," you replied, confusion etched into your features as you observed Joe carefully.

Joe took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between the two of you. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said, his voice sincere. "I overreacted. I just miss you, you know?"

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders visibly dissipating. "I miss you too," you admitted, your voice softer, offering him space to climb under the blanket with you.

Joe leaned in, his hand brushing against your cheek as he turned your face to meet his. His eyes searched yours, looking for any lingering anger or resentment. Finding none, he leaned in to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours that grew more urgent with each passing second. You closed your eyes, your arms sliding around his neck as you melted into the kiss.

Your kiss grew deeper, your bodies pressing closer together as Joe's hand traveled down to your waist, pulling you towards him. You felt the warmth spread through you, the stress of the day slowly evaporating. The two of you broke apart, both panting slightly, staring into each other's eyes as if seeing one another for the first time in weeks.

"Do you want to...?" Joe trailed off, his voice low and hopeful, his thumb tracing the plump of your bottom lip. His palm cupped the side of your face, blue eyes searching yours.

You studied him, the love and desire swirling in his gaze undeniable. You knew he was referring to the "one-on-one time" Ja'Marr had so bluntly suggested. Despite your initial dismissal, you couldn't ignore the spark it had ignited within you. The petty fights had clearly been a symptom of a deeper issue - your lack of intimacy. "Please," you murmured, leaning into his touch.

Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He leaned back, pulling you with him so you were straddling his hips. The weight of you felt like home, the warmth of your skin seeping into his as he kissed you deeply, his hands exploring your curves. Your sighs turned into a moan as you ground your hips down into his, feeling his hand squeeze your ass under his palms before bringing a hand down to hear the satisfying 'smack', the friction sending shockwaves through Joe's body.

He rolled you over, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands roaming over your skin, peeling your clothes away. Your hands were equally busy, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, your nails scraping lightly against his chest as you pushed the fabric over his head. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the rustle of fabric.

Your kisses grew more urgent, Joe's hands tracing a path down your body, his fingertips dancing along the edge of your panties. You gasped, your body arching up into his touch. He paused, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you need, baby," he whispered against your skin, lips drawing heat as they pressed wet kisses to your chest, nipping eagerly at the fat of your breasts, hands kneading the flesh beneath his palms.

Your breath hitched, your voice thick with want. "You," you managed to get out, your eyes fluttering shut as Joe's mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking the tender skin there. His touch was soothing an ache you hadn't realized you had been carrying with you for weeks.

"I can do that," he said, his words muffled against your salty skin. Your hips squirmed against him, your lips parting with another pretty moan from the feel of his tip pressing against your core. You could feel the frustration of him being so close but not close enough. The thin fabric of your underwear - ironically matching in color - was the only barrier left between you.

With a low groan, Joe's hands slid down to the waistband of your panties, his thumbs hooking into the elastic. Your own hands were busy in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth found your breasts. He kissed and bit, his teeth grazing your nipples, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself into his mouth. He took his time, savoring the taste of you, feeling the tremble of your body with each nibble.

You whined, tugging at the messy strands of his hair. "Joe," you breathed out his name, a plea for more. He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust as he peered up at you. He held your gaze as his fingers slipped into your panties, humming in approval when he found you slick and ready. With a nudge, he kept your thighs spread to accommodate him, allowing you access to his lips as his fingers lightly stroked through your folds.

"You're so wet for me, baby," Joe murmured, his voice thick with want. He kissed your stomach, your hips rolling with impatience. He took his time, dragging his kisses down the line of your navel until his mouth was right there, hot breath against your clit. His cheek rested against your thigh, breathing in your sweet scent as he continued to hold you open for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Joe's fingers continued rubbing you in slow circles, your hips bucking upward in silent demand. He trailed kisses down your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to soothe you after biting into your brown skin. The anticipation was agonizing, but you knew he enjoyed teasing you, drawing it out until you were begging.

"Joey," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please."

He chuckled under his breath, forcing himself to keep his attention on your sensitive center. His fingers still pressed against you, sweeping through your wet pussy as your arousal began to coat the inside of your thighs and slowly drip down to the bed. He knew if he looked up and saw your face, he'd be lost in your eyes, so he focused on your reactions, the way your body arched and trembled. He brought his face closer, hovering just out of reach, his thumb gently teasing your entrance without giving you the satisfaction you craved.

"Give me a second, honey." He murmured reassuringly under his breath. "Need to make sure she remembers me. It's been so long, you think she does?" He smirked against your skin, his teeth grazing your inner thigh again, making you squirm.

Your grip tightened in his hair, your hips bucking upwards. "She'd never forget you," you managed to gasp out, your voice breathless. "Just..."

Joe took the hint, his smirk growing wider as he leaned in closer, his tongue pressing flat against your center, licking up your slit with a maddening slowness. Your nails dug into his scalp, your body tensing as he finally took you in his mouth, sucking and licking with a hunger that had been building for weeks. The sensation was overwhelming, your thighs shaking as they tense over his shoulders. You released a soft moan, the sound of his name on your lips like a prayer.

Your body was tightening, the tension in your core growing with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck of his lips. Joe could feel you getting closer, the muscles in your legs tensing as your breath grew shorter. He didn't stop, his mouth working to bring you to the edge of pleasure. Your hips began to rock against him, your moans growing louder, gasping and writhing to his touch, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

Joe pulled away with a smug smirk, watching you react to his touch as his fingers took over for his mouth. With a start, he inserted one finger inside you, feeling the heat and the tightness of your walls. He stayed close, watching the way your body quivered in reaction to his touch.

