#I will curse you with check engine light | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yokedtablet · 6 days ago

Note

Ellie asks Abby for advice on how to up her strap game and Abby volunteers to help her practice before her date (with Dina?)

-🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

Off Limits

Contents: cursed roommate situationship, TENSION, teasing, minor humiliation, cheating, bad decisions, strap-on sex, strap sucking, dom bottom Abby, sub top Ellie, big clit Abby (it’s canon I swear), the boxers stay on during sex, overstimulation, unresolved feelings wc: 3.6k

“You’re wearing it wrong.”

This is the worst idea she’s ever had.

Ellie’s standing in the living room, purple silicone strap jutting from her fully-clothed hips like a flag at half-mast. Abby leans over the kitchen counter, scrolling on her phone, eating chips with the other hand.

Ellie turns to head back to her room. Terrible, terrible fucking idea, asking Abby for help. “I’m just going to—”

“Don’t go anywhere, Williams.” Abby sets down her phone, stretches. She’s wearing a black tank top that clings to her abs, arms and shoulders on full display—not that she usually covers up around the house, anyway. “Let me see.”

Ellie just stands there, face turning progressively more red as Abby crosses the living room with no urgency. And then she gets on her knees.

That makes her feel something she absolutely, definitely, should not feel.

Because this is for Dina. It was Dina’s idea in the first place, when they stopped outside the sex shop window and Dina dragged her in. Dina was the one that picked it out, and Ellie didn’t buy it then—she had to order it online, so that the cashier with the cool lip piercing wouldn’t know it was her. And also so she could surprise her girlfriend.

The problem is, she has no idea how to use it. Apparently, she doesn’t even know how to wear it.

Abby doesn’t seem to feel weird about this interaction at all, though. She tugs lightly at the harness, pulling Ellie’s hips toward her. Ellie tries to stay stable, balanced, as she loosens them, then pulls the strap downward so that it sits lower, almost between her legs.

When Abby cinches the harness tighter, she feels the soft plastic settle against her clit, which is probably an indication that it’s in the right place. It also makes her suck in a breath, blush deepening.

“Yeah, that’s better.” Abby stands and heads back to the counter, this time facing away from Ellie. She leans over to grab another chip, thighs and glutes stretching through jogging shorts.

Ellie doesn’t really remember how to breathe.

She reaches down, not really thinking, and strokes the shaft of the strap downward, testing the friction against her body. It gives her a warm, tingly feeling. Abby’s not looking—but she still shouldn’t be jerking off in front of her.

They’re roommates. They’ve lived together for four years, and Ellie’s gone through several different girlfriends in that time. Dina for the past two. Dina is the only one who’s stuck. Abby never really warmed up to her, just kind of tolerated her presence through silent movie nights and awkward morning-after breakfasts.

Why she agreed to help Ellie with her little problem, Ellie has no idea.

Abby turns, still leaning over the counter. Her eyes flick to Ellie’s hand on the strap. Her expression doesn’t change. Not much.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Would I have asked you if I did?”

Ellie hates this, hates the way Abby needs to feel superior no matter what it is they’re doing—has to drag the admission out of her that she’s actually pretty lost and incompetent. Usually it’s about stupid things, like how Ellie doesn’t know what the check engine light on her dash means, or how to change the tire on her bike, or how to put together their IKEA coffee table. That night, Abby came home after she’d been working on it for hours, grabbed one of the legs out of her hands, re-attached the bracket she’d had on backwards, and handed it back. Then gave her a shrug to say, it’s easy when I do it.

Abby settles onto the couch, thighs spread wide, staring her down. “Show me.”

“You—what?”

“Show me what you’re going to do with it.”

Ellie doesn’t know exactly what she’s asking for, and thrusting her hips into the air with the strap attached feels like potentially the most humiliating act on earth, aside from that one time she slipped and fell in the shower and had to talk Abby out of calling the fire department.

Ellie groans, shoulders collapsing. “This is stupid. I’m not doing this.”

Abby softens, but just a little. It feels immediately condescending. “You need to get over whatever weird hangup you have about this if you want my help. Seriously. It’s not a big deal.”

When Ellie doesn’t react, she gives her a gentle nod. “C’mere.”

Ellie approaches, slowly, like she’s afraid Abby will reach out and bite her at any moment.

“So, you want to surprise her. You want fuck her with it for the first time, like she’s been begging you to. Right?”

The way she says it is so… clinical. Her eyebrows jump, waiting for Ellie to respond.

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna have to be more confident about it than that. Say it like you actually want to fuck her. Just pretend I’m her for a second.” Abby shifts on the couch, straightening her back, sitting more upright.

Ellie laughs. “Is that supposed to be Dina?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

Ellie hums in the back of her throat. She studies the purple cock between her legs. She shifts her hips back and forth lightly, making it swing a little. Then she steadies it with her hand, allowing herself just a little bit of brushing contact with her clit. “Yeah, uh. Gonna fuck you so good, baby.”

Abby collapses back against the couch cushions. “Jesus, Ellie. No.”

“What?!”

“Does that usually work with girls?”

“I don’t usually talk… that much.”

“Okay, fine.” Abby composes herself again, trying and failing to look like she’s not enjoying this. “No talking, then.”

Ellie slumps onto the couch beside her. She feels completely stupid, utterly ridiculous. “Maybe I shouldn’t even do this.”

It’s quiet for a minute, before Abby’s warm palm meet’s Ellie’s thigh, just above the knee. She squeezes lightly. It’s a kind of tenderness Abby doesn’t usually show her. “Ellie. You’ve been talking about this for months.”

She has. She’s been practically bouncing off the walls with nervous energy, waiting for it to arrive, thinking over and over about how Dina will react when she sees it. The surprise, those dark eyes glinting darker. The thought alone makes something in her stomach twist.

Abby’s hand slides up her thigh, over her sweats, then boings the strap with one finger. It vibrates against Ellie’s pelvis, sending waves of not-quite-enough pleasure through her core.

“Besides, I think you look kinda cute with it on.”

“Abby. Stop.” Ellie hides her face in her hands, trying to ignore the warmth in her stomach—which is inevitably spreading to her cheeks. She’s always been extremely easy to fluster, and Abby knows exactly how to take advantage of that.

“I’m serious.” From behind her hands, Ellie feels the change in Abby’s tone. No longer teasing or condescending. Like she actually means it. “You could be a real menace with that thing if you wanted to.”

Twist and click. Something settles in Ellie’s mind, some knowing she’s always had but never looked at head-on—like she can’t look at Abby now. She’d hoped, always telling herself this was off limits, it could never happen. It’s wrong because Abby’s her roommate. It’s wrong because of Dina.

But suddenly Abby’s coldness toward her first real girlfriend makes sense. Abby, ever dissecting, can see her starting to understand. Seeing the threads come apart.

“Abby—”

“You wanted me to show you, right?”

She’s always been impulsive. It’s how she ends up working odd jobs she hates, or smoking cigarettes with strangers, or driving out to the country for no real reason. She acts before she thinks. It’s very her.

So she nods, body reacting before her brain can process what this really means.

Abby stands, this time a little more stiffly. She spends an unnecessary amount of time tightening her braid, and then she settles into a low kneel—between Ellie’s legs, nudging them apart slightly to make more space.

Ellie can’t breathe. She can’t move. She sits there, completely still, just staring. And Abby stares back, eyes so hard they burn.

And then that hand on her thigh again—this time on the inside edge, this time inching upward slowly, as a question.

“Tell me to stop.”

She wants to. She should. But her throat is dry and whatever the fuck is happening right now is something she doesn’t want to end.

The pressing thought of Dina flutters and dissipates the moment Abby’s hand reaches the base of the strap, holding it gently. Looking up. She gives Ellie one final moment to resist, then places a soft kiss on the silicone tip.

Ellie slaps a hand over her mouth to cover the pathetic sound that was about to come out of her. It’s not like she can feel it. But it’s exactly the absence of feeling, the promise of feeling, that makes her shudder.

Abby smiles at her, sharp and devious. “Jesus, you’re a mess. I haven’t even touched you.”

Ellie’s hips push into Abby’s hand, thrusting the strap toward her—asking, begging, for something more. She knows how pathetic she looks. She knows it’s exactly what Abby wants, and she can’t bring herself to care.

Eyes never leaving Ellie’s, Abby lowers herself until her cheek rests in the crook of Ellie’s hip—the warm, heavy weight of her, dampened through Ellie’s sweats. Then she licks a slow stripe from the base of the strap to the tip.

She can’t hold it in this time—a moan that’s half curse and half nonsense and half “Abby,” which is too many halves, because Ellie is in pieces. She grabs for Abby’s hair as some kind of anchor, pulling her head back a little too hard.

Abby’s teeth are gritted, eyes hard. She lets Ellie hold her there for a minute too long, and then Ellie lets go, and Abby is pulling away from her, and fuck, Ellie feels like she’s been punched in the gut.

Taller, bigger than she’s been, Abby towers over her. Her face is flushed with something like anger.

“Room. Now.”

Words mean things, right? These words definitely mean something. Things that Ellie isn’t quite ready to make sense of. She is, however, leaping off the couch, following Abby’s fast clip to her bedroom, and stepping inside before Abby slams the door shut.

It’s warmer in here. The smaller space traps both their body heat against them in the layers of clothes on the floor and stacks of Abby’s books and bath towel on the wall and powerlifter posters on the walls. She feels Abby’s heat even before she gets close to her, and now she’s closing in, so close that Ellie can feel her breath on her forehead.

Thick fingers pinch the waistband of Ellie’s sweats. “You can keep these on, but it won’t feel as good.”

Ellie lets out a breathless laugh, trying hard not to press herself up against Abby’s toned body right now. “Are you trying to get me naked?”

Abby’s thumb brushes her jaw. “I don’t care—” Voice tense, full of care.

It shouldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t feel this natural for Ellie to shrug the harness off her hips, and then her sweatpants, kicking them away, until she’s just in her boxers and a t-shirt that’s too thin. Abby’s thumbprint is searing into her skin, and she’s so close and too far away, and not touching her enough. Why won’t she touch her?

She doesn’t ask. She stands on her toes, reaching, and kisses her. Abby’s lips are hard, unresponsive for a moment, before they softly open. Ellie’s tongue slips inside.

Firm hands pull at her waist, her hips, until their bodies are flush, and Ellie feels like she might catch on fire. She squirms, hand tensing in Abby’s tank top for dear life, when Abby dips a hand lower, between her thighs. She murmurs something into Abby’s mouth.

Her touch is blunt, antagonistic, fingers working over her underwear. Ellie’s knees give, only held up against Abby’s bodyweight.

And then the touch is gone, and Ellie stumbles. Abby nudges her backward a little too hard, making space between them, just looks her over, up and down. Wipes her mouth on her forearm.

“That’s not what you asked me for.”

It’s like a tearing, wrenching feeling in her gut. She fucked it up. She shouldn’t have kissed her. But then Abby’s eyes drift to the floor where the strap lies, discarded.

“Put it on.”

Abby peels off her tank top—she’s not wearing anything underneath—then her shorts and underwear in one smooth movement. And Ellie chokes on air.

It’s not like she’s never seen her half-naked. Abby’s not really huge on modesty. All those post-shower occasions Ellie ran into her in the kitchen, towel wrapped around her hips with nothing covering her top half, and tried incredibly hard not to stare. But now she sees it, the way Abby’s eyebrows arch—the way she dares her to look. It’s always been an invitation, a dare, and Ellie is the most oblivious fucking person in the world.

She dares—allows—Ellie’s gaze to drift lower, to the light curls that start at the v-line of her hips and intensify over her mound, clenched between thick thighs. And—holy fucking hell. She’s imagined it, and she was actually right. The tip of Abby’s clit pokes through her curls, even standing like this. She would be on her knees with her mouth on it, right fucking now, if Abby didn’t clearly have other plans for her.

“Sit.”

She makes it to the edge of the bed, just barely, before her knees give. She wants to collapse, but instead she props herself up, now sitting flush with Abby’s hips. There’s that thumb on Ellie’s jaw again. Brushing. It slips toward Ellie’s lower lip, urging her mouth open.

Then Abby is climbing on top of her, straddling her hips, weight sinking into the mattress. Her warm thighs frame Ellie’s, the weight of her hips coming to rest on Ellie’s pelvis.

The purple strap rests between them, against Abby’s abdomen and mound. Ellie can only admire it there, the way it brushes soft curls with the gentle movement of their bodies.

“If you don’t want—”

“Abby.” It’s all she can get out, and Abby knows exactly what she means. How fucking dare she think Ellie would back out now.

That’s all it takes.

Abby rises to her knees, all concentration and flexed muscle, and positions the strap where she needs it. The moment Ellie feels the tip meet resistance, base rutting low into her clit, she starts to whimper. She grabs onto Abby’s ass just to have something, anything solid to hold onto, and Abby hisses as she sinks down onto it, silicone stretching that ring of tight muscle.

“Fuck, Abby.” Wetness spreads inside her boxers. She knows she’s ruining them. She’s just barely holding it together, because Abby is giving Ellie her full weight, the strap buried inside her. They barely move, Ellie just feeling the pressure against her, watching Abby’s chest tighten, her breaths get shallow.

Abby grabs the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. She’s rough, needy, tongue searching. Abby lifts herself and sinks back down, and all the warmth and clenching sends ripples down the shaft and straight through Ellie’s core.

Her hips rise to meet Abby’s—at first tentative, then giving her more. More impact, more depth, until she feels Abby growl against her throat. Ellie grips her ass tighter, soft and tense all at once, and uses it to thrust herself upward until she’s doing most of the work.

Every thrust sends a spasm of need through her cunt, the strap hitting the top of her clit, not giving her enough. She’s sweating and Abby’s sweating and she needs more skin, so when Abby pulls her shirt over her head, she doesn’t resist. Abby’s fingers roll over her nipples, hard and pinching, like she’s trying to pull Ellie up into her harder. Her hips work frantically, not enough space under Abby’s, not enough—

“Can we—”

Abby’s nodding, stray hairs plastered to her scalp with sweat, and lifts herself off of Ellie’s lap slowly. Ellie nearly cums just from the sight of the strap, now slick with Abby’s juices, glistening. She pumps it in her fist, shameless, grinding the base into her clit and feeling her own wetness soak through her underwear. God, she needs this, she needs it so bad.

She needs Abby, who sprawls out on the mattress, knees bent so that Ellie can see exactly what she’s doing to her.

She surprises Abby and herself, lifting Abby’s hips so they rest over her own. She wants to rush, heart and cunt throbbing in equal rhythm, but forces herself to slow down. To savor. She runs her hands up Abby’s thighs, thumbs coming to rest in curls that are already wet. Massaging slowly, inching toward the place Abby needs her most.

She watches Abby’s head fall back, abs clenching, hands grabbing blindly at the bedsheets. And Ellie is the one doing this to her. If she had known… If she had known, this would have happened a hell of a lot sooner.

She sinks two fingers into Abby’s cunt in a way that makes her clench down instinctively. Fuck. The warmth, the sheer strength of Abby’s muscles, gripping her tightly. She can barely move inside of her, so she drags her other hand over Abby’s clit, which makes her hips buck into Ellie’s touch.

It pulses against her palm. Abby makes low, desperate noises, hips grinding for more friction. Lost in it.

Ellie savors this as long as Abby will let her. The teasing, the probing of Abby’s body for tender spots that make her twitch and whine. Using her wetness to slick her pulsing clit, stroking its underside, thumbing over the tip until Abby tries to jerk away, only succeeding in pressing herself harder into Ellie’s fingers.

And she’s fed up pretty quickly, because Abby can be patient, but not that patient, and Ellie’s own need is rolling through her with a new intensity. So when Abby rasps out, “Just fuck me already,” Ellie does exactly what she asks.

The strap sinks into her easily, this time with a thrust of Ellie’s pelvis, so hard it makes Abby gasp. There’s a momentary pause—a glance, a nod—another yes, another yes, I’ve been waiting, I’ve been trying to tell you, I need—

Ellie fucks into her fast and hard. This new angle brings the base of the strap against her perfectly, sliding against her clit until she’s climbing faster than she means to, nails biting into Abby’s thighs. Her pace gets erratic and reckless, knowing she should slow down, but fuck fuck fuck

She doesn’t mean to, she usually doesn’t, and it happens too quickly, and her own thighs are shaking under Abby’s as she comes, clit throbbing hard against the strap. She’s been holding her breath and lets it out, fingers scrabbling to ground herself, trying and failing—

Abby isn’t finished. She rolls her hips in slow circles, watching Ellie twitch and shudder.

It’s too much. She burns hot, almost doubling over, but Abby’s ankles lock behind her.

“Abby, I can’t—”

Abby pushes herself up just enough to yank Ellie down on top of her, legs still sealed around her hips. Ellie sinks deeper. Her open mouth meets Abby’s chest, tongue slick, tasting salt.

“You will.”

Ellie tries to find her pace again, hips stuttering, head and gut swimming with too much, and she chokes out a sob as Abby rushes to meet her—harder, unforgiving.

“Good, Ellie.” Her voice is tight and thick, and Ellie can feel her tensing erratically. “Just a— little more.”

And she tries, she really tries, redoubling her efforts, finding her rhythm despite the burning ache that threatens to rise up and overtake her. And it is, it will, she can’t—

She’s not sure if the wetness on her thighs is Abby’s or her own, because Abby grips her tightly, trapping her inside while she comes. Ellie can’t untangle herself, can’t possibly find her own limbs, the ends of her body, and doesn’t want to. She’s melted, fucked-out, not a thought in her mind besides this this this over and over.

It’s Abby that moves, finally. Abby that lifts Ellie effortlessly off of her, out of her, Ellie whining at the loss of contact. Ellie can only flop into the bed as Abby draws herself up, stands naked in the room, lingers there.

“I need a shower.” She says it plainly, like she’d say to her any other day. Like she’s her regular roommate again, not the roommate who just fucked her until her brain stopped working.

Abby grabs her towel, and then she’s gone.

Ellie listens—sounds of the faucet running, the shower turned on, water splashing at regular intervals. Abby washing her off. Her skin is still sticky with sweat, her lips raw, her boxers soaked with her and Abby all over them. She won’t ever take them off.

This means something. There’s a shift, something falling, blankets sliding onto the floor. Ellie has broken something open inside herself with sharp edges that will cut whatever she touches. Abby, Dina, anyone who comes close. She knows this. She knows she’ll have to face it.

For now, she lets the rushing of the shower fill her ears, drown the buzzing in her mind. For now, she lets herself sink.

-------

Taglist: @smellslike-updyke @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @cinnamonstrr @elliemulate @gardengnosticator @arabellyn @abbysreal-wife @winestainedwhiskers @thenameissnix @enmauchimaki @rareanduselessbird @justanotherabbystan @glass-apothecary @hostileplanets (reply to be added or removed!)

#ellabs #ellie williams #abby anderson #ellie x abby #ellie tlou #abby tlou #abby x ellie #tlou fanfic #my writing

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intaktuah · 5 months ago

Text

Sweat For Me

Genre: Smut, 18+ mdni

WC: 4.3k

Pairing: Dom!Intak x sub!m-reader

CW: Begging, breeding, teasing, overstimulation, body worship (armpits & abs), riding, Intak likes to be called 'sir', sex on the floor,

You rarely visited the gym at night. After work you barely even had enough energy to drive home, but you were pissed tonight. Being a receptionist was a pain in the ass, especially when the customers are being so inconsiderate. For example today an elderly man who knew perfectly our schedule showed up 15 minutes before closing. He seemed to have enjoyed taking his sweet time looking around while you just stared waiting for him to leave.

To top it all off, your car’s engine light had turned on on your way back home. “I guess this day could in fact get worse.” You mumbled curses to yourself wanting to just crawl into a hole and forget everything. You were so angry at the world for seemingly putting every obstacle in your path. The only way to get over this was to blow off some steam. At the next stop light you made a sharp return making sure no cars were nearby and headed directly towards your local gym.

Something told you that a late night gym session would bring you some much needed relaxation, it would soon ease the tension you were feeling all over.

When you arrived at the almost empty gym parking lot you grabbed your extra set of clothes from the backseat and your headphones. With the shut down of your car you locked the doors and made your way inside.

Most of the machines were not being used and everyone seemed to be in their own jam they wouldn't even have noticed that you walked in.

You walked to the back of the gym where the locker rooms were located and spotted an empty bench where you could change into your workout clothes. As you slipped off your shirt over your head you couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes staring at you. To your surprise, you turned to see a man around 5’11 wearing a black tank top with a matching set of black shorts. Dang that top was doing him favors in all the right places. His bulging muscles looked big like he had just finished his workout and his forehead was red with sweat. He stared directly into your eyes for a few seconds before making a small smirk with his lips and walking away.

“Was he checking me out?” The question lingered in your head as you slipped on your workout shirt and headed back out to the main floor.

At first your workout routine went as normal, some weights mixed in with some core workouts, eventually you decided to end the night with some cardio. You were walking towards the treadmill and checked the time on your phone, 10:45pm. The gym had almost no one anymore beside the people who come to workout before their night shifts or the ones destressing after a long day.

When you stepped onto the treadmill you felt a sense of turning back. And there he was again.

His presence felt different this time, more intimidating. From afar you could see his platinum blonde hair face onto his face, it was wet you could assume he had just gotten out of the showers. The other clear sign he had just gotten out of the shower was his bare skin exposed. His figure had to have been sculpted by the greatest artists of time. His glistening abs flexed on their own and his chest was firm; you could imagine having them within your grasps.

What is happening? Why would you be thinking these thoughts about a guy you don't even know?

Your consciousness returned and you turned all over to see if anyone else was looking at the sight in front of you. Everyone was so occupied they didn't even bother to turn around. When you stopped being paranoid you turned back to where the mysterious man was standing, but he was gone. Was it a hallucination?

Your brain was telling you to just shrug it off and finish your workout, but your heart and body wanted something else. They wanted to find out who this man was, and if he was real.

Your movements got the best of you and you couldn't think twice before you were heading straight for the locker rooms still looking around paranoid to see if maybe someone was aware of what was about to happen. The locker room was empty as far as your eyes could see. All of the showers were off and not a single soul was sitting at the benches. Maybe you had imagined him.

As you were about to head out a sound from deep down the hall made you freeze. Chills ran over your body when you realized you had forgotten to check the gym’s sauna at the end of the hall.

You made your way over to the entrance of the sauna with caution as if you were trying to avoid waking a bear from its nap. With a small creak you opened up the door just a smidge to find him sitting there playing with the towel wrapped around his waist. He hadn't seen you looking at him and you backed away from the door just in time to go unnoticed.

“What am I doing? Spying on him is crazy!” You couldn't help but try and whisper some sense to yourself. Just as you tried to peek through the hole again a face emerged from the sauna entrance. You would have yelped from the jumpscare if a hand had not come up and covered your mouth.

The blonde man brought up his right hand to his face making a gesture for you to “Shh”. “You don't want to cause a scene do you?”

His tone was condescending, making you feel stupid for almost screaming in a public space. But still you were shaken to your core. Who was he to have his hand covering your mouth? You questioned as you came to your senses and slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me! Why have you been following me?” You tried your best to sound demanding but it only caused a smile from the man.

“Why don’t you get more appropriate for a sauna, and then we can talk.” He leaned in to whisper his words even though no one was around. It causes electricity to be sent down your body. Were you turned on?

The blonde man seemed to notice because he just looked you up and down and went back into the sauna.

You were frozen in place. You couldn’t possibly fall for this, what even is this guy’s catch? You seemed to stay stuck for what felt like forever before you finally started to move away from the sauna.

You walked over to your duffel bag where your original work clothes laid out. If you went home now all that would be is sleep and another tiring day of work tomorrow. Why waste an opportunity for something new tonight, right?

Your curiosity seemed to get the best of you because by the time you realized you had stripped your shirt and shorts off only remaining in your tight boxers that pressed nicely across your ass. Your semi visible bulge peeking out in front.

If you were going to do this you were going to play your cards right. So before heading to the sauna you slid off your boxers and placed them with the rest of your clothes. Your length was now hanging free, but you didn’t want anyone else to see you like this so you quickly grabbed one of the sauna towels from outside the entrance and made your way inside.

As you entered the sauna with the towel wrapped at your waist you turned to see your gym stalker sitting with his back against the wall, legs up on one of the sauna benches. He smiled and patted the empty space next to him. However you weren't as trusting as you seemed so you decided to sit across from him mocking his position with your legs up on the bench.

The sauna was pretty spacious for being part of a gym. In the middle sat a pit filled with those dark hot rocks seen in movies, and on either side sat spare towels you could only assume for other members.

You didn't dare make eye contact with the mysterious man who had been drilling into you with his eyes. You figured that instead a sauna was exactly what you needed to relax and take your mind off of all the stresses in your life. With your eyes closed you took in deep breaths trying to focus only on your breathing. But your meditating state lasted only mere minutes before another sound of breathing pulled your attention away from your own.

You tried to push it away but it only seemed to get louder. You slowly opened your eyes and slowly turned your head in the direction of where he was sitting. Your eyes seemed to widen when you saw what he was doing because a slight smirk spread on the side of his face.

Is he jerking off? You took note of how the man was moving his hand in an up and down motion underneath his towel. His breathing had become more staggered causing his mouth to hang open. His forehead drenched in sweat from his movements, and his hair fell so beautifully in front of him. His hips would occasionally jerk upwards causing him to halt his movements, but when he came back down he would just start over. But this wasn't the most insane part of it all. He was staring directly at you.

You were hypnotized, mesmerized on the way his chest heaved up and down with each one of his fast paced movements you were sure he would be finishing any minute now. His words took you out of the trance, “I can stop if you want, I’d rather save this load for you.” He smiled fully now even letting out a small chuckle. Did he think you were a prostitute? Why would he have brought you in?

You clapped back almost immediately, “Who are you? What do you think this is? Because I am not someone who sells themselves.” Your body finally made the correct decision to get up off the bench and exit the same way you came in. However, the man was faster than you thought. He got up off the bench and ran to block the door, turning a lock you hadn't noticed before.

“My name is Intak, my father owns this gym, which answers your question about there being a lock on the door.” Intak placed his hand on your chest and seemingly pushed you back until you fell onto a bench. His built frame was towering over you and if you stared forward you would come in contact with his hard length. So you just kept your eyes locked with him that was until he crouched down so he was now in between your legs.

“You caught my eye when I first saw you in the locker room. Sometimes guys come this late at night only looking for one thing. I figured that was you, but now I'm thinking I was mistaken.” He was wrong about what you had originally come for but now that you were here you felt a hot feeling all around you. You weren't sure if it was the sauna’s steam or maybe.

Intak caught onto the shift in your eyes, “Or maybe I wasn’t.” Suddenly he grasped onto the bench you were sitting on and pulled himself up now looking at you face to face. There were only mere inches between your lips. Intak would look at your lips and then look back up at your eyes. You couldn't control your shivers but they weren't out of fear. You needed Intak, whatever spell he had casted on you worked because in an instant you broke the space between you two.

Intak must've been caught off guard because he let go on the bench and instead shifted his position to standing on his knees, all the while keeping his lips in touch with yours. Your kisses were rough and urgent like you had been poisoned and the cure was all over Intak��s lips. Lucky for you he was able to keep up with your fast pace. You could feel his smile while kissing him, he enjoyed the rush you were giving him and the way the steam from the sauna was driving you both over the edge.

He placed a few more kisses on your mouth before pulling away to catch his breath. You hadn't even realized how out of breath you were too. “Fuck your lips taste amazing.” Intak rubbed your hand as he moved his hands over to the towel that still wrapped around your waist. But you stopped him.

“I have another idea.” You brought Intak up to sit beside you on the bench but then immediately pushed his body down so he was on his back. You removed your own towel to show Intak your own hardening dick that had been gathering some precum from the makeout sesh. Intak was in awe he gulped down the knot that had formed in his throat and all he was able to mutter out was a small “wow”

You straddled Intak’s lap slightly rubbing your ass on his dick making him close his eyes and let out a small groan. Before he could have opened his eyes again you brought your mouth down to meet him again as you mashed lips together. You could feel Intak slide his tongue down your mouth exploring every inch of you. Your hands were climbing his head grabbing at pieces of his hair and pulling them back. The tug made Intak lift his head.

“You're pretty kinky aren't you.” He found your dirty actions fascinating. He took his own hands and reached down for your ass smacking down onto them and moving them so they would rub against his pelvis.

You had been kissing his neck and jaw while he did this but you stopped to look into his eyes. “Oh you have no idea.” But Intak wanted to test you. He slightly pushed you off of him, making you give him a confused look. He then slid on the bench bringing the upper half of his body up onto a wall in the corner while the other half still laid on the bench.

You were about to mount him again when he stopped you. He lifted his left arm and placed it behind his head with his right hand. He grabbed the back of your head and jerked you roughly towards his armpit. You could have swore he couldn't drive you anymore crazy but here you were taking in his masculine scent. “Well don't just sniff it” Intak sounded annoyed by the lack of actions, “Get yourself a taste.” The suggestion itself would have made you nut right then and there. You hesitated but knew that your horniness was too much to stop. You started from the bottom of his pit and placed your tongue on his fairly tanned skin. Tastes of sweat and salt attacked your senses as you explored Intak’s pit. Above you Intak was enjoying the sight of you being a mess for his armpit; he couldn't help but let out tiny moans.

“Fuck yeah keep doing that. Your tongue feels amazing.” You couldn't believe how horned up he was and you hadn't even sucked his dick yet. Intak eventually grabbed your head and moved you to his other armpit where you would repeat the same process of licking his hair free armpit. You wish it could have stayed like that forever but Intak brought you up to catch your breath. “I cant believe I’ve been so horny for you this whole time I don't even know your name.” He chuckled to himself sitting up letting you find a seat on the warm floor. “It's y/n. But you can call me anything you want.” You wanted to tease him.

“Huh, y/n. I like it. I'll be sure to use it later.” Intak slid over to have your face in between his legs. This time you were sure to make eye contact with his hard cock that was filled with his precum from jerking off earlier. He didn't need to say anything you knew what he wanted, and so did you.

You made your way over on your knees and slowly grabbed him from the base of his dick, Intak looked down at you with hunger in his eyes. He wanted to use you in every way he possibly could. He wasn't alone however, You wanted to feel every inch of Intak inside of you. So you started by slowly licking the tip of his cock making him squirm underneath you. You smiled knowing you had at least some power over Intak even if it was just for a moment.

“Enough with the teasing y/n, start sucking my dick before I make you regret coming in here.” His words shouldn't have turned you on as much as they did but he was right. You wrapped your lips around his uncircumcised tip and made your way down the 7 inch length. “Oh fuck y/n yeah just like that, you sure know you to swallow a cock.” Intak struggled to get his words out as your head bobbed up and down. You were going halfway while using your right hand to jerk the other half. Your left hand was rather occupied trying to touch yourself. Intak noticed you were trying to please yourself and grabbed your hair roughly making you spit out his cock.

He brought his face down making sure he was close to you. “Did I say you could touch yourself? It looks like you haven't understood who's the one in charge here.” Intak looked pissed like he was a spoiled child who was just told they were getting their way.

“Im sorry, Intak I won't do it anymore.” Bur Intak just looked at you before saying something that caught you off guard. “Call me Sir.” You looked at him with innocent eyes making sure you had heard what he said correctly. “Did you hear me? Because I really hate repeating myself.” Intak still had you in his grasp so you had no choice but to respond. “Yes sir.”

“That's more like it.” Intak did not allow you to process what had just happened before he brought you down to his dick once again but this time he didn't let you use your hands to jerk him or yourself off. Intak was more aggressive, making you go up and down on his cock. He brought you down forcing yourself to take all seven inches. You were gagging and you could feel tears swell up in your eyes from the pressure.