"I know, baby, I know," he soothed, voice deep as he kissed your thighs, his breath brushing over your overly sensitive skin. He watched your face, the way your eyes had glazed over and your teeth bit at your bottom lip. He didn't want you to come from his fingers, though. He wanted to feel you come around his cock, wanted to hear you scream his name as you lost control.

"Keep 'em open for me, gonna give you my cock, beautiful," he urged, instructing you to keep your thighs open as you whimpered at the loss of his fingers. He kissed your stomach before sitting up to remove his underwear. His cock stood proudly, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your chest heaved as you watched him gently stroke himself, turning your head to the side as your thighs closed together, the ache for him unbearable. You could feel your pussy fluttering, begging for his attention.

He wasn't quite done teasing you. As he sat back on his heels, he guided his tip through your folds, using your wetness as his lubricant. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling a moan at the sensation. Your eyes were glossed over with lust, watching him with a mix of frustration and need.

Without another word, Joe pushed into you, watching your eyes widen as he filled you up. He took his time, savoring the feel of your tight warmth surrounding him, your inner walls pulsing around him as you adjusted to his girth. Your eyes rolled back, your back arching off the bed as he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you both panting within moments.

Joe leaned forward, supporting himself on one hand as the other pulled your leg to rest against his hip. He was positioned directly over you, allowing your hands to reach for his jaw, bringing him down to kiss you deeply. You could feel the heat from his body, his chest pressing against your breasts, and you reveled in the feeling of being filled by him. His strokes grew more urgent, and you could feel the tension building within you once more.

"Come on, talk to me, sweetheart," he groaned out. "'M listening, need to hear your sweet voice."

Your breath hitched, your eyes snapping open to meet Joe's intense gaze. "I need you deeper," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. He smirked, his eyes lighting up with challenge, and lowered himself onto an elbow, pulling the thigh in his grasp higher on his hip. The adjustment sent him deeper, and you gasped, your body tensing for a brief moment.

He chuckled, his thumb drawing a soothing circle into your thigh. "Breathe, baby," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. You took a deep breath, feeling the pressure building once more. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move again, his hips rolling into yours with a deep, steady rhythm that had your toes curling as you struggled to stay in control of your body.

"Yeah," you moaned, your voice strained, "like that."

Joe's pace quickened, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room as he pumped into you with an animalistic fervor that had been building since you started fighting. The frustration of the day, the need to claim you, to make you his again, was palpable in every thrust. You whimpered as his nose nudged against yours, reminding you to keep your eyes trained on his. He liked watching you come, liked the way your pupils would blow wide and your eyes would glaze over like you were baring your soul to him.

He felt you tighten around him, your legs squeezing him, your breaths coming out in short puffs. You were close, so close, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Right there?"

You nodded, mouth wide, pupils blown, your breathing ragged. "Yes," you gasped, "right there, don't stop. Fuck, yes."

Joe groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he felt you tighten around him. He could feel his own release building, but he held it back, focusing on you, wanting you to come first. His hips slammed into yours, the rhythm relentless, his cock driving deep within you with each thrust. You were so wet, so tight, the sensation of your pussy gripping him like a glove threatening to send him over the edge at any moment.

You began to squirm as your orgasm approached. Your breathing growing more shallow, your eyes locked with Joe's as if begging for release. His own breaths grew strained, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held himself above you, his hips moving faster, pushing into you with a force that had your body rocking against the bed.

"Uh uh," he tsked, snapping his hips into you with more force, the smugness in his expression growing with each whine you made. "You're not going anywhere, baby. Stay right here with me. I got you. Just let it go for me. Let me make you feel good."

The words were like a dam breaking, the orgasm crashing over you with a ferocity that had you arching into him, your legs tightening around him. You threw your head back, moaning his name as you came, your body shaking with the intensity of it. He watched your face, the way your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the way you clamped down on him, and it was his turn to moan out. He could feel your pulses around his cock, your walls milking him for all he was worth.

"Yeah, there you go, babe. That's it, baby, good fuckin' girl." Joe's voice was a gruff whisper in your ear, his thrusts growing more erratic as he felt your climax ripple through your body. He held on, waiting for you to come back down before he allowed himself to go over the edge. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving lines on his back, but he didn't care. He liked the push and pull, liked knowing that you were feeling everything just as intensely as he was.

"Oh, my fucking god - shit!" you gasped, feeling your orgasm continue to ravage your senses, each wave more intense than the previous as Joe's hips continued to roll into yours.

"Look at that. So fuckin' beautiful," Joe murmured, his voice thick with the beginning of his own climax. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his own release began to build. The taste of you was on his tongue, and it was all he needed to push him over the edge. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you, the warmth of his cum spilling into your depths as his muscles tensed and then relaxed.

Your bodies lay tangled together, a mess of sweat and limbs as you both caught your breath. You felt Joe's weight shift, his muscles slackening against you as his breath evened out. You trailed your fingers through his tousled hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead as the fuzziness in his head cleared.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Okay," you assured him. "You?"

"Better than okay." Joe nuzzled closer, his chest rising and falling with deep, contented breaths. You lay in a cocoon of warmth, the sheets twisted around your legs. "We should do this more often."

You chuckled, stroking your hand down his back. "Damn," you breathed, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and amazement. "You've never spoken to me like that before."

He laughed, his eyes still closed as he enjoyed the still aftermath of your passion. "It's all that pent-up frustration," he murmured. "But you liked it."

It was a statement, not a question, and you couldn't help but agree. You kissed him again, your hands still tangled in his hair. "I loved it," you admitted, your voice still a bit breathless.

Joe chuckled, his chest rumbling against you as he pulled out of you. "Good to know," he murmured, his thumb tracing over your cheek. "Guess we know what the cure for our petty fights is now."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating. "Next time I start arguing with you about stupid shit, you have my permission to fuck it out of me."

Joe smirked, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Deal," he agreed, his voice filled with a newfound lightness. He rolled away from you, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. You turned onto your side, kissing him softly before slipping out of bed to clean yourself up.

Joe followed her, allowing you space to handle your business before taking his turn. When you both climbed back into bed, the air was thicker, charged with the aftermath of your released tension. You lay down with a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. You snuggled closer to him, your hand tracing shapes over his chest as you lay in the quiet darkness.

"I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass recently," Joe said, his voice soft and sincere. "I know you've got a lot going on with work and stuff, but I just feel guilty being gone so much this season."

Your hand paused on his chest, your eyes searching his in the dim light of the room. "I know, baby," you replied, your voice filled with understanding. "It's not your fault, I should've been more honest, should've told you I wasn't going to Cleveland when I made the decision."

"That's okay," Joe said, his thumb tracing lazy circles into your supple skin. "We're good. I'll go up to Cleveland, get a win, and come back for victory sex." His voice was light, the tension from earlier replaced with humor and affection.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Sounds like a plan." You cuddled closer to Joe, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

#&. cassie writes.#&. joe x doctor!reader: fics.#joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow smut #joey burrow #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow x black!reader #cincinnati bengals #x black reader #black!reader #joe burrow bengals #x black!reader #black reader

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parfaitblogs · 7 months ago

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state of grace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your cat has taken liking to your friend with benefits, and you begin to battle with the consequential feelings.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff (18+ for suggestive content) tags: established friends with benefits. reader has a cat. your cat likes him more than you :( avoidant!reader for like a teensie second. it's okay happy ending. the happiest possible ending actually. fade to black. word count: 1.9k a/n: sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things. like a cat. :) im a dog person. idk why i wrote this.

Seventeen times.

That is how many times Spencer Reid had found residence at your apartment in the past month alone, taking up the space on the other side of your bed. Thirteen of those times he had stayed the night. Six of those times, he had come for sex. The other eleven? He had come because you needed a friend.

Or, rather, your cat did.

You had discovered you weren't any more complex than your average man, at the end of the day. Human beings are at their core created to love and be loved, and by extension, to want and be wanted. You wanted Spencer, and you were wanted by Spencer. For both your friendship, and the intimacy your relationship provided.

But you did not love him, and he did not love you.

Cat's are anything but fickle creatures. A lot of your best friendships were centred around whether or not your cat developed a liking to the person or not. Oftentimes, your fleeting relationships came down to the odd sixth sense the animal had for disliking the worst people. That, and your one night stands were never a crowd favourite within the walls of your apartment. And yet; Spencer Reid.

He was nothing short of charming. In a sort of dorky way, yes. But whatever socially romantic skills he lacked, he most certainly made up for by giving you the best of just about everything in bed. A small part of you wants to claim it's human instinct to know how to worship the person meant for you, but the logical reason is probably his eidetic memory knowing exactly what he's doing after a singular trial run. Entertaining the thought of being his soulmate was not a wise choice.

He most certainly was your cat's, though. The Ragdoll always jumping down to greet him the second he stepped foot in your apartment, usually resulting in the break of a kiss and a five minute intermission before the two of you could do anything.

At first, it was an inconvenience. Your cat had never taken such a liking to a person you'd brought home before, and it was jarring to watch a man you were partially trying to undress, stop everything to pet your cat. Now, it is simply endearing. You've stopped trying to steal Spencer's attention before the cat does, and you've come to the conclusion that Spencer's priority list will always be the feline, then you.

Today was, seemingly, no different. Despite the dull ache between your legs and the fact that this visit had started as something as obscene as Spencer calling from his work bathroom to ask if he could come over after for he was, and you quote, in dire need to touch you (among many other things), whatever those needs were, were put on hold.

You smile regardless, leaning against the edge of your couch as he crouches down to meet Po — yes, like the panda — his hand immediately reaching out for the cat to run his head along.

Spencer's head lifts to look at you. "Morgan thinks Po isn't a real cat, and we've just got a name for your—um—" his brain catches up to his mouth mid sentence, and he's stammering his way to silence.

"Please tell me you defended my cat's honour," you retort.

"I did! I even showed him the photo I took of him while you were in the shower last week. He thinks it's a different person's cat."

You shake your head in disapproval. "Unbelievable. Your coworker thinks we've named my pussy."

"That's just Morgan."

"I wish Po could speak English. Then he could hear this nonsense, and stop loving you more than me," you grumble, and Spencer's lips twitch up into a smile, as he situates himself on the floor, the cat climbing into his lap.

"Actually, he technically can. Cat's can understand up to thirty-five words in whatever language you train them in. Also, when they meow, they begin trying to mimic the sound of certain human words. It's their vocal tract that prevents them from literally speaking English," he explains.

But, you're too invested in the way his long fingers are delicately running through the cat's hair, to both respond, and really pay any attention at all.

You had had fleeting thoughts about real feelings for Spencer two months ago. Brushing them off as loneliness and your need to satiate the hopeless romantic within you, you'd forgotten about it up until this recent week.

He'd been over every single day, sometimes for sex, oftentimes for a movie and dinner (which was usually a bowl of pasta you had overestimated while cooking). And every single time, you'd developed an overwhelming anxious pit in your stomach when watching him interact with Po, your heart fluttering the entire time, mind running rampant on domestic thoughts you should be squashing.

Should be, but weren't.

You'd tried to put it down to the motherly instinct you had over the animal. Seeing somebody else treat him with as much love and care as you did was endearing — it wasn't a Spencer Reid specific trait. Yet, here you were.