“Don't cry, you can take cant you y/n. You're my good little boy making sure I'm getting my pleasure first.” Intak had now let you go completely, you came off his cock coughing and grabbing your neck. “Next time you think of touching yourself without my consent you're going to see just how aggressive I can be.” Intak threatened you but you didnt care you wanted to feel it again.

He was somewhat shocked when you crawled back to his cock and immediately went to work again. He breath hitched and he rolled his eyes in pleasure as he felt your tongue swirling around the tip. Then you tried deepthroating his cock once again, your face turned bright red and you gagged at the pressure but it was worth it. Intak was a mess. “Oh y/n stop stop stop I’m gonna cum I don't want to cum yet.” He pushed you off his dick and stood up from the bench. He threw you completely down onto the floor “Woah Intak what’re you doing?” You barely managed to ask your question before Intak turned you over so your stomach was now flat on the floor. You couldn't see what was happening behind you until a short warning came from Intak. “Don't worry about it my boy, you're going to love what I am going to do with you.

Suddenly the sharpest of pains blazed in your tight hole as you slightly turned your head to see Intak sticking his tip into your entrance. His jaw hung open and he was filled with sweat all over his body. “Ngh~ Intak I think maybe you should have prepared me before.” You tried to reason but he wouldn't budge. Instead he laughed, “Oh y/n a little slut like you doesn't need prep, besides my cock is all lubed up from your spit. Trust me it is better this way.” So there he went with no condom, no lube, no preparation. Intak started to slowly thrust into you trying to keep himself up. Soon enough his thrusts started to pick up pace. “Intak please, it's so big, I don't think I can take it.”

You whined but it seemed Intak was tired of hearing you complain because he started to go faster making you moan and scream instead of talking. You could feel the way his uncut cock curved slightly to the left and how he was filling up your hole with his hard length. The sounds of skin slapping echoed through the sauna. You were surprised that nobody had heard all the sounds coming from inside. Intak had been fucking you so hard you felt weak and limp. You didn't even have the energy to try and pleasure yourself the size of his cock was pleasure enough inside of you.

Intak meanwhile was having the greatest sex of his life, he had now lifted up on his knees to get a better angle at digging into you. One of his hands was placed on your ass where he would occasionally give some smacks to make you nudge even a little. His right hand had traveled up to place your head down into the ground. You felt his immense body weight pressed onto you, his biceps flexing and twitching trying to maintain your head down but the pleasure was making you moan so much your head was moving around.

“Intak please~” You were feeling too much pleasure all around, Intak had you in the palm of his hands. But still there was something you wanted that you were sure he would love. “Intak. I~ I want to ride your dick.” The dominant man above you slowed his pace, thinking about your suggestion. “How bad do you want my sweet boy?” Oh so now he was teasing.

“Bad, I need it Intak please give it to me sir.”

Your pleads were enough for Intak’s hunger. He slowly pulled out of you and laid on the sauna floor; his hands motioned for you to come over. Crawling with the little strength you had left you climbed onto Intak. His eyes themselves were fucking you, examining every tired inch of your muscled body. You could tell he wanted this more than you did, so you positioned yourself facing directly at Intak wanting to keep fucking him with your eyes as well. “Are you ready?” You shot a smile at Intak making him smile back in anticipation as his smile turned into a big ‘O’ when you sank down onto him.

Riding Intak’s 7 inch cock was more pleasing than you ever could have predicted. His hips thrusted up into giving him the slight satisfaction that he was still the one in control, but you knew deep down that you had the power. Intak was going to lift half his body up to you but you pushed him back down. Instead you leaned down to place your lips to Intak’s chest. You placed soft kisses to his bare sweaty chest, licking his hard nipples. Both of the feelings of satisfaction were driving intak over the edge. “Y/n please I can’t do it, I want to fill you up.” You smiled at his words and continued your work even taking your hands to his abs grappling at them, leaving your mark on them.

“Fuck y/n I think I’m getting close.” Intak said as he fucked up harder into you making you moan in pleasure. “Cum in me, Intak.” He opened his eyes in shock, but you gave him a nod confirming where you wanted him to finish. Intak didn't hesitate for much longer, he started getting sloppy and with one final thrust he finished inside you. “Y/n~ fuck.”

The feeling of his seed inside of you filling every inch of you drove you insane as well. “Intak I’m cumming to!” You shouted as you kept bouncing on him, you dug your nails into his sharp abdomen. You stopped bouncing on him and felt as your load exploded out of your dick and all over your abdomen and Intak’s, some of it even reaching his face.

After coming off of your high you felt yourself fall down onto Intak’s body. You could feel him leak out of your hole and it was one of your favorite feelings. Intak grabbed some cum off his abs, “You wanna taste yourself babe?” You looked directly into his eyes as you sucked on his fingers, having the sweet taste of your own cum in your mouth.

“Y/n you are insane, I mean cumming without even touching yourself!” You chuckle at his words “I would love to do this again sometime.” Your suggestion made Intak’s eyes light up like he was a puppy who had just been offered to play. “Well I mean this sauna is technically mine, so it wouldn't be a problem having you in here.” With his sentence you both smiled at each other before having your lips meet together again still being able to feel the intense heat between the two of you.

Author's Note: Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed my fic this is my first time writing smut. I wrote this as a request for a friend of mine so I hope they enjoyed this to. Also I am not really familiar with tumblr so please bare with me, but i would love to receive and requests from anyone!

#intak #hwang intak #p1harmony #intak x reader #intak x male reader #p1h intak #p1h #smut #mlm smut #fanfic #male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #y/n #x male reader

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solarsturniolo · 22 days ago

Text

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: in which Matt is failing his classes and at risk of having to repeat the semester, and his tutor is the reason behind it.

𝕯𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗: This is a collaborative story that me and another person started on, but I was given permission to edit and continue it, and I am in charge of it now :) All characters in this story are of age. None of the characters are minors. All previous parts are linked beneath the word count.

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: cursing / smut / switch!matt / switch!fem reader / male masturbation / wet dreams / use of good boy / virgin!matt / p in v / oral (fem receiving) / oral (male receiving) / overstimulation / breeding kink / praise kink / mommy kink / scenes mentioning anxiety

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 8145

Previous parts: Intro / One / Two / Three / Four

X O X O X O

No lights glowed outside as Matt slowed to a stop, gravel crunching under the van tires. The house seemed empty and devoid of life. He opened his phone and checked the message again - 1209 Cherokee Parks - I’m in the right place…

She started typing and his breath hitched in his throat. Does she know that I’m here? How could she know that? Was she watching for me? Waiting for me??

Come around the back it’s unlocked.

His heart thundered as Matt turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, pressing the button on his key fob, the car chirping in the silence that surrounded the neighborhood like a cozy blanket on a cool evening. He flinched, the sound breaking that silence, and he made a beeline for her house, or more so the shadows to keep from linking himself to the late night disturbance. A privacy fence ran the length of the sidewalk but it didn’t take him long to find the gate, and less time to slip through it, the rusty hinges groaning softly as he pushed the wooden door open. He made sure to secure the door shut, taking the time to lock it properly.

“Get inside.”

He jolted, whipping around to meet her face to face, but his heart thundered as all he was met with was the eerie shadows of the night. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, terrified by the voice from the darkness. She stepped out of a shadowed doorway and tilted her head inward. “Come on.” The moonlight glimmered in her eyes, her hair reflecting beams of hazy gray light. Her face held no emotion, and Matt swallowed. He was in a lot of trouble, and he knew it.

Matt obeyed, silent as the grave. How do you apologize to someone for…what I did? ‘Hey sorry I’m a horny freak with zero self-control, hope we can still be friends so my grades don’t plummet and my life doesn’t blow up in flames’. As he silently monologued, she led him through a maze of hallways and furniture, graceful and careless all at once. She stepped through a door, ushered him in, and closed it behind her. Matt realized three fundamental truths simultaneously.

One, he was in her bedroom. Two, she was in her bedroom. And the most important of the three, she and Matt were in her bedroom at the exact same time. Together.

This was an illuminating half-second for Matthew Bernard Sturniolo.

Looking around her room, Matt’s eyes flickered between the butterfly tapestries, pulled straight from a fantasy, to a basket of laundry on the floor. A pair of panties lay atop it, pink and soft-looking. What material is that? Silk? Matt blushed a deep shade of embarrassed, but she didn't even notice. “Sit,” she said, settling on the bed and opening her laptop. “Work.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Please, I’m so-”

“Finish your paper. Then talk.”

Matt knew there was only one option. He logged into his Google account on her laptop, pulling up the google doc that he had spent the past week working on. It should have been completed hours earlier, with her sitting across from him or even possibly beside him, laughing at something stupid he had said. But instead she stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, an unimpressed look on her face. Matt’s stomach twisted up, an ache growing in his side. He got right to work, not wanting to waste a single second. Each moment he had right now was precious. And every moment that he could save by bullshitting the rest of his paper, meant more time being spent on her. Apologizing to her. Begging for her forgiveness. Pleading for her to give him one more chance. To prove that he wasn’t this perverted creep with no self control…

The minutes passed quietly, with her music playing somewhere in the background. He liked her taste - a mix of artists he enjoyed and music he’d never heard, but liked in the moment. He wanted to ask if he could download one of her playlists. He figured that could be a conversation for later.

She got up at one point to let her cat in, and Matt paused for a moment to reach out a hand. With signature feline airs, the animal ignored him completely, her fabulously fluffy tail flicking at him as she turned away from him. The cat rubbed up against her ankle, meowing softly. Shrugging, he returned to his paper. Matt’s focus kept slipping, but the desperate need to explain himself—to somehow apologize to her—pushed him on. Within the hour, he’d cobbled together something vaguely resembling an essay, or at least a rambling apology wrapped in questionable punctuation.

“Okay, I’m done.” Matt leaned back, straightening out of the hunch he’d assumed.

She beckoned with her hand, and he bashfully passed the laptop to her, remembering how this very same interaction had played out mere hours before. If she recalled anything similar, she didn’t show it. She read over his essay in total silence.

With nothing to occupy his brain, Matt looked quietly around the room once more. Fucking laundry basket, he growled inwardly, trying his damndest to avoid even a glimpse at the underwear lying atop it. What does it look like on her? Does it go up to her waist on the edges or does it sit right on the side of her hips? His cock stiffened at almost the speed of light, and Matt grasped the nearby pillow, subtly moving it to his lap. The brisk friction caused a jolt of pleasure to burst through his synapses, and he mentally cursed himself for choosing to wear sweatpants. The first rule in the goddamn book: NEVER wear sweatpants unless you know they’re coming off. He pressed the cushion down with a little more force, desperate to conceal his, now fully loaded, weapon.

She reached the end of his work and gave a nod. “It’s fine.” Her tone was unimpressed. Almost…bored?

“Okay. I mean, is there anything I need to-”

“Get up.”

“Huh?”

“Up.” She waved once with her hand, brows raised in dawning incredulity.

Matt hesitated, his fingers clenching around the frilly pink pillowcase. He laughed nervously, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I really don’t think you want that…”

He smoothed out his shirt, nervous energy sparking through him - he wondered what in the world she was doing. He refused to meet her gaze, already knowing that his cheeks were the same bright red as the tip of his aching cock. Humiliation swirled around him, and Matt began to drown in it.

“Matt,” she warned.

Matt finally looked at her and he sighed. He shoved his hands into his pockets, adjusting himself subtly, before standing up and looking at her, shame written across his face. He knew what was coming, and he needed to brace himself for it.

Here it comes. ‘Matt, you’re a disgusting perverted creep and I never want to see you again. I told everyone what you did, and everyone else thinks you’re a gross hormonal pig too. You should look into being homeschooled, it’s not like you’ll be making it to graduation with your grades anyways.’

She took a deep breath and began to speak. “You freaked me out today. I wasn’t expecting to see porn on your laptop, much less porn like... that. I mean, everyone has their own tastes but I just…didn’t expect that from you.” She rambled, running her fingers through her hair, a rosy tint rising to her cheeks.

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed what she had said, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in his stomach. “You had expectations about the porn I like?”

Strangely, she began to stumble over her words, the blush deepening in her soft skin. “N-No, I just- I just meant that-”

Matt interrupted her abruptly. “Listen, I’m really sorry that I made you uncomfortable, I seriously didn’t mean to, I want to keep my grades up so I graduate on time, and I just-” he sighed. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure, I keep beating myself up over every little thing I do, because all I keep doing is messing things up. I never wanted to put you in that position, I feel like a fucking pervert, I know how uncomfortable it made you and I’m so-”

She cut him off with a series of words that stunned him into speechlessness. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. You made me curious.”

Matt blinked. She continued.

Her fingers began to fiddle with her hair, twisting it around before inevitably untwisting it. “I’ve never met a guy that watches porn like that… usually they just want…I dunno…crazy stuff,” she said, moving her laptop to the other side of the bed, allowing her to sit down on her bed. Her eyes never left him, staring straight through him. She licked her lips slowly, Matt was almost sure she was doing it on purpose, and his dick twitched in his pants. He prayed that she hadn’t been able to see it. Her gaze finally released him, her eyes now admiring the elaborate pattern of pinks and whites on her bedding, her fingers toying with the pillowcase that Matt had previously been using. Her eyelashes fluttered, and suddenly her eyes met his again. “But now there’s some stuff I wanna try.”

Matt choked on nothing but the air in his lungs, his breath catching like it had betrayed him. He took a step back without meaning to, as if distance might shield him from whatever this was—this impossible kindness radiating off her like sunlight on a grave.

This is a trap. You know it’s a trap. No sane person would act like this—not after what he did. Not after the damage he left behind. She should be furious. She should be a storm. She should be tearing into him with words sharpened by rage, calling him names he wouldn’t even contest. He wants that—no, he needs it. He needs her hatred to make sense of his guilt; needs her cruelty to validate the punishment he’s already been living on a loop in his mind.

She should be shouting while he drops to his knees, not in some grand gesture, but because the weight of his shame makes standing feel dishonest. She should mock him while he agrees with every insult, letting her reduce him, rename him, strip him of even the illusion of redemption. He would take it—gladly, greedily—because maybe then he could believe there’s still a chance to make things right. Maybe then, her disgust would feel like attention. Maybe then, he could stop trying to claw his way back into her life through every waking thought.

But instead, she stood there—calm, composed, unreadable—and it terrified him. Because kindness felt like a trick. Forgiveness felt like a lie. And worst of all, some pathetic part of him still hoped it wasn’t.

Her voice sliced clean through the noise in his head. “Apologize to me, Matthew,” she said, softly—almost tenderly. Her lashes lowered, veiling her eyes like she already knew exactly how this would go. “Apologize, and do it properly.”

The calm in her voice wasn't mercy—it was precision. She didn’t need to raise her voice. He was already unraveling, and she was offering him the privilege of obedience. Her gentleness wasn’t forgiveness; it was power wrapped in silk, and he felt it coil around his throat like a ribbon.

Matt didn’t want to believe his ears. He must have misheard her—twisted her words into something they weren’t, something he wanted too badly to trust. She couldn’t have meant what he thought she meant. No. Impossible. This had to be a test. A cruel, careful test. She wanted him to prove himself—to piece back together what he’d shattered. That was all this was. It had to be.

Because the alternative made no sense. Because the alternative terrified him. Because in what universe would she still want him?

And yet, even as doubt gnawed at his mind, she kept looking up at him—silent, composed, unblinking. Her lashes cast delicate shadows across her cheeks, and her fingers toyed absently with the frilled edge of the pillowcase, twisting it with a slowness that felt almost rehearsed. Purposeful. Effortlessly cruel.

She didn’t need to speak again. Her eyes said everything: she knew. She knew he was already unraveling. She knew she had him. And worst of all—she knew he would give her whatever she asked.

Because he was hers. Not in some romantic, poetic way, but in the raw, desperate sense of a man who had already surrendered, clinging to the hope that his suffering might somehow still earn him a place beside her again.

At her feet, if that’s where she wanted him.

His throat constricted painfully, a ragged, desperate gulp tearing free like a silent scream trapped inside him. The weight of her seriousness crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave, relentless and inescapable, washing away every fragile hope he’d built. She was serious. Dead serious. “Yes, ma’am,” he croaked, voice cracking under the unbearable pressure, knees shaking like fragile glass ready to shatter beneath his weight. Each trembling step toward the bed was a surrender, a leaf caught in a storm, drawn irresistibly closer to the fierce eye of the hurricane—her.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he sank to his knees, eyes locked fiercely on hers, drinking in every flicker, every shadow, as if tracing constellations in the dark expanse of her soul. His lips parted just enough to steal in a breath, fragile and trembling, like a moth hovering at the edge of a flame, knowing full well the danger but unable to pull away. His entire body was a live wire of longing and reverence, humming with the electric ache of finally standing—or rather kneeling—before the sun that had burned its mark into his heart.

His heart thundered so loud it threatened to burst through his ribs, pounding out a frantic rhythm like war drums signaling surrender and devotion all at once. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this moment would come—never thought she’d glance his way, let alone allow him to be this close, kneeling here like a pilgrim before a cathedral of light and shadow. His pulse hammered in his ears as every breath he took was a prayer, every inch of him aching to dissolve into her gravity, to be swallowed whole by the orbit of her presence.

He steadied his breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze through thick lashes, the air between them crackling like charged lightning—an invisible current pulling him deeper into her spell. And then, voice raw and trembling, he whispered, “Is it okay if I…”

“If you what?” Her smile bloomed slow and lethal, but all Matt could feel was the wildfire raging inside him—an uncontrollable blaze that scorched reason and left only raw nerves exposed. His heart was a cage of frantic wings beating against bone, desperate to escape but trapped by the weight of everything he wanted and feared. Her voice—soft, teasing—cut through the storm in his chest like a blade, leaving him shattered and aching in its wake.

His cheeks burned with a shame so fierce it threatened to drown him, a shame tangled with a desperate hunger he barely understood himself. Every glance she cast his way was a flame that stripped him bare, exposing all the cracks he’d hidden beneath layers of doubt and guarded hope. He was caught in the pull of her gravity—helpless, unraveling, utterly undone—each heartbeat a battle between longing and fear, between wanting to rise and knowing he could only fall.

He knelt there, trembling beneath her gaze, lost in the chaos of his own making—an electric storm of need and vulnerability, worship and self-doubt, burning brighter than he could bear. And in that silence thick with unspoken truths, he realized he was no longer in control. She was the storm, and he was nothing but a broken soul willing to be swallowed whole.

“If I touch you,” he whispered. “Please let me make it up to you.”

The words clawed their way out of him, trembling and torn from someplace deep—deeper than longing, deeper than shame. It wasn’t just a plea. It was surrender. His voice shook with the weight of it, with the frantic need coiled so tight inside his chest it felt like it might break him open. He didn’t know if he wanted forgiveness or punishment—only her. Only her.

She smiled, her eyes glistening with a devilish gleam.

Slow, deliberate, dangerous. That grin carved into him like a blade dipped in honey. She reached for him, and when her hand touched his cheek, it was like setting fire to an already scorched earth. He leaned into it with a reverence so desperate it bordered on madness. His breath stuttered, eyes wide and drowning in the sight of her. She was everything—salvation, damnation, and the space in between.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” she murmured, and the sound of it, that voice—warm and wicked, sweet like poison—had his stomach knotting, coiling tighter with every word. It wasn’t just praise. It was control wrapped in silk. It was a chain he didn’t want to break.

“Go ahead,” she allowed.

Her fingers trailed down beneath his chin, light as silk and twice as devastating. It wasn’t just her touch he craved; it was what it meant. It was permission. It was presence. It was power—and he would have followed it into the dark. Her gentle fingers traced his jaw, soft and lingering, like a promise he hadn’t earned. As her hand began to pull away, he followed without thinking, like gravity itself was tied to her skin. His head moved with her hand, desperate not to lose contact, like she was the only real thing keeping him tethered to this earth. Her touch was oxygen, and without it, he was already starving. Matt whimpered.

X O X O X O

With both hands, he took reverent hold of her calves and pressed his forehead to her knees, panting. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing the soft skin on the inside of her legs, “I’m so sorry.” Shame flooded his cheeks, but it was a distant thing now—drowned beneath the urgency of his need. His mouth was reverent, desperate, moving over her skin in slow, trembling strokes like he could write a liturgy there with kisses. Every breath he drew was an invocation. Every exhale, a confession.

And she laid there, silent. Watching. Not stopping him. Her fingers twitched at her sides but didn’t move. Her throat bobbed, once, like she’d swallowed something heavy, and her breath caught in the back of it. She should have told him to get up. She should never have put him in this position, where he felt guilted into begging for her forgiveness. But those sudden realizations were worthless.

Because somewhere in the darkest corner of her heart, where no light ever touched, she liked it. Needed it. Needed him like this—ruined for her. She liked the way he trembled. The way he crumbled. The way he clung to her like salvation with a heartbeat.

He knew it was wrong. So wrong. To adore her like this—like a deity, like damnation in a dress. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to. She was the sin he chose every time. The altar he bled on. The fire he walked into with open arms.

Unbeknownst to Matt, the woman before him used every single iota of self-control she possessed to restrain herself. He carried on with his adulation, nosing the space behind her knees, where her thighs tapered down into slender calves, gentle lingering kisses brushing across her soft skin, holding her leg with sweetened hands.

“What are you sorry for?” She murmured, remembering her place in the current dynamic. In control. She would not let him take control. He had a lesson to learn, after all.

Matt looked up, eyes wide and wet with pleading, and the fluttering in her gut turned violent. “I freaked you out,” he whispered, forehead pressing against her leg as if seeking absolution through skin-to-skin contact. “I—I didn’t mean to. I left it open—on my laptop—I didn’t think you’d see—” His voice cracked, hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He breathed the apology like it hurt to say, like it was being torn from him.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, swallowing a groan. Was he trying to destroy her?

Then his lips were climbing higher, kissing a slow, fervent path up the inside of her thigh, curls tickling the other leg with maddening softness. “I won’t do it again. I swear,” he murmured, frantic now. “Just don’t give up on me, please. Don’t walk away. Don’t leave me—please…”

She stayed silent—because if she spoke, she’d break.

He shifted to her other leg like it was sacred, leaving heated, trembling kisses in his wake. His breath shuddered across her skin, turning warmth into goosebumps, into want. “Please,” he begged, forehead pressed to her shin now, his voice fraying at the edges. “I can’t lose this. I need this. I need you. I’m trying—I’m trying so hard, but my brain just won’t shut up, it’s always spinning and buzzing and—and every time that I see you, I just…” he breathed out, his hands growing clammy as the heat radiated off of him and melted into her skin. “I get so distracted…”

He broke off, panting, lost in it.

She watched, breath caught somewhere in her chest, as he clutched her leg like a lifeline. His hands, gentle and sweetened with guilt, clung to her leg like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Distracted by what, Matthew?” she asked finally, her voice sharp yet sweet.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and frantic, and the way he looked at her—like she was salvation and punishment all in one—made her knees ache to give way.

He gulped. “You.”

She hissed—a sharp sound of warning—and shoved him back. The contact was light, but to Matt it landed like a blow. His hands fell away from her skin, trembling and empty. His chest constricted painfully, heart shriveling as though she'd torn it straight out with that single gesture. He stared up at her, stunned, breath frozen.

Then she moved.

It took him a beat to realize what was happening—her fingers sliding down to her waistband, pushing her pants over her hips with a smooth, measured finality that made his vision blur. He barely had time to think. Instinct seized him.

His hands flew to help, yanking the fabric the rest of the way down with a frantic reverence, like it was holy cloth he had no right to touch. His breath came in ragged, gasping waves, chest rising and falling as if he’d been underwater for minutes.

Then—skin.

Bare. Warm. Real.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracked and breathless. “Please, please… please get on the bed. I’ll make you feel good, I swear—I need to, I need to—please let me, let me—” His hands cradled her waist as if she was the most fragile thing in the world.

He kissed her skin with trembling lips, frantic, hungry, worshipful. His words spilled in a feverish rush, barely coherent between kisses: “I’ll be so good—I’ll take care of you—fuck, just let me—I’ll ruin you right, make you forget every second you were mad at me—please please please…”

He was shaking. Not from fear—but from pure, unbearable longing.

“I can’t—” he choked, breath stuttering. “I can’t think when you’re like this, I can’t breathe—please just let me have you, let me show you—anything, anything you want—I’ll crawl, I’ll beg, I’ll break, just say it, please…”

He clung to her like a man unraveling, burying his face in her skin, like he could inhale her, drown in her, cease to exist and call it peace.

She was already scrambling backward across the bed, breath ragged, lips parted with aching need.

“Apologize, pretty boy.”

The words struck him like lightning—commanding, sharp, and so goddamn hot it nearly undid him.

Matt climbed onto the mattress with no grace, no hesitation, crawling after her like he was starving. His hands found her thighs, spreading them open with trembling reverence, his chest sinking between them as he laid himself low—offered himself.

A strangled whine tore from his throat, desperate and raw. “Come here,” he breathed, almost pleading, voice thick with worship and ache.

His fingers slipped under the waistband of her dark blue thong—so soft, so unfairly pretty—and he dragged the delicate fabric down her hips, over her thighs, past her knees, all the way to her ankles. He let it fall to the floor like it was nothing—because compared to her, it was nothing. Everything else blurred into irrelevance the moment she was bare before him.

And then he saw her.

The breath left his lungs in a single, broken sound.

Glistening pink, folds slick with arousal, her wetness catching the light as it shimmered between her thighs. Matt’s vision blurred. His throat closed. He blinked once, twice—trying to convince himself this was real. That this was for him. That she was for him.

He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

Not in dreams. Not in fantasies. Nothing he’d imagined came close to the aching perfection of her, wet and open and wanting.

She gasped, a noise of surprise getting caught in her throat as Matt’s strong hands grasped the underside of her thighs, yanking her closer towards him. His patience had fled in mere seconds, he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to taste her. Even if it was the last thing to find itself on his tongue, he would have died a happy man.

He couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth—not when she threw her head back into the pillow like that, not when her fingers tangled deep in his chestnut curls, clutching him like she needed something to anchor her to this plane of reality. His breath trembled in his chest, heart stuttering hard against his ribs as her hips jolted upward, chasing the heat of his breath like it was the only air she could breathe.

He blinked once, dazed, then leaned in—lips pursed—exhaling deliberately over her soaked heat again, just to feel her react. Another buck of her hips. Another desperate twist of her fingers in his hair.

“God, please don’t tease—”

Her voice. That voice.

It cracked something inside him.

His head spun, the sound of her plea short-circuiting every thought in his mind until all that remained was need.

He didn't waste another second. The space between them disappeared in a heartbeat as he leaned in, cradling her thighs with care, reverence. Her arousal painted the inside of her thighs, shining in the low light, folds swollen and pink and perfect. He blinked, dizzy with need, and then dropped lower—his chest flat against the bed, his arms hooked tightly under her thighs like she might vanish if he let go. He dragged her closer, as close as he could get her, nose brushing the soft, swollen heat of her folds.

His tongue pressed flat against her slick, swollen folds, and the world simply vanished.

A deep, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, half-broken by how overwhelmed he felt. Her taste—God—her taste was everything. She wasn’t sweet like candy; no, she was better. She was fresh-cut fruit at a summer cookout—lush, ripe, dripping with juice. The kind that stains your fingers, makes you greedy. The kind you go back for again and again and again.

Seconds. Thirds. Fourths. Forever.

He groaned against her, tongue gliding slowly, purposefully, savoring every second like she was the only thing that had ever mattered. His self-control unraveled, thread by thread, lost to the way she trembled under his mouth.

He lapped at her with aching tenderness, every motion an offering. A devotion. A promise.

He wasn’t here just to make her feel good.

He was here to worship.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me. You don’t know—fuck—how long I’ve wanted this, how many nights I’ve thought about this, about you.”

Another moan. Another flick of his tongue. Her taste spread across his tongue like it belonged there.

His eyes fluttered shut. His hips ground helplessly into the mattress as he worshipped her. Every sound she made, every twitch of her thighs, every tremble in her breath—it was breaking him down, reshaping him into something new.

Something hers.

Matt’s mouth was everywhere—open and eager, sucking gently on her skin like he could draw her pleasure straight into his bloodstream. He moaned into her flesh, every sound raw, needy, helpless. He didn’t know where his body ended and hers began. Didn’t want to. He was lost in her, in the warmth of her thighs, the scent of her arousal, the pulse he felt with his lips and tongue and fingers.

His hand slid away from her thigh, shaking slightly, and found its way between her legs—fingertips brushing over her slick heat in slow, reverent circles. She was wet. Dripping. Not just a little. She was soaking. For him. The realization hit him so hard he almost forgot to breathe.

Matt gasped softly, grinding his hips into the mattress below in helpless rhythm. He couldn’t stop it. His body was responding to hers like a tether had been tied between them—his pleasure directly bound to hers. But this wasn’t about him. It never was.

Every moan that spilled from her lips, every small twitch of her hips, every broken sound she tried—and failed—to bite back, lit his nerves on fire. He knew the sounds women made when they were pretending. He knew what it looked like when it was performative, for show, for ego. This wasn’t that.

This was real.

She was coming apart for him. And it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed.

His eyes flicked up to the bedspread beneath her—soft pink, patterned with bows and cherries—and the sight nearly undid him. The fabric was already darkening beneath her, soaked with her need, a testament to what he was doing to her. What she was letting him do. And Matt thought: Nothing in the world could ever be more sacred than this.

More sure now, more devoted, he let his jaw go slack and buried himself between her thighs. His tongue moved with purpose, no longer timid—worshipping her with every stroke, every flick, every trembling kiss. He kissed like it was prayer. He licked like it was penance. He moaned like he could cry, overcome by the taste of her, the heat of her, the knowledge that she was letting him do this.

Her gasp shattered the air between them like glass.

His entire body froze, then shivered in reaction.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low, his hands tightening against her hips, holding her like she might disappear. “I’ll do this all night if you keep soundin’ like that…”

He meant it. God, he meant it.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked, and Matt whimpered—not from pain, but from pure, unfiltered need. He would’ve thanked her for it. Begged for more. There was nothing she could do to him that he wouldn’t want, as long as it came from her.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, grinding her hips into his mouth like she was using him—because she was. And he loved it. “Never stop.”

Matt groaned in response—deep and throaty, the sound vibrating directly against her clit. “Yes ma’am,” he panted, almost frantic.

He slipped two fingers into her with the softest, most reverent care, and the moment he felt her walls clench around him—tight, warm, pulsing—he nearly sobbed.

His mouth latched back onto her clit, tongue stroking and flicking with a new intensity. Not rough. Never rough. Just intentional. Worshipful. Deliberate. Like he was spelling her name in devotion with every movement.

She tugged harder at his hair and he moaned again, voice broken, almost delirious. If she told him to stay like this forever, he would. If she wanted to leave marks, to scratch, to bruise, he’d take it all with thanks in his mouth.

He was hers.

To use.

To own.

To control.

And she—she was his to worship. His to serve.

Her pleasure was his purpose. Her moans were his reward. Every twitch of her hips, every whimper, every breathless command—it all carved deeper into his soul. He wasn’t just making love to her with his mouth and hands.

He was offering himself.

And he hoped, desperately, wildly, that she’d never stop taking.

She writhed beneath him, breath catching in broken gasps, and something in Matt fractured. It wasn’t just need anymore— this was pure, unfiltered obsession. His hands slid up her thighs, not to roam, but to anchor—to bind her to him, to hold her in place like he was terrified she might vanish. And maybe he was. Her body trembled against his, and instead of letting it pull him back, he held firm. Made her feel every moment of what he offered, every movement a wordless plea: stay. feel. don’t leave me.His chest burned. The aching, terrifying sense that if he let go of her for even a second, he might fall apart entirely. As much as she tried to move, he held her still, making her feel every second of pleasure that he offered to her. Every deliberate and direct flick of his tongue over her sensitive bundle of nerves had heavenly sounds pouring out of her, a fountain of praise spilling from her lips in sickly sweet mewls. Each whimper that escaped her lips carved itself into him like scripture.