"I feel like the benefits of this relationship have changed," you say, seating yourself in front of Spencer on the floor, Po lifting his head to look at the person behind the sudden movement, before he let it rest back on Spencer's thigh.

"To what?"

"My cat," you huff, and Spencer laughs.

"He is my favourite benefit thus far," he muses.

"The feeling is definitely mutual," you nod your head to Po, whose eyes were now shut, seemingly quite comfortable disregarding all your personal plans and taking Spencer's attention.

"Animals don't usually like me," he comments. "I don't know why Po is different."

Oh, you had a few ideas why.

"Maybe he's exercising the keep your enemies closer life motto," you offer, and Spencer's eyebrows shoot up in faux offence.

"This is unadulterated love," he protests. "He does not think of me as an enemy."

"That's what he wants you to believe," you hum, pushing yourself up on your legs. "Well, since plans have been rudely interrupted, do you want some dinner?"

"Sure," he answers, though his attention is back on Po. Clearly so, for he says, "I'll get to our original plans after we eat, don't worry," almost absentmindedly.

It's the kind of thing that makes you forget you're in the room with the dictionary definition of a nerd. You know it's only because sometimes he says what he is thinking without thinking. It doesn't do anything to help the ongoing internal battle about your feelings for him.

Or maybe he does know exactly what he's doing.

"You should get a cat," you say, heading into your kitchen to find something for the two of you to eat. "You seem to like them enough."

"Why? I have yours."

"I'm not going to be around forever," you reply, unthinking. "I mean, one day we're gonna have to end this because the other has found someone they want to be with. Properly. It wouldn't be fair to keep a friendship."

He falls silent, and when you lift your head, you see he's staring at you with an almost confused frown on his face, which triggers your own confusion to appear. His scratching of Po's head has been interrupted, and you're starting to question what was wrong about what you had said.

Sure, you're pretty sure you have feelings for him, but as far as you knew, they were one sided. Right?

"I didn't—I thought—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, then continues. "I thought that had changed this past month."

"What do you mean?"

"I just—I've been here for things other than sex a lot. I thought you knew I liked you, and you were subtly trying to tell me you liked me too. I'm starting to sense I misread that."

For a profiler, he was incredibly awful at reading you.

"Yeah..." You slowly nod your head, but it's the deepening of his frown that has you rushing to add, "I mean, I—I do. Like you. I'm kind of embarrassed that was obvious. But I didn't think you liked me outside of having sex with me. I wasn't trying to communicate my feelings. I was trying to hide them."

"Oh," he falls silent again. "So the times I’ve been here in the past month weren’t makeshift dates?"

"They weren't intended that way..." you trail off. "Did you see them as dates?"

"Kind of, I guess," he's back to running his fingers through Po's fur, just to keep his anxious hands busy. "They don't have to be, if you don't want them to. I just thought this feeling was mutual and we were... I guess, dating."

"The feeling is mutual," you quickly correct him. "I know that now. I didn't think we were dating because I didn't think you liked me back. Changing our relationship kind of needs to be a conversation."

"Right," he breathes out, an awkward smile painting his lips. "Is this the conversation, then?"

"I guess?"

"So now we're dating."

"If that's what you want," you nod, head feeling a little fuzzy.

"Is it what you want?" he presses. Always the gentleman.

"Maybe," you muse, leaning forwards against the kitchen countertop.

He's watching you, and for a second you let the silence fall over you, fearful that you've just discouraged him enough to ruin things between you. He carefully takes Po off his lap, the cat running into your room the second his paws hit the hardwood floor, and he's standing up to move over to you.

"I don't like maybe," he frowns. "Yes or no?"

You blink, realising he was evidently too anxious of your genuine response to have any recognition to your poor attempt of a joke.

"Yes, Spencer. That's what I want," you're breathless as you speak, and you're thankful for the relieved smile that stretches across his lips.

"That's what I want too," he answers.

"Yeah, I figured." Your second attempt at a tease lands, and he huffs a small laugh, which warms your heart. "Do you still want dinner?"

He had somehow gotten closer to you throughout the awkward enough conversation, and he was sliding his arms around your waist. Something he had done many times before, yes, and yet this time it was feeling much more intimate, and your heart was thrumming against your chest a little harder than usual.

"Maybe it can wait?" he offers, ducking his head down, lips ghosting over your own. "I don't have a bothersome cat keeping me preoccupied from you, now."

Despite yourself, you poke a finger into his chest and say, "Don't insult Po."

"I'm not. Just merely stating an obvious fact."

"I'll call him back in here to preoccupy me."

"He has selective hearing. And he likes me more than you."

Your lips drop into a frown, lower lip jutting out, and Spencer is quick to try and kiss it off within seconds of noticing it.

"I'm sorry. That was mean. I promise he doesn't like me more than you," he says, though his voice is too amused to be entirely sincere.

"That was mean," you agree with a firm nod. "You're very mean to me, Spencer Reid."

"I know, I'm awful. Can I make it up to you, sweet girl?"

Well, when he asks you like that.

"Mm..." you hesitate, but he's already guiding you around, walking you backwards, through your apartment and towards your bedroom. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hands that were around your waist hike your shirt up, his lips still kissing against your skin despite the intense multitasking he was forcing upon the two of you.