His breath caught as he pressed his forehead into her, as though seeking absolution. “God…” he muttered into the hush between her sounds, his voice trembling with awe, like her pleasure was something holy and he was barely worthy of witnessing it. He opened his eyes and looked up at her—this sacred, luminous thing sprawled before him—and something broke open in his chest. His gaze flickered down, taking in the sight of her beautiful temple before him. A sacred thing that was, at least for now, in this moment, all for him. This is what worship feels like.

She whined, a sound so beautiful and light that it made Matt feel like he was floating. She could ask anything of him in that moment, and he would do it without thought. Tear open chest and snap off each individual rib. Offer up his soul. Disappear, if she willed it. His fingers gripped onto her thighs as if he was afraid he’d be torn from her in seconds. His tongue traced patterns over her sensitive clit, hymns and prayers of praise and worship soaking into her. She let out a gasp, a broken cry, a moan that had his bones aching, his body trembling. “Don’t stop - God, please… don’t s-stop-” she choked out, her back arching off of her soft pink sheets. She tried to move her legs, to wrap them around him and pull him impossibly closer, but he kept her thighs tightly pinned down to the mattress. “Oh my god, Matt-” she panted.

He heard it again—his name, soft and soaked with breath—and it nearly undid him. She had said it before, countless times. But now it was different. Now it was a lifeline thrown to a drowning man, and he clung to it with everything he had. A sound had never shaken him to his core quite like she managed to do so effortlessly. He gripped her thighs tighter—not to restrain her, but to steady himself. To hold onto the edges of this moment before it passed. His whole world had narrowed down to the sound of her voice, the curve of her body, the way she clung to him like he mattered. Like he was all that she needed.

Her release was building—he could feel it in every inch of her, like a tide swelling under the surface. Her stomach tightened beneath his hands, her breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, and her entire body began to tremble with anticipation. She was unraveling, coming apart—and taking him with her.

Matt’s pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything except her. The way she clenched around him, as though her body was trying to hold onto him, to keep him inside her orbit, to refuse the very idea of distance between them. He wasn’t just touching her—he was being taken in. Consumed.

He let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as the realization hit him: she was swallowing him whole—not just in body, but in soul. He was disappearing into her, cell by cell, thought by thought, until there was nothing left of him that hadn’t been reshaped by her.

He no longer knew where he ended and she began.

The connection was more than physical—it was existential. His identity, once something he held onto so tightly, now slipped away like sand through trembling fingers. All he could feel was her. All he wanted to be was hers. To be absorbed into her completely, like he was meant to be nothing but a part of her design.

She was rising—he could feel it in the air, in the rhythm of her breath, in the way her body pulled tighter around him like a fist made of silk. His chest ached with something greater than need. It was reverence. As if her climax was a sacred rite and he, trembling and overwhelmed, was the willing sacrifice.

“Please…” he whispered, forehead resting against her. He didn’t even know what he was begging for. Her release. Her grace. Her forgiveness. To be allowed to stay in this moment just a little longer, before the universe pulled him away from her.

And when she finally shattered, he felt it as though it happened inside him. Like her pleasure had cracked something in his soul wide open—and he welcomed it. Gladly.

Because to be undone by her was the only way he ever wanted to fall apart.

When her body collapsed beneath him, still trembling with the echoes of release, Matt rose slowly—like surfacing from deep water, breathless and disoriented. He kissed her thighs, her hips, her stomach, reverently, his lips soft and wet with the taste of her. Each kiss was a quiet benediction, a whispered thank-you pressed into skin.

She lay still, panting, her gaze unfocused and pinned to the ceiling like she was somewhere far from the world. Something in Matt’s chest twisted painfully. Was she okay? Did she regret this? Had he gone too far? His heart lurched and tumbled downward, helpless and heavy.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice thin and unsteady, his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned over her.

She blinked, then smiled—soft and dazed, still catching her breath. “I’m great.”

Relief hit him like a wave. His body sagged with it, and he let himself fold downward, resting his head on her stomach like it was the only place he belonged. His arms wrapped around her, holding her like something fragile, like if he didn’t ground her with his touch she might drift away into the ether.

He didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not ever.

There was no lust in the way he clung to her now—only reverence. A quiet, aching sort of awe. As if this moment had redefined something fundamental in him. She had opened herself to him, let him see her undone, vulnerable, divine—and now he couldn’t remember how he’d ever existed apart from her.

Matt closed his eyes, pressing his ear to the soft rise and fall of her breath. If he could, he would have crawled inside that rhythm and stayed there forever. Not to take anything more—but just to be. Near her. Part of her. Anchored in her gravity.

He didn’t say a word. There was nothing to say. She had already given him more than language could ever hold.

X O X O X O

Matt traced slow, reverent circles on her skin, his thumb trembling with every pass. His breathing was uneven — shallow, restless — and not from exertion. It was the ache. The ache of being so close, of giving so much of himself and still wanting to give more. His arousal throbbed beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, but he said nothing. He wouldn’t ruin this. Not with need. Not when she was letting him stay. Not when he felt, somehow, like he belonged.

Her fingers brushed through his hair again — slow, rhythmic strokes that scratched gently at the nape of his neck, a place no one had ever touched with this kind of... claim. A shiver rolled through him, full-body and involuntary.

She noticed. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?” Her voice was soft, not mocking, but curious — like she was peeling back another layer just to see him.

“I’m... I’m sensitive,” Matt whispered, hiding his face in the crook of her waist. The confession made him burn from the inside out.

“Oh yeah?” She almost hummed the words, the noise vibrating through her ribcage.

Matt nodded, a little breathless.

“Roll over.”

His head shot up. How am I supposed to hide this fucking boner now?

“Strike one,” she said, her voice hardening with each word. “Roll. Over.”

“Yes ma’am.” Matt’s brain tangled up into itself, and he scrambled awkwardly to obey, lifting his hips so she could see the shape of him, hard and helpless beneath stretched fabric. There was no hiding now. The gray sweats betrayed everything — the way his body pulsed with need, the way his mind unraveled the moment she spoke to him like that.

“Oh, Matty...” she sighed, her fingers ghosting over his thigh. “You’re aching, aren’t you?”

He swallowed. “...Yeah.”

When her hand brushed lightly over the front of his boxers, Matt gasped, hips twitching toward her. “God... that feels so good,” he breathed, voice cracking.

She worked slowly, tracing the outline of him with intention, watching every twitch of muscle, every flutter of his lashes. Matt was barely holding it together. His fingers gripped the sheets at his sides like they were the only things keeping him tethered to the earth.

“You're shaking,” she observed softly.

“I... I can’t—” he tried, voice breaking. “I just... I want you so much. I need to be good for you. Please tell me what to do.”

She paused, watching his chest heave, his face flushed and open like never before. There was no ego here. No control. Just Matt — raw, exposed, and aching to please.

“Then listen,” she said gently. “Be still. Breathe. Let me take care of you.”

And he did. Because in that moment, Matt wasn't afraid of submission. He craved it. Not out of weakness, but from the overwhelming desire to be seen, to be wanted, to be enough.

He was hers to guide. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel lost.

She smirked, eyeing Matt like he was her next meal. Like he was a wounded rabbit, cornered by a ravenous wolf. His heart raced in his chest, his body trembled, his breathing became unsteady and scattered. Despite being her prey, Matt had never felt more drawn to someone in his life. He had never felt more safe. “Take them off, baby,” she purred, her tone dripping with venom disguised as something sweet. She licked her lips, slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on him. Matt’s breath hitched. There was something in the way she looked at him—like hunger, but not just for his body. For power. For surrender. For the soft, desperate pulse of his heart beneath her hand.

His legs trembled. His fingers twitched at his sides. He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Matthew,” she murmured, her voice dipped in something syrupy and sharp all at once. A coaxing cruelty. A promise. A trap that he wanted—no, needed—to fall into.

Matt didn’t breathe. He just stared, wide-eyed and dazed.

Her voice dropped an octave, velvet wrapped in steel. “Strike two.”

That did it.

Matt’s fingers fumbled and tripped over each other as he desperately tried to loosen the knot in his drawstrings. Once they were undone, Matt met her gaze again, hesitantly pushing his sweatpants down to his knees, blindly kicking them off onto the floor of her bedroom. The tip of his cock peeked out below the faded blue waistband of his boxers, his own arousal oozing from his tip. He looked up at her, awaiting judgment, his chest rising with shallow, uneven breaths. The air between them crackled.

“Good boy,” she whispered, drinking in the immensity with her eyes. Matt’s bulge was prominent, a thick rise with deep valleys on either side. Without thinking, she reached out to touch him. Her thumb brushed over his exposed skin, his body lurching forward involuntarily at the contact.

Matt’s jaw dropped as his lips parted, letting out a quiet yet delicious, “Ohhh….fuck….” He watched the movements of his lover’s hands with whoreish lust, eyes hooded and dark, chest rising and falling like tumultuous ocean waves as she stroked him over the soft fabric of his underwear. From caressing his tip to using two fingers to apply pressure on both sides as she slid over his length, from base to head, she hunted for which bundle of nerves elicited the best noises out of her toy. As she reached the head of his cock with her thumb and index finger, his chest hollowed out with a powerful exhale.

She didn’t rush. She studied him—how his body responded, how his breath stuttered, how his eyes flicked upward, pleading for something he couldn’t name. Her fingers moved with purpose, seeking out every place that made him tremble, made him whimper, made him submit.

“You like that, sweet boy?” she murmured.

“Yes,” he gasped, voice thin and desperate. “Yes, I do. Please don’t stop.”

But she did. Just like that.

The silence that followed was deafening. He twitched, hips shifting forward helplessly, as though his body refused to accept the absence of her touch.

“No, please—Mommy, I’ll be good, I’ll be so—”

Silence fell like glass shattering.

Matt froze. The word had slipped out of him like breath, like instinct. And now it sat between them, shimmering and dangerous.

He reeled back in horror, eyes wide, fumbling for his clothes as if shame might be something he could cover. “I-I’m sorry—God, I didn’t mean to— I, I can go, fuck, where’s my-”

“Matt.”

“-never do that again, I’m so sorry, I need my pants, where the hell-”

“Matty.”

“-did they go, oh here they are, I-”

“Matthew.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It cut through his panic like a hot blade.

He stilled, one leg in his sweatpants, his chest heaving.

She tilted her head slightly, the air around her shifting. Gone was the teasing smile, the playfulness — in its place was stillness, something sharp and commanding behind her eyes. “Did I say you could leave?” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Matt froze. His breath caught in his throat. That single question struck him harder than any shout could have. He stood half-dressed, trembling, the fabric of his sweatpants tangled around one ankle. Shame and heat rushed through him all at once, but beneath it — or maybe because of it — something deeper unfurled. A kind of devotion that cracked open his ribs and spilled him bare.

He looked down, eyes wide, heart thundering like he’d been caught doing something sacred the wrong way. “No,” he whispered. “You didn’t.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but it softened. Just enough. Like she knew exactly what she held in her hands — and how carefully it needed to be treated. “Then why are you trying to run, Matthew?”

He couldn’t answer. The knot in his throat was too tight. All he could do was shake his head — once — and step back toward her. He let the last of the fabric fall from his leg with a muted thud, and knelt before her at the foot of the bed. Not out of instruction. Out of instinct.

She reached forward and touched his jaw, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. “You get scared when you feel too much,” she said, so softly it barely carried across the room. “But I already see you. I see all of it.”

Matt’s hands found the edge of the mattress like a lifeline. His whole body was trembling. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, almost like a confession. “I’d do anything right now just to stay close to you.”

“Guess you better obey then,” she said quietly.

Matt swallowed. “I guess I better,” he agreed.

X O X O X O

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cup1drul3z · 1 month ago

Text

★ — SPARE PARTS

ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ!

ꜰᴇᴍᴍᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴍᴇᴄʜᴀɴɪᴄ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 5.3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Size Difference, Cheating, Semi-Public sex, strap on, begging, degration, praise, sevika rides a motorcycle, porn with plot

A/N : i thought of this when i was i was watching the new final destination movie

SUMMARY : When your car breaks down on the edge of a crumbling marriage, the last person you expect to help is a grease-covered mechanic with a smart mouth and a cigarette tucked behind her ear. One scenic detour, one hell of a ride—and suddenly, you're not so sure going home is the right direction after all.

You pulled into the lot with a quiet, anxious curse, your car wheezing like it was on its last breath. The check engine light blinked mockingly on the dash. Gravel crunched under the tires as you rolled to a stop outside the garage—a squat, sun-faded building with an open bay door and the scent of burnt oil drifting through the thick afternoon heat.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

This wasn’t your kind of place.

But the brakes had slipped again, and your husband… hadn’t listened.

You stepped out slowly, heels wobbling as they met uneven rock. Your pink dress swished around your knees, delicate against the grit and sweat of the shop. You looked completely out of place—clean, pastel, pretty. Like a flower planted in concrete.

And then you tripped.

Your ankle wobbled, and you pitched forward with a startled gasp. You caught yourself before you hit the ground, but the embarrassment was already blooming red across your cheeks.

“Damn,” a voice drawled behind you, amused and low like smoke. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ royalty today.”

You looked up and met her eyes for the first time.

Tall. Grease-slicked skin. Black tank clinging to her thick frame, broad shoulders flexing as she wiped her hands on a dirty rag. Cargo pants stained with years of work. Her hair was tied back, her arm—one of them, mechanical—gleamed faintly in the light.

She wasn’t smiling with kindness. She was smirking like she knew things about you she shouldn’t. Like she’d already seen beneath the surface.

“I—sorry,” you stammered, brushing imaginary dust off your dress. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You lost?” she asked, stepping closer, the smirk still tugging at her lips.

“My car—brakes are weird. Light came on. I just… I needed someone to look at it.”

“First time here?” she asked, eyes dropping—slowly, shamelessly—to your legs, your dress, the clutch in your hand. Her gaze flicked back up to your face, then dipped to your left hand.

She spotted the ring instantly.

Of course she did.

You hesitated. “Yeah.”

Sevika—though you didn’t know her name yet—cocked her head, arching a brow.

“Figures.” Her tone was teasing, not unkind. “You don’t look like the usual crowd. Bit more… delicate.”

“I can leave,” you said, maybe a little too quick.

She chuckled, deep and rich. “Nah. You’re here. Might as well let me take a look.” She gestured toward the hood. “Pop it.”

You walked back to the driver’s seat, heat crawling up your neck as her eyes followed you. This wasn’t how your day was supposed to go. But when you hit the latch and heard her lift the hood with a low grunt, something inside you shifted.

You hadn’t even caught her name yet.

But something told you—you’d remember her for a long time.

Sevika leaned over the open hood, muscles flexing under her oil-slicked tank as she poked around with practiced fingers. The sound of her muttering lowly under her breath—half curses, half mechanical jargon—blended with the occasional metallic clink of tools.

You stood to the side, clutching your purse to your chest like it might shield you from the weight of her presence. The sun caught her jaw just right, highlighting the scar that cut through her cheek. She looked like she belonged here. Big, intimidating, covered in grease.

And yet, for some reason, her eyes had been on you more than the engine.

“Alright, sugar,” she finally said, pulling back and wiping her hands on the rag again. “Your brake line’s lookin’ real suspect. Engine’s runnin’ too hot, too. Probably the thermostat. Could be worse, but… it’s gonna cost you.”

You tensed. “How much?”

She gave you a number. One that made your stomach twist.

“Oh…” you said, unable to hide the drop in your voice.

Her gaze flicked up immediately. She caught it—the disappointment, the way your shoulders sagged just slightly, the way your lips parted but didn’t form words.

Her head tilted.

“…Tell you what,” she said suddenly, voice low and smooth, “we’ve got a real exclusive deal today.”

You blinked. “What kind of deal?”

She didn’t skip a beat. “If you’re wearin’ pink, you get half off.”

You stared at her. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Dead serious, sweetheart.” Her grin widened, cocky as hell. “Shop rule. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce ‘em.”

A snort came from the back of the shop. You glanced past her shoulder to see two of her coworkers—one of them elbowing the other, both clearly eavesdropping and thoroughly entertained. One mouthed “pink discount?” like he could barely hold in a laugh.

You turned back to Sevika, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a real thing, or are you just making it up to flirt with me?”

She leaned in just slightly, lowering her voice so only you could hear. “Maybe both.”

Your breath hitched.

“And,” she added with a lazy smirk, “looks real good on you, baby. Would’ve been a shame to let you leave without showin’ some appreciation.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to thank her, maybe to push back—but the words tangled somewhere in your throat. All you could do was look at her, taller than you, completely at ease, the heat of her body and the scent of engine oil clouding your head.

“Half off,” you repeated softly.

“Mm-hmm.” She winked. “Special customer service.”

Behind her, one of the guys fake-gagged. The other held up a wrench like it was a pretend trophy.

Sevika shot them a look over her shoulder. “Y’all got somethin’ to say?”

They immediately turned around like they hadn’t been listening. You swore one of them whispered, “She’s gonna make that poor girl combust.”

And honestly?

You were already halfway there.

The back room of the shop smelled like sawdust and old coffee. There was a crooked fan in the corner clicking with every spin and a faded poster of a pin-up girl taped above a dented filing cabinet. You stood near the wall, phone pressed to your ear, one heel kicked off because your ankle was starting to throb.

Voicemail.

Again.

You lowered the phone, staring at the screen like it might suddenly change, like he might call back with some half-hearted apology or excuse. But it just stayed blank. Quiet.

You swallowed hard and blinked up at the ceiling, willing the sting behind your eyes to go away.

It didn’t.

Tears slid hot down your cheeks before you could stop them, dragging streaks of mascara with them. You wiped at your face quickly, angrily, but it only made the smudging worse. Your lip quivered, and a soft sob escaped—small, like a secret.

“Hey.”

You turned sharply.

Sevika was standing in the doorway, one hand still wiping at a rag, the other pushing her hair back from her face. She took one look at you and the smirk she’d been wearing earlier softened instantly.

“You okay, doll?” she asked, stepping in slowly like she was afraid you’d bolt.

You turned your face away, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I just… I called him. I thought maybe—maybe he could come get me.”

Sevika didn’t say anything right away.

“He didn’t answer,” you added, voice cracking.

When you looked back at her, she was closer. Her eyes were on your face, lingering on the smeared black under your lashes. Her voice dropped, low and rough, gentle in a way that almost didn’t suit her.

“You’re cryin’, sweetheart.”

You laughed weakly, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to. God, this is so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She tossed the rag onto a nearby workbench and leaned back against it, folding her arms. “You don’t gotta be sorry for feelin’ let down. Sounds like that’s somethin’ you’ve had to get used to.”

You looked up at her then, chest tight.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you admitted quietly. “Can I just… stay here? While you work? I’ll be quiet.”

Her brow lifted, surprised—but only for a second.

“Yeah, sugar,” she said softly, nodding. “You can stay as long as you want.”

You exhaled, a shaky breath of relief.

“It’s gonna be awhile,” Sevika added, voice dipping again into that teasing warmth. “Hope you don’t mind a little noise. And a lotta grease.”

“I don’t mind.”

You didn’t know what would come next, but right now… this felt like the first place all day that didn’t feel lonely.

The couch in the back room was barely more than a sunken rectangle of cracked faux leather, but after a few hours of waiting, your body had melted into it like it was a king-sized bed. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep—you’d just closed your eyes for a second. The hum of power tools had faded somewhere in the background, the scent of engine oil and warm metal oddly comforting.

Then you felt it—warm fingertips brushing your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You stirred, a hand instinctively rubbing at your eyes as you blinked up at the figure crouched in front of you.

Sevika.

Her dark brows were drawn together, hair a little messier than before, a new smudge of grease on her jaw. She looked tired but still solid, grounded, calm.

“You were out cold, baby,” she murmured, voice soft, almost fond. “Didn’t wanna wake you, but…”

You sat up slowly, blinking the haze away. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

She waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. But… your car’s gonna take longer than I thought. One of the parts is shot. I’ve gotta order it in.”

Your brain took a second to catch up. “Wait, so… it’s not done?”

She tilted her head. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”

You turned your head toward the window behind you, parting the crooked blinds with your fingers—and froze.

Your jaw dropped. “It’s night?!”

The sky outside was inky, the street lamps buzzing faintly against the glass. You’d been here for hours.

“Y’been snorin’ through sunset,” Sevika said, rising to her full height with a teasing smirk. “Missed my best flirting, too.”

You groaned, rubbing your face with both hands. “God, I didn’t think it was that late…”

She chuckled and reached a hand out toward you, palm open. “C’mon. You need a ride home or what?”

You hesitated for just a breath, then nodded.

Your smaller hand slipped into hers, warm and calloused and strong. She pulled you up gently, steadying you when your heel wobbled again.

“Still wearin’ those things?” she teased, glancing down.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on a full day in a mechanic’s waiting room,” you muttered, lips twitching despite yourself.

Sevika didn’t let go of your hand right away.

And you… didn’t pull away either.

You followed her out the back, your fingers still loosely curled around hers until she let go with a quiet grunt, pushing open the metal door. It creaked on its hinges and let out a gust of cooler night air, the scent of rain on pavement lingering somewhere in the distance.

Then you saw it.

“No.”

Sevika stepped aside, motioning casually with one hand. “Your chariot awaits.”

“No,” you said again, this time more forcefully, clutching your little purse to your chest like a shield.

Sitting in the glow of the security light was a black motorcycle. Sleek, loud-looking even while silent. The chrome gleamed like fangs, and the seat was clearly built for someone who didn’t own a single pink dress.

You shook your head, heels digging into the gravel. “Absolutely not. Nope. No way.”

Sevika was already swinging a leg over, the leather seat creaking under her as she settled into place, boots planted firmly. “She’s cleaner than your car, princess. Safer, too.”

“That thing doesn’t even have seatbelts.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” she said, tugging a helmet down over her head. She patted the seat behind her. “You’ll hold on to me.”

You made a strangled sound in the back of your throat and squeezed your purse tighter, like that would somehow make the machine in front of you less real. “I’m wearing heels. And a dress. I’ll fall off and die.”

“I’ll catch you,” she said, that cocky grin in her voice. “Promise.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. “This is insane.”

“Little bit,” she agreed. “But I’m tellin’ you, it’s either this… or walkin’ in those pretty shoes for five miles.”

You groaned and looked up at the sky like maybe the universe would smite you before you had to make a decision. But no lightning came. Just Sevika, leaning slightly to one side, flexing her arm as she reached behind to pat the seat again.

“C’mon, baby,” she coaxed, voice low and gravelly. “You trust me?”

That shouldn’t have made your stomach flutter—but it did.

You took one cautious step forward, heels wobbling on the loose gravel. “I swear to God, if I die—”

“You won’t.” She was already grinning behind the helmet, cocky and assured.

You swung your leg over the bike with a little whimper, your dress riding up just a bit as you settled behind her. Your arms hesitated—until the engine turned over with a roar and you instinctively wrapped them tight around her waist, pressing close to her back.

She laughed. “See? Told you. You hold on real sweet.”

You didn’t answer. Your heart was already pounding.

And Sevika hadn’t even touched the throttle yet.

You kept your eyes clamped shut the entire time the bike moved, your arms locked tight around Sevika’s middle, cheek pressed against the bare skin of her shoulder where her tank had slipped slightly. The wind roared past you, your hair whipping wildly behind, and your heart thudded so loud you could barely hear the engine.

Every bump in the dirt road made your stomach lurch. Every turn had you tensing, legs gripping her thighs like your life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

But then you felt it—the shift. The change in direction. The bike curved instead of cutting straight. You knew your neighborhood, and this wasn’t it.

Your brows pulled together. “This… this isn’t the way to my house,” you said, voice muffled against her.

She didn’t slow down. “Relax, sweetheart. Just takin’ the scenic route.”

“The what?”

“Open your eyes.”

“I’m scared.”

A beat passed. Then her voice, low and a little softer this time: “Do you trust me?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers curled into her shirt tighter as you bit your lip. Then, slowly, you cracked one eye open—and turned your head.

Your breath caught.

You guys were higher up than you realized. A narrow dirt road twisted along the side of a hill, the drop steep but not dangerous. Below, the ocean stretched out like black silk, the moon hanging low and bright above it, silver light shimmering across the waves. The wind pulled at your dress, tugged at your curls, and for a second, the world felt… still.

Your lips parted, your gaze stuck on the glow of the water, the way it moved like it was breathing.

“Sevika,” you said suddenly, voice louder than you meant it. “Pull over.”

Her helmet shifted toward you, tone confused. “What? You gonna throw up?”

You shook your head fast. “No—just… please. Pull over.”

Without another word, she slowed the bike, gravel crunching as she rolled to a stop at the edge of the overlook. The engine purred for a moment, then cut off with a soft click.

The sudden silence was deafening.

Sevika turned slightly toward you, one gloved hand still on the handlebar. “You alright?”

You swung a leg off the bike carefully, boots crunching the dirt, and stood up. Your dress fluttered around your thighs, the cool night air licking your skin.

You didn’t answer her.

You were still staring at the moonlight—your heart thudding for a very different reason now.

You stood near the edge, arms folded tight under your chest, heart still racing from the ride—but now, for different reasons.

The ocean stretched below like a secret, glittering and vast, the wind tugging at your dress, sending goosebumps down your bare arms. You could hear Sevika’s boots crunch over the dirt behind you, slow and deliberate. No words. Just the heavy silence of everything unsaid.

She stopped just behind you.

Close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her.

You turned.

Your eyes traveled up her chest, her neck, and finally to her face—grease-smeared, moonlit, those sharp, dark eyes already on yours. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Your breath hitched.

Then—

You both moved at once.

Mouths crashing together with a hunger neither of you had dared admit until now. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t shy. It was desperate—your hands flying to her shoulders, gripping tight as her lips slanted over yours again and again. Her mouth was warm and rough and so real, tasting faintly of smoke and sweat and something dark you couldn’t name.

Sevika’s hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her as she groaned low in her throat. Her grip was firm, bordering on possessive, and you melted under it like you’d been waiting for this—craving this.

You gasped softly when her teeth grazed your bottom lip, and she took the opening to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth with a practiced ease that made your knees tremble.

Your fingers curled in the front of her tank, tugging her closer, greedy for the weight of her, the warmth of her, the way she kissed like it was a challenge and a promise all in one.

She tilted her head, one hand slipping up your back, cupping the nape of your neck, the other pressing you in by your hip like she couldn’t stand to leave any space between you.

The sound of your breath mixing with hers, the ocean crashing below, the wind in your hair—it all blurred together.

You forgot about your husband.

You forgot the broken car.

All you could think about was Sevika’s lips on yours, and how you never wanted her to stop.

You pulled away from her lips, breathless, lips tingling, heart pounding so loud it was all you could hear.

Then you turned, breath catching as you pointed. “The beach,” you said, voice light, a little wild. “Let’s go down there.”

Sevika blinked, still dazed from the kiss. “Wait—what?”

But you were already grabbing her hand, warm fingers curling around her calloused ones. You gave one firm tug and started heading down the trail like you weren’t in a dress and heels, like you weren’t about to descend a rickety set of wooden stairs clinging to the side of a cliff.

“Baby,” Sevika laughed, jogging to keep up, “Your in heels, remember?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down.

You didn’t even hesitate when your heels clicked on the warped old steps, the wood creaking beneath your weight. You barely noticed. All you could feel was the buzz under your skin, the ocean breeze in your face, and Sevika’s hand warm in yours.

You reached the bottom breathless, the sand cool and soft under your feet, and kicked off your shoes without a thought. The hem of your dress swirled around your knees as you walked straight into the water, giggling when it soaked the fabric and lapped against your thighs.

The moon shimmered on the surface, the waves glowing silver, and you turned around to see her just standing there at the shoreline—wet boot prints in the sand, arms crossed over her chest, expression unreadable.

“C’mon,” you whispered, holding your arms out toward her. “It’s warm.”

She hesitated only a second longer before muttering something under her breath—probably about how crazy you were—and stepping into the tide. Her pants soaked almost immediately, sticking to her thighs as she reached you.

And you didn’t wait.

You surged into her arms and caught her mouth in another kiss.

It was messier this time, wetter, your hands sliding up into her hair as the waves curled around your calves. Sevika’s arms locked tight around your waist, lifting you slightly so the water wouldn’t knock you off your feet.

You gasped as she walked you backward, lips still fused with yours, the ocean swirling around you both. Your soaked dress clung to your skin, your nipples tight against the fabric, and you felt her groan into your mouth at the contact.

One of her hands slid down to grip the back of your thigh, hoisting it up over her hip as the kiss deepened, and suddenly you weren’t thinking about anything but her tongue, her hands, the way her body felt between your legs.

The ocean roared, the moonlight bathed you in silver, and her name slipped from your mouth like a prayer.

Her hands were everywhere.

The tide pushed around your thighs, the water warm, but not as warm as the heat building between your legs with every slide of Sevika’s fingers across your soaked dress. She kissed you like she owned the air in your lungs, teeth grazing your bottom lip, her hand still gripping your thigh tight where it was hooked around her hip.

You moaned into her mouth as she rocked you gently against her body, the wet fabric of your dress riding up with every little movement. The waves swirled around your waist, but Sevika’s hands were far more dangerous than the ocean.

One of them trailed up your side, dragging the hem of your dress with it, exposing more skin to the cool night air—and to her. You shivered, but not from cold.

"That’s it," she muttered, lips brushing your jaw, her breath hot against your skin. “Look at you, baby… dress stickin’ to every curve. Bet you didn’t think you’d end up in the water with someone like me, huh?”

You whimpered when her hand slid down, fingertips grazing between your legs through the fabric. The water had your dress clinging like a second skin, and she rubbed slow, deliberate circles with her knuckles where she knew you were aching.

“Sevika—” you gasped, your voice cracking when her thumb pressed against your clit through the fabric, dragging back and forth with maddening pressure.

“Shh,” she purred, nipping at your throat. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head fast, legs trembling even as the waves splashed against you both.

She chuckled darkly. “Didn’t think so.”

Her hand slipped under your dress, finally touching bare skin—fingertips dancing up the inside of your thigh until they reached your center. The pad of her finger dragged along your slit, and she groaned low at how wet you were, even beyond the ocean.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” she muttered, fingers teasing you with the lightest touch. “You’re so ready for me.”

You gasped again, rocking your hips against her hand, your head falling back as her fingers finally slipped between your folds, slow and deliberate, stroking up and down with devastating control.

The ocean rocked around you, but you only felt her—her breath, her hands, her body flush against yours.

Her lips found yours again, tongue slipping into your mouth as two fingers pushed inside you—slow, firm, stretching you just enough to make your knees buckle.

She held you there, arm strong around your waist as she fucked you with slow, purposeful thrusts, her thumb still circling your clit. Each movement pulled another moan from your throat, your back arching, hips chasing her hand like you couldn’t get close enough.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ sound,” she growled against your mouth. “You gonna come for me, right here in the water?”

You nodded helplessly, fingers digging into her shoulders, thighs trembling as the pressure built—wave after wave, just like the ocean around you.

The waves lapped higher around your waist, but you barely noticed—too lost in the rhythm of Sevika’s fingers, the burn curling low in your belly, the way her mouth never left your skin for long.

You whimpered against her shoulder, thighs beginning to shake, and that’s when she pulled back, just a little.

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, smirking as she withdrew her fingers slow, dragging them through your folds one last time before lifting you effortlessly with both hands under your thighs. “We’re not finishin’ this in the ocean, sweetheart. Sand’s softer.”

You let her carry you the few steps up the beach, the cool wind wrapping around your dripping body, dress clinging to your skin as you half-laughed, half-gasped against her shoulder. When she finally laid you down, the sand was warm beneath you—coarse, but comforting. Safe.

You barely had time to breathe before she was on her knees between your legs, pushing your soaked dress higher up your hips, her eyes dark with want as she took you in.