"Thank you."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you

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darkmatilda · 6 months ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you were accommodated in such a shabby hotel, the last thing you needed was a power outage. and upon learning about one of your colleagues' fear of the dark, you can't bring yourself to not help him

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, spencer is afraid of the dark and the reader comforts him, they comfort each other tbh, elle&morgan my fav duo, glasses reid obvi.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.7k

𝐚/𝐧: these are my official apologies for all the recent stories 🫶🏼 i wanted it to be so much shorter but i just love writing conversations between characters so that's how it turned out. @mggslover i'm so sorry for not adding spencer falling off the bed but i didn't want to ruin that subtle ending :(( maybe next time

"Please, I’m begging you, I’m really begging you—begging in the name of a god I don’t even believe in. Tell me we’ve got the wrong address," Morgan said, squeezing his eyes shut the moment you all crossed the threshold of the motel where you'd been assigned to stay while working on the case in another state.

You noticed Elle’s expression falter as well. From the outside, the place hadn’t looked that bad. Well, perhaps it only seemed that way because the street it was on was so dark you couldn’t make out much of anything. Midnight must have been approaching; the first day of the investigation was officially over.

“We didn’t get it wrong,” Reid declared, stepping inside as the last of you, quickly scanning the interior. “I memorized it perfectly. Besides, there aren’t any other accommodations in the area, so this has to be it.”

“Do you remember that one case,” Elle started, “where the unsub killed women in hotel rooms and decorated the interiors with their intestines?”

You glanced at her, curious—or as curious as you could be under the circumstances. You’d only joined the team fairly recently; this was your third or fourth case at most, and none of them had been quite that… gruesome. Of course, you were well aware cases like that happened. It was only a matter of time before one came your way. Unfortunately.

“This motel totally looks like the kind of place where something like that happens on a daily basis,” Elle continued. “My advice? Don’t look under the beds tonight. Or in the closets, if there even are any.”

“I just hope there’s hot water,” Derek sighed, his voice carrying a tone of resignation. “We once ended up in a place that didn’t have any. I almost handed in my resignation.”

“You deal with gruesome murders every day, but no hot water is too much for you, Princess?” you raised an eyebrow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye as you made your way toward the reception desk to pick up your room keys. The motel’s walls were yellow—not the cheerful sunflower or sunny kind of yellow, but more like dried-up cat pee yellow.

“He’s got a point, though,” Elle chimed in, taking the key from an elderly woman at the reception desk. “Think about it. You come back after a long, grueling day, from dawn to midnight, just like today. You’re exhausted, barely standing, and you can’t even take a hot shower.”

Morgan pointed at her and nodded in agreement. You shrugged.

“Cold isn’t that bad,” you muttered. Honestly, you hadn’t expected anything luxurious from the place you’d been sent to. It was just a few days, after all.

“Oh, are you one of those people practicing that millionaire morning routine?” Derek teased. “You know—waking up at three, cold shower, steak for breakfast, daily planning, self-help book…”

I just grew up poor, you thought to yourself, but aloud you only let out a short laugh.

“I’d kill to have time to read a book before work. Any book. Not to be yanked out of bed by Hotch at five, like today, and scrambling to get out the door.”

Elle and Morgan exchanged a very brief look, almost secretive. You narrowed your eyes, suspicion suddenly welling up inside you. Before you could ask about it, someone else spoke up.

“He called me at half past six,” Reid said, tilting his head in mild confusion.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the others silencing him with a look.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you stopped in your tracks, demanding an explanation. “He called me half an hour earlier than the rest of you?”

“You live farther away.”

“We’re practically neighbors, Elle Greenaway.”

“I’m about to drop,” Derek suddenly interjected with theatrical exhaustion. A change of subject. A not-so-subtle change of subject. “If I don’t lie down soon, I’ll fall asleep standing up. See you all tomorrow, folks.”

“You’re absolutely right—sleep well.”

With that, he and Elle headed up the stairs to the third floor, where they’d been assigned rooms. You and, as it turned out, Reid were staying on the second floor.

You turned to him slowly, arms crossed over your chest.

You didn’t even need to say anything—your stern gaze alone made it clear you were waiting for an explanation. Reid looked like he was about to throw his hands up in a defensive gesture, clearly regretting that he’d brought up the topic at all.

“Okay,” he sighed nervously. “What I’m about to say is not meant to offend you in any way, not even the slightest…”

“Offend?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Jesus Christ, Reid, don’t look at me like that—I’m not about to punch you in the face…”

“It’s just…” he began, a little calmer now. “All of us, including Hotch, I assume, are aware of the fact that, occasionally—just sometimes—you have a slight tendency to…run a bit late to work.”

He looked at you, and a telling silence fell between you.

"Yesterday, you were fourteen and a half minutes late."

"Fifteen minutes doesn't count as being late. And have you heard of a grace period? It's allowed to arrive within that time frame, without any consequences."

"Fine. What about two days ago, twenty-one minutes and seventeen..."

"Metro malfunction. I had no control over that."

"And six days ago, on Tuesday? Twenty-four minutes and..."

"I don’t remember such a situation, because, Mr. Big Brain, not all of us have such a memory. But I assume there was a reason..."

"Alright, fine," Reid interrupted you calmly. "I’m not saying there wasn’t a reason. But still... it happens quite often, and that's a fact. So it’s no surprise that Hotch, when the situation especially calls for it, prefers to call you a little earlier than the rest. Just out of caution."

You sighed, no longer able to argue about it. Maybe he was right; you did sometimes lose track of time in the mornings or fail to wake up to the sound of your alarm, closing your eyes for an extra five minutes... which resulted in small delays. You had never been directly reprimanded for it, so you were unaware that it had become such a big issue. Slightly embarrassed, you pressed your lips together.

"As usual, I guess you're right. And by the way, I’m heading to my room. I had thirty minutes less sleep than all of you, I’m exhausted," you said in a lighter, joking tone. A brief smile crossed Reid’s face. "Good night, wise guy.”

"Good night. And don’t look under the bed."

"Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it!"

With those words, you both disappeared into rooms directly opposite each other. The sounds of doors closing synchronized. You started your usual evening routine, placing your suitcase in the corner of the room. It was really small, narrow, and rectangular. The walls had that same awful color, the light was too bright, causing a headache. So you decided to just turn on the night lamp on the shabby nightstand next to the single bed.

It turned out that the only bathroom was in the hallway. You almost cried; you didn't want to take all your things with you and then come back with them. You remembered that you'd taken a proper shower that morning, so maybe a repeat wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were too sleepy for it, so you just set the alarm for fifteen minutes earlier to do it in the morning. After changing into comfortable clothes, you immediately lay down on the bed. Following Elle’s advice, and then Reid’s too, you didn’t check what might be hiding under it.

You weren’t hiding it, you were a terrible sleeper. Falling asleep in new places usually wasn’t a problem for you, even if it was a place that looked like a dive where someone could stab you in your sleep. But that night, something was bothering you. After giving it some thought, you realized it was Reid’s words.

Of course, it wasn’t that you held it against him. He was just stating facts; he had no intention of offending you, as he assured. And you didn’t even feel offended. More like unpleasantly confronted with a certain fact. You had only been part of the BAU for a short time. Well, just a week ago Derek stopped calling you the new girl. Although on the outside, you came across as very confident, on the inside, you were preoccupied with the team’s opinion of you and what they might think about you. Mainly because they were all older and more experienced.

You were especially worried about the fact that your tardiness and chaos had drawn the boss’s attention. Being on good terms with your superior was incredibly important, in case something ever happened, in case you made a more serious mistake…those small things could influence how the rest of your career would unfold, and the decisions made about you.

But above all, you wanted everyone to like you. Simply like you. So you wouldn’t walk around every day with your heart in your throat, praying for the day to end, constantly overwhelmed by a sense of misfit and loneliness.

You turned to your side, not sure how long you had been lying there, thinking. Suddenly, you realized you had to pee.

With great reluctance and sleepiness, you reached for the bedside lamp to turn it on and go to the bathroom. However, when you tugged at the cord, it... didn’t turn on. The room remained shrouded in darkness. You tried once more, then blindly made your way to the light switch in the room. You pressed it, and nothing.

What was going on, a power outage?

You shook your head in confusion. Whatever was going on, it didn’t change the fact that you had to go to the bathroom. You remembered the flashlight in your jacket pocket, and in the darkness, it took you a while to find it. When you finally had it in your hand, you felt ready to complete the mission. To pee, that is.

The moment you stepped out into the hallway, a light source flared up right before your eyes. You let out a muffled exclamation, partly from surprise, partly from being almost blinded.

“Damn, sorry…” Reid hissed, equally confused, turning his flashlight downward, away from your face.

You rubbed your eyelids, turning off your flashlight. Two light sources were unnecessary.

“Is there no power for you too?” you asked.

Reid nodded. It was only then that you really looked at him—he was wearing very loose pajama pants and...

“Cute,” you clicked your tongue, pointing at his white sweater with a bear wearing glasses. He had them too, worn very low on his nose. He must have put them on absentmindedly, in the dark, right after getting out of bed.

“I got it from Penelope for my birthday,” he said in a tone as if he were giving a statement. His hand briefly touched the fabric, right at the center of the brown bear’s face. “It’s really comfortable and soft. Perfect for sleeping...Anyway, I was heading to the reception to find out what the issue is and whether anything can be done about it. You too?”

"No, I just really need to pee. Do you really want to go there at this hour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I mean, outages happen, and they'll have to fix it, but it's the middle of the night. We don't really need the lights right now, and if you want to go to the bathroom, you have a flashlight, as I can see."

You kept your gaze on him, realizing that since he noticed the lack of light, he must have been either heading somewhere himself or keeping the light on. Or maybe he had been sleeping with the light on. He did seem a bit tense. One of his hands was still resting on the half-open door, nervously gripping it. The other was pressed tightly to his body, his chest rising in an odd rhythm. Not a quickened pace, like with a panic attack, but more unnatural, like he was trying to control it.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" the question slipped out of you directly. After a moment, you realized it might have been a little too blunt. You had asked it carelessly, suspecting there might be another reason behind his behavior. For some reason, fear of the dark didn’t seem to fit his rational character.

Reid quickly shook his head, firmly denying it.

"No. No, of course not. I was just... reading when the light went out."

Oh, you didn’t even need to be a profiler to see right away that he was lying. You crossed your arms, a little amused by how stubbornly he was denying it.

"You were reading? At this hour? When we’re back to the investigation first thing tomorrow morning?"

He shrugged, shaking his head again.

"I couldn’t sleep."

You sighed. In the end, neither his fear nor his shame were your concern, so you didn’t see the point in interrogating him any further. You signaled that you were dropping the subject, and some expression passed across his face. Gratitude. Gratitude for not pushing the issue or mocking him. You felt a bit offended that he had even thought you might do that.

“If you still plan on going to the reception, wait for me, I’ll go with you. I just need to quickly stop by the bathroom.”

Reid opened his mouth, clearly surprised by your suggestion.

“Well, what?” you replied with a shrug. “I can’t let something eat you on the way. A demonic hand emerging from the darkness…”

“Very funny,” he commented, rolling his eyes. However, the corner of his mouth twitched, and his breathing seemed calmer.

“…The ghost of Richard Ramirez haunting the walls of this hotel. Or some other bloodthirsty maniac.“

"Didn't you really have to pee badly?"

"The team wouldn’t recover from losing you, Reid!" You threw that line over your shoulder as you walked toward the bathroom.