"You're beautiful like this," she rasped, voice wrecked, thick with hunger.

You went to speak, but the words got lost somewhere in your throat as she leaned in—mouth grazing your inner thigh, just shy of where you needed her. Her breath was hot against your wet underwear.

Then—

Without breaking eye contact, Sevika dipped her head, lips latching onto the edge of the fabric.

You gasped, watching her teeth tug the damp cloth down slowly, inch by inch. Her mouth brushed against the inside of your thigh as she worked, dragging the soaked underwear off with her teeth in one slow, maddening motion. She let the ruined fabric fall somewhere to the side, and then… her hands pushed your knees apart gently, reverently.

“Hold still, baby,” she whispered, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “Gonna make you forget every single thing but me.”

Your head dropped back into the sand with a soft cry, fingers already finding their way into her hair.

Her tongue moved slow at first, savoring every inch, teasing circles around your clit before latching on with enough suction to make your hips jerk. Her grip on your thighs tightened—not to stop you, but to keep you open for her.

She groaned against your pussy like you were her first drink in days, eating you like she needed it—like she deserved it. She switched between long, flat licks and gentle sucks, her tongue working you apart with practiced ease.

"Fuck—Sevika," you gasped, fingers tangled tight in her hair now, your thighs trembling around her shoulders.

She didn’t stop.

She didn’t want to.

The ocean crashed nearby, the moon glowed above, and her mouth on you was the only thing grounding you as the pressure coiled tighter and tighter in your gut—ready to snap.

Your thighs were trembling, muscles tight, breath catching in your throat as Sevika’s tongue flicked just right—again, and again, and again.

And then it hit you.

Your back arched off the sand with a choked moan, fingers clawing at her shoulders as heat snapped through your core like a firework, blinding and all-consuming. Your thighs clenched around her head, and you barely noticed her holding you open, keeping her mouth on you through every wave of release. You cried out, hips bucking, legs shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm ripped through you, soaking her lips, the sand, your own thighs.

Sevika finally pulled back, her chin wet, her mouth glistening.

“Fuck,” you gasped, breathless, your voice a broken whisper. “Fuck—”

Your chest heaved, dress pushed up, skin flushed, mascara still faintly smudged under your eyes. You looked wrecked in the best way—glowing, dizzy, strands of hair stuck to your damp face.

Sevika grinned down at you, licking her lips and dragging her tongue slowly across her teeth.

“Pretty little thing,” she murmured, letting her hand glide up your thigh possessively. “But we’re not done yet.”

You blinked through the haze, pushing yourself up weakly on your elbows—just in time to see her reach into one of the big side pockets of her cargo pants.

And pull out… a full-on strap.

You blinked again. “Is that—?”

She held it up casually, the harness already half buckled, her tone completely unfazed. “Just in case. Never know when someone needs a good lay.”

Your jaw dropped a little as you stared between her and the toy. “You carry that around with you?”

Sevika just shrugged, smirking as she started strapping it on, muscles flexing with every tug. “Let’s just say I like to be prepared, baby.”

You bit your lip hard, still flushed and pulsing from your orgasm, but suddenly aching again at the sight of her—hair tousled, strap-on slung low over her hips, eyes locked on you like she was already imagining what you’d sound like screaming her name again.

And when she crawled back over you, settling between your thighs, you didn’t even think to protest.

You just opened up for her.

Sevika knelt between your spread legs, the weight of her frame casting a shadow over you as she stroked one hand along the inside of your thigh, slow and possessive. Her other hand gripped the base of the strap, the thick shaft lined up perfectly between your folds.

“Look at you,” she muttered, voice low and ragged, dragging the head through your slick with deliberate slowness. “Already soaked. Didn’t even need prep, did you, baby?”

You whimpered, hips twitching, back arching as she teased your entrance. “Please…”

“Please what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she leaned over you, the tip just nudging against you without pushing in. “Gotta use your words if you want something, sweetheart.”

“Please fuck me,” you gasped, shame and heat climbing up your throat. “I—I need it, Sevika, I—”

“Oh, needy little thing,” she growled, and then she slammed her hips forward.

You cried out, body jerking as the strap filled you in one hard thrust—stretching you wide, forcing a broken moan from your lips. Sevika didn’t stop to let you adjust. She set a brutal pace immediately, driving into you with deep, rough strokes, the sand shifting beneath your body with every thrust.

Your moans turned to choked gasps, hands clawing at her back, her arms, anything you could reach. She was everywhere—her body against yours, her cock slamming into your dripping cunt, her breath hot on your ear as she leaned down close.

“This what you needed, huh?” she snarled, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. “A real fuckin’ lay? Not that lazy excuse of a man you’ve got at home.”

You whined under her, overwhelmed, overstimulated, completely split open beneath her. “Yes—yes, please—don’t stop—”

“Fuck, you sound so good when you beg,” she groaned, teeth grazing your jaw. “So fuckin’ wet. Bet he’s never even made you come like that.”

“He hasn’t,” you admitted breathlessly, broken between moans. “No one—no one ever has—fuck—”

Sevika’s hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, brutal circles in rhythm with her thrusts. “Then take it, baby. Take what I’m givin’ you.”

You sobbed her name, legs trembling as the pressure built again—so fast it felt like you were going to explode.

“Greedy little slut,” she whispered in your ear, hips slamming into you, her cock bottoming out with every thrust. “You like gettin’ used like this, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, gasping, “Yes—yes, Sevika, please—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

“That’s it,” she growled. “Come on my cock. Show me who you really belong to.”

The orgasm hit like a freight train—white-hot and blinding. You screamed, body arching off the sand as your walls clenched tight around the strap, your vision going hazy at the edges. Your release soaked down your thighs, mixing with the saltwater and sweat and sand clinging to your skin.

Sevika didn’t stop right away—thrusting through it, drawing out every last spasm until you were writhing under her, begging her to slow down, your voice wrecked and raw.

Finally, she pulled out slow, her cock glistening, your body trembling in the moonlight.

Sevika looked down at you—sweaty, fucked-out, barely breathing.

She smirked.

“Yeah,” she murmured, brushing your messy hair off your face with a surprisingly soft touch. “That’s what I thought.”

You were still trembling, your body sinking into the sand, when Sevika’s hands gripped your hips again.

You whined, breath hitching as she hauled you up onto your knees, flipping you over like you weighed nothing. Your cheek pressed to the sand, hands digging into it for leverage as she guided your ass back toward her with a low growl of approval.

“Not done with you yet,” she muttered, lining the strap up against your entrance again. “Still got some fight in you. I can feel it.”

“Sevika—” you gasped, voice shaky. “I can’t—”

“You will.” Her hand came down hard on your ass, a sharp slap that made you cry out, the sting blooming warm across your skin. “Be a good girl. Take it.”

You whimpered but arched for her, your body betraying your words as your thighs parted wider in the sand.

“That’s it,” she said, low and smug, her hand dragging over your ass as she pressed the head of the strap against your dripping cunt. “Knew you were filthy underneath all that pink.”

She slammed into you in one hard thrust, burying herself to the hilt with a groan. You screamed—raw, helpless—fingers clawing at the sand as she set a brutal rhythm, hips smacking against your ass over and over, the sound echoing under the moonlight.

Your moans came in gasps, high and wrecked, your body jerking with every thrust. “F-fuck—Sevika—deeper—!”

“You got it, baby,” she growled, one hand gripping your hair and tugging your head back so your cries spilled into the night air. “Look at you. Taking cock like you were made for it.”

You sobbed something incoherent, stars dancing in your vision.

Her other hand slid under your body, fingers curling back around your clit—ruthless, fast. The pressure snapped again almost instantly, your orgasm crashing down on you so hard it punched the air from your lungs. You screamed into the sand as you came, body convulsing, legs shaking violently under her.

Sevika fucked you through it—rough and unrelenting—until your body collapsed, trembling and boneless in the surf-warmed sand.

She finally slowed, breath heavy, palm smoothing over your spine as she pulled out and let you fall into her lap, both of you soaked, breathless, wild.

The waves curled around your feet again. Your dress was bunched at your waist. Your legs were coated in sweat, slick, and seawater.

You blinked blearily over your shoulder at her. “You’re insane.”

Sevika grinned down at you, eyes dark and satisfied. “Told you I like to be prepared.”

You let out a breathless, wrecked laugh and mumbled, “What else is in those damn pockets?”

She smirked, reached down, and pulled out a cigarette.

Lit it with one hand and took a long drag.

“Guess you’ll have to find out next time.”

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

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lascvitae · 1 month ago

Text

POISON ✵ KIM MINJEONG.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. GIRL, YOU DO DAMAGE TO ME

YOU KNOW I LOVE IT, YEAH I LOVE YOU .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ after every fight with your boyfriend, you always end up at minjeong’s place. it’s wrong but she always gives you the comfort you need, even if it hurts her.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. situationship g!p!winter x fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. smut (18+) & angst if you squint ᝰ.ᐟ warning(s). it’s mentioned that minjeong plays baseball, shes secretly in love w yn, cursing, cheating, dom!winter, reverse cowgirl, fingering, choking.

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 2.8k

now playing — poison by brent faiyaz.

ᝰ.ᐟ katty finally feeding into the masc winter delusions

masterlist.

it was the third time this week.

your hands gripped the steering wheel like a lifeline, knuckles turning white underneath the streetlights. the engine hummed beneath you, bass from partynextdoor vibrating through the car. the city blurred past you, neon signs spilling into red lines.

you didn’t even remember making the turn to her building. your body just did it for you.

and when you parked the car, fumbled with your keys to lock the door, her lights were already on. she never let you knock more than twice, no matter what time it was.

the door swung open and minjeong stood there, black tank top clinging to her frame and grey sweats slung low on her hips.

her eyes dragged over you once — slowly and unreadable — before she stepped back to let you in.

you didn’t say anything. just kicked off your shoes and walked past her like you lived there. like this wasn’t the third time in six days that you showed up in the middle of the night, mascara smudged and heart pounding out of your chest.

the door clicked shut behind you.

you stopped in the middle of her living room, arms crossed tight. the tension was already in your shoulders, jaw, and the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. you didn’t need to explain. not really.

minjeong leaned against the door, arms crossed too, but looser. she just waited.

you dropped your bag on the floor with a thud and exhaled. “he’s on that fucking phone again.”

minjeong’s gaze didn’t shift. “same girl?”

“i don’t know. he shuts it off now when i come in. smiles like nothing’s wrong. i’m not fucking stupid.” you laughed, bitter and sharp.

she didn’t argue. you hated that the quiet felt more honest than anything he ever told you.

you stare at the rug like it might tell you what the fuck you’re doing here — again — at 1:14 in the morning while your boyfriend sleeps alone in your shared apartment. or maybe he isn’t. maybe he’s out with someone else. you wouldn’t know. you stopped checking after you sent minjeong a text.

“he said i was paranoid. that i always twist shit in my head. i don’t even care if he’s cheating. i mean—” you press your palms into your eyes, wiping hard. “i care. of course i fucking care. but it’s like… it wouldn’t even surprise me. it wouldn’t even hurt like it should.”

you turned toward her finally, your hands trembling where they tugged at the hem of your sweatshirt. “i don’t even wanna fucking fight anymore. i’m just— i’m tired. of pretending it’s normal.”

minjeong moved then. just a little. pushed off the doorframe and walked towards you like she already knew how this would go.

you caught her looking. not at your face, but at your chest rising and falling, and the way your thighs were clenched.

“you want him to care.” she said.

you nodded. “but he doesn’t. not like—”

you didn’t finish and didn’t make you.

it was silent for a moment.

“i just— fuck, i just need to be touched by someone who actually sees me. is that too much to fucking ask?” you mumbled, voice cracking.

minjeong didn’t answer. she just walked past you, brushing your shoulder on the way and sat on the edge of the couch. same spot she always took when you came over.

you didn’t even think about it. just followed.

you stood in front of her and watched her spread her legs a little, palms on her thighs. her eyes met yours.

“you know what this is.” she said.

you nodded, already crawling into her lap like muscle memory.

you straddled her thighs, skin hot against the cotton of her sweats. her hands stayed still, resting on your hips like she was holding back.

she always did.

her hands slid up your sides, slow. familiar. they always found their way to you. like this was routine. like you were.

then she tugged you closer, breath grazing your neck. “you’re wearing it.” she murmured as she breathed you in.

you froze for half a second — the chain was thin, barely visible under the collar of your sweatshirt. but still, she noticed it.

“i wasn’t trying to.” you said softly, eyes flicking away.

“but you didn’t take it off.”

her voice wasn’t teasing. just a quiet fact that hung in the air. you didn’t answer. didn’t need to.

because she knew you wore it. you posted yourself in it all the time.

her lips brushed your neck before she kissed the spot under your jaw harder. you gasped, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt. her lips traveled across your throat, hands firm on your waist now.

you rolled your hips before you realized you were doing it — chasing friction like instinct. like memory. like you didn’t even care what time it was or who you were supposed to belong to.

her grip flexed on your thighs.

“been thinking about you all night. knew you’d come.” she whispered into your skin.

your breath hitched. “don’t say it like that.”

“like what?”

“like you expected this. like i’m predictable.”

her hands tightened around your hips, grinding you in her lap.

“you are. at least with me.” she said.

you hated that she was right. how your body leaned into her, thighs clenched around her like routine. how every part of you lit up when she looked at you like this.

her lips dragged up your throat again, slower this time. “you wear my chain. you wear my clothes. you come here.”

“don’t—”

“you do.”

you didn’t answer. you just let your hands slide under her shirt, fingers grazing against her abs.

“he ever buy you anything you actually liked?” she asked.

your hands stilled. “…what?”

“just asking.”

but it wasn’t just a question. it was a knife that she twisted soft and slow.

because you remembered the last time you came over in tears and left with a new jacket. the scent that lingered on you because she knew that you would wear it. all the things she gave without saying they were hers to give.

but you also remembered she never held your hand in public. never called you anything soft outside the walls of her apartment. never posted. never said your name unless it was whispered between your legs.

and you also remembered you have a boyfriend.

and still — you were here.

you leaned down and kissed her hard like it might shut her up. like it might shut you up too.

her hands moved under your sweatshirt. firm and familiar. dragging up your stomach until they cupped your chest.

you shuddered when her thumbs brushed over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, arching into her touch.

“fuck.” you whispered, the word half a breath. your hips rolled again, slower this time, grinding into the muscle of her thigh.

you kissed her again, messier this time, all tongue and desperation. her hands lifted your sweatshirt higher, fingertips brushing the underwire of your bra before slipping beneath it entirely.

your breath caught as her thumbs circled your nipples, slightly calloused palms firm against your skin. you gasped into her mouth, fingers clutching at her shoulders.

minjeong groaned softly when you pulled at her tank top, exposing the cut of her arms. she broke the kiss just for a second and you kissed her collarbone without thinking.

minjeong’s hand stllled on your waist.

“you know i hit a homer yesterday.” she said, voice low.

“oh yeah?” you asked against her collarbone, fingers undoing the clasp of your bra.

“thought of you the whole time.” she murmured.

you almost moaned at the sound of that. but instead, you kissed her harder.

your bra dropped somewhere beside the couch, long forgotten as her hands moved again. it wasn’t rushed, it was steady. like she knew exactly how to touch you.

her thumbs rolled over your nipples and you whimpered, grinding down on her again. this time she flexed her thigh and you felt it, muscle tightening under you like she it knew would make you press your face into her neck.

“minjeong—” you breathed out.

her hands slowly slid down your waist until her fingers hooked beneath your waistband. you didn’t stop her. you lifted your hips instead.

she peeled your shorts off inch by inch, then your underwear, dragging them down your thighs with agonizing patience. you shivered when the cool air hit your skin.

minjeong’s eyes dropped and stayed there.

“fuck. you’re dripping.” she murmured. her voice was tight.

your breath stuttered.

her hand found you fast, two fingers sliding through the mess between your thighs and your head fell back.

“you show up in my chain in the middle of the night begging to be touched, and this pussy’s already ready for me?” she muttered, fingers circling your clit.

you gasped when she slid two fingers into you without warning. you bit down on a moan and clutched at her shoulders. she filled you perfectly, knuckles deep, curling her fingers like she memorized the space inside of you.

your hips rocked into her hand without thinking. it felt too good not to. “f-fuck, minjeong—”

her fingers moved slow and deep, fucking you open while her palm pressed against your clit. her mouth was against your neck again, lips coming up to your ear.

“missed this, baby. i missed you.”

you clenched around her fingers at the sound of that.

“minjeong, need more—“ you gasped.

“i know, baby. i know.”

she pulled her fingers out slow and let you hear it — the wet sound obscene in the quiet of the room. you moaned when she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

then she shifted underneath you. sat back just enough to free herself from her sweats, the thick bulge springing out against her stomach. your eyes dropped instantly.

you swallowed. she was big. and you wanted all of it.

“turn around. ride me.” she said lowly.

you didn’t hesitate. just moved.

you climbed off her lap and turned around with your back to her chest, straddling her again. she guided you easily, one hand stroking herself, and the other one gripping your waist.

“you still want it?” she asked, mouth at your ear.

“yes.” you breathed.

“say it.”

“want you to fuck me. please, minjeong.” you whispered.

she pushed in slow — thick length stretching you open inch by inch until you were fully seated, buried to the base. your walls fluttered around her, body tight and gasping from the stretch.

“shit.” you choked out.

her hand slid to your chest again, one palm pressing flat over your sternum and the other one wrapping around your throat.

not squeezing yet. just claiming.

“look at you. sitting so fuckin’ pretty on my cock.” she murmured.

then she started to move.

it was slow thrusts first. dragging her cock through your soaked cunt, watching the way your body took it. then she gave in completely.

she fucked up into you deeper, sharper, grip firm around your throat.

you started grinding back into her, hips circling, walls fluttering around her cock with every slow drag. she let you take your time. let you roll your hips and moan for her, soft and steady, right in her lap.

her hand on your chest moved, palm dragging down to your stomach then between your legs, fingers brushing over your clit like she knew exactly how to fuck you.

“minjeong—” you gasped.

“i got you. just like this. don’t stop.” her voice was soft.

you didn’t. your hips rolled deeper, more desperate, the stretch of her thick cock perfect inside you.

her fingers circled your clit, slow at first, then firmer in rhythm with her hips fucking up into you.

you were falling apart, trembling around her, and she felt every second of it. her cock hit deep, hard against that spot that made your toes curl and her hand at your throat gave just the barest squeeze.

“that’s it. take it. show me how bad you need it.” she breathed.

you moaned her name desperately. your hips rolled back hard into hers now, grinding every time she bottomed out.

“fuck— don’t stop—“ you moaned.

“i won’t. not until you cum on my cock. not until i feel it.” she whispered.

your thighs shook. it was building too fast.

“you think of me when he fucks you? wish it was me instead?” she murmured into your ear.

“yes, always— fuck, minjeong!” you gasped.

she fucked into you harder, rhythm relentless now. her grip on your throat tightened just a little, and your pussy clenched around her like she belonged there.

“that’s it. you gonna cum for me?” she murmured, grip tightening on your throat just enough to make your breath hitch and back arch.

you nodded, whimpering.

“tell me.”

“gonna cum— fuck— minjeong, i’m gonna—”

and then you did, body clenching around her, falling hard and fast with a loud moan of her name.

“good girl. where?” she breathed.

“on my ass.” you panted.

then her hips stuttered. she pulled out fast, hand wrapping around her cock as she came with a groan, thick ropes spilling against your ass and lower back. she pressed her face into your shoulder, jaw clenched like she was holding something in.

you stayed like that, both of you catching your breath quietly. her hands were still on your waist and yours were on her knees.

“you okay?” she asked after a moment, voice low.

you nodded without turning around. “you?”

“always. especially when you come to me like this.” she kissed your shoulder.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to. because the room said the rest.

taglist — @saysirhc @m00nqvv @yuyuy90

#poison — kmj #aespa #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa kim minjeong #aespa minjeong #aespa winter #winter x reader #kim minjeong x reader #minjeong x reader #g!p aespa #g!p winter #wlw #gxg imagine

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neocitylights · 5 months ago

Text

SUMMARY: Despite the city’s fast-paced scene of street racing—in which you happen to be the name to be beaten at every race—getting to know Jeno is a steady, quiet affair. Breaking the mechanic’s walls between races and late-night rides, the two of you slowly grow closer, unknowingly surrounded by secrets neither of you are ready to reveal. Still, in a world that’s driven by speed and adrenaline like yours, surprises are inevitable—even those that end up breaking your heart before mending it. GENRE: Romance, fluff, action, street racing au WORD COUNT: 16k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, implied sexual content, depictions of violence NOTES: Yay to the official start of the NCU series with a Fast & Furious inspired Jeno fic! Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

The atmosphere feels heavy with energy, the smell of motor oil and burned rubber lingering in the air as the hum of engines blend with the pounding bass of whatever music’s currently playing in the warehouse.

A row of neon-lit and vivid colored cars line up all the way outside, the buzzing audience placing their bets as they mingle with the racers and crew alike.

Despite its overwhelming chaos, the environment wraps you like a second skin with ease—laced with nothing but familiarity and comfort, race nights always feel like your personal sanctuary. Under the sounds of revving engines, roaring crowds and blaring music, you’d found your own twisted kind of peace, a vicious sense of belonging that only racing could give you through its unpredictability and adrenaline.

It also doesn’t hurt that you’re good at it.

After all, there’s a reason why your name currently holds the highest number of bets and has been for the last five races, no competitor coming close to dethroning your streak of wins.

While a handful of racers walk past your car, their wandering eyes occasionally lingering over the red Mazda RX-7 gleaming under the warehouse’s bright lights, anticipation slowly builds in your chest as you meticulously check the final details before the official start, brain already racing ahead through the layout until a familiar voice calls for your name.

Startled, you look up just as Gigi approaches with rapid steps. The pink-haired girl quickly intertwines your arms, pulling you closer with a grin that characteristically only means one thing, especially when knowing her antics.

“Oh, here we go,” you tease, raising an amused eyebrow at your fellow racer turned best-friend. “I wonder what piece of gossip I’m gonna have to roll my eyes at this time.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to know about the new guy from Neo Tech that just signed up to take you…” Gigi starts, offering a nonchalant shrug with a mock dramatic touch lacing her voice. “We can totally talk about something else, if you want?”

As the words hang in the air for a second, your amusement shifts to confusion as you scan Gigi’s face for any traces of exaggeration. “What?”

“You heard me, Cherry,” she continues, excitedly cozying up to your side as her grin returns with your peaked curiosity. “Jaemin says he’s been around for two weeks—”

“There’s a new guy at Neo Tech?” you cut in, furrowing your eyebrows before offering the racer an exasperated huff. “Also, why are you making it sound like I’m having sex with him? He just signed up to take me?”

Gigi bursts into a laugh, giving you a look as mischief takes over her eyes. “I’m not. You’re the one thinking of it!”

“I’m not the one who said it,” you argue, playfully rolling your eyes at her in an attempt to play off the curiosity suddenly gnawing at your thoughts. “Who even told you this?”

“Didn’t I just say Jaemin?” she taunts, holding back another laugh at your half-hearted glare. “Apparently, Taeyong’s short on crew since Mark and Hyuck are still in Seoul, so he’s been pulling in new blood.”

Although you don’t necessarily worry about your victory streak nor being challenged for it, the new information does sound… interesting. Since Neo Tech’s more than just a regular garage, the crew notoriously known for building damn near perfect cars for a few lucky racers in the city—a short list that includes you—it’s not unusual to find one of Taeyong’s mechanics listed up for a race every now and then.

Given their knowledge, it’s always fun racing with them, which you’ve already done several times against Mark, Jaehyun and Yuta specifically.

As you’re about to fish more details from Gigi, the low growl of a particular engine pulls your attention to the far end of the warehouse. A green Nissan Skyline GT-R turns a few heads as it crosses the lot, the car’s polished, pristine exterior looking nothing but sleek under the lights. It comes to a smooth stop just a few spots away from you, the driver’s door soon swinging open under the crowd’s attentiveness.

It’s almost impossible not looking at the guy, his tall figure turning as many heads as the car did. With a glance around the bustling place, holding a posture that looks entirely too relaxed for a first-timer, his dark eyes suddenly land on you, lingering for a second too long to be just a coincidence.

Instinctively straightening under his gaze, your curiosity doubles as he walks over to the corner where the Neo Tech’s guys are usually posted on, almost as if he’s done this a hundred times before.

“That’s him!” Gigi murmurs, oblivious to the blasting background music while gently elbowing at your side. “That’s the new guy from Neo Tech!”

You hum softly, finally breaking your gaze from him to shoot your best-friend an inquisitive look. “Do you know his name?”

“What for?” she asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow as a knowing smirk tugs at her mouth. “Why are you suddenly so interested? Don’t tell me that you actually want him to take you—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Gigi!” you interrupt, scoffing at her words as warmth spreads through your cheeks. “I just wanted to know who I’m racing against, that’s all!”

The pink-haired racer snorts, shaking her head as she gives you a side-eye. “I don’t know his name, sorry. Maybe Jaemin told me, but you know I can’t ever remember shit, so…”

Johnny’s voice suddenly echoes over the speakers, calling the racers to the starting line with one of his quick-witted remarks. Exchanging one last look with Gigi before she leaves to her bright pink Honda S2000, the warehouse’s mood has already significantly changed, a competitive streak flaring the audience into life.

Pulling your Mazda into position on the makeshift track marked outside the warehouse, your fingers tighten around the steering wheel as you exhale, ignoring the crowd outside calling out your nickname.

Still, you can’t help a brief glance as a certain green Skyline slides right beside you, catching Neo Tech guy’s gaze through the window. As a silent acknowledgement of the challenge set between both of you, he gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod as the corners of his mouth hint a tight-lipped smile.

It takes Johnny to break the moment, the man hyping up the crowd before starting his usual pre-race discourse, listing a handful of rules and warnings to the racers.

“You know the drill, folks!” he remarks, finishing the speech with a grin at the racers, though it seems somewhat too directed at you. “Our current five-win streak means five grand to whoever ends it!”

The words immediately light the audience into life, engines equally roaring as the sound reverberates into the night, the flag now in Johnny’s hands.

As you focus ahead, adrenaline settles on your stomach—whether you keep the streak or give five thousand to another racer, it doesn’t really matter. You race for yourself, not for the money, not for the praise, and most definitely not for anyone else’s ego or expectations.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel, foot hovering over the pedals, waiting for the signal.

Johnny raises the flag high, his voice cutting through the roaring engines and the buzz of the crowd.

“Three!”

You inhale deeply, pulse racing as strongly as your car’s engine.

“Two!”

Your foot presses lightly on the accelerator, the cherry red RX-7 growling in anticipation.

“One!”

Johnny drops the flag.

The car launches forward, tires screeching against the asphalt as the racers surge ahead. Despite the force pining you back, your grip is steady, holding firm enough for the car to quickly take the lead.

As you pick up speed to a stretch of free road ahead, Neo Tech’s guy edges right behind you, purposefully touching the rear of your Mazda a few times. Despite your annoyance—it took Jaemin a long time to perfect the cherry tone you begged for—you can’t help chuckling at the attitude, definitely impressed with his skills.

The first turn comes fast, your hands moving with precision as the car makes a perfect curve, tight enough for you to accelerate further with the bend. With the new guy matching the move, it takes a second for him to hold the Skyline side by side with you.

You dare a brief glance at him, catching a glimpse of his focused, determined expression. It’s clear that he’s in to win it, instantly making you wonder what’s truly driving him to it—if it’s the money, the challenge or just the sense of triumph that comes from a rookie victory.

You do also admit to yourself that he’s… stupidly good-looking.

Once you barrel into the return stretch, both looking for an opening to overtake each other, your muscle memory takes you ahead with a slightly wider inside curve, foot heavy on the accelerator as the RX-7 takes the lead again. It’s not enough for the guy to give up, his GT-R somehow pushing harder as you approach the final section of the course. As you pour everything into the last seconds of the race, heart pounding against your chest, the finish line comes into view.

A blur of green and red cut through the finish line together, the audience erupting in stunned and thrilled reactions as Johnny waves the flag for a second time, signaling the end of the race.

As you slam the brakes, the car skimming to a stop into the swarming crowd, your breath’s still heavy as realization strikes—without the need for Johnny’s confirmation, you know Neo Tech’s new guy just broke your infamous five-win streak.

Once you step out of the car, adjusting your skirt with an eye-roll at Johnny’s mock astonished face, the dark-haired guy quickly emerges from his Skyline, his expression nothing but calm, almost unreadable. The mass of people around opens the way for him as he walks towards you, watching the scene with curious eyes.

Taking the lead, you reach out a hand before offering your name, a playful smile curling on your mouth as he frowns for a second, visibly skeptical of your light attitude.

“It was a cool race,” you start, smile widening at the way his eyebrows raise upon the words. “Neo Tech guys are usually fun to race against. Good to know you are, too.”

“It was a tough one,” he answers, pausing for a second before finally taking your hand with a polite nod, the tone of his voice neutral before introducing himself. “I’m Jeno.”

The simplicity of his interaction shifts something within you. As you’re left staring bemusedly at the calm, laidback confidence in the guy’s words and body language, maybe the loss should sting… for a little, at least.

It’s a known fact between the racers that you aren’t the type to obsess over winning, proving a point or whatever that comes with the territory of racing. That’s exactly what leaves most contenders sore about their loss whenever challenging you—while they’re racing specifically to beat you, winning has always been just a bonus for you, instead racing for the fun and your passion for cars.

Now, Jeno has not only beat your streak, but also has properly acknowledged you as an equal competitor.

Even though he did race to win, he’d raced with you, not against you.

So for the first time in a long time, you suddenly find yourself wanting the win, for whatever twisted reason your brain has fooled you into.

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts, Jeno,” you say, smiling mischievously before letting go of his hand, purposefully locking eyes with him. “I’ll take you for a rematch if you’re back next time.”

The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly, gaze unwavering from you as he nods firmly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

As you turn around to leave, heading toward Gigi and the rest of her crew, you can’t help glancing over your shoulder. Already surrounded by a few of Neo Tech’s guys and curious spectators, Jeno’s eyes meet yours for a second before you disappear into the crowd again.

Entering his third week at Neo Tech, Jeno has already grown accustomed to the garage’s bustling routine, the controlled chaos entirely familiar by now.

With Tayeong running the crew under a sharp eye, it’s not a secret that the place holds an unique energy that’s equal parts professional and chaotic—the exact reason why the garage is so sought after in the first place, besides the highly qualified crew that works on and off the streets.

After the race, the buzz of his win is yet to quiet down, especially with the stream of racers that stop by the garage for either routine check-ups or simply to scope out the new Neo Tech guy who’d taken a certain racer’s five-win streak. Despite the attention, Jeno keeps his head down, choosing to only acknowledge the crew’s interest every now and then and focusing on work instead.

Still, that’s not to say that he isn’t curious himself about you.

Even if he deliberately avoids the crew’s knowing glances towards him when your Mazda suddenly pulls up at the garage a few days later.

The familiar hum of your engine immediately pulls Jeno’s attention from his work, the RX-7’s contrasting cherry red easily catching his eye from outside.

You climb out of the car with a flair to your step, coming to a stop at the entrance as you briefly scan the space, exchanging casual greetings with some of the guys on the way. As soon as you spot Jaemin hunched over a rebuild project, a grin immediately spreads across your face.

Jeno discreetly watches as you sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a back hug that visibly startles the ever nonchalant mechanic.

“Hi, Nana,” you greet, teasing Jaemin with a gentle squeeze while pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Do you really want me to answer?” he says, giving you a dry look over his shoulder despite the warmth in his voice. “Took you long enough to show up this time, didn’t you?”

“I know you missed me, but I’m a very busy woman,” you quip, flashing him a grin before jumping up to sit on a workstation nearby. “Besides, you of all people should know I’d never let my baby unattended if something had happened.”

Jaemin shakes his head with a chuckle, side-eyeing you suspiciously for a second. “Then why are you here, Cherry?”

“Just thought I’d drop by to see you,” you answer breezily, shrugging as your fingers fiddle with the two red hearts locked to your car’s keys. “We didn’t really talk last time and Gigi’s crew left the race earlier than usual, so…”

With a hum, Jaemin raises an eyebrow in his direction before turning to you again, eyes gleaming with purpose. “I take it you’ve met Jeno, then?”

As the mechanic gestures towards him, Jeno can’t help the tension from spreading through his body, caught off guard over suddenly being pulled into the conversation. For a moment that feels too long, it almost feels like he’s being sized up as your gaze lands on his frame, sharp and assessing.

“Yeah,” you admit, a laugh escaping from your lips when catching the slight surprise on his face. “What’s up, Jeno?”

He nods politely, pursing his lips in a half-hearted, hesitant greeting. “Hey.”

“I bet you’ve had a lot of visitors dropping by to check you out after the race, right?” you ask, teasing him as your tone shifts to a mischievous one. “Are you sick of it enough for a rematch yet?”

Still holding your gaze, Jeno simply shakes his head. “They’re not here because of me.”

Despite his deadpan delivery, the way your eyes immediately flicker in understanding isn’t lost on Jeno, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as the implication behind his words settle between you.

“Taeyong sure knows how to pick a crew,” you muse, mostly chuckling to yourself before raising an eyebrow towards him. “Have you been racing for a long time?”

Turning his attention back to the engine in front of him, Jeno nods vaguely. “A while.”

As you watch him, maybe a little too attentively for his liking, a mix of amusement and exasperation take over your face. “You don’t really talk much, do you?”

Jeno doesn’t immediately respond, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the tools spread over his workstation. As he gives a half-hearted shrug, the silence instantly serves as an answer for you.

“Right,” you mutter, chuckling softly before curiously peering at his engine from your spot. “That’s a cool V8 you’re working on, by the way.”

He quickly glances up at your words, his hands pausing the screwdriver in his grasp as a hint of intrigue replaces the indifferent attitude. “You know your way around cars.”

“It comes with the territory,” you answer, an amused smile widening on your face at his reaction. “Also, I’ve had good teachers… Vic taught me a lot about it, too.”

The name catches Jeno off guard, a frown betraying the confusion on his face. “Vic?”

As the loud, unmistakable rumble of a Dodge Charger R/T suddenly resonates through the garage, heads turning to the entrance over the black, pristine 1970’s model stopping outside Neo Tech, the question stays unanswered.

For a second time, Jeno catches himself cautiously watching you—as the puzzled look on your face shifts to a smile of recognition over whoever’s arrived, you’re quick to jump off Jaemin’s workstation, hurrying outside with a demeanor he can’t quite figure out.

Behind the Charger’s wheel, sits a man that looks somewhat familiar, his appearance seemingly fitting around early to mid fifties given his rugged presence.

As you share a high-five with him, leaning against the window of his car for a chat, Jeno notes how the man seems to hang onto your words, a visible sense of camaraderie laced to the interaction. Despite your childlike excitement, it doesn’t take long until he playfully waves you off, a giggle escaping from your lips while you quickly climb into your Mazda, soon leaving right behind him.

It’s only when Jaemin clears his throat that Jeno breaks away from the scene, looking back to find the mechanic grinning knowingly at him.

“That was really interesting,” he starts, leaning back against a nearby tool cart before crossing his arms. “Cherry doesn’t usually have to work for it.”

Ignoring the insinuation of Jaemin’s comment, Jeno plays it off with an amused scoff. “Is there a reason for that nickname?”

“Everyone’s been calling her that for as long as I’ve known her.” Jaemin shrugs, chuckling fondly. “She owned up to it when she started racing, so we painted the RX-7 red to match her.”

Jeno hums, briefly shooting him an inquisitive glance. “You two seemed close.”

As he seems to understand the catch, the grin on Jaemin’s face grows even bigger. “Oh, it was a long time ago,” he explains, sounding annoyingly reassuring for no reason. “We mutually decided we’re better off as friends, so don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” he counters bluntly, frowning at the fellow mechanic before turning back to the V8 again. “Who was that in the black Charger?”

“That’s... Victor Torres,” Jaemin answers, seemingly puzzled at the question. “Vic’s a bit of a legend around the neighborhood. He’s been racing, mentoring a few racers around here for a while. Cherry’s one of his star pupils.”

Jeno pauses briefly, his eyebrows furrowing in thought over the memories from that night. “I don’t think I’ve seen him at the race.”

With a curious smirk curling his lips, the mechanic shakes his head. “The old man was out of the city for a dealership,” he explains, squinting his eyes in his direction for a second. “You’re settling in pretty quick for new blood.”

A half-hearted smile tugs at Jeno’s mouth, the answer measured with a nonchalant shrug. “Things aren’t too different from what I’ve done before.”

“So you have raced before,” Jaemin notes, an inquisitive edge to his voice despite the humorous gleam in his gaze. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned that when you signed up last time.”

“Nobody asked,” Jeno replies, looking up at the mechanic again with a taunting glance. “It didn’t seem important.”

Amused by the off-putting answer, Jaemin studies him for a beat before clicking his tongue. “Maybe you shouldn’t have raced against Cherry,” he says, shooting him a playful wink. “Winning against everyone’s favorite tends to draw attention.”

As Jeno stands up from his workbench, subtly signaling the end of the conversation, a touch of finality hangs to his voice. “I’m not here to impress anyone.”

“Fair enough,” Jaemin counters with a chuckle, backing off with a lazy shrug. “Just don’t think we’re not all wondering, though. People are paying attention.”

Though Jeno doesn’t react outwardly, the weight of Jaemin’s words linger over his head for the night.

Settling in at Neo Tech truly had been smoother than he’d expected—maybe a little too smooth, now that he thinks of it. Jeno knows he’s playing a careful game, but days like this make him feel like the pieces are shifting faster than he can anticipate.

Despite being as old as time, The Bluebird is considerably packed for a Friday night, the few worn-out tables of the diner all taken as you walk past through the door.

As the jingle of the bell announces your arrival, the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee immediately surround you, welcoming and familiar as a childhood memory.

Nestled on the corner of the neighborhood’s busiest street, The Bluebird is the kind of place where the food is deliciously greasy, the coffee a little too strong and everyone knows your name even if you don’t. Though it’s not the case with Daria, one of the diner’s waitresses that has pretty much seen you grow up over your visits for their milkshakes and cheeseburgers.

She’s quick to spot you through the diner’s buzz, gesturing for you to sit by the vacant counter with a smile. You rush through the tables, softly returning the older woman’s smile.

“I didn’t know you were back, Daria!” you start, sliding into a stool with a curious glance at her. “How was your trip? Did you see your grandkids?”

“It was wonderful!” she says, her face lighting up with warmth before setting the menu in front of you. “The little ones are growing so fast, it won’t take long until they’re taller than me.”

Leaning against the counter, you smile at her between mischief and curiosity. “What about your boyfriend? Did he go with you?”

“You know that an old woman shouldn’t kiss and tell,” Daria jokes, though her face quickly shifts as she shoots you a knowing look. “What about you? Don’t think I haven’t heard about your little things with Taeyong’s boys.”

You quickly avert your gaze to the menu on the wall, feigning a cough under her amused scrutiny. “Oh, I think I’m ready to order?”

Daria chuckles, visibly unimpressed by your poor attempt to change the subject. “I’m sure you are,” she teases, pulling a notepad from her apron. “Let me guess. A cherry milkshake, cheeseburger and fries, like always?

As you nod eagerly, a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You just get me, Daria.”

The older woman laughs, jotting down your order just about to head towards the kitchen when a familiar voice cuts through the chatter around you.

“Add it to my tab.”

The sudden intrusion makes you glance over, eyes instantly locking with Jeno’s as he sits a few stools away, casually holding a steaming mug of coffee. The faintest hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he notes your surprised features, having been oblivious to his quiet presence until now.

Daria raises an eyebrow at him, suspiciously glancing between both of you. She hesitates, tapping a pen against the notepad as if weighing whether to prod further or leave her curiosity alone.

With a playful shrug, you laugh reassuringly at the waitress. “You heard the man, Daria. I’m having free dinner tonight.”

She hums, looking nothing but unconvinced as she side-eyes Jeno for a second. “Alright, then,” Daria says, ultimately tucking the notepad into her apron again. “I’m watching you two. Don’t cause trouble, I’ll bring your food soon.”

As she heads towards the kitchen, leaving you two alone in the diner’s bustling atmosphere, Daria doesn’t resist smirking knowingly at you.

Shifting on your seat to face him, you regard the racer’s laidback posture with narrowed eyes. “I can pay for my own food, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeno answers, an unexpected hint of amusement lacing his voice as he shrugs lightly. “I’ve got five grand sitting in my bank account, figured some courtesy wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, we’re going there now?” you argue, a scoff escaping from your lips. “There’s another race in a few days, should I expect a rematch?”

He hums, taking a sip of his coffee before offering a teasing, small smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I actually would,” you say, crossing your arms over the counter with a mock challenging glare at him. “Aren’t you talking a little too much for new blood? That entire race was mine.”

Jeno quirks an eyebrow, setting the mug down as the smile on his face widens discreetly. “Pretty sure I crossed the line first.”

“By a hair,” you counter, slumping back against your seat just as a deliberate, easy grin tugs at your mouth. “I might’ve lost but I know I made you work for it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, the admission edged with a touch of honesty that catches you off-guard. “You really did.”

As he holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary, all traces of playfulness slowly shift to a more thoughtful mood, a touch too serious for the moment. The air seems to shift between you—somewhat charged with something you can’t pinpoint, though neither of you back down from it.

Before the sudden tension stretches for longer, Daria steps in, breaking the conversation’s lull with your order in hands.

She glances between you and Jeno with an amused frown, lips twitching for a grin. “Flirting or fighting?”

Jeno snorts. “Neither.”

“Fighting,” you fire back.

Answering at the same time, the coincidence draws a snicker out of Daria before she hurries away to another customer, quickly leaving you for a second time.

“So, Jeno...” you start, attempting to lead the conversation back into your own curiosity’s territory. “What’s your deal? Taeyong’s usually so picky about his crew, I was surprised to hear there was a new guy at Neo Tech.”

Jeno takes his time to reply, almost as if weighing what to say. “Not much to tell,” he says, shaking his head before exhaling a laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He needed someone on short notice, I needed the job.”

You pick up a fry in between bites of the cheeseburger, twirling it between your fingers with a hum. “How’d you get into racing then?”

“I grew up around cars. My dad used to work on a few for fun, so I spent a lot of time in our garage with him,” Jeno explains, looking suddenly a bit nostalgic. ”I started tinkering around, learning a bit. Racing just felt like a natural step.”

As you nod, a small smile curls on your lips over the straw of the milkshake. “Sounds like me, except it was my brother.”

He raises an eyebrow, visibly surprised by the words. “Does he race?”

“Nope,” you quickly answer, glancing down at the plate in front of you to pick on the few fries left. “Not anymore.”

As if sensing something there, Jeno chooses to not press further as he nods. “If it’s worth anything, you’re really good at it.”

You blink, feeling warmth spreading through your neck for a moment before quickly recovering, shooting him a mischievous grin instead. “Why did you decide to challenge me that day, by the way?”

Jeno pauses, lips threatening a smile as his fingers brush over the edge of his mug. “I wasn’t going to,” he confesses, chuckling humorlessly. “I wasn’t even thinking about racing that day.”

Unconsciously leaning closer, your curiosity now piqued, you frown at him. “Then... why did you?”

“I heard some racers talking about you—how you don’t race for the money or actually winning,” he starts, his tone somehow caught between amusement and exasperation. “Doing it against someone like that just seemed... fun. Just racing for the sake of it.”

Your grin returns a little wider, mischief slipping back into your tone. “All I’m hearing is that you’re signing up for the next one.”

His lips twitch, Jeno taking a last sip of his coffee under your intrigued gaze. “If you get a ten-win streak, I’ll think about it.”

You snort, feigning a peeved glare. “Is that a challenge?”

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, teasing smile. “I don’t know.” Jeno chuckles quietly, a hand casually running through his hair. “Is it?”

The sudden shift in his behavior—from the guarded, almost apathetic Jeno you met at the garage to the current playful, teasing Jeno from today—has definitely given you a bit of whiplash. The easy smiles, his gentle confidence and the way he’s been quietly coaxing reactions out of you are a stark contrast to the unreadable, aloof man from days ago. Leaving you to wonder what else he’s possibly hiding underneath his layers, the change only spurs you further.

There’s something there, a growing curiosity that you can’t ignore, making you eager to figure him out even if you’re not entirely sure why.

As your phone buzzes inside the pockets of your hoodie, Vic’s name flashing on the screen once you pick it up, Jeno’s face quickly changes to a more reserved expression, politely turning away in an attempt to give you a little privacy. The call doesn’t last long, Vic ultimately bidding you goodbye as the line clicks off.

You pocket the phone into your hoodie again, turning back to him with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

Jeno nods, his light-hearted demeanor now eased into something more neutral. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah,” you reply with a small smile, lingering for just a second longer than you mean to before standing up from your stool. “Try not to miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you at the race.”

He doesn’t reply, instead only offering you an amused smile watching you skirt around the tables on the way to the door. You send him a quick, playful wink over your shoulder before finally stepping outside, holding back a smile of your own upon noticing the way he laughs.

Heading towards your car, the glow of The Bluebird’s neon sign fading through the street, you shake off the wandering thoughts.

Back at the warehouse again, surrounded by the roar of engines and the usual heavy atmosphere that marks race day, Jeno watches the bustling crowd with attention.

It hasn’t been long he’s arrived, parking his Skyline at Neo Tech’s usual spot as a few racers stop by every now and then, attempting to find out whether his name was at the starting grid for the night.

Though the crowd quickly turns his name into one of the most anticipated contenders once they clock his presence, Jeno knows better than racing tonight. After last time, unexpectedly battling with the scene’s most loved racer, keeping a low profile seems like the safest option for now.

As he leans against the hood of his green GT-R, taking in the line-up of cars over the warehouse, a familiar cherry red shadow easily catches his attention—except you aren’t the one behind the wheel this time. Jeno frowns, straightening slightly as he tries to recognize the figure through the windows of your Mazda until Johnny’s sudden call makes it impossible, the crowd erupting into chaos at his blasting voice.

Pushing off his car, he quickly weaves through the audience outside the warehouse, surrounding the starting line for a better view.

The pre-race procedure stays the same with Johnny listing the rules, giving a quick run-down on the night’s track before hyping up the winning prize, the crowd attentively hanging onto his words.

“We’ve got a bit of a twist tonight though,” Johnny adds, his voice laced with a cryptic touch despite the thrill on his face. “Two of our favorite racers have switched cars for today’s race.”

Before the crowd pieces it together, Jeno raises an eyebrow at his own realization.

“In the RX-7, we’ve got Gigi taking the wheel—” Johnny pauses abruptly, grinning at the sudden cheers and whistles of both surprise and excitement coming from the audience. “—and in the S2000, we’ve got Cherry in command tonight.”

“That’s new,” Jaemin says, chuckling as he steps beside Jeno, glancing between the two cars at the far end of the line-up with interest. “I don’t think Cherry’s ever done that.”

Following his eyes, Jeno finally glimpses your focused figure inside the pink Honda. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he replies casually, arms crossing over his chest as a grin slowly grows on his face. “It’s not about the car with her, but I am curious as to why she’s doing it tonight.”

Jaemin gives him a sharp glance, expressive enough that Jeno immediately gets the picture he’s painting.

Though he doesn’t respond, it feels like his silence speaks volumes.

As Johnny finishes his speech, the roar of the engines revving up adds to the building tension. The crowd surges forward once Johnny raises the flag, pressing closer to the edge of the track as it blazes under bright headlights.

The flag drops.

Despite being at disadvantage at the corners, you easily push through with Gigi’s Honda, tires screeching against the pavement as the car takes the lead.

At his side, Jaemin lets out an amused whistle. “Yeah, she’s definitely pulling it off.”

It doesn’t take long until the cars are doubling a corner after the first long straight, the blind spot simmering the crowd with anticipation for a few minutes. As a commotion at the outskirts of the grid catches Jeno’s eyes, his attention momentarily shifts to a familiar figure stepping into the chaos.

Victor Torres walks through the cluster of people, thoroughly scanning the place in the company of two broad-shouldered, stone-faced men right behind him.

Jaemin notices the shift in Jeno’s attention, curiously glancing around until a puzzled sound escapes his mouth. “Oh? Vic usually doesn’t show up unless he’s got a reason.”

Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Jeno clears his throat. “So he doesn’t usually watch her race.”

Though the question sounds more like a statement, the mechanic still shakes head with a thoughtful hum. “Not anymore. He could be here for literally anything, though.”

As the sounds of running engines approach, getting louder by every second, the audience quickly flares up waiting for whoever’s currently leading the race. Jeno can’t help but grin as the S2000 makes a perfect curve into the final stretch, leaving you seconds ahead as the first racer to reach the last bit of the course.

The blur of pink easily blazes across the finish line, the atmosphere erupting with cheers and applause. Behind you, the cherry red Mazda follows close as Gigi skillfully holds the second place.

Jeno watches as you slow the car into the surging crowd, climbing out of the Honda with a thrilled glow on your face. Despite the swarm congratulating you, your attention seems to be on something else, eyes scanning the faces until unmistakably locking with his own. A grin immediately curls on your lips as you push through the handful of people, walking towards him with a poised stance.

You cast a mischievous glance at him as you approach, arms crossing over your chest. “Are you really backing out of our rematch?”

Jeno chuckles, holding a hand out for a surprise high-five. “Congratulations. That was one hell of a race.”

Jaemin clears his throat dramatically at Jeno’s side, watching you reciprocate the gesture with a frown on his face. “Oh, sure, don’t mind me,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I wasn’t really here rooting for you the whole time, it’s fine.”

“Don’t be like that,” you coo at him, stepping closer before throwing your arms around Jaemin’s neck, hanging onto his figure with a laugh. “You know I love you, Nana.”

The mechanic hums, letting you go with a teasing side glance. “Do you?”

With a slap to his arm, an amused scoff escapes your lips. “You’re a menace,” you say, giving Jaemin a light, playful push. “You should go, Gigi’s probably wondering why you’re not hovering around her yet.”

Jaemin grins, ruffling your hair in retaliation before stepping back with an exaggerated bow. As he disappears into the crowd walking over to Gigi’s parked Honda, there’s a subtle change in the air now that you’re left alone.

Despite the hectic post-race, heavy music now echoing from inside the warehouse as Johnny takes the DJ stand, a few curious eyes are still watching both of you, conversations pausing momentarily to become hushed mumbles. Whether it’s about your win over Gigi, the fact that you’re openly engaging with him of all people or something else entirely… Jeno can’t really tell.

As you turn to him again, your expression shifts to a mix of confusion and excitement. “Why did you come if you weren’t racing tonight?”

“To watch you,” he replies, the blunt answer clearly catching you off guard as your lips twitch, resisting a smile. “I told you, I don’t really race that much anymore.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you argue, offering a light shrug with a coy glance at him. “At least it’d be more fun for me.”

Jeno regards you knowingly, lips pursing in a small smile. “I’m pretty sure you were holding back on the straights tonight,” he notes, huffing a quiet laugh at your guilty wince. “How long have you known Gigi?”

“We went to school together,” you answer, fondness suddenly lacing your voice. “If my brother and Vic taught me everything I know, Jaemin and I taught her everything she knows.”

“She had a good teacher, then,” he says, still smiling with a thoughtful nod. “Seems like you’ve got a lot of people in your corner.”

You smile in a way Jeno hasn’t seen yet, a hint of pride flashing in your eyes. “I’m the luckiest to have them.”

As he studies you for a second, your expression unexpectedly wavering to a sheepish one, Jeno can’t help a soft chuckle from escaping his lips. “I can tell.”

A beat of silence passes before you break it with a playful sparkle in your eyes. “So… where’s your car, anyways?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder towards the warehouse. “I’ve never driven a Nissan before. When are you giving me a chance to drive that beauty?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “You sure you can handle it?” he asks, crossing his arms in a laidback gesture. “It’s not exactly a car for amateurs.”

“Are you calling me an amateur?” you provoke him, taking a step closer before playfully raising your chin at him. “If you think I can’t handle it, then let me take a ride to show you what I got.”

Though he laughs at the words, warmth slowly spreads through his body as Jeno leans closer to you, just enough to subtly tower over your figure. As his heart picks up, your dazed face just inches away from his, Jeno can’t help his eyes from dipping to your lips.

It feels like something snaps in his brain as he suddenly looks up, instantly finding Vic near the entrance of the warehouse, the man’s gaze fixed intently on both of you. His posture is tense, arms crossed as if he’s been watching for a while.

Jeno takes a step back, exhaling sharply at the way your expression falters, looking genuinely confused by his sudden attitude.

As his voice falls into indifference again, he offers you an apologetic glance. “It’s getting late, you should probably go home.”

You huff a short laugh, a mix of bewilderment and defiance crossing your face. “Right... I probably should.”

Before Jeno can say anything else, you quickly turn around to leave—not before giving him a final, lingering look with arms crossed over your chest. As he watches you cut into the remaining crowd, your name slips from his mouth before Jeno can consciously stop it.

“You’ll have to buy me dinner before I let you ride it.”

A grin slowly tugs at your lips before you offer him an eye-roll.

“We’ll see about that, Jeno.”

The streetlights cast dark shadows over the rows of cars parked outside Neo Tech, its large doors already halfway closed as you slowly come to stop, the engine of your Mazda humming gently in the silent neighborhood.

Inside, you can spot Jeno’s figure still moving around, his back towards the entrance as he seems to finish up for the night, clearing his workstation with a relaxed posture.

As your fingers tap the steering wheel, you debate with yourself for a second—you hadn’t exactly planned on stopping by the garage this late, yet you’re still there with a takeout bag ready to be shared, unpretentiously anticipating his reaction over the surprise.

After the race, Jeno had left you feeling something deeper than just curiosity, especially with a certain little moment lingering at the corners of your mind for the following days. Given how much he’s changed since first meeting him at the garage, you can’t help the growing expectation inside your chest, though you’d never be one to openly admit so.

Though before you can talk yourself out of it by overthinking, the sound of a door rolling open draws your attention.

While throwing a few goodbyes to the crew over his shoulder, Jeno steps outside, eyebrows instantly furrowing in surprise as he spots you. Closing the garage behind him, shrugging a black hoodie jacket on, he walks towards your car with a knowing smirk breaking into his face.

As he approaches, Jeno bends down to your window, holding an arm over the car’s roof. “If you’re here for Jaemin, he left a few minutes ago.”

“I’m here for you, actually,” you say, holding back a grin of your own at his bemused expression. “You said I should buy you dinner first, so that’s what I’m doing.”

His eyebrows shoot up briefly, the smirk widening into something caught between disbelief and amusement. “Dinner, huh?” Jeno repeats, tilting his head as if to get a better read on you. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d keep tabs on promises like that.”

“Well, I’m trying to keep things interesting for you,” you quip, starting the engine again before looking up at his figure, still leaning against your car. “I’ve got food and I know a place. Are you coming?”

Jeno just shakes his head, laughing softly as he steps back towards his GT-R. “Lead the way, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You can’t help the spark of satisfaction warming your chest as his car rumbles to life, soon pulling onto the neighborhood’s main street right behind your RX-7. Glancing in the rearview mirror every now and then, Jeno’s got the same expression from the day he’d raced you, serious and focused enough that you almost don’t resist suddenly pulling him into a challenge.

The road stretches out ahead to a highway shortcut, the city glowing in the distance as both of you escape from it for the night.

As the buildings and bright lights start giving way to rolling hills and open fields, you lead Jeno onto a dirt road, following it until a secluded, almost undetectable clearing. The space’s quiet, surrounded by trees, with a clear view of the stars above and the city’s skyline far ahead.

Jeno steps out of his Skyline first, looking around with attentive eyes. “Nice spot. How’d you find this place?”

“My brother,” you answer, the diner’s bag in hands as you join him with a small smile. “He used to bring me here when I was a moody, grumpy pre-teen.”

Taking a seat on the hood of his car, Jeno hums softly. “Not anymore?”

Debating with yourself as you watch him for a moment, the words slip from your mouth with surprising ease. “He passed away, so not really,” you say, snickering softly at the quick change in his expression. “It’s been a long time though, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m still sorry,” he starts, voice shifting to a quieter tone. “Can I ask what happened?”

You sigh wistfully, moving to sit beside him on the GT-R’s hood before starting to set up the food between you. “Would it be weird to say that I have no idea?”

Jeno frowns, visibly caught off-guard by the odd answer. “What do you mean?”

“I still don’t know what happened,” you repeat, humorlessly huffing a laugh as you pick up a fry to start. “He just… went out of town for a race one day and never came back. Vic was the one to break the news to me.”

A flicker of something you can’t read crosses his face, though he quickly recovers by offering a half uneasy, half reassuring glance. “I’m not sure what I should say—”

“It’s fine, Jeno,” you interrupt, deliberately lighting up the mood with a growing grin on your lips. “We should probably talk about how you’re letting me drive your car back to the city today.”

As Jeno chuckles, his gaze is steady but softer than usual. “You really don’t waste time, do you?”

“What can I say?” you joke, taking a sip of your milkshake with a coy shrug. “I’m a very focused person and right now my focus is exactly getting behind the wheel of your GT-R.”

Still not breaking eye contact, he shakes his head to resist his grin from growing. “So you win a few races and suddenly think that earns you the keys to my car?”

Your fingers are playing with the straw of the cherry drink as you smirk at him, tilting your head for added effect. “I mean, I did buy you dinner like you asked,” you counter, clicking your tongue. “The least you can do is uphold your promise.”

“Was it a promise?” Jeno asks, feigning confusion with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”

“Do you want me to remind you?” you shoot back, leaning just a little closer to taunt him. “You said that I should buy you dinner before you let me ride it. Remember that?”

As he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head again, there’s a subtle hint of a blush dusting Jeno’s cheeks. “You’re relentless.”

You smile teasingly, leaning back on your hands against his car. “Well… you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You barely finish the sentence before Jeno suddenly leans over your frame, closing the distance between you without hesitation. The kiss catches you completely off guard, your breath hitching as his lips meet yours. For a moment, your mind goes completely blank, overwhelmed by his unexpected action.

Jeno’s hand firmly holds your jaw, anchoring you in place with the same intensity as he’s kissing you—almost as if he’s acting on an impulse after holding himself back. You can’t help giving in, something warmer and deeper quickly melting the surprise as you instinctively kiss him back, your fingers tightening around his hoodie.

As he pulls away, exhaling a laugh against your mouth, his forehead lingers close to yours. “Sorry, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

You blink at him, trying to pace yourself again as heat rushes through your cheeks. “Not really,” you admit, grinning softly with a light-hearted shrug. “I’m not complaining, though.”

Jeno rubs the back of his neck, the action laced with a hint of bashfulness that contrasts with his usual composure. “Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“I hope you’re not implying I’m a bad kisser,” you cut in, squinting your eyes in mock annoyance before pulling back with an exaggerated gasp. “By the way, was that you giving your car to me or is this just an attempt to trick me out of it?”

He laughs, the sound coming off low and genuine, his eyes almost sparkling under the dim light. “What if it’s both?”

A grin immediately tugs at your lips before you lean forward, pressing a quick smooch to his mouth with a giddy laugh. “I’m racing your GT-R next time then, just so you know.”

Jeno shakes his head, holding back a smile as he purposefully looks away to the city’s horizon in the distance. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Your laughter softens as you settle back against the hood of his car, attentively watching his profile. “So I’ve been told a few times,” you answer with a playful shrug. “I prefer to think of myself as ambitious, though.”

He smirks, glancing sideways at you with raised eyebrows. “Ambitious is definitely one word for it.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease cheekily, bumping your shoulder lightly against his with a smile. “I know you like me, it’s okay to admit it.”

Jeno hums, shaking his head as something akin to tenderness flashes in his eyes for a second. “I’ll admit you keep things… interesting.”

The weight of his words subtly change the mood, especially as your heart takes the lead by racing annoyingly fast for your liking.

As the night stretches on, the two of you fall into an easy rhythm of conversation in between bites of your usual order from The Bluebird, exchanging a few stories and memories here and there. The night air feels cool against your skin by the time both of you finish, momentarily falling into a comfortable, yet charged silence.

Jeno breaks the pause with a deep breath, glancing at his watch with a touch of reluctance. “It’s late,” he says softly, offering you a knowing glance. “We should probably head back before someone finds us here.”

Though you know that nobody’s going to find the secluded place so late, you hum softly before hopping off the hood of his car. Just as you’re about to take a step towards your Mazda, Jeno holds you back by the arm. You watch as he silently takes off his hoodie, draping the fabric over your shoulders with a satisfied nod.

Before you can thank him, he gently grabs one of your hands, pulling it out of the long sleeve with a chuckle.

Then—the keys of his green Skyline GT-R are in your palm.

Your jaw drops as you stare down at them, blinking in both disbelief and excitement. “Are you serious?”

Amused by your reaction, Jeno smirks challengingly. “You wanted to drive it, didn’t you?” he asks, leaning closer as his voice drops. “If you make it to the city in under 10 minutes, I’ll let you actually race it.”

You can only snort, tiptoeing to press another kiss to his lips. “We’re on.”

Driving his car through the highway as you head towards the city again, watching him closely follow behind with your Mazda, you can’t help but feel like the night has set something in motion—something you’re more than ready to see through now.

Looking around, Jeno can’t remember the last time he’s been in a conference room.

The place smells like burnt coffee, the hum of its fluorescent lights almost serving as white noise to mask the unnerving silence surrounding him.

As he sits in the large, secluded corner at the agency for the first time in three months, Jeno can’t help nervously clasping his hands over the table, waiting for Doyoung to arrive.

The walls, covered in bulletin boards that display very specific files and photos, are a twisted reminder of the reason he’s there in the first place. A folder lies in front of him, his jaw tightening at the sight of it every time he glances at the worn out edges and stained cover.

As the door suddenly clicks with a loud sound, Doyoung is quick to step inside, his sharp, intimidating features immediately softening upon seeing him in person again. Holding another handful of files, the oldest manages a brief side-hug, offering a pat to Jeno’s back before settling on a chair at the head of the desk.

“It’s good to see you in one piece,” Doyoung starts, leaning back against his seat with a knowing glance in his direction. “Sorry that we pulled you out on short notice, the order came from high-up—”

Jeno shakes his head, pursing his lips in a tight line. “It’s fine, I was probably up for a check-in anyway.”

The agent regards him for a second, humming in agreement despite the flicker of reservation in his eyes. “You were,” Doyoung admits, nodding curtly. “We’ve been looking into your intel, and it adds up with what we have so far.”

“I thought we’d already established that the last time we talked,” Jeno answers, glaring at his co-worker impatiently.

“We did,” the man agrees, resting his elbows against the desk before huffing a peeved scoff. “Except Victor’s not a middleman like we thought, he’s actually the head of the entire thing.”

Jeno leans back against his seat, the weight of the information settling in after a second. “You’re telling me Vic’s the one running the smuggling operation?”

Doyoung nods again, sliding a file over the desk. “Everything points back to him—the money trails, the coded messages, the shipments’ timing,” he explains, his expression seemingly hardening by each word. “He’s not just managing the cargo, he’s intercepting it and passing it forward internationally.”

His jaw tightens, eyes quickly scanning the pages. “What’s his deal with the races?”

“Recruitment ground, maybe? That’s what we gathered from your intel, anyway,” Doyoung clarifies, offering a shrug. “He needs good drivers, fast ones. What’s a better way to have that than making them yourself?”