Of course, there was no light there either, so you had to use your flashlight. He was waiting for you, and together, in silence, you headed down the stairs toward the reception. Given how small the motel was, it wasn’t open 24/7. You had to wait a while before someone came to assist you.

“That happens sometimes,” the employee shrugged. “We’re not sure where the problem is exactly, but someone’s supposed to come check it out tomorrow…”

“Can’t anything be done about it now?” Reid asked, a trace of frustration in his voice that he was trying to mask—especially when he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Maybe it’s just a simple overload? Where are the fuse boxes…?”

“Reid,” you said gently, placing a hand on his elbow to draw his full attention. He turned his head toward you, surprised by the tone of your voice. You gave the employee a discreet signal that you didn’t have any further questions and he could leave.

“You’re not fixing the electricity in some rundown motel. That would just be… ridiculous.”

“I’m not talking about fixing it,” he clarified quickly, though it was clear he hadn’t let go of the idea. “But in most cases, it’s just a simple short circuit. I could just take a look—”

“—Or you could just sleep in my room.”

The words left your mouth, surprising not only him but also yourself. Yet, it wasn’t as though you regretted them or wanted to take back the offer. On the contrary, the moment you said it out loud, it felt even more fitting. When you were a little kid—like most children, probably—you’d also been afraid of the dark, and running to someone else’s room always helped. Curling up beside someone, just knowing someone was there, made all the difference.

You watched his reaction, the way he shook his head slightly from side to side, a small frown creasing his forehead.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. Come on.” You grabbed him by the wrist—the hand not holding the flashlight—and pulled him along. He moved hesitantly, but he seemed too caught off guard to plant his feet and stay put.

He stopped only when you reached the door to your room, pulling his hand free from your grasp.

"How do you even imagine this working? There's... there's only one bed in there."

"If that bothers you, grab the mattress and some bedding from your room. You’ll hardly notice the difference—those beds are unbearably uncomfortable anyway."

He lowered the flashlight slightly, letting the surrounding darkness of the hallway creep over his face. It was barely visible now, but the hesitation etched on it was unmistakable. Standing across from him, you held his gaze without saying a word, silently reinforcing the fact that you weren’t joking.

The thought of him struggling to fall asleep for the rest of the night and then suffering through another day made you feel genuinely sorry for him. Besides, even though you hadn’t known each other long, you already considered him a sort of friend. If there was anything you could do to help, you wanted to do it.

"It's no big deal, Spencer," you reassured him one last time, hoping the words would finally sink in. "Really. And if you want... we don't ever have to talk about this again. Tomorrow, or ever."

His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath.

"Th-thank you," he said at last, cautiously, as though he'd packed so many thoughts into the single word that saying it out loud was an effort.

You smiled gently and understandingly. Before stepping into the room, you briefly placed a hand on his arm.

"Oh God, that sweater really is soft..."

He let out a short laugh, perhaps releasing a bit of the embarrassment he’d been holding back. You both disappeared into your respective rooms, and you lay down in bed, waiting for him to show up. Well, the moment dragged on a little too long.

You were almost certain he’d only agreed to your suggestion to get you off his back and had no intention of actually following through. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you debated whether to go to his room and drag him over or just let it go. They say you shouldn’t force help on others. Maybe there was some truth to that.

Shortly after that thought, your door creaked open slowly. You heard it but couldn’t see much—the room was too dark, and he wasn’t using his flashlight. Perhaps he assumed you were already asleep and didn’t want to risk waking you.

Either way, he moved around your bed to lay down a pillow and blanket on the floor, skipping the effort of hauling over an entire mattress.

"Your back is going to hurt," you remarked softly, your voice adjusting to the rhythm of the night, blending with the surrounding darkness.

You lay on your side, facing the spot where he had set up his makeshift bed. All you could see was the outline of his figure, his hands clasped loosely over his stomach, head resting on the pillow. You even caught the slight shrug of his shoulders in response to your comment.

"Actually, sleeping on the floor can have health benefits. It helps maintain a neutral spine position," he replied.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “Do you really have to come up with a counterargument for everything I say?”

“Such a curse of mine. If you don’t like it, well, you invited me here.”

“Annoying bastard. I guess it’s too late to kick you out?” you wondered aloud, of course, rhetorically. But you quickly added, worried that he might take it seriously, “Sleep well. You and your spine.”

An amused sigh escaped him.

“You… and your spine too.”

Well, you guessed that's enough of the chit-chat. You felt a bit disappointed, but you had brought him here for a reason. To let him sleep, not to entertain you with conversation. To your surprise, you didn’t feel sleepy, even though you had struggled with it earlier. You had been thinking about... hard to even pinpoint what, there were a few things. The little worries typical of the night, suddenly growing to some huge proportions.

You were still lying in the same position, some time had passed. Your cheek was almost touching the edge of the bed, on the same side where Reid slept. Well, actually, he wasn’t sleeping. You could see a faint, barely noticeable gleam of his open eyes. They were cast downward, trying not to stare into the empty blackness above his head.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?” you decided to ask, with no sarcasm.

“I’m not afraid,” he replied, though he could always pretend to be asleep. But the answer came out automatically.

“Alright, brave guy.” You didn’t even scoff, you just said it calmly and accepting. Maybe later he’ll tell you, when he stops being so embarrassed about it. “So, I guess you came here to get to know me better. And you know, I think you’ve got the chance. Could you... could you tell me something? Just honestly?”

"Me?" he asked, surprised, even sitting up slightly. "I mean... sure. But what?"

You suddenly sighed, regretting even bringing up the topic. God, that was so stupid...

"Just remember, honestly. Do you think the rest of the team likes me?"