The memories of his conversations with Jaemin instantly resurface in Jeno’s mind.

Despite the relationships you’ve built through your brother, most with the guys from Neo Tech, Victor has still played a key role in your life by guiding you, eventually molding you into one of the best racers in the city. The connection isn’t just a passing detail— now it feels deliberate, purposeful.

If Victor’s been intentionally shaping and recruiting racers, then his investment in you isn’t just about talent and skills alone.

Jeno exhales slowly, voice giving away a hint of stress. “What’s the next step then?”

“There’s new shipment coming next week. They’re planning to take it out of the city, so we’ll be looking out for that,” Doyoung starts, leaning back with an apologetic wince. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we can’t bring him in without solid evidence... we’re getting close, Jeno.”

“Can I join the team on that?” he asks, his expression hardening.

The agent raises an eyebrow, clicking his tongue at the request. “It’s risky but I’ll see what I can do,” he answers, hesitating for a second before shooting Jeno a meaningful glance. “I know I’ve asked before, but I just want to be sure we’re still on the same page about—”

Even though he knew it was coming, Jeno’s stomach still twists at the mention of your name. “She’s not a problem,” he firmly cuts in, body quickly growing tense. “She’s just there to race, nothing more.”

The oldest studies him carefully, visibly cautious despite the insistence. “Are you sure about that? Victor needs good drivers, and if she’s the best one in the scene—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupts again, his fists subconsciously clenching under the desk. “She’s not part of the operation.”

“You know that I trust you, Jeno,” Doyoung says quietly, though not looking entirely too convinced. “I hope you know what you’re doing. If you get too close, it’s not just you who could get hurt.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Jeno argues, glaring at the agent in a way that looks too forceful to feel genuine. “I’m undercover and she gets me closer to the scene, that’s all. I’m not about to compromise the investigation, Doyoung.”

The agent simply nods, sliding another file across the desk. “We’ve also got something new from the surveillance team. Do you recognize these names?”

Scanning the list of names printed on the paper, Jeno points at the last two ones. Shotaro and Sungchan. “I’ve seen these two race before… Vic’s drivers?”

“It seems like it, at least for the next shipment,” Doyoung confirms, regarding him with a knowing look. “If you can scout anything about them at the garage...”

He nods, closing the file before roughly pushing it over. “Sure, I’ll get back to you.”

As Doyoung gathers the files together, a deep exhale suddenly escapes from his mouth once silence settles in the conference room again.

“Now, I’m asking you as a friend, not as a co-worker or an agent,” he starts, almost sounding exasperated under his characteristic concern. “It’s been three months. Are you sure you can keep doing this?”

The agent watches him attentively, his cranky professional facade slipping for a moment as Jeno clocks a hint of apprehension on his face.

Doyoung has always been more than just a co-worker, having stepped into an older brother role from the moment he’d joined the agency as a fresh-faced, out-of-school rookie.

Over the years, the oldest had become a steady presence in Jeno’s building career as one of the top agents in the team—whether through a firm warning when he pushed too far on something or simply seeing his potential when no one else would, there isn’t a single doubt that Doyoung holds a significant place in his life now.

Still, Jeno can’t help hesitating over the question, ultimately nodding despite the weight behind his words. “I’m fine.”

The agent doesn’t answer right away, watching him as though waiting for something. “Well, you don’t really seem like it,” Doyoung counters, standing up from his seat with the files in hands again. “You look like a guy who’s starting to lose sight of what side he’s on. I’d know about that.”

As the oldest steps aside to leave, the silence feels heavier than before, settling between them like the unspoken truth that Jeno’s been tightly safeguarding. Opening the door, Doyoung squeezes his shoulder in reassurance, nodding firmly despite the softness in his eyes.

“You’ve got this, Jeno.”

The sound of tires crunching against the gravel outside your place immediately draws your attention, a familiar engine’s hum echoing through the quiet evening. A small smile tugs at your mouth as recognition settles in, the sound almost unmistakable by now. Peering outside the window, you watch as Jeno’s green GT-R comes to a smooth stop into your driveway, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

It’s been a couple of days since you last saw each other, both staying busy enough with work and life between race days.

In the three months since Jeno first challenged you, your relationship—or whatever that you can possibly call it—has slowly become something that’s been lingering in a space with no definitions or expectations.

Though neither of you are entirely sure of what to call it, even under the occasional teasing quips from Neo Tech’s crew, you’ve come to realize that you don’t really mind it. There’s a certain comfort in not overthinking it, trusting Jeno to exist in your life in the way he does—steady but gently, with an ease that feels very characteristic of him.

The evening chill rises shivers on your bare legs as you step outside, smirking at the way Jeno’s figure is sitting on the hood of his car, hands tucked into the pockets of a bomber jacket. His head lifts slightly at the sound of your quick footsteps, a groan escaping from his lips as you jump against him, arms wrapping around his neck in a tight hug.

“Hello to you too,” Jeno starts, sounding nothing but amused as you pull back, a hint of surprise giving him away for a moment. “Didn’t think I’d get this kind of welcome today.”

“Why? Did you think I’d only do that when we’ve got an audience?” you ask, your tone playful as you stand between his legs, arms now loosely holding him. “I’m a loyal girl, Jeno Lee.”

He nods solemnly, a sudden flicker of seriousness catching his eyes. “I know you are.”

“You could’ve texted me,” you argue, sighing dramatically as you give him a glare. “We could’ve gone out if I knew you were coming tonight.”

Jeno smiles, his hands lightly squeezing your hips before pulling you closer. “What if I wanted to surprise you?”

Rolling your eyes, a grin spreads through your face before you can stop it. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today,” you tease, taking a step back again as you reach for his hand. “We can order some dinner then, I’ll know just the place—”

“I can’t stay tonight, Cherry,” he cuts in, gently stopping you with an apologetic glance. “I’m leaving town for a few days, I just wanted to see you before I go.”

As the words catch you off-guard, you blink confusedly at him. “You’re leaving? What for?”

“Family stuff,” Jeno answers, a heavy sigh escaping from his lips. “It came up suddenly but I’ll only be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

You frown, pursing your lips in a pout before giving him a playful curious glance. “Family stuff? That’s all I get when there’s probably gossip?”

Jeno laughs, shaking his head in amusement for a second. “Gigi’s been rubbing off on you,” he teases, voice soon dropping to a mix of reassurance and tenderness as he exhales. “It’s not that exciting, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You could’ve told me earlier,” you mutter, your fingers playing with the zipper of his jacket, purposefully avoiding his gaze. “The next race’s gonna suck if you’re not going to be here.”

His fingers grasp at your chin, lifting your face up until your eyes meet. “You’re the main part of these races, so I doubt that’ll happen,” he counters, clicking his tongue with a sly, playful grin tugging his lips. “I’d let my car with you but I’ll need it, so…”

With a scoff, you half-heartedly swat his chest. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He doesn’t answer, instead pausing the conversation for a moment with a soft brush of his thumb along your jaw, the warm touch contrasting against the evening. You lean closer first, but Jeno’s quick to capture your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and lingering, his hand moving from your face as he gently cups your neck.

In the comfort of his arms, you completely lose track of time—the sounds around you become white noise, fading into the background between his embrace and the softness of his lips, one kiss turning two, then three, and so on.

The loud rumble of a specific Charger pulls both of you from your shared bubble. Jeno’s arms drop slightly, though his hands remain resting at your hips as Vic suddenly comes into view on the street. The atmosphere instantly changes it, Jeno subtly tensing while watching the man pull up beside his Skyline.

You don’t seem to notice the skeptical look on Victor’s face, greeting him with a smile once the car comes to a stop. “Vic? What’s up with you guys surprising me tonight?”

“Great minds think alike, Cherry,” Victor says, glancing between both of you with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just came by to say goodbye before I head out for a job.”

As Jeno’s eyes harden at Vic’s words, the quiet shift in his demeanor isn’t lost on you. There’s something in the way the two men regard each other in that moment—not hostile, but definitely not friendly either, leaving curiosity to gnaw at you.

With a half-hearted huff, you ignore the edge in their interaction, instead glaring at both of them. “Great, I’ll just ignore the fact that you’re both suddenly leaving and just wish you a safe trip, then.”

The man’s eyes flicker to Jeno for a second, a look of subtle recognition in his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon,” Victor answers, eyes returning to you again in a sharp glance. “You and I’ll talk when I get back.”

Puzzled by the striking weight in his tone, you hum with a hesitant nod. “Take care, Vic.”

It doesn’t take long until Victor’s car disappears down the street, the red tail lights slowly growing smaller into the evening. Jeno remains quiet in front of you, his hands still resting lightly on your hips, almost as if he’s distracted. You glance up at him, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his gaze’s been fixed towards the direction Vic’s just headed to.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you raise an eyebrow as he glances back at you again, a touch of agitation in his eyes. “You okay?”

He blinks, expression softening slightly at your touch. “Yeah,” Jeno replies after a beat, his tone calm but not entirely convincing. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” you ask, gently hoping to pull him from whatever had him so lost in thought.

As he stands up from the hood of his car, moving both of you by a step, a half-hearted smile curls on his lips. “Nothing worth worrying about.”

“Everyone’s running off tonight,” you say, sighing in mock exasperation upon realizing that he’s leaving soon too. “Should I start taking it personally?”

“You should go visit Jaemin at the garage while I’m gone. He’s been missing you these days,” Jeno jokes, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”

Not resisting the faint smile that tugs at your mouth, you roll your eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’ll miss you in the first place,” you taunt, though a little softer than intended. “Fine, I guess I’ll have to go bother him then.”

He’s the one to lean down for a kiss again, though it’s a gentle, soft one to your forehead first. It’s enough for you to tug him by his jacket, pressing your lips to his with a sigh against his mouth. When Jeno pulls back, he regards you for a second, almost as if he’s trying to commit your features to his mind.

You watch as he climbs into the GT-R, the engine roaring back to life in its familiar growl. Giving you one last look through the open window, a faint smile plays on Jeno’s lips.

“I’ll see you soon, Cherry.”

Crossing your arms, you smile tauntingly at him, the words slipping with a touch of fondness.

“We’ll see about that, Jeno.”

Outside the windows of his apartment, the city’s skyline is casted with a deep orange glow as the sun sets, drawing a picture that Jeno rarely indulges in whenever he’s at home.

Now that he’s back, the sight quietly tugs at the strings of his heart, especially after everything that has happened in the last few days. It sets a strange, confusing impression in his mind—one that makes him distinctively remember Doyoung’s words from last time.

The whiplash of feeling at home without really being at home rings several alarms in Jeno’s head, even if he’s been purposefully ignoring them for a while now. He still doesn’t know how to feel about the ease in which he slips in and out of… whatever this is supposed to be, having been toying so effortlessly with the line that draws his two personas.

Still, despite the noise in his head, you’re the one thing that Jeno’s felt recklessly sure about. He might not know what the mission can possibly mean to the future, but he knows what it means to him, at least for now.

The knock at the door leaves him anticipating something Jeno can’t quite tell.

It almost feels like he hasn’t seen you in months, his lingering eyes getting caught as you step into his place, walking past him with a smirk on your lips.

“Hi,” you say lightly, the familiar teasing touch in your voice pulling at his chest. “Did you miss me?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno counters, raising an eyebrow as an amused chuckle betrays him. “Did you miss me?”

As you pause for a second, your gaze suddenly hinting a mix of softness and apprehension, the last thing he’s expecting is to feel your arms wrapping him in a firm, almost distraught hug. The suddenness of it takes Jeno by surprise, his hands hovering in the air for a moment before settling reassuringly against your back.

“Hey, look at me,” he calls, pulling back just enough to catch your eyes as his voice drops to a concerned tone. “Is there something wrong?”

You’re quick to shake your head, offering a half-hearted smile in an attempt to brush it off. “It’s nothing,” you say, stepping back from his embrace with a glance around the place, expression shifting into something lighter. “What are we having for dinner today?”

Despite his hesitation at the moment, Jeno reluctantly moves on, the dinner eventually starting off easy enough with you raving over your love for the take-out menu he’s picked. It feels that way for a while as he listens to you recount updates from the crew at Neo Tech, your win at the last race that’s just marked your second five-win streak, a few tidbits about Jaemin and Gigi fooling around with each other.

Still, even through your laughs and the way you accept his touch every now and then, there’s a quietness about you today, an edge to the smiles that doesn’t reach your eyes.

The subtle pauses between your words, the heavy way your eyes linger on his figure whenever you think he isn’t looking—Jeno knows there’s something on your mind, even if you’re not saying it.

It isn’t until later, after the plates are cleared and the hues of oranges have faded to a blue evening outside the windows of his place, that your voice breaks the silence of his room.

“You’re not really a mechanic, are you?”

The soft flow of the bedside lamp casts a warm glow to your features, seemingly devoid of any emotion. With your head resting against his chest, your fingers have been idly tracing patterns against his skin, though it immediately stops as you feel his sudden tension.

The question hangs in the air for a second, Jeno’s heart beating hard enough that he’s sure you can hear it.

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes quietly searching for answers. “I mean… you’re good at it, you’re an amazing racer, but—” you pause, exhaling deeply despite the ease that you continue. “It just doesn’t add up, Jeno. I think you’re something else, and… I think I know that.”

It’s clear that you’re giving him a chance to deny, to tell you that you’re wrong. The tiny hint of hope in your eyes slowly fades away as his silence stretches, serving more than a spoken confirmation as it quietly tells you everything.

“Vic told me,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “He said you’re an agent.”

As you acknowledge the truth in the open, Jeno’s stomach sinks, a wave of unease crashing over him. He’d known that this moment would come, but not like this, not there or today or with you looking up at him like that.

“Is he telling the truth?” you ask, arms wrapping around knees as you sit up. “Is that why you’re here? Is that why you’re… with me?”

Jeno can’t seem to find the right words to answer, hating himself the longer his silence grows between you. It seems to be your breaking point too, leaving the bed to stand up a few feet away from him.

A look of exasperation settles on your face, sharp eyes glaring at him. “You’re not denying it, Jeno,” you urge him, your voice breaking for a second before you huff a bitter laugh. “Are you kidding me? Was any of this real or just part of your job?”

The answer is quiet, his voice almost cracking. “It’s not like that—”

“Right, then what is it like?” you snap, raising an eyebrow in a mock challenge. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ve been lying to me the whole time.”

Jeno exhales shakily, a frown set between his eyebrows. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Didn’t have a choice?” you repeat, an ironic chuckle escaping from your mouth. “You had a choice to not approach me at all, you had a choice to lay me off ages ago, you had a choice to tell me the truth. How’s that for you?”

“It’s not that simple,” he argues, running a hand through his hair, jaw tensing for a moment. “I wanted to tell you, but… I just couldn’t. It’d put you in risk and I wasn’t about to do that.”

“So what? You just use me instead?” you start, anger crashing down as you suddenly grow quiet, your voice trembling. “Get close to me because it’d help with whatever you’re doing here?”

Jeno’s fists clench upon the tears brimming in your eyes, his breath turning shallow as he avoids your gaze. “No,” he mutters, firm enough to contrast against the flicker of dejection on his face. “This is not what this is.”

For a moment, he wonders if you’ve picked up the white lie, your expression unreadable as you simply watch him. He hates himself for lying to you, for letting you get close when he knew he couldn’t give you the truth. More than that, he hates how much he cares—how much losing you is feeling like losing something more important than his own job, than the entire investigation itself.

Shaking your head with a finality that’s almost meant to defy him, you harshly wipe the tears off your eyes. “Let’s just not do this anymore.”

Once the words click, Jeno can’t help but freeze for a moment before panic surges through him as you walk around the room. With shaky hands, you quickly gather your clothes, not sparing a single side-eye towards his direction.

“Look at me,” Jeno calls, voice raising to a rougher tone as he sits up, trying to get a look at your face. “Hey, look at me!”

Your movements remain frantic as you shrug a jacket on, continuing to ignore him as if you hadn’t noticed the hard change to his demeanor. Without a word, you head straight to the door, the tension between you thick enough to feel suffocating. Jeno groans, his chest twisting in frustration and regret as he scrambles off the bed.

Just as your hand reaches for the doorknob, his hand closes around your upper arm, pulling you back with a careful force.

You finally turn around to face him, hurt and anger laced to your features. “What?”

“I don’t want to see you at the next race,” Jeno orders, the weight of his stony eyes visibly surprising you for a second. “Don’t go.”

As you frown, your confusion is evident, body almost relaxing under his touch. “What?”

With a glare, he makes sure that the words are not a request, but rather a command. “Don’t come to the next race, Cherry.”

The anger in your gaze hardens into something more painful as you pull your arm from his grasp. “Fuck off, Jeno,” you say, the venom in your words cutting deep as you open the door, this time without hesitation. “I’m the one that doesn’t want to see you at the next race.”

The door closes with a simple click, sounding miserably loud to the silence of his apartment now.

Jeno’s fingers curl into fists at his side, a ragged breath escaping from his lips as he stares blankly at it. Though the thought feels just as hollow as his lies, Jeno tells himself that maybe it’s better this way. After all, the job does demand sacrifice—relationships, connections, anything that can possibly jeopardize his missions.

Now left with the company of his heavy heart, Jeno wonders how many times he’ll have to tell that lie in order to convince himself instead.

The night air feels thick with tension as Jeno comes to a stop outside the warehouse, parking in a spot away from the usual crowd and their curious eyes. The race’s just about to start, a few cars already lining up with the blasting music in the background as usual.

Race days are always charged with a raw energy that he’s grown accustomed to, one that never failed to make him feel alive—but today, it feels skeptically different.

Jeno can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong tonight, despite Doyoung having already warned him about the change of plans in the investigation after his cover was blown by Victor. For a moment, he wonders if that’s just his mind playing games. While keeping his distance from you, Jeno has been subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop, anticipating you to eventually expose him.

His arrival plays out as nothing out of the ordinary though, Jaemin and Taeyong waving off from a distance as he steps out of the car, walking through the swarm of people to scan the racers of the night.

A part of him knew it was futile to warn you off the race, no matter how much he didn’t want you anywhere near the place tonight, regardless of the operation falling apart or not. It almost surprises him to not spot your Mazda at the starting line until he sees you, standing a few feet away from the grid while talking to Gigi, both of you visibly bickering.

He knows that your presence’s probably making things a lot more complicated to him.

The frustration quietly builds in his chest, mostly out of his own impotence than your choice to disregard his instruction. After all, the more he thought about it, the more he realized—if Vic knows about him and has kept quiet the entire time except to turn you against him, Jeno can’t really protect you, not without giving himself away or ruining the investigation entirely.

Given they most definitely are getting too close to Victor’s home, it feels fitting for the man to pull his own strings somehow.

The man’s presence at the race today is a dead giveaway of that, standing by his black Charger with a few of his shady-looking guards, watching the audience with an air of stress to his face. Jeno can’t help noticing the way his eyes keep flickering through the lot and the racers, almost as if expecting something.

Not having enough time to prod further, Jaemin suddenly approaches with a pat to his back, eyeing him with a flicker of both curiosity and exasperation in his gaze.

“You should probably fix whatever happened between you and Cherry,” the mechanic starts, snickering almost bitterly. “If neither of you are racing, who’s going to make this entire thing exciting?”

A chuckle escapes from his lips, Jeno relaxing for a second as he shakes his head at the guy. “I bet Gigi would love to hear that.”

“Please, it doesn’t seem like it but Gigi worships her,” Jaemin discloses, the playfulness on his face quickly fading to a mock warning look in his direction. “Don’t tell Cherry that if you don’t want Gigi to fuck you up.”

Before he can respond, the cars roar to life with Johnny’s voice, revving engines interrupting the conversation as the usual procedure starts.

The crowd tenses once the countdown starts, flag up in the air.

Then, a sharp screech of tires breaks through, the sound of approaching sirens getting louder by the second, flashes of blue and red lights quickly surrounding the warehouse. The crowd scatters around in a frenzy, running off in panic while the racers attempt to break through the chaos through a few secret exits.

This is part of his job—the chaos, the unpredictability, the apprehension. Jeno knows better to keep it cool, keep the cover intact for as long as he can despite everything, even if it means keeping you out of it.

But you aren’t leaving.

With Jaemin hurrying off, shouting something about meeting at the garage and finding Gigi over the booming sirens, Jeno’s eyes easily find you in the havoc of people. You’re frozen in place, simply watching the commotion with wide, confused eyes.

“Get out of here!” he yells, shoving through the crowd as he rushes towards your direction, his outstretched hand waving you off. “Cherry! You need to fucking leave!”

You barely acknowledge him before staring at something else. Following your fixed gaze, Jeno finds Vic standing still at the same spot, unphased by the madness surrounding him.

Something about his calmness, his tranquility in the middle of the chaos doesn’t sit right with Jeno. It’s been long proved by the investigation that Victor Torres isn’t exactly on the up-and-up, but seeing him there, just watching the mess unfold in a way that feels almost detached makes a pin immediately drop in Jeno’s mind.

Whatever’s happening tonight was not an accident—it was planned.

As he approaches you, Jeno quickly grabs your arm, guiding you away from the commotion when a sudden bang echoes through the air. Over his shoulder, he watches your body suddenly lurch as something sharp seems to cross your shoulder. You stumble, your hand instinctively reaching for the spot as Jeno pulls you closer, holding you steady as his eyes frantically search for something.

The sight of blood running from your neck and down your arm surprises him, anxiety rushing through his body as he exhales shakily. “Fuck!”

“Jeno,” you call, eyes wide with shock as your shaky hands fist his jacket. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno answers, trying to keep his voice steady in an attempt to mend the visible fear in your eyes. “You’re going to be okay, we’ll get out here.”

A burst of gunfire sends the place into mayhem again, both of you almost losing balance over your feet as Jeno half-carries you, shielding you with his body on the escape.

It feels like a lifetime until you reach his car, the way your body grows weaker by each second sending chills down his spine. He’s quick to help you onto the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and rushing to the driver’s side, barely managing to reach for his phone before emergency-calling Doyoung.

It rings once, the agent’s distressed voice coming off the speaker just as Jeno starts the engine. “What’s happening?”

“You fucking tell me, Doyoung,” he starts, the tone suddenly ragged in anger as he reverses out of the corner, picking up speed while expertly dodging the few stray racers still around. “Why the fuck is the police here? I thought the plans had changed—why the fuck are they here opening gunfire out of nowhere?”

“The police’s there?” Doyoung asks, giving away his aggravation even through the phone. “We didn’t send anyone, the plans really have changed. Can’t you identify them?”

“There’s no time for that,” he bites back, hands tightening around the steering wheel as he takes a look at your unmoving, quiet figure. “She’s been shot, I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“Shit,” the agent curses, an uncharacteristic behavior that feels fitting to the sudden weight of the situation. “I’m calling the team, we’ll see what we can do. I’ll meet you at the hospital, wait for me.”

The call disconnects as Jeno takes a back exit inside the warehouse, acutely aware of your silence. You’re gripping the seat with loose fingers, breathing uneven as you stare ahead, eyes unfocused. As his Skyline reaches an empty alley on the way out of the lot, Jeno presses the accelerator harder, feeling as if there’s not much time left.

“Look at me,” Jeno calls, the words ironically bringing a bad taste to his mouth as he presses you, still not looking at him. “Cherry, look at me!”

As you turn to him, your eyes are looking far too unfocused and dazed for his comfort. “Where’s Jaemin and Gigi?”

“At the garage,” he says, rushing to answer with an ease that he isn’t currently feeling. “They’re fine. I’ll call them—they’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Jeno feels his composure crack the longer he looks at you, taking in the blood staining your clothes and the way your breath’s slowly growing uneven. The road stretches ahead as he speeds further, though all he can focus on is the time slipping through his fingers no matter how fast he’s driving.

Pulling into the hospital’s entrance, the tires of his GT-R screeching against the asphalt, Jeno doesn’t even bother parking properly.

As he hurries to your side, his movements grow increasingly desperate upon noticing you abruptly losing consciousness. Swinging the door open, Jeno scoops you into his arms, your head falling against his chest as your breathing slows down.

The staff immediately rush to him as he walks through the sliding doors of the ER, fast to take you from his hold. The sight of your unconscious figure on the stretcher feels crushing, leaving him to just stand there with clenched fists as a sense of helplessness seems to weigh him down on the spot.

It’s just when Jeno hears Doyoung calling for his name that he breaks out of the trance, turning around to find the agent’s disgruntled, but worried figure quickly approaching him.

“Hey,” Doyoung greets, the low tone not masking the urgency laced to it. “How’s she doing?”

Stepping back to lean against the hospital’s wall, he can’t help huffing humorlessly. “What the fuck was that, Doyoung?”

“I’m still not sure, our team’s still looking into it,” the agent answers right away, sighing tensely as he glances knowingly at the youngest. “It definitely wasn’t us… but taking a wild guess? I don’t think the police were part of it.”

Jeno’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Are you saying that was Victor?”

Doyoung shrugs, scoffing a dry laugh. “He’s got the means for it, that’s for sure,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest with an eye-roll. “With us pushing back the operation, he had more than enough time to plan something.”

With a frustrated exhale, Jeno runs a hand over his face, features hardening into a frown for a second. “Listen, I don’t think my cover’s blown—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Doyoung interjects, cutting him off with a firm, yet reassuring nod. “We’ll handle the fall-out, Jeno.”

Over the older agent’s shoulder, Jeno suddenly spots Jaemin hurrying into the hospital. The mechanic’s eyes dart around the room for a moment until finding him, suspiciously eyeing the scene before taking a few steps closer. Noticing the shift on Jeno’s face, Doyoung follows his gaze, raising an eyebrow as Jaemin stops beside them. The agent is quick to take the hint, clapping Jeno’s shoulder before leaving with a mumble about needing coffee.

Jaemin breaks the silence first, his usual playful features heavy with a mix of concern and exhaustion. “What happened? Is Cherry okay?”

Unsure of how much to reveal given his position, Jeno can’t help hesitating. “She got caught in the middle of gunfire,” he replies, pausing for a moment before glancing apologetically at the mechanic. “I got her out as fast as I could.”

“We’ve been safe for years, the cops have never bothered us before,” Jaemin argues, nervously running a hand through his hair, frowning in confusion. “Why today?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jeno answers, trying to keep the tone as steady as possible despite the truth behind the words. “It didn’t seem like they were targeting anyone specific, if that’s worth anything.”

As Jaemin regards Jeno for a second, a chuckle escapes from his mouth, the sound coming off sharply. “She told me.”

He feels his chest tighten, taken aback by the unexpected twist. “What?”

“You’re a cop, right?” the mechanic asks, voice down to a quieter, solemn tone. “Cherry told me everything and made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you or Gigi.”

Shaking his head with a deep breath, Jeno feels the weight of his persona pressing down on him heavier than ever. “I’m sorry.”

Jaemin shrugs, surprising him by huffing a short laugh. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he says, a flicker of something softer crossing his eyes. “Just… whatever you’re planning, make sure it doesn’t screw both of you over more than it already has.”

The nurse’s voice suddenly cuts the conversation, Jeno faltering for a moment as both of them look up at the same time, their shared tensions immediately replaced by a sense of relief with over words.

“One of you can go in and see her now.”

The soft beeping of the monitor fills the silence of the hospital room, contrasting with the lingering, annoying buzz still echoing in your ears. The bandage on your neck feels perfectly snug, covering the bullet’s graze almost down to your shoulder.

After the chaos of earlier, you can’t help but feel misplaced once the nurse leaves, unconsciously replaying the entire night in your mind—the loud, sharp gunfire, the panic in his voice during your escape, the detachment you’d fallen into. It doesn’t take long until Jeno slowly steps into the room, features guarded despite the softness in his eyes upon meeting yours.

There’s a sense of hesitation in the way he moves, almost as if he’s unsure of his own presence around you. Taking a seat by the chair beside your bed, the silence between you holds for a second, only for Jeno to break it with a tired sigh first.

“Hey,” he greets quietly, glancing at the bandage on your neck with a touch of attentiveness. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug instinctively, the stiffness in your movements betraying a light discomfort. “It wasn’t as bad as it felt,” you say, placing a careful hand over the bandage with a dry chuckle. “It was just a graze. I’m just bad at handling stress and blood, apparently.”

Jeno leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you, his features looking nothing but distressed. “I’m really sorry, Cherry.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, a bitter smile almost tugging at your mouth. “For what, exactly? The cops raiding us or the lies you’ve been telling me?”

“For all of it,” Jeno answers, the words firm and steady, willingly taking the bite behind your question. “I know it’s not an excuse, but my team’s not involved in whatever happened. We’re looking into it, but…”

At the sudden pause, you lean back against the pillows on your bed, letting out a weary sigh. “Why do I feel like I know what you’re going to say?”

Jeno chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head with a grimace. “I think… I should tell you the truth about me first, right?” he begins, taking a deep breath before locking his eyes with yours again. “I’m an undercover agent. I was assigned to this case a few months ago, to investigate Victor and his crew.”

You swallow hard, doing your best to keep yourself from reacting despite the weight of his confession, the implications subtle. “What does Vic have to do with this?”

“He’s the head of an international smuggling operation in the city,” he reveals, almost looking apologetic over the words. “Everything you can think of, he’s got it—money laundering, trafficking, weapon deals. We’ve been looking into his business for a while, but it’s… complicated. He’s careful, his crew’s good.”

“Is that why you got involved with me?” you ask, the tone of your voice thoughtful, yet not particularly soft. “Did you think I was working for him?”

As he frowns, Jeno’s gaze hardens for a moment. “I’m not lying to you anymore, so I won’t say that I didn’t.”

With a hum, the words are quick to slip out of your mouth, almost too casually for the situation. “I’ve been looking into him too, you know,” you admit, chuckling quietly at the surprise on his face. “After that night, I started digging a little. I’m sure you know how easy it is to connect the dots if you keep your ears open around the racers.”

Jeno sighs, his eyebrows furrowing apologetically. “Cherry—”

“I’m not working for him,” you interrupt, frustration and disappointment laced to your broken exhale. “I don’t know what you know, but I—”

Reaching over for your hand, Jeno gently stops you from fidgeting. “I know you’re not,” he cuts in firmly, his gaze locking onto yours, the heaviness in his voice softening. “I know, baby.”

The unexpected nickname hangs in the air, catching both of you off guard. As the surprise breaks through your frustration, Jeno seems just as much taken aback, his lips parted as if realizing the slip a little too late. For a moment, the weight of the moment shifts, leaving a charged silence between you.

“So, what are you going to do now?” you ask, clearing your throat as if to recompose yourself, looking away from him. “Are you keeping the cover and continuing the investigation?”

“The investigation’s compromised now so…” Jeno hesitates, huffing a peeved laugh before slumping back against his seat. “I’ll probably have to leave. Victor knows who I am and if I stay… it’ll be just dangerous for everyone.”

You nod slowly, heart aching in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” you say quietly, managing a playful smile despite the tears burning in your eyes, threatening to fall. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret any of it. It was nice trusting you, Jeno… even if only for a little while.”

He looks at you then, his expression pained as a shaky sigh escapes from his mouth. “Cherry—”

Shaking your head, you silently fist his jacket to pull him up, Jeno immediately following as he stands up with a step closer to the bed. As he leans closer, carefully holding himself over your figure, you cup his face gently. Your fingertips brush against his cheeks, moving to his lips before you close the distance, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

The struggle in his eyes is clear as you pull back, though Jeno doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods, forehead resting against yours for just a moment more before he stands up.

With a long look at you, Jeno pulls a set of keys from his jeans, reaching for your hand and dropping them into your palm. A genuine, incredulous laugh escapes from your lips over the realization, immediately drawing a small smile out of him.

“You take care of yourself, Cherry,” he says softly, the nickname carrying more emotion than ever before.

You nod, a half-hearted, teasing smile slowly growing on your face despite the ache in your chest. “I’ll see you around, Jeno.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, you know that this the end of whatever it was you’d built together—but only the beginning of something you’ll have to build alone now.

“I can’t believe this is your first vacation since joining the agency.”

Stepping out of the elevator, Jeno lets out a soft laugh at Doyoung’s exasperation, the man walking beside him as they make their way through the lobby.

Despite the cool air conditioning of the building, the bright sunlight slipping through the glass doors hints at another warm, heavy summer day outside. Jeno tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening the knot before undoing the first buttons of his shirt.

“Taking days off under orders is hardly a vacation,” he replies, his tone dry but laced with humor.

Doyoung huffs, shaking his head as they near the building’s exit. “God knows you need some time off,” the agent argues, glancing at him knowingly. “Maybe you should go to the beach these days, you could use some vitamin D—”

As his friend continues the spiel, Jeno quickly glances outside, about to step through the glass doors when his attention’s caught by an unexpected, but familiar sight.

Outside the agency’s building, the green Nissan Skyline GT-R contrasts with the muted, neutral colors from the other cars driving through the same street. Sitting at the hood of the car, flipping a cherry red lollipop between your fingers, you look like a mirage to Jeno’s eyes, maybe a vision brought by the heat from outside.

“—not listening to me?”

He blinks at Doyoung after a second, startled by the agent’s hand waving in front of his face. “What?”

With a suspicious frown, Doyoung trails his eyes in the same direction, a sound of surprise instantly escaping from his lips. “Is that who I think it is?”

He nods, resisting the smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah.”

As recognition suddenly flickers in the agent’s gaze, a scoff escapes from his lips over the car, his tone laced with disbelief. “So that’s where the Skyline we gave you went?”

Jeno chuckles, offering a half-hearted shrug at his friend. “I paid for it.”

“She’s technically a criminal,” Doyoung starts, more playful than anything, giving him a mock indignant glance. “You do know that, right? It might not seem like it but street racing is illegal—”

“I’ll see you later, Doyoung.”

Jeno’s voice cuts the oldest’s teasing, moving to step ahead through the door as Doyoung snickers behind him, shaking his head in amusement.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice him approaching, your lips soon curling in a soft, somehow teasing smile. Despite his surprise, Jeno doesn’t hesitate stepping closer, moving to stand between your legs in a familiar move.

“Hey,” you greet, offering a pat to his chest in a coy manner. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Seven months, exactly,” Jeno answers, giving a firm nod before raising a curious eyebrow at you. “I’m not complaining, but what are you doing here?”

You sigh exaggeratedly, tilting your head at him. “You know words are quick to get around, right? I heard your first vacation ever starts today.”

“You’ve heard it right,” he says, smirking at your antics as if the past months hadn’t happened, a sense of familiarity settled between you.

As you smile, something softer flickers in your gaze. “So I was thinking… if you’ve got some time off, maybe you’d want to spend it doing something cool,” you start, shrugging lightly. “You know, like going for a drive or racing with someone?”

For a moment, Jeno can only stare at you, still taken aback by your abrupt appearance. Then, without thinking twice, he suddenly closes the distance between you, hands reaching for your face as his lips finally meet yours again. Smiling against his mouth, you lean back as your palms rest against the car’s hood, the kiss so unhurried and lingering that Jeno almost pushes you down against it after a while.

When you pull away, his lips still following you for a split second, a smile grows on your face.

“So,” you say softly, your voice laced with amusement. “Is that a yes?”

Jeno grins, hands on your hips as he pulls you off the Skyline, arms holding you closer as if you’ve never left.

“Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @saranghoeforanton @tywritesstuff

#lee jeno #lee jeno x reader #jeno x reader #nct fic #nct dream fic #lee jeno fic #jeno fic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #neocitylights

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saiyanprincessswanie · 3 months ago

Text

The Ultimate Risk - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4500

Series Summary: Reader is a full-time college student at 30 years old who is starting over in life. When she loses her full-time job as a waitress, CEO James “Bucky” Barnes steps in with a proposition. Can he sell you on a way to help you by offering a Sugar Daddy relationship? In time who will get feelings first? Can a Sugar Daddy relationship really work out?

Series Warnings: Sugar Daddy au, Reader is 30 & Bucky is in his 40s, trust issues, angst, eventually falling in love, smut, oral (m & f).

The Ultimate Risk Masterlist

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday Bingo

Square: Sugar Daddy (card #4B 024)

A/N 2: Thanks to my beta readers @gremlin-girly & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog Thank you to @nekoannie-chan for reading this. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for my amazing moodboard.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

The alarm went off way too early for your liking and you instantly hit the snooze button on your phone. You roll over with a grumble and fall back asleep instantly. Ten minutes later your alarm goes off again and you curse at the loud alarm. You grabbed your phone, turned off the alarm, and placed your phone on the bed. Your eyes finally open and you’re hissing at the sunlight that is streaming through the curtains.

You let out a groan knowing your long day has just begun. You stay in bed for another ten minutes before you climb out and shuffle to the bathroom to get ready for your day.

After showering and getting changed into comfy clothes you grab your laptop. Logging onto the college’s website you start working on your homework for the classes you have today. You would have done it sooner but you worked a late shift again last night.

You wish you could complain but you really needed the money to keep a roof over your head.The apartment was quaint; one bedroom and one bathroom. It had a small kitchen that was open to the living room. It may not be much but it was yours to rent.

A part of you wished you could win the lottery to help get you caught up on bills. That way your money wasn’t going mostly towards rent. You sigh, thinking how long it’s been since you had a vacation. What you needed was a miracle but those don’t happen for you.

An hour passed and you had completed your school work. The next two hours pass and you get two online classes done. By the time you knew it it was noon and you had two hours to get to work.

You changed from your comfy clothes to work ones. You grabbed something to eat for lunch so you had food in your stomach. Placing the plate in the sink you go put your shoes on. Grabbing your purse, phone, and keys you head out the door, locking it behind you, and head to work.

At the sidewalk sits your 2010 Toyota Corolla. It’s not much to look at but it gets you from point a to b. Unfortunately, the check engine light is on and you have no idea how much longer your car will last. Maybe one day you will get a better car.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to work and you huff getting out of the car. Your boss likes you at work an hour before your shift so he can go over the special guests who will be attending tonight. It’s an upscale restaurant that you work for but one you would never visit due to funds.

The group of staff members stand in the back as your manager speaks.

“Tonight is Friday night and we have a list of “A” list customers coming in. I need you all on your “A” game tonight. Remember our goal is to keep the customers happy.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes with his last sentence. Your boss believed the customer came first and foremost. Which you believed in, because, depending on who they are some of these customers tip well.

He spoke a little more about business and an hour later he ended the meeting. You thank the heavens above that he was finished. Taking a breath you get ready for your shift.

At first, it was the usual slow afternoon crowd. You enjoyed the slow time but were anxious for the real crowd to roll in. The crowd filters in around five in the afternoon and you were busy working tables. Taking orders and bringing food out was stressful at times but you smiled through it all. Thankfully nothing was dropped.

At seven in the evening, you were informed that James “Bucky” Barnes had requested to sit in your section with his friends. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face. The man was the CEO of a company in the heart of New York. He was well-mannered, benevolent, charming, and easy on the eyes. To say he was your favorite was an understatement.

Taking a deep breath in and out you head to a table in the back of the restaurant. Bucky likes his privacy, so this is where he would sit when he came here every week.

Approaching the table you see Bucky and two other men. When Bucky’s eyes look up from the menu he offers his million-dollar smile. His blue eyes gaze into yours for a minute before he greets you.

Smiling at him first then the other two, you ask for their drinks for the night. They give you their alcoholic drink of choice and you are off to grab their drinks. After a few minutes you return to the table and give each man their drink.

Bucky introduces you to his friends Steve and Sam. You shake their hands and smile at each one.

Sam blurts out, “You were right Buck. She is beautiful.”

You look from Sam to Bucky and see Bucky blush. Was he talking about you to his friends? Why would he, you’re just a waitress. You were nothing special.

Bucky looks at Sam with a dirty look. “Shut up.”

Bucky glances back at you and apologizes for his friend's behavior. Changing the subject, he quickly orders his food followed by the two men. You smile at Bucky before you head to the back to put their order in. As you leave you hear the men mumbling to one another. Hopefully, whatever’s going on doesn’t involve you. The last thing you want to be is a butt of a joke to the one customer you enjoy.

You continued to serve other customers in between grabbing Bucky’s table more drinks and eventually their food. The night seemed to be going well until your ex-fiance showed up with a couple of his friends. The greeter was leading them into your section as you cussed under your breath. The night just took a step in the wrong direction. You huffed a little before plastering a smile on your face and heading to your ex’s table.

“Good Evening gentleman my name is…”

John Walker interrupts you before you can say another word. “Yeah, darling, we know who you are. Why don’t you grab us some beers and be quick about it.”

“Sure thing,” you bite out.

You headed to the bar and grabbed the beer they liked. Taking your time you bring the beer to the table and place them on the table.

“Oh darling, why do you look so glum? Wait, don't answer that 'cause I don’t care.” John sneers. Making his friends laugh before you take his order.

As you turn to leave John grabs your arm. “Oh, don’t forget to keep the beers coming. Gotta work for that tip.”

At that moment Bucky turned his head to the right and saw John’s hand around your arm. Before he could get up to say anything, the man let you go and you quickly headed to the back/kitchen. You put in his order and then stepped into the hallway that led to the bathrooms to take a few breaths. You knew John was going to make your life hell and there was no doubt he would tip garbage. While you were trying to calm down Bucky stepped into the hallway with a sad smile.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you okay? It’s just I saw that man put his hand on you before you walked out of the dining area.”

Embarrassed, you covered your face briefly with your hands. “I can’t believe you saw that.”

Bucky gave you a small smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Do you know him or is he just a handsy customer that needs to be spoken to?”

You looked at Bucky and gave him an awkward smile. “He’s my ex-fiance, John Walker. He left me 6 months ago and ghosted me. He didn’t even give me a reason why he left. Gosh, I shouldn’t be sharing this with you, you're a regular customer here James.”

“Please call me Bucky. No need to be formal, sweetheart.”

“Bucky. Well, I should get back in there to do my job. Don’t need the manager mad at me for being back here.” You start to walk away and you look over your shoulder to see Bucky staring at you while smiling.

You get back in the dining room area and see John flag you down. Again, you huff but head over to the table.

“Where the hell were you? I told you to keep the beer flowing. Now be an obedient waitress and go get us more!”

Everyone in the restaurant turned around to look at you and John. People were whispering amongst themselves as you headed to the bar to grab more drinks for the table. Tears started to form in your eyes at the embarrassment that John was causing. He was trying to cause a scene and so far he’s been successful at it. You took a deep breath and headed back to the table where you switched the empty cups for the new ones. Walking away before he could say a word you turned your attention to Bucky’s table. You see they are almost done eating and ask, “Do you gentlemen need any boxes to go?”

Bucky puts his fork down. “I’m good. Steve and Sam, do you need one?” Both men shake their heads saying ‘no thanks.’ Bucky flashes his smile at you. “How about another round for us when you get the chance? No rush, sweetheart.”

You smile back at Bucky and head to the bar area.

After you leave the dining area Bucky hears who he now knows is John talking about you. He doesn’t like the sound of the conversation or how vulgar it’s about you. His hand is making a fist on the table and both his friends can see the vein in his neck twitch from the anger that is building. Bucky doesn’t want to cause a scene but this man and his friends are being obnoxious at this point. The other diners listen in as John talks loudly about you. Bucky looks Steve and Sam in the eyes before he stands up to go to John’s table.

Bucky walks over to the men at the table and smirks. “Good evening, gentlemen. I just wanted to come over here and say the whole restaurant can hear your disgusting conversation about the nice waitress who is serving you. How about you drink your beer in peace and leave her alone.”

John stands up and is nose-to-nose with Bucky. “How about you mind your fucking business and go back to your table?”

“Or what…?” Bucky cocks his head to the side and stares him down.

John turns a shade of red and starts to poke Bucky in the chest. “Or else I take your sorry ass outside and shut you up.”

Bucky laughs out loud. “I honestly would love to see that.”

You come back from the bar with drinks in hand and see the men causing a scene. You spot Bucky and the other men, who are now all standing, and place their drinks on an empty table. You walk quickly over to the men and try to separate them.

“John, Bucky, this is a restaurant. Whatever has been said just let it go or I’m going to ask that you leave.” Bucky takes a few steps back and keeps staring the man down.

John’s blue eyes are cold as he looks at you. “Why don’t you shut up and leave the men to the conversation?”

“John, I'm asking nicely for you to stop or else I will have you removed from this establishment. No excuses, sit down or leave.”

John swiftly grabbed his beer and started to chuckle. “Women. They just don’t know how to listen.” Walker turns to you and spills his glass of beer over your head causing you to shriek.

That was all Bucky needed to see before he punched John in the face, causing him to fall backward. The two other men jumped out of their seats and before they could swing at Bucky, Steve and Sam punched each man. Patrons were screaming over the fight and other waiters and waitresses were trying to calm them down. Within seconds the manager rushed into the room and started shouting at all six men who were going at it. The manager made his way into the middle of the pack and he was yelling he was going to call the cops. That made the men separate real quick.

“Pay your bills and leave this establishment!” The manager yelled at them. Your manager looked at you covered in beer and made a disgusted face. “And you are fired. I want you out of here now.”

“Wait, please I didn’t do anything.” You started to panic but your boss pointed toward the exit.

“They were your customers and clearly you know them. Guilty by association in my book.”

Your tears finally fell down your face as you were screwed with no job and the rent was due next week. “Please, sir, I’m begging you…”

John starts to mimic you as he tosses down bills on the table. “Please, sir, what? He doesn’t want you around anymore like I don’t. You’re a pathetic piece of trash who whines too much.”

Bucky was about to punch John again when Steve and Sam started to walk him back to their table to pay. As each table was paying their tabs you walked into the back to get your purse and leave. You walked through the hallway and glanced over to the men who were now leaving.

Great.

You hurried along and headed to your car. John left with his friends and they laughed about what happened.

“Hey, sweetheart, wait up!” Bucky called after you.

There would be no seeing him ever again after what just happened. You wiped at your tears as Bucky reached you. You looked up at him with teary eyes. “Sorry Bucky I really should be going.”

“I know but first I wanted to give you your tip in person.” He hands you two hundred dollars. “I know it’s not much but I want you to take my business card with you. I have a possible opening if you’re interested in it. We can talk tomorrow over lunch if you want. See if it’s right for you or not.”

You held his money and business card in your hand. With bills due in a week what would the harm be? You knew he was a kind-hearted and generous man. “Yeah, that sounds fine. Which number do I call on here?”

“Oh right.” Bucky chuckles. He takes the card from you and writes his cell number on the back of the card. “Here, now you can text me when you are ready tomorrow.” He hands you back the card.

“Thank you, Bucky for the money and card. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You turn back around and walk to your car. Getting in you turn it on and slowly drive away. In your rearview mirror, Bucky is standing there watching you drive out of sight.

He is hopeful that you will be interested in taking the job. He’s watched you for months and knows the kind, caring woman you are. Bucky walks to his expensive car, gets in, and drives home.

Fifteen minutes later when you arrive at your apartment you strip out of your clothes so you can shower. Under the warm water, you think back to how John was acting. This was his normal behavior so you were glad he left you when he did. The guy was a total jerk. As you continue to wash your mind shifts to Bucky. The man was charming and the best part was he stood up for you. No one has ever done that before. You wonder what kind of job offer he has for you as you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel.

You dry yourself off and hang your towels up. You change into a pair of sleep shorts and a T-shirt before you collapse on your back on the bed. What kind of job would a CEO have open for you? You were now unemployed and a full-time college student. Would the job be able to be flexible so you could continue your studies? First things first, you need to talk with him about it before worrying.

The next morning after your shower and morning routine you texted Bucky.

You: Hey Bucky, I was wondering when was a good time to meet with you today?

Bucky: Hi sweetheart I’m so happy you texted me. My noon is wide open so let's meet for lunch. I’ll have a driver come by your place and pick you up. Just text me your address and everything will be covered.

Thinking about being picked up made you a little nervous. What if the job interview didn’t go well? He would then know where you lived. On the other hand, you were still tired from not being able to sleep that much last night due to being fired. Of course, this could also be a test to see if you trusted him. You texted him your address and hoped to god he wasn’t some psycho.

Bucky: Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.

Well, now that you got that over with, you take your time getting ready. Since this felt like an interview you dressed yourself in a black pencil skirt that was just above the knee with a small slit in the side. Next, you pulled on a cute light blue blouse and you finished off the look with a pair of black heels. It wasn’t an expensive outfit but it will hopefully do for this meet-up. Your hair and makeup were perfect; striking the balance between natural and formal for your interview with CEO Bucky Barnes. You gave yourself a glance in the mirror one more time before you grabbed your purse, phone, and keys and headed for the front door.

You headed down the stairs and opened the front door. Sure enough, there was a black SUV parked at the curb waiting for you. A man got out of the driver's seat and walked around the vehicle to where you stood. He nodded to you and opened the back door. Taking a breath, you climbed into the back and waited as the driver climbed back inside. He pulled away from the curb and off you went to wherever Bucky had planned your lunch. It was a fifteen-minute drive from your place when the driver pulled in front of a fancy restaurant. There was no way you could afford to eat here but as you were pondering your choices, the man opened the door and helped you out.

Great, now you had to head inside to this beautiful restaurant in your clothes that would not fit into this type of place. Clutching your purse you walk inside to the restaurant. Light classical music echoed around you as you made your way up to the hostess with a nervous smile on your face. She looked you up and down, sneering at you.

“Can I help you?” She asked with faux-politeness, staring you down with cold eyes.

Feeling embarrassed to be there you took a step back. “Sorry, I must be at the wrong place.” You turn around to walk away and bump into Bucky.

He looks down at you and smiles. “There you are, sweetheart. I was wondering if you made it. I’m so glad you are here.” Bucky lightly wraps his arm around your back and makes his way to the hostess.

This time she is all smiles when Bucky stands before her. “Mr. Barnes, what an honor to see you today. Would you like your regular booth?” The woman looks at you, seeing his arm around your back and you can tell she is biting her tongue.

“Yes please, a table for two today,” Bucky states as the hostess leads the both of you to a booth in the far back.

Bucky waits for you to take a seat and he soon follows. You are both handed a menu and you start to glance through it. Seeing the exorbitant prices on the menu made your stomach instantly twist and turn. Biting your bottom lip Bucky can see the wheels turning in your pretty head.

“Don’t worry about the prices. Today is my treat as I asked you to meet me here.” He gives you a warm smile and makes you feel more at ease.

“Are you sure? I mean I don’t want you to feel like you have to pay or anything.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you have nothing to worry about today. Let’s just eat and talk.”

You nod your head. “Okay.”

Bucky’s blue eyes wander on your outfit for a moment and he smiles. “You look beautiful.”

“I don’t know about that. The hostess didn’t seem to like my outfit.” Your hands fidget as you look down at yourself.

Bucky reaches across the table and puts his hand on yours. “Well, she’s wrong. I’m telling you that you’re beautiful and as long as you feel it too that should be enough.”

You give him a shy smile. “Thanks, Bucky.”

The waiter comes over to take your order and to pour some wine that Bucky requested. Taking a sip of it made your taste buds explode in your mouth as you have never had wine like that before. The taste had you moan lightly and quickly you realized how silly you were acting. But Bucky was just staring at you with a smirk on his face.

Your lunch arrived a few moments later and you both made small talk as you ate. He talked about his day at work and how he had a few charity events coming up. You talked about schoolwork and working towards your dream career.

After you both were done eating Bucky smiled before he cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here and not at my place of work to talk about a job I’m offering.”

“Yes, I’m very curious. What is it, a secretary job? I’m not sure how many words I can type per minute but I’m good at typing up reports for college.”

“No, it’s not like that, please let me explain. In my job I don’t have time to go out and meet women. I’m a very busy man with my job. Right now, I’m looking for some companionship to keep me company at work events, charities, and sometimes my travels.” Bucky was the epitome of confidence and giving you a reassuring smile as he spoke. “Someone who will be my shining light during these exhausting times. Someone kind, smart, funny and beautiful. In return, I would take care of that person financially. They would want for nothing.”

“So why not get an escort? I mean that’s what they’re there for. Why even have this conversation with me? I’m an unemployed college student. Why even come to me with this?” You didn’t know how to feel about this conversation you were having with Bucky.

Bucky leaned forward and smiled. “First I don’t want an escort. Second, you meet all the qualities I’m looking for in a companionship or, in layman's terms, a sugar daddy relationship.” Bucky paused for any reaction before continuing. “We already know each other, which is a plus. I enjoy being around you. So why not?”

You stared at him, speechless. Not knowing what to make of this sugar-daddy relationship. What the hell is that? Is this the kind of job you want? What would people think?

“When you say you would take care of someone financially what does that mean?” Curiosity was getting the better of you.

“I would take care of your rent and all your monthly bills. That includes your tuition as well. I would give you a monthly allowance so should you need anything you have money to do it. I would also bring you clothes shopping to update your wardrobe. You will need dresses to attend events with me. You will want for nothing and all I’m asking in return is your companionship.”

You pondered what he just said. “All of that just for a sugar daddy relationship? What about sex?”

“Do you want sex to be involved?” Bucky asked, his eyes never strayed from yours.

“No, I mean is it required?” Now you thought you sounded like a fool but you needed to know if you were going to be a whore to him or not.

“I’m not seeking that but if down the road you want to we can talk about it then. I’m just looking for friendship and a companion. Nothing more.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “When do you need to know? Like, can I think about this?”

Your nerves were getting the better of you. Because of John, your trust issues had blown through the roof. This sounded too good to be true.

Bucky smirks at you. “Take all the time you need. But in the meantime let me help you with your rent and bills that are due next week. No strings attached I promise.”

You were going to be short on money next week so you nodded your head in agreement. “Okay, thank you Bucky. Give me a couple of days and I will reach out to you through text.”

The waiter came over with the bill and sure enough, Bucky paid for the entire meal. You just watched him as he stood and held a hand out for you. After getting out of the booth Bucky once again walked with his hand on your back until you reached outside. The same SUV from earlier pulled into the curb in front of you. Bucky opened the door for you and kissed your cheek gently.

“Whatever you decide I will be fine with. Now, go focus on your school work and I’ll head back to the office.”

“Okay, Bucky. Thank you for lunch. I had a great time.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You climbed back into the SUV and gave Bucky a small wave as it peeled away from the curb, leaving him smiling after you. Again, you drove in silence and after the short drive, you finally reached your apartment. Once inside you changed into leggings and a T-shirt and flopped onto your bed.

You knew for sure you liked Bucky and thought he was handsome. You also knew what kind of man he was; kind, caring, protective, and smart just to name a few. This was going to be a big decision to make and you’re gonna need all the time to make it.

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earthsparked · 25 days ago

Text

So you want to join the coterie, huh? And you want to know what you're getting yourself into.

You know I can’t take sides in command arguments, captain, you gently remind Rodimus for the fifth time this week. I have to honor my obligation to the entire crew.

Rodimus shoots you his best look that says “I’m very sad and betrayed despite having been the one to sign your contract in which this is stated,” and goes back to arguing with Megatron and Ultra Magnus.

Privately you think Megatron is in the right on this issue. Tragic realization: the mech who tried to murder your entire species on several occasions, actually has good leadership skills and knows what he’s doing. But when Rodimus manages to wheedle Magnus into seeing things his way, you can only sigh and double check that your little bag of tricks stored in your utility scraplet, Scrappy, is fully stocked.

It’s going to be one of those days.

It’s not all roaming the galaxy having fun. Sure, there’s plenty of that. You're going to see wonders that human eyes have never seen before. But it’s a lot more, too.

You wriggle backwards out of Brainstorm and Perceptor's mystery machine. You're covered in thick, black grease that’s making your skin itch; they didn't think to check for skin-safety before asking you to crawl into it and fix some finicky little part. You scramble to your feet, a stained shop towel in one hand and a half-used can of solvent in the other. The fumes in the enclosed space are making you a little high.

You kick the access hatch shut and stand back. Go on, Percy, try it now.

Perceptor frowns as the machine whirrs to life, but the screen still throws off an error message. You sigh and shake your head. Your sensitive ears that always made you hate the hum of ceiling lights and refrigerators, are telling you something still isn’t right.

Kill it, I can hear the pitch is still off. Fine, I’ll just take the whole damn gear assembly apart!

Don't touch any of the exposed wires! You'll undo all my work! Brainstorm demands. And adds, belatedly, Also it'll kill you. Why don't you humans have any decent insulation? Terrible design. I could do better if I created a species in my recharge.

You don't think you want to hear where this is going. Grabbing your tools, you crawl back in the mystery machine.

Don't worry about learning mechanical stuff, earth's systems are completely different to their engineering anyway. Besides, it doesn’t matter if you’ve never held a blowtorch in your life, you’ll pick the skills up along the way. A flexible mind and willingness to learn are the only real criteria for any potential coterie member.

You spring out in front of the big blue mech, making him very nearly step on you with one of his birdlike feet. You know he won’t - for all his jokes, there’s not a mech on this ship that would knowingly hurt you. (Knowingly being the operative word.)

I know what I smelled, Whirl. There’s no disguising it. You have a coolant leak. You got some of that guy’s windshield stuck under your plating when you threw him across the bar, didn’t you? And it’s punctured a line.

His single optic narrows in an expressive glare. So what, Crunchy? Why do you care? Move or I’m gonna have more than glass stuck in my mesh.

He slowly and pointedly brings his foot down toward you, humming the Jeopardy! theme music. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow higher and higher the closer his foot gets, not moving. When it’s just within reach, you make a wild leap, grab for a safe handhold, and hang on for dear life. Whirl shrills an arpeggio of startled mech curses and tries to shake you off, but you cling like a burr.

If you don’t treat it, it’s going to get worse! It’s either me or Ratchet, Whirlybird, and I don’t throw things! I don't care that you got in a fight, I don't - whoa, watch the wall! - I just want you to not be in pain!

He decides after a few attempts that this is a fun game. You’re dizzy as hell by the time he announces Eight seconds! Fine, cowboy, if you want to be inside me THAT badly.

You roll your eyes and somehow manage not to lose your lunch as he sets his foot down and lets you climb off. Scrappy opens his mouth, letting you pull out your gloves and pliers from one of his compartments. You dig out the shards of glass and patch up his coolant line, feeling relieved as you wrap the punctures and clean away the dried coolant. Having one of your mechs hurt always bothers you.

Yeah, you’re gonna make the best friends you’ve ever had. The kind you’d do anything for. And I do mean, anything. They really overplay the whole "humans will pack bond with anything" stuff a little too much, because they don't quite get how our relationships work. But eventually you will find yourself pulling on wells of strength you didn't even know you had, doing things you never thought yourself capable of. Not for yourself, but for them.

You spit a mouthful of blood onto alien ground and try not to let the glowering mech see you shake. Adrenaline or fear, does it matter which? What matters is Tailgate’s down, hurt and in stasis. You got banged up, too, and stayed behind to guard him while the rest of the landing team pushed through the fighting. They wouldn't have left you or him if they'd thought any of the enemy mechs were still in this quadrant. But this one stomped out of the swirling fog, a hulking shape bristling with combat readiness.

He’s big, but so fucking what? You’ve been passed in the halls by mechs much scarier than this guy.

You flip the safety off your weapon - almost too big for you, but barely a pea shooter to a full-sized mech. At your side, Scrappy hisses and snarls, clacking his sharp metal teeth in threat. Just because he's been altered not to eat metal at random, doesn't mean he can't when given permission.

You're supposed to be a non-combatant, untouchable and marked as such by the coterie patch on your shoulder. At worst, you can be held hostage until your ship pays a ransom. But playing by those rules means standing aside and letting this guy do whatever the hell he wants to one of your mechs.

You glance at Tailgate and your heart hurts. When did this ten-foot-tall alien robot start to look so small and vulnerable to you?

Your eyes blur with furious, worried tears, before fixing on the approaching enemy. You step forward, as if your tiny body can shield the wounded mech lying behind you.

Whatever you came here for, you spit as more blood drips down your chin, you’re leaving without it. Go conjunx a belt sander, you torqueless wonder.

But it gets real when you get to the point where you understand, they’d do anything for you, too.

You’ve been cold forever. Can’t remember ever being warm. The endless white snows of the polar icecap of this godforsaken planet you’d come to investigate, was going to be the last thing you saw. One wrong step and the snowbank had collapsed, dumping you into a subterranean cavern. You’re trapped, alone, hypothermic. Your emergency transponder broken. You'd left your pet scraplet behind out of fear his thin armor wouldn't protect him against the cold. You're never going to see the little guy again.

Without him or the transponder, your mechs are never going to find you here. You’re never going to see earth again. They'll just add your name to the coterie's wall of remembrance, and some other human will be on your ship, caring for your mechs. You hope they'll understand how special they all are. That they'll learn Rung needs a listening ear sometimes, and Roddy's boasting often hides his insecurities, and Ratchet's got a soft spark under all that grumbling...

You think you’re hallucinating when you hear the voice. Wait. Is that a heat signature - it is! Hey, captains! We found them! Over here!

A few minutes or hours or ages later and Brainstorm, upside-down, lowers through the hole in the crust above. You blink muzzily. ‘m on the ceiling…?

Powerful hands pick you up, and you’re ascending. You don’t remember much after that, except the feel of being surrounded by titans that cared enough to come back. You came back for me.

Rodimus, warmest of them all, carries you to the ship himself. Tucked inside his armor, out of the wind and ice. Nestled right by his spark chamber. You dream of being pure energy, or of being wrapped in pure energy, or that you're one of two waves of energy dancing together with the joy of being alive. In a place where size doesn't matter, and metal and flesh don't matter, because deep down you're more alike than dissimilar.

You're as much theirs, as they are yours.

I wish I could tell you what to expect, but no one has the exact same experience. Not even within the same cohort. It’s going to be unlike anything you imagine it could be. Every day's going to bring new discoveries, new dreams. Sometimes, new nightmares. It's a big universe, and humans haven't even scratched the surface of what's out there. For better, or for worse.

The crate rattles again. Your breathing is loud inside your exo-suit. This bay is kept pressurized, but barely climate-controlled, and close to the ship's heat sinks so it's scorching hot in here.

Scrappy's cameras are transmitting every move you make to the mechs crowded around the monitors on the bridge. You've turned off audio, because between the scientists' incessant arguing and Swerve's fretting over you going into Cargo Hold 3 alone, you weren't able to pay proper attention to your surroundings.

Rattle-rattle. Shake. That container weighs several tons. It's bouncing around like it's a bouncy castle full of elementary schoolers.

No oxygen. Movement. It could be a scraplet infestation. Easily dealt with, for you. Which is why you're here and the mechs are on the bridge, or in lockdown in their quarters.

It could be scraplets. Intuition tells you it's not.

You touch the side of your helmet to activate your mic. Where did you say we picked this up from, again?

The arguing in the background dims as Ultra Magnus answers, disapprovingly, The records for the cargo manifest have been...misfiled. Ergo, we don't know.

You can see him in your mind's eye, glaring at Rodimus. Misfiled? More like Roddy lost them in the skyscraper stack of datapads in his office. If he didn't just set it down somewhere and forget where he put it. Can mechs have ADHD? Would some strategies that work for humans, be helpful for him? A thought to pursue at another time, when you're not maybe about to be eaten by a monster.

You click the mic back off before you can get drawn into the new argument that's starting over the co-captain's lack of organizational skills. And step closer to the shaking crate. No markings that you can read. No packing list on the outside. Does it look a little banged up? Rusted? Or is it the shaky light from Scrappy's headlamp as he hides behind your legs, making it look like that?

Every horror movie you've ever watched at Swerve's on movie night, comes back to haunt you. The aliens out in the dark have their own legends and myths. Some of them, you've learned the hard way, aren't only legends or myths.