Reid was silent, a strange feeling gathered in your stomach. Instead of answering negatively, he propped himself up on both elbows, and you saw a slight movement of his head. A nod.

"Are you asking this completely seriously?"

You shrugged, not sure if he noticed, so you confirmed out loud in a slightly hoarse voice. And then, to your absolute surprise, he just laughed.

"I don’t get it," he confessed after a short moment during which you stared in silence at his silhouette. "How... how could you think it could be any different? You’re always joking with Derek and Elle, and... we get along well too, I hope..."

"You’re right. But... but that’s not what I meant, I just... ugh, seriously, I can’t explain it. Fine, you know what, never mind."

You turned onto your back, as if that would completely sever the conversation. The one you’d stupidly started. You hoped he wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Another stupid thought, after all, he wasn’t like that.

Silence again, broken only by breaths. A new sound joined them, a slight rustle of the sheets. When Reid spoke again, his voice sounded somehow higher, and you were sure he was sitting on the floor as he said it.

"It might be a little surprising, but when I was a kid, I wasn't afraid of the dark," he began, completely changing the tone of his voice. He wasn't surprised like before; it was lower, gentler, despite the topic he was addressing. "I mean, I wasn't afraid of it more than any other kid my age. That... that serious fear, the real fear, started later. I don't want to say it was when I started working for the BAU because that wouldn't be entirely true. But it was around the time I started taking everything seriously. Seeing it with my own eyes, every day."

You didn't even realize when you had turned back onto your side, just to look at him, listening to his words.

"Do you have nightmares?" you asked.

"Sometimes. Actually..." he sighed, swallowing. "All of it, the fear and the nightmares, it's like they don't exist when I'm in a place I know. A place I trust. I can sleep just fine with the lights off in my apartment, the same in a jet. Everything starts in places like this. “

There was silence from your side, and you felt a bit… touched that he decided to tell you this. No beating around the bush, no lying, and, most importantly, no overwhelming embarrassment. It was a normal topic after all; everyone has their fears.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you have nightmares?"

In the first few days after starting the job, you did. Then they stopped. That’s just how things go, you suppose.

"Not anymore," you admitted, letting out a small laugh. "But that doesn’t mean I sleep well. Now I just worry at night."

"About whether the team likes you?"

"Okay, I know it sounds childish, but it’s really been bothering me lately. They might… they might seem to like me, but deep down, they might not think that highly of me. I… I'm new, not that experienced, I’m always late, and I don’t think I’m bringing anything new to the table..."

"Of course, you’re bringing something," he interrupted you. You hadn’t noticed when, but you were both sitting up now. Your voices weren’t sleepy whispers anymore, you were having a real conversation. "Each of us brings something different, something characteristic of ourselves. That's how it works in a team. That’s why you’re here. Without you… okay, you might not know this, but since you’ve been here, these last four cases have gone much more smoothly."

"Do you really think so?"

"Well, you asked me to be honest. Completely honest."

You've always had a bit of imposter syndrome, doubting your abilities, and approaching others' positive comments about you or your achievements with skepticism.

Something in the way he spoke, his quick words, his engagement in them... made you believe him, somehow.

"Reid," you began, surprised to find that there was less weight in your chest, in your body. "I know, I just know, that you'll refuse, but still, I'll ask. Do you want to lie down with me?"

You didn't even know what exactly prompted the question. Caring about your back, you could answer. But was that really all it was?

For a moment, he was silent, thinking you were joking, but when it dawned on him that you weren't, he scoffed.

"Well, you were right, I'll refuse..."

"Sorry, but I doubt you'll fall asleep any other way. I was watching you, as creepy as that sounds. You were lying there with your eyes open, you were scared."

"I'm an adult man who's afraid of the dark. That's pathetic on its own, without being tucked to sleep by a coworker."

"I never mentioned anything about tucking you in."

He hesitated, embarrassed.

"You took the least important part of my statement..."

"I took what I wanted. The rest is nonsense. Your age doesn't determine what you can or can't be afraid of. I'm a grown woman, and I'm afraid my colleagues don't like me. Which sounds more pathetic, huh? Fear of the dark or that?"

“I think it’s a point we could argue about for hours.”

“Which we don’t have. It’s late, we should go to sleep. Quick question, are you lying down with me, or are you fooling yourself into thinking you’ll fall asleep without it?”

A heavy, resigned sigh escaped him. Without adding anything else to his words, you turned onto your side, your back to him. You heard the rustling of the sheets, and for a moment, you froze, surprised. But no, he hadn’t joined you.

You weren’t sure how you felt. Disappointed seemed like too strong a word. It wasn’t as though he had refused some incredibly important request of yours. It was just… perhaps the best explanation would be that, once you had convinced him to sleep in the same room for the sake of helping him, you wanted him to take something comforting from that night. You wanted it to be one of those good nights, like the ones he had in his apartment or in the jet, the ones he had mentioned. Not one of the others, filled with fear.

But then, the mattress beside you dipped, as someone else settled onto it.

You turned to the other side, and suddenly your faces were right across from each other. Reid swallowed, almost nervously. He seemed to be adjusting to the situation, to the sudden closeness, the small space you shared. You propped your hand under your head, observing him discreetly. It hit you that he always had a bit of an issue with contact with others. A doubt crossed your mind: had you made him uncomfortable?

Minutes passed, though, and his body seemed to sink more comfortably into the bed. His arms were no longer stiff, his hands resting freely, no longer clasped tightly across his chest. You could also hear his breath, and the more peaceful it became, the calmer you felt too.

And even though no words seemed necessary anymore, he decided to speak once again.

"Thank you."

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