Sweat drips into your eyes. Fuck it.

Are you going to play nice, or am I going to kick your ass off my ship?

You slam the augmented crowbar home and pry the lid off –

That's all I can say, really. The rest is up to you. Good luck. Maybe I'll see you out here in the stars. Lost Light ship's human, signing off.

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #human distribution system #humans are space (ship) cats #Scrappy the scraplet #humans are space cats #GET PACK BONDED IDIOT

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berryispunk · 2 months ago

Text

Serendipity

this is part 2 of 2. part 1 readable here

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: watch me turn smut into poetry, idiots in love, it’s so sweet your teeth may rot, all the fluff, all the feelings, playful banter, flirting, soft! Frankie, they are so in love it’s disgusting, kissing, the boys once again having an appearance, Frankie being sexy playing mini-golf ???, dual POV, established relationship, Frankie can cook, our boy is happy for once :')

summary: You decide to give Frankie a chance, and before you know it, you’re drawn into his world, discovering more about yourself and him with every passing moment.

word count: ~ 6,8k (I may went a bit overboard with this oop)

You weren’t trying to stare, really.

But it was hard not to when Frankie leaned over to line up his shot, tongue caught slightly between his teeth in concentration, hat pulled low over his brow. He made stupid plaid shorts look good. Unfair.

“I feel like you’re taking this way too seriously,” you said, arms crossed and pretending not to be flustered by the way his biceps flexed when he adjusted his grip on the tiny club.

He didn’t even look at you when he replied, “That’s because I play to win.”

Then he tapped the ball, missed the hole entirely, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

You burst out laughing.

It wasn’t perfect. The fake waterfall behind you was a little too loud. Your slushy was melting too fast. You tripped over the uneven green carpet at one point and nearly wiped out in front of the windmill—but Frankie caught your elbow, steadying you like it was nothing. Like your face wasn’t heating up by the second.

“You good?” he asked, smiling in that quietly amused way of his.

“I meant to do that,” you mumbled, brushing yourself off.

He leaned in a little. “It was graceful,” he said, deadpan.

You rolled your eyes, but the moment stuck—like most things about him seemed to.

He wasn’t perfect either. He missed a bunch of shots, made dumb jokes about golf terms, and pretended to sulk when you got a hole-in-one before him. But every now and then, he’d look at you—not in a checking you out kind of way, but in this you’re actually really fun to be around kind of way—and it made your stomach flip.

By the time you reached the last hole, you weren’t thinking about how awkward the start had been, or how you’d nearly fallen on your face. You were thinking about how he still hadn’t let go of the crumpled scorecard in his back pocket. How his hand brushed yours a little longer than necessary when he handed you the final ball.

And how maybe—just maybe—you were going to stare a little harder next time. Because Frankie was attractive, yes. But also funny. And weirdly sweet. And that was dangerous.

In the best way.

He pulled up in front of your place, engine humming low beneath the silence that had settled after the playlist ran out. Neither of you had reached to turn it back on. The windows were slightly fogged from the warmth inside the car, the night cool and still on the other side of the glass.

You glanced at him, hand on the door handle but not ready to get out just yet.

“So,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “Is this your thing? Picking up girls at bars with tragic lighting and too much Pitbull?”

Frankie smirked, one hand still on the steering wheel. “Only the ones that read.”

You let out a real laugh then—sharp and surprised and a little louder than you meant it to be. And when you looked over, he was already watching you.

Not in a way that made your stomach twist with nerves. In a way that made it flutter.

“That laugh,” he said quietly, like it slipped out without permission. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

You blinked, caught off guard. The words hung there between you like steam on the windshield.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he asked, almost playful. But there was something soft beneath it, like he wasn’t joking entirely. Like he actually meant it.

You shook your head, smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Because it’ll make me stay in this car longer.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Would that be a bad thing?”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, heart doing this stupid, unsteady thing in your chest.

You weren’t the type to let your guard down easily. Usually, there was more caution than curiosity—more distance than this.

But Frankie disarmed you in a way that didn’t feel reckless. Just easy. Like your ribs weren’t holding everything so tightly anymore.

You looked at him then. Really looked. The quiet curve of his mouth. The way his jawline caught the streetlight. The slight bump in his nose. That annoyingly perfect side profile. And of course, the hat.

“So,” you said, tilting your head. “Are you, like, secretly bald under there?”

He turned to you with a snort. “What?”

“The cap,” you shrugged, pretending to be casual. “You haven’t taken it off once. I’m starting to think you’re hiding something.”

Frankie grinned, slow and a little smug. “You wanna see my mob of hair?”

Your brows lifted. “Mob?”

“That’s what my sister calls it,” he said. “It’s tragic, really. You sure you’re ready?”

You didn’t expect to say yes. But then you did.

“Yeah,” you said softly, like a challenge. “Show me the mob.”

He hesitated just a second longer, then reached up and tugged the cap off.

His hair was tousled, messy from the day and the cap and probably from running his hand through it too much—but it suited him. Dark, thick, a little wavy. Unruly, but honest.

You smiled. “It’s actually kind of great. Nothing that needs to be hidden.”

Frankie gave you this lopsided shrug like he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Your hand moved before your brain caught up. Lightly, fingertips brushing through the strands at the front, pushing them back from his forehead. And he let you. Just… sat there. Quiet and still. Watching you with these warm brown eyes of his.

The moment stretched, warm and vulnerable in that sleepy, late-night way.

You didn’t say anything after that. Neither did he. But something shifted.

It felt like permission. Like possibility.

You finally stepped out of the car, cheeks still warm, hand tingling from the feel of his hair. You gave him one last glance through the open door.

“Night, Frankie.”

“Night,” he said, still smiling like he was stuck in the moment. “Text me when you’re in. Just so I know your building didn’t suddenly vanish or something.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Sure, if the elevator ghosts don’t get me first.”

You closed the door before you said anything else, afraid you’d stay. And when you reached your apartment and leaned against the inside of your door, your phone was already buzzing with a new text.

Frankie: You’re probably rolling your eyes already but… I had a really good time. Even if you did accuse me of being bald 😅

You bit your lip, fingers already flying.

You: I just think people should be honest about who they are. Even if they’re charming, unfairly attractive, and weirdly good at mini-golf. And fine. The hair’s a solid 10 😙

Frankie: Unfairly attractive?? Gonna be riding that high for a week now, thanks. But seriously. This was… really nice. Can we do it again sometime? Maybe somewhere without fake windmills and toddlers screaming in the background? 😟

You: Only if you promise to bring the mob. And maybe lose this time 😉

Frankie: Deal. But I’m still winning. Just a little slower so you don’t cry

You laughed out loud at that, collapsing onto your couch, phone still in hand.

You: You’re ridiculous. But yeah, I’d love to ☺️

The texting didn’t stop.

Morning, midday, after work, before bed. Little comments. Inside jokes. Mini rants about annoying customers (him) or weird elevator neighbors (you). It became constant—effortless.

And somewhere between memes and sarcastic commentary about his music taste, things started getting a little more… suggestive.

You: So when are you showing me your secret playlist with all the sad boy music? I won’t judge. Much 🤭

Frankie: You say that, but I’m still recovering from the “2015 template” comment about my Instagram. You’ve hurt me, deeply 😐

You: I just think you deserve better. Better lighting. Better fonts. A little thirst trap, maybe? Just for balance.

Frankie: If I post a thirst trap, it’ll only be for you. And maybe my one follower from high school who still likes every post I make.

You: You trying to flirt with me, Morales?

Frankie: Would it work if I was?

You paused a beat longer than usual before answering.

You: Yeah. It kinda would 🫣

There was a delay. Not long. Just long enough for your heart to pick up in that way it only did with him.

Frankie: Then I’m gonna keep doing it. Fair warning 😋

Late at night, when you couldn’t sleep, the banter softened.

You: Can’t sleep. Tell me something real.

Frankie: I think about that night at the bar more than I should. You, sitting there with that poetry book. I still don’t know what made me walk over, but I’m glad I did. It didn’t feel like a first meeting. It felt like a pause. Like we were picking something back up

You stared at your screen, blinking through the quiet ache that settled behind his words.

You: Okay that was unfairly poetic. Who’s the reader now? Also… same 🫣

Somewhere in there, things shifted.

The teasing never stopped, but now it lived alongside something warmer, something waiting.

And every time your phone buzzed, your heart answered like it already knew who it was.

You showed up the next morning in leggings and the oversized hoodie you’d slept in. Hair still a little wild. Face bare. Nervous as hell.

He was waiting in the doorway, coffee in hand, and the minute he saw you, his whole face softened.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and a little raspy.

“Hey,” you echoed, breath catching in your throat.

Frankie stepped aside to let you in. You could feel his eyes on you as you passed. You tried not to let it rattle you—but God, it did.

“I didn’t mean to make that weird,” you said quietly, standing in his kitchen like it was too bright for what you were feeling.

“You didn’t.” He handed you the second mug. “I wanted to see you too, don’t worry.”

You looked at him. Really looked. Hair still damp from a shower. Shirt hanging off his frame. Sleep still tugging at his features. But his eyes—God, his eyes—focused on you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice soft.

You nodded.

“I’m not perfect,” he reminded you again, even gentler this time. “But I’ll be real with you. Always.”

“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I just need you.”

And that? That earned you a chaste kiss that tasted like coffee and quiet promises.

Frankie’s apartment was quiet. Just the hum of the coffee maker and the occasional creak of old floorboards. No loud music, no distractions—just sunlight filtering through the half-closed blinds and the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly syncing with his.

He’d pulled you into the living room after your second cup of coffee, both of you settling on his couch like it was second nature, not the very first time. His arm around your shoulders. Your legs tangled over his. One of his hands resting on your thigh, thumb moving in slow, absent circles.

You leaned into him without even thinking. Your head on his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing grounding you in a way nothing else had in a long time, making your eyes heavy.

It was supposed to be a moment. Just a minute or two.

But you stayed.

You dozed off for a while, slipping in and out of sleep as the afternoon light shifted around you—warm gold softening into the early hues of dusk. The room dimmed slowly, shadows stretching longer, quieter. You barely registered the steady brush of his fingers through your hair, his hand never once leaving you. And when you finally stirred, blinking sleepily up at him, he was already watching you with that soft, steady look—like he’d been doing it for a while. Like he was memorizing every detail.

You almost wished you had a camera to catch this, whatever this was. Because you were certain no one had ever looked at you quite like this before.

“You fell asleep,” he murmured, voice muffled against your hair.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mind.”

You stayed like that longer than you probably should have. But neither of you pulled away. Neither of you said this is too soon or this is dangerous.

“Is this… weird?” you asked eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean—we’ve only known each other for what, a week?”

Frankie’s arm tightened around you slightly. “Maybe. But it doesn’t feel weird.”

“No,” you admitted. “It feels kind of… safe.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing some hair back from your face. “You feel like a Sunday morning.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve said to me so far.”

He grinned, unapologetic. “Not even close.”

You laughed and hid your face in his shirt, letting his smell fill your senses. “God, you’re dangerous.”

“Only in the good ways,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, soft, but it lingered.

And inside, you were buzzing. Because this—his arms around you, your body pressed close to his, his warmth and steadiness and that look in his eyes—felt too good. Too safe. Too much like something you could get used to.

And that terrified you.

You didn’t want to move. Neither of you did but eventually you had to.

But the sun was setting, cutting through the blinds in long golden and purple lines, and time kept ticking forward like it always does.

Eventually, you sat up with a sleepy groan and Frankie rubbed a hand over his face, like waking up without you pressed against him required more energy than he had.

“I should go,” you said, stretching.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push or ask when he’d see you next. He just nodded, like he already knew.

Still, you moved slow—pulling your hoodie back on, gathering your things with fingers that dragged a little too long across the surface of his coffee table. Like you were anchoring yourself.

Like you didn’t really want to leave.

Frankie walked you to the door, sleepy eyes still somehow locked on you like you were the only thing in focus. And when you turned to him, your heart thudded stupidly loud in your chest.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said, teasing gently. “And the accidental nap.”

He smiled, a hand running through his tousled locks. So much better than the cap.

“Best part of my day.”

You wanted to kiss him again. You almost did.

But instead, you stepped out into the sinking sunlight with a half-smile and a parting glance over your shoulder.

What you didn’t see—what you didn’t plan—was the little thing you left behind.

Half an hour later, Frankie found it.

Your hair tie, wrapped around the base of his coffee mug.

You’d barely made it home when your phone buzzed.

Frankie: You left something here 😅

A pause. Then another message.

Frankie: Guess I’ll have to keep it hostage until I see you again 😌

You smirked, flopping back onto your bed like you hadn’t been thinking about him since the second you walked out the door.

You: I knew it. You lured me into your place just to steal my stuff 😨

Frankie: Guilty. Hair tie now lives here. Right next to my extremely basic coffee mug ☕️

You: God, is that mug older than your Instagram aesthetic?

Frankie: Careful. Insult my mug again and I’ll keep your hoodie next time too 😤

Your smile softened.

You: So what you’re saying is… you already want there to be a next time ?

A minute passed. Then:

Frankie: Yeah, I really do.

Your stomach did that ridiculous little flip, the kind you usually rolled your eyes at in rom-coms.

You stared at the screen for a second longer before typing back:

You: Good. Because I left that hair tie on purpose.

Only a few days later in his apartment it smelled like garlic and butter, warm and rich and unfairly good.

You leaned against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with sleeves rolled and a focused furrow between his brows that only made him more annoyingly attractive. He was surprisingly confident behind the stove—measuring, tossing, tasting like it was second nature.

“I’m sorry,” you said, after stealing a bite of pasta from the pot, “but this is actually incredible. Like—date him for the food alone level good.”

Frankie flashed you a grin over his shoulder. “What, you thought I couldn’t cook?”

“I thought you were all hat and no apron.”

He chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel before leaning in to steal a kiss. Quick, soft. Like a punctuation mark.

Dinner was good—borderline too good. The kind that lingered on your tongue and made you feel a little too comfortable in a home that wasn’t yours.

But then again, everything about Frankie felt like that. Natural and effortless. Dangerous in the slowest, most tender way.

Later, you curled up together on his couch, both of you full and warm, the soft glow of an old movie playing in the background. Neither of you were really watching—your focus was on the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers, felt through the worn cotton of a faded band tee, the print barely recognizable from years of wear. His hand rested on your hip, thumb moving in slow, steady circles, like he wasn’t in any rush to be anywhere else.

And then, suddenly—he stilled.

It was subtle. Just the way his fingers stopped moving. The way his chest didn’t rise quite as deep. The way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly beneath your cheek.

You pulled back just slightly. “Frankie?”

He blinked, his gaze flicking down to you like he hadn’t realized he was somewhere else.

“I, uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, that nervous tic slipping through the cracks. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

Your stomach pulled tight, a knot of dread winding low and sharp. Your heart thudded in your ears, too loud, too fast. Please don’t say you have a wife. Or a kid. Or some life I don’t know about waiting just around the corner. You didn’t dare say it out loud, but the thought hit hard—ridiculous maybe, but real. Because he felt real. And the idea of him hiding something like that made your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke—steady, but there was something in them, a flicker of nerves he couldn’t mask. “I’m in recovery,” he said, voice low. “Coke. Mostly. It got bad for a while.”

He swallowed, jaw tightening before he continued. “It’s been two years. Clean. But it’s… it’s hard to talk about. Still. Not because I’m ashamed, just…” He looked down for a second, rubbed his thumb against the side of your hand like it grounded him. “I don’t want you to see me differently. But I also didn’t wanna lie. Not to you.”

Then his eyes found yours again, soft and open. “You deserve to know the whole story.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you said softly, your voice quiet but unwavering. “That doesn’t scare me, Frankie. Not even a little.”

He blinked, brow tightening like he wasn’t sure he believed you, like the words didn’t quite fit into the story he told himself. In that moment, he looked smaller—like the truth had taken something out of him.

You reached for his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles, grounding him the same way he did for you. “It’s part of your story,” you murmured. “But it’s not you. Not all of you.”

He let out a breath, slow and shaky, like your words had cracked something open and let the light in.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you added gently. “Just let me see you.”

His eyes met yours then, soft in a way that made something inside you ache—because maybe no one had ever told him that before. And when he leaned in this time, the kiss wasn’t urgent. It was tender. Deep.

No walls. No masks. Just him, letting you see it all.

And you? You weren’t going anywhere.

Frankie woke first. He always did.

The light was soft through the curtains, painting lazy streaks across the hardwood floor, catching in your hair where it spilled across his pillow. You were curled against him, your leg tucked over his, fingers resting just above his chest like they belonged there.

And maybe they did.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t want to risk waking you—not when you looked like that. Completely at ease. Like, just for a night, the weight of the world had finally let go of your shoulders. You made mornings like this feel sacred. Like something worth taking slow.

He could still taste you on his lips. Sweet, a little bit intoxicating too.

Last night hadn’t gone any further than kissing—your mouths slow and exploring, hands reverent but still careful. It wasn’t that he didn’t want more. God, he did. It lived in the back of his throat, in the tension wound tight in his muscles. Every brush of your fingers, every breathy little laugh you gave him when he kissed down your jaw had lit him up from the inside out.

But it hadn’t been about that.

It had been about trust. About feeling safe enough to let each other in. He’d told you the thing he was most scared of—and you hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

You’d just held his hand tighter—and still looked at him. Not just the broken parts that needed fixing, but all of him.

And now, with the morning wrapped around both of you, he couldn’t stop looking at you. Your lashes fluttered against your cheeks. Your lips parted in sleep. And all he could think about was how much he wanted you—yes, physically, fiercely—but also in the smaller, quieter ways.

He wanted your voice in his kitchen. Your hoodie tossed on his couch. Your hair tie looped around the handle of his favorite coffee mug like it belonged there. He wanted you curled up next to him in bed, taking up too much space—the kind he’d complain about to anyone else, but never to you.

His fingers traced lightly over your hip where the blanket had slipped down, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his touch.

You stirred, blinking up at him, and Frankie offered a small smile.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

You gave him that sleepy half-smile that knocked the breath right out of his chest.

Yeah, he was so fucked.

The morning moved slowly, and Frankie let it. No rush, no noise—just the low hum of music playing from the speaker on his counter and the occasional clink of cutlery as he flipped pancakes with one hand, your oversized hoodie hanging off your frame as you leaned against the island, nursing a mug of coffee like you’d done it a hundred times before.

God, you looked good like that.

Domestic. Here.

His kitchen had never felt warmer.

You were humming along to the song playing—something old-school and smooth, the kind of track his dad used to play on Sunday mornings—and Frankie couldn’t help but smile at the sound. His chest felt full. Like he’d been holding his breath for years without realizing it and now, somehow, you were the exhale.

When you reached for a strawberry from the bowl he’d just rinsed, he swatted your hand playfully.

“Those are for the pancakes.”

You shrugged, popping it in your mouth anyway. “Consider it quality control.”

Frankie rolled his eyes but there was no heat behind it. Just fondness. Endless, quiet, stupid fondness.

He served the pancakes, sat across from you at the small table, and listened as you rambled about how eggs always taste better when someone else makes them and how his coffee game was finally improving.

And then, just as he was about to take a bite, your voice softened.

“I went on a lot of dates before you.”

Frankie glanced up.

“None of them ever stuck,” you said, not quite meeting his eyes. “They all felt like… noise. Like I was trying to prove I wasn’t too much for someone.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited, giving you the space to continue.

You smiled—small, a little crooked, not as sure of yourself as he’d come to know you. “I never thought I’d be the girl sitting alone at a bar with a poetry book… and end up meeting someone who actually stayed. Who really listened.”

You looked down for a second, then back at him. “I always thought I was too loud. Too sharp. Just… too much me.”

Frankie blinked, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, completely forgotten. Something tugged tight in his chest. He knew that feeling—being too much and never enough, all at once.

Maybe the two of you were just a pair of lost souls who somehow fit. Like you’d found something in each other you hadn’t even known you were searching for. Something quiet. Effortless. Like understanding without needing to speak it out loud.

Frankie looked at you across the table, the way your fingers absently toyed with the edge of your plate. And he realized something else too—that it wasn’t just comfort he found in you. It was hope.

You made space for him without demanding he be anything more than what he was. And that scared him a little. Because it was rare. Because it felt like something he could ruin if he wasn’t careful.

“I felt so stupid that night,” you admitted, cutting through his thoughts, voice barely above a whisper. “Sitting there alone with that book, trying to pretend I wasn’t completely gutted my date ditched me.”

You looked at him then, eyes a little softer. “But then you showed up. And somehow, it didn’t feel like such a bad night anymore. Like maybe the universe messed up just right.”

Frankie swallowed hard and leaned forward, one hand finding yours across the table, grounding it.

“You weren’t too much,” he said softly. “They were too little.”

Your eyes glassed over a little, and Frankie squeezed your hand gently.

“You don’t need to be less of anything to be worthy of something good,” he added. “And I swear to God, you—sitting there with that book like a goddamn fever dream—you were the only thing in that bar I wanted to pay attention to.”

The silence that followed was warm, weighted.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you said, “You only say that because you still want to sleep with me.” Frankie’s grin turned playful. “Well, that’s part of it,” he said with a wink. “But mostly, it’s because I’m really into pancakes... and you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you grabbed a strawberry from the plate and tossed it lightly at his head. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, still smiling.

Frankie caught the berry with a laugh, pretending to inspect it. “I think that was a compliment,” he said, popping it in his mouth. "I’ll take it.”

It had been almost two weeks since that night at the bar, and somehow, in the middle of stolen kisses, late-night texts, and slow mornings tangled up in each other, you had become a constant.

Tonight, Frankie was bringing you into his world.

The boys were already gathered when you arrived—music playing low, laughter echoing from the kitchen. It smelled like beer and pizza and the kind of memories that never leave a room. Frankie’s hand hovered at the small of your back as he led you inside, grounding, reassuring. You were nervous—he could feel it—but you still smiled.

And then Benny spotted you.

“You’re the poetry girl,” he grinned like he’d just cracked some long-running inside joke. “The mythical bar unicorn. I thought you weren’t real.”

Frankie groaned under his breath. “Jesus, Ben.”

You laughed, though, relaxing at the warm chaos of it all. “Guilty as charged.”

Will came over next, polite and calm with a quiet smile. “It’s good to finally meet you. Frankie talks a lot about you.” Then, after a pause: “Like a lot a lot.”

“Will,” Frankie muttered, shooting him a warning look.

Will just chuckled, passing you a drink. “Ignore him. He’s been insufferable since you showed up in his life.”

Santiago leaned against the counter nearby, nodding at you with that easy confidence. “You’re braver than most. Walking straight into the lion’s den.”

You smiled. “I figured if I survived Benny’s Instagram stalking, I could survive anything.”

“Oh, she’s quick,” Santi said, laughing as Benny threw his hands up dramatically in protest.

The evening passed with the hum of comfort. Jokes and memories thrown across the table, Frankie’s hand brushing against yours under it when he thought no one was looking. And you liked them—each of them, in their own way. Will, observant and dryly funny. Benny, loud but never unkind. And Santi—somehow both laid back and deeply perceptive.

Later, as the others argued over what movie to put on, Santi came to stand beside you in the kitchen, both of you half-watching Frankie refill drinks at the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in fake concentration.

“He’s a good one,” Santi said casually.

You smiled. “Yeah. He really is.”

There was a pause. Then, soft enough you almost missed it, Santi added, “Didn’t see him that happy in forever.”

It landed quietly, threading itself into your chest. Making it feel warm, almost glowing.

You looked at Frankie again—at the little crease between his brows, the soft curve of his smile when he glanced your way, and that thing he always did when he caught you looking, like he couldn’t quite believe you were still there.

And you knew that sentence—Santi’s voice, that truth—would echo in your heart for a long time.

Frankie had driven you home. Neither of you had said much on the way—just a comfortable silence, hands brushing occasionally on the console, that soft look in his eyes whenever he glanced over.

Now, in your living room, lit only by the warm glow of a lamp in the corner, he stood close. Too close to pretend either of you wanted distance anymore.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, searching.

You nodded. “Yeah. I liked them. Your friends.”

He smiled, but it was gentler now. “They liked you too.”

You let that settle, eyes searching his face. “Santi said something.”

Frankie raised a brow. “Oh?”

You nodded. “Said he hasn’t seen you this happy in forever.”

He looked down for a beat, rubbed the back of his neck with that same boyish tell you’d learned to read. “Yeah, well. They’ve seen me at my worst.”

“And now?”

He looked up again, and you swore the world slowed down a little.

“Now I’ve got you,” he said simply, like it wouldn’t be absolutely monumental, and maybe a bit crazy too. It wasn’t polished, but it was real. All of it. Honest in a way that curled around your heart and stayed there.

You stepped closer.

And Frankie didn’t move. Just let you come to him, his hands sliding to your waist like they’d been waiting to rest there forever. His forehead leaned into yours, noses brushing, breath shared.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, even now—always asking.

You nodded.

The kiss began like all the others—slow, sure, laced with the kind of carefulness that only comes with meaning. But then it deepened. His hands tightened at your waist, warm and steady, firm without ever asking too much. Your fingers slipped into the curls at the nape of his neck, and that was when you felt it—the subtle shiver that ran through him, giving away just how much that one simple touch unraveled him. Something shifted then. The air turned heavier, charged with everything neither of you had said out loud. When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes found yours again. Still searching. Still making sure.

And then you were both moving, like the decision had already been made before either of you could voice it. Clothes came off in the quiet, in between kisses and glances and soft laughs at buttons that wouldn’t cooperate. There wasn’t any rush—just a slow unraveling, like each layer you peeled away brought you closer to something raw, the quiet intimacy making your heart ache in the best way.

You ended up in your bed, tangled together beneath soft sheets. The city buzzed faintly outside the window, distant and unimportant. All you could hear was his breathing, all you could feel were his hands all over you with nothing but gentleness and reverence and all you could think was this is him—this is really happening.

He moved over you like he already knew how. Not in some performative, rehearsed way, but with an intimacy that said I’m here. I want you to feel this. I want you to feel safe. Every kiss he trailed across your skin felt intentional, like a vow. Every brush of his fingertips was a quiet question: Is this okay? And your body answered without hesitation, arching into him, aching for more while still not wanting to rush. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, not just from desire, but from how much you wanted him—this man who was being so careful with your heart.

You whispered his name when he finally entered you, and something in him shifted. His eyes squeezed shut like the feeling wrecked him, and his hand found yours, fingers lacing tight as he pinned them gently above your head. He held you like he was scared you might vanish beneath him. But you were there—real, aching, undone in the best way. His expression was a fragile mix of hesitation, wonder, and that quiet fear of getting it wrong. But he couldn’t mess this up. Not with the way he touched you like you were precious. Not when everything about him felt like something you’d been unknowingly waiting for.

The rhythm you found was slow, almost achingly tender—like you were both trying to make time stretch, to memorize every second. You felt the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of each breath he exhaled against your skin. You kissed his shoulder; he pressed one to the bridge of your nose. Between sighs and shivers, you murmured quiet, silly things into the curve of his neck—words that made him smile, even as his chest rose too fast and the vein in his throat stood out from the effort of holding back, of keeping this slow, of feeling everything.

It was messy and intimate and real. Your bodies learning each other in pauses and sighs, laughter slipping between touches, and the occasional, clumsy shift of legs or arms that made you both giggle under your breath. But none of it took away from the depth. If anything, it made it more you. You both never were perfect and you didn’t need to be.

When it was over and your bodies finally stilled, his forehead rested against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin. You kept holding him like the world might shift if you let go, your hands trailing slow, soothing lines up and down his back.

His breath was still shaky as he whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Yeah. You?”

He exhaled, then nodded too. “Yeah. More than okay actually.”

And in the hush that followed, tangled together in soft sheets and city light, you realized something had shifted—quietly, permanently. You hadn’t just slept together. You’d let each other in. And it didn’t feel scary.

It felt like love.

It felt like home.

The apartment looked more like a storage unit than a home. Boxes towered at odd angles, one already half-crushed from someone (him) accidentally sitting on it. The living room rug was rolled up like a giant burrito, and somewhere in the chaos, the toaster was still MIA.

It had been two years since the bar.

Somehow—without either of you noticing exactly when—you’d made his place yours too. First it was a second toothbrush. Then a drawer. Your books stacked beside his. Your coffee in the pantry. Your hoodie always draped over his desk chair like it belonged there.

You never asked. Never had to. You just… stayed. And it made sense. Like it had always been meant to be this way.

You were moving fast, your lives folding into each other with quiet ease, a kind of symbiosis that felt natural. Frankie never minded. If anything, he counted his blessings every single day.

You filled his apartment with warmth. Your laugh echoed through the walls, tinting even his darkest days with gold. Your chaotic attempts at cooking, when the kitchen looked like a war zone and you did too—hair in a messy bun, tomato sauce on your cheek—made him feel like he’d won some cosmic lottery.

He’d never been the type to believe in fate. But meeting you? That felt a lot like serendipity.

“Babe?” you called from the kitchen. “Why is the bathroom box labeled ‘Frankie’s secret weapons’?”

He stuck his head in from the hallway, hair tousled, a dust smear across one cheek. “Because that’s where I keep the good stuff. Cologne, razor, anxiety meds, backup deodorant. The essentials.”

You laughed and shook your head. Wiped your forehead with the hem of your shirt, and God, he loved you. He crossed the room, still holding a rogue coffee mug like it was some sacred thing, and kissed your temple without a word.

It was chaos. But it was your chaos.

And you were engaged.

The proposal hadn’t been some grand thing. No audience, no fireworks , no videos for the internet. Just the two of you, tucked into the corner booth of the restaurant that had become your place.

He couldn’t eat. Kept fidgeting with the ring box in his pocket until his hands shook.

Then he’d just set it on the table—right between your fries and his untouched drink—and looked at you.

No speech. No plan. Just:

“I wanna do this with you forever. If you’ll let me.”

You’d cried. He had too. Your food went cold and neither of you cared.

And it hadn’t even been a surprise, not really.

A few weeks before, you’d been curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his. The kind of silence that felt like home. He’d been tracing lazy circles on your arm when he murmured into your hair,

“Would you say yes if I asked?”

You turned to look at him like he’d grown another head. “You for real now?”

He grinned, sheepish. “Hypothetically.”

“Frankie,” you warned. “If you drop thousands on some stupid shiny rock, I swear to God—”

“Noted,” he’d laughed, yelping when you punched his arm.

The ring was simple. Nothing flashy. But it was him—understated, honest. Yours.

Now, standing in the middle of a half-unpacked future, Frankie reached into a box labeled Misc but Important?? and froze.

His fingers curled around a familiar paperback.

He pulled it out slowly. “No way.”

You looked up. “What?”

He turned the book in his hands, like some artifact from an ancient world. “It’s the poetry book. From the bar.”

Your eyes widened as he handed it over. You opened it to the dog-eared page, the one you’d been reading when he first saw you—lit by neon, too beautiful for the room.

“You kept it,” you murmured.

Frankie rubbed the back of his neck, heart stammering like it used to when he was trying to figure out what to text you in those early days. “Guess it stuck. Like you did.”

You stepped closer, pressing your forehead to his, the book still between you like some kind of lucky talisman.

“I still can’t believe I brought a poetry book to a bar,” you whispered.

Frankie grinned, eyes warm. “You say that like it wasn’t your plan to seduce me with metaphors.”

You smirked, lips curving like trouble. “You only came over ‘cause I was the only girl not glued to her phone.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Nah. I came over because you looked like you were waiting for someone to prove you wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly—the kind of sound that never failed to make his heart stutter. Then you gently tapped the edge of the book against his chest. He caught your wrist before you could pull away, easing you closer until you were nestled against him.

Two years. And you still felt like the most unreal thing that had ever happened to him.

thanks for reading 💌

